simpletonistic Reviews

The Hills Have Eyes (2006)

Immobile, Home, Alone:

[7/10 · 15 March 2006]

The most recent version of Wes Craven's original succeeds, and fails, because of its excesses. Director Alexandre Aja dwells deep into grisly, jolting murders, methodically building tension that keeps one squirming uncomfortably in their theater seat. Augmenting his technique, similar to Mel Gibson in "The Passion" and Emeril Lagasse in the kitchen, he kicks his executions up a notch, and succeeds in frightening the living bejesus out of us.

But, "Hills..." ultimately fails because the story does not give us enough information detailing, or even sketching, why a group of mutated descendants is hell-bent on rape, evisceration, and cannibalism. Lacking much in the way of expository data concerning the habits of his mutants (all of whom are descendants of families effected by A-bomb experiments done, for the most part, in their backyard), Aja's depiction of a double-rape, a suicide, and the burning of one victim "at the stake" (which were preceded by shots of infant mutants during the roll of opening credits) seem positively, and shamelessly, gratuitous.

Oddly enough, that's too bad, because his method of building tension, and creating good and evil characters whose lives intrigued me, worked well. Up to a point, the movie engrossed me. But, after a point, specifically, the double-rape sequence, the movie grossed me out. By way of explaining why "Hills..." fails more than it succeeds.

I bring to point another horror film that I saw recently, "Final Destination 3." In each, the body count builds, as it should. After all, these are horror movies, and one expects heads to roll, be lopped off, or blown apart in a variety of ways. That's the nature of the genre: blood, guts, and gore. In "FD-3" the killings aren't any less graphic, the victims go down, one after the next, and we are not spared the "money shots." Yet, in "FD-3" the killings, in conjunction with the story, seemed comical, each one ascending in order of incredulity.

Also, their pursuers, unseen, and with the usual horror movie killer's motive: we died, so you too must die, did not appear to have other needs than seeing the victims succumb.

In "Hills.." we see the evil killers, a group of grossly disfigured rednecks, but we are never given good enough reason to empathize with their desire to avenge their mutated selves, and ancestors, by cannibalizing their randomly selected, or delivered, subjects. Hell, being born ugly ain't any reason to resort to rape, torture, and cannibalism. If that were the case, well, half the population on Planet Earth would qualify as potential homicidal maniacs. (Myself included!) This inauthentic story line is where I feel that "Hills..." disconnects from its viewers, and mutates its intention to add to the horror pantheon. In a few words, the movie is too evil-minded, without giving us enough reason to believe why its antagonists would act the way they do.

It's one thing to scare people with your production, but you overstep your intention when you scare them away.

"The Hills Have Eyes" will be one of those movies that people will watch and then instantly want to willingly forget. Unlike "Final Destination 3," a movie they might want to enjoy a second time for a cheap thrill.

16 Blocks (2006)

Action-Packed Crime Thriller? Mos Def-initely

[8/10 · 14 March 2006]

If NYC bus drivers drove their MTA buses with the dogged determination that Det. Jack Mosley (played by a paunchy Bruce Willis) displayed in this action/adventure/crime/drama/thriller, the folks at the NYC MTA Complaint Department would have little to do but punch IN and OUT on a daily basis. Mosley's reason for hi-jacking an MTA bus coincides with his desire to successfully escort a fast-talking witness, Eddie Bunker (played with sublime brilliance by Mos Def), from police custody to a courthouse. The title of the film is derived from the distance--"16 Blocks"--between the police precinct where Bunker has been held to the courthouse where he is due to testify.

Relative to the plot: aging cop must escort witness 16 blocks, going into the film I had doubts that Director Richard Donner and Writer Richard Wenk would have enough skill to pull off an action-packed drama, let alone edge-of-your-seat thriller. But, giving credit where credit is due, they surpassed my expectations, and then some.

Like Det. Mosley, "16 Blocks" delivers the goods.

Of course, one does have to look the other way during some of the movie's sequences, especially the never-ending string of escapes that the gimpy detective and his ever-chatting custodial responsibility make in the course of their short trip. Believe it, Houdini would be impressed by these two if he were still around. Even after Mosley wedges the hi-jacked bus into an alleyway with no outlets they manage to elude their pursuers. But, as we all know by now, that is the nature of "thrillers." Most often the pursued are trapped in no-escape situations by slipping out the back door, or high-tailing it up a stairwell, or, as aforementioned, hi-jacking a city bus.

Willis and Def, the two lead characters in the movie, carry the load, and do so with a combination of dead-pan humor, knowing exchanges, and sheer will.

Playing the grizzled, alcoholic NYPD police detective, who is on the verge of retirement, or suicide (whichever comes first), Willis hits all the right marks. There's something in his face that plays perfectly to the tone of "been there, done that" without playing that tone as stereotypically jaded. That's not so surprising as Willis has shown his chops in a handful of previous flicks. What is surprising is Mos Def's performance as the inscrutable yet amiable Eddie Bunker.

Def's character brings to mind the character played by Mel Gibson in "Conspiracy Theory" (produced by Mr. Donner). One moment you think the guy is full of hot air and fantasy, but in the next his obtuse ramblings make sense. Thanks to the believable relationship these two build in their short time together, Def gets to deliver several of the movie's most hilarious lines, made all the more poignant in light of Willis' response, or lack thereof.

By movie's end, these strange bedfellows act in unison, achieving their individual goals by the only means left available to them. (I won't divulge their choice as it would give away too much of the ending.) Suffice it to say, this surprising movie succeeded as an action/adventure/crime/drama/thriller on the shoulders of its leading characters, and the talents of Donner and Wenk.

Work to the wise. As one might be tempted to do upon meeting Det. Mosley, don't underestimate what you see at face value relative to the movie's seemingly skimpy plot.

While "16 Blocks" might not seem enough distance for hold one's interest, escorted by Willis and Def, one's adventure is anything but uneventful.

Murderball (2005)

Murderball: Quadriplegics Re-Invent the Wheel(chair)

[10/10 · 31 January 2006]

As quadriplegic, Mark Zupan, one of the "stars" of this documentary notes, though a provocative slang term, "Murderball," (as it is called amongst its fans and participants) is not an appropriate marketing tool in terms of getting quadriplegic wheelchair rugby into the televised sports loop. Too bad, because I'm a sports fanatic who is sick of over-paid professional athletes (whose names I know but refuse to mention) complaining about how many more millions of dollars they should be making. (For example: that pompous horse's ass on the Philly Eagles and that smug, Ohio State football player who starting whining BEFORE ever being drafted (and whose career is in the sh***er, thank GOD!)). After viewing MURDERBALL I would willingly drive the fan bus to see my local team of lunch-bucket, never-say-quit, glad-just-to-be-here MURDERBALLERS compete for the sheer joy of staring overwhelming obstacles in the face and declaring, "Bring it on!" If there is any justice in this world, some empty suit over at ESPN ought to pitch this idea. "What the hell, we have time slots available for Spelling Bee's and Scrabble tournaments (both of which should be televised, by the way). We ought to free up the time slots presently reserved for re-runs of billiard trick shot competitions and ancient NASCAR races for to televise, at least, the final rounds of the Paralympic Games. Inclusive, of course, of the wheelchair rugby competition." That's not to say that guys like Zupan (a quadriplegic as a result of a car accident), Bob Lujano (a quadriplegic by way of a rare blood disease), Joe Soares (polio victim quadriplegic), or any of the other quadriplegic's featured, or filmed, in this documentary, need anyone's praise or support. They don't. Not because they wouldn't appreciate or invite it, but simply because their day-to-day existences are studies in the kind of inexorable self-determination that is self-sustaining and not ever predicated upon the sympathy of strangers. After all, we aren't in their bodies, and while we might blindly offer our empathy, and support, it is solely up to them to bring unyielding perseverance to the table 24/7. For, as evidenced in MURDERBALL, for these guys, and all quadriplegics, nothing comes easy.

Unzipping Velcro, rolling over, putting on a T-shirt: every action is a task.

Exercising just the right amount of discretion, directors, Henry Alex Rubin and Dana Adam Shapiro, choose not to dwell too much on the plight of the quadriplegics throughout the documentary. (Hell, if one does not understand what these--and all other--quadriplegics go through on a minute-to-minute basis, a four-day documentary and a cast iron sledgehammer wouldn't be sufficient to hammer home their obvious predicament.) Instead, MURDERBALL concerns itself with the subject matter at hand, chiefly the squad of quadriplegic wheelchair rugby players whom represent the USA in world championships and the aforementioned Paralympics.

Filmgoers will find much to like about MURDERBALL. As Zupan accurately noted, the title might be off-putting. But, in MURDERBALL, the sport, no one gets murdered, and the sport itself is more like football and rugby and hockey than to its fictional, referential sport: ROLLERBALL. I watched the film with my 14-yr. old son and he was so interested, in all aspects of the story, that he demanded a re-run in the near future.

To their credit, the directors and the subjects never preached about the plight of quadriplegics. Instead, through their sheer joy of life they made it known that it is far more practicable to accept one's capabilities and to make the most of them, through hard work, self-reliance, and, no doubt, a little help from one's friends, than to dwell on any negative thought asserting failure.

Hoodwinked! (2005)

Hoodwinked! (aka: L'il Red Fries Rabbit)

[9/10 · 25 January 2006]

I'm a 47-yr. old father of one who went to see this movie WITHOUT my son. Why? Well, he wasn't around and I have been over-run on "serious" movies lately ("Brokeback Mountain" and "Syriana" to name but two). All I wanted to do at the theater was sit back, relax, chomp some smuggled-in, air-popped, secret-recipe popcorn, and have a few laughs.

I couldn't have picked a better movie to fulfill my needs.

"Hoodwinked! The Real Story of Red Riding Hood" was a blast! It is funnier than many other animated films ("Shreks 1 & 2" and "Madagascar" to name three off the top of my head). Those films incorporate every possible pop-culture reference for the sole purpose of making everything OBVIOUS. I'm not saying that "Hoodwinked" sets a new standard for animated film screenplays. But, I will say that the choice of writers/directors Cory and Todd Edwards and Tony Leech to use "Rashomon" (a film by the legendary Asian filmmaker Akira Kurosawa) as a plotting template bests the choices of other animated filmmakers whose pop-culture-laden screenplays steal from each other.

