House of Sand and Fog (IMDB) (Netflix)
Jennifer Connelly is an alcoholic, slightly self-destructive housekeeper who's just lost her house (safety tip: read your mail), and Ben Kingsley is a former Iranian army colonel who desperately wants to regain some semblance of self-respect. Combine those ingredients with an overly helpful police officer (Ron Eldard) and a screenwriter's convenient disregard for the realities of property law, and you've got yourselves a situation.
Walking out of the theater afterwards was a middle-aged couple. The guy said "chick flick noir", and his wife laughed. That's too kind; this is a relentless bleak-fest. Every character and plot point reeks of impending senseless tragedy, and the amazing thing is that the ending exceeds your worst fears. Give credit to all concerned for staying true to a vision and realizing it in a truly competent fashion, but it's not one that many will want to be part of. The audience's uneasy, nervous laughter as the credits rolled signalled the end of a harrowing experience that some apparently liked but no one seemed eager to repeat.
This movie is showing up on many critics' Top 10 lists, which validates the film's craftsmanship, but isn't indicative of its enjoyability.
Monday, December 29, 2003
Paycheck (IMDB) (Netflix)
Another Philip K. Dick short story turned into a movie, starring Ben Affleck as the consummate reverse engineer who works on projects so sensitive that he has to get his memory wiped clean after each project. It's a living. On his last gig, however, he intentionally gives up his fee and sends himself a care package of clues and job aids that would make MacGyver proud. The question that's running through his recently scrubbed brain is "why the hell would I do that?"
Dick's stories usually minimized the usual sci-fi technology trappings and often focused on cognition (in the case of Minority Report, pre-cognition) and memory (Total Recall). He works these themes again to good effect here, requiring that Affleck and Uma Thurman (and the audience) figure out what the game is at the same time they're dodging evil henchmen trying to kill them. Eventually, this reduces down to a conventional action thriller, but the premise fuels a great two-thirds of a movie.
Another Philip K. Dick short story turned into a movie, starring Ben Affleck as the consummate reverse engineer who works on projects so sensitive that he has to get his memory wiped clean after each project. It's a living. On his last gig, however, he intentionally gives up his fee and sends himself a care package of clues and job aids that would make MacGyver proud. The question that's running through his recently scrubbed brain is "why the hell would I do that?"
Dick's stories usually minimized the usual sci-fi technology trappings and often focused on cognition (in the case of Minority Report, pre-cognition) and memory (Total Recall). He works these themes again to good effect here, requiring that Affleck and Uma Thurman (and the audience) figure out what the game is at the same time they're dodging evil henchmen trying to kill them. Eventually, this reduces down to a conventional action thriller, but the premise fuels a great two-thirds of a movie.
Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King (IMDB) (Netflix)
Another trilogy bites the dust. The gang is pretty much all back: Frodo, Aragorn, Gandalf, Smeagol--but no Saruman, who didn't make it out of the editing suite. Which is surprising, since this colossus weighs in at three hours and twenty minutes (some say 3:30) and tacks on what appeared to be five (I lost count) epilogues.
Unlike the last Matrix effort, this high-tech triptych walks across the line under its own power. Director Peter Jackson seems to have finally gotten the hang of movie-making (a remake of King Kong is next for him), but having quality source material may have helped (the Matrices' Wachowski Brothers clearly were overextended). This is a solid chocolate Santa, with well-developed (as opposed to over-developed) themes of sacrifice, courage, fellowship and purity of spirit, plus impeccable special effects. The can't-bear-to-say-goodbye endings generated some groans and perhaps a little mocking laughter, dulling the finish, which is unfortunate, but not particularly damaging.
Another trilogy bites the dust. The gang is pretty much all back: Frodo, Aragorn, Gandalf, Smeagol--but no Saruman, who didn't make it out of the editing suite. Which is surprising, since this colossus weighs in at three hours and twenty minutes (some say 3:30) and tacks on what appeared to be five (I lost count) epilogues.
Unlike the last Matrix effort, this high-tech triptych walks across the line under its own power. Director Peter Jackson seems to have finally gotten the hang of movie-making (a remake of King Kong is next for him), but having quality source material may have helped (the Matrices' Wachowski Brothers clearly were overextended). This is a solid chocolate Santa, with well-developed (as opposed to over-developed) themes of sacrifice, courage, fellowship and purity of spirit, plus impeccable special effects. The can't-bear-to-say-goodbye endings generated some groans and perhaps a little mocking laughter, dulling the finish, which is unfortunate, but not particularly damaging.
Sunday, December 28, 2003
Cheaper by the Dozen (IMDB) (Netflix)
A very loose, even unrecognizable remake of the 1950 classic, starring Steve Martin and Bonnie Hunt. Martin's got his big break to coach a college football team, and Hunt's book just got published, and so their blossoming careers start to test their family values. Another niece-and-nephew pick.
And yes, they liked this one too. And yes, it does have its moments, but one can only take so many charming youngsters, and twelve far exceeds my limit. There are precisely two themes at work here, career vs. family (twice over) and the ostracized, out-of-synch-family-member bit), and they're hammered home with minimal subtlety. When Steve and Bonnie are together, everything's a little crisper, but this mostly Martin coping with the kids and their difficulty in adapting to the new surroundings. There are some heartwarming scenes toward the end, but by then it's too late to have much impact.
A very loose, even unrecognizable remake of the 1950 classic, starring Steve Martin and Bonnie Hunt. Martin's got his big break to coach a college football team, and Hunt's book just got published, and so their blossoming careers start to test their family values. Another niece-and-nephew pick.
And yes, they liked this one too. And yes, it does have its moments, but one can only take so many charming youngsters, and twelve far exceeds my limit. There are precisely two themes at work here, career vs. family (twice over) and the ostracized, out-of-synch-family-member bit), and they're hammered home with minimal subtlety. When Steve and Bonnie are together, everything's a little crisper, but this mostly Martin coping with the kids and their difficulty in adapting to the new surroundings. There are some heartwarming scenes toward the end, but by then it's too late to have much impact.
Haunted Mansion (IMDB) (Netflix)
An Eddie Murphy vehicle, and a niece-and-nephew selection. Eddie's a workaholic real estate agent who has to make one more call before a family outing, at the aforementioned property, but of course this isn't just a charming fixer-upper. It's got a past, which involves a Romeo and Juliet-style tragic love affair, and some very troubled ghosts, one of whom has taken a shine to Eddie's better half.
The kids liked it (the acorn apparently falls very far from the tree; they like everything), and even got a little scared during one sequence involving spiders and zombied skeletons. For the adults, however, there's not a lot of inside grown-up humor going on, and I was troubled by the inclusion of a suicide theme in a PG movie.
An Eddie Murphy vehicle, and a niece-and-nephew selection. Eddie's a workaholic real estate agent who has to make one more call before a family outing, at the aforementioned property, but of course this isn't just a charming fixer-upper. It's got a past, which involves a Romeo and Juliet-style tragic love affair, and some very troubled ghosts, one of whom has taken a shine to Eddie's better half.
The kids liked it (the acorn apparently falls very far from the tree; they like everything), and even got a little scared during one sequence involving spiders and zombied skeletons. For the adults, however, there's not a lot of inside grown-up humor going on, and I was troubled by the inclusion of a suicide theme in a PG movie.
The Cooler (IMDB) (Netflix)
William H. Macy is Bernie, the unluckiest guy on the planet, who has turned his karmic lemons into career lemonade in Las Vegas, by being a "cooler"—the guy who derails your string of good rolls of the dice and keeps the house in the black. Alec Baldwin is the old-school casino owner who has the goods on Bernie, and Maria Bello is the girl who turns things around for him, with results both comical and potentially tragic.
This is a much more violent film than the previews imply, which was somewhat jarring. The characters are broadly drawn, but so well acted that you almost don't notice (this insight courtesy of Sara K.). Bello in particular was impressive, by being at times winsome and desparate, then endearing and tough as a streetwalker ten years past her prime. With accurate expectations going in, a reasonable choice in the same vein as True Romance.
William H. Macy is Bernie, the unluckiest guy on the planet, who has turned his karmic lemons into career lemonade in Las Vegas, by being a "cooler"—the guy who derails your string of good rolls of the dice and keeps the house in the black. Alec Baldwin is the old-school casino owner who has the goods on Bernie, and Maria Bello is the girl who turns things around for him, with results both comical and potentially tragic.
This is a much more violent film than the previews imply, which was somewhat jarring. The characters are broadly drawn, but so well acted that you almost don't notice (this insight courtesy of Sara K.). Bello in particular was impressive, by being at times winsome and desparate, then endearing and tough as a streetwalker ten years past her prime. With accurate expectations going in, a reasonable choice in the same vein as True Romance.
Something's Gotta Give (IMDB) (Netflix)
A romantic comedy for grown-ups, with grown-ups in the lead roles, assuming you consider Keanu Reeves as adult as Diane Keaton and Jack Nicholson. Keaton's a playwright who believes that love won't happen again and Nicholson's a confirmed bachelor for whom the milk is flowing freely. They meet cute when Jack dates Keaton's daughter, and are forced to spend time together when he becomes an unwilling house guest for a few days. When Reeves creates some stirrings in Keaton when he wants to become May to her September, and we're off and running.
This film has gotten a lot of points for showing people of a certain age doing what the rest of the movie industry considers appropriate only for the under-40 crowd, and so it should. Keaton and Nicholson are fun to watch together, and Keanu's not too much of a distraction. Writer/director Nancy Myers could have been a little more ruthless in the cutting room (surely there's a rule against films in this genre going over two hours), and some of the humor is maybe a little too "aren't we naughty?" for male tastes, but in all, a pretty successful outing.
A romantic comedy for grown-ups, with grown-ups in the lead roles, assuming you consider Keanu Reeves as adult as Diane Keaton and Jack Nicholson. Keaton's a playwright who believes that love won't happen again and Nicholson's a confirmed bachelor for whom the milk is flowing freely. They meet cute when Jack dates Keaton's daughter, and are forced to spend time together when he becomes an unwilling house guest for a few days. When Reeves creates some stirrings in Keaton when he wants to become May to her September, and we're off and running.
This film has gotten a lot of points for showing people of a certain age doing what the rest of the movie industry considers appropriate only for the under-40 crowd, and so it should. Keaton and Nicholson are fun to watch together, and Keanu's not too much of a distraction. Writer/director Nancy Myers could have been a little more ruthless in the cutting room (surely there's a rule against films in this genre going over two hours), and some of the humor is maybe a little too "aren't we naughty?" for male tastes, but in all, a pretty successful outing.
Sunday, December 07, 2003
Shattered Glass (IMDB) (Netflix)
Good journalists ingratiate themselves with their subjects, bad ones cultivate their colleagues and bosses. The New Republic magazine had its own Jayson Blair, in the form of Stephen Glass (played by Hayden Christensen), a wunderkind who was getting the stories that no one else got. There was a reason for this, of course, just like there was a reason why MCI/WorldCom could make huge profits when Sprint was gasping for air, wondering what the hell was going on. Peter Sarsgaard is TNR's editor when it all starts to unravel, and Chloë Sevigny one of the staunchest Glass allies.
Even though it's a supporting role, Sarsgaard's contribution is far more interesting because he has the tough choices to make, and bravely doesn't play to our sympathies in making them. Christensen proves he can act (his Star Wars performance is an example of when bad dialogue happens to good actors), with a mix of youthful arrogance and cloying opportunism. The ending is extremely well done, both poignant and affirming.
A small picture, with a lot of substance.
Good journalists ingratiate themselves with their subjects, bad ones cultivate their colleagues and bosses. The New Republic magazine had its own Jayson Blair, in the form of Stephen Glass (played by Hayden Christensen), a wunderkind who was getting the stories that no one else got. There was a reason for this, of course, just like there was a reason why MCI/WorldCom could make huge profits when Sprint was gasping for air, wondering what the hell was going on. Peter Sarsgaard is TNR's editor when it all starts to unravel, and Chloë Sevigny one of the staunchest Glass allies.
Even though it's a supporting role, Sarsgaard's contribution is far more interesting because he has the tough choices to make, and bravely doesn't play to our sympathies in making them. Christensen proves he can act (his Star Wars performance is an example of when bad dialogue happens to good actors), with a mix of youthful arrogance and cloying opportunism. The ending is extremely well done, both poignant and affirming.
A small picture, with a lot of substance.
Saturday, December 06, 2003
The Last Samurai (IMDB) (Netflix)
As a former captain in the post-U.S. Civil War army, Tom Cruise can barely live with himself. He was a hero in the war, then part of the brutal campaign against Native Americans in the West. Down on his guilt-permeated, self-destructive luck, he's lured to Japan to train their army against the Samurai, who are waging their own rebellion against modernity. Things don't go as planned, however, and Cruise quickly finds himself on the wrong side. Or maybe the right one. It's equal parts Lawrence of Arabia and Stockholm Syndrome, with a dash of Gaijin Gets a Kimono.
Apparently it's also an epic, because of the two hour and twenty-four minutes running time (don't count on the usual 15 minutes of commericals and previews at the local cineplex—get there promptly, because they might be squeezing in an extra showing). The noble intent is there, the battle scenes are grand, the bridge is built across the cultural divide. Cruise is his typical affable/intense self, Ken Watanabe is pure studliness as the samurai leader and all his warriors look tres chic in their armor (which will all very soon appear in a Paris fashion show). Battle has seldom been more horrific or beautifully photographed.
The audience was entertained, and so was I, but without being particularly moved.
As a former captain in the post-U.S. Civil War army, Tom Cruise can barely live with himself. He was a hero in the war, then part of the brutal campaign against Native Americans in the West. Down on his guilt-permeated, self-destructive luck, he's lured to Japan to train their army against the Samurai, who are waging their own rebellion against modernity. Things don't go as planned, however, and Cruise quickly finds himself on the wrong side. Or maybe the right one. It's equal parts Lawrence of Arabia and Stockholm Syndrome, with a dash of Gaijin Gets a Kimono.
Apparently it's also an epic, because of the two hour and twenty-four minutes running time (don't count on the usual 15 minutes of commericals and previews at the local cineplex—get there promptly, because they might be squeezing in an extra showing). The noble intent is there, the battle scenes are grand, the bridge is built across the cultural divide. Cruise is his typical affable/intense self, Ken Watanabe is pure studliness as the samurai leader and all his warriors look tres chic in their armor (which will all very soon appear in a Paris fashion show). Battle has seldom been more horrific or beautifully photographed.
The audience was entertained, and so was I, but without being particularly moved.
Sunday, November 30, 2003
The Missing (IMDB) (Netflix)
Cate Blanchett is a Wild West frontier doctor with two daughters and no use for for her long-absent father (Tommy Lee Jones), who ran off to hang with the Native Americans years back. He's ostensibly returned for some doctoring and Cate's none too happy about seeing him. When one of her girls is kidnapped by slave-trading renegades, however, she needs his help, and thus is launched a story reminiscent of John Ford's classic The Searchers and the more recent The Last of the Mohicans. Directed by Ron Howard and featuring the least attractive Native American (Eric Schweig) seen in motion pictures, as the evil medicine man.
This is a tough one to assess—on a technical level, all the elements are there, and I was absorbed in the story as it unfolded, but nothing stuck to my ribs afterwards. Even though little is spared in terms of writing, well-portrayed characters, photography or violent action, it just doesn't have the "Searchers'" epic quality, nor "Mohicans'" sleek beauty and passion. It's not a failure, though, and absent the tough comparisons a reasonable pick for its empowered female lead and great scenery.
Cate Blanchett is a Wild West frontier doctor with two daughters and no use for for her long-absent father (Tommy Lee Jones), who ran off to hang with the Native Americans years back. He's ostensibly returned for some doctoring and Cate's none too happy about seeing him. When one of her girls is kidnapped by slave-trading renegades, however, she needs his help, and thus is launched a story reminiscent of John Ford's classic The Searchers and the more recent The Last of the Mohicans. Directed by Ron Howard and featuring the least attractive Native American (Eric Schweig) seen in motion pictures, as the evil medicine man.
This is a tough one to assess—on a technical level, all the elements are there, and I was absorbed in the story as it unfolded, but nothing stuck to my ribs afterwards. Even though little is spared in terms of writing, well-portrayed characters, photography or violent action, it just doesn't have the "Searchers'" epic quality, nor "Mohicans'" sleek beauty and passion. It's not a failure, though, and absent the tough comparisons a reasonable pick for its empowered female lead and great scenery.
Friday, November 28, 2003
In America (IMDB) (Netflix)
The confusing-but-intriguing trailer for this film appeared a year ago, but wasn't followed up with the movie. Often a re-launch is a sign of a project in deep trouble, but this proves to be the pleasant exception.
Director Jim Sheridan (My Left Foot, In the Name of the Father) and his daughters tell a very intimate, semi-autobiographical story of a young Irish family coming to New York City so that the dad (Paddy Considine) can make it as an actor. It's tough going, especially living in the tenement dominated by drug users, and weighed down by the memory of a young son who died under tragic circumstances.
