Category: Reviews

Subordinary.

Hello all…back from Toronto (Seemed like a great town…wish I’d had more time to look around) with nary a muscle ache or fever. Also caught The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen this evening. I didn’t find it as terrible as all the reviews made it out to be, but Lord knows it’s pretty bad. I suspect that even if the screenwriters had attempted something closer to Alan Moore’s work, Sean Connery would still kill the movie with his awful Sean Connery impression. And the story, as Ebert notes, is absolutely nonsensical. Peta Wilson, Richard Roxburgh, Jason Flemyng, and Stuart Townsend all acquit themselves well, I suppose, although the latter reminded me once again of why he would’ve made a lousy Aragorn. And as for Tom Sawyer…well, the less said the better. To be honest, I expected much more of Stephen Norrington after Blade. All in all, I’d say skip it.

Walk the Plank.

If you’re looking for a matinee with which to beat the heat, avast what you’re doing and check out Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl – It’s a solid two hours of mindless summer fun. It runs a bit longish, sure, but Johnny Depp and Geoffrey Rush keep it light as Captain Jack “Keef S. Thompson” Sparrow and the eeeevil Barbarossa respectively. (Of course, neither Orlando Bloom nor Keira Knightley are harsh on the eyes either, depending on your fancy.) And it’s always good to see Sam Lowry out and about in these trying times. All in all, easily as fun as Finding Nemo, if in the end a little more flawed.

Love, Sex, and Balance.

I should’ve posted this yesterday, but forgot. Rather than see the fireworks last Friday, I decided to stay in and have a Blockbuster night. And, since I don’t feel like giving these films the full treatment at the moment, I’ll just say in passing that, despite attempting an open mind, I hated Punch Drunk Love (with the exception of the beautiful color fades.) I found it self-consciously arty and pretentious in true P.T.A fashion (Oooh, harmonium = love), and Emily Watson was a complete cipher throughout. Adam Sandler made the best of a bad hand, but I’ll still take Happy Gilmore over this any day of the week. Equilibrium, starring Christian Bale, Sean Bean, Taye Diggs, and Emily Watson again, was cheesy C-grade sci-fi fun in a Dr. Who kinda way despite having the most implausible fight sequences since Gymkata. And Roger Dodger started out well enough, but I eventually became bored with Campbell Scott’s character. The opportunities for telling LaBute-like satire were rich, but instead we find out that all Roger needed was his lost innocence? What a waste of a good setup. Still, there’s some nice character work here, so I’d say Roger Dodger is a moderately enjoyable rental.

Its the End of the World as we Know it…

and I feel…well, disappointed, really. Both of these recent films, particularly the former, showed flashes of potential, but in the end they both bog down in been-there, done-that.

28 Days Later: Between Danny Boyle and Alex Garland, I had high hopes for this Romero revision at first. But, while I was entertained throughout, the movie ultimately fails to deliver on the dread of the first few scenes, when Jim (played by Cillian Murphy, an actor whom I suspect will play hell with my keeping up with Gill‘s reviews on Google) wanders around a hastily vacated London (“The End is Extremely F**king Nigh” was a nice touch.) Unfortunately, entirely too much of the plot from then on revolves around terrible decision-making by the uninfected — Why exactly does Jim enter the gas station? Why not take the long way out of London?, etc. etc. And the final act, involving Christopher Eccleston’s turn as Col. Kurtz, seemed like it was taken out from a different, much less interesting film. By the time the good guys and bad guys square off in the long, badly executed fight at the close of the film, I was strangely reminded of the equally haphazard and ponderous duel at the end of Order of the Phoenix. To my mind, this movie should have stuck with its original premise and dropped pretty much everything that happens outside Manchester. Too bad, because, like I said, it started off as quite a creepy film.

Terminator 3: Rise of the Machines: I went into T3 with extremely low expectations, and I’d say they were almost satisfied. Arnold is Arnold, Kristanna Loken does a surprisingly good job as the T-X, and the end of the film takes a few nice twists and turns that almost redeem the whole two hours. But, frankly, T3 doesn’t live up to either of its predecessors, and – while it’s not an embarrassment to the franchise – it does end up seeming rather unnecessary. Part of the problem is simply bad timing. The crane-firetruck chase near the beginning of the film has a more visceral crunch to it than anything in Reloaded, but still, I thought the whole sequence paled in comparison to the highway sequence of Matrix 2.0. Then, we have Screamin’ Claire Danes, who, when not shrieking at the top of her lungs, basically plays Betty Ross from The Hulk, right down to the military dad and the secret desert hideouts (Moreover, both Connelly and Danes seem to have recently sacrificed their youthful attractiveness upon the altar of Atkins. Eat something, y’all.) I enjoyed this film more than The Hulk, because I was expecting so much less from it. And, to be fair, I suppose T3 works as two hours of mindless summer mayhem. But – in the context of the other two Terminators – I can’t say I really recommend it.

