divaclv Reviews

King Kong (2005)

Return of the King

[10/10 · 17 December 2005]

There are several reasons why "King Kong" shouldn't work. It's a remake of an iconic film, one indelibly etched in the popular culture. The director just came off a franchise that had been so massively successful artistically and financially, nearly anything else would pale by comparison. The plot, with its giant animals, fearful natives, and damsels in distress, could easily feel dated. It clocks in at a posterior-numbing three hours. Yet "King Kong" works, against the odds and beyond expectations.

It is fitting that Peter Jackson has kept the Depression-era setting of the original film, as the story is ultimately set in motion by desperation and by hopeless dreams. Carl Denham (Jack Black) is a filmmaker who waxes poetic about bringing a sense of wonder to people (and making a lot of money on the way), but his latest project is about to be scrapped for stock footage. In a last-ditch effort to salvage his film, he quickly recruits out-of-work actress Ann Darrow (Naomi Watts) and playwright Jack Driscol (Adrien Brody) and hustles them aboard a tramp steamer bound for Skull Island. Denham hopes to shoot on-location in the last untamed wild on earth--realizing too late that this means dealing with things like violent natives, dinosaurs, and an enormous silverback gorilla that takes a shine to Ann.

If nothing else, Jackson has proved he can be trusted with this sort of high-risk venture. As in the "Lord of the Rings" trilogy, he creates a new vision of a well-loved story that, while it won't melt the hearts of purists, will at least appeal to everyone else. He does so by delivering a film that covers a broad dramatic spectrum, delivering epic action sequences and then surprising us with moments of tenderness and intimacy. How many directors, after all, would pause in Kong's rampage through the streets of New York to allow him to discover the joys of a frozen pond? It seems like an odd choice, yet Jackson makes it work, providing a gentle grace note that makes the final climactic downbeat resonate even more.

The special effects team works overtime on this film, creating ancient ruins, dinosaur stampedes, and an arsenal of creepy-crawlies that make Frodo's battle with Shelob look like "Charlotte's Web." And the human cast is quite good, with Watts standing out as the vulnerable, tender-hearted Ann. But the real star of "King Kong" is, of course, the title character. The CGI Kong is based on the performance of Andy Serkis, who did similar duty for "Lord of the Rings'" Gollum. Though Serkis is completely covered by special effects, his performance is evident in Kong's expressive body language. He makes us believe there is a brain and a soul in the character--and that, more than anything, is the reason why "King Kong" is one of the best films of the year.

The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe (2005)

A doorway to magic

[9/10 · 10 December 2005]

Those who go to "The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe" expecting another "Lord of the Rings" or "Harry Potter" will be disappointed--but it's their own fault if they are. Just as C.S. Lewis' fairytale kingdom is a different animal entirely from Tolkien's culturally and historically complex Middle-Earth or Rowling's strange-yet-familiar Hogwarts, so the films based on these three landmark fantasy series differ in style and tone and must be taken on their own terms. And on its own terms, "Narnia" is a delight.

Like many stories in which denizens of our reality are thrust into another one, the opening scenes of "Narnia" are dark and dreary--it's World War II, the Germans are bombing London, and children are being sent to the countryside to ensure the future of the nation. The four Pevensie siblings find themselves relocated to a dusty mansion owned by a reclusive and eccentric professor (Jim Broadbent in a brilliant cameo) in a tiny backwater. The housekeeper tells the kids they are not to run, or touch anything, or in any way behave like normal children. It looks like they're in for a dull time--until youngest sister Lucy (Georgie Henley) discovers a wardrobe that opens up into Narnia, where animals and trees talk, centaurs and griffins roam freely and the entire country is on the brink of its own war between the evil White Witch (a chillingly cruel Tilda Swinton) and the lion-messiah Aslan (voice by Liam Neeson).

Lewis was vocally opposed to a live-action film of his vision--but in his day, this would have certainly meant people in animal suits and puppets. It would be presumptuous to speculate whether or not he would have approved of this Narnia, but for my own part I found it enchanting. From the moment Lucy backs her way through a sea of fur coats and is startled to brush against a snow-covered evergreen, director Andrew Adamson and his production team strike all the right notes visually and emotionally, while avoiding almost all the inherent stumbling blocks. A key example is the scene where Father Christmas (James Cosmo) enters Narnia, after the Witch's magic prevented the holiday for a century despite an endless winter. This is a moment that could have easily been dull or ridiculous, but it works here, with Cosmo providing a ideal physical embodiment of the hope and joy that has languished under the White Witch's rule. Humor abounds--Lucy's first encounter with the faun Tumnus (James McAvoy) is wonderfully light-hearted--but chases and battles pack the necessary punch, and the climactic scene where Aslan fulfills a dreadful bargain with the Witch is perfectly chilling. The visuals are splendid, and the computer-generated characters are mostly convincing--Aslan in particular is rendered with the right amount of quiet majesty and dignity, which compliments Neeson's restrained yet authoritative vocal performance.

Much has been made of the Christian parallels inherent in "The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe," but ultimately the religious undertones of the movie depend on the viewer. The allegory is clearly drawn for those who seek it, but it is not so obtrusive as to alienate those simply looking for a good family movie. With the wonders of "Narnia" playing right next door to the marvelous "Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire," young moviegoers and their parents have an embarrassment of riches this holiday.

Rent (2005)

Falling a bit short on "Rent"

[7/10 · 23 November 2005]

The movie version of "Rent" is neither as bad as it might have been, nor as good as one would hope. It's a film that flirts with greatness, and may actually achieve it in some places, but can never seem to do so with any consistency.

Jonathan Larson's musical, an update of "La Boheme," is basically a series of vignettes that follows a year in the lives of several starving artists and rebels, living in the face of poverty and AIDS and trying to avoid selling out to corporate conformity--which, if you were a college kid in the late 90s when "Rent" premiered, really did feel like the worst thing that could happen to you. Of course, much worse befell the world on other end of the millennium, and in 2005 the material feels almost innocent in spite of the alternative lifestyles and seedy living. But the cast knows how to sell it, and well they should: six of the eight principal players originated their roles on Broadway. (The newcomers, Rosario Dawson and Tracie Thoms, fit into the group seamlessly) This means, of course, that they are no longer the fresh young faces they were back then (Jesse L. Martin and Taye Diggs have carved out screen careers; Idina Menzel has a Tony award), but frankly this doesn't bother me much. I'd rather watch this group of talented performers play a little under their age than suffer Brittney Spears or Justin Timberlake--or any wannabe clones thereof--any day.

It goes without saying that the cast knows how to give a song dramatic impact, and when director Chris Columbus gives them the tools to do their job, "Rent" is very good indeed. "Out Tonight," the exotic dancer Mimi's (Dawson) call to the nightlife, carries the right balance of liberated joy and desperate longing. A duet where filmmaker Mark (Anthony Rapp) and lawyer Joanne (Thoms) lament being wrapped around the fingers of bisexual flirt Maureen (Menzel) is staged and performed effectively, and segues into a delightful dream-sequence tango. And when one of the central group of friends succumbs to AIDS, the resulting memorial service is every bit as moving as it should be.

Unfortunately, Columbus doesn't always know how to channel the talents of his cast. For example, there's the non-conformist anthem "La Vie Boheme," in which a gathering of the young and rebellious celebrate a life of "going against the grain, going insane, going mad" and "being an 'us' for once, instead of a 'them'." If ever there was a song in music theater that begged for high-energy, kinetic camera work, it is this one. Yet Columbus films it in static shots and slow pans, which almost deaden the energy from the cast--there's just so much dancing on tables that one can take before it starts to feel stale. At other times, Columbus makes the same mistake Joel Schumacher did in "Phantom of the Opera" of having movement without purpose. Mimi and Roger (Adam Pascal) step out into an alleyway to share a love duet. They stand and sing for a while, move a few steps down the alley, stand and sing again, then walk back. Why did they move at all? If the answer isn't immediately obvious, then the blocking needs to be rethought.

Ever since the financial and Oscar success of "Chicago," studios seem to be searching for the next big movie musical. "Rent" tries, and it comes tantalizingly close, but doesn't quite get the brass ring. Here's hoping next month's "The Producers" nabs it.

Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire (2005)

Franchise on Fire

[9/10 · 23 November 2005]

Coming at the exact center of a seven-book series, "Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire" represents a turning point for both its hero and Rowling's writing in general. Harry's youthful innocence is replaced by the moody complexities of adolescence, even as his arch-nemesis Lord Voldemort transforms from a vague, shadowy threat to a very real evil presence in the wizarding world. The moral issues hinted at in "Prisoner of Azkaban" become even more prominent: good people die, heroes are flawed, and even the saintly Dumbledore proves to be only human. The film version of "Goblet of Fire" reflects this, and, like all movies that capture the essence of its source material, is a delight to behold.