Heavy stuff, and these days it might be the more difficult movie-going decision, but there's much more than the melodramatic plot points, and its ambition and quality far outweighs the emotional risk. It got to me in the same way as Nowhere in Africa, but with even more impact, through a more intimate visual style and rawer performances from Considine and Samantha Morton, plus thoroughly impressive theatrical debuts from Bolger sisters Sarah and Emma.
The confusing-but-intriguing trailer for this film appeared a year ago, but wasn't followed up with the movie. Often a re-launch is a sign of a project in deep trouble, but this proves to be the pleasant exception.
Director Jim Sheridan (My Left Foot, In the Name of the Father) and his daughters tell a very intimate, semi-autobiographical story of a young Irish family coming to New York City so that the dad (Paddy Considine) can make it as an actor. It's tough going, especially living in the tenement dominated by drug users, and weighed down by the memory of a young son who died under tragic circumstances.
Heavy stuff, and these days it might be the more difficult movie-going decision, but there's much more than the melodramatic plot points, and its ambition and quality far outweighs the emotional risk. It got to me in the same way as Nowhere in Africa, but with even more impact, through a more intimate visual style and rawer performances from Considine and Samantha Morton, plus thoroughly impressive theatrical debuts from Bolger sisters Sarah and Emma.
Bad Santa (IMDB) (Netflix)
Billy Bob Thornton is the worst department store Santa of all time: a self-soiling drunk, a womanizer and a crook, with a uniquely seasonal scam, partnering with little person Tony Cox as Santa's helper to crack the store's safe after all the children and sales associates are nestled safely in their beds. Thornton's conscience is nowhere to be found, at least not until the biggest loser in movie kid history makes his acquaintance, and even then it takes a determined seige of pathetic innocence. With the late John Ritter as the appalled store manager and Bernie Mac as the security guy, and a too-good-for-him Laura Graham as the bartender with a puzzling thing for men in red suits. Directed by Terry Swigoff of Ghost World and Crumb and produced by the Coen Brothers.
If this seems entirely unappealling, then "Bad Santa" wasn't written for you, and there's far more wholesome fare available. If, however, you can the see the twisted comedic possibilities, then come on in and enjoy the orgy of inappropriate, hate-yourself-for-laughing humor that would give a college sophomore pause. Only with Robert Duvall's performance in The Great Santini has an actor been more determined to be so unsympathetic, or so successful.
Billy Bob Thornton is the worst department store Santa of all time: a self-soiling drunk, a womanizer and a crook, with a uniquely seasonal scam, partnering with little person Tony Cox as Santa's helper to crack the store's safe after all the children and sales associates are nestled safely in their beds. Thornton's conscience is nowhere to be found, at least not until the biggest loser in movie kid history makes his acquaintance, and even then it takes a determined seige of pathetic innocence. With the late John Ritter as the appalled store manager and Bernie Mac as the security guy, and a too-good-for-him Laura Graham as the bartender with a puzzling thing for men in red suits. Directed by Terry Swigoff of Ghost World and Crumb and produced by the Coen Brothers.
If this seems entirely unappealling, then "Bad Santa" wasn't written for you, and there's far more wholesome fare available. If, however, you can the see the twisted comedic possibilities, then come on in and enjoy the orgy of inappropriate, hate-yourself-for-laughing humor that would give a college sophomore pause. Only with Robert Duvall's performance in The Great Santini has an actor been more determined to be so unsympathetic, or so successful.
Tuesday, November 25, 2003
Elf (IMDB) (Netflix)
In Swingers and Made, indie writer-director Jon Favreau chronicled the humorous, slightly pathetic lives of two hipsters manqué. Elf goes entirely the other way, with a big budget and Will Ferrell as a 6’3”, thirty-ish eight-year-old raised at the North Pole. Ferrell’s lacking the elfin necessities, and once he finally realizes his true human nature, strikes out for New York City to re-unite with his biological father, a “naughty list” mainstay in the form of Mr. James Caan.
There’s nothing hip about Ferrell’s character, fortunately, from the green-and-yellow elf suit to his complete naïveté about the world, least of all regarding the hard-boiled Big Apple (sorry, it was there, begging to go on the page). He’s as completely clueless, trusting and energetic as a puppy, and the rest of the cast (notably Bob Newhart, Mary Steenburgen and Zooey Deschanel) wisely stay low-key to maximize the effect. The climactic sequence doesn’t have nearly the impact one would hope for, but this is a strong mainstream showing for Mr. Favreau, and he owes almost all of its success to Ferrell’s talent for sweet self-mockery.
In Swingers and Made, indie writer-director Jon Favreau chronicled the humorous, slightly pathetic lives of two hipsters manqué. Elf goes entirely the other way, with a big budget and Will Ferrell as a 6’3”, thirty-ish eight-year-old raised at the North Pole. Ferrell’s lacking the elfin necessities, and once he finally realizes his true human nature, strikes out for New York City to re-unite with his biological father, a “naughty list” mainstay in the form of Mr. James Caan.
There’s nothing hip about Ferrell’s character, fortunately, from the green-and-yellow elf suit to his complete naïveté about the world, least of all regarding the hard-boiled Big Apple (sorry, it was there, begging to go on the page). He’s as completely clueless, trusting and energetic as a puppy, and the rest of the cast (notably Bob Newhart, Mary Steenburgen and Zooey Deschanel) wisely stay low-key to maximize the effect. The climactic sequence doesn’t have nearly the impact one would hope for, but this is a strong mainstream showing for Mr. Favreau, and he owes almost all of its success to Ferrell’s talent for sweet self-mockery.
Saturday, November 15, 2003
Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World (IMDB) (NetFlix)
Acting’s bad-boy Russell Crowe gets nautical, as “Lucky Jack” Aubrey, captain of HMS Surprise in the Napoleonic Wars, pursuing a Bismarck-like French juggernaut on the high seas around South America. It’s based on one of twenty (count ‘em) novels by Patrick O’Brian, and directed by Peter Weir, known for a small, highly respected body of original and quietly powerful works such as Witness, Picnic at Hanging Rock and The Year of Living Dangerously, plus a more energetic The Truman Show. So it’s a bit of a surprise that he’s trying his hand at a genre piece, albeit a category that’s been mostly dormant for some time. Co-starring Paul Bettany as ship’s surgeon, Captain’s pal and proto-Darwin (the Galapagos Islands figure prominently), and a complement of sweaty sailors.
It’s a solid entertainment with a goodly amount of thematic depth, and Crowe dispense discipline and encouragement in equal doses and with the same ease—an almost too-perfect leader (having him play the violin to show his sensitive side was pushing it). For most of the movie, the French ship is an under-lit cipher, like the trucker’s rig in Duel, imbruing it with a seeming invincibility.
I could have used more of Weir’s visual lyricism, but this is clearly the birth of a franchise.
Acting’s bad-boy Russell Crowe gets nautical, as “Lucky Jack” Aubrey, captain of HMS Surprise in the Napoleonic Wars, pursuing a Bismarck-like French juggernaut on the high seas around South America. It’s based on one of twenty (count ‘em) novels by Patrick O’Brian, and directed by Peter Weir, known for a small, highly respected body of original and quietly powerful works such as Witness, Picnic at Hanging Rock and The Year of Living Dangerously, plus a more energetic The Truman Show. So it’s a bit of a surprise that he’s trying his hand at a genre piece, albeit a category that’s been mostly dormant for some time. Co-starring Paul Bettany as ship’s surgeon, Captain’s pal and proto-Darwin (the Galapagos Islands figure prominently), and a complement of sweaty sailors.
It’s a solid entertainment with a goodly amount of thematic depth, and Crowe dispense discipline and encouragement in equal doses and with the same ease—an almost too-perfect leader (having him play the violin to show his sensitive side was pushing it). For most of the movie, the French ship is an under-lit cipher, like the trucker’s rig in Duel, imbruing it with a seeming invincibility.
I could have used more of Weir’s visual lyricism, but this is clearly the birth of a franchise.
Sunday, November 09, 2003
The Matrix: Revolutions (IMDB) (Netflix)
OK, lets get this over with. The last of this trilogy, soon to be followed by the Lord of the Rings capper, another Harry Potter, and somewhere in the sequel pipeline, the sixth and final Star Wars installment. The Wachowski Brothers dial down the myth-making and gear up the action, with a final show-down between the humans and the machines, and Neo and Mr. Smith.
Despite the huge battle scene, a certain fatigue has set in, with Laurence Fishburne being almost invisible and the Neo/Smith duel an anticlimax compared to their fight in Part Two. Even the ad campaign has seemed half-hearted, although that might be more a recognition of how needless it would be to sell this picture to the fans, or equally pointless to convince non-fans to get on board after missing the first two. For the most part, a Star Wars episode, augmented with swearing.
OK, lets get this over with. The last of this trilogy, soon to be followed by the Lord of the Rings capper, another Harry Potter, and somewhere in the sequel pipeline, the sixth and final Star Wars installment. The Wachowski Brothers dial down the myth-making and gear up the action, with a final show-down between the humans and the machines, and Neo and Mr. Smith.
Despite the huge battle scene, a certain fatigue has set in, with Laurence Fishburne being almost invisible and the Neo/Smith duel an anticlimax compared to their fight in Part Two. Even the ad campaign has seemed half-hearted, although that might be more a recognition of how needless it would be to sell this picture to the fans, or equally pointless to convince non-fans to get on board after missing the first two. For the most part, a Star Wars episode, augmented with swearing.
The Human Stain (IMDB) (Netflix)
Escaping who you are and what you’ve done is a futile exercise. Anthony Hopkins leads a cast of troubled individuals (Nicole Kidman, Ed Harris, Gary Sinise), each uniquely damaged. Hopkins’s back story problem is the focal point, as a victim of political correctness run amok, the irony becoming more pointed the more we learn about him and his past. Based on the novel by Philip Roth.
Which is the problem. For those familiar with the plot’s slowly revealed conceit, it’s clearly one that works better in print, where a reader’s imagination can carry the load, but the literal nature of film makes this a tough sell, despite stellar performances by Kidman (maybe not everyone’s favorite personality, but she’s got chops), Harris, and the kid playing the Hopkins character as a youth. The film’s literary lineage also mars the coda, with the screenwriter seemingly (I haven’t read the book) cowed by Roth’s influence into going unnecessarily expository. A highly intelligent and mature work for those who can tolerate a shaky premise.
Escaping who you are and what you’ve done is a futile exercise. Anthony Hopkins leads a cast of troubled individuals (Nicole Kidman, Ed Harris, Gary Sinise), each uniquely damaged. Hopkins’s back story problem is the focal point, as a victim of political correctness run amok, the irony becoming more pointed the more we learn about him and his past. Based on the novel by Philip Roth.
Which is the problem. For those familiar with the plot’s slowly revealed conceit, it’s clearly one that works better in print, where a reader’s imagination can carry the load, but the literal nature of film makes this a tough sell, despite stellar performances by Kidman (maybe not everyone’s favorite personality, but she’s got chops), Harris, and the kid playing the Hopkins character as a youth. The film’s literary lineage also mars the coda, with the screenwriter seemingly (I haven’t read the book) cowed by Roth’s influence into going unnecessarily expository. A highly intelligent and mature work for those who can tolerate a shaky premise.
Alien: the Director's Cut (IMDB) (Netflix)
Twenty-four years ago, Alien was the scariest space movie ever, spawning a trilogy and making Sigourney Weaver a star. It's now been re-released as a director's cut, not so much because it was a seminal bit of movie-making that the world needs to see again on the big screen, but because—that’s right—there’s an Alien vs. Predator cage match due next year, and the producers want to warm the youngsters up to the Alien franchise.
Not having seen the original in some time, I wasn’t sure what footage was added, but it sure wasn’t any more of Sigourney in her impractically skimpy briefs (that part is burned into the consciousness of many a male moviegoer of a certain age), and it seems like a long time before John Hurt hocks up the ultimate loogie, but Ian Holm is still outstanding as Ash, the crew member with a secret. A somewhat dated and cynical undertaking, but worth the trip for those who'd like to understand where dozens of imitators got their inspiration.
Twenty-four years ago, Alien was the scariest space movie ever, spawning a trilogy and making Sigourney Weaver a star. It's now been re-released as a director's cut, not so much because it was a seminal bit of movie-making that the world needs to see again on the big screen, but because—that’s right—there’s an Alien vs. Predator cage match due next year, and the producers want to warm the youngsters up to the Alien franchise.
Not having seen the original in some time, I wasn’t sure what footage was added, but it sure wasn’t any more of Sigourney in her impractically skimpy briefs (that part is burned into the consciousness of many a male moviegoer of a certain age), and it seems like a long time before John Hurt hocks up the ultimate loogie, but Ian Holm is still outstanding as Ash, the crew member with a secret. A somewhat dated and cynical undertaking, but worth the trip for those who'd like to understand where dozens of imitators got their inspiration.
Saturday, November 01, 2003
School of Rock (IMDB) (Netflix)
"Those who can't do, teach" and rocker Jack Black reinforces the stereotype, possessing an uncontestable love for the genre, but lacking the talent (or interpersonal skills) to take his band to pay-the-rent status. He finally gets fired by the band he founded, and out of desperation lands a gig as a substitute teacher at a snooty prep school run by Joan Cusack. Black has no absolutely interest in teaching his kids until he hits on a scheme to use these prodigies to get back into the music game. It's the old fish-out-of-water comedy vehicle, one that gives Black plenty of maneuvering room for his signature over-the-top comic intensity.
The only real tension here is between the formulaic story and Black's force of personality; which will win out? Cusack is the priggish principle who longs to be liked by her subordinates, Mike White is Black's buddy hen-pecked by bitch-on-wheels Sara Silverman, and the kids are instantly and universally lovable. In the other corner are Jack's mobile eyebrows and total lack of self-governance, which won over much of the audience, especially the kids, but for the harder hearts it was more like a standoff.
"Those who can't do, teach" and rocker Jack Black reinforces the stereotype, possessing an uncontestable love for the genre, but lacking the talent (or interpersonal skills) to take his band to pay-the-rent status. He finally gets fired by the band he founded, and out of desperation lands a gig as a substitute teacher at a snooty prep school run by Joan Cusack. Black has no absolutely interest in teaching his kids until he hits on a scheme to use these prodigies to get back into the music game. It's the old fish-out-of-water comedy vehicle, one that gives Black plenty of maneuvering room for his signature over-the-top comic intensity.
The only real tension here is between the formulaic story and Black's force of personality; which will win out? Cusack is the priggish principle who longs to be liked by her subordinates, Mike White is Black's buddy hen-pecked by bitch-on-wheels Sara Silverman, and the kids are instantly and universally lovable. In the other corner are Jack's mobile eyebrows and total lack of self-governance, which won over much of the audience, especially the kids, but for the harder hearts it was more like a standoff.
Saturday, October 25, 2003
Kill Bill: Vol. 1 (IMDB) (Netflix)
The cinematic descendent of movie violence stylist Sam Peckinpah has to be Quentin Tarantino, whose Reservoir Dogs and Pulp Fiction made him the "it boy" director in the early-mid 90s. After some lesser efforts, he went on silent running for six years, but is making up for the absence with this two-parter. Volume One opens with Uma Thurman as the only survivor of a wedding-day hit squad, wanting payback and traveling the world to get it against Vivica A. Fox, Lucy Liu and the aforementioned Bill.
Peckinpah used slow motion and bits of hamburger in the fake blood squibs to give The Wild Bunch that little extra tingle, and Tarantino takes him one further, the predominant element being spurting, lots of spurting. Certainly not most people's brand of vodka, but there's also a fair amount of comedic leavening, and a heavy Japanese martial arts tone that somehow keeps this from becoming Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Thurman is one tough cookie, carrying all the action against a horde of Yakusa swordsfolk, and conveying an intensity heretofore lacking in her portfolio. Where Reservoir Dogs was overly sadistic and squirm-inducing, "Bill" is intentionally cartoonish, but still very messy, and the bouncing between gore and laughs is mostly, but not always, successful.
Those who abhore graphic violence won't be mollified by any of this analysis, nor should they, but the many who've acquired the thirst for "Q" will be happy he's back, and in form. Just don't ask for much in thematic take-aways.
The cinematic descendent of movie violence stylist Sam Peckinpah has to be Quentin Tarantino, whose Reservoir Dogs and Pulp Fiction made him the "it boy" director in the early-mid 90s. After some lesser efforts, he went on silent running for six years, but is making up for the absence with this two-parter. Volume One opens with Uma Thurman as the only survivor of a wedding-day hit squad, wanting payback and traveling the world to get it against Vivica A. Fox, Lucy Liu and the aforementioned Bill.
