James-184 Reviews

The Attic Expeditions (2001)

Brilliantly Offputting to the Overly-Linear

[2 January 2003]

Vogue's movie critic summed up a cinematic subtext of certain distinctive films (Donnie Darko, Mulholland Drive, Memento) in this way: "the theme of the year would be 'What the hell happened? Did you get what happened? Here's my theory about what happened.'" While The Attic Expeditions doesn't rise to the level of Donnie Darko and other outstanding films, it masterfully falls into the category of the terminal head-scratcher, the cinematic uber-question mark you stay up all night debating with friends in a diner--an acquired taste to be sure, but subtly great all the same.

I reported to a friend on this film as it transpired, and my initial remarks were wholly negative: the acting reeked, especially in the case of the lead; the continuity errors were gross and blatant (a multi-year coma patient wakes up and hops out of bed with no muscular degeneration and atrophy); scenarios seemed cheesy beyond belief; there seemed an almost allergic aversion to transitions and audience hand-holding; etc.

But as the film rolled on, I began to notice amazing detail in the filmwork. If the director took the trouble to make sure to show nicotine stains on the wall when a painting is taken down, how could he have overlooked those earlier continuity errors? Selective attention to detail, or the mark of careful intention? Even the lead's atrocious acting made less and less sense as a conclusion: Is this fellow truly awful, or is he supposed to be awful, given the thorough-going malleability of the picture?

Quite simply, this movie wraps without surrendering a thing. Has it been the story of a comatose man's fevered nightmares? A tale of demonic magic twisting reality? A Truman Show-ish conspiracy yarn concocted by a sick therapist puppetmaster? A bad trip? The delusions of a madman? Pick your theory or any mix of the above: they can all be defended. The campy, awkward performances can feed any of these hypotheses: either this cast is singularly lame (and it's hard to believe this across the board for all the players), or they are actively trying to achieve something with all the affectedness. Watch the acting: it has chops in spots, suggesting either that the cast is inconsistent or that somebody's actually in control.

Some open-ended films are obviously intentional: Jacob's Ladder. Some appear intentional thanks to the skill of the filmmaker but really suggest the director has been overcome by the complexity of the film to the extent that a lesson or moral is no longer within reach: many Spike Lee joints. Some intend to mess with the viewer's mind, but cop out and opt for "The Answer" in the final frames: The Game, various con-game flicks.

What makes The Attic Expeditions so memorable is the question of intention. Is this film an accidental head trip born of inexperience and ineptitide on the part of all involved? Did the filmmakers trip into this "trip"? Or is its cheese and corn planned out and consciously chosen? Vanilla Sky's and Minority Report's high production values force us to see these films as premeditated mind-benders; The Attic Expedition's low production values and general oddness can lead us to conclude that its final, proliferating question marks are the result of kitchen-sink cooking. But then again, maybe the film practices what it "preaches"--unreliability and uncertainty at every level, including method. In theory, only a low-budget, small-name picture could pull off this ultimate level of uncertainty.

Personally, I hope to never learn whether or not Expeditions was simply a shoestring slip-and-fall into surrealism and debatability. I prefer to wonder whether this film's insanity was the result of an idiot savant or a savant. That final interpretive uncertainty is the real icing on the cake: if you want to make a mind-game movie, the ultimate mind game is whether the film itself stumbles into this effect or steers for it from the opening credits. Slicker, bigger budget head-trips are too afraid of this level of meta-uncertainty: Minority Report wraps things up comfortably for us in the end; Vanilla Sky and The Game do the same. We hang suspending and wondering all the way through, but find ourselves rescued and anchored to an interesting but more-or-less undebatable reality by the end. Expeditions either rejects or is incapable of this final anchoring, and I revel in not knowing which conclusion is warranted.

Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back (2001)

Stale and Self-Absorbed

[16 March 2002]

I've always liked Kevin Smith movies. Liked, not loved. My favorites are Mallrats (in the category of pure but better-honed fun and silliness) and Chasing Amy (in the category of "The sort of films Kevin Smith would make if he were grown up"). Clerks is good as a first film, but too much a first film. Dogma would have been better as a Chris Rock standup routine, which it basically was, but Smith billed it as a movie, so he had to stick in a bunch of scenes and characters and so on to pull off the con.