Adaptation.

Caught a number of films in the theater and on DVD over the past week, so as per usual, here’s the skinny:

L’Auberge Espagnole: I went into this movie more blind than usual – The only review I had read was George‘s, and for some reason I thought the film was about a mid-life crisis. So I was quite happily surprised by this sweet comedy about assorted European Erasmus students enjoying a Barcelona summer. Like Y Tu Mama Tambien (which I thought was a little overrated but good nonetheless), this movie illustrates yet again just how tame and lame our domestic youth comedies have become. L’Auberge was funnier, sexier, and more intelligent than any of the assorted American Pies or their ilk, and, whatsmore, all of the characters acted and seemed like “real” people. This movie seems to understand that it’s possible to capture the joys of youth and friendship without resorting to a constant stream of lame, mostly unfunny gross-out jokes. Even when L’Auberge founders in cliche (Here’s to you, Mrs. Robinson) or somewhat hamhandedly offers us a life-lesson in the last ten minutes or so, its moralizing still didn’t come off as egregiously as in Old School or Anger Management, to take two recent examples of bad American comedy. In sum, L’Auberge Espagnole is a fluffy film but a fun one nonetheless, and special marks go to Kevin Bishop as the visiting brother/terminal wanker – He more than makes up for the Audrey Tautou factor.

The Hulk: Ok, we may suck at comedies, but there are some things that American film does well, and very few of them are evident in The Hulk. “I’m trying to make a delicacy out of American fast food,” said Ang Lee about this project, and I had high hopes he might make something special out of the green machine. Well, I usually like Ang Lee, and I like the Hulk comics (never cared all that much for the TV show), but sadly, the two together didn’t work at all. Hulk begins with a great credit sequence and then falters for the next hour and a half…in fact, the Hulk himself doesn’t show up until an hour or so into the movie – Instead, we’re forced to sit through long, bad monologues about memory repression and daddy issues that never really amount to all that much. Even when it seems the movie is starting to find its sea legs, when [Significant Spoilers to follow] Hulk escapes into the desert and Nick Nolte (chewing the scenery like Al Pacino gone rabid) surprisingly becomes the Absorbing Man, it turns out to be just an illusion. Instead, we get more improbable conversations about daddy, and the Absorbing Man – one of the Hulk’s classic villains – instead becomes Cthulu the Jellyfish God or something. All in all, Hulk turned out to be long and boring. It’s sad, really, ’cause this film could have been really good. The Hulk looks right, even if his jumping is a bit off (He should come down with the force of a minor earthquake each time, not bounce around like Q-Bert), and I liked the comic book wipes and fades employed throughout the picture. But, in the end, to quote Amadeus, the Hulk suffers from too many notes. They could’ve played up the Frankenstein angle or the Jekyll and Hyde angle, but they don’t have time to do both and layer on all the Freudian repression stuff. Make all the delicacies you want, but in the end Hulk should be big, green, angry, and destroying stuff (He also should be talking, but oh well.) Somewhere along the way, Ang Lee lost focus and became more concerned with making an arthouse “comic-book movie” than with making the Hulk. Particularly given how pitch-perfect X2 turned out, this is a considerable disappointment.

Human Nature: Charlie Kaufmann’s other movie (besides Being John Malkovich, Confessions of a Dangerous Mind, and Adaptation, the last of which seems at least tangentially related to the material of this film) was a holdover from my Blockbuster night earlier in the week. And while there are a number of funny scenes throughout the movie, they sadly don’t add up to being a very funny film. The performances are generally good, particularly Tim Robbins as a repressed, manners-obsessed scientist (who tells his tale from beyond the grave, which was a bit strange since I watched Jacob’s Ladder again only last weekend), Rhys Ifans as “Puff,” the ape man subject of Robbins’ experiments (One of the funnier scenes in the movie involves Ifans trying frantically to hump a slide show screen, despite being continuously shocked by Robbins), and Miranda Otto (a million miles away from Rohan) as Robbins’ coquettish, quasi-French assistant. Sadly, though, there’s a lot of downtime between the jokes, and I lost interest in the movie in the last half hour or so. I’m on the fence on this one, but in the end I guess I wouldn’t recommend it.

The Grey Zone: This film is obviously a 180 degree turn in tone and content from Human Nature, so I’m glad I ended up watching them on different nights. The Grey Zone is a very bleak tale of the 12th Sonderkommando, the group of Jewish prisoners assigned to tend the murdering gas and fires of Auschwitz in 1944. Hard to watch at times, it might even be more unflinching than The Pianist, since it just throws you immediately into the horror without the slow buildup of the Szpilmans. Most of the action of the movie, which began as and still feels like a play, evolves around the plans for a coming uprising, and how they’re thrown into disarray by an unusual event in the gas chamber. If you can stomach it – and can get over the anachronistic accents and Mamet-y dialogue, the Grey Zone is well worth viewing, not the least to experience the surprise of a film in which David Arquette gives a more nuanced and absorbing performance than Harvey Keitel, who reminded me of Kurt Fuller’s impression of Col. Klink in Auto Focus.