Peckinpah used slow motion and bits of hamburger in the fake blood squibs to give The Wild Bunch that little extra tingle, and Tarantino takes him one further, the predominant element being spurting, lots of spurting. Certainly not most people's brand of vodka, but there's also a fair amount of comedic leavening, and a heavy Japanese martial arts tone that somehow keeps this from becoming Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Thurman is one tough cookie, carrying all the action against a horde of Yakusa swordsfolk, and conveying an intensity heretofore lacking in her portfolio. Where Reservoir Dogs was overly sadistic and squirm-inducing, "Bill" is intentionally cartoonish, but still very messy, and the bouncing between gore and laughs is mostly, but not always, successful.
Those who abhore graphic violence won't be mollified by any of this analysis, nor should they, but the many who've acquired the thirst for "Q" will be happy he's back, and in form. Just don't ask for much in thematic take-aways.
Sunday, October 12, 2003
Intolerable Cruely (IMDB) (Netflix)
The Coen brothers, Joel and Ethan, wrote this originally as a work for hire and it bounced around Hollywood for awhile, but when George Clooney expressed interest they brought it back in-house. Clooney is Miles Massey, a divorce lawyer non-pareil and creator of the Massey Pre-Nuptial Agreement, which "has never been penetrated." Catherine Zeta-Jones is major league golddigger who encounters Clooney across the negotiating table and in the courtroom. Their mutual interest quickly becomes clear, but not their motivations, and sorting those out consumes the back half of this screwball comedy, complete with Coen touches of slightly macabre humor.
It's been fun watching Clooney expand his portfolio from two-dimensional TV star (ER) to one-dimensional action figure (The Peacemaker) to comic performer (O Brother, Where Art Thou?) to well-rounded dramatic actor (Solaris), and "Intolerable" continues this progression with an open kimono performance that could have been embarrassing had it not hit the mark. Zeta-Jones goes very much the other way, focusing on her character's calculating side, which makes for an enjoyable contrast if not the most noteworthy role. As noted by fellow filmgoer Peggy Folz, the pace flagged in the middle, which tends to take the screwball out of the comedy, and many of the best lines are in the commercials, but there's more than enough left to surprise and sustain interest. The wide assortment of offbeat character actors, another reliable Coen element, rounds out an enjoyable 100 minutes. Coen aficionados might find this too mainstream, others will see it as a sign of maturity.
The Coen brothers, Joel and Ethan, wrote this originally as a work for hire and it bounced around Hollywood for awhile, but when George Clooney expressed interest they brought it back in-house. Clooney is Miles Massey, a divorce lawyer non-pareil and creator of the Massey Pre-Nuptial Agreement, which "has never been penetrated." Catherine Zeta-Jones is major league golddigger who encounters Clooney across the negotiating table and in the courtroom. Their mutual interest quickly becomes clear, but not their motivations, and sorting those out consumes the back half of this screwball comedy, complete with Coen touches of slightly macabre humor.
It's been fun watching Clooney expand his portfolio from two-dimensional TV star (ER) to one-dimensional action figure (The Peacemaker) to comic performer (O Brother, Where Art Thou?) to well-rounded dramatic actor (Solaris), and "Intolerable" continues this progression with an open kimono performance that could have been embarrassing had it not hit the mark. Zeta-Jones goes very much the other way, focusing on her character's calculating side, which makes for an enjoyable contrast if not the most noteworthy role. As noted by fellow filmgoer Peggy Folz, the pace flagged in the middle, which tends to take the screwball out of the comedy, and many of the best lines are in the commercials, but there's more than enough left to surprise and sustain interest. The wide assortment of offbeat character actors, another reliable Coen element, rounds out an enjoyable 100 minutes. Coen aficionados might find this too mainstream, others will see it as a sign of maturity.
Saturday, October 04, 2003
The Rundown (IMDB) (Netflix)
Former pro wrestler The Rock is in the retrieval business, in search of Seann William Scott (Stifler from the American Pie series, and one of the dudes who didn't know where he left his car). Finding him is easy enough, it's the getting him home part that proves problematic, with obstacles such as an evil goldmine operator (Christopher Walken) and an indominatable guerrilla leader (Rosario Dawson). Scott also claims to have found a mythical object that could change the fortunes of Dawson's oppressed people, so of course they have to find that thing.
The Rock is a pretty good actor/action star, which might not be a surprise to anyone who follows the WWF shenanigans. Scott's "what, me worry" charm is well-suited to the movie's tone, and Dawson's developing some decent acting chops. But casting Walken is a bit of a coup, bringing his offbeat sensibility to what often can be a thankless role, and giving the flick a little more depth than you'd expect. The action scenes are pretty inventive, with one of the longest rolling-down-the-hill scenes in cinematic history. Easy fun.
Former pro wrestler The Rock is in the retrieval business, in search of Seann William Scott (Stifler from the American Pie series, and one of the dudes who didn't know where he left his car). Finding him is easy enough, it's the getting him home part that proves problematic, with obstacles such as an evil goldmine operator (Christopher Walken) and an indominatable guerrilla leader (Rosario Dawson). Scott also claims to have found a mythical object that could change the fortunes of Dawson's oppressed people, so of course they have to find that thing.
The Rock is a pretty good actor/action star, which might not be a surprise to anyone who follows the WWF shenanigans. Scott's "what, me worry" charm is well-suited to the movie's tone, and Dawson's developing some decent acting chops. But casting Walken is a bit of a coup, bringing his offbeat sensibility to what often can be a thankless role, and giving the flick a little more depth than you'd expect. The action scenes are pretty inventive, with one of the longest rolling-down-the-hill scenes in cinematic history. Easy fun.
Sunday, September 21, 2003
Once Upon a Time in Mexico (IMDB) (Netflix)
When Robert Rodriguez finds a topic he likes, he mines it for all it's worth. Following the third Spy Kids flick, "Mexico" follows up El Mariachi and Desperado, completing the story (we think) of the musician/gunslinger. While all three films are essentially excuses for the same popcorn action, violence and humor, this time we get Johnny Depp, Willem Dafoe, Ruben Blades and Mickey Rourke, along with Desperado's Salma Hayek and El himself, Antonio Banderas.
The extra casting is welcome, especially Depp, who handles his role of a slightly out-of-control CIA agent with same wry humor as Pirates of the Caribbean, and brings some needed dialog to the proceedings (Mr. Mariachi's not a big talker). In addition to the usual evil drug kingpins, there's an evil general in the mix, and bigger political theme you didn't see in the first two films. Lots of shooting, lots lots of laughs, but lets hope this is the end of line.
When Robert Rodriguez finds a topic he likes, he mines it for all it's worth. Following the third Spy Kids flick, "Mexico" follows up El Mariachi and Desperado, completing the story (we think) of the musician/gunslinger. While all three films are essentially excuses for the same popcorn action, violence and humor, this time we get Johnny Depp, Willem Dafoe, Ruben Blades and Mickey Rourke, along with Desperado's Salma Hayek and El himself, Antonio Banderas.
The extra casting is welcome, especially Depp, who handles his role of a slightly out-of-control CIA agent with same wry humor as Pirates of the Caribbean, and brings some needed dialog to the proceedings (Mr. Mariachi's not a big talker). In addition to the usual evil drug kingpins, there's an evil general in the mix, and bigger political theme you didn't see in the first two films. Lots of shooting, lots lots of laughs, but lets hope this is the end of line.
Saturday, September 20, 2003
Matchstick Men (IMDB) (Netflix)
Nicholas Cage is an obsessive-compulsive compendium of mannerisms, phobias and tics (especially the tics), which makes it tough to be a smooth-talking grifter. Somehow he makes it work, though, and has a decent house and a partner (Sam Rockwell), but no life whatsoever. Running out of his medication sparks a chain of plot-propelling events, including meeting the daughter he never knew (Alison Lohman). Written by Ted "Ocean's Eleven" Griffin, and in a departure, directed by Ridley Scott, known more for action pics like Blade Runner and Blackhawk Down.
Con game movies are tricky to write, because if you reveal too little, the audience feels manipulated; reveal too much, the audience gets ahead of the story and loses interest. Having seen too many of these deals, I got ahead of the story about two-thirds in. While that certainly took the edge off the film's big payoff moment, the performances (Cage is perfect for his role, and the kid is impressively precocious) and the directorial skill carry the film home, albeit with less impact than intended.
A sap-free (in one respect at least) father-daughter flick that's ideal for those who get their kicks from figuring out the plot before they're supposed to.
Nicholas Cage is an obsessive-compulsive compendium of mannerisms, phobias and tics (especially the tics), which makes it tough to be a smooth-talking grifter. Somehow he makes it work, though, and has a decent house and a partner (Sam Rockwell), but no life whatsoever. Running out of his medication sparks a chain of plot-propelling events, including meeting the daughter he never knew (Alison Lohman). Written by Ted "Ocean's Eleven" Griffin, and in a departure, directed by Ridley Scott, known more for action pics like Blade Runner and Blackhawk Down.
Con game movies are tricky to write, because if you reveal too little, the audience feels manipulated; reveal too much, the audience gets ahead of the story and loses interest. Having seen too many of these deals, I got ahead of the story about two-thirds in. While that certainly took the edge off the film's big payoff moment, the performances (Cage is perfect for his role, and the kid is impressively precocious) and the directorial skill carry the film home, albeit with less impact than intended.
A sap-free (in one respect at least) father-daughter flick that's ideal for those who get their kicks from figuring out the plot before they're supposed to.
Lost in Translation (IMDB) (Netflix)
Being alone in Tokyo is a tough gig, whether you're an over-the-hill movie star doing some commercials that will only be seen in Japan (Bill Murray) or the wife along for the ride of her photographer-husband's business trip (Scarlett Johansson). There are so many people, no hiding that you're a foreigner, a language that you can't begin to decipher and the cab drivers wear white gloves while they pop open the passenger door from their seat (as the Brits might say, "Mind the steel panel hurtling for your naughty bits"). Directed by Sophia Coppola, who was widely reviled for her last-minute substitution performance in her dad's Godfather III, but lauded for her directorial debut The Virgin Suicides.
Having done Tokyo under similar circumstances, I can confirm that "Lost" nicely captures that truly alone feeling, reminding me that the scariest part is being forced to confront who you really are. The early scenes of Murray doing his whiskey ads are terrific, if perhaps too Murray-esque, and the relationship between him and Johansson seems authentic. The supporting characters and their performances are less nuanced, but a minor distraction. A nice little relationship movie that even guys will handle with aplomb.
Being alone in Tokyo is a tough gig, whether you're an over-the-hill movie star doing some commercials that will only be seen in Japan (Bill Murray) or the wife along for the ride of her photographer-husband's business trip (Scarlett Johansson). There are so many people, no hiding that you're a foreigner, a language that you can't begin to decipher and the cab drivers wear white gloves while they pop open the passenger door from their seat (as the Brits might say, "Mind the steel panel hurtling for your naughty bits"). Directed by Sophia Coppola, who was widely reviled for her last-minute substitution performance in her dad's Godfather III, but lauded for her directorial debut The Virgin Suicides.
Having done Tokyo under similar circumstances, I can confirm that "Lost" nicely captures that truly alone feeling, reminding me that the scariest part is being forced to confront who you really are. The early scenes of Murray doing his whiskey ads are terrific, if perhaps too Murray-esque, and the relationship between him and Johansson seems authentic. The supporting characters and their performances are less nuanced, but a minor distraction. A nice little relationship movie that even guys will handle with aplomb.
Sunday, September 07, 2003
September 11 (IMDB) (Netflix—not available)
Without expecting to enjoy the experience, I willingly accepted Sara K. "This will be good for you" Schneider's invitation to see this collection of short films on the most traumatic day in America's recent history. The subject had weight, the time lag would provide perspective on the event, and the global nature of the project would no doubt be educational.
I learned or confirmed several things; the easiest thing to lose in a short film is subtlety, much of the world is pretty pissed off at the United States, and, while I have any number of misgivings about the direction that the U.S. is taking, I don't take criticism from foreigners all that well. Afterwards, I was tempted to wallow in some Fox News flag-waving to even things out.
While four of the eleven films (from Iran's Samira Makhmalbaf, Mexico's Alejandro González Iñárritu, France's Claude Lelouch, and the U.S. entry from Sean Penn) were thoughtful, creative and/or powerful reflections on that day, many of the others seemed opportunitistic, heavy-handed political point-scoring exercises that will no doubt play better abroad. Sara reacted much more rationally, seeing an example of filmmaking's power to convey important messages.
Without expecting to enjoy the experience, I willingly accepted Sara K. "This will be good for you" Schneider's invitation to see this collection of short films on the most traumatic day in America's recent history. The subject had weight, the time lag would provide perspective on the event, and the global nature of the project would no doubt be educational.
I learned or confirmed several things; the easiest thing to lose in a short film is subtlety, much of the world is pretty pissed off at the United States, and, while I have any number of misgivings about the direction that the U.S. is taking, I don't take criticism from foreigners all that well. Afterwards, I was tempted to wallow in some Fox News flag-waving to even things out.
While four of the eleven films (from Iran's Samira Makhmalbaf, Mexico's Alejandro González Iñárritu, France's Claude Lelouch, and the U.S. entry from Sean Penn) were thoughtful, creative and/or powerful reflections on that day, many of the others seemed opportunitistic, heavy-handed political point-scoring exercises that will no doubt play better abroad. Sara reacted much more rationally, seeing an example of filmmaking's power to convey important messages.
American Splendor (IMDB) (Netflix)
You may remember Harvey Pekar from the first Dave Letterman show; he was the angry guy who didn't quite get the Letterman "this is all a big joke, just play along" schtick. While he was the most unlikely (and ultimately, unsuitable) of celebrities, Pekar's illustrated autobiographical musings American Splendor on life in the Rust Belt had become an underground classic. With Paul Giamatti as Harvey Pekar, Hope Davis as his equally neurotic wife Joyce, and Harvey Pekar as Harvey Pekar (the film occasionally jumps between the actors and the real people).
This was mostly a crowd-pleasing, self-referential comedy. Giamatti is scary-good as Pekar, almost better than the person, in the sense that it Alan Alda was said to have done a better George Plimpton than George Plimpton in Paper Lion. I could have done with less of the arguing between husband and wife, and more of the real Pekar, who naturally has mellowed over time, but in ways that make him more interesting, someone who looks at his angry past with pride, a little bemusement, and a tiny amount of regret.
You may remember Harvey Pekar from the first Dave Letterman show; he was the angry guy who didn't quite get the Letterman "this is all a big joke, just play along" schtick. While he was the most unlikely (and ultimately, unsuitable) of celebrities, Pekar's illustrated autobiographical musings American Splendor on life in the Rust Belt had become an underground classic. With Paul Giamatti as Harvey Pekar, Hope Davis as his equally neurotic wife Joyce, and Harvey Pekar as Harvey Pekar (the film occasionally jumps between the actors and the real people).
This was mostly a crowd-pleasing, self-referential comedy. Giamatti is scary-good as Pekar, almost better than the person, in the sense that it Alan Alda was said to have done a better George Plimpton than George Plimpton in Paper Lion. I could have done with less of the arguing between husband and wife, and more of the real Pekar, who naturally has mellowed over time, but in ways that make him more interesting, someone who looks at his angry past with pride, a little bemusement, and a tiny amount of regret.
Sunday, August 31, 2003
Dirty Pretty Things (IMDB) (Netflix)
If you're an illegal immigrant, your dreams are prey to all kinds of people, not just John Ashcroft. Amelie's Audrey Tautou plays a very different role, a young Turkish hotel maid in London, dreaming of going to New York but lacking the paperwork. She's befriended by Okwe, another illegal, who discovers one of the more sordid false identity scams being run by fellow hotelier "Sneaky"(Sergi Lopez). Directed by Stephen Frears, responsible for the successful High Fidelity and Dangerous Liaisons.
It's billed as a thriller, and the poster of an undressed Tautou promises other attractions, but the film is neither. Usually that kind of marketing misrepresentation is the signal for junk, but this is a case of hiding quality under a cheesy wrapper. The story is mostly Okwe's, and the actor who plays him (Chiwetel Ejiofor) is first-rate, creating a tone of dignified torment as he tries to figure out an honorable way out of his and Tautou's predicament. Lopez is the perfect opportunist, and Benedict Wong is the ideal philosopher-mortician. The tension builds slowly and the payoff is quietly satisfying. Not the slickest or quickest film, but an original one that has something useful to say.
If you're an illegal immigrant, your dreams are prey to all kinds of people, not just John Ashcroft. Amelie's Audrey Tautou plays a very different role, a young Turkish hotel maid in London, dreaming of going to New York but lacking the paperwork. She's befriended by Okwe, another illegal, who discovers one of the more sordid false identity scams being run by fellow hotelier "Sneaky"(Sergi Lopez). Directed by Stephen Frears, responsible for the successful High Fidelity and Dangerous Liaisons.
It's billed as a thriller, and the poster of an undressed Tautou promises other attractions, but the film is neither. Usually that kind of marketing misrepresentation is the signal for junk, but this is a case of hiding quality under a cheesy wrapper. The story is mostly Okwe's, and the actor who plays him (Chiwetel Ejiofor) is first-rate, creating a tone of dignified torment as he tries to figure out an honorable way out of his and Tautou's predicament. Lopez is the perfect opportunist, and Benedict Wong is the ideal philosopher-mortician. The tension builds slowly and the payoff is quietly satisfying. Not the slickest or quickest film, but an original one that has something useful to say.