To say goodbye to all the characters in the Askewinverse, especially Jay and Bob, in one goofy film, is perfectly kosher with me. And given the main/title characters, we shouldn't expect anything with gravitas. And the movie is funny. It's just not as funny when this material was fresh.

Should we really be surprised? The film feels like the homage that it is, and a self-absorbed homage (both because Jay and Bob are self-absorbed, but because Smith himself seems to have been driven to adopt the same persona--maybe indicating his reason for ending the Jersey Chronicles). Jay and Bob go to Hollywood to stop their movie NOT because they weren't given a cut of the proceeds, but because they are incensed by the internet chatroom and BBS posters making fun of...Jay and Bob. That's wholly in character for our dynamic duo (to care more about the opinions of pimply nobodies on the WWW than about their foregone riches), but as a plot device, it seems as much about Smith's own frustration toward the 'net's movie reviewers as it is a plausible course for Jay and Bob.

The inside jokes referencing Smith cast members and their careers are the funniest elements, meaning that the movie can't be as successful if you haven't spent significant time in the Askewniverse. The cameos only reiterate the feeling of self-absorption--Smith has enlisted all his old pals in this masturbatory fantasy. Masturbation is all good and well, but it supports a finite number of jokes, and it's really not long sustainable as a spectator sport. Smith's movies start with Clerks (a movie he got to make), then to Mallrats (a movie he made right for the genre), then to Amy (a movie of quality that stands on its own), and then to Dogma and J&SBSB (movies he made just because he could). Gratuitous.

Smith seems to have rejected the idea that his filmmaking should grow and opted instead to seal it off in a time-capsule. Certainly that's his prerogative--I understand that he doesn't conceive of himself as a filmmaker, at least not simply as a filmmaker--but he showed enough talent with words and ideas that it would have been nice to see where he ended up.

Cherry 2000 (1987)

Just Can't Bring Myself To Dislike It

[26 May 2001]

I can't fathom it.

I don't like either lead actor. The effects are cheesy and below "The A Team." The film doesn't paint in broad strokes; its message is slopped on with push brooms.

But doggone, I get a kick out of this thing everytime it airs.

Maybe it's the handful of stars and almost stars and the games of "Holy Cow! That's where they were then." Marshall Bell, Pamela Gidley, Griffith herself.

Maybe it's the camp, as if the producers knew that a Bruckheimeran picture was beyond them, so they reveled in their low budget and milked everything to the point that teenage boys (my age when I first saw it) can't quite be sure if this is straight or tongue-in-cheek. (The Self-Actualized Nazis of Zone 7, with their proto-New Age totalitarianism are a hoot. Give them more lines!)

It defies explanation, and I suppose it's the mystery that keeps me tuning in.

Nuts (1987)

Despite it all, it still stands up

[27 September 2000]

It's hard to appreciate this film if you were raised on a strict diet of, say, Law & Order, The Practice, even Ally McBeal.

The courtroom conduct makes more modern viewers shout out our own relevance objections when Richard Dreyfuss fails to do so. In the light of what we're used to, the trial scenes are almost painfully inept--on both sides of the aisle. And nowadays, network TV has more wrenching depictions of child abuse story lines, but if it hadn't been for this film and others like it, we wouldn't be where we are. They broke ground, and the dramas that followed refined the plot lines and honed the tension.

Yes, Streisand is impressive in this role, mixing the high and low of top-dollar call-girl with the stereotypical hooker's slang and crudity. Dreyfuss' incompetence as an attorney in this mental competence hearing at first suggests he's off his game, but it slowly dawns that the actor is portraying a mediocre lawyer, a creature nigh-extinct in today's movies and programs. This average solicitor doesn't miraculously discover the tongue of William Jennings Bryan, nor does he find himself trampled by opposing counsel. As Dreyfuss' character puts it after Streisand has "excused" her first, high-priced attorney, "You had good. Now you've got me." That is precisely the character Dreyfuss portrays.