Mind you, when I say "essence," I mean the underlying thematic material, not strict adherence to the written text. Weighing in at 700-plus pages, "Goblet of Fire" would be impossible to render completely faithfully on film, even if one were allotted double the two and a half hour running time of the finished product. Screenwriter Steven Kloves has his most difficult assignment to date, taking the story down to its essentials while still maintaining a sense of dramatic coherency. Several plot points and sidebars have been condensed, shifted, or left out entirely, which will no doubt irritate the more adamant purists. But if you're willing to give Kloves and director Mike Newell the benefit of the doubt, "Goblet of Fire" works wonders.

It works because, like last year's "Prisoner of Azkaban," the movie is true to what really drives Rowling's series: the coming-of-age of its title character. Harry (Daniel Radcliffe, giving his best performance of the character yet) may be surrounded by magical creatures, eccentric supporting players, and mighty portents, but for all that he remains a growing and often confused boy who doesn't quite know how to talk to girls and is more than a little embarrassed by all the attention he receives. Take, for example, the sequence where Harry is selected to compete in an inter-school competition known as the Triwizard Tournament, despite the facts that a) Harry is three years too young to compete and b) Hogwarts already has its official representative. That dirty work is afoot is obvious to Harry, Dumbledore, and the audience, but everyone else believes Harry must have cheated to get into the tournament, even his best friend Ron. So Harry walks down the school corridors alone, trying to ignore the virtual hail of insults and slights from his classmates. Anyone who's dealt with the short end of the teenage social order knows his pain.

Of course, the eccentric supporting players and big set pieces are still in abundance. With each installment, the Hogwarts roster becomes a little more crowded, and it's remarkable that the movie has room for as many cast members as he has. The majority of the returning and new adult players—Maggie Smith, Alan Rickman, Jason Isaacs, Timothy Spall, Miranda Richardson, and David Tennant among them—are limited to short bursts of screen time but make the most of what they have, as if trying to prove that old adage about small parts vs. small actors. Brendan Gleeson, as a mysterious and slightly disturbing new addition to the faculty, gets a bit more to do and enjoys himself doing it. Newell delivers on the story's key sequences: a Quidditch World Cup that looks like the Super Bowl crossed with the biggest SCA event on record, encounters with a dragon and merpeople, Hogwarts' first school dance, an enormous hedge maze that would make the Goblin King in "Labyrinth" weep with envy, and Harry's confrontation in a graveyard with the newly emerged Voldemort (Ralph Finnes, whose elegant malevolence calls to mind Emperor Palpatine in the "Star Wars" movies).

The movie stumbles a bit at the end, where things wrap up too quickly and some set-up for the next installment is left out. But its hard to complain—the film of "Goblet of Fire" is everything the Harry Potter books are at their best: exciting, humorous, heart-tugging, and magical.

Batman Begins (2005)

Batman Reborn

[9/10 · 4 November 2005]

It seems odd that a character who has been brought to the screen so many times in so many different manners as Batman has never had a proper "origin story" until now. True, several earlier film versions sketched in the basics--little Bruce Wayne witnesses his parents' murder, inspiring a one-man crusade against evil--but none of them struck at the heart of the matter, namely: how and why exactly does a wealthy child of privilege decide to not only devote his life fighting crime, but to do so dressed as a flying rodent? Christopher Nolan's "Batman Begins" answers that question along with a few others, but even more remarkably, it renews a franchise that had been driven into the ground by its own excesses.

And make no mistake, it is a rebirth, not a continuation--Nolan wisely rebuilds Batman from the ground up, rather than pick up where others had left off. This is a Gotham City far removed from the Gothic grandeur of Tim Burton's vision, and even farther removed from the gaudy camp of Joel Schumacher's. Nolan's Gotham is a sprawling urban nightmare of a city, with cold industrial towers looming against the sky while beneath the poor struggle for survival in the Narrows, a decaying skid row where even the police fear to tread. Most of the city officials are in the pockets of crime lords or are in fear of them. The few who aren't, such as honest cop Jim Gordon (Gary Oldman, radiating weary nobility) and idealistic young attorney Rachael Dawes (Katie Hudson) lack the clout to fight back. With such an example, it's easy to see why Bruce Wayne (Christian Bale) would become disillusioned with society's normal method of justice, and embark on a personal quest to understand and combat crime.

The early part of "Batman Begins" establishes this background, intercut with Bruce's training with the ancient and mysterious League of Shadows. His mentor (Liam Neeson) describes the society as being devoted to restoring justice, but Bruce soon comes to disagree with their methods. The League thinks society is past repair and wants to eradicate it; Bruce would rather help those trying to fix the problem. Perhaps if he acted as a source of inspiration, a figurehead in the battle against evil…

"Batman Begins" follows the recent trend in comic-book films, creating a story that is as much driven by characters—specifically the central character—as it is by action. Bale is an ideal choice for the title role: handsome enough to be convincing as a millionaire playboy, and talented enough to convey the shadows in Bruce Wayne's soul. He also does something with Batman that has been seen all too infrequently: he makes him genuinely frightening. With the possible exception of Michael Keaton, no Batman has ever credibly established himself as someone who could strike terror in the heart of even the most hardened and cynical criminal. Bale, speaking in a harsh growl and moving with almost inhuman speed and silence, is naturally intimidating—no wonder both the police and the thugs hesitate to confront him. Nolan has surrounded Bale with brilliant supporting players—in addition to Oldman and Neeson, we have Michael Caine exuding quiet loyalty and dry British wit as faithful butler Alfred, and Morgan Freeman making the most of the scientist who supplies the fledgling Batman with most of his toys. The bad guys' side is rounded out by Tom Wilkinson as Gotham's reigning crime boss, and Cillian Murphy as twisted psychiatrist Dr. Crane. Crane, whose disturbingly serene manner carries echoes of Norman Bates, experiments on his patients with a panic-inducing drug that proves central in tying the various story lines together. In the thankless role of the love interest, Hudson adds a personal dimension to Bruce's crusade but never induces much romantic tension—we know Wayne's bachelor status is never in any real jeopardy. But if that's as bad as it gets, then "Batman Begins" is very good indeed. Would that all major "event" movies turned out so well.

The Lord of the Rings (1978)

Clumsy, dull, and laughable

[1/10 · 29 August 2005]

If there had been any doubt in my mind that Peter Jackson's "Lord of the Rings" trilogy was a remarkable achievement of film-making, this tepid animated version of J.R.R. Tolkien's fantasy classic (or rather, the first two parts of said classic) would have erased it. This "Lord of the Rings" gets it all wrong in as many ways as Jackson got it right, and the result is an overlong, underbaked epic that tests even the most determined patience.

There are few by now who don't know the story--little hobbit gets evil ring and has to toss it in a huge volcano to save the world--which is a good thing, since the screenplay tends to throw plot points and scenes together at random. Looking through the credits, I find that one of the writers was none other than Peter S. Beagle. Peter, what happened? You not only wrote "The Last Unicorn," one of the best fantasy books ever written, but you also converted it into an animated film as touching and beautiful as this one is bland and dreary. Did you panic on being asked to whittle down Tolkien's lengthy prose while still maintaining a sense of dramatic flow and coherency, or were you simply too distracted with other projects to even try? Then there's the animation, which is devoid of any sense of wonder, fear, or basic charm. There's no grandeur or glory, nothing to fire the imagination with its vision of Middle-Earth. It should be noted that although all the characters are rotoscoped (live actors used as models, which the animators draw over), the style of the film is not consistent. The main players look like cartoon characters most of the time, while the extras look like live-action actors (occasionally in gorilla masks) who've been roughly sketched over. Everyone flails their arms and leaps about in a ridiculous manner (sometimes in complete contrast to the emotional content of the scene), as if the live actors were afraid the animators weren't getting enough work. Fight scenes are particularly ludicrous, as it's obvious that much of the "killing" just involves one actor slapping another with the edge of his sword. Three of the characters--Gandalf, (S)Aruman, and Theodin--look so much alike as to make no difference. Legolas is cross-eyed, Boromir looks like a Viking, and the few female characters all have over-large eyes that look drenched in mascara. The voice acting is pretty bland, and inconsistent to boot--Tolkien was a linguist among other things, and was very specific about the pronunciation of Middle-Earth tongues. Bashki was nowhere near as specific. It has been already pointed out how the evil wizard is referred to as both "Saruman" and "Aruman," but in both cases the characters can't seem to decide if the last syllable is pronounced like the word "man" or like the first syllable of "Montana."