Saturday, August 30, 2003
Open Range (IMDB) (Netflix)
One of the great battles over land use in the United States took place in the late 1900s between land-owning ranchers and free-rangers, the cowboys who drove their cattle across the prairie to market, largely ignoring property rights. In most Westerns, the cattle drivers wear the black hats, but this time it’s the ranchers, typified by Michael Gambon, who are the bad guys. Probably has something to do with Kevin Costner and Robert Duvall playing the cow punchers. Gambon adopts the-best-defense-is-an-overwhelming-offense posture, going too far and inciting Costner and Duvall to take matters into their own hands. Sortof a buddy revenge movie, with Annette Bening threatening to break up the team.
The Canadian Rockies never looked better, or rainier, and Costner hasn’t been this grubby-looking since Waterworld and The Postman. Yet the dialog is often clunky, with too many speeches, and everybody’s got such a troubled backstory that you'll think you’ve stumbled on a French Foreign Legion outpost. Paced beyond leisurely; apparently Costner was thinking he was directing an epic, or at least the sequel to Dances with Wolves. Duvall overcomes the material, and the gun battles have a messy, awkward brutality that’s refreshing. While a respectable effort, given the dearth of Westerns in the theaters, it’s a shame this wasn’t more on the money.
One of the great battles over land use in the United States took place in the late 1900s between land-owning ranchers and free-rangers, the cowboys who drove their cattle across the prairie to market, largely ignoring property rights. In most Westerns, the cattle drivers wear the black hats, but this time it’s the ranchers, typified by Michael Gambon, who are the bad guys. Probably has something to do with Kevin Costner and Robert Duvall playing the cow punchers. Gambon adopts the-best-defense-is-an-overwhelming-offense posture, going too far and inciting Costner and Duvall to take matters into their own hands. Sortof a buddy revenge movie, with Annette Bening threatening to break up the team.
The Canadian Rockies never looked better, or rainier, and Costner hasn’t been this grubby-looking since Waterworld and The Postman. Yet the dialog is often clunky, with too many speeches, and everybody’s got such a troubled backstory that you'll think you’ve stumbled on a French Foreign Legion outpost. Paced beyond leisurely; apparently Costner was thinking he was directing an epic, or at least the sequel to Dances with Wolves. Duvall overcomes the material, and the gun battles have a messy, awkward brutality that’s refreshing. While a respectable effort, given the dearth of Westerns in the theaters, it’s a shame this wasn’t more on the money.
Sunday, August 17, 2003
Step Into Liquid (IMDB) (Netflix)
A documentary about surfing, in the tradition of The Endless Summer and The Endless Summer 2, done by the people who gave you Endless Summer and Endless Summer 2 (it's not a big genre). From California and Hawaii to less obvious locales such as Ireland's County Donegal, Vietnam's DaNang and Wisconsin's Sheboygan, we're treated to intimate, hypnotic shots of the best surfers riding the biggest waves with the latest surfing technology, and more humorous takes on the most successfully self-deluded ones (the Sheboygan guys, of course) and the kids. To the filmmakers and their subjects, surfing is far more than a sport, it's a search for higher truth and beauty that Plato would applaud.
As did the audience. Although Step Into Liquid is clearly an uncritical love letter to the lifestyle, the photography, editing, music — and most of all the subjects — make you long for its simplicity and intensity. Sell the condo, chuck the Bimmer, get a VW Microbus and head for the ocean. Other than stirring that subversive impulse, a family-friendly film.
A documentary about surfing, in the tradition of The Endless Summer and The Endless Summer 2, done by the people who gave you Endless Summer and Endless Summer 2 (it's not a big genre). From California and Hawaii to less obvious locales such as Ireland's County Donegal, Vietnam's DaNang and Wisconsin's Sheboygan, we're treated to intimate, hypnotic shots of the best surfers riding the biggest waves with the latest surfing technology, and more humorous takes on the most successfully self-deluded ones (the Sheboygan guys, of course) and the kids. To the filmmakers and their subjects, surfing is far more than a sport, it's a search for higher truth and beauty that Plato would applaud.
As did the audience. Although Step Into Liquid is clearly an uncritical love letter to the lifestyle, the photography, editing, music — and most of all the subjects — make you long for its simplicity and intensity. Sell the condo, chuck the Bimmer, get a VW Microbus and head for the ocean. Other than stirring that subversive impulse, a family-friendly film.
Saturday, August 09, 2003
Seabiscuit (IMDB) (Netflix)
In 1938, the president of the United States, Franklin Roosevelt, got fewer newspaper column-inches of coverage than a racehorse. This abused, stumpy, failure of an animal had met up with three similarly damaged humans and became the focal point for the aspirations of a Depression-battered wish-they-were-working class. Based on the best-seller by Laura Hillenbrand and featuring Jeff Bridges as the owner, Chris Cooper as the trainer and Tobey Maguire as the over-sized jockey, with historian David McCullough providing the larger period context through an occasional voiceover.
It all adds up to the most noble of schmaltz that overtly lays out its themes, but with so much skill that even a cynic's defenses eventually fall away. The race scenes are nearly the same caliber as the boxing scenes in Raging Bull, and the lead performances are first class. A nice surprise was that the much-previewed match race with War Admiral isn't the film's climax, or maybe it is, with a long epilogue that's just as solid. Unfortunately, a tad too much harsh language and frisky behavior for the kids.
In 1938, the president of the United States, Franklin Roosevelt, got fewer newspaper column-inches of coverage than a racehorse. This abused, stumpy, failure of an animal had met up with three similarly damaged humans and became the focal point for the aspirations of a Depression-battered wish-they-were-working class. Based on the best-seller by Laura Hillenbrand and featuring Jeff Bridges as the owner, Chris Cooper as the trainer and Tobey Maguire as the over-sized jockey, with historian David McCullough providing the larger period context through an occasional voiceover.
It all adds up to the most noble of schmaltz that overtly lays out its themes, but with so much skill that even a cynic's defenses eventually fall away. The race scenes are nearly the same caliber as the boxing scenes in Raging Bull, and the lead performances are first class. A nice surprise was that the much-previewed match race with War Admiral isn't the film's climax, or maybe it is, with a long epilogue that's just as solid. Unfortunately, a tad too much harsh language and frisky behavior for the kids.
Sunday, July 20, 2003
Whale Rider (IMDB) (Netflix)
An interesting pairing with Northfork; two very different takes on losing a way of life. Pai is the only child in the line of succession to a Maori chief, but is in the highly unfortunate position of being a girl in a tribal patriarchy, and the only survivor of a tragic birth that took both her twin brother and her mother. The chief, her grandfather, is a hardcase conservative consumed with keeping the old traditions and could not be more ambivalent about Pai, who's just as willful and stubborn as her grand-dad—she wants to be a leader, too, and that contentious relationship is the spine of the film.
This film has been a clear critical success and a crowd-pleaser; fellow viewers Tim and Jennifer (both professional storytellers, so they certainly know their narratives) loved it. While I ended up liking it, there was a long warm-up period—the story seems stuck within its coming-of-age and holding-onto-the-past themes, resulting in too many stock scenes, when it could have transcended those themes (see Northfork for an extreme example of the latter case). Keisha Castle-Hughes is a precocious talent with the presence of a forty-year-old, and Whale Rider is a timeless and noble story that finally succeeds—I just wish it had been less of a last-minute victory.
For those with less jaded hearts, and—honest—kids approaching adolescence.
An interesting pairing with Northfork; two very different takes on losing a way of life. Pai is the only child in the line of succession to a Maori chief, but is in the highly unfortunate position of being a girl in a tribal patriarchy, and the only survivor of a tragic birth that took both her twin brother and her mother. The chief, her grandfather, is a hardcase conservative consumed with keeping the old traditions and could not be more ambivalent about Pai, who's just as willful and stubborn as her grand-dad—she wants to be a leader, too, and that contentious relationship is the spine of the film.
This film has been a clear critical success and a crowd-pleaser; fellow viewers Tim and Jennifer (both professional storytellers, so they certainly know their narratives) loved it. While I ended up liking it, there was a long warm-up period—the story seems stuck within its coming-of-age and holding-onto-the-past themes, resulting in too many stock scenes, when it could have transcended those themes (see Northfork for an extreme example of the latter case). Keisha Castle-Hughes is a precocious talent with the presence of a forty-year-old, and Whale Rider is a timeless and noble story that finally succeeds—I just wish it had been less of a last-minute victory.
For those with less jaded hearts, and—honest—kids approaching adolescence.
Northfork (IMDB) (Netflix)
Opening scenes: a final notice to dis-inter your loved one from the cemetary, a very sick boy being left with the local priest by his adoptive parents as they tearfully leave town, a dedication ceremony. Northfork, Montana is dying, to be flooded by a hydro-electric project that will flood the whole valley, and crew of serious, gentle men are determined to persuade their fellow citizens to leave in time, while the boy claims to be an angel who's lost his wings. By the Polish Brothers, Mark and Michael (think "Coen boys on Valium, hold the menace, extra whimsy"). A movie about leaving the past and embracing an uncertain future. Starring Nick Nolte, James Woods, Peter Coyote and Darryl Hannah, and host of other actors who have focused their careers on the unique rather than lucrative.
It's a curious little gem that works especially well for people who see too many movies; people like me. The film doesn't reveal its tonal center for some time; you're not sure if it's a comedy, tragedy, mystical fable or something entirely new, so there's no easy settling in "oh, I get it" moment, just a slow calibration of the audience to the Polish sensibility. The stark Montana scenery is beautifully photographed; not in that obvious "golden hour" orange that has been so overdone, but a more poignant, more authentic palette. The humor is so deadpan and sly that it can easily be missed, and the off-beat spiritual angle is the one part that clinks a little, but the acting is all-around-wonderful. For those looking for a cinematic road less travelled and all the more scenic, and whose senses haven't been completely dulled by the summer blockbusters.
One of the best films so far this year.
Opening scenes: a final notice to dis-inter your loved one from the cemetary, a very sick boy being left with the local priest by his adoptive parents as they tearfully leave town, a dedication ceremony. Northfork, Montana is dying, to be flooded by a hydro-electric project that will flood the whole valley, and crew of serious, gentle men are determined to persuade their fellow citizens to leave in time, while the boy claims to be an angel who's lost his wings. By the Polish Brothers, Mark and Michael (think "Coen boys on Valium, hold the menace, extra whimsy"). A movie about leaving the past and embracing an uncertain future. Starring Nick Nolte, James Woods, Peter Coyote and Darryl Hannah, and host of other actors who have focused their careers on the unique rather than lucrative.
It's a curious little gem that works especially well for people who see too many movies; people like me. The film doesn't reveal its tonal center for some time; you're not sure if it's a comedy, tragedy, mystical fable or something entirely new, so there's no easy settling in "oh, I get it" moment, just a slow calibration of the audience to the Polish sensibility. The stark Montana scenery is beautifully photographed; not in that obvious "golden hour" orange that has been so overdone, but a more poignant, more authentic palette. The humor is so deadpan and sly that it can easily be missed, and the off-beat spiritual angle is the one part that clinks a little, but the acting is all-around-wonderful. For those looking for a cinematic road less travelled and all the more scenic, and whose senses haven't been completely dulled by the summer blockbusters.
One of the best films so far this year.
Sunday, July 13, 2003
Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl (IMDB) (Netflix)
The colon-ated title signals that this is Disney's latest attempt at a sequel-friendly movie franchise, with Johnny Depp as pirate Captain Jack Sparrow, Geoffrey Rush as the mutinous-but-cursed Barbossa, Keira Knightly as Elizabeth Swann, the Governor's daughter, and Orlando Bloom as Will Turner, the smitten blacksmith. Everybody wants something: Sparrow wants his ship back, Barbossa wants Elizabeth's gold medallion and Turner just wants Elizabeth. Someone's going to be disappointed.
Weighing in at a Harry Potter-esque two hours and fifteen minutes, it's too long (by the end, one youngster had collapsed from fatigue), which is unfortunate, because this was great fun. Depp has always played his roles a little off-balance, and here he has a role where he can really cut loose: a slightly mad, mascara'd charmer with a scorned-and-furious woman in every port. Knightly is vulnerable without being helpless and Rush is unabashedly evil. Despite the huge number of convincing ghost-skeletons, or maybe because of them, the kids in the audience seemed to eat this one up.
Tiring, but not tiresome.
The colon-ated title signals that this is Disney's latest attempt at a sequel-friendly movie franchise, with Johnny Depp as pirate Captain Jack Sparrow, Geoffrey Rush as the mutinous-but-cursed Barbossa, Keira Knightly as Elizabeth Swann, the Governor's daughter, and Orlando Bloom as Will Turner, the smitten blacksmith. Everybody wants something: Sparrow wants his ship back, Barbossa wants Elizabeth's gold medallion and Turner just wants Elizabeth. Someone's going to be disappointed.
Weighing in at a Harry Potter-esque two hours and fifteen minutes, it's too long (by the end, one youngster had collapsed from fatigue), which is unfortunate, because this was great fun. Depp has always played his roles a little off-balance, and here he has a role where he can really cut loose: a slightly mad, mascara'd charmer with a scorned-and-furious woman in every port. Knightly is vulnerable without being helpless and Rush is unabashedly evil. Despite the huge number of convincing ghost-skeletons, or maybe because of them, the kids in the audience seemed to eat this one up.
Tiring, but not tiresome.
Sunday, July 06, 2003
The Hard Word (IMDB) (Netflix)
An Aussie noir, with Guy Pearce (L.A. Confidential, Memento) and Rachel Griffiths (Six Feet Under). Pearce is one of three brothers who have made a not-very-lucrative career out of robbing banks and armored cars, and the next big score is the race track, with the help of a shady lawyer and some crooked cops, and Griffiths is his less-than-faithful wife. There's something about the ponies that attracts the ne'er-do-wells and the screenwriters.
It's an earthy, quirky goulash of a story, hitting a lot of different notes—ruthlessness, fecklessness, dark comedy and betrayal—while maintaining its footing, a difficult trick. Pearce seems to relish being a scruffy, feverish lout for a change, while Griffiths is as unsympathetic a soulmate as you could find. There was one plot point that now seems to have been a bit of a cheat, but otherwise a decent film about, as a buddy just summed up, "guys who think they're a lot smarter than they really are."
An Aussie noir, with Guy Pearce (L.A. Confidential, Memento) and Rachel Griffiths (Six Feet Under). Pearce is one of three brothers who have made a not-very-lucrative career out of robbing banks and armored cars, and the next big score is the race track, with the help of a shady lawyer and some crooked cops, and Griffiths is his less-than-faithful wife. There's something about the ponies that attracts the ne'er-do-wells and the screenwriters.
It's an earthy, quirky goulash of a story, hitting a lot of different notes—ruthlessness, fecklessness, dark comedy and betrayal—while maintaining its footing, a difficult trick. Pearce seems to relish being a scruffy, feverish lout for a change, while Griffiths is as unsympathetic a soulmate as you could find. There was one plot point that now seems to have been a bit of a cheat, but otherwise a decent film about, as a buddy just summed up, "guys who think they're a lot smarter than they really are."
Friday, July 04, 2003
Swimming Pool (IMDB) (Netflix)
Charlotte Rampling is a successful-but-bored writer in the Miss Marple/Agatha Christie mold, who takes a holiday at her publisher's villa in France. Just as she's letting her English hair down and getting into a writing groove, in pops the publisher's daughter (Ludivine Sagnier)—Rampling's alter ego, a new-guy-every-night, clothing-optional bohemian who antagonizes Rampling with her mere presence and undisciplined behavior. Just as they're nearing a rapprochement, though, complications ensue and the tone becomes darker. Nominated this year for the Golden Palm at the Cannes Film Festival, which for some is a solid recommendation and to others a signal to quickly skip on down the movie listings.
As I was leaving the theater, a stranger asked me "did you understand the ending?" I didn't, not exactly. There's a twist right at the end, which was a pleasant-although-not-original surprise, followed by a mystifying coda of sorts that made me wonder if I actually understood what happened in the preceding one hundred minutes. Rampling is always watchable, but there's not a lot going on for the first hour; it's long first act followed by an out-of-the-blue plot twist that's resolved in a way that makes one wonder about her motivation. A slow, sunlit film noir that lacks that essential sense of dread.
Charlotte Rampling is a successful-but-bored writer in the Miss Marple/Agatha Christie mold, who takes a holiday at her publisher's villa in France. Just as she's letting her English hair down and getting into a writing groove, in pops the publisher's daughter (Ludivine Sagnier)—Rampling's alter ego, a new-guy-every-night, clothing-optional bohemian who antagonizes Rampling with her mere presence and undisciplined behavior. Just as they're nearing a rapprochement, though, complications ensue and the tone becomes darker. Nominated this year for the Golden Palm at the Cannes Film Festival, which for some is a solid recommendation and to others a signal to quickly skip on down the movie listings.