The film forces comparison with another Dreyfuss-courtroom drama, "They Shoot Horses, Don't They?" also based on a play. "Nuts" falls short in that competition, even though the sophistication of the characters' understandings of mental states is almost equally dated and thus incredulous to latter-day viewers. In "Horses," it's easier to imagine that the good guys might just lose, and for a courtroom drama, that's a crucial uncertainty. Further, Dreyfuss' quadruple amputee character in "Horses" puts forth a more apparent and accessible frame of mind than Streisand's in "Nuts." She is more animalistic, less eloquent, more bitterly insulting, less achingly sardonic. We can relate more to him, because we're given more to work with.

If you want to rediscover some of the roots of commonplace legal story lines we see in primetime, both films are worth the time.

The Mighty (1998)

A Beautiful, Sweet Film

[26 September 2000]

The downsides first: Sharon Stone seemed out-of-step through most of her scenes; Stone, Anderson, Stanton and Rowlands should never have beaten the two kids for top billing; and it stars the brother of that Home Alone kid.

And that's it. Overlooking those exceedingly minor peeves, what you see is a delightful, poignant movie. Always hard to believe that such things are made in America these days (shot mainly in Canada, I understand).

It tends toward the Disneyfied, canters over toward the saccharin, meanders near the cliche--but never quite falls in. The dark basic subject matter--a doomed and obviously precious child and relationship--is taboo for the usual Disney kid fare, but this is the kind of film studios should be making in greater quantity.

The Devil's Advocate (1997)

In conclusion, do miss it

[26 September 2000]

Take C.S. Lewis' Screwtape Letters, put 'em in a monologue for Al Pacino, sprinkle in semi-wooden acting by Keanu Reeves, and pour sloppily into a container shaped like The Firm.

There are pluses: I've seen Keanu act worse than this, Pacino's rants are always fun (he could speak Swahili and you'd get a mild charge), and the digital effects--though sparingly used--are masterful (probably because they were sparingly used).

But in all a murky, trite, predictable story. You get the feeling that this was halfway through production when The Firm came out, and they had to go back to the drawing board post haste. That, or else it was some novice screenwriter's high concept that made it bigger than anyone could have expected.

Blake's 7 (1978–1981)

A Classic--Use your Imagination

[21 September 2000]

For those of us weaned on Doctor Who, shows like Blake's 7 are instantly appealing. But for today's audiences, try this trick:

Listen closely to the dialogue and notice how the acting--unlike the SFX--is quite good. Then imagine that George Lucas, Jerry Bruckheimer and any actor you admire collaborated on a faithful remake, line for line, with top-level effects. Can you see it? (May require more than one viewing.)

Good. Prior to Battlestar Galactica on TV and Star Wars on the big screen, this is about all we had in terms of production values. (We were lucky if the boom mics were not showing at the top of the screen.) We had to make do with fascinating story ideas and characters we could inhabit each week. If the monsters were made of rubber, the spaceships made of cardboard, well, we lived with it.

Note to Spielberg, Bruckheimer, Lucas, et al: Keep the script stet and consider giving these back to the world.

Spacehunter: Adventures in the Forbidden Zone (1983)

Classic Cheese

[10 September 2000]

I make a point to catch Spacehunter every time it airs (usually after 1 a.m.). It's classic cheese, and I submit there's a place in our moral-cinematic universe for such films.

What films? Oh, having Michael Ironside as the villain is a good clue. If I had to define them...films so goofy (yet riddled with neat ideas that only the low-budget creative intellect can conjure) that we harken back to adolescence and think how cool these films would have been/were when we saw them with our junior high pals.

Yes, this is MST3K material, but lovingly so, nostalgically so. An ugly duckling that never becomes a swan--never even really gives such a transformation a shot--but one we can groove on precisely because it's so dorky.

Blade (1998)

Quite a Good Vampire Film

[30 August 2000]

In terms of effects, fight choreography, raw action, gore, and pacing, the film rewards--and then some.