The movie begins with a bang at Granny's (Glenn Close) house in the woods. There we find the big bad Wolf (Patrick Warburton) seemingly up to no good, preying on Granny. Oddly enough, however, upon the Wolf's arrival Granny is no where to be found. When Red (Anne Hathaway) shows up the Wolf dons a Granny mask and (in)appropriate attire in an attempt to pass himself off as Red's grandmother. During their confrontation Granny bursts out of the bedroom closet just before an ax-wielding Woodsman (Jim Belushi) suddenly comes smashing through the bedroom window.

In the next instant the screen goes black.

From there the screenwriters incorporate the plotting device employed in "Rashomon" allowing for each of the four principals to tell their stories in flashback to the chief police investigator, a dapper, long-legged, taciturn, mustachioed frog named Nicky Flippers (played to perfect pitch by David Ogden Stiers). He leads an investigation augmented by one hyper-aggressive police chief, Chief Grizzly (Xzibit), and a host of goofballs: two pigs, a stork, and an alligator. (Their exchanges throughout the Q & A sessions are mostly hilarious, especially one dealing with apprehension of crime suspects based solely on their appearing "creepy" to the misguided, apprehending police officers.) Together with the audience Flippers listens to the principals' stories while trying to piece together what transpired at Granny's house. Their stories bring into the mix Boingo (Andy Dick), a wisecracking, ubiquitous, neighborhood rabbit; Twitchy the Squirrel (Cory Edwards) the Wolf's speed-talking (and speed-balling?) sidekick; and Japeth the Goat (Benjy Gaither), a hillbilly goat whom--due to a hex put upon him many years before--can only sing when communicating verbally.

There are other ancillary participants as well, playing integrated performances furthering the movie's story seamlessly.

Having seen a bit of the MTV animated series, "Daria," I would say that L'il Red's persona is very similar. Despite her youth she has a "been there, done that" attitude if only because she wants to do more than she is permitted by her legal guardian, Granny. Her countenance speaks of both frustration and know-it-all intelligence. In short, she is wise beyond her years, waiting for the day in the not so distant future where freedom will mark the beginning of her true existence.

As for Andy Dick's voice-over and autonomous acting performance as Boingo it is, indeed, excessive and spectacular. Except for Cory Edwards' equally over-the-top presentation of Twitchy, the hyperactive, Chimpmunky-voiced squirrel, Dick nearly steals the show. Thanks, on his behalf, should go to the screenwriters who feed him line after line after line like eager kids feeding goodies to a horse at a petting zoo.

In once such scene he barks out to instructions to his henchmen. "Dolph! Go get a Helicopter! And Keith! Change your name! It's not very scary sounding and I get embarrassed saying it!" Much too much has been made about the animation of "Hoodwinked" lacking for one reason (poorly animated, says one in the profession) or another (not up to PIXAR standards, say most others). I'm here to tell those who whine about it, for any reason: locate a life! To each his own.

To those animated filmmakers who strive to produce animated films that are original in some way—the producers of "Hoodwinked" to name a few—congratulations! You've succeeded. Perhaps you made believe that PIXAR does not exist or that yours was the first animated film ever made. Whatever your motives, "Hoodwinked" succeeds because of its' animation. It's colorful, bursting with pastels, and in its simplicity, which works in tandem with the screenplay, it doesn't draw one away from the story.

As for that story, well, you'll have to go and see this one for yourself. Safe to say, I think you will be surprised that ANYONE would find "Hoodwinked" not worth whatever money was forked over to view it. The humor crackles, the original songs, written by the screenwriters, but, for the most part, sung by relative unknowns (though Ben Folds is hardly unknown in my household) are clever, and the action, 80 minutes of non-stop fun, is compelling.

Match Point (2005)

Match Point a Dud

[1/10 · 13 January 2006]

Too bad for Woody Allen, his earlier films set such a high bar for himself that one can't go into one of his films without expectations. I won't be the last to point out that he has delivered a few recent flops: "Hollywood Ending" and "Anything Else" to name but two. Nevertheless, hope springs eternal within Woody fans such as myself, and when I heard that his latest movie "Match Point" was garnering some critical acclaim that spurred me to get out to my local theater to see for myself if the buzz was apropos.

The story, an oft told Guy meets someone else's Girl and eventually gets Girl pregnant while Guy is married to another girl tale, is set in present-time London.

The Guy is Chris Wilton (played by Jonathon Rhys-Meyers), a failed tennis pro who enters the mix upon being hired at a tennis club catering to a filthy rich clientèle. Mr. Rhys-Meyers seems as likely a tennis ace as Danny Devito is a body builder. Bony as an English rock guitarist and sporting the tennis stroke of a grandmother, Rhys-Meyers fails on all levels to convince me that Chris Wilton used to give tennis all-stars like Andre Agassi a good game.

As for the Girl, she's a failing American actress named Nola Rice. Scarlett Johansson whose star is falling faster than a rejected American Idol plays her. While hoping to look hip or appealing Ms. Johansson comes off looking like a flailing porn star, what with her collagen-enhanced lips pumped up to 45 pounds per square inch. From what she tells Chris she appealed to her ex-fiancé, Tom Hewett (played by Matthew Goode), only because of his insolent need to play against his mother's desire for him to marry a girl suitable to the family's upper class standing.

That Nola immediately appeals to Chris is not surprising, as they are both underdogs cast into a society that only appreciates show dogs. What is surprising is that they hit it off so deeply upon their initial meeting at the Hewett manse.

In the scene Chris is led through the house into a game room within which Nola is playing Ping-Pong. Upon entering an old uncle is seen exiting with his tail between his legs, a victim of Nola's vicious game. After the uncle vacates the room Chris and Nola exchange one volley. That's all--one volley. As in, ping and pong. Subsequently, as Chris' Pong was a put-away shot of a poor, high-bouncing serve, Nola concedes to his superior skills.

The ensuing scene will cause you to squirm in your seat.

Its plotting is totally unbelievable while the dialog is sophomoric, loaded with bland tennis metaphors ill-conceived by Allen. Both characters speak of "serves" and "taking chances" and "following through," getting closer and closer and closer while dispensing double entendre's culled from decrepit vaudeville routines. Mind you, they JUST MET within the prior SIXTY SECONDS and Nola's fiancé, Tom, is in the next room! Prior to this scene one has been given no reason to believe that Chris is such a skirt-chasing sleaze-ball.

The scene is neither racy nor intriguing, instead it is forced and distracting.

I could give you ten other examples of such ridiculous exchanges.

Throughout this film Allen's dialog, spoken by the tight-lipped, London-based upper crustaceans populating this film, is as palatable as freezer-burned ice cream. He might have been better served choosing London's lower gentry as players too. I say that because his actors play their parts to English stereotypes grafted from films featuring stodgy, fox-hunting English types. Thus, whatever laughs or innuendos might have been wrought from the dreadfully predictable screenplay were given short shrift by the tight-lipped Brits populating the cast. They speak the King's English as if competing in the finals of a speech contest.

Allen's choice of music has hit rock bottom in terms of his usage of soundtrack to cue our emotions. Throughout the film we are led from scene to scene via songs from the operas "La Traviata" and "Rigoletto." Having put forth such preposterous scenes as described above Allen's employment of dramatic overtures is, in fact, torturous, if not out-right, insulting. Had he written a screenplay capable of agitating our emotions he would not have had to resort to the trite usage of dramatic music to point us in the direction he sought.

With all that going against it, there is little wonder that "Match Point" has little entertainment value. The simpleton plot is stretched out tediously. Seasons pass while the obvious tension between Chris and Nola, and Chris and his impregnable wife, Chloe, remain static, unmoving. Never given the chance to evolve their disagreements or disputes, and often portrayed as either buffoons (Chloe, who never thoroughly investigates any suspicion she has of her husband) or ignoramuses (Mr. Hewett, the family patriarch who knows...nothing), there isn't one character that you evinces any emotional attachment.

Truly, by movie's end you want them all just to go away.

Jeff Buckley: Live in Chicago (2000 Video)

Almost Perfect: Jeff Buckley: Live @ Cabaret Metro

[9/10 · 5 December 2005]

This DVD is entitled, "Jeff Buckley: Live in Chicago." It was recorded back on May 13, 1995, at Cabaret Metro, during Buckley's "Mystery White Boy" tour. The DVD nearly marries up to a CD entitled "Jeff Buckley: Mystery White Boy: Live '95 - '96," lacking Jeff's originals "I Woke Up in a Strange Place," "The Man that Got Away" and "Moodswing Whiskey," while supplanting the CD with covers of MC5's "Kick Out the Jams" and Big Star's "Kango Roo," and two Buckley originals, "Vancouver" and "What Will You Say." Their concert set included every song from the brilliant "GRACE" CD. In direct correlation to the complexities and majesty of those songs Jeff and his band delivered the goods--as expected.

The DVD also includes two live songs, "So Real" and "Last Goodbye," that were recorded, seemingly during the early morning hours--considering Jeff and his mates' "Can you get me a cup of coffee?" countenances--in-studio at a local Chicago cable station. These "acoustic" versions have an MTV-Unplugged, stripped-down feel to them. Despite the fact that Jeff and the band look dog-tired, the versions are not to be over-looked.

Lastly, the DVD includes the electronic press kit for the "GRACE" CD, some of which features shots of the band, et al., hanging out at a club I used to frequent in Cambridge, MA., the renowned Middle East Cafe. The press kit is kind of cheesy at times, though it too presents enough "live" footage of Jeff, and his band, to make one forget about the publicity dross.

For Jeff Buckley fans like myself who never saw him live, the DVD concert footage supplies the fix. Sure, as it was recorded back in the nascent days of DVDs, the recording lacks the bells and whistles available these days. Not to worry because Jeff's vocals were clear and crisp, as was the accompanying music. Neither impinged upon the other.