As I was leaving the theater, a stranger asked me "did you understand the ending?" I didn't, not exactly. There's a twist right at the end, which was a pleasant-although-not-original surprise, followed by a mystifying coda of sorts that made me wonder if I actually understood what happened in the preceding one hundred minutes. Rampling is always watchable, but there's not a lot going on for the first hour; it's long first act followed by an out-of-the-blue plot twist that's resolved in a way that makes one wonder about her motivation. A slow, sunlit film noir that lacks that essential sense of dread.
Saturday, June 28, 2003
The Hulk (IMDB) (Netflix)
Ang Lee's take on the poster child for anger management therapy, with Eric Bana as the super anti-hero, Jennifer Connelly reprising her Beautiful Mind role as deeply troubled guy's love interest, plus Sam Elliott as her over-protective dad with strategic weapons capability and Nick Nolte as the Hulk's long-lost father.
This movie highlights Ang Lee's strength as a director of character-driven films like The Ice Storm and Sense & Sensibility. Here, he seems determined to make this the grown-ups' comic book flick, and through some strong writing and restrained performances by Bana and Connelly, wins on that score, but at the risk of not meshing with the necessary high-key action sequences. He's also undermined by a reach-exceeding-its-grasp CGI challenge in rendering a large green humanoid that doesn't have a costume or distracting superpowers. It doesn't quite work, so the film seems bi-polar; a heartfelt, high-quality troubled romance butted up against a kill-the-misunderstood-monster flick.
Worth seeing for the nearly fulfilled ambition.
Ang Lee's take on the poster child for anger management therapy, with Eric Bana as the super anti-hero, Jennifer Connelly reprising her Beautiful Mind role as deeply troubled guy's love interest, plus Sam Elliott as her over-protective dad with strategic weapons capability and Nick Nolte as the Hulk's long-lost father.
This movie highlights Ang Lee's strength as a director of character-driven films like The Ice Storm and Sense & Sensibility. Here, he seems determined to make this the grown-ups' comic book flick, and through some strong writing and restrained performances by Bana and Connelly, wins on that score, but at the risk of not meshing with the necessary high-key action sequences. He's also undermined by a reach-exceeding-its-grasp CGI challenge in rendering a large green humanoid that doesn't have a costume or distracting superpowers. It doesn't quite work, so the film seems bi-polar; a heartfelt, high-quality troubled romance butted up against a kill-the-misunderstood-monster flick.
Worth seeing for the nearly fulfilled ambition.
Sunday, June 08, 2003
A Decade Under the Influence (IMDB) (Netflix)
One of the benefits of attending prep school in the early 70s was the opportunity every Saturday night to see nearly first-run movies, all selected by Mr. Stevenson, an English teacher with an eye for the R-rated. Many of those same films are featured in this documentary about American filmmaking during that turbulent decade, when the studios realized they had lost touch with their audience and let a host of outsiders, including Martin Scorsese, William Friedkin, Peter Bogdanovich and Francis Ford Coppola, in on the action. In return, we got Taxi Driver, French Connection, Last Picture Show and The Godfather, and a host of other groundbreaking films that were notable because they were also commercially successful.
Because my cinematic coming of age coincides with the heart of this documentary, it had a special resonance that may not be shared by others. Yet the 70s were a special time in Hollywood that might never be duplicated in terms of risk-taking, innovation and social awareness (certainly not in this Year of the Blockbuster Sequel). The two dozen filmmakers and actors interviewed here have put enough distance from those times to reflect intelligently, if somewhat nostalgically and uncritically, and one wishes for an even broader array of personalities. While not the definitive catalog of the decade, and mostly for the film lover, it's well-crafted and accessible, and has enough insights to give the period its due.
One of the benefits of attending prep school in the early 70s was the opportunity every Saturday night to see nearly first-run movies, all selected by Mr. Stevenson, an English teacher with an eye for the R-rated. Many of those same films are featured in this documentary about American filmmaking during that turbulent decade, when the studios realized they had lost touch with their audience and let a host of outsiders, including Martin Scorsese, William Friedkin, Peter Bogdanovich and Francis Ford Coppola, in on the action. In return, we got Taxi Driver, French Connection, Last Picture Show and The Godfather, and a host of other groundbreaking films that were notable because they were also commercially successful.
Because my cinematic coming of age coincides with the heart of this documentary, it had a special resonance that may not be shared by others. Yet the 70s were a special time in Hollywood that might never be duplicated in terms of risk-taking, innovation and social awareness (certainly not in this Year of the Blockbuster Sequel). The two dozen filmmakers and actors interviewed here have put enough distance from those times to reflect intelligently, if somewhat nostalgically and uncritically, and one wishes for an even broader array of personalities. While not the definitive catalog of the decade, and mostly for the film lover, it's well-crafted and accessible, and has enough insights to give the period its due.
Saturday, May 31, 2003
The Italian Job (IMDB) (Netflix)
One effect of BMW's extremely successful reintroduction of the Mini Cooper is a remake of the the 1969 caper flick of the same name. In the original, Michael Caine and Noel Coward were featured, here we get Mark Wahlberg, Charlize Theron and friends trying to settle a very personal score with Edward Norton, who double-crossed them in Italy. They've traced him to Los Angeles, where most of the action takes place.
This is a summer movie that suffers in comparison to this summer's action flicks like Matrix: Reloaded and X-Men, or even the more comparable Ocean's Eleven; it lacks the intensity and ambition of the first two, and the stylishness of the latter film. Almost everything that happens early on is an obvious set-up for use later on, the dialogue isn't sufficiently authentic for B-List actors like Wahlberg to sell, and faithful reader Peggy Folz felt that even Norton's performance was flat. The action scenes, which one would think were the point, are nothing to write home about. Fortunately, the supporting cast of Seth Green, Mos Def and Jason "The Transporter" Stathan (apparently already typecast as a wheelman) fare better, providing the comic relief and all the charm.
The hormonally flooded teenage girls in the front row liked it, gearheads will have fun watching the Minis cavort through and under L.A., and there are some funny moments, but I'm guessing that the stronger play is to track down the original.
One effect of BMW's extremely successful reintroduction of the Mini Cooper is a remake of the the 1969 caper flick of the same name. In the original, Michael Caine and Noel Coward were featured, here we get Mark Wahlberg, Charlize Theron and friends trying to settle a very personal score with Edward Norton, who double-crossed them in Italy. They've traced him to Los Angeles, where most of the action takes place.
This is a summer movie that suffers in comparison to this summer's action flicks like Matrix: Reloaded and X-Men, or even the more comparable Ocean's Eleven; it lacks the intensity and ambition of the first two, and the stylishness of the latter film. Almost everything that happens early on is an obvious set-up for use later on, the dialogue isn't sufficiently authentic for B-List actors like Wahlberg to sell, and faithful reader Peggy Folz felt that even Norton's performance was flat. The action scenes, which one would think were the point, are nothing to write home about. Fortunately, the supporting cast of Seth Green, Mos Def and Jason "The Transporter" Stathan (apparently already typecast as a wheelman) fare better, providing the comic relief and all the charm.
The hormonally flooded teenage girls in the front row liked it, gearheads will have fun watching the Minis cavort through and under L.A., and there are some funny moments, but I'm guessing that the stronger play is to track down the original.
Thursday, May 29, 2003
Winged Migration (IMDB) (Netflix)
A documentary about birds and, well, their migrations. The filmmakers cover all the continents and an overwhelming variety of birds, from Rockhopper Penguins to Arctic Terns, which annually fly 12,600 miles from the Arctic to the Antarctic, and back (stupid terns). Without special effects or computer-generated imagery, we're along for the ride, so close that we can hear the wings beating.
If the birds are the stars, the photography and the flying technology used to get the cameras right inside those ragged V-formations should also be on the marquee. The army of photographers used ultralight planes and other non-instrusive craft to fly among the birds, and it's extremely dramatic footage that stands on its own (there's a scene of herd of crabs closing in on injured bird that's truly gripping). Unfortunately, they couldn't resist the urge to overlay some Jacques Cousteau-esque philosphical narration, but it's sparsely used. The music is also sporadic, and of uneven quality, and there are a few politically oriented scenes that seem out of place (the play-it-straight footage will on its own melt the heart of the most hardened clear-cutter). What was underdone, unfortunately, were the bird and place names, and the American Bald Eagle, which only makes a cameo appearance.
A far-above-average nature flick long on stunning visuals and short on explication.
A documentary about birds and, well, their migrations. The filmmakers cover all the continents and an overwhelming variety of birds, from Rockhopper Penguins to Arctic Terns, which annually fly 12,600 miles from the Arctic to the Antarctic, and back (stupid terns). Without special effects or computer-generated imagery, we're along for the ride, so close that we can hear the wings beating.
If the birds are the stars, the photography and the flying technology used to get the cameras right inside those ragged V-formations should also be on the marquee. The army of photographers used ultralight planes and other non-instrusive craft to fly among the birds, and it's extremely dramatic footage that stands on its own (there's a scene of herd of crabs closing in on injured bird that's truly gripping). Unfortunately, they couldn't resist the urge to overlay some Jacques Cousteau-esque philosphical narration, but it's sparsely used. The music is also sporadic, and of uneven quality, and there are a few politically oriented scenes that seem out of place (the play-it-straight footage will on its own melt the heart of the most hardened clear-cutter). What was underdone, unfortunately, were the bird and place names, and the American Bald Eagle, which only makes a cameo appearance.
A far-above-average nature flick long on stunning visuals and short on explication.
Monday, May 26, 2003
Bruce Almighty (IMDB) (Netflix)
Take the Lord's name in vain too many times, and you could be in Jim Carrey's shoes, possessing "maybe you can do better, wiseguy" powers from The Man Upstairs (played by Morgan Freeman). The only problem is that Carrey's character, an ambitious, self-centered (of course) TV reporter, lacks the wisdom to use them properly (natch), and you can guess most of the rest. Basically, Carrey's bolting on a new body to his trademark comedy chassis after a dalliance with maturity in The Majestic. In a fairly thankless role, Jennifer Aniston plays the love interest he doesn't deserve.
This is "It's a Wonderful Life" with a different divine intervention and a pull-my-finger sensibility, typified by a dog peeing on furniture and a monkey crawling out of an extremely undesirable place. The eight-year-olds loved it. There's also some confused theology and theme development, but that's not why his fans see these films, so no point in deconstructing those dimensions.
If you are one of those fans, nothing can be said to talk you out of going, nor can any argument be made to non-fans to see it.
Take the Lord's name in vain too many times, and you could be in Jim Carrey's shoes, possessing "maybe you can do better, wiseguy" powers from The Man Upstairs (played by Morgan Freeman). The only problem is that Carrey's character, an ambitious, self-centered (of course) TV reporter, lacks the wisdom to use them properly (natch), and you can guess most of the rest. Basically, Carrey's bolting on a new body to his trademark comedy chassis after a dalliance with maturity in The Majestic. In a fairly thankless role, Jennifer Aniston plays the love interest he doesn't deserve.
This is "It's a Wonderful Life" with a different divine intervention and a pull-my-finger sensibility, typified by a dog peeing on furniture and a monkey crawling out of an extremely undesirable place. The eight-year-olds loved it. There's also some confused theology and theme development, but that's not why his fans see these films, so no point in deconstructing those dimensions.
If you are one of those fans, nothing can be said to talk you out of going, nor can any argument be made to non-fans to see it.
Friday, May 23, 2003
Spellbound (IMDB) (Netflix)
No, not the 1945 Hitchcock thriller with Ingrid Bergman and Gregory Peck, but a documentary about the national spelling bee. The film tracks eight kids and their families from their regional competitions to the nationals, complete with ESPN coverage.
This is a unique kind of "reality" TV; it's honest, for starters, and the tension is organic, not manufactured. We also see the best in people, particularly the kids. They're a fascinating and diverse group, ranging from the to-the-manor-born overachiever to a daughter of non-English-speaking Mexican immigrants to Harry, perhaps the geekiest kid you'd ever want to meet. It's also a thumbnail for upward mobility and meritocracy (you either spell "logorrhea" right or you don't, and you don't get special dispensation for being an Indian kid from Texas who gets the word "yenta"). Former spelling bee competitor Sara Schneider had hoped for more discussion of the cultural significance of this quintessentially American tradition, but I enjoyed its "we're in, we're out, nobody gets hurt" economy of style. A great little role model flick for that unmotivated sixth-grader.
No, not the 1945 Hitchcock thriller with Ingrid Bergman and Gregory Peck, but a documentary about the national spelling bee. The film tracks eight kids and their families from their regional competitions to the nationals, complete with ESPN coverage.
This is a unique kind of "reality" TV; it's honest, for starters, and the tension is organic, not manufactured. We also see the best in people, particularly the kids. They're a fascinating and diverse group, ranging from the to-the-manor-born overachiever to a daughter of non-English-speaking Mexican immigrants to Harry, perhaps the geekiest kid you'd ever want to meet. It's also a thumbnail for upward mobility and meritocracy (you either spell "logorrhea" right or you don't, and you don't get special dispensation for being an Indian kid from Texas who gets the word "yenta"). Former spelling bee competitor Sara Schneider had hoped for more discussion of the cultural significance of this quintessentially American tradition, but I enjoyed its "we're in, we're out, nobody gets hurt" economy of style. A great little role model flick for that unmotivated sixth-grader.
Thursday, May 22, 2003
Identity (IMDB) (Netflix)
It's another one of those dark and stormy nights, complete with an eleventh-hour stay-of-execution plea and a Bates-ish motel hosting an assemblage of mostly disagreeable ne'er-do-wells. The latter start dying at an alarming rate, of course, and the dwindling group of survivors (John Cusack, Ray Liotta and Amanda Peet, among others) are freaking out while they try to figure out who the killer is—before they're all dead. Then it gets weird.
Keep reading, though, because this is a first-class implementation of a second-tier genre, or at least an ambitious attempt. There's an extra layer here that doesn't become apparent until very late in the story, and that twist will either provoke the reaction of "mmmm, clever" or "not fair!" It may not be quite enough to sell people who never see this kind of film, but should work nicely for aficionados and would be a good introduction for those up for a little cinematic slumming.
It's another one of those dark and stormy nights, complete with an eleventh-hour stay-of-execution plea and a Bates-ish motel hosting an assemblage of mostly disagreeable ne'er-do-wells. The latter start dying at an alarming rate, of course, and the dwindling group of survivors (John Cusack, Ray Liotta and Amanda Peet, among others) are freaking out while they try to figure out who the killer is—before they're all dead. Then it gets weird.
Keep reading, though, because this is a first-class implementation of a second-tier genre, or at least an ambitious attempt. There's an extra layer here that doesn't become apparent until very late in the story, and that twist will either provoke the reaction of "mmmm, clever" or "not fair!" It may not be quite enough to sell people who never see this kind of film, but should work nicely for aficionados and would be a good introduction for those up for a little cinematic slumming.
Friday, May 16, 2003
Down With Love (IMDB) (Netflix)
What Far From Heaven did with 1950s melodramas, Down With Love does to 1960s romantic comedies, by being faithful to the genre, but also sending it up, way up. Rene Zellweger's character has written a how-to manifesto for women to think about romance and sex just like men—that is, hold the former and go heavy on the latter. Ewen McGregor is a ladies' man and investigative journalist who first ignores her, then when the book becomes a world sensation, decides to expose her for what he suspects she really is—a poseur who really just wants a house and 3.2 children. Campy hilarity ensues.
As one who didn't think he liked campy hilarity, this movie was a pleasant surprise...then cause for concern; a possible indication of latent tendencies. Putting identity issues aside for the moment, the movie has an intelligent script that mines the Austin Powers comedy territory, Zellweger and McGregor commit all the way to their roles, and the pace is brisk. Brisk, but about 15 minutes too long, if that makes any sense. The umbrella joke plays out before the finish, diluting the payoff. Fans of Doris Day/Rock Hudson flicks will get the most out of this one.
What Far From Heaven did with 1950s melodramas, Down With Love does to 1960s romantic comedies, by being faithful to the genre, but also sending it up, way up. Rene Zellweger's character has written a how-to manifesto for women to think about romance and sex just like men—that is, hold the former and go heavy on the latter. Ewen McGregor is a ladies' man and investigative journalist who first ignores her, then when the book becomes a world sensation, decides to expose her for what he suspects she really is—a poseur who really just wants a house and 3.2 children. Campy hilarity ensues.
As one who didn't think he liked campy hilarity, this movie was a pleasant surprise...then cause for concern; a possible indication of latent tendencies. Putting identity issues aside for the moment, the movie has an intelligent script that mines the Austin Powers comedy territory, Zellweger and McGregor commit all the way to their roles, and the pace is brisk. Brisk, but about 15 minutes too long, if that makes any sense. The umbrella joke plays out before the finish, diluting the payoff. Fans of Doris Day/Rock Hudson flicks will get the most out of this one.