Sure, there are drawbacks. Stephen Dorff is not inherently intimidating, but would critics have preferred Arnold Schwarzenegger? Yes, the plot is fantastical, but first--this is a vampire movie, what do you expect? And second, it's based on a comic book; a little far-fetchedness is normal.

There are plot holes, of course. The villain's apparent master plan is to turn everyone into vampires. If he succeeds, what will the vampires eat, each other?

But one only notices such gaps during the second or third viewing, and if you're watching it two or three times, I guess that makes it a successful action-horror thriller.

The Thing (1982)

Number One

[24 August 2000]

It's been 18 years since I first saw John Carpenter's The Thing, and it continues to occupy the top slot in my list of the scariest movies of all time.

There's something primally terrifying about that-which-cannot-be-stopped, and the Antarctic setting conveys a realistic feel of isolation that outstrips the aloneness in all three Aliens films (none of us have ever been to distant space outposts, but we can relate to the icy solitude of a human environment).

Yes, H. R. Geiger's Aliens were mind-numbingly horrific, in their speed and agility and sheer foreignness to everything human; in that regard, they capture the title as best extraterrestrials in film. But though The Thing's creatures are also of alien origin, they fall more neatly--and fulfill completely--the niche of movie monster.

This disturbing film is a classic.

Sliders (1995–2000)

Casting or Writing: Which Bombed First?

[21 August 2000]

The original Sliders, featuring O'Connell, Rhys-Davies, Lloyd and Derricks, had potential: a Quantum Leap that held up better from a hard sci-fi POV.

Sure, the alternate worlds differed along only a narrow spectrum (no worlds where Aristotle's corpus was lost at sea or where the Spanish were beaten back by the Aztecs and Mayans--in short, nothing compared to Poul Anderson's Time Patrol novels), but for TV, it was forgiveable. The show could have served a real allegorical purpose, like the original Star Trek episodes, smuggling in controversy in veiled, science-fiction form under the radars of network censors.

And maybe it tried, and maybe it would have tried harder, but either the writing so petered out that the original stars split or the stars bolted and the writers scrambled to patch together the vehicle that had been abandoned. Down goes Sabrina Lloyd, then John Rhys-Davies, then the star, Jerry O'Connell. By the time Cleavant Derricks' seniority finally grants him the dubious honor of doing the opening voiceover narration, the show's been utterly gutted.

Maybe there's something philosophical in the program's blandness: an episode on a world without aluminum doesn't use that lack for anything more than a plot complication amid a standard good-guys vs. bad-guys story. Maybe the message in these all-too-similar worlds is that no matter how wacky the axiomatic differences among quantum realities, it's all same-old, same-old.

Network TV should be relieved at that news.

Casualties of War (1989)

A Casualty Alright...

[18 August 2000]

I confess: I didn't watch this one too closely. In my defense, it was tough.

I couldn't get over Michael J. Fox's presence in this movie. Where was Doc Brown and the flux capacitor? Where were the rest of the Keaton clan?

Sean Penn could have saved me, but Penn has been in every Vietnam film ever made, or at least so it seems, and usually playing the same character, so the unique reality of this movie began to blur into all the other Vietnam pics in the genre.

So you've got the surrealism of Fox as the lead and the mimeographed quality of Penn's calloused soldier redux.

But I'm not too jaded to ignore the fact that the film packs some power. It doesn't hold a candle to Platoon or Saving Private Ryan, but if this is your first in the war-is-literally-and-viscerally-hell genre, be prepared to be stunned.

That said, the flashback device may have never been so clunkily misused. Fox, after the war, sees a young Asian woman on a bus. She resembles someone...fade to the jungles. We never revisit that bus until moments before the credits roll-but in just enough time for a heavy-handed sage-wisdom summary just to make sure Fox can get on with his life. Ah, if only the real veterans of that war could have been healed as easily.