The film ends abruptly, as if everyone involved suddenly gave up. Since it took three tries before I could actually sit through the entire movie, I can understand how they felt.

Troy (2004)

Trojan Bore

[4/10 · 8 June 2005]

Long ago, Euripides wrote a magnificent play called "The Trojan Women." In it, he reveals what happened after the Greeks snuck into Troy via that wooden horse and sacked the city--the women who mourned the dead even as they were taken as slaves, the children murdered for no crime other than being born to the wrong parents, the cruelty of war and man, and the enduring power of the human spirit. Though thousands of years have passed, it remains a drama every bit as powerful and relevant as it was when it was first performed.

I was thinking about "Trojan Women" a lot while watching "Troy"--not because Wolfgang Petersen's movie evoked the same emotions as Euripides' classic drama, but because I couldn't help but think of how much the movie failed to accomplish or even reach for. This is epic-lite, a bunch of decent battle sequences interspersed with soap-opera dialogue which tries in vain to convince us that some of these characters are worth rooting for or against.

"Troy" is a de-mystified, toned-down version of Homer's classic epic "The Illiad," which in and of itself isn't entirely a bad thing. You want to do the Trojan War without all that intervening by the gods, fine. You want to change it so at least some of the characters don't meet with a fantastically tragic death, I can play along. But for mercy's sake, let me at least care what happens one way or the other to the characters, okay? As everyone who's sat through their high school lit class knows, the Trojan War gets sparked off when Paris (Orlando Bloom) decides to make off with the Spartan queen Helen (Diane Kruger, pretty but lacking the je-nes-sais-quois that would help us believe she's capable of inspiring this sort of passion). Not surprisingly, this annoys her husband Menelaus, who immediately applies to his brother Agamemmnon (Brian Cox) for help. The war-mongering Agamemmnon has wanted to get his hands on Troy for a long time, so he takes up Menelaus' cause, rounding up the usual gang of mythological heroes, including Ajax, Odysseus (Sean Bean), and Achilles (Brad Pitt).

Achilles gets the most screen time during "Troy," which is one of the movie's biggest problems. The lead character of a film doesn't have to be perfect (in fact, it's best when he/she isn't), but they at least have to be interesting or appealing enough that we care about them. Achilles isn't. He comes off as a violent, self-centered prima donna who doesn't know how to do anything other than kill people, and is played by Pitt with such smug blandness that I was rooting for him to injure that heel and get it over with. This is probably not the reaction Petersen was hoping for, and it doesn't help that Achilles is one of the few characters to inspire any reaction at all. However, veteran actors Cox and Peter O'Toole as Troy's king Piram make the most of their situation, and Bean's too-brief turn as Odysseus is done with such charm and cleverness that I wanted the war to be over with so I could follow his equally epic journey to get back home.

There are some good fight scenes in "Troy," both between individual characters and between armies, but they are not enough to hold interest. Petersen may have tried to condense the ten-year siege of Homer's epic, but it still ends up feeling about that long.

A Series of Unfortunate Events (2004)

Entertaining--a word which here means "not perfect, but containing enough good stuff to make it worth watching"

[7/10 · 7 June 2005]

If your childhood was anything like mine, at some point you whined to your parents or another adult, "That's not fair!"--at which point the adult blithely retorted, "Life's not fair." A hard lesson, sure, but one we all learn eventually--life isn't fair; people die, bad things happen to good people, and justice isn't always served. Lemony Snicket's "A Series of Unfortunate Events" books, in which siblings Violet, Klaus, and Sunny Baudelaire start off being orphaned by a fire and then having things go downhill from there, embraces that philosophy with a dark, sly humor that is irresistible. Fortunately, Brad Silberling has kept the spirit of the series mostly intact with this film translation.

The movie encompasses Snicket's first three books, in which Violet (Emily Browing), Klaus (Liam Aiken), and Sunny are foisted off on several guardians by the dimwitted executor of their parents' estate (Timothy Spall). The first and worst of these is Count Olaf (Jim Carrey), a thorough scoundrel who's after the kids' immense inheritance. The children manage to escape, and over the course of the film encounter a kindly snake enthusiast (Billy Connolly) and an ultra-hypochondriac (Meryl Streep), each of whom try to look after the children in their own way. But mostly the Baudelaires look after themselves, each resourceful in their own way--Violet invents contraptions with whatever is at hand, Klaus is a reference desk unto himself, and baby Sunny practices her teething on whatever (or whoever) is convenient. The trio share the sort of unique bond that can only come from having survived a long string of misadventures. Olaf pursues them throughout, aided by disguises which he considers brilliant and which fool everyone except, of course, the ever-observant Baudelaires.

Most of the elements which make Snicket's books so appealing are present here: the entertaining characters, the cleverness of the children, Snicket's delightful black humor (given voice by Jude Law), and even the cunning reverse-psychology promotional scheme of the series (in which the reader/viewer is told, no really, you DON'T want to hear this story, go find something more cheerful, etc.). Carrey gleefully gnaws the scenery as Olaf, and indeed with such a character he can do no less. Browning and Aiken are quite appealing, but the real scene stealer is Sunny (played by twins Kara and Shelby Hoffman). Sunny does not actually speak, but her coos and gurgles are translated via subtitle in a dry and witty manner (another inspiration taken from the series). The production design (combining the best parts of Tim Burton and Edward Gory) creates a fanciful but accessible world which modern inventions like remote car-keys are wielded by characters who dress like they just stepped out of a Victorian melodrama.

It is perhaps too much to ask that the film could have avoided a Hollywood-style attempt to soften its delightfully dreary outlook, or that Carrey could have gone the entire movie without having at least one sequence in which he's just required to be Jim Carrey. But this is kept to a minimum--as Violet herself says, there really is more good than bad here.

Catwoman (2004)

Cat-aclysm

[2/10 · 30 April 2005]

Movies like "Catwoman" are the reason why I'm sad "Mystery Science Theater 3000" no longer airs. This is the type of material that begs to be talked back to--misguided at its best, and utterly laughable at its worst. I almost wish there were more of it--say, for example, a scene in which Patience Phillips (Halle Berry), the newborn Catwoman, comes up with her costume. A scene which justifies the existence of the ripped leather pants, S&M bra, bullwhip, and mask would almost have to be as delightfully ridiculous as the outfit itself. But hey, there's still plenty of silliness to go around.

This is what comic-book experts call an "origin story," so we first meet Patience before she starts getting into leather and whips--a quiet graphic artist whose cubicle is flanked by a sex-obsessed friend and a man who's the most over-the-top gay caricature since Jack on "Will and Grace." Director Pitof (isn't that a rice dish?) dresses Berry in baggy clothes and long curly hair in an attempt to convince us that one of the great natural beauties of the screen is a mousy wallflower, and has her working for that good-old standby villain, the Unethical Corporation. How do we know it's unethical? Because her boss (Lambert Wilson) speaks with a condescending British accent, and is accompanied by a shrewish wife (Sharon Stone). And indeed, it isn't long before Patience overhears the news that her cosmetics company's new anti-aging cream causes illness and scarring but (gasp!) they're going to put it on the shelves anyway, despite the protests of the resident lab rat who declares he can't support a product that turns women into "monsters." (I think he's overreacting; the woman in his file looks no worse than the "before" picture in an average dermatology clinic ad.) Patience is drowned to ensure her silence, but she washes up on shore where a bunch of fake-looking CGI cats crowd around her, and one breathes on her, causing her to open her eyes. That's cat-food breath for you--enough to wake the dead.

Sentient moviegoers will note distinct similarities between this scene and the origin of Catwoman in "Batman Returns"--and indeed, much of what follows has been cribbed from other, better comic book movies. Patience discovering her new cat-like abilities, crouching and twitching her head like a road-company Rumpleteaser and downing sushi at an alarming rate. The random thugs who get beat up by the new costumed vigilante, accompanied by R&B ululations that sound as if Mariah Carey has stubbed her toe. The woman who explains that Patience is now the latest in a long line of catwomen, accompanied by some badly touched-up pictures of women in cat masks. The love interest who complicates the protagonists double life--in this case, a cop blandly played by Benjamin Bratt. All of this could have been fun on its own terms--guilty pleasure fun, yes, but fun nevertheless. But Pitof doesn't know how to put it all together in an exciting or involving manner. Scenes feel like they're shot and edited at random, with the camera refusing to linger anywhere for more than a few seconds. I have no problems with quick cuts in the right place, but Pitof doesn't know how to use them effectively--a quiet scene between Patience and her friend (who's been hospitalized thanks to the Unethical Corporation's latest product) features the same frenetic cuts as the earlier fight scenes. Berry, bless her heart, tries to do what she can, but she's overwhelmed by the paint-by-numbers script and clumsy direction.