The highlights, for me at least, were the very much rocking, almost punky "Kick Out the Jams," a sort of heavy metal, industrial version of "Eternal Life," and a bluesy lament entitled "What Will You Say." The latter being a beautiful piece somehow reminiscent of The Doors "The End," if just for the frame of reference of the narrator and his inclusion of both parents into the song's narrative. The repeated question, "What Will You Say?" a query put towards the narrator's father and mother when he sees them, again, presumably in heaven.

One major drawback, from this fan's point of view, was the overall attitude of the crowd in attendance. To me it appeared from their sometimes diffident reactions to songs and their often challenging banter that some members of the crowd were not there to see Jeff Buckley specifically, perhaps having received gratis tickets from the radio station whose banners were hung around the club. Watch closely and you will notice that their reaction, at times, seems to lack in proportion to, say, MY reaction upon hearing Jeff & Co. play something, anything from the aforementioned "GRACE" CD.

Sure, they applauded after songs were done but sometimes their applause fell away rather quickly.

Adding to my point, at one moment between songs (there is a bit of between song banter throughout the concert) Jeff chastises an audience member, stating, rather firmly, "Shut the F**K up!!" He augments that directive, asking, "Why would you say something like that?" It is more than obvious that whatever was said to him upset him!! Evidence providing fodder for my belief that some of the Cabaret Metro crowd-members could have cared less if it were Jeff Buckley on stage or a random house band. Their attitude being, "Hey, we're only here for the free beer, man!" As for "Hallejujah," Jeff's brilliant cover of Leonard Cohen's song, it is delivered at the very end of the concert. By that time it is readily evident that Jeff was kind of tired, not just from the duration of the concert but seemingly of the too often repeated requests (yelled out after EVERY F**KING previous song!!!) to play it. To his credit he provided yet another brilliant take on the song, adding some subtle guitar-work that totally enraptured, and silenced, the crowd at one point.

While I would love to see concert footage of the band in full regale before a crowd that was primed to see them, this DVD supplies the next best thing. If you are a Jeff Buckley fan in need of concert footage to augment the "GRACE" or "LIVE @ the SIN-e" CDs, purchase this DVD--money well-spent.

Walk the Line (2005)

One Cash Too Many: The June Carter Story

[7/10 · 28 November 2005]

Too early in "Walk The Line" a Cash-to-be, June Carter, is introduced into the story thereby subverting what should and could have been a more focused, intriguing and intimate story of "The Man in Black," Johnny Cash, into a sappy, too-oft-told, linear, Hollywood-esquire, predictable story of star-crossed lovers. I would have no complaints about THAT story if the title to the film were, say, "The June & Johnny Cash Story," or, better still, "The Real Story Behind the Lyrics to "I Walk The Line."" But, that is not the case, and but so this well-intentioned and well-acted film suffers immensely from the unwelcome, shoe-horned introduction of Ms. Carter into this biopic of the film's central character, Johnny Cash.

The introduction took place within the first 5 - 10 minutes of the film as young Johnny (12 yrs. old) listened to the Carter Family sing on an ole timey radio show. Even if one did not know that June and Johnny were to eventually get married many years later, one would have to be lacking concentration to overlook this early scene as an all too obvious set up for the story-line to the remainder of the film. The scene renders the youngster as smitten, portending his inexorable pursuit of June Carter. A pursuit the story-line doggedly follows instead of concentrating on other more interesting facets of Johnny Cash's life.

Playing the older Johnny Cash, Joaquin Phoenix decides against impersonation, opting for a brilliant interpretation. Word has it that he learned some of Cash's songbook prior to shooting and his education into that songbook parallels his subject's education into the music business and the cult of celebrity. If the chronology of Cash's rise to fame was rendered accurately, Phoenix vividly, and subtly, portrayed Cash's meteoric rags to riches ride, presenting Cash as a contemplative young man still feeling the wounds from his father's stern and sometimes unforgiving presence, and the deeper pains suffered from having lost his best buddy, his older brother Jack, when Johnny was 12 yrs. of age. Both of these males shaped Johnny, Jack via Johnny's assessment of him as his wiser more righteous, if not "right," sibling; his Dad via his take-no-nonsense, my-way-or-the-highway method of fathering. The resultant Johnny being a soft-spoken but headstrong kind of fella not all too sure of anything but his love of Carter Family music and a sense that he too could play his songs on the radio. Phoenix "aged" Johnny well, metering his subject's maturity deftly throughout the film.

As June Carter, Reese Witherspoon played her character as caricature, employing a squeaky southern drawl and moving around, when on stage, like a teen-aged version of country comedienne, Minnie Pearl. This caricature was accurate because June (not unlike Michael Jackson, as an example) was a star since childhood, having the good (bad?) fortune to be one of the famous "Carter Family," a seminal country/blue grass ensemble responsible, to this day (see Gillian Welch, et al.), for inspiring countless country and blue grass performers to try their hand at making a record.

Subsequent to meeting Johnny, June's character changes slightly, more as an effect, I think, of aging and maturation, than any direct effect from Johnny Cash, country music star. I say this because June was Johnny's senior, by far, in the music business, having ascended to stardom while Johnny was listening to her on the radio--long prior to even recording his first hit. There was little that Johnny Cash, the star, was going to teach June about "the business." As such, as shown in the film, June always called Johnny out for his drug abuse and drinking, refusing to settle for the "rock star" version her friend, Johnny Cash.

I feel that "WTL" suffers, as most biopics do, from broad-stroking exposition that mistakenly attempts--ever in vain--to tell a whole story instead of sacrificing trivial details for to paint a more solid portrait its subject. For instance, though Johnny's first marriage to Vivian is given a key role in the film, one is left to wonder why he and Vivian ever got married in the first place. We are hop-scotched along in that relationship. Initially we see Johnny, at that time serving our country in Germany, making a long-distance phone call to Vivian. Even then she is reluctant to believe in him, recounting her Dad's belief that his daughter's suitor ought to be career-minded instead of a dreamer. Then, once together, we see the two do nothing but square off in every subsequent scene, from the moment Johnny brings his work buddies home to rehearse some songs to the time after Johnny returns home from his first tour only to be further harangued by distrusting, over-burdened Vivian. Their in-fighting never ceases and one is left to wonder about the specifics of their hatred for each other.

Ginnifer Goodwin, the actress portraying Vivian, was hung out to dry by the screenwriter, left without option to play the first Mrs. Cash as anything but a hen-pecking harridan whose suspect devotion to Johnny Cash never came without a price. Phoenix and Witherspoon, thanks be to their starring roles, had more to work with.

Overly, "Walk the Line" suffered from the same kind of lack of alternatives provided to Ms. Goodwin. What should have been a far more intriguing examination of Johnny Cash, the person, the songwriter, the entertainer, was little more than a trite love story featuring Johnny Cash and June Carter as this movie's version of Romeo & Juliet or Oscar & Lucinda or Dick & Jane--take your pick. There should have been more examination of the man than of the particulars of pursuit of June.

The Incredibles (2004)

Incredibly Gutsy

[8/10 · 21 November 2005]

Imagine Pixar making one of their classic animated films but gearing it to an age group a few years older than their usual one-movie-fits-all demographic. With "The Incredibles," via a slightly advanced though not unpredictable plot-line and mature characterizations, writer/director Brad Bird has delivered such a film. This very engaging, fast-paced film is not for all ages, but for the 10-yr-old and above crowd it is entertaining, probably even intriguing.

The story goes something like this.

Bob & Helen Parr are ex-super heroes who, via a string of improbable law suits brought against all super heroes from insufferable plaintiffs, have been relegated to the Feds witness-protection program. Destined to live out their lives in obscurity, they reside in Anywheresville, USA, Bob toiling as an insurance claims handler, Helen doing her bit as housewife. Together they are raising their offspring: Violet, a raven-haired, wall-flower, teenager; Dashiell, aka "Dash," a precocious 9-yr-old; and their infant son, Jack Jack.

Naturally, their destiny changes when a mysterious, high-paying client establishes communication with Bob, aka "Mr. Incredible," encouraging him to supplant his meager income with some lucrative super-hero work vanquishing potential threats to humanity. Bob, who moonlights with his ex-super hero buddy, aka "Frozone," listening to police and fire department dispatches on his CB radio before racing off to do sub rosa pro bono super-hero work, is all ears.

Eventually Bob's secret super-hero as Mr. Incredible pits him against a rival whose powers are vast. Though these powers are all the result of inventions, they are far superior to Mr. Incredible's God-given gift of incredibleness, which, for all intents and purposes provides the super-hero with little more than super-human strength that enables him to sustain major butt-whippings until he can figure out how to out-wit or trick his opponent du jour. Seeking to exact punishment for a childhood insult, Mr. Incredible's rival captures.

That action draws Helen Parr, aka "Elastigirl," (her powers stem from super-human flexibility) back into the super-hero game. It also permits the Parr's gifted children, conniving "Dash" and horse-eyed Violet, to use the talents that they have had to suppress all their lives.

Dash's gift is super-human foot and hand speed. He would easily win every track race at school, if his parents would only permit him to do so.

Violet's more complex gifts are grafted from her circumspect, shy and inquisitive personality. Like any teenager who considers herself to be a nerd or geek or unattractive, Violet's every action is wrought from serious introspection. In some instances her motis operandi would be to simply disappear, in other instances, owing to her profound want to protect those she loves, she would want nothing but to shelter them from harm. Appropriately her gifts from the gods are the ability to disappear or the capability to throw an impregnable force-field around herself and family whenever the situation calls for it.

Together "The Incredibles" go to battle against Mr. Incredible's rival, who, of course, is also out to take over the world. I need not tell you who wins that battle.

The film's concentration on the development of each member of the Parr family elevates it from your simple Pixar-esquire, free-wheeling, family film to an unique animated film about an intricate, modest family of would-be super-heroes hoping to live a normal life out of the spotlight. Intertwined with Pixar's usual off-the-charts animation this development helps "The Incredibles" evolve into a film worthy of its title: incredible.