One scene in particular both rankles and amuses. Fox, appalled by war atrocities, approaches his decent buddy and launches into what feels like a five-minute monologue on existentialist ethics: we are but brief candles, so we must bear our unbearable freedom honorably...live every day as if it were your last. This scene was unwittingly spoofed in another Fox film, The Hard Way, when Fox's actor character steals overwrought lines from James Woods and delivers them with all the finesse of a Mack truck.

DePalma, SchmePalma: Marty McFly should never have time-traveled to the Vietnam War.

The Ninth Gate (1999)

Someone Stole the Second Reel

[17 August 2000]

"The ending leaves something to the imagination." I'll say it does. Like the entire conclusion. Like any kind of resolution. Like an ex post facto rationale for renting this puppy. The ending is anything but. It literally feels as if Polanski ran out of film, or time, and had to rush the movie to his distributors. Which is all the more disappointing because the film up to its finale (if one can call it that) is remarkably enthralling. We forget Johnny Depp is Johnny Depp. We become intrigued by the plot and enamored of the settings and scenery. Worst of all, the back-jacket blurbs on the video cassette promise a confrontation with the Devil. Arguably, this promise is fulfilled, but if you have to wonder whether you've met the Devil, you haven't really met the Devil at all, now have you?

The Opposite of Sex (1998)

Why I Despise Ricci

[17 August 2000]

Offensive? Perhaps. If, by the term, you mean that you will sour on the future of the human race and be saddened by the myriad ways an opportunistic sociopath can wreck the lives of those around her without stooping to serial murder, then yes, the film's offensive.

To her credit, Christina Ricci plays the vicious little hussy so well that I have been unable to see another of her films: I can't stop seeing her as this character and hating her on that account. Which is both praise and criticism. Praise in that Ricci nails this role; criticism in that her performance is so painfully branded on my psyche that I seem to have permanently type-cast her--and the mark of a great actor is her ability to convince us she is a different person in each new role.

That said, any film that can so affect a viewer will not leave you absent an opinion. This is no humdrum piece of celluloid. A great film? No. One I wish I could forget, yes--but not in the same way I wish I could forget innumerable stinkers.

End of Days (1999)

Good Stuff from Both Worlds

[30 July 2000]

First off, a disclaimer: to dig this film, you must find value in both the action and apocalyptic/horror/Satan-come-to-earth genres. Not that you have to love every film these specialties yield--they tend to produce some stinkers. But connoisseurs of these genres should be satisfied with End of Days, which combines a decent devil story with Ah-nold.

The theology doesn't get in your face or trip the film up. Gabriel Byrne makes up for his role in Stigmata by playing a ruthless Lord of the Flies, with shades of his brutal character in The Usual Suspects. And as the trailers suggested, while Schwarzenegger is prominent from the outset, it only becomes an action pic in the last 20 minutes or so. By then, we're almost ready for exploding subway stations. (And I think there's only one parting shot line by Arnold.)

The mood is just right for a Lucifer-kicking-butt movie: you never know what kind of creepy weirdness is coming next.

Dogma (1999)

A Comic Book

[30 July 2000]

Alright, alright. This film is hilarious, controversial and very Kevin Smith. Unfortunately, nothing about it was very fresh. Some of the gags took on new forms, but essentially this material's dated and unoriginal. I assume Smith felt his musings on religion in general and Catholicism in specific were new under the sun, but we've really seen most of this film in various forms--most of them in "recovering Catholic" stand-up routines. And stand-up is really what the film is: Smith's unorthodox observations and reflections stitched to a comic book plot and characters. The story itself is a series of complications and delays allowing Smith to break up the talking head sessions with a smidge more movement. It's a long--funny, don't get me wrong (and for the record, shockingly politically incorrect but hardly offensive)--bull session about religion, among skeptics and stoners, disguised by the pretense of events unfolding. Good fun, but probably Smith's weakest work (Chasing Amy & Mallrats tying for first, followed by Clerks). Would have been much less cluttered if they'd edited out the plot and handed the script to Chris Rock to do on stage.