There's more, of course, much more. But three scenes in particular stand out in my mind: 1) During a date between Berry and Bratt's characters, it starts to rain, and Berry dashes for cover--her cat side, of course, doesn't want to get wet. This begs the question: how is she keeping clean now? Does she still use the shower? The thought of Berry washing herself as felines do is one I prefer not to think about in great detail. 2) While trying to find her "killers," Patience confronts Wilson's character--not in an empty office or deserted alley, but in a crowded theater featuring some sort of Cirque du Soleil-ballet hybrid. The police show up, and a chase scene ensues backstage--all while the performance continues. If there was a potentially dangerous criminal in the theater, don't you think the cops would stop the show? 3) Later on,Patience is imprisoned (for a crime she didn't commit, of course), but this doesn't stop her--she uses her cat-like flexibility to slide in between the bars of her cell. Mystic powers or no mystic powers--unless cats have the ability to shrink their skulls, this should be impossible.

X2 (2003)

More evolved

[8/10 · 17 April 2005]

The first "X-Men" movie had plenty to recommend it--good action sequences, strong cast--but it was, ultimately, a set-up for a franchise. While the film was on the surface about a group of super-humans fighting external prejudice and internal threats, it was also establishing the world and the characters for future installments--at least for those who have little to no experience with the comic books on which the franchise is based. But it's hard to complain, as "X2: X-Men United" fully justifies the effort.

We pick up where the first movie ended: telepathic Professor Xavier (Patrick Stewart) presides over a private school where budding mutants can nurture their minds and talents away from the cruelties of humanity, the renegade Magneto (Ian McKellen) languishes away in a plastic cell (his mutant powers, as indicated by his name, would render metal bars an insufficient restraint), and lone wolf Wolverine (Hugh Jackman) is still trying to piece together his past. But an attack at the White House stirs up anti-mutant sentiment in the public, and it isn't long before the usual assortment of government thugs are after our heroes. All of this ends up tying into one General Stryker (Brian Cox), a militant who's made it his goal in life to subdue and destroy mutantkind, forcing the mutants who were enemies in the first movie into an uneasy alliance.

This sounds like a lot for one movie to handle--and there are several subplots we don't have time to go into now--but Bryan Singer is more successful at keeping the various characters and story lines in play than he was in the first film. Part of this, of course, is due to the fact that a large majority of the characters were established in part one, but "X2" on the whole is a tighter and more cohesive screenplay, resulting in a more satisfying film on the whole.

The ensemble cast is, once again, very good. McKellen has the opportunity to take Magneto and run with him, and unsurprisingly creates a character both sympathetic and reprehensible (considering Magneto was established in the first movie as a Holocaust survivor, his actions towards the end of this one are the height of irony). Likewise, Cox's Stryker is a vile man, but one whose actions spring from a very understandable place. Jackman reminds us why Wolverine proved to be his break-out role, playing a fine balance between the character's feral strength and rage and his carefully concealed inner turmoil. Strongest among the newcomers is Alan Cumming as Nightcrawler, the mutant who attacks the president in the opening sequence but who soon proves a useful ally to the good guys. He also has the distinction of being one of the few openly Catholic characters I can recall who is neither a hypocrite or a self-righteous bastard, and his deep but unforced spirituality is very refreshing.

The end for "X2" contains what is blatantly a set-up for a third film, but who's complaining? If they can keep up the good work like this, I'm more than happy with the implied "To Be Continued."

Santa Claus Conquers the Martians (1964)

The fruitcake of holiday movies

[1/10 · 16 April 2005]

Kids, for the most part, are not stupid. Despite the countless gloom-and-doomers who despair of this or that being a "negative influence" on the younger generations, my experience has taught me that children are not merely innocent sponges that absorb whatever happens to be at hand. They have much more awareness and understanding, I think, than they are often given credit for.

I cannot imagine any child over the age of three being taken in for one moment by "Santa Claus Conquers the Martians," a movie that seems to have been made under the delusion that children are complete idiots who will believe anything you tell them and are unable of accepting anything but the most basic of concepts. That alone makes it contemptible, and when you throw in cheap sets, bad acting, laughable dialogue, and non-existent special effects, the result is heaven (and/or hell) for the bad movie aficionado.

The movie begins in mid-Septober--at least according to the Martians, who, despite having adopted Earthling language, food (albiet food in pill form), and television, have for some reason completely rejected the Gregorian calendar. But it's early December on the planet next door, and kids all over the world are eagerly anticipating a visit from Santa Claus (like most movies about Santa, this one ignores a) the large portion of the Earth's population and their children who do not, for various reasons, celebrate Christmas and b) any and all religious significance of Christmas itself). But Martian head honcho Kimar wants to draft Kris Kringle into bringing Christmas joy to the little green boys and girls--represented by his kids Bomar and Girmar--who are suffering from, I don't know, not having toys or something. So the Martians hijack St. Nick--bringing along a couple Earth rugrats for good measure--a development which Santa takes with frightening good cheer, even when the requisite bad guy Martian tries to throw him and the kids out of the airlock. You'd think he'd be angry at someone who'd murder a couple children, or at least be mildly worried about disappointing the Earth kids while he's being carted around the solar system, but no--he takes it all in stride.

The whole movie takes place in that weird parallel dimension found in old "educational" short films and some early sitcoms. You know the one: everyone is squeaky clean and unflinchingly polite (except the bad guy, who just hates everything on general principle), and speak only in exposition. Nobody is allowed to think or do anything that would stand in the way of the plot--such as the end, where the painfully-unfunny comic relief Martian is mistaken for Santa Claus despite it being inescapably obvious that, well, he isn't. Ethnicity is unheard of. Women are either scolding or shrewish (Mrs. Claus) or dutiful homemakers (the mother Martian). The latter is played by Leila Martin, who later was in "Phantom of the Opera" on Broadway, a fact I mention because I saw her in that show and can attest that she's a very capable actress,which is not something you'd know from this movie.

There's more, of course. I haven't even covered the guy in the polar bear suit. The Martian robot, who may very well be the polar bear guy in a different outfit. And Dropo, the aforementioned non-comic non-relief whose stylings, much like a natural disaster, need to be experienced firsthand in order to understand the horror of it. But enough. See it for yourself--if you think you have the stomach for it.

The Phantom of the Opera (2004)

Disaster Aria

[2/10 · 11 February 2005]

The Phantom of the Opera, as a character, is a man whose intense physical ugliness conceals a remarkable spirit—a soul as filled with frightening shadows as it is with glorious light, one which seems to contain both the best and worst aspects of human nature. By contrast, the latest film version of "Phantom of the Opera" is the exact inverse of its title character: it looks nice enough, but that's all there is. Scratch its gilded surface (and there is plenty of gilt to go around) and you find neither passion, nor life, nor soul.

There are those who will argue that this is on a par with the long-running musical which is the film's most direct antecedent, but I would disagree. Andrew Lloyd Webber's mega-blockbuster of a stage show has its flaws (most notably a book that leaves more to the imagination than necessary), but done properly it remains a powerful and effective piece of theater. Alan Jay Lerner said of the story (a truly operatic yarn about a young singer torn between her disfigured impresario and her handsome childhood sweetheart) "it just works," and he's right—but it requires two things in order to do so: a strong director who can handle romantic melodrama without descending into the ridiculous, and a talented and energetic cast to give life to the characters. "Phantom" the film has neither, and as a result comes crashing to earth faster—and sooner—than a certain ill-fated lighting fixture.

Having previously spoiled the legacy of that other masked man, Joel Schumacher steps into the director's chair for "Phantom," and does no favors for it either. Schumacher is clearly attempting to follow in the footsteps of recent movie musical successes "Moulin Rouge" and "Chicago," but he has none of the boundless energy and enthusiasm Baz Luhrman brought to the former, nor the inventive wit and style Rob Marshall infused the latter with. Much of the time, Schumacher seems to borrow from his betters—who in addition to Luhrman and Marshall include James Cameron, Jean Cocteau, David Lynch, Rupert Julian (director of the famous silent version of "Phantom" with Lon Chaney), and Hal Prince (director of the stage version of the musical)—and at one point, even delves into his inferiors by evoking the spirit of Ed Wood. Left to his own devices, he makes so many missteps that I could spend the rest of the review listing them. High on the list: he overplays the sensual undercurrents of "Phantom's" primary love story. This is an element present in the stage version, but while Hal Prince nicely underscored the quasi-sexual tension between Phantom and pupil while maintaining an appropriately Victorian sense of restraint, Schumacher attacks this element with all the grace and subtlety of a Harlequin Romance cover crossed with an MTV music video. You half expect a "wardrobe malfunction" to occur at any moment.