Prime (2005)

Anything but Prime

[1/10 · 16 November 2005]

Writer/director Ben Younger's "Prime" is a factitious romantic-comedy that fails immensely in both genres. If it is true that Sandra Bullock pulled out as the female lead because the "major script changes" she wanted were not forthcoming she ought to thank the guardian angel(s), and instincts, that inspired her to abandon this rudderless ship before boarding. On the flip side, one has to question Uma Thurman's decision to jump in and take the role of Rafi Gardet. Was she lacking for paying roles or did she simply like the fact that by taking the lead role she would get free rent in NYC during the months that it took to shoot this catastrophe? Regardless, having, no doubt, viewed the dailies, Ms. Thurman ought to have pulled out too. That she didn't, well, she'll suffer the consequences because no director in his right mind will think once about casting her in the lead role of a romantic-comedy after her dopy, lackluster performance in this dreadful flick.

Romance-wise "Prime" tells the vapid story of the very unlikely relationship between the beautiful successful fashion photographer Rafi Garnet, a 37-year-old, childless, recent divorcée, and, scruffy puppy David Bloomberg (Bryan Greenberg), a 23-year-old, not-yet-successful artist. Their initial meeting sets the tone for Younger's egregious concept of plausibility and total disregard for the time/space continuum. That scene, and the pace of the story, skips along without bothering to touch down on terra firma. Younger's suspension bridge of belief exists somewhere in some other galaxy.

The telltale meeting occurs while Rafi and David stand on line at a downtown movie theater featuring an Antonioni double-bill. Rafi awaits, accompanied by a female friend and a gay white male friend. David arrives, met by his girlfriend. Rafi's gay white male friend then introduces David to Rafi, an introduction that sets off a not-so-farcical chain-of-events that eventually leads David to move into Rafi's apartment.

A closer look at this scene speaks volumes for why this movie fails as a believable romance, and as a story/film in general.

First, there is the fact that David is with his girlfriend at the movie theater. While his girlfriend is no Uma Thurman she isn't exactly Stella the Swamp Queen either. Though we see this hipster couple only briefly, the fact that they are smiling contentedly gives one no reason to believe that their relationship is on the rocks. That said, Younger provides little explanation as to why David, upon being introduced to Rafi--WHILE STANDING SIDE-BY-SIDE WITH HIS GIRLFRIEND!--goes directly into skirt-chasing mode. In addition, Younger completely ignores (and disrespects) David's girlfriend, rendering her speechless and oblivious to the fact that her boyfriend is trying to nail a date with Rafi while standing at her side!! (Whose girlfriend would tolerate such behavior without raising an eyebrow or voicing some discomfort?)

Secondly, we learn that Rafi is recently divorced; two weeks divorced to be exact. One would think that a recent divorcée's anti-guy sensors would be engaged for to alert said divorcée to anti-female behavior exhibited by any would-be suitor. Are we to believe that Rafi would have ANYTHING to do with a slimeball whose lack of respect for his girlfriend extends to trying to pick up another woman while STANDING RIGHT NEXT TO HER?

I think not.

Nor did Younger, or Thurman, or anyone else who failed to comment--while viewing the dailies--on what an affront that scene is to female sensibility and intelligence. (To that end, my girlfriend was with my at the showing and she commented aloud, "His girlfriend is just standing there, saying, doing...NOTHING!!")

Not so surprisingly then, the remainder of "Prime" follows this same path, jumping from one stage in Rafi and David's relationship to the next without giving any credible explanation or exposition for the leapfrogs. For instance, in one moment the couple are barely getting their tongues wet as nascent lovers, in the next their talk is all about having kids. In one moment David cannot live without Rafi, in the next moment he opts for another round of Nintendo instead of taking the ravishing, t-shirt-only-clad Rafi to bed. (In this scene Younger's indistinct story-telling fails to play the scene comically or dramatically. As such, the scene fails, falling to the floor like a dropped board.)

The basis for the comedy in "Prime" was supposed to emanate from the fact that Rafi's psychoanalyst, Dr. Lisa Metzger (Meryl Streep playing a be-speckled, giant beaded necklace-wearing Jewish grandmother-to-be stereotype), is also David's mother. But Younger mines no new ground comically from that fecund premise. Instead we get derivative jaw drops, eyebrow raises, abrupt coughs, and on and on. (The only gag Younger did not employ was the time-worn "spit take.") We also get a hearty dose of Rafi expressing the most intimate details of her sexual relationship with David, inclusive of her avowed fascination with David's penis, to his petrified mother.

In response, Dr. Metzger, in an aside to her own therapist, utters one of the few truly funny lines in the movie, "Up until last week I didn't even think my son had a penis!"

Along those lines, up until yesterday I thought "Prime" was going to be a funny romantic-comedy and a wise choice as a "date movie." Had I Ms. Bullock's intuition I would have thought better.

Team America: World Police (2004)

Team America Finishes Dead Last

[2/10 · 14 November 2005]

Except for the sex scene featuring a couple of marionettes slamming into each other from a variety of positions, there wasn't much too laugh about during "Team America: World Police." Seems the boys, Trey Parker and Matt Stone, fell prey to the idea that an action movie featuring marionettes would--in and of itself--be funny. Unlike their "South Park" endeavor, which is VERY funny, "TA:WP" lacks the solid writing that abounds in their "SP" episodes. Too bad too, because they had all the ingredients, inclusive of their employment of marionettes, to present an absolutely hilarious slant on the war on terrorism, the state of US politics, the lampoon of celebrities, etc.

Perhaps, increasingly over-whelmed by the daunting task of carrying out such an ambitious project, Parker & Stone, who have said in interviews that they would never undertake such a project again, simply lost steam and the persistent desire required to re-write continuously for to max out the laughs-per-minute. That's not to say they didn't try. Hell, they tried to agitate as many factions as possible: homosexuals, Hollywood, terrorists, the French, the U. S. Military apparatus, and on and on and on. For the most part though they shot blanks, relying on cheap laughs and their one-trick-pony ideal that viewers would find continuous humor in the actions of marionettes moving clumsily along in action sequences. The latter ideal garnered laughs for the first few minutes or so but thereafter, aside from the sex scene, it failed to sustain laughs or support the lame punchlines.

Had the boys used the marionettes more creatively, as they did in the sex scene, perhaps showing us a marionette "sick bay," or a marionette surgery, or, or, or, they could have personified the wooden figures further (physically) and gotten more laughs via whatever absurd and more intimate physical actions the marionettes undertook. To that end: Parker & Stone, via "South Park," are the original bad boys of cable cartoonage, yet, in "TA:WP" we didn't even get a glance at a marionette's private parts!!! They failed to push the envelope.

All in all I felt that Parker and Stone did less with more and that once immersed in the arduous process of shooting a movie employing marionettes, thereby facing the constraints inherent in their choice of players, they spent more time figuring out logistics, timing and continuity than re-writing their punchless script.

Jarhead (2005)

Inside a Jarhead

[6/10 · 9 November 2005]

There is a very poignant scene at the end of Sam Mendes' adaptation of Anthony Swofford's Desert Storm memoir "Jarhead." In this scene a bus-load of marines are shown returning home from the first Gulf War, the USA-spearheaded liberation of Kuwait. The marines are being celebrated via your run-of-the-mill parade down Main Street, USA. As their bus rolls slowly down that street an older, disheveled, weather-beaten veteran, wearing what seems to be his original, U.S. Marines-issued khaki jacket, suddenly boards the moving bus. Stammering but coherent he imparts his congratulations to the returning marines, repeating the motto of the US Marine Corps, "Semper Fi" ("always faithful"), repeatedly. After shaking hands with a few of the marines seated in the forefront of the bus he asks if he can take a seat and ride along with them. Though no one answers him directly he takes a seat behind the bus driver.

Throughout this scene Mendes carefully monitors the reaction of "Swoff" (Jake Gyllenhaal), the 20-yr-old "jarhead" whose story we've followed since his enlistment into the US Marines. His immediate reaction is one of surprise. No doubt, like the other marines on the bus, initially he wasn't quite sure as to who the guy was or what his intentions were. But, once the veteran made it clear that he wanted only to congratulate the returning marines on their good work, Swoff's initial alarmed demeanor settled into a shifting feeling of horrified embarrassment.

Embarrassment because during his short three-month stint serving as a sharp-shooter he never shot his rifle. Horrified because despite this sharp-shooting inactivity, and lack of authentic combat duty, he still managed a nervous breakdown and a hearty dose of post-war syndrome. With but a few glances at the troubled veteran Swoff innately understood that, for all intents and purposes, he hadn't been through much at all. Certainly nothing compared to what the veteran had survived. Yet, Swoff's brief war experience had permanently dented his psyche.

How one reacts to that scene will tell you much about whether or not they liked this film, which is, ostensibly, the story, not a war story, about a 20-yr-old US Marine and his experience with the US Military during Desert Storm. Those who liked the film will probably have some degree of empathy for the veteran and Swoff. Those who did not like the film will probably believe that both got what they deserved when they embarked in their respective military endeavors. I believe this to be true because "Jarhead" is not a war movie, nor a political film, nor a polemical film, nor an ensemble film that follows a few characters in great depth. As simple as the title infers, it is the story of one person: Swoff. You'll either empathize with him or you won't. Take him or leave him. (Just as simple as that, in the story, his girlfriend back in the state drops him like a three foot putt.)

This is not to say that Mendes' film lacks other qualities. Towards the latter part of the film his depiction of the Marines advancing across the desert towards a handful of oil-spewing, blazing oil refineries is spectacular. Touching too the arrival of an oil-slicked, short-of-breath, soon-to-die horse that Swoff gently strokes before the horse staggers off into the desert. Mendes also depicts the bombed ruins of a seemingly endless procession of civilian-packed vehicles that were singed via a precision military strike. The ghastly remains of that violent act cause Swoff to vomit.

I found Swoff's story, and Mendes' depiction of it, mildly compelling.

After all, this is the coming-of-young-age story of a 20-yr-old enlisted in a stereotypical, close-knit military society encouraging every testosterone-fueled emotion, dream, insight, action, and reaction imaginable. We've seen this tale told in countless "war movies," from "Full Metal Jacket" to "Meatballs." Mendes should have spared us the derivative training sequences and focused more on ancillary exposition giving us more insight in Swoff: what makes him tick, his family, etc.

Instead we are left to take Swoff, as is, in the present time. With not much to go on I found it hard to empathize with him. War is hell. He should have known that training for it and waiting for it would be hell in the suck as well.