The Confession (1999)

Film Industry Vindicated

[24 August 1999]

Just when you tire of seeing seamy, disspiriting tales of outlawry and big-budget, small-brained extravaganzas, a film like The Confession comes along to, well, renew your faith that the medium of film can deliver something uplifting and thoughtful without getting smarmy and preachy.

Kinglsey is simply a masterful actor no matter what he does. Watch his every gesture and expression, for each is intentional. Baldwin's social conscience tends to steer him to movies with messages, and this is no exception. Viewers should go in expecting actual morals to the story--such a rarity these days.

Baldwin plays a hot-shot defense lawyer with chances at and aspirations to becoming district attorney. He's slime. Slick, sophisticated slime, but slime nonetheless. A much better portrayal of slime than we saw with Travolta's personal injury attorney in A Civil Action, for instance, probably because we SEE Baldwin's slime, while Travolta's is merely described. Kingsley plays a devout Jew and CFO of a major corporation.

When Kingsley commits a triple homicide (no spoiler, that; it's on the back of the box) and becomes Baldwin's client (retainer paid by Sanders, Kingsley's boss), we have a surprisingly subtle film about doing what's right, knowing what's right, human law and God's Law: the good man who does wrong defended by the bad man who never gets caught.

It's a moral movie without moralizing--at least as far as Hollywood gets. Kingsley and his family are the definition of upstanding and decent. As Baldwin enters their orbit, his own recessive goodness is evoked, while his dominant corruption simultaneously taints Kingsley's family. The relationships are complex, and not because of any cheap tricks of screenwriting or silence, but because of the characters themselves. The right thing to do recedes from initial clarity (for each main character) and gets lost in a multitude of possible "right" things: what is right for Irving, for Kingsley, for justice, for Sanders, for Baldwin's career, for Baldwin's emerging desire to be one of the good guys.

It's a religious movie, yet not a preachy one. We see Kingsley's devotion to God as he understands it. We have Kevin Conway ostensibly playing Baldwin's co-counsel and investigator, but in reality serving as his conscience and confessor (there's even a baptism-with-bourbon scene in a bar--both odd and provocative). We have the rigid orthodoxy portrayed ably by Kingsley, and the more human ethical luke-warmth of Irving.

What matters most is that soon into the film we really know the three main characters, from multiple angles, not simply in religious, professional, or ethical categories. And yet we know not what they'll do next because the story captures them in a moment of rapid change, growth and crisis.

Had this been a small independent film, the second hour and the secondary plot (a corporate/power-politics mystery) would have been lopped off, but this Hollywood touch doesn't get in the way.

Thematically, one lens through which to view this is the battle between corruption and saintliness. We have Baldwin's corruption as a defense attorney, which, to some extent, is actually virtuous for a defense attorney--he gets his clients off. We have the police department's corruption in the early scenes. References to, if not corruption, then compromise, in the DA's office in plea bargains and decisions on the death penalty. Legal corruption in extremely ex parte assignations. Marital corruption and two different responses to it. Corruption of the common good for private gain.

And yet we are shown the flipside. Baldwin is praised as a man of conscience while those bestowing the compliment are themselves so corrupt the word sounds phony on their lips. We see bureaucratic corruption yet also the wrongness of vigilantism as retribution. We see the insanity of assuming that a man who admits guilt and welcomes punishment must be insane--lying and refusing to accept punishment being the "sane" response. We see Baldwin argue with Kingsley about God's law and justice, both when Baldwin plays the sophistic devil's advocate and later, when the discussion comes to have meaning for him. We see the possible foolish consistency in Kingsley devoting himself with such absolutist fervor to his work, his son and his God--while neglecting his wife...and yet we see Irving's foolish consistency in defining herself completely by reference to her son and husband.

The ending is a bit dramatic for the rest of the film but there is no sugar-coated salvation. We get to see the truly vile punished. And while the conscientious sinners also suffer a penalty or two, it's a just, if sad, penalty all told. There's a redemptive feeling to this movie, though finding evidence of concrete redemption is hard. The closest character to redemption is Baldwin, but his fate is by no means secure. Perhaps the redemption consists in the main characters emerging from the swamp of corruption alive and wiser, if somewhat less saintly for it all. Maybe it's in the relative lack of trumpet fanfare: a resolution that isn't exactly happy but just, leaving the players capable of contentment and continued life.