Thursday, May 15, 2003
The Matrix: Reloaded (IMDB) (Netflix)
"Hmmmm, upgrades" pretty much sums up this second segment of the Matrix trilogy. It tells a convoluted story that only Star Wars and Lord of The Rings devotees will fully appreciate, but the fate of humanity is at stake, naturally, and is being played out in two realms—the physical world and the ultimate virtual reality environment called The Matrix. The conceit is that we're all actually living our "lives" in this soul-less simulation, but there's a liberation movement of sorts that has unplugged and escaped to a Dante-esque locale called Zion (stay tuned for that Arab market re-write). Think "sci-fi meets fantasy meets Tron meets Enter the Dragon." Keanu Reeves ("Neo") is the reluctant messiah, Lawrence Fishburne ("Morpheus") the true believer, with Carrie-Anne Moss ("Trinity") as the black-leathered warrior with an oversized heart. And sunglasses, don't forget about the sunglasses.
As an imperfect analogy, if The Matrix were an SUV, the first installment was a Willys Jeep (revolutionary in its day) and the current one a Porsche Cayenne Turbo, but lugging a 40-foot trailer of expository baggage behind it. Actually, both had their Lincoln Navigator excesses (I have little patience for elaborate mythologies and Zen koans), but it seems particularly a bit much in Reloaded given how large a dose we got in the first movie, and some of the Zion council scenes seem stolen from recent Star Wars episodes (this isn't a compliment). One exception is Lambert Wilson's bravura take on cause and effect; it takes a Frenchman to pull off this level of pretentious philosophizing.
When it stops telling and starts showing, however, Reloaded rocks, with non-stop, almost overwhelming special effects (in this respect "more is more," including a cloned-many-times-over Agent Smith fight scene that made the audience a bit giddy), some touches of true human-to-human caring, and frequent tweaks of sly humor. The only competitor for an SFX Oscar for will be The Matrix: Revolutions, due in six months. Extra credit will be given to those who can explain why Princeton University African-American Studies professor Cornell West has a cameo appearance.
"Hmmmm, upgrades" pretty much sums up this second segment of the Matrix trilogy. It tells a convoluted story that only Star Wars and Lord of The Rings devotees will fully appreciate, but the fate of humanity is at stake, naturally, and is being played out in two realms—the physical world and the ultimate virtual reality environment called The Matrix. The conceit is that we're all actually living our "lives" in this soul-less simulation, but there's a liberation movement of sorts that has unplugged and escaped to a Dante-esque locale called Zion (stay tuned for that Arab market re-write). Think "sci-fi meets fantasy meets Tron meets Enter the Dragon." Keanu Reeves ("Neo") is the reluctant messiah, Lawrence Fishburne ("Morpheus") the true believer, with Carrie-Anne Moss ("Trinity") as the black-leathered warrior with an oversized heart. And sunglasses, don't forget about the sunglasses.
As an imperfect analogy, if The Matrix were an SUV, the first installment was a Willys Jeep (revolutionary in its day) and the current one a Porsche Cayenne Turbo, but lugging a 40-foot trailer of expository baggage behind it. Actually, both had their Lincoln Navigator excesses (I have little patience for elaborate mythologies and Zen koans), but it seems particularly a bit much in Reloaded given how large a dose we got in the first movie, and some of the Zion council scenes seem stolen from recent Star Wars episodes (this isn't a compliment). One exception is Lambert Wilson's bravura take on cause and effect; it takes a Frenchman to pull off this level of pretentious philosophizing.
When it stops telling and starts showing, however, Reloaded rocks, with non-stop, almost overwhelming special effects (in this respect "more is more," including a cloned-many-times-over Agent Smith fight scene that made the audience a bit giddy), some touches of true human-to-human caring, and frequent tweaks of sly humor. The only competitor for an SFX Oscar for will be The Matrix: Revolutions, due in six months. Extra credit will be given to those who can explain why Princeton University African-American Studies professor Cornell West has a cameo appearance.
Thursday, May 08, 2003
Confidence (IMDB) (Netflix)
As Wall Street, dot-com'ers, and grifters all know, there's a sucker born every minute, waiting to be fleeced. The marks just need a little bit of greed to set the hook, and you just have to anticipate the contingencies. The only fatal error is reeling in a minnow that's actually a shark. Ed Burns does just that, unwittingly bilking The King (played by Dustin Hoffman), a guy you don't want to cross. Now he's got to make up for his unwise target selection. The movie starts fast, with Burns lying in a pool of blood, then relies on flashbacks to show how he got that way.
Burns is one of those hyphenates—writer-director-actor—who should stick to just acting. His own creations tend to be self-absorbed and talky, and given his paint-scraper voice, all the more grating. He's balanced here by a colorful assemblage of character actors, plus Hoffmann, who's a leading man in a character actor's brain, and Andy Garcia, whose careers has leaned toward the soulful pretty boy. Both clearly relish the opportunity to play offbeat parts, but Garcia does a far better job as a sleazy Customs agent, and Hoffmann goes wildly over the top (apropo of almost nothing: when Method acting devotee Hoffmann was ostentatiously struggling to nail a scene in Marathon Man, an exasperated but well-meaning Sir Lawrence Olivier asked "have you tried acting?"). Confidence works through slick direction, photography and editing, and by gutting the story through like a burglar; eventually winning you over. Not as charming as 2001's Ocean's Eleven, nor as classy as this year's The Good Thief—just a service-able con game flick.
As Wall Street, dot-com'ers, and grifters all know, there's a sucker born every minute, waiting to be fleeced. The marks just need a little bit of greed to set the hook, and you just have to anticipate the contingencies. The only fatal error is reeling in a minnow that's actually a shark. Ed Burns does just that, unwittingly bilking The King (played by Dustin Hoffman), a guy you don't want to cross. Now he's got to make up for his unwise target selection. The movie starts fast, with Burns lying in a pool of blood, then relies on flashbacks to show how he got that way.
Burns is one of those hyphenates—writer-director-actor—who should stick to just acting. His own creations tend to be self-absorbed and talky, and given his paint-scraper voice, all the more grating. He's balanced here by a colorful assemblage of character actors, plus Hoffmann, who's a leading man in a character actor's brain, and Andy Garcia, whose careers has leaned toward the soulful pretty boy. Both clearly relish the opportunity to play offbeat parts, but Garcia does a far better job as a sleazy Customs agent, and Hoffmann goes wildly over the top (apropo of almost nothing: when Method acting devotee Hoffmann was ostentatiously struggling to nail a scene in Marathon Man, an exasperated but well-meaning Sir Lawrence Olivier asked "have you tried acting?"). Confidence works through slick direction, photography and editing, and by gutting the story through like a burglar; eventually winning you over. Not as charming as 2001's Ocean's Eleven, nor as classy as this year's The Good Thief—just a service-able con game flick.
Sunday, May 04, 2003
The Dancer Upstairs (IMDB) (Netflix)
In an un-named Latin American country, a series of terrorism incidents takes over the life of Javier Bardem, a detective and former disenchanted lawyer with no small amount of ambivalence toward the current government. He befriends his daughter's ballet teacher (Laura Morante) while searching for the mysterious "Ezequiel," hoping to beat the more thuggish Army to the collar (that Posse Comitatus Act is looking better all the time). It's the directorial debut of John Malkovich, a former Chicagoan, Steppenwolf Theater cast member and—according to his recent press tour—budding men's fashion designer.
Creative endeavors mirror their creators, of course, and even though it's based on a Nicholas Shakespeare novel and screenplay and he doesn't appear in the movie, this film is Malkovich—languid, quietly stubborn and oddly detached. Nothing is rushed and little is explained, requiring a patient (possibly sedated) audience but offering terrific photography and a chance to watch two of the most interesting faces in film, Bardem and Morante, carry much of the narrative freight. The overall mood is sensual without being particularly erotic, and for a character-driven political quasi-thriller, it's not all that suspenseful, leaving one satisfied but not quite sated.
In an un-named Latin American country, a series of terrorism incidents takes over the life of Javier Bardem, a detective and former disenchanted lawyer with no small amount of ambivalence toward the current government. He befriends his daughter's ballet teacher (Laura Morante) while searching for the mysterious "Ezequiel," hoping to beat the more thuggish Army to the collar (that Posse Comitatus Act is looking better all the time). It's the directorial debut of John Malkovich, a former Chicagoan, Steppenwolf Theater cast member and—according to his recent press tour—budding men's fashion designer.
Creative endeavors mirror their creators, of course, and even though it's based on a Nicholas Shakespeare novel and screenplay and he doesn't appear in the movie, this film is Malkovich—languid, quietly stubborn and oddly detached. Nothing is rushed and little is explained, requiring a patient (possibly sedated) audience but offering terrific photography and a chance to watch two of the most interesting faces in film, Bardem and Morante, carry much of the narrative freight. The overall mood is sensual without being particularly erotic, and for a character-driven political quasi-thriller, it's not all that suspenseful, leaving one satisfied but not quite sated.
Saturday, May 03, 2003
X2: X-Men United (IMDB) (Netflix)
Let the sequels begin. Including "prequels," there will be 25 of them this summer, a record, so settle back and wallow in the old-pair-of-sneakers derivative-ness. You really have no choice.
The beleaguered mutants now face a neo-conservative General Stryker (Brian Cox), who has adopted a pre-emptive strike doctrine and tactics of impressive cynicism and cunning. The survivors of round one are back, freshened by a teleporting, blue-skinned, spiritually troubled Alan Cumming.
As sequels go, this might not be Godfather II, but it's not the second Cannonball Run, either. Little time is wasted on character development (you should have been paying attention during the first installment), which means we can get right to the action, special effects and alienation/diversity issues, all of which have been racheted up in intensity and competence. While too-often this sequel turbo-charging seems desperate and draining, here it's an improvement—this is a comic book movie after all, balanced with moral ambition and a bittersweet ending that lingers on the brain.
Let the sequels begin. Including "prequels," there will be 25 of them this summer, a record, so settle back and wallow in the old-pair-of-sneakers derivative-ness. You really have no choice.
The beleaguered mutants now face a neo-conservative General Stryker (Brian Cox), who has adopted a pre-emptive strike doctrine and tactics of impressive cynicism and cunning. The survivors of round one are back, freshened by a teleporting, blue-skinned, spiritually troubled Alan Cumming.
As sequels go, this might not be Godfather II, but it's not the second Cannonball Run, either. Little time is wasted on character development (you should have been paying attention during the first installment), which means we can get right to the action, special effects and alienation/diversity issues, all of which have been racheted up in intensity and competence. While too-often this sequel turbo-charging seems desperate and draining, here it's an improvement—this is a comic book movie after all, balanced with moral ambition and a bittersweet ending that lingers on the brain.
Friday, April 18, 2003
A Mighty Wind (IMDB) (Netflix)
A fix for those of you impatiently awaiting the next PBS pledge drive. Mockumentarians Christopher Guest, Eugene Levy and pals (This Is Spinal Tap, Best in Show and Waiting for Guffman) have their satirical way with folk music, the device being a hastily arranged live reunion concert of washed-up groups from the 60s. Kindof a "we're gettin' the band back together," three times over.
Success in this genre-ette requires balancing exaggeration with verisimilitude, ridicule with affection, and objectivity with thematic punch. And while it doesn't break much ground in the process, "Wind" achieves these happy media quite gracefully, amid sweater vests, dickies, balding pates and over-compensatory facial hair. Levy is the standout as troubled sweet soul Mitch Cohen of Mitch & Micky fame, closely followed by Fred Willard as the shamelessly crass promoter, shamelessly reprising his shamelessly crass commentator moves from "Best in Show." Just what the psychiatrist might have ordered.
A fix for those of you impatiently awaiting the next PBS pledge drive. Mockumentarians Christopher Guest, Eugene Levy and pals (This Is Spinal Tap, Best in Show and Waiting for Guffman) have their satirical way with folk music, the device being a hastily arranged live reunion concert of washed-up groups from the 60s. Kindof a "we're gettin' the band back together," three times over.
Success in this genre-ette requires balancing exaggeration with verisimilitude, ridicule with affection, and objectivity with thematic punch. And while it doesn't break much ground in the process, "Wind" achieves these happy media quite gracefully, amid sweater vests, dickies, balding pates and over-compensatory facial hair. Levy is the standout as troubled sweet soul Mitch Cohen of Mitch & Micky fame, closely followed by Fred Willard as the shamelessly crass promoter, shamelessly reprising his shamelessly crass commentator moves from "Best in Show." Just what the psychiatrist might have ordered.
Friday, April 11, 2003
The Good Thief (IMDB) (Netflix)
Nick Nolte is the title character, Bob, a washed-up junkie with a gambling habit (no, this isn't Nolte's life story). After losing big at the track, he's seduced by the opportunity for a big score in Monte Carlo, and befriends an oh-so-precocious girl of loose morals (introducing the devastating Nutsa Kukhianidze). It's a complicated scam, with a multitude of feints and misdirection thrown at the cops, who seem to be more interested in preventing the heist than putting Nolte in jail because, you see, he may be a crook, but they've grown accustomed to his craggy face. Think "Ocean's Eleven: The Noir."
And a stylish and stylized one it is, acknowledging the genre without being formulaic, juiced with plenty of snappy throwaway dialogue. Kukhianidze's lines are wise too far beyond her years, but she's got a presence that almost pulls them off. Director Neil Jordan, best known for The Crying Game, has remade Bob Le Flambeur as a Hollywood feel-good piece disguised under a gritty, sensual shell. There's no small amount of deus ex machina in the plotting, but done with enough humor that you really don't mind, and the score bounces things along (the Leonard Cohen songs evoke a Nolte-with-voice-lessons feel). Fellow watcher Janet says "competent," I say "lotta fun."
Nick Nolte is the title character, Bob, a washed-up junkie with a gambling habit (no, this isn't Nolte's life story). After losing big at the track, he's seduced by the opportunity for a big score in Monte Carlo, and befriends an oh-so-precocious girl of loose morals (introducing the devastating Nutsa Kukhianidze). It's a complicated scam, with a multitude of feints and misdirection thrown at the cops, who seem to be more interested in preventing the heist than putting Nolte in jail because, you see, he may be a crook, but they've grown accustomed to his craggy face. Think "Ocean's Eleven: The Noir."
And a stylish and stylized one it is, acknowledging the genre without being formulaic, juiced with plenty of snappy throwaway dialogue. Kukhianidze's lines are wise too far beyond her years, but she's got a presence that almost pulls them off. Director Neil Jordan, best known for The Crying Game, has remade Bob Le Flambeur as a Hollywood feel-good piece disguised under a gritty, sensual shell. There's no small amount of deus ex machina in the plotting, but done with enough humor that you really don't mind, and the score bounces things along (the Leonard Cohen songs evoke a Nolte-with-voice-lessons feel). Fellow watcher Janet says "competent," I say "lotta fun."
Tuesday, April 08, 2003
Phone Booth (IMDB) (Netflix)
Nothing good ever came from answering a public phone; it's a no-good-deed-goes-unpunished phenomenon. Colin Farrell does just that, however, and he's going to have a very bad day, provided by Kiefer Sutherland, the voice on the other end. A public relations flack of the lowest order, Farrell covets other women and manipulates clients, media types and employees with equal disdain. Sutherland is a wrathful avenger who also can play the game, and he's got Farrell in his sights—literally—as his next morality remediation project.
This flick is a delayed showcase for Farrell, 9/11 having made the idea of a Manhattan street being terrorized a little too painful. He proves here that he can act his way out of a phone booth (sorry), if only the length of the receiver cord (apparently constraints do indeed set you free). We only get to hear Sutherland, who uses those deep, voiceover-friendly tones to menace Farrell mercilessly toward humiliation and possible redemption. In addition to the taut, streamlined plot, there are decent-but-unmemorable supporting performances by Forest Whitaker as the unusually perceptive police captain, Rahda Mitchell as the wife and Katie Holmes as the covetee, and some bad writing for the "lets just shoot him" role. Given the narrow focus of the piece, the crisp 80-minute run time is both wise and appreciated, and perhaps the start of a well-needed trend.
Nothing good ever came from answering a public phone; it's a no-good-deed-goes-unpunished phenomenon. Colin Farrell does just that, however, and he's going to have a very bad day, provided by Kiefer Sutherland, the voice on the other end. A public relations flack of the lowest order, Farrell covets other women and manipulates clients, media types and employees with equal disdain. Sutherland is a wrathful avenger who also can play the game, and he's got Farrell in his sights—literally—as his next morality remediation project.
This flick is a delayed showcase for Farrell, 9/11 having made the idea of a Manhattan street being terrorized a little too painful. He proves here that he can act his way out of a phone booth (sorry), if only the length of the receiver cord (apparently constraints do indeed set you free). We only get to hear Sutherland, who uses those deep, voiceover-friendly tones to menace Farrell mercilessly toward humiliation and possible redemption. In addition to the taut, streamlined plot, there are decent-but-unmemorable supporting performances by Forest Whitaker as the unusually perceptive police captain, Rahda Mitchell as the wife and Katie Holmes as the covetee, and some bad writing for the "lets just shoot him" role. Given the narrow focus of the piece, the crisp 80-minute run time is both wise and appreciated, and perhaps the start of a well-needed trend.