The Weather Man (2005)

Soggy but Quirky Weather Man

[7/10 · 2 November 2005]

Nicolas Cage plays David Spritz (shortened version of Spritzer for t.v. purposes), the subject of "The Weather Man" in Gore Verbinski (Director) and Steve Conrad's (Writer) new film. Billed appropriately as a Comedy/Drama it succeeds in both genres due to eccentric, unpredictable intertwining scenes and the acting chops of Cage.

The occasionally hilarious story goes something like this.

David is in his early 40s, separated from his wife Noreen (cypher-esquire Hope Davis) and kids; the oft in trouble, presently in counselling teenager, Mike, and the chain-smoking, elephantine, 12 yr. old cutie-pie, Shelly. He is the weather man for a Chicago TV station, with hopes of garnering a more lucrative position in NYC on a morning television show hosted by Bryant Gumbel show entitled, "Hello, America!" David's dad, Robert (played by a decaying Michael Caine), is a Pullitzer Prize winning author whose presence looms over David like a threatening storm cloud.

On paper David's goals are straight-forward; rekindle some sense of equanimity with his wife while possibly resurrecting their dieing marriage; be a good, concerned father to his kids; advance to the higher-paying position in NYC, and; the most difficult task of all, win his dad's fleeting praise.

If not for a collection of intermittent, inventive asides connecting scene to scene, all of which are laugh-out-loud funny, the film would fail as the semi-comedy it is. But, together with the recurring theme of stuff being hurled at David by disgruntled Chicagoans, the unexpected, intertwining scenes keep one's interest piqued, because, at times, you truly don't know what will come next. This is not to say that Cage has little to do with propelling the comedy too. His trademark hang-dog countenance suits David like a custom fit Armani dinner jacket, making one feel sorry for the guy, even when you are laughing at him, not with him. This performance rivals Cage's role in "Raising Arizona."

Caine's Robert Spritz is a one-dimensional character, but one whose presence is needed for to shed background as to why David acts like he does. Though a celebrated author, Robert is as naive as an infant when confronting present-time catch phrases, fast-food products, and anything that falls out of his insular point-of-views. "This s**t world," his description of life in general, has passed him by, much to his growling discontent. In short, he is a miserable old man who has raised a miserable young man. Robert's presence causes one to forgive David most of his failures; you kind of assess that with such an over-bearing, put-upon and indifferent father, David never stood a chance.

As for Hope Davis and her portrayal of frigid, jaded, jilted, you-owe-me, preppie single mom-to-be Noreen? Instantly forgettable. Like Kirsten Dunst--in just about every movie she's ever been in--Davis has activated Peter Principle sensors. She's in over her head, out-performed by everyone, once again.

In the not so Hollywood-esquire ending, David wins, kind of, gaining his kids attention and respect via his "Hello, America!" celebrity while losing his ball-and-chain wife and miserable father.

The Woodsman (2004)

Hollywoodsman

[5/10 · 1 November 2005]

"The Woodsman" delves into the disturbing subject of child molestation from the point-of-view of Walter (Kevin Bacon), a dour-faced, 40-something Caucasian male. Recently released from prison after serving 10+ years for child molestation, he has moved to a suburb of Philly, PA., where, via a favor owed to his dad, he has been given a job at a lumber yard. As a worker, his goals are simple: punch in, put in a day's work, and punch out. Outside work, his goals are equally simple though much harder to achieve. He wants to "be normal," as he explains to his therapist, a condition that will not include the base urges that plague him still. To get to that point all he need do is continue his therapy sessions and keep his urges in check while carrying on as an invisible member of society.

Easier said than done.

At work he is befriended by Vicki (Kyra Sedgwick), a rough-and-tumble 40-something single woman with a debilitating past of her own. At home he is hounded by Sgt. Lucas (Mos Def), a less than sympathetic beat cop who considers Walter a freak worthy only of constant surveillance and disdain.

Bacon's performance is noteworthy. Walter is the conduit for all things concerning child molestation: Sgt. Lucas' investigations, Vicki's past, a young girl's present, and the actions of a present-time pervert.At times his countenance displays self-contempt, longing and hostility, all in a subtle, and single, glance. Here is a man fully aware of what he has done, and could do again if he fails--if only for a moment--to keep himself in check.

Sedgwick crafts a character whose brash self-confidence serves to distract even herself from an underlying sense of vulnerability.

As for Mos Def, his portrayal of Sgt. Lucas includes good and bad cop as well as private citizen. He wrestles with the concept of "child molester," why they do what they do, the heart-cracking results of their perverted acts, and what to do with them once they are caught.

The scenes between Sgt. Lucas and Walter are the most riveting sequences in the film.

Unfortunately, despite intriguing performances, "The Woodsman" caters to Hollywood's unyielding tenet that all films must include romance, one or two or three heroes, and a happy ending.

As such, though the subject matter is novel, the movie is not much more than a poorly played out drama. In the neatly tied up ending, everything works out fine. A nod to Hollywood more than reality.

One MAJOR unbelievable element in the "Hollywoodsman" is that Walter's new address situates him in a 3rd floor apartment room across the street from an elementary school! While Walter fooled others (such as his brother-in-law) into discounting this as trite, this alarming fact did not elude Sgt. Lucas, the latter of whom, in true Hollywood fashion, conveniently shrugged it off as nonconsequential.

The Fog (2005)

Lost in the Fog: Avoid this Movie

[1/10 · 19 October 2005]

"The Fog" is nonsensical, non-thriller about a cheated, deceased crew of lepers whose ghosts return to a small N. Californian town, fronted by a dense, stalking fog, seeking to exact vengeance on the descendents of ancestors who violated a tenancy contract then robbed the lepers of their possessions before burning their tall ship at sea. The only positive note I can offer about this movie is that I went to a matinée (Glen Cove Theatre, NY) and only paid $5.00 to get in. Otherwise, this movie is bad for a variety of reasons.

1. Predictable to a fault. Believe me, you've seen this one before in countless but instantly recollectible varieties.

2. Poor attention to details. Many too many continuity errors. A car window breaks and then repairs itself in the next sequence. A table at shoreline is under water in one moment, fully clear of the tide in the next. A woman plunges into the ocean in full leather garb from head-to-toe, in the next scene she is dry as a bone. And on and on and on....

3. Hack acting. The female lead, Maggie Grace, who plays Elizabeth Williams, has all the acting chops of a professional athlete making her acting debut. At points, she is almost unwatchable. Ditto for Adrian Hough, whose drunken Father Malone (how's that for predictable: a drunk, Irish pastor?!) plays to stereotype without adding one single nuance of his own devise.

One wonders how such drivel gets funding when there are so many independent film-makers out there having to beg for a measly few thousand dollars to produce worthy, inventive films.

Avoid this film. It's not even worth the matinée fee, nor worth your while renting or borrowing.

Lord of War (2005)

Warlord With Half a Heart

[8/10 · 14 October 2005]

Nicholas Cage plays Yuri Orlov, a displaced Ukranian who grew up in Brighton Beach, Brooklyn, NY. In his early 40s, Yuri is a major player in black-market international arms dealing. We learn this via his narration, which is reminiscent of Ray Liotta's voice-over in "Good Fellas." The two men survive similar experiences: rapid success, daunting adventure, cocaine abuse, and, inherent in their chosen fields of endeavor, much trouble. Unlike Liotta's character's quest to become a "made" player in the Mafia, Yuri doesn't seem to have any goal in mind other than doing what he does best: deal. In fact, via his narration he ponders quitting and then tells us why he decided to stay in the arms-dealing game, "I was good at it." He's like an accomplished master chef who decides not to toss off his apron for to take a seat with patrons in the dining room. Instead, with the knowledge that it's hotter than hell in the kitchen, he stays put, knowing deep down that it is in the heat that he feels most alive.

Throughout his dealings Yuri is pursued by a straight-laced Interpol agent played by a scruffy-faced Ethan Hawke. Though the agent is on the right track in believing Yuri to be the arms-dealer he is, the agent is too tied to making the perfect collar--with all evidence 100% in order--to bring Yuri down. Hawke's main job in the movie seems to be to voice the liberal, anti-gun, human rights point-of-view. He does so, though one gets the feeling that he resorts to such rhetoric to abstain from his real goal: bringing Yuri down.

At one point in Yuri's career he decides to quit. Perhaps because of the agent's constant presence or perhaps due to the evolution of his heart. (Mind you, he gets out of the arms-running business into a lucrative business exploiting developing countries in other ways.) Naturally, this option to stay out is undermined when one of his former clients, the gun-crazed dictator of Liberia, strong-arms him into making one last killer deal.

If you dig Nicholas Cage, like I do, you'll like this movie. And, beware, you kind of have to like him because this is a very insular movie with not much to do with anyone else but Yuri. It does not have the emotional resonance of "Constant Gardener" but then again that movie suffered from knocking one over the head with its messages.

This movie avoids the knee-jerking, opting to let us judge for ourselves what's right and whose wrong.

Wallace & Gromit: The Curse of the Were-Rabbit (2005)

Their Curse, Our Laugh-Fest

[10/10 · 12 October 2005]

I fall into the category of a probable first-timer when it comes to Wallace & Gromit. I'm sure, being a parent who has attended a fair share of animation festivals, I have probably seen them before...somewhere. But, I don't own any of their videos nor was I drawn to the film because I was an ardent fan. That could change, because "The Curse of the Were-Rabbit" is pure enjoyment from beginning to end, with eye-candy, stop-action claymation, crackling, wry humor, goof-ball characters and, throughout the film, a few subtle, perfectly-timed nods to other films and animators ("King Kong," "Watership Down," and, surprisingly, "South Park," to name a few).

The "Were-" in the story refers to the prefix usually affixed to "werewolf." That being said, I need not tell you whose curse W & G are out to overcome. What I do need tell you is that their business is the business of combating garden invaders: animals, specifically. The name of their outfit? "Anti-Pesto." It's an outfit that offers "humane" pest-control and business is booming. Their clientèle is happy. In fact, the movie opens with the team nabbing a rabbit in a garden, much to the delight of an elderly wacko couple who witness the catch.