Amy Irving is amazing, though she peters out near the end. Kingsley is, well, a god. Baldwin has a lot of silent staring whilst others blather and exposit, but it never rises to annoyance. Sanders does well as a slick, ultra-rich CENSORED.

Some may criticize the film for beating us over the head with airheaded religion--but this signals a fixation on the obvious that blinds them to the subtle. There are no easy answers here, and that's rare.

8MM (1999)

Somewhat predictable, vindicated here and there

[13 August 1999]

Plotwise, there's nothing terribly new in 8mm. The premise is strongly reminiscent of a Lawrence Block Matthew Scudder novel, though 8mm winds its own way eventually. No essential plot point is new to movie-goers, but the unoriginality isn't that blatant. In fact, the film can catch you up, especially as we see Welles (Cage) going through the legwork that used to be the staple of fictional detectives but which is now all but gone from cinema dicks.

Phoenix, as Max, is the high point. He has the most room to maneuver as a character, as well as the best lines. While Welles is purposefully rigid (and thus prone to breakage), and the rest of the characters are generally vile, Max is someone we'd probably like to know and have coffee with.

The pornographers are caricatures. Pure evil incarnate, almost ready for their supervillain costumes to be tailored, seemingly out of place outside, oh, Strange Days or perhaps The Fifth Element. This reflects story choice: rather than present us with a thoughtful piece exploring the banality of evil, we are given a morality tale where the bad guys wear black and the only gray areas have to do with the contradictions inherent in vigilantism. Some "moment of decision" scenes are compelling, but ultimately shallow if you pause to ponder the possibilities that might have been pursued. You could say 8mm's moral (and artistry) is the diametric opposite of Dead Man Walking's.

The action is thankfully modest in scale. No Jerry Bruckheimer exploding subway cars or lethal germ warfare cannisters. Just guns and fists and knives and shivs--primitive and appropriate to the film's milieu.

The establishment of Welles as an upright, decent fellow is overdone and unimaginative: broken-record scenes of him calling his beautiful wife at his suburban home, discussing their infant daughter (whose nickname is Cinderella), swearing his devotion, promising to call again. While we may need to see Welles as upstanding, this particular device is done to death.

Other plot elements strike a sour note, but exploring them here would require spoilers. In all, some important themes and questions are raised, but unsubtly, as one would raise a banner or flag. There is no deft touch thematically. The trailers broadcast the moral of this movie's story: "You dance with the devil, devil don't change. Devil changes you." There's little surprise in the lesson we are to take away. (And the biggest surprise is given away by the cast list, for those on their toes.)

One can picture Nicolas Cage accepting this role, imagining that it would make a statement about the violent and dehumanizing effects of pornography. The irony is in the limited and tame content of that statement. The film makes the case that snuff films and S&M porn are bad for us; it seems oblivious to (or afraid of) the extensions of that argument--that ANY porn might be just as bad for us, that violent Nicolas Cage movies about porn being bad for us might THEMSELVES be bad for us. That would be provocative.

Finally, it hardly seems just that this film (and Seven before it) received an R rating, while a comedy about the porn industry, Orgazmo, faced a possible NC-17. This latter film's nudity was restricted to male buttocks, contained nary a drop of blood, and its violence was all spoof.

A Civil Action (1998)

Don't believe the hype

[12 August 1999]

Oh, to have been a script doctor and to have this film and The Rainmaker pass over my desk! The flaws in both could have been artfully dissolved by merging the movies into one.

Flaws? Yes. We never see a convincing portrayal of Travolta's transformation from shyster personal injury attorney into earnest defender of the victimized. Brilliant Tony Shalhoub is wasted, playing essentially a warm body. Equally brilliant William H. Macy should have had so much more to his character, but I'm thankful he got as much as he did. With the exception of Duvall's amoral yet immensely likeable corporate attorney, the rest of the cast is more or less forgettable.