Schumacher is also wildly uneven in his casting, with the weakest link showing up in the place it can least be afforded: the title character. As the Phantom, Gerard Butler struts around, sneers, and swirls his cape, but never comes close to achieving the fine mix of menace, pathos, and mysterious allure that has made the character so intriguing for nearly a century. He also lacks the Phantom's two primary physical characteristics: his hideous face, and his beautiful singing voice. The former (presumably Schumacher's fault for not wanting to make his lead character one iota less attractive than necessary) resembles a moderately bad allergic reaction rather than a disfigurement which would drive a person to madness and isolation; half the time it's impossible to tell that there's anything wrong with him at all. Butler's singing is much more repellent than his looks—his harsh, grating, and over-labored sound makes many of the libretto's high points, particularly the signature song "Music of the Night," a chore to sit through. As Christine, the pretty young thing who fires the Phantom's desires and dementia, Emmy Rossum is a bit easier to listen too (there's little wrong with her voice that cannot be cured with training and maturity), but her thin sound makes it hard to believe her as an operatic sensation, and she never infuses the character with much personality. Only Patrick Wilson, as the dashing aristocrat who forms the third point of this love triangle, shows the level of vocal and acting talent needed to make "Phantom" work, but he's saddled with the story's least interesting character and a poofy wig that would look silly in any other movie, but in comparison with some of the other pompadours in evidence here is downright subdued.

With the three leads unable to carry "Phantom's" emotional and dramatic weight, there's little anyone else can do to salvage it—but a few of the supporting cast members have a go anyway. Miranda Richardson, despite affecting a Pepe le Pew accent, does some good work as a ballet mistress who knows more than she tells. Ciaran Hinds and Simon Callow have a few moments as the opera's beleaguered management, as does Kevin McNally as an ill-fated stagehand. However, Minnie Driver as Carlotta sounds like she came in from a community theater production of "West Side Story" and acts as if she's being paid by decibel (she also uses a voice double for her singing, a practice I normally deplore—though in this case, it might have been advisable for most of the other cast members to follow in her footsteps).

"Phantom of the Opera" is not a complete waste—several of the sets are, as I said, nice enough to look at, and even the mismanagement of director and cast cannot rob the music and story of all their power. There's even some humor to be found, though much of it is unintentional. But of material which has been so successful for so long, much more is expected—and much more should have been given.

Jekyll & Hyde: The Musical (2001 TV Movie)

The opposite of star power

[3/10 · 2 February 2005]

I'm not a great fan of "Jekyll & Hyde," but neither do I find Frank Wildhorn's cult-musical take on Robert Louis Stevenson's "The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde" completely unwatchable. There's a lot of problems with the work--particularly Leslie Bricusse's awkward lyrics (most egregious line: "What I choose to do is decided by me." Huh?)--but it can be entertaining in the right hands, the music theater equivalent of a fun but silly action movie. Unfortunately, the Broadway Television Network recording of the original New York production leaves us in the hands of David Hasselhoff, and both the show and the audience suffers as a result.

Hasselhoff came in near the end of "Jekyll & Hyde's" Broadway run in an attempt to bolster flagging audience numbers with a little name recognition. Name recognition is about all Hasselhoff brings to the dual role of the well-intentioned doctor and his vicious alter ego. As Jekyll, his performance is distressingly wooden; as Hyde, he mugs so ridiculously that he inspires giggles rather than shudders. And then when you think it can't get any worse, he opens his mouth to sing--and his shaky, mediocre warbling sucks away all the life from what should be some of the shows most dramatic moments (particularly the climax, a neat little solo/duet between the title characters).

It's unfortunate that Hasselhoff's presence irreparably damages "Jekyll and Hyde," because the rest of the cast is actually fairly decent. Andrea Rivette (as Jekyll's high-society fiancée) and Coleen Sexton (as a dance-hall girl who becomes a victim of Hyde's lust) are a delight to watch and hear in the female leads; their duet "In His Eyes" is the most dramatically effective moment in the production. Barrie Ingham and George Merritt also do nice work in roles they already immortalized on the cast recording. The rest of the cast makes do with what they can, but "Jekyll and Hyde" needs a strong lead in order to really work, and Hasselhoff ruins the musical's hope of succeeding on any level except an unintentional comedy.

Manos: The Hands of Fate (1966)

Look no further--this is the worst

[20 January 2005]

Every so often, someone comes onto IMDb (or a similar forum) and declares that such-and-such a film is, and I quote, "THE WORST MOVIE EVER!!!" Usually the culprit is the latest big-budget, little-story extravaganza, or some popular work receiving its expected share of backlash. I always laugh a bit when people do this. Clearly, these innocent souls have never seen an episode of "Mystery Science Theater 3000." Specifically, they have never been exposed to the horror that is "Manos: The Hands of Fate." Sure, plenty of movies are bad, but usually if you look hard enough, you can see some evidence that someone on board had at least a vague idea of how to make a film work. Not "Manos." There is not a single shred of competence to be found anywhere in it. It fails on every conceivable level: direction, acting, script, cinematography, sets, costumes, effects, sound, music. Throw in some of the most irritating and idiotic characters you'll ever see, a lot of disturbing sexual subtext, and the result is this pile of cinematic excrement.

The story...well, I guess it's supposed to be one of those "innocents get lost and stumble upon supernatural evil" deals. Actually, it's more like an "irritating family gets lost and stumbles upon a group of vague cultists and their creepy hired hand Torgo" deal. Anyway, things happen, arguments go in circles, the mom of the family yells for her husband so much you wonder how she ties her shoes in the morning without him, the husband makes so many wrong decisions you wonder if he'd be any help with the shoe-tying thing, and the female cultists get into an extended wrestling match, revealing that under their diaphanous Grecian robes they're wearing modern bras and underwear.

There's much more, of course, but "Manos" is like a train wreck, or a natural disaster: I could describe it to you, but you'd never understand the full level of horror unless you witness it for yourself. So go ahead, watch it, I dare you. At least you can take comfort in the knowledge that, after you've seen it, nothing else you watch will be quite so bad.

The Aviator (2004)

Soars--at least most of the time

[3 January 2005]

It can't have been easy making an empathetic portrait of Howard Hughes. The man was abrasive, self-centered, and tragically burdened with obsessive-compulsive disorder--a person more likely to alienate than to attract. But that's exactly what director Martin Scorsese and actor Leonardo DiCaprio have done. They present Hughes in all his flawed glory, yet endear him to the audience so that we root for him in the end, and weep for the ignominious end we know will befall him.

"The Aviator," however, is not concerned with Hughes' final days (though it hints liberally at them), but at the prime of his life, beginning in Jazz Age Hollywood and taking us through to the post-WWII era. The plot isn't so much a linear story as it is a study of several key points in Howard Hughes' life: his love for film, planes, and beautiful women, his struggles to establish his TWA as a competitor to PanAm Airlines, the infamous "Spruce Goose," and more. Though the film's three-hour running time is occasionally felt, it is never regretted--Scorsese knows he has a fascinating subject to work with, and his captivating style and sure hand keep things going admirably.

As Howard Hughes, DiCaprio gives one of the best lead performances of the year, ranking right up there with Jamie Foxx's tour-de-force turn as Ray Charles. Even in the film's somewhat slow opening, detailing the filming of Hughes' war-epic "Hell's Angels," he establishes the character as an enthusiastic and determined individual, one for whom "can't" is the ultimate four-letter word and money is no object in the pursuit of his visions. Later, as Hughes' inner turmoil becomes more apparent, DiCaprio's furrowed brow and haunted eyes are both compelling and frightening. The sequence which foreshadows Hughes' reclusive final days is one of the most powerful I've seen in recent history.

The film picks up considerably once Cate Blanchett strides onto the screen as brassy, witty Katherine Hepburn; she and DiCaprio have good chemistry as two larger-than-life people who make a complex emotional connection. She is a standout in an ensemble that is strong throughout--Alan Alda, Alec Baldwin, John C. Reily, and Kate Beckinsale are among those Scorsese brings in to fill the corners of the screen with vibrant, effective performances.