Gardening in their particular neck of the woods is especially important because all of the neighborhood's inhabitants compete in an once-per-year "Giant Vegetable Competition" held at the estate of Lady Tottington. As such, within each inhabitant's garden there are one or two prize-seeking giant vegetables growing. Anti-Pesto's services help to keep the contestants, and their veggies, secure.

The story picks up when, to further advance business, Wallace decides to implement a brain-modifier that he hopes to use to brainwash the neighborhood's rabbit population into despising vegetables. Anti-Pesto's work load increases ten-fold when one of Wallace's experiments with that gadget goes awry. The effects of that botched experiment lead W & G directly into pursuit of the vegetable-munching Were-Rabbit.

The movie flows flawlessly from one scene to the next, always keeping its direction toward generating laughs while advancing the plot. The show-stopping "dogfight" is pure delight, right up there with the best battles between Snoopy and the Red Baron. The stop-action claymation, for me anyway, similar to viewing a Pixar production for the first time, was mind-boggling. Wallace's doughy, toothy face is a spectacle to behold. As for his mute but ever-hilarious sidekick, Gromit, who never fails to issue forth the perfect non-verbal reponse, his mouthless face is dominated by hyper-active eyebrows that bend, arch, dip, and contort to show his constantly changing emotions.

I highly recommend the film. It is, indeed, one for all ages. I'm 47. I loved it, laughing out loud repeatedly. The audience at the showing I went to was diverse in age: their laughter was non-stop.

Indeed, their curse is truly our delight.

The 40-Year-Old Virgin (2005)

Virgin's Quest, Our Laughfest

[8/10 · 6 October 2005]

Steve Carell plays Andy the "40-yr. old virgin" in this film. No doubt, assessing the title, one is inclined to think that in this day and age Andy must be some kind of nerd/loser/psycho/nut-case to have gone that long in life without getting laid. And, truth is, Andy IS all of the above though none to the extremes. In fact, Andy is doing quite well enjoying his placid, celibate self until his workmates David (Paul Rudd), Jay (Romany Malco) and Cal (Seth Rogan) find out during a card game that he has yet to pop his cherry. His "friends" then spring into action, creating havoc in Andy's sterile, somewhat juvenile world. Carell and Judd Apatow wrote the script and not many of their one-liners or sight gags fail to evoke laughter. Their choice of the beautiful and beguiling Catherine Keener to play Trish, the divorcée of Andy's desire, is perfect. She brings an edgy elegance to the role. The script spreads the laughs around, giving just about every actor's character a chance to deliver a hilarious line or two. Chief amongst them are bookends Mooj & Haziz, two wise-cracking Indian workmates of Andy's who are never at a loss when it comes to busting chops or dishing out critiques. "40 Year Old Virgin," despite more than a few continuity lapses, delivers the goods laugh-wise. For once, it is a comedy that stays true to that course, only veering slightly into the sappy, over-played romantic comedy genre to unite Andy and Trish.

I Heart Huckabees (2004)

I Like Huckabees

[9/10 · 14 April 2005]

Here's a movie that falls somewhere in between Wim Wenders' "Wings of Desire" and Woody Allen's "Love and Death." Far between as it is neither as gripping as the former nor as funny as the latter. No doubt, that people--and reviewers--are expecting one or the other, this failure to deliver in either venue underlies the many negative reviews "I Love Huckabees" is getting. The New Yorker review suggests that it is, at best, I guess, an "authentice disaster." That gentle rebuff gives some credence to the movie being successful on some level, yet profoundly failing in most others.

Overly, "I Love Huckabees" (What is with everyone listing this as "I Heart Huckabees?" The heart symbol is universally meant to indicate "love" as in "I heart symbol/ love New York"!) deals with Al Markovski (Jason Schwartzman) and his quest to find the answer to the Big Question. He's provoked to do that by a series of three coincidences wherein he meets the same very tall dark-skinned fella: once at a memorabilia shop, then at a hotel, and the last time out in front of a HUCKABEES (a K-Mart-like franchise). In protest, he has planted a tree in their parking lot. He thinks that the coincidences must add up to something, and that sets him off on his quest.

To aid his quest, he hires Vivian (Lily Tomlin) and Bernard (Dustin Hoffman) Jaffe, a pair of "existentialist detectives," to do whatever it is they do to get his Big Answer. What they do is spy on him all day long, and, on occasion, zip him within a body bag for to block out all light so that he can confront his third eye without distraction.

The best laughs come when we go inside Al's mind, as it is a maelstrom of hyper-linked scenes populated by all those who figure into the Big Answer.

Key amongst those figures are Brad Stand (Jude Law), a clean-cut rising exec. at Huckabees, and Dana Campbell (Naomi Watts), the Huckabees "girl next door" spokes-model. Al has a thing for Dana; he detests Brad. That these two are a couple, well, that just adds to Al's perception that only the Big Answer will avail an understandable reason for this to be.

After Al hires the Jaffe's he is coupled with his "other," a firefighter, Tommy Corn (Mark Wahlberg), who is another confused fella seeking his own version of the Big Answer. Tommy believes that oil; its sale, consumption, etc., is the cause of the world's problems. The two are coupled due to the Jaffe's belief that with each other's help their individual quests might be successful.

David Russell wrote and directed "Huckabees," and, overly, the scenes move along, augmented with a light score by Jo Brion. When they bog down, and they do, at times, it is because the characters, often are searching for the right words themselves, tend to ramble on, repeating ideas, thoughts, etc. As a viewer, I half expected the characters to ask, at the end of such spontaneous monologues, "Do you know what I mean?" And, I would answer--as I do in real life--when someone has not articulated themselves aptly and asks me to validate the untruth that they have: "Uh, no--and neither do you."

Bernard Jaffe comes close to providing a blanket answer, but all that he asserts ends up being contradicted, though not undermined, by a French woman, Catherine Vaubin (Isabelle Huppert), a foxy, 40-ish author-philosopher who, for reasons not completely detailed, begins tailing Al and Tommy too. (Tommy brings her into the mix when he reads from her book during a mini-breakdown outside of his house.) Vaubin's take on the Big Answer, and existence in general, is that "nothing matters." To go one further, on her business card she lists her services as "cruelty, manipulation, meaninglessness."

Along the way there are sub-plots having to do with Al reluctantly linking up with Brad to save some woods from industrial invasion, Dana's conversion from glamorous spokes-model to drab-dressing dissident, Tommy hooking up with Dana, Al hooking up with Ms. Vaubin, and Tommy and Al and Brad and Vivian, and--what the hey--EVERYONE!, finding, if not the Big Answer, then something damn near close to it.

As for that Big Answer, Russell seems to show us that it is all about the interconnectedness of all things, and all people. For, as we pan back, at movie's end, we see Al & Tommy sitting together on a rock, and the Jaffe's standing together next to Ms. Vaubin. Previous to that, we know that Al and Brad have experienced a shared epiphany, as have Tommy and Dana. And, though presented as polar opposites, we are also led to believe that the Jaffe's and Ms. Vaubin "work together," if for no other reason than their being polar opposites makes them yin-yang, the symbol which is, of course, synonymous with duality, if not unity.

You know, kind of like that "authentic disaster" line.

The Aviator (2004)

High-Flying, Most of the Time

[8/10 · 14 April 2005]

In "The Aviator," Scorcese has nailed the period--20s to 40s--flawlessly. As for the liberties he took with actual history, well, this be the movies, right? As such, his depiction, swaggering and swanky, like the celebrities populating the time period, was picture perfect.

DiCaprio, as Howard Hughes, gave us what we wanted, a bigger than life, more paranoid than most, character, as full of himself as he was, deep inside, wary of others. Cate Blanchett, as Kate Hepburn in her successful years, nearly stole the show, playing Kate as a tomboyish, extremely confident mistress, well aware of her stardom and not about to take crap from anyone, inclusive of Hughes, whom she dropped like the proverbial three foot putt when his idiosyncrasies begin to surface. Whenever Blanchett was on screen, one was drawn to her, DiCaprio's Hughes waning in her presence.

Scorcese set the pace of the movie on par with an airplane taking off, never letting up on the throttle. In one amazing sequence he showed Hughes crash-landing one of his planes during a test flight, giving us a variety of points of view, inclusive of that of Beverly Hills homeowners watching the plane's wings cut through their homes like a knife blade through tissue paper.

Having the mystical yet infamous Hughes as a story source provided Scorcese with more than enough fodder, and credit goes to the director for not presenting a four-hour epic. In addition, the deftly-crafted manner in which he incorporated the well-documented idiosyncrasies that ultimately led Hughes into total self-imposed isolation allowed DiCaprio the room to play the character both enigmatic and sad.

Much to Scorcese's credit, he left this viewer wondering, as I did when Hughes was the living legend, how a guy with that much moxie and drive and courage could fall prey to paranoid obsessions that turned him into a recluse?

The film reminded me of "Tucker: The Man and his Dream," which starred Jeff Bridges in the lead role. Both films present their protagonists as near supermen, with each ultimately cut down to size by opposing forces, both external and internal. Both films are enjoyable quasi-documentaries, and I recommend this double-bill to one and all.

Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (2004)

Hazy Sunshine

[7/10 · 14 April 2005]

"Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind" is, if nothing else, (and it is a ton of other things), inventive.

The premise: What if one could erase another from one's memories? In "Eternal..." the erasees are two halves of a couple, Joel (Jim Carrey) and Clementine (Kate Winslet), who have decided to call it quits, and then some. Their addenda are tacked on via the help of a small outfit, Lacuna, Inc. ("lacuna" defined: a blank space; a missing portion in a text, etc.), that is presided over by a doctor who claims that with his technological assistance one can successfully eradicate one's memories of another. This is a novel claim, no doubt, and for the doctor's patients, if the procedure works, a probable godsend, enabling his "cured" patients to go forward after break-ups, divorces, etc., without the usual grieving, second thoughts, and lamentations.