A Civil Action is snazzily filmed, and its contribution to legal drama is in the depiction of the spending siege that allows corporate plaintiffs to win through settlements (which contribute to the image of the money-grubbing injury lawyers). But Travolta is wooden, preventing us from caring much for him, and we really see very little nefarious machination by the multinationals named as responsible parties for the contaminated water.

Had it been "Inspired by a True Story" instead of based on one (that is, had the writers enjoyed more leeway to fictionalize the story), odds are good that we might have seen a truly indignation-inspiring film, on the order of The Accused or Romero. As it is, we are mildly miffed at corporate irresponsibility, and we leave feeling as if this is the worst sort of naughtiness big companies commit.

By no means an awful film, merely disappointing on too many counts.

The Rainmaker (1997)

Needed one more re-write...and a different casting director

[12 August 1999]

Rudy Baylor (Damon) is likeable. He's likeable from the opening shots. Why we need to have his likeability gratuitously hammered into us throughout the film escapes me.

He's a working class kid bartending his way through law school. He's level-headed and idealistic, with just the right touch of savvy cynicism. He defends battered women (in a plotline that has no purpose other than to make us like Rudy even more). He feels distaste at ambulance chasing. He stands up for the poor and simple victims of corporate tyranny and exploitation. He even does yardwork for his elderly landlady.

How much more compelling to see him change and grow in the film, say, from a poor young lawyer with dollar signs in his eyes who tries to cash in on a lucrative insurance settlement only to realize that his clients are, well, "his people." We'd still like ol' Rudy, but we'd have a decent reason to.

Claire Danes? Fine work, but a superfluous storyline. John Voight? Commendable, but just shy of the quality of Robert Duvall in A Civil Action. Danny Devito? Either annoying or adorable, depending on taste. Mary Kay Place? Riveting as the mother of the young leukemia victim given the brush-off by an insurance giant. Mickey Rourke? Interestingly costumed and coiffed, but ultimately pointless.

Thankfully we are spared the standard Grisham story of the young attorney of southern extraction who, in his hubris, commits the fatal and tragic flaw which sets the car chases in motion. (Though we do get a delightful bugged-office twist, with a cameo, I believe, from Randy Travis.)

It needed work, both in plotting and casting (kill the Danes storyline and replace it with more character insight and growth for Rudy; re- or decast several principals), but in all a satisfying and moderately thoughtful big budget film.

Savages (1972)

Bizarre, Bizarre, Bizarre

[10 August 1999]

The plot summary provided does a good job of describing "Savages," a film I rented at a Kwikshop in the late 1980s. Co-written by Michael O'Donoghue (of early SNL writing fame), this movie ranks near the top of my "Weird Films" list. Explanatory narration was, I believe, in German, which of course limited the effectiveness of the explanations. The decadence of the Long Islanders was truly kinky, and shades of "The Gods Must Be Crazy" are evident in the croquet ball (nee soda bottle).

How stunning to see the cast list and recognize not only Sam Waterston but also Martin Kove ("Cagney & Lacey," "The Karate Kid") and Salome Jens ("Sisters," "Star Trek: Deep Space Nine") among the credits.

It's worth a view for the bizarrity alone. Add the delicious pleasure of seeing currently working (and in some cases successful) actors in this odd film, and you have the makings of a twisted conversation piece.

Nutshell: Watch it in a darkened room with off-the-wall company and come away with a somewhat surreal residual buzz.

Listen to Me (1989)

Harmless, but inaccurate

[31 July 1999]

This film brings up the tail end of the 1980s "John Hughes-ish" movies about earnest teens and young adults. As a tail-ender, it's not as rewarding as The Breakfast Club, St. Elmo's Fire, or even Some Kind of Wonderful. It's not a great movie, not even that good of a movie, but if you like its kinfolk, you may enjoy it.

One caution: its portrayal of college debate is utter fiction. Do not imagine for a moment that college debate resembles this film's view of it in the slightest.