Though a bit turbulent at times, "The Aviator" is by an large a flight worth taking, an examination of a remarkable, unsettling man whose story stays with you long after the credits finish rolling.

The Phantom of the Opera (1925)

The first remains the best

[9/10 · 20 December 2004]

"The Phantom of the Opera" is a tale that's been oft told, but all too often it's told poorly. The story--a grand melodrama, like much of opera itself--requires a fine balance of terror and tragedy, with perhaps a bit of camp humor to lighten the proceedings, and finding the right tone is a task which has defeated many a director and actor. But it can be done, as this first of the many film incarnations proves.

For anyone needing an overview of Gaston Leroux's tale, the premise is briefly thus: during the latter decades of the Victorian Era, the great Paris Opera is troubled with whispers of a ghost--a frightening specter which visits misfortune on the company should they fail to please him. Up-and-coming singer Christine Daae (Mary Philbin), meanwhile, is more preoccupied with her singing tutor--a disembodied voice she believes to be an emissary from her dead father, who guides her to new heights but demands she put her music above all else, including and especially her handsome childhood sweetheart Raoul (Norman Kerry). Neither Phantom nor tutor is a spirit in truth, but are two different sides of the same man--a horribly disfigured, unnaturally gifted, and frighteningly passionate man, but a man nonetheless.

Despite dated acting techniques and some extremely overwrought title cards ("You must save me, Raoul--oh, save me!" Christine pleads at one point), the silent film version of "Phantom" has held up remarkably well, thanks to some evocative scenes and an unforgettable turn by Lon Chaney in the title role. The moment when the Phantom, driven by his all-consuming desire for Christine, lures the girl into his home beneath the Opera is every bit as eerie and compelling as it should be. An Escher-like series of ramps descends into the earth, leading to the sort of black subterranean lake Charon would feel at home on, and an underground apartment that seems fairly normal, until you see the coffin in the master bedroom and the mirrored torture chamber adjoining.

Any version of "Phantom," though, lives or dies by its title character, and Chaney does not disappoint. Even in his early scenes, where he appears almost solely as a shadow on the wall, he has a remarkable presence, his gestures expressive and elegant in silhouette. The audience first sees him in physical form as Christine first sees him--a masked and cloaked figure, disturbing yet with an aura of weary sadness about him. When that mask finally comes off in the film's landmark scene, Chaney's makeup genius is instantly in evidence. The wild-eyed, cadaverous skull remains the most frightening interpretations of the Phantom's disfigurement, and also the one which hews closest to Leroux's description. (To be fair, it's doubtful Chaney's makeup would have been practical in a sound film; the distortions of his nose and mouth would have made speaking--and singing--very difficult indeed.) The movie's greatest weakness is its ending, a chase scene (complete with the standard Angry Torch-Bearing Mob) that feels wedged in, probably because that's precisely what it is. The original ending stuck with Leroux's novel, where the Phantom, moved by Christine's compassion, releases her to marry her young suitor--but the first audiences, apparently not as empathetic for the character as his creator was, found this ending an unsatisfying one. Unfortunately, the current resolution denies the Phantom the redemption which has been a major part of his appeal to modern audiences, and one wishes that we had an opportunity to see Chaney portray it. But on the whole, this is a "Phantom" that remains head and shoulders above its many film successors.

Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (2004)

Intelligent romance

[13 December 2004]

Generally, romantic comedies fall into two types. Most celebrate the fantasy of love: the notions of destiny and soul-mates, where love comes between witty exchanges and longing looks set to music. This isn't necessarily a bad thing--in fact, some of these films are rather entertaining--but as everyone knows, love isn't like it is in the movies. It's complicated, messy, difficult, and sometimes doesn't work out no matter how hard you try. Which brings us to the second, rarer type of romantic comedy--the kind that celebrates the reality of love, in all its wonderful, awful glory. "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind" is a film in this category.

The story begins on Valentines Day, with sad sack Joel (Jim Carrey) ditching his normal routine on an impulse and taking a train to Montauk, where he meets a cotton candy-haired free spirit named Clementine (Kate Winslet). They are drawn to each other in what seems like their first meeting, but as things progress we realize we've come in at the middle. For Joel and Clementine dated over the course of two years before things went sour. After a bad breakup, Joel learned that Clementine had her memories of him removed by a clandestine neurosurgeon (Tom Wilkinson) and his staff. In a fit of anger, Joel decides that he too wants Clementine "lost and gone forever." This is where the movie really takes off, as we enter Joel's mind and are taken backwards through his relationship with Clementine, the memories vanishing as Joel relives them. Michael Gondry and Charlie Kaufmann come up with an effective method of communicating the inner workings of Joel's mind on screen. Events follow the sort of bizarre logic that we find in dreams, overlapping and reflecting on each other, while Joel experiences them with the benefit of hindsight. Then the memories start to fade: first the details, then the important parts, until everything just crumbles, or is ripped away, or simply fades into nothing. When Joel decides he doesn't want to lose Clementine, he attempts to secret her away in memories from his childhood, leading to one of the film's best scenarios as the adult Carrey embodies Joel's three-year-old self.

Jim Carrey is a hit-or-miss actor for me, but I've always admired him for his willingness to explore roles beyond the hyperactive wild men who have been so lucrative for him in the past. He does good work as Joel, a man so weighed down with his own disappointments he almost seems not to exist at times. Winslet continues to prove herself one of the best actresses of her generation, making Clementine complex, difficult, and strangely likable. Strong supporting performances come in from Elijah Wood, Mark Ruffalo, and Kirsten Dunst as Wilkinson's support staff, who are just as lost in the romantic game as Joel and Clementine are. Wood's creepy yet pathetic Patrick tries to romance Winslet using the remains of her relationship with Joel. Ruffalo and Dunst have a thing going, but the deep admiration she harbors for the boss becomes more pronounced as the film wears on.

Eventually, we end up back where we started, as Joel and Clementine meet again for the first time. Kaufmann wisely avoids any sentiments of destiny in the film's concluding moments—indeed, it is arguable that the couple could be headed for heartbreak all over again. But then, there is a lot of truth in that saying of loving and losing.

Ella Enchanted (2004)

Doesn't quite enchant

[12 December 2004]

Given the recent success of fantasy movies, it was probably inevitable that "Ella Enchanted" would get its turn on the silver screen. Like "Harry Potter," Gail Carson Levine's delightful re-imagining of Cinderella has been popular with both readers and critics, and contains plenty of imagination and engaging characters. One only wishes it had translated to screen better.

Levine comes up with a clever explanation for the reason why Ella (played in the film by Anne Hathaway) must slave for her horrid step-family: at her cradle, a well-meaning but rather dim fairy godmother (Vivica A. Fox) granted her the "gift" of obedience, forcing the poor girl to comply with any direct order regardless of how ridiculous or dangerous. Refusing to be resigned to her lot, Ella sets out to return the unwanted gift--and en route, find romance with Prince Charmont ("Char" for short, played by Hugh Dancy).

Unfortunately, it is here that the similarities to the source material end. In the film, Ella comes off as far less resourceful and clever as she does in the book, and mostly seems to wind up getting into embarrassing or awkward situations through her enforced compliance. Which is a shame, because Hathaway is a vibrant and talented actress who could have easily imbued the character with more spunk had she been called on to do so. It doesn't help that the screenwriters have seen fit to muddy Ella's quest with a standard-issue villain in the form of Char's Claudius-esquire uncle (Cary Elwes, channeling the spirit of Prince Humperdink and accompanied by a very unconvincing CGI snake), and some business about the oppression of the kingdom's non-humans.

Like "Shrek," "Ella Enchanted" takes the fractured fairy-tale route, throwing in sly references and anachronisms at every opportunity. Some of these work (I liked the man-powered escalator in the medieval mall), but more than a few fall flat (mostly Char's squealing fan club, who are perhaps too accurate in their annoying behavior). Hathaway and Dancy play it more or less straight, but everyone else camps it up grandly, especially Elwes. Unfortunately, both Fox and Minnie Driver as Ella's more sensible godmother feel miscast, and Parminder Nagra (the talented star of "Bend it Like Beckham") is virtually wasted as Ella's foreign-born friend.

"Ella Enchanted" is nice enough to sit through--Hathaway's presence keeps things going, and there are enough nice visuals. But in a genre that in the past few years has seen "Harry Potter," "Lord of the Rings," and "Shrek"--with "A Series of Unfortunate Events" and "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory" among the films on the horizon--it takes more than nice to distinguish oneself in the field.