In "Eternal..." Joel discovers that Clementine has undergone the procedure when he finds a piece of mail from Lacuna, Inc. To verify the information on that correspondence he goes to Clementine's work place to confront her. Much to his dismay, she looks at him with a blank face, showing no indicator that she has ever seen him before. She even smooches her new (old?) boyfriend while talking to Joel. He then decides to pursue the same path as Clementine, though his decision to undergo the procedure is seemingly based on vindication: to get back at Clementine for erasing him. This is a somewhat relevant point because I think that Joel's eventual decision to reverse the procedure has much to do with his realization that his motives are mean-spirited. From what we see of him, he's not that kind of guy. Eccentric and introverted, yes, vengeful and hateful, no.

Does his attempt to reverse the procedure and get back Clementine work? By movie's end, one isn't quite sure. Joel and Clementine seem to be on the road to reconciliation, but, as neither has truly shown any significant change (one's "promise to change" being nothing but hot air and fantasy), one wonders whether or not they will fall right back into the rut that derailed their course in the first (second?) place.

But, by movie's end, and at various points throughout, one also isn't quite sure as to exactly who erased who first, Joel or Clementine, or whether or not they have done so more than once. This is a film--think "Memento"--that compels you to pay attention, for its chronology perpetually folds back within itself. At times that is most amusing, yet, in some other instances it is confusing.

As with "Adaptation" and "Being John Malkovich," the story tends to overshadow the actors, as keeping up with its chronological complexities compels one to remain acutely attentive. As such, Carrey and Winslet, who play quirky, Long Island bohemians (minus the "LawnGuyLand" accents, by the way) are sublimated to playing supporting roles, in effect, serving merely as players forever moved back and forth in time to suit the tale. Sure enough, though I've yet to read any other review, that Carrey and Winslet, both Hollywood A-list actors, opted to take these "second fiddle" roles will summon forth "best performance of their career" reviews aplenty. But, overly, neither does much as the story plays the lead role.

Co-starring with the lead is director Michel Condry. His brilliant and apt use of special effects provides for many amazing sequences, especially those depicting Joel and Clementine racing ahead within Joel's sub-conscious visions and vistas, his rapidly erasing memory of things causing for the disintegration of landscapes behind the fleeing protagonists. Picture yourself walking just ahead of a sweeping tide of water that is obliterating a city of sandcastles, leaving nothing in its wake but a white wash.

In one hilarious sequence, we see Joel as an adult kid, cowering beneath a kitchen table, with a morphed Clementine (in this memory, she plays his mother, and gives kudos to the style of that earlier time: the 70s) trying to talk him through his troublesome memory and back onto the path to his salvation. In other sequences, Condry evokes living double-images, with present-time Joel walking and wading about in his memories. Eye candy deluxe, the kind of visual stuff that drops your jaw down like a toaster oven door: wow!! In totality, "Eternal..." is a solid B+ film, and worth a second viewing if for no other reason than to try to get the facts straight. Its drawbacks: the story runs aground at times, fetching to keep up its loony plot and pace; and the presence of Kirsten Durst, the living embodiment of The Peter Principle, here, once again, miscast and over-matched by both story and supporting cast. Thin as a swizzle stick and less compelling than a detergent ad, her 15 minutes are exhausted.

In Good Company (2004)

Insignificant Company

[1/10 · 14 April 2005]

I didn't much care for this movie. It was derivative in so many ways that it was neither intriguing nor funny nor insightful nor challenging.

Overly, the script didn't give any of the actors much to go with, presenting stereotypical characters across the board: the pompous, self-important CEO (the well-coiffed Malcom McDowell, as Teddy K), the bungling, whiz-kid upstart (Topher Grace, as Carter Duryea), the randy, college-bound teenage wench (Scarlett Johansson, as Alex, Foreman's NYU-bound daughter), and the integrity-personified, 40-something super-dad (Dennis Quaid, as Dan Foreman). Believe me, you've seen them all in "Trading Places," "Mr. Mom," "Risky Business," and on and on. There's also the "born loser," the "ohmigod I'm pregnant wife," and the "I'm gonna fire everyone" hatchet-men. All together, this not so good company makes for one flaccid flick; predictable at every turn, right up to the "Ha, and you thought it was gonna end some other way" Hollywood ending.

The story: Foreman works in ads sales for a magazine. Been there for years, towing the same line with his clients. Some he has kept, others are waning. His daughter is due to move out, into her NYU dorm room. His wife, as if via Immaculate Inception for all the involvement Dan assesses he has had in the process, surprises him with the news that she is, at 49 yrs. of age, pregnant.

Out of the blue, Teddy K's corporate raiders buy Foreman's company, installing Duryea, and others, into positions made immediately open due to a rash of post-purchase firings. Foreman keeps his job, but Carter, a twenty-something suck-up, whose rapid rise in Teddy K's Co. was based on one mega-successful cell phone campaign, becomes his boss. Naturally, as Carter is green as Kermit the Frog when it comes to ad sales, he knows that the only way he'll maintain his hot-shot status will be to leach off Foreman's savvy and knowledge.

What ensues is the usual interplay between out-going and remaining employees, with Foreman (for no reason that I could understand as neither the purchase or subsequent firings were his ideas) catching hell from his out-going ex-workmates fired by Teddy K's henchmen.

Adding to Foreman's misery, though not at all an original plot twist, Alex enters into a relationship with Duryea.

As evidence as to how the script did little to enhance characterizations or plot, there is a dramatic scene that takes place in a NY bistro that should be compelling but is, instead, unbelievable, almost laughable; hardly compelling. In this scene, we follow Foreman, who is spying on his daughter--as he is now very much onto the fact that she and Duryea are sleeping together. We get the usual inane chit-chat between Alex and Duryea while we await Foreman's arrival.

What follows is trite. Foreman, flustered and indignant, stands next to the table and delivers verbal attacks on both Alex and Duryea. Heads turn. Foreman huffs and puffs some more. Then, with absolutely no reason to accuse his daughter of anything more than impoliteness for not offering him a chair, he lashes into her, wondering aloud, "Are you sleeping with him?" He asks Alex in a tone suggesting that they had made some kind of pact promising that she would always divulge her lovers to her dear old dad without him having to ask. (Believe me, there was no background conversation between the two even remotely suggesting that idea.)

Alex answers, "Well, what do you want me to say?"

Of course Foreman hauls off and belts Duryea, who--naturally--steps up to defend Alex. Duryea falls to the ground like a sack of dropped laundry. He then gets up and leaves the restaurant.

Alex, suddenly betwixt and between, ends up following her dad outside!!

She yells to him, "I want to talk!"

Foreman answers, "Why, you don't need anything from me."

He walks off in a huff. Alex stands alone with a crestfallen look on her face, one not being exactly sure whether she is upset at losing her lover or her Dad.

In this scene we get every stereotypical cause and effect imaginable, coupled with lines grafted from the lamest soap operas ever written. There was never any prior dialogue insinuating that Alex was "lieing" to her dad about her tryst with Duryea, nor any reason for Duryea to feel bad for sacking a girl well within his age group. The actors did the best they could with what they had to work with, but even their performances could not save the scene, or this movie.

Too bad, as the cast seemed apt and capable.

The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou (2004)

The Movie Quixotic: A B+ Masterpiece

[9/10 · 8 April 2005]

Bill Murray (who plays the Jacques Cousteau-on-pot Steve Zissou, an underwater documentarian) is just one of many eccentric characters inhabiting Wes Anderson's "The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou." Throughout this wacky film he competes for our attention, not only with various other human wackos; Owen Wilson (who plays an airplane pilot from "Air Kentucky," Ned Plimpton, who may or may not be Zissou's son), Willem Defoe (the mildly Nazi-esquire, Klaus Daimler), and Jeff Goldblum (who plays Zissou's documentary-making nemesis, Alistair Hennessey); but a host of brilliantly animated aquatic and land-lubbing creatures, ranging from rainbow-colored jellyfish, a radiant lemon-colored lizard, rhinestone sailfish, phosphorescent carp, paisley octopi, and sugar crabs, to crayon-colored pony-fish, and the illusive star of the show, a Jaguar Shark. The latter sets the plot in motion when it eats Zissou's beloved partner while he and Team Zissou are filming another of their underwater docudramas.

While the film never achieves high-comedy, or even deigns to make any point, it never wanes in its ability to keep one guessing, chuckling, and entertained. As wacky as Zissou and his crew are, one can't ever accurately predict what direction they will go off on in pursuit of his prey.

Their quest takes place on the good ship BELAFONTE, which Anderson initially presents in cut-away, subsequently employing it as an educational model and as setting for a scene or two. It's neat gadgetry, like the animated creatures, and its' sublime use is another one of those intangibles that makes this movie worthwhile. Another bit of inscrutable genius: the presence of a lithe, beguiling Portugese shipmate who spends most of his time on deck singing Davie Bowie covers in his native language.

Again, wacky, but appropriate to this very whimsical film.

Assessing and abetting Zissou on his quest are Cate Blanchett (who plays a 3-months pregnant, seemingly soon to be a single mom Brit journalist, Jane Winslett-Richardson) and Angelica Huston (playing Zissou's ex-wife, Elanor Zissou). The former has issues of her own to deal with: impending break-up, career opportunity, a newborn, and, despite Zissou's failed attempts to romance her, she seeks solace in the arms of Ned. When out of his arms, she follows Zissou around, snooping out possible story lines for the article she may or may not write for a magazine. As usual, Blanchett is at once beauteous and entrancing, ever the attention-grabber. As for Eleanor, well, she fesses up to having an affair with Hennessey (who ends up fessing up that he is "part gay," to which Zissou replies, "Aren't we all?"), which riles but does not distract Zissou, but shows her loyalty to her ex- by agreeing to unleash some family funds to fuel Team Zissou's chase of the Jaguar Shark.

En route, they do what ever needs to be done to keep their quest going, be that robbing Hennessey's at-sea observatory, using Team Zissou's decrepit helicopter or overcoming a band of South American pirates who kidnap a bank agent put on board to oversee Zissou's spending of loan money.

Just as the film never achieves high-comedy, it doesn't necessarily achieve the high-drama of a vigorous cat-and-mouse game either. Yet, in Anderson's hands, the film never lies dead in the water, there's always the next challenge to overcome to keep the chase going. Murray, master of the deadpan, even during a shoot-out with the pirates, is amusing. The supporting cast performs admirably, like a band of very sea-worthy shipmates. The end result, a minor masterpiece. While not innovative, far from commonplace.