Sunday, March 30, 2003
Laurel Canyon (IMDB) (Netflix)
Preachers' kids are the wild ones, so a bohemian record producer's son must be an uptight psychiatry student, and an uncomfortable L.A. houseguest. His fiance, on the other hand, finds this new setting most liberating, and from there the roux thickens. Frances (Fargo) McDormand is the wild mom, Christian Bale is the son with baggage, and Kate Beckinsale the tempted intended, with Allesandro Nivola as Charmer #1 and Natasha McElhone as Charmer #2. It's not exactly Temptation Island, but headed that way.
This situation could easily have become soap opera pulp, but writer/director Lisa Cholodenko excels at skirting the potholes, creating tension and releasing it at just the right moment, and getting great performances by the entirely competent cast. McDormand is the "it woman" of middle-aged actresses (her supporting performance stole the show in the wonderful and underseen Almost Famous). I particularly liked Bale's subtle choices, and Nivola's character can be read as "lovable rogue" (by the women in the audience) or "imminent threat" (by the men). McElhone apparently is the new Meryl Streep, unveiling a new accent for each role. While it's intentionally easy to see where the film is generally going, the journey is the entertainment, and the ending refreshingly ambiguous. A small film embedded with a lot of quality.
Preachers' kids are the wild ones, so a bohemian record producer's son must be an uptight psychiatry student, and an uncomfortable L.A. houseguest. His fiance, on the other hand, finds this new setting most liberating, and from there the roux thickens. Frances (Fargo) McDormand is the wild mom, Christian Bale is the son with baggage, and Kate Beckinsale the tempted intended, with Allesandro Nivola as Charmer #1 and Natasha McElhone as Charmer #2. It's not exactly Temptation Island, but headed that way.
This situation could easily have become soap opera pulp, but writer/director Lisa Cholodenko excels at skirting the potholes, creating tension and releasing it at just the right moment, and getting great performances by the entirely competent cast. McDormand is the "it woman" of middle-aged actresses (her supporting performance stole the show in the wonderful and underseen Almost Famous). I particularly liked Bale's subtle choices, and Nivola's character can be read as "lovable rogue" (by the women in the audience) or "imminent threat" (by the men). McElhone apparently is the new Meryl Streep, unveiling a new accent for each role. While it's intentionally easy to see where the film is generally going, the journey is the entertainment, and the ending refreshingly ambiguous. A small film embedded with a lot of quality.
Saturday, March 29, 2003
Basic (IMDB) (Netflix)
A U.S. Army Ranger training mission run by a sadistic Sergeant (Samuel L. Jackson) goes seriously awry, with guys shooting each other and at least one soldier dead. When it's over, nobody's talking, least of all to Captain Julia Osborne (Connie Nielsen), so they bring in an unsavory DEA agent (John Travolta) to dope out the situation. Everybody's got their own version of the story when they finally do open up, and it's not that intellectualized subjective reality nonsense—people are just plain lying—and Nielsen's not happy about being subordinated to a cop under investigation for taking bribes.
Lots of story angles, and they're all played hard and fast, creating a fog of audience confusion that says "let go of trying to understand the plot, but hang on for the banter and romantic byplay." The technical advisor should be brought up on Dereliction of Verisimilitude charges for allowing berets to be worn by the characters during training ops and letting a woman be a Ranger (a line that has yet to be crossed). Shining through the many holes, however, are entertaining performances by Giovanni Ribisi as one of the dissemblers and by Nielsen, whose character rises pretty forcefully to the occasion. On balance, though, often frustrating and mostly forgettable escapism, which ain't all bad.
A U.S. Army Ranger training mission run by a sadistic Sergeant (Samuel L. Jackson) goes seriously awry, with guys shooting each other and at least one soldier dead. When it's over, nobody's talking, least of all to Captain Julia Osborne (Connie Nielsen), so they bring in an unsavory DEA agent (John Travolta) to dope out the situation. Everybody's got their own version of the story when they finally do open up, and it's not that intellectualized subjective reality nonsense—people are just plain lying—and Nielsen's not happy about being subordinated to a cop under investigation for taking bribes.
Lots of story angles, and they're all played hard and fast, creating a fog of audience confusion that says "let go of trying to understand the plot, but hang on for the banter and romantic byplay." The technical advisor should be brought up on Dereliction of Verisimilitude charges for allowing berets to be worn by the characters during training ops and letting a woman be a Ranger (a line that has yet to be crossed). Shining through the many holes, however, are entertaining performances by Giovanni Ribisi as one of the dissemblers and by Nielsen, whose character rises pretty forcefully to the occasion. On balance, though, often frustrating and mostly forgettable escapism, which ain't all bad.
Saturday, March 22, 2003
Nowhere in Africa (IMDB) (Netflix)
Kindof a "Little House on the Veldt," plus politics, both global and sexual. A Jewish couple and their young daughter quit pre-war Nazi Germany for Kenya to start a new life, where each adapts differently to the new surroundings and circumstances over the next dozen years. These personal changes create a myriad of stresses in the three relationships, particularly between husband and wife, less so with the kid, who naturally grows into the new world with aplomb and grace.
Maybe it's the angst-ridden times in which we live, but this film somehow dove under my skin in a hurry and tapped into a deeply buried vein of emotion, and is just now extracting itself. Aside from a few ill-advised camera moves, too-perfect natives and a tendency to overplay the more dramatic moments, there's a very human, endearing story of people in trying circumstances, and coping awkwardly with each other's maturation process. For good reason it's been nominated for Best Foreign Film Oscar.
Kindof a "Little House on the Veldt," plus politics, both global and sexual. A Jewish couple and their young daughter quit pre-war Nazi Germany for Kenya to start a new life, where each adapts differently to the new surroundings and circumstances over the next dozen years. These personal changes create a myriad of stresses in the three relationships, particularly between husband and wife, less so with the kid, who naturally grows into the new world with aplomb and grace.
Maybe it's the angst-ridden times in which we live, but this film somehow dove under my skin in a hurry and tapped into a deeply buried vein of emotion, and is just now extracting itself. Aside from a few ill-advised camera moves, too-perfect natives and a tendency to overplay the more dramatic moments, there's a very human, endearing story of people in trying circumstances, and coping awkwardly with each other's maturation process. For good reason it's been nominated for Best Foreign Film Oscar.
Sunday, March 09, 2003
City of God (IMDB) (Netflix)
A nearly apocalyptic blend of Mean Streets and Lord of the Flies that takes place in Rio de Janeiro slum named—with bitter irony—"The City of God." The lack of jobs and ensuing poverty creates a favela that is dominated by an evermore-powerful hoodlum subculture, and whose rise is narrated by "Rocket," one of its few seemingly redeemable denizens.
If you had trouble with the violence of Gangs of New York, this could push you over the edge. It's shot in a quasi-documentary style that strips away any veneer that could have distanced viewers from this societal trainwreck, and laid out in such a forceful way that, for those of who aren't repulsed, it becomes a searing-but-fascinating experience. Critics are stumped as to why this wasn't nominated for the Best Foreign Film Oscar, and you too will be mystified.
A nearly apocalyptic blend of Mean Streets and Lord of the Flies that takes place in Rio de Janeiro slum named—with bitter irony—"The City of God." The lack of jobs and ensuing poverty creates a favela that is dominated by an evermore-powerful hoodlum subculture, and whose rise is narrated by "Rocket," one of its few seemingly redeemable denizens.
If you had trouble with the violence of Gangs of New York, this could push you over the edge. It's shot in a quasi-documentary style that strips away any veneer that could have distanced viewers from this societal trainwreck, and laid out in such a forceful way that, for those of who aren't repulsed, it becomes a searing-but-fascinating experience. Critics are stumped as to why this wasn't nominated for the Best Foreign Film Oscar, and you too will be mystified.
Saturday, March 01, 2003
The Pianist (IMDB) (Netflix)
The true story of Wladyslaw Szpilman (played by Adrien Brody) and his epic struggle inside the World War II's Warsaw ghetto. It was genocide in slow motion, taking years to complete, and we experience it all through Szpilman's story, told by Roman Polanski, director of Rosemary's Baby and Chinatown. It's nominated for seven Oscars, including best picture, best actor for Brody and best director for Polanski (although you won't see him at the Academy Awards show, at least not without handcuffs, after fleeing a California statutory rape charge that has kept him out of the U.S. since 1977).
This is exactly the kind of story that the Academy voters love: historical, tragic, featuring the best and worst of the human spirit. There almost should be a special category, just to be fair to the other genres. It's beautifully shot in a way that doesn't call attention itself, and the performances are uniformly restrained, refreshingly free of the pathos you would expect given the situation. That choice of tone, however, means that there is little more than a nodding glance at Szpilman's inner conflict as he makes the choices that determine his fate, taking the film a notch down from perfection. For lovers of Schindler's List (surprisingly, not available on DVD)and Life is Beautiful.
The true story of Wladyslaw Szpilman (played by Adrien Brody) and his epic struggle inside the World War II's Warsaw ghetto. It was genocide in slow motion, taking years to complete, and we experience it all through Szpilman's story, told by Roman Polanski, director of Rosemary's Baby and Chinatown. It's nominated for seven Oscars, including best picture, best actor for Brody and best director for Polanski (although you won't see him at the Academy Awards show, at least not without handcuffs, after fleeing a California statutory rape charge that has kept him out of the U.S. since 1977).
This is exactly the kind of story that the Academy voters love: historical, tragic, featuring the best and worst of the human spirit. There almost should be a special category, just to be fair to the other genres. It's beautifully shot in a way that doesn't call attention itself, and the performances are uniformly restrained, refreshingly free of the pathos you would expect given the situation. That choice of tone, however, means that there is little more than a nodding glance at Szpilman's inner conflict as he makes the choices that determine his fate, taking the film a notch down from perfection. For lovers of Schindler's List (surprisingly, not available on DVD)and Life is Beautiful.
Sunday, February 23, 2003
About Schmidt (IMDB) (Netflix)
A rapid succession of life events (retirement, marriage of an only child and worse) cause Warren Schmidt (Jack Nicholson) to re-evaluate his life in this most solemn of comedies. Taking to the road in his RV, he comes to grips with loss, the looming horizon of mortality and in-laws---lots of in-laws, richly played by Kathy Bates, Dermot Mulroney and Howard Hesseman, plus Hope Davis as his daughter.
It's instructive that when Schmidt cries at the end, it's essentially an upbeat ending that Elisabeth Kubler-Ross would approve of. This movie walks a tonal tightrope that's realistic, touching and instructive, and Nicholson is on a streak of vulnerable performances that began with As Good As It Gets and The Pledge. Bates and Mulroney are here for comic relief (we can retire the waterbed jokes now, OK?), and Davis has a fairly brave role as the daughter who's trying to break free just when Dad needs her the most. One of the most sincere and effective films about Middle America in some time.
A rapid succession of life events (retirement, marriage of an only child and worse) cause Warren Schmidt (Jack Nicholson) to re-evaluate his life in this most solemn of comedies. Taking to the road in his RV, he comes to grips with loss, the looming horizon of mortality and in-laws---lots of in-laws, richly played by Kathy Bates, Dermot Mulroney and Howard Hesseman, plus Hope Davis as his daughter.
It's instructive that when Schmidt cries at the end, it's essentially an upbeat ending that Elisabeth Kubler-Ross would approve of. This movie walks a tonal tightrope that's realistic, touching and instructive, and Nicholson is on a streak of vulnerable performances that began with As Good As It Gets and The Pledge. Bates and Mulroney are here for comic relief (we can retire the waterbed jokes now, OK?), and Davis has a fairly brave role as the daughter who's trying to break free just when Dad needs her the most. One of the most sincere and effective films about Middle America in some time.
Friday, February 21, 2003
Intacto ("Intact") (IMDB) (Netflix)
Another Spanish flight of fantasy, featuring serious consequences. Max Von Sydow is a Holocaust survivor with incredible luck, and if that weren't annoying enough, can steal your own mojo from you. He's got some challengers for his top spot, though; they live among us and use up our precious karmic fluids for their own gain, knocking off the competition for the opportunity to "play" for the ultimate stakes with Max. It's as intriguing a premise as you've seen in a while, and almost as confusing, but hang in there, you might be rewarded.
For someone whose understanding of the vicissitudes of fate barely reaches "unlucky in love, lucky in parking," this was a challenge. You're continuously left to piece things together as you follow the story of people who survive plane crashes and attempt to run blindfolded across busy highways, and somehow use photographs of others to build up their ability to win at roulette, both the casino version and an insanely turbo-charged Russian variant. It's all very conceptual, but somehow I was drawn into this world, trying to puzzle through the rules of this world, and hooked by Von Sydow's gravitas and solemnity (his hit-man character in Three Days of the Condor has haunted me for almost thirty years). None of this is to suggest that the film's meaning is now clear, however, or that the payoff is overwhelmingly rewarding. For those who appreciate originality, have a tolerance for ambiguity and enjoy the process of solving the puzzle more than the result.
Another Spanish flight of fantasy, featuring serious consequences. Max Von Sydow is a Holocaust survivor with incredible luck, and if that weren't annoying enough, can steal your own mojo from you. He's got some challengers for his top spot, though; they live among us and use up our precious karmic fluids for their own gain, knocking off the competition for the opportunity to "play" for the ultimate stakes with Max. It's as intriguing a premise as you've seen in a while, and almost as confusing, but hang in there, you might be rewarded.
For someone whose understanding of the vicissitudes of fate barely reaches "unlucky in love, lucky in parking," this was a challenge. You're continuously left to piece things together as you follow the story of people who survive plane crashes and attempt to run blindfolded across busy highways, and somehow use photographs of others to build up their ability to win at roulette, both the casino version and an insanely turbo-charged Russian variant. It's all very conceptual, but somehow I was drawn into this world, trying to puzzle through the rules of this world, and hooked by Von Sydow's gravitas and solemnity (his hit-man character in Three Days of the Condor has haunted me for almost thirty years). None of this is to suggest that the film's meaning is now clear, however, or that the payoff is overwhelmingly rewarding. For those who appreciate originality, have a tolerance for ambiguity and enjoy the process of solving the puzzle more than the result.
Sunday, February 16, 2003
Daredevil (IMDB) (Netflix)
The latest comic book popcorn movie, but not the last (X-Men 2 opens in May, followed by Ang Lee's The Hulk, and the next Spiderman has just started filming). Daredevil (Ben Affleck) is one of the lesser-known superheroes, blinded at an early age by biotoxins that sharpen his remaining senses to such a pitch that they become both a blessing and a curse, and require a sensory deprivation chamber for him to get any sleep. It's hell on relationships. He also has the classic genre baggage of seeing one of his parents die before his eyes (so to speak), and a desire for "justice" that approaches obsession. There's also a love interest in Alias's Jennifer Garner, who has the martial arts bug in a big way, the evil Kingpin (played by Michael Clark Duncan, the deep-voiced XXXXL black dude from The Green Mile) and an eponymously tatooed assassin, Bullseye, performed by Russell Crowe manqué Colin Farrell.
You're seeing so many of these films today thanks mostly to risk-averse studios, but computer-generated imagery has gotten so sophisticated that just about anything a superhero could do on paper can now be believably rendered on the screen, and Daredevil uses all this technology to wonderful effect. The way the filmmakers depict Daredevil's "second sight" ability is the highlight of the film, which is much darker than its peers, featuring large doses of noncartoonish violence. Garner has one of the most grrrl-like roles since Linda Hamilton's Sarah Connor in Terminator 2, but the movie doesn't transcend the genre so much as burrow deep inside it, and the amount of Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon-style swooping is excessive for a movie that reaches so hard for realism. Certainly not a failure, nor a standout. My money's on The Hulk.
The latest comic book popcorn movie, but not the last (X-Men 2 opens in May, followed by Ang Lee's The Hulk, and the next Spiderman has just started filming). Daredevil (Ben Affleck) is one of the lesser-known superheroes, blinded at an early age by biotoxins that sharpen his remaining senses to such a pitch that they become both a blessing and a curse, and require a sensory deprivation chamber for him to get any sleep. It's hell on relationships. He also has the classic genre baggage of seeing one of his parents die before his eyes (so to speak), and a desire for "justice" that approaches obsession. There's also a love interest in Alias's Jennifer Garner, who has the martial arts bug in a big way, the evil Kingpin (played by Michael Clark Duncan, the deep-voiced XXXXL black dude from The Green Mile) and an eponymously tatooed assassin, Bullseye, performed by Russell Crowe manqué Colin Farrell.