The Passion of the Christ (2004)

Powerful, but not quite spiritual

[13 November 2004]

You have to admire Mel Gibson for the courage of his convictions, if nothing else. Few people would have had the gumption to make "The Passion of the Christ"--a harrowing violent, uncompromisingly religious reenactment of the arrest, condemnation, and crucifixion of Jesus. Yet make it he did, offering up not only one of the most controversial films in recent history, but also one of the hardest to critique.

There can be no denying that this is a powerful movie. Religious issues aside, it is hard to be unmoved by such an unflinching depiction of the depths to which humanity can sink when moved by mob rule, fear, or the simple indifference to--or worse, delight in--the pain of our fellow beings.

A more difficult question to answer is: how does "Passion of the Christ" stack up as a spiritual experience? Chances are, what you get out of this movie will depend on what you bring into it. If you're a Christian, than "Passion" provides a way to examine one of the primary tenets of your faith, although it may or may not renew that faith. If you're not, than Gibson probably won't change your mind, or even help you understand Christian doctrine.

From the cinematic perspective, "Passion" is very well done. Jim Caviezel is called upon to play what is arguably the most influential figure in human history, but he does not disappoint, gentle in moments of serene strength and captivating in his debasement. Gibson includes some nice character moments: the private agony of Jesus' mother Mary (Maia Morgenstern), a centurion's growing doubt of the justification of his actions, the journey of Simon of Cyrene (Jarreth Merz) as he first unwillingly, then bravely, helps Jesus bear the cross to Golgotha. The more supernatural aspects of the story (such as Jesus healing a man injured during his arrest) are handled in a nicely understated manner, and the production values are all top-notch.

What "Passion" misses is a sense of context, an appreciation of the events leading up to the Crucifixion. Jesus was certainly a martyr, but he was also a social reformer, a teacher, a healer, a friend to the disenfranchised and downtrodden of the world. He spoke out against the hypocrisy and semantics of the religious leaders of his day, and created controversy that unsettled the political officials--both sought to neutralize him as a result. And though Gibson shows some brief scenes of Jesus' ministry, a more thorough acknowledgment of it would have provided more depth to the story, and perhaps even quelled some of the accusations of anti-Semitism that have dogged the film.

A prayer in the Lutheran church calls Jesus "a sacrifice for sin and a model of the godly life." Both are instrumental in understanding who Jesus is as both a historic and religious figure. Gibson does an excellent job of showing how Jesus died, but one wishes he had spent a little more time on how he had lived.

The Incredibles (2004)

The title says it all

[10 November 2004]

Pixar may very well be one of the few name brands you can trust when it comes to movies. Nearly every studio, director, and star occasionally (or in some cases, frequently) missteps, but the products of the first and still the best of the computer-animation studios are at the least enjoyable and at best phenomenal. Their latest film, "The Incredibles," falls firmly in the latter category, taking its place beside "Toy Story," "Toy Story 2," and "Finding Nemo" as an instant classic in the genre.

Meet Bob Parr (voice by Craig T. Nelson), a man who's not anywhere near as average as his name would imply. He's really Mr. Incredible, one of many superheros ("Supers" for short) who go about defeating costumed villains, rescuing cats from trees, and trying to make the world a better place. Mr. Incredible loves his job, and he does it well. But a string of lawsuits force the Supers into hiding, casting aside the capes and Spandex forever. (One does wonder, though: what happened to all the supervillains when the heroes went away? Wouldn't they have taken the chance to run rampant?) Bob settles down with wife Helen (formerly Elastigirl), his 2.5 children (the elder two of which have developing powers of their own), and gradually feels his life being drained away by a soul-sucking job and a seemingly purposeless existence.

In this, Bob is more than a washed-up superhero: he is every person who's sat in a claustrophobic cubicle, glanced at his current humdrum life and the faded dreams of his youth, and thought "I know there's more to life then this." His social conscience refuses to be repressed: every week he goes out with an old superhero buddy and trades stories of the "good old days" while looking for a chance to do some clandestine heroics. When a mysterious woman offers him a chance to break back into the hero gig, he of course leaps at the chance. It's all a trap of course, masterminded by the evil Syndrome (Jason Lee)--part comic-book geek, part celebrity stalker, and part Bond villain--who's motivated by a combination of petulance, disenchantment, and misplaced ambition. Like the best hero/villain matchups, Mr. Incredible and Syndrome share common ground--both long to be extraordinary men in an ordinary world--which provides for an intriguing dynamic between the characters.

Director/writer Brad Bird knows (as Sam Raimi and Bryan Singer knew and Joel Schumacher was never able to grasp) that the ultimate appeal of superheroes and their adversaries lies not in their extraordinary feats, but their ultimate humanity. The Parr family isn't just a collection of butt-kickers extraordinare, they are people struggling with mid-life crisis, youthful insecurity and frustration, and the mixture of love and exasperation which comes with dealing with one's family. A quarrel at the dinner table is heightened by the presence of family's powers (Mom stretches her arms in a vain attempt to corral the kids, who go at each other with force fields and supersonic speeds), but isn't overwhelmed by them--it's the people, not the powers, that are center stage.

There are plenty of humorous moments in "The Incredibles"--among them, a discussion on the supervillain's tendency to get overly verbose when he should be taking out the good guy, and a diminutive fashion maven (voiced by Bird) who's passion is superhero wear. But there's also a lot of insight as well. Pointed jabs are made at the pressure to conform and the litigators and bureaucrats who increasingly value the bottom line over the betterment of humanity. The heroes learn a little about themselves, while the bad guys are undone by their own hubris and near-sightedness, and both are engaging to the audience.

The first Pixar film with an all-"human" cast, "The Incredibles" is a testimony of how far the technology has advanced since "Toy Story" (remember how plastic Andy and his mom looked?). But as with its ancestor, the triumph here is not merely that of the brain, but of the heart. This isn't just the best animated film so far this year--it's one of the best films of the year period.

Sense and Sensibility (1995)

Classic romance

[9 November 2004]

Within the first five minutes, Ang Lee's "Sense and Sensibility" assures us we are in good hands. The opening montage-in which a weak, selfish man allows his vain and even more selfish wife to goad him into denying his stepfamily the financial aid they will so desperately need after his father's death-presents social hypocrisy in the same succinct, sly manner that infuses this and all of Jane Austen's work.

The stepfamily in question consists entirely of women: the late Mr. Dashwood's second wife (Gemma Jones) and daughters Eleanor (Emma Thompson, who also penned the marvelous screenplay), Marianne (Kate Winslet), and Margaret (Emilie Francios). As with many of Austen's characters, Eleanor and Marianne represent ideological extremes: the former is sedate and rational, while the latter is a dyed-in-the-wool romantic. Both are at a disadvantage in Regency England, having neither husbands to help support them nor the wealth and connections which might aid them in marriage. 'You will inherit your living,' Eleanor points out to a male friend, 'We cannot even earn ours.'

The gentleman with whom she shares this confidence is her sister-in-law's brother, Edward (Hugh Grant, doing his usual awkward politeness routine but doing it well nonetheless). Between Eleanor and Edward there seems to be a mutual albeit restrained affection, but circumstances conspire to keep them apart. Marianne, meanwhile, becomes enamored of a young rogue (Greg Wise) who seems to answer all her fantasies of a dashing, passionate lover, while ignoring the polite attentions of an older, more reserved suitor (Alan Rickman). That everything will be sorted out to the advantage of all who deserve it will come as no surprise to anyone familiar with either Jane Austen or the romantic comedy genre in general, but it's a delight to watch all the same.

'Sense and Sensibility' is one of those ensemble pieces which British actors always seem to shine in. Though the casting is not flawless (as mentioned elsewhere, Thompson makes a rather older Eleanor than Austen originally envisioned), it is hard to complain when the results are so effective. There is not a weak performance to be found here, whether the scene calls for broad comic characters, dramatic tears and sighs (of which Winslet has the lion's share), or for passions carefully hidden behind a façade of propriety (as with Rickman, who proves his range extends far beyond the snarling villain). Lee puts his cast in evocative settings, which have the muted elegance of an old oil painting, and films them in such a way as to draw the maximum effect from the actors' performances. Small moments such as Eleanor sitting resignedly in the hallway while her mother and sisters cry in their bedrooms are given more weight by the way the camera lingers on them, at times studying the characters intimately, and at others lingering at a respectful distance, as if it too were bound by the strictures of polite and ordered society.

While not as superb as A&E's remarkable mini-series of 'Pride and Prejudice,' 'Sense and Sensibility' is effective and well-made, a worthy adaptation of a classic novel.