The Upside of Anger (2005)

The Upside of Anger, and Laughter

[7/10 · 8 April 2005]

In "The Upside of Anger," Joan Allen plays Terry Wolfmeyer, a recently broken-hearted, present-time lush whose husband has suddenly run off, as far as Terry can fathom, and we are led to believe, to Sweden with his Swedish secretary. In his absence, and her partial absence due to a taxing boozing schedule that begins post-morning shower, Terry's left to parent their (4) daughters, who range from a high school senior to a 8th grader who serves, intermittently, as the narrator to the story. Regarding Mr. & Mrs. Wolfmeyer one gets the idea that things between them were coming, or were already, apart. But, one is never given enough information to substantiate that belief one way or another.

However, Terry's mind is set: she was dropped for another woman by her s**tbag husband--and that's that. Onto the boozing, self-annihilation and attempts to put things back to together for the sake of the future. Lukcy for Terry a compatriot booze-hound and concerned suburbanite happens to live next door in the form of Denny Davies (a doughy and amusing Kevin Costner), an ex-Detroit Tiger pitching star who earns a modest living as a Detroit DJ and by hocking his signature for cash at every opportunity.

We learn in a subsequent meeting between the two shortly after the husband's disappearance, that Denny has had his eyes on Terry, albeit from a respectable, and respective, distant. In short time he makes it readily known that he will be there for Terry to play him as needed; fellow single adult, bartender, surrogate father figure for the daughters, bed buddy.

Terry's never totally repulsed by the offering, soused as she is and never quite sure of anything in such a state. Denny, always with drinks in hand, presses the issue, never using his growing friendship with Terry's daughters as leverage. Eventually he and Terry score each other.

Terry's daughters never approve or disapprove, perhaps intimidated by Denny's celebrity, quite possibly because of their being accustomed to having (wanting?) a man in the house. However, their diffidence might also come from their unspoken hope that, with Denny around, they won't be left to deal with their mom alone. Though it is readily apparent that each daughter loves Terry in their own way, each is also suspect, maybe even scared of their mom, especially while she resides in her current state of unstable liquidity.

Allen is fun to watch, appearing, as she does, an acid-tongued comedienne dishing out one-liners and comebacks to a semi-appreciative audience. Costner's believable as the ex-jock who isn't as course as you'd expect him to be, save for the ubiquitous bottle of Bud always in his hand. Mike Binder ("The Mind of A Married Man"), who wrote and directed the movie, plays Adam "Shep" Goodman, Denny's 40-something, sleaze ball radio show producer.

Scenes with Terry and Shep crackle, especially after he begins to date, and screw, one of Terry's teenage daughters. In a very funny albeit it poignant exchange, Shep delivers a heart-punch to Terry's soul after she corners him for the purpose of asking why an older fella like him prefers dating girls half his age.

"Because," Shep says, gathering courage. "They're not like you."

Terry stands still as a statue, stunned by Shep's trenchant observation. He embellishes his point briefly and then leaves Terry to sulk in the aftermath of his terse rebuke.

Of course, she's angry. But, the upside of her anger is that it produces heartfelt reactions from others through whose assessments of her character Terry learns valuable lessons.

As The Clash said, "Anger is a power, if you know that you can use it."

While Terry might not be familiar with the lyric, in the end, her use of anger leads to enlightenment, hers, and others.

All the Real Girls (2003)

Sublime Masterpiece

[10/10 · 8 April 2005]

In essence, this is a love story about an infatuated, star-crossed couple, Paul (Paul Schneider), an aloof womanizer in his late 20s, and Noel (Zooey Deschanel) a quixotic, introspective teenage female, combating the indigenous morals of their small town. The story takes place in a rural North Carolina town, where everyone knows everyone else's business. A town sporting one bar and a cotton mill that keeps most of its townspeople employed.

Besides the simple fact that their age difference raises eyebrows all around town, and creates a natural chasm between them, no one in town supports their relationship. Certainly not Noel's brother, Tip (Shea Whigham), a pompadoured yahoo of sorts, and Paul's "best friend." Tip's objections center solely on his belief that his best buddy shouldn't go with his sister because he and Paul are "partners-in-crime" sharing the same seedy intention when going after any girl: doing the wham, bam, thank you, ma'am, and then hitting the road.

To that end, in a short but telling scene early on, Tip asks Paul, after seeing him talking to Noel, "What's up with that?"

That might not seem like the greatest bit of dialogue you've ever heard, but, here, and throughout this film, it's perfect. It crystallizes Tip's insular character, his relationship with Paul, the protective feeling he has for his younger sister, and voices the puerile sentiment of the entire town.

Throughout the film, I could not help but think of Terence Malick's masterwork, "Days of Heaven." Each film is fraught with picaresque snapshots gently serving to augment one's sense of setting and surrounding. It is akin to "pointillism," wherein a final picture is comprehended more appropriately from a distance. The delicate snapshots in this film have that effect, rendering a more complete picture after one has experienced a moment of emotional distance to take them all in. Here, combined with Tim Orr's stark soundtrack, the overall effect is mesmerizing. We inhabit this rural town, its park, few vistas, cotton mill, and Main Street. We share a sense of this place and how it can be, at once, home and the end of the world, full of promise but, somehow, the end of the road. We share the notion that there is something else to be had, somewhere, but that there is a certain degree of security to be had staring down at one's shoes as they stand in their hometown.

It is that duality that constantly agitates the characters in the film. Paul knows that there must be something outside the town that holds a better future for him, but what that is his upbringing and education didn't exactly spell out. As for Noel, she is home from some distant all-female boarding school, so she has glimpsed that other world, but her youth and innocence remain married to her home town.

A significant supporting role is played by the luminescent Patricia Clarkson ("Six Feet Under"), who plays Paul's enigmatic but troubled mother. At times she is playful as a kitten, but when Paul comes to her seeking solace and compliments she offers nothing but poignant, almost crippling insight into his character. By day, she works as a clown, traveling to different hospitals and hospices to cheer up sick and terminally ill children.

In a riveting scene, a sense of envy and hopelessness infests her mood and breaks surface level after Paul forgets to return her car, causing her to miss a private appointment at the house of a terminally ill child. In full clown costume she confronts Paul, initially berating him for causing her to miss her gig, then subsequently voicing a complaint rooted in regret.

She bemoans, "Look at this!"

Then, displaying herself in full, but pathetic, costumed regale, she barks, "This isn't me!"

A loaded silence ensues. Paul sits speechless on the couch adjacent to his mother, finally understanding the depth and result of her compounded losses. His mom vociferously concludes her point, and the scene, voicing her envy of the mysterious girl that has won the attention of her son, lamenting to one and all, "I was f**king beautiful!"

The scene has the equivalent effect of an atom bomb, razing one's emotional landscape with such force as to render one shell-shocked for the moment. It would be a tearjerker of a scene if one could muster the courage to make a sound in its aftermath. But, such is the result of Green's direction, and the impact of Clarkson's delivery and Schneider's reaction, that all I could do was remain still as an ashtray, waiting for the dust to settle to see what would happen next.

"All the Real Girls" has that effect; it's spellbinding. You relish the silences, you embrace the characters, you discover the town via the seemingly incongruous but pointillistic snapshots, you want to know what will happen next, to everyone. It's never humdrum nor predictable.

As its title insinuates: it IS real; its girls, and boys, too.

Donnie Darko (2001)

Donnie Very Disappointing

[1/10 · 8 April 2005]

To read some of the more lengthy reviews of this instantly forgettable movie, one would think "Donnie Darko" is the greatest movie never seen. Believe me, it ain't. Far from it. This DVD probably spends most of its life on the shelf at your local video store, removed sporadically for viewing by some soon-to-be-disappointed film nut, checking it out for to discover what all the hoopla isn't about. I'm not so sure the DVD always gets returned in its original condition, after all, when one expects too much and gets squat for their returns--things get busted.

The blame for this dismal failure falls on writer-director, Richard Kelly, whose flawed "deus ex machina" ending completely undermines some mildly interesting stuff (time-travel, teen/parent relations, social satire) that he had going on before tanking it. Kelly's ill-conceived wrap-up renders "Donnie Darko" as nothing more than an insipid cross between "Sliding Doors" (w/Gwyneth Paltrow) and "Heathers" (w/Winona Ryder, et al.); a teen angst flick hinging upon the destiny of its protagonist. But, unlike these other two flicks, "Donnie Darko" fails dismally because in the end--because of its ending, leaving one feeling completely cheated, if not, in my case, disgusted.

The fault is Kelly's alone. His principals share no blame.

The story, briefly: Jake Gyllenhaal plays Donnie Darko, a morose, high school "weirdo." Drugs prescribed by the shrink his loving parents send him to cause him to hallucinate Frank, an alien-looking space-bunny who orders him to commit violent acts and predicts the imminent end of the world.

Frank's prediction is rendered--early in the movie--on the same day a jet engine plunges into the Darko's residence, entering through the roof above Donnie's bedroom and boring a hole right on down to the first floor. When that occurs, we are misled to believe that Donnie was not in his bedroom at the time of the accident. (He is found sleeping on the fairway at a local golf course by two neighborhood men.) I mention this because this intentional deception by Kelly will either tick you off big time (as it did me) or lead you to make a self-appeasing justification allowing for such a gimmick.

In either case, the jet engine accident, as framed by the aforementioned dubious ending, clearly divides this picture into two distinct parts: the part that did not happen, and the part that did happen. Unfortunately, the part that did NOT happen makes for 90% of the movie. Kelly undermines his own efforts with his choice of ending, obliterating one's concern for all that did NOT transpire. By his own devise, he turns the movie into a "what if" flick, a la "Sliding Doors." Ironically, the thought "what if" comes to mind when thinking about this movie, as in, "What if Kelly cut out the wrap-up ending and left us hanging?" At least then I'd have something to think about. As is, because Kelly chose to divide the movie into unequal parts, tossing 90% of it into the dumpster at movie's end, there's not much left to discuss. Kelly clearly shows that the jet engine did, indeed, kill Donnie Darko, and but so all that transpired after that event is, like the film, instantly forgettable.