Life and How to Live It.

Since my cable connection has been spotty over the past day and a half, and as I needed a break from orals reading, I threw another catch-up movie marathon here at Casa Berkeley. Not sure what the underlying subtext of this quadruple billing is…biopics, perhaps (Schmidt, Kahlo, Crane, Wilson)? Or, rather, fanboy villains in the arthouse (Nicholson, Molina, DeFoe, Serkis)? At any rate, here’s what I thought, in the order I watched them:

About Schmidt: I dunno…I’m normally a big fan of Alexander Payne’s movies, and particularly Election, but think I saw this film on the wrong end of the hype machine. Schmidt was mildly enjoyable, but it also dragged in parts and spent too much of its time deriving humor from goofy Midwestern antics (most notably the couple in the Winnebago park and Dermot Mulroney as the son-in-law to be…pyramid schemes and Why Bad Things Happen to Good People? Come on.) While aiming to be a rumination on retirement, time wasted, and the myths surrounding a life lived well, I suppose, I thought the entire film basically revolved around stunt casting – watching Jack play the anti-Jack. Speaking of which, Nicholson was quite good as the befuddled, world-weary Schmidt, but without him playing against type, there doesn’t seem to be much here. Something of a disappointment.

Frida: Perhaps this biopic focuses too much on the Diego Rivera-Frida Kahlo romance, but I enjoyed it, and particularly the narrative lapses into Kahlo’s artistic world (for example, the Day of the Dead hospital sequence by the Brothers Quay). There’s some grotesque miscasting in here – Ashley Judd trips all over her Spanish accent, Geoffrey Rush is oddly hammy as Leon Trotsky, and Nelson Rockefeller is entirely too Nortonesque – but Salma Hayek and Alfred Molina are quite good as the emotional center of the film, and all in all this picture works. After traveling around in the winnebago with Warren Schmidt for two hours, it was nice to spend some time with people who embrace life along with their pain.

Auto Focus: Greg Kinnear is very good as Bob Crane in this Paul Schrader flick, but unfortunately Auto Focus, while very watchable, comes off as a by-the-numbers addiction movie. Between the Angelo Badalamenti score and all the retro-dressed beauties stalking Col. Hogan in various dens of iniquity, this pic seems set in Mulholland Drive Hollywood from the get-go, which ends up being one of the main problems. Other than a shrewish Rita Wilson on his back, it’s hard to understand from this picture what drives Crane into this sordid life. Perhaps it’s unfair to compare these movies to each other, but oh well – When Frida Kahlo has an affair with Josephine Baker or Diego Rivera sleeps with basically everybody in Frida, at least they look like they’re having a good time. The sex scenes in Auto Focus are all filmed like something out of a Bosch triptych – dark, muddled, and hellish. Ok, I know the film is about sex addiction, but still – better movies on addiction (such as The Basketball Diaries) at least give a sense of what the draw was in the first place. As such, Auto Focus, while easy to watch, ends up feeling cold and puritanical. Too bad, really, because the performances are all generally good.

24-Hour Party People: I get the sense this movie would be inscrutable to anyone who didn’t already know the contours of the story, and insufferable to anyone who doesn’t care about Joy Division and such, but I found 24-Hour Party People the most fun of the foursome. Shot in a cinema verite style with real concert footage thrown in [along with postmodern narrative asides by Tony Wilson (Steve Coogan)], 24HPP is an informative and irreverent trip into the history of the Manchester rave, and one that seems to capture the spirit of the post-punk era without wallowing in Studio 24-type nostalgia. If I had my druthers, I would have spent more time on the rise of New Order (or for that matter, the Smiths and Stone Roses) and much less on the Happy Mondays, but oh well. As I said, I’d think this film might be immensely confusing – or just plain boring – if you don’t already know who Ian Curtis, Bernard Sumner, Peter Hook, and the Buzzcocks are, but if you do, Party People is rollicking good fun, a movie that manages to take its subject seriously by not taking it seriously, if you know what I mean.

So that’s that, then. I still have Human Nature and The Grey Zone to watch, which should make for one bizarre double feature.

Matrix 2.0.