Ray (I) (2004)

Ray of Light

[3 November 2004]

"Ray" takes all the standard elements of the "rise and fall and recovery" brand of biopic, and makes them work. In lesser hands, this study of the first half of Ray Charles' lengthy and productive music career could have come off as just more movie-of-the-week formula. But a good cast and strong direction by Taylor Hackford turn it into an effective and worthwhile movie.

Even if there were nothing else, the career-making performance by Jamie Foxx in the title role would be worth the price of admission. Stepping into Charles' trademark shades is no small thing; he was a man of such distinct voice, mannerisms, and personality that any attempt to imitate him could have easily descended into caricature. Foxx avoids this trap, evoking the late legend's style to perfection. More than that, he makes Ray live on screen as a human being instead of simply a cultural icon. Charles was a deeply gifted man, but a deeply flawed one as well--a drug addict, a womanizer, and a ruthless businessman--and Foxx takes on these less admirable qualities without losing the audience's sympathy. He understands, for example, that a man who loved as many women as Ray Charles did must have been appealing to them, even in his less attractive moments. When Ray tells his wife Della Bea (Kerry Washington) that he loves her and her alone, one is very tempted to believe him, in spite of the evidence to the contrary.

The rest of the cast is very good--I especially liked Washington as Ray's long-suffering wife and Sharon Warren as his tough-loving mother. And Hackford's filming style brings some punch to scenes that could have wound up feeling formulaic--though his treatment of Charles' heroin addiction wraps up a bit too quickly to be completely effective. But this movie belongs to Jamie Foxx, and he has earned it. If he's not on the short list for the best actor Oscar in February, then the Academy has lost all claim to integrity.

A Chorus Line (1985)

Not the singular sensation it should have been

[27 October 2004]

If you've never seen a stage production of "A Chorus Line" (no small feat, since it was not only once the longest running show on Broadway but has had extensive touring and regional exposure), then the movie version is perhaps better than nothing. However, an acquaintance with the source material makes one realize how much the film falls short of the power of the original.

Michael Bennett's magnum opus was conceived as a tribute to "gypsies"--Broadway chorus dancers--and in a way, to the every bodies and nobodies from all walks of life. The characters in "Chorus Line" are not rich or famous, nor are they likely to be, and over the course of the story they bare legs, heart and soul just for the chance to be one body in a unified, faceless corps. Bennett brought out each dancer's individuality, making each a loving, well-defined portrait of a human being with all the hopes and dreams, problems and shames that everyone has but nobody ever sees. But director Richard Attenborough undermines this essential concept in two very distinct ways.

First, there is the presence of Michael Douglas as Zach, the choreographer who puts the auditioning dancers through the paces. Granted, if one must have a "name" actor in "A Chorus Line" then this is the place for it--Zach neither sings nor dances, and exists mostly as a God-like voice issuing from the dark of the auditorium. But Douglas' very presence overshadows the dancers, who should be the heart and soul of the show. True, his name is listed in the credits alphabetically with everyone else's, but every time the camera's on him we go "Hey, that's Michael Douglas," pulling our focus from where it should be.

Also pulling focus is the undue emphasis Attenborough puts on Cassie, the veteran dancer who was once Zach's lover. Although Zach and Cassie's relationship is a part of the stage show, it is but once facet among the many stories told over the evening. Attenborough makes Cassie the central part of the film, shortchanging several other characters in order to provide flashbacks of her life with Zach and her former glory days as a featured dancer. She's even given the eleven o'clock number "What I Did For Love," a song that originally was written as the dancers' anthem to pursuing the dream of Broadway without regret but is here employed as just another torch ballad. (Composer Marvin Hamlish and lyricist Edward Kleban have expressed dissatisfaction with this song, claiming the lyrics were too generalized; its misuse here unfortunately proves their point.) Near the end of the film, when Cassie tells Zach that all the dancers on stage are special, the words ring hollow, not only because of all the screen time she's gotten but because (unlike the stage version) she's been backstage and away from the audition for the majority of the proceedings.

Now and then, one gets a glimpse of what "A Chorus Line" should be. The dancing is good and photographed well, and the music (though over synthesized for the film and sung by mostly mediocre voices) still has impact. But this landmark musical deserved a far more memorable and worthy screen incarnation than it has been given.

Lara Croft: Tomb Raider - The Cradle of Life (2003)

"Cradle" Falls

[20 October 2004]

Can we just all agree that video games don't make good movies? Hollywood keeps trying, but the source material inevitably loses something once the audience is forced to put down the controller and be expected to sit and watch. Case in point: "Lara Croft Tomb Raider: The Cradle of Life," the second (and we can only hope, final) film featuring Angelina Jolie as the world's most famous pixelated babe.

Jolie's appeal in the eyes of the world remains a mystery to me--probably because I could care less how she fills out a wetsuit. In her hands, Lara is basically a less interesting version of Indiana Jones, traipsing across the globe in search of treasures because...well, because they're there, I guess. In the opening scenes she's in an underwater temple, ogling a glowing bocce ball which is promptly stolen by Asian mercenaries. The ball, we learn, is the key to finding the legendary Pandora's Box, and the mercenaries are in the employ of a bioterrorist (Ciaran Hinds, trying to imitate Alan Rickman) who wants to open the box and unleash the plague within, sparing only the "best and brightest" (from his dialogue, I gather he defines this as anyone with power and/or money). Lara sets off to stop him, dragging along (for reasons I won't bother to explain) an ex-con named Terry Sheridan (Gerard Butler, trying to imitate Russel Crowe and/or Hugh Jackman). Lara and Terry apparently have a history, a plot point which I might believe if the actors displayed any chemistry on screen.

But let's leave off the hole-riddled plot, pedestrian acting, and logical loopholes for the moment. After all, nobody comes into a film like this expecting "Amelie." "Cradle of Life" commits the one sin which is unforgivable in an adventure movie: nothing that happens on screen is in any way fun or exciting. This is one of those movies where action sequences occur not because they have anything (however slight) to do with the characters or story, but because someone thought they looked cool. Fights are photographed in a very uninvolving manner, with blurry bodies, countless shots of glass shattering and scenery getting destroyed, and excessive amounts of slow-motion. The result is something that looks like a cross between a travelogue and the X-Games, only harder to watch.

"Some things are meant to stay lost," Lara muses towards the long-awaited ending, by which point it's very clear that this movie is one of them.

Peter Pan (2003)

Bittersweet fantasy

[16 October 2004]

I remember getting teary-eyed the first time I read J.M. Barrie's "Peter Pan." I was, of course, familiar with the Disney animated film, but that movie side-stepped the truth that Barrie makes very clear in his final pages: that Wendy will grow up, change, and eventually die, while Peter will remain as he is, always in the moment, never growing old but never really living either. Both pay a price for their choice. This is one of the many ideas P.J. Hogan explores in his adaptation of Barrie's novel, and it's one of the many things that makes the film so wonderful.

Also to Hogan's credit is the fact that he's assembled a good cast and placed them in an entrancing world. Casting good young actors is a bit tricky, but Jeremy Sumpter and Rachel Hurd-Ward acquit themselves admirably in the central roles of Peter and Wendy. The balance between Peter Pan's charm and his self-absorbed arrogance is a hard one to find, but Sumpter walks the tightrope. Hurd-Ward, her wide blue eyes shining, creates in Wendy an energetic, eager girl who is both frightened and intrigued by her oncoming adolescence. There is real chemistry between the two, and they make us feel for their characters. But the standout performance belongs to Jason Isaacs. Following the theatrical tradition, Isaacs does double duty as Captain Hook and Wendy's father Mr. Darling, and plays both remarkably well. His Hook is cunning, sadistic, and fierce (but with a sad, pathetic undertone); while Mr. Darling seems to be permanently apologizing for himself (but not without the occasional burst of temper).

Most of the effects in "Peter Pan" have a strange, slightly unreal look to them. But as in Jean Cocteau's work, this is an asset rather than a liability. It allows us to accept the storybook quality of Neverland, a world of faries, black castles, pirates (many of whom look like they just finished their berths on the Black Pearl), flying children. and weather which shifts according to Peter's moods; a place which might have seemed silly to our jaded eyes but instead charms them. Likewise, scenes which might have felt hokey (such as the near-death and restoration of Tinkerbell) are carried off effectively.

Most "family" movies attempt to earn the title by creating cute characters and simple stories for the kids while making nudge-wink style pop culture references to the adults. This isn't necessarily a bad thing--in films like "Aladdin" and "Shrek," it's done marvelously. But it's refreshing to see a movie that embraces all ages with its sense of wonder. "Peter Pan" is such a movie.