You're seeing so many of these films today thanks mostly to risk-averse studios, but computer-generated imagery has gotten so sophisticated that just about anything a superhero could do on paper can now be believably rendered on the screen, and Daredevil uses all this technology to wonderful effect. The way the filmmakers depict Daredevil's "second sight" ability is the highlight of the film, which is much darker than its peers, featuring large doses of noncartoonish violence. Garner has one of the most grrrl-like roles since Linda Hamilton's Sarah Connor in Terminator 2, but the movie doesn't transcend the genre so much as burrow deep inside it, and the amount of Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon-style swooping is excessive for a movie that reaches so hard for realism. Certainly not a failure, nor a standout. My money's on The Hulk.
Saturday, February 15, 2003
Lost in La Mancha (IMDB) (Netflix)
Cervantes's "Don Quixote" defeated legendary filmmaker Orson Welles, and you certainly haven't seen Terry Gilliam's attempt, "The Man Who Killed Don Quixote." This documentary, which starts out as a typical little "making of" film, explains what happened to the latter project, laying out a director's slow-motion nightmare in the same way that Hearts of Darkness revealed Francis Ford Coppola's near-Waterloo, Apocalypse Now. One of my few brushes with greatness involve trying (I suspect unsuccessfully) to take a leak while standing next to Gilliam, so I feel a bond of sorts with the animator for Monty Python and director of minor classics like Brazil, Time Bandits and the Fisher King. He also was responsible for the awful Fear and Loathing In Las Vegas (only one of two times I've walked out of theater) and the financially Cimino-esque Adventures of Baron Munchausen. Gilliam has a slightly overstated rep for biting off more than he can chew, which no doubt drew the documentarians. Nothing like a disaster to spice up reality.
"Lost" sits closer to the impressive Hearts of Darkness than HBO's drawn-out Project Greenlight; we're really inside the production, and in the head of Gilliam, who encouraged the filmmakers to keep shooting as things fell apart. There's little of the back-biting that marred Greenlight, but because "Lost" hasn't been released, there isn't that instructive opportunity to compare the finished film to the star-crossed production that preceded it (you see enough to appreciate that the story was right up Gilliam's stylistic alley, however, and to wish that it had been finished). On balance, it's an entertaining lesson on what a crapshoot movie-making is, and counter-intuitively, it somewhat rehabilitates Gilliam's reputation. His heartbreaking loss has resulted in a minor delight of a documentary.
Cervantes's "Don Quixote" defeated legendary filmmaker Orson Welles, and you certainly haven't seen Terry Gilliam's attempt, "The Man Who Killed Don Quixote." This documentary, which starts out as a typical little "making of" film, explains what happened to the latter project, laying out a director's slow-motion nightmare in the same way that Hearts of Darkness revealed Francis Ford Coppola's near-Waterloo, Apocalypse Now. One of my few brushes with greatness involve trying (I suspect unsuccessfully) to take a leak while standing next to Gilliam, so I feel a bond of sorts with the animator for Monty Python and director of minor classics like Brazil, Time Bandits and the Fisher King. He also was responsible for the awful Fear and Loathing In Las Vegas (only one of two times I've walked out of theater) and the financially Cimino-esque Adventures of Baron Munchausen. Gilliam has a slightly overstated rep for biting off more than he can chew, which no doubt drew the documentarians. Nothing like a disaster to spice up reality.
"Lost" sits closer to the impressive Hearts of Darkness than HBO's drawn-out Project Greenlight; we're really inside the production, and in the head of Gilliam, who encouraged the filmmakers to keep shooting as things fell apart. There's little of the back-biting that marred Greenlight, but because "Lost" hasn't been released, there isn't that instructive opportunity to compare the finished film to the star-crossed production that preceded it (you see enough to appreciate that the story was right up Gilliam's stylistic alley, however, and to wish that it had been finished). On balance, it's an entertaining lesson on what a crapshoot movie-making is, and counter-intuitively, it somewhat rehabilitates Gilliam's reputation. His heartbreaking loss has resulted in a minor delight of a documentary.
Monday, February 10, 2003
The Quiet American (IMDB) (Netflix)
The world might really appreciate a quiet American just about now, but not necessarily Alden Pyle's (Brendan Fraser) variety, a member of the U.S. legation to Vietnam in 1952. He befriends gone-native journalist Thomas Fowler (Michael Caine), who has a Saigon mistress while the missus stays back in London, but it quickly gets awkward when Pyle declares his smitten-ness with Phuong (Do Thi Hai Yen). Pyle has other intentions as well, which ultimately challenge Fowler's role as an impartial journalist.
Based on the Graham Greene novel and filmed in Vietnam, this is a layered, textured story that taps the themes of loyalty and betrayal, objectivity and involvement, self-determination and external manipulation. Caine believes he's done his best work here, and it's difficult to disagree, and Fraser finally establishes his acting bona fides by blending the multiple facets of his complex character into an archetype of American dangerous idealism. The Year of Living Dangerously may have pushed the same buttons with more impact, but The Quiet American's restrained quality serves it and the audience well.
The world might really appreciate a quiet American just about now, but not necessarily Alden Pyle's (Brendan Fraser) variety, a member of the U.S. legation to Vietnam in 1952. He befriends gone-native journalist Thomas Fowler (Michael Caine), who has a Saigon mistress while the missus stays back in London, but it quickly gets awkward when Pyle declares his smitten-ness with Phuong (Do Thi Hai Yen). Pyle has other intentions as well, which ultimately challenge Fowler's role as an impartial journalist.
Based on the Graham Greene novel and filmed in Vietnam, this is a layered, textured story that taps the themes of loyalty and betrayal, objectivity and involvement, self-determination and external manipulation. Caine believes he's done his best work here, and it's difficult to disagree, and Fraser finally establishes his acting bona fides by blending the multiple facets of his complex character into an archetype of American dangerous idealism. The Year of Living Dangerously may have pushed the same buttons with more impact, but The Quiet American's restrained quality serves it and the audience well.
Sunday, February 09, 2003
The Recruit (IMDB) (Netflix)
Welcome to yet another movie version of the CIA, where "nothing is as it seems," as recruiter, instructor and spymaster Al Pacino never tires of telling newbie Colin Farrell. Pay attention, you'll be seeing many more of these flicks in the coming years. Farrell is a recent MIT grad; a computer geek, tops in his class and able to maintain a three-day stubble for weeks on end, but he's obsessed with finding out what really happened to his father, who died under mysterious, maybe clandestine, circumstances. Pacino exploits that baggage, and blurs the line between training and real world so much that Farrell doesn't know which way is up, or who's good or bad.
It's a competent thriller that keeps the audience guessing, and the characters are engaging enough (Bridget Moynahan is a wonderful distraction) to want to see what happens to them, but it's formulaic in the extreme, with blatant foreshadowing that results in underwhelming payoffs, and a couple critical plot points that fold under a moment's reflection. Passable entertainment for those who choose to be in an uncritical frame of mind.
Welcome to yet another movie version of the CIA, where "nothing is as it seems," as recruiter, instructor and spymaster Al Pacino never tires of telling newbie Colin Farrell. Pay attention, you'll be seeing many more of these flicks in the coming years. Farrell is a recent MIT grad; a computer geek, tops in his class and able to maintain a three-day stubble for weeks on end, but he's obsessed with finding out what really happened to his father, who died under mysterious, maybe clandestine, circumstances. Pacino exploits that baggage, and blurs the line between training and real world so much that Farrell doesn't know which way is up, or who's good or bad.
It's a competent thriller that keeps the audience guessing, and the characters are engaging enough (Bridget Moynahan is a wonderful distraction) to want to see what happens to them, but it's formulaic in the extreme, with blatant foreshadowing that results in underwhelming payoffs, and a couple critical plot points that fold under a moment's reflection. Passable entertainment for those who choose to be in an uncritical frame of mind.
Saturday, February 08, 2003
Morvern Callar (IMDB) (Netflix)
Your boyfriend has just a) finished his first novel and b) killed himself in your apartment. What do you do? My guess is that you wouldn't make any of Morven Callar's (Samantha Morton) choices, which are mostly inexplicable and off-putting.
Small, non-traditional films are often a crapshoot--there are the little gems that make you want to run out of the theater at the end to tell everyone that they just have to see it, and there are the ones that, well before the end, just make you want to run out. "Callar" is the latter kind, minimally plotted and featuring enigmatically motivated characters, a let's-just-roll-the-cameras-and-see-what-happens pacing, and a so-what point. It's also a bad sign when the character you most root for has died before the film starts.
After delivering the best performance in Minority Report as one of the "pre-cogs," Morton does what little she can with the opaque material, but this adaptation from Alan Warner's novel likely suffers from the screenwriters being too faithful to a book consisting of extensive internal dialogue and exposition that, as the movie professionals say, "won't shoot." At least, not without wholesale re-conceptualization for the screen (fellow traveler Erica Lauf lauded The English Patient for working both as a novel and as movie, but only by being two very different treatments of the same story). I stopped trying to care about Morton's character after ten minutes, and felt sorry for Scotland, which is the geographical and cultural whipping boy of the film, again for no apparent reason.
Your boyfriend has just a) finished his first novel and b) killed himself in your apartment. What do you do? My guess is that you wouldn't make any of Morven Callar's (Samantha Morton) choices, which are mostly inexplicable and off-putting.
Small, non-traditional films are often a crapshoot--there are the little gems that make you want to run out of the theater at the end to tell everyone that they just have to see it, and there are the ones that, well before the end, just make you want to run out. "Callar" is the latter kind, minimally plotted and featuring enigmatically motivated characters, a let's-just-roll-the-cameras-and-see-what-happens pacing, and a so-what point. It's also a bad sign when the character you most root for has died before the film starts.
After delivering the best performance in Minority Report as one of the "pre-cogs," Morton does what little she can with the opaque material, but this adaptation from Alan Warner's novel likely suffers from the screenwriters being too faithful to a book consisting of extensive internal dialogue and exposition that, as the movie professionals say, "won't shoot." At least, not without wholesale re-conceptualization for the screen (fellow traveler Erica Lauf lauded The English Patient for working both as a novel and as movie, but only by being two very different treatments of the same story). I stopped trying to care about Morton's character after ten minutes, and felt sorry for Scotland, which is the geographical and cultural whipping boy of the film, again for no apparent reason.
Sunday, February 02, 2003
Confessions of a Dangerous Mind (IMDB) (Netflix)
George Clooney's first directorial gig, based on the real-and-almost-certainly-imagined life of Chuck Barris, a songwriter (Palisades Park), game show producer (Dating Game, Newlywed Game and the Gong Show) and contract killer for the CIA. Or so he said in his autobiography, claiming an impressive/absurd 31 successful assignments. Making this dubious story shootable is a job for the equally dangerous screenwriting mind of Charlie Kaufman, whose Adaptation is still in theaters, and follows up the inventive Being John Malvovich.
When most actors try their hand at directing for the first time, they're pretty conservative, thinking "let's just get it in the can on time so I can do this again later when my acting fee drops." Clooney, who doesn't take a lot of risks with his own performances, goes the other way, letting his crew make some aggressive stylistic choices, and allowing the cast, well led by Sam Rockwell, to be outrageous enough to sell the material--but believable throughout its broad tonal range. Drew Barrymore is sweet as Barris's victimized girlfriend without being a doormat, and Julia Roberts makes a respectable femme fatale. In the moment of watching, the film works better as a dark comedy than the reflections of man repulsed by his low-brow success, but in the ensuing hours, burrows into the psyche. Your reaction to Kaufman's other work should be an accurate predictor of whether you'll enjoy "Confessions."
George Clooney's first directorial gig, based on the real-and-almost-certainly-imagined life of Chuck Barris, a songwriter (Palisades Park), game show producer (Dating Game, Newlywed Game and the Gong Show) and contract killer for the CIA. Or so he said in his autobiography, claiming an impressive/absurd 31 successful assignments. Making this dubious story shootable is a job for the equally dangerous screenwriting mind of Charlie Kaufman, whose Adaptation is still in theaters, and follows up the inventive Being John Malvovich.
When most actors try their hand at directing for the first time, they're pretty conservative, thinking "let's just get it in the can on time so I can do this again later when my acting fee drops." Clooney, who doesn't take a lot of risks with his own performances, goes the other way, letting his crew make some aggressive stylistic choices, and allowing the cast, well led by Sam Rockwell, to be outrageous enough to sell the material--but believable throughout its broad tonal range. Drew Barrymore is sweet as Barris's victimized girlfriend without being a doormat, and Julia Roberts makes a respectable femme fatale. In the moment of watching, the film works better as a dark comedy than the reflections of man repulsed by his low-brow success, but in the ensuing hours, burrows into the psyche. Your reaction to Kaufman's other work should be an accurate predictor of whether you'll enjoy "Confessions."
Sunday, January 12, 2003
25th Hour (IMDB) (Netflix)
Tomorrow, drug dealer Monty Brogan (Edward Norton) goes up the river for seven years, but today he's saying goodbye to his friends, one of whom probably ratted him out--perhaps his girlfriend (Rosario Dawson). He's also more than a little doubtful of his longevity as an inmate. This is the first post-9/11 New York film, directed by Spike Lee, from David Benioff's adaptation of his novel. Who better to do it than Spike?
I haven't seen all of his films, but this is the best of what I have seen--less self-conscious and less confrontational, and the better for it. There aren't that many twists in the plot--this is pretty much about a guy who's going to prison in the morning and doing what most people would do in that situation--spend time with intimates, find someone to take care of his dog, have a meal with his Dad. So hold the action, go heavy on the subtext and characterization, watch out for the unmarked flashbacks, and add a couple of Spike Lee Joint side orders, which are wonderful monologues/montages by Norton and Brian Cox (as the father). These two sequences (the second in particular) lifted what would have been a very competent-but-unremarkable genre piece into something more mature, more profound, more...poignant, taking on a New Yorker's love/hate for the city, and even more affecting, the road that could easily have been taken. As the audience member behind me noted, it's "heavy," but not exactly a downer.
Tomorrow, drug dealer Monty Brogan (Edward Norton) goes up the river for seven years, but today he's saying goodbye to his friends, one of whom probably ratted him out--perhaps his girlfriend (Rosario Dawson). He's also more than a little doubtful of his longevity as an inmate. This is the first post-9/11 New York film, directed by Spike Lee, from David Benioff's adaptation of his novel. Who better to do it than Spike?
I haven't seen all of his films, but this is the best of what I have seen--less self-conscious and less confrontational, and the better for it. There aren't that many twists in the plot--this is pretty much about a guy who's going to prison in the morning and doing what most people would do in that situation--spend time with intimates, find someone to take care of his dog, have a meal with his Dad. So hold the action, go heavy on the subtext and characterization, watch out for the unmarked flashbacks, and add a couple of Spike Lee Joint side orders, which are wonderful monologues/montages by Norton and Brian Cox (as the father). These two sequences (the second in particular) lifted what would have been a very competent-but-unremarkable genre piece into something more mature, more profound, more...poignant, taking on a New Yorker's love/hate for the city, and even more affecting, the road that could easily have been taken. As the audience member behind me noted, it's "heavy," but not exactly a downer.
Saturday, January 11, 2003
Talk to Her (IMDB) (Netflix)
Real men don't let a little thing like a coma come between them and their loved ones, at least not in the imagination of Pedro Almodóvar (All About My Mother, Tie Me Up! Tie Me Down!). Benigno and Marco each have someone in the vegetative way, but approach their circumstances differently, one seeing it as problem, the other, an opportunity (and what might that be...). This leads to, as the IBM manuals used to say, "unpredictable results."
Almodóvar's typical looseness with reality is more under control here, mostly contained in some plays- and a movie-within-a-movie pieces (the movie bit is also a good litmus test to see if your date has any prudish tendencies, but is mainly good clean--we hope--fun). Javier Cámara, as Benigno, does a really subtle job with a role that could come off the rails any time. And while Talk to Her works on the whole, there are a few too-convenient moments, and at least one missed opportunity (the second bullfight) that would have built in some tension and generated more affection for two of the characters. It's also too languid by half, making this relatively short 112-minute film play like 150. A Golden Globe nominee for best foreign film, however, so somebody likes this a lot, but for me, more work has been done with less concept in other films.
Real men don't let a little thing like a coma come between them and their loved ones, at least not in the imagination of Pedro Almodóvar (All About My Mother, Tie Me Up! Tie Me Down!). Benigno and Marco each have someone in the vegetative way, but approach their circumstances differently, one seeing it as problem, the other, an opportunity (and what might that be...). This leads to, as the IBM manuals used to say, "unpredictable results."
Almodóvar's typical looseness with reality is more under control here, mostly contained in some plays- and a movie-within-a-movie pieces (the movie bit is also a good litmus test to see if your date has any prudish tendencies, but is mainly good clean--we hope--fun). Javier Cámara, as Benigno, does a really subtle job with a role that could come off the rails any time. And while Talk to Her works on the whole, there are a few too-convenient moments, and at least one missed opportunity (the second bullfight) that would have built in some tension and generated more affection for two of the characters. It's also too languid by half, making this relatively short 112-minute film play like 150. A Golden Globe nominee for best foreign film, however, so somebody likes this a lot, but for me, more work has been done with less concept in other films.
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