So after two viewings of The Matrix: Reloaded, I have to say I liked it quite a bit better than some of the early negativity had suggested (although I’m glad I lowered my expectations.) [BIG SPOILERS TO FOLLOW.] To be sure, the first forty minutes of the film, including everything that takes place in Zion, is almost unwatchable. We’re talking Attack of the Clones bad. What with the ponderous soap opera interludes (especially the Jada Pinkett Smith love triangle, the fresh-faced kid recruit, and Link’s worried homefront wife…please), the big, goofy Bacardi Silver commercial (“Your night just got a lot more interesting”), and the mere sight of Councillor Anthony “Straight to Video” Zerbe strolling around in Federation hand-me-downs (why didn’t they just let Cornel West handle that part?), I could understand why Joey Pants (Cypher) decided to pull a Benedict Arnold in the first film. If I had a choice (which, given half of the lecturing in this film, is an open question, I guess) between wearing my sunglasses at night and styling in the Matrix or being forced to join the Matthew McConaughey memorial drum circle every Friday evening at Zion central, I might just cut a deal with the Man too.

But, right about the time Neo gets a call from the Oracle and reenters the Matrix in Chinatown (right under the hard-to-miss Heineken sign), the film finally starts to find its rhythm. Sure, there’s still a lot of overwrought “check out the big brains on us” grandstanding by the Wachowskis [we get philosophy lessons along the way from both a sleazy French existentialist (the Merovingian) and a perfectionist Freud-like (God)father figure (the Architect)], but if you don’t like a little pop psychology with your kick-ass kung-fu, then why exactly are you in line to see a sequel to The Matrix? Alas, Neo and Trinity still don’t really work as an onscreen couple, but most of the action setpieces are breathtaking (particularly the highway chase and truck fight…in the midst of all the new characters showing up, it’s nice to see the Agents still getting their due.) And as expected, Hugo Weaving is just wicked good fun as Agents Smith…they steal every scene they’re in. Finally, though it took me a second viewing to catch everything that was going on, the final meeting with the Architect made for a nice end-of-film twist that’s more inventive than where I’d originally feared they were going with the storyline (i.e., the “real world” is also part of the Matrix, just like every Freddy Krueger/David Lynch movie you’ve ever seen.) So, despite the egregious first act, I have to say I came out of Reloaded with a smile on my face, and am looking forward to seeing what November’s Revolutions has to offer, starting with this special trailer from the Enter the Matrix game. Hopefully, the third film will see a lot less of As the Zion Turns and a little more of the lovely Monica Bellucci….Silly Neo, don’t you know an upgrade when you see one?

Could you use it in a sentence?

So last Thursday at the Film Forum, I caught Spellbound, the new documentary that follows eight young contestants through the National Spelling Bee. It was gripping in its own way (although some of the tension was dispelled by the fact that I’d improbably seen this particular spelling bee on ESPN during my DC days, and thus knew who ended up winning), but also very, very hard to watch at times. Most of these kids (particularly the girls from Texas and Pennsylvania) had their hearts in the right place, but some of them were at such a socially awkward point in their development that everything they do on screen ends up being cringeworthy. Then, of course, there’s all the blatant stage parenting going on, which runs the gamut from supportive to smothering, if not downright disturbing (For example, one poor kid has 5000 starving Indians weighing on his conscience – if he doesn’t win, they don’t eat.) Perhaps my biggest problem with the documentary is that, though it’s emphatically a crowdpleaser, it also clearly encourages us more often than not to laugh at these people rather than empathize with them. There was just something a bit off-putting about watching a theater of would-be New York sophisticates guffaw at the often clueless-seeming small-town parents and teachers that populate the film. Other than the first contestant’s father, who illegally immigrated to Texas from Mexico to find a better way of life, most of the adults are used solely as comic relief. It might have been more interesting in the end to pare down the number of contestants followed to five or six and then give us a more multi-faceted look at their daily lives. But, like I said, Spellbound is still strangely compelling at times (C-O-M-P…), and might be worth a look if you catch it on IFC one day.

To Me, My X-Men.

I’m not sure how it’ll play to people who didn’t grow up on the comic, but last night’s midnight showing of X2 was much better than I had anticipated. Offhand, I can think of three setpieces (Nightcrawler at the White House, the assault on the mansion, and Magneto’s escape) that were the closest thing to fanboy pr0n I’ve seen in ages (LOTR notwithstanding), and that’s not counting all the great little flourishes and knowing winks throughout. In fact, to a person, everyone returning from X-Men (which I was lukewarm about) seemed more comfortable this time around — even Halle Berry, although she’s still miscast. And both Alan Cumming (Nightcrawler) and Brian Cox (Striker, the bad guy) fit in nicely. Sure, the film drags a bit in the last twenty-five minutes or so (as they set up X3), but overall Singer & co. hit this one out of the park…a very auspicious way to kick off the summer of Hulk and the Matrices. (Of course, the crowd helped too – when in the first five minutes Wolvie is backpacking in Canada, and the guy at the end of the row said something like, “Why doesn’t he call in Sasquatch or Puck for back-up?,” I knew I was with my people.)