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chris_boys
Reviews
Any Given Sunday (1999)
an unwatchable abortion (rate it one star)
ON ANY GIVEN Sunday is plagued by its unrelenting disconnection from the reality of professional football. Every character is a cliché and congenitally stupid.
Al Pacino is the head coach, only he never coaches! He never seems to work at his job. He produces no game plans. He fails to instruct (in a meaningful way) any player. All he does is rant. He is like Othello on methamphetamine. He argues, he screams, he drinks, he pushes people around, he sermonizes to the team (in embarrassing monologues that no head coach would use), and he wallows in his maudlin subjectivity. Cameron Diaz is the caustic owner of the team. Her mouth is contorted in a perpetual PMS snarl. She seems to live for one thing: hysterical confrontation. She confronts Pacino and they scream and yell at each other constantly. She has some Oedipal problems making comparisons with her father, who owned and managed the team to previous glory. She has the depth of a toothpick. Then we get James Woods. He is
well, he is James Woods reduced to playing his version of the team doctor, and totally predictably.
Dennis Quaid is the aging quarterback. He's screwed up from injuries and too much pain medication
and he is okay. Quaid does a decent job acting (light years ahead of others in this film). His wife, however, is the bitch from hell. Who invented her? Jesus, she makes about as much sense as a hamster screwing a basketball. She is upset at Quaid because he wants to retire. Now catch this she actually slugs him in the jaw about it. So here is Quaid, 38 years of age with two MPV awards under his belt, and he wants to retire. The guy lives in a mansion and has a gazillion dollars under his belt, and his wife goes ape about his retiring. What quarterback ever had a wife like that? Then there is Jamie Fox. He is the upcoming quarterback with a chip on his shoulder and a lot of talent (except he can be a screw up too). He is stuck in the civil rights era. He sermonizes about getting the short end of the stick as a black quarterback. He loves rap music. He is out of control half the time, except he has a sweet girlfriend who stabilizes him (sort of). This is the type of character you invent when you are in tenth grade and dreaming of making a Hollywood movie. He and Pacino spend their time screaming at each other and failing to communicate.
Just take a real coach say Joe Gibbs. Do you think Gibbs sits around and does no work, drinks himself into stupors, spends his time screaming about nothing, and cannot communicate with his problem players? Do you think a quarterback like Fox does would last one series of plays under a real coach? As for owners of million dollar football franchises (Jerry Jones) are they idiot hysterics who spend their time spouting nonsense? The other football players are a bunch of stupid animals. They are busy snorting cocaine, swearing, screwing the next white woman, fighting with each other, Jim Brown is one of Pacino's assistant coaches. He too never does any coaching, just thundering yelling. The one sort of interesting player is Lawrence Taylor. Taylor is an ex football player and one of the true greats of the game. It seems he can act too. He is given a decent role that makes a little sense, and he is okay at it.
Real football players at this level are not just animals, and they are definitely not stupid. The playbooks in professional football can tax a math professor's ability to understand. There is actually a lot of intelligence in professional football. There are also a thousand stories Stone could have tapped into and made a good movie. I mean, if he wanted to concentrate on the problem player, then he could have used the Dwayne Thomas story from the Cowboys Super Bowl team. This was a guy that coach Landry found a way to use when he was the most aggravating player in football.
ON ANY GIVEN Sunday starts off with a quote from Vince Lombardi. Stone could have used two incidents from Lombardi's life to illustrate great coaching. When Lombardi coached the Washington Redskins he had a rookie running back named Larry Brown. Brown was not particularly fast or big, but Lombardi spotted something in him that made him think he could be the Redskins main man running the ball. Only there was one problem: Brown fumbled the ball a lot. Lombardi made Brown carry a football with him everywhere (and I mean everywhere) for two solid weeks. Brown went on to have a great career and was incredibly sure-handed with the football. When Lombardi came to training camp, a player was loafing through the drills. One of Lombardi's coaches wanted to chew him out. The player was Jerry Smith, an undersized tight end with about seven years with the Redskins. Lombardi told his coach to leave the guy alone, saying "That's Jerry Smith! The man can catch a football." Smith went on to have another seven years with the Skins and went down as one of the finest catching tight ends in the history of the game.
Stone also punctuates this movie with relentless visual overkill and with the soundtrack. Both are enough to wreck the nervous system of the average viewer. It is not just that these elements are so graphic and loud; it is that there is no pacing in the use of them. Stone turns them up as much as he can and never stops.
In conclusion, ON ANY GIVEN Sunday is a terrible movie. The acting sucks, the script is enough to embarrass Ed Wood, the visuals and soundtrack are a nightmare. It is just irredeemable crap.
Crash (2004)
overrated piece of trash
I do not want to do an in-depth analysis of this film. Rather, I'll point out what I consider makes it a very poor effort: the script. The same guy who did the script for CRASH also did the script for MILLION DOLLAR BABY. Both won the Oscar for best picture. I must be pretty out of touch to criticize this guy, but here goes. The main problem is that every character is "invented". That is, each character is so obviously the product of a fertile (and I am using that word kindly) imagination. In CRASH the politician and his wife are absolute stereotypes. They speak the most inane lines, like from a comic book or low-grade soap opera. The two cops are similarly contrived. One is a good guy and one is a bad guy. One is an idealist. One is a cynical veteran. I imagine such categories of cops do exist, but to give them life it takes someone who knows the genres, like Joseph Wambaugh. (In fact, to see how really bad CRASH is, just compare it to THE ONION FIELD). We also have the two foul-mouthed gang-banging black youth, hell bent on insanity. Big deal. Anyone can produce such characters. There is the misunderstood, good-guy Mexican plumber, who just happens to love his young daughter oh so much. Etc. Etc. Each character has the depth of a comic-book creation. They all speak in litanies of clichés. The plot too is just a clever manage of intersections. It is so obviously the product of the next cup of coffee or cigarette. It is cleverness without depth or substance. Christ, that this film won best picture just begs belief.
While I am getting in my two cents here, MILLION DOLLAR BABY is the same cliché-riddled mess. It is obvious that the guy who wrote knew nothing about boxing. The characters are pathetic, lifeless creations.
What has Hollywood come to that such movies walk away with top prize?
Crystal Voyager (1973)
Never to be Forgotten
This is for sure an uneven effort. Some of the previous reviewers point out legitimate shortcomings of the movie. George Greenough's narration is a chore, not necessarily for what he actually says, but for the quality of his voice. The soundtrack in the first two thirds of the movie is weak at times. G. Wayne Thomas is the artist, and had previously worked on MORNING OF THE EARTH, which was the first Australian movie of any kind with a sound track to sell gold. However, in that movie he was not the sole artist, and his efforts worked very well with the other artists who complemented him. In CRYSTAL VOYAGER, as the sole artist, he begins to grate after a while. His voice often has a thin, reedy quality.
The plot of the movie is exceedingly simple. This is no THE BIG SLEEP. The pace is leisurely to the point of being slow. However, I myself, just accepted that this is a simple documentary of an unusual persona of the surfing world, and enjoyed it for what it is. I have the movie on DVD and have watched it many times. I find the life and times of George Greenough (so to speak) an easy watch. The guy is a remarkable pioneer in the surf scene, while really never having been part of that scene. Evidently, now, 30 years after CRYSTAL VOYAGER, a new film has come out about him, which better documents just how much this man revolutionized surfing during his time, and how even today at the age of 64 he is doing things on waves that others find mind-boggling.
My real complaint about the first two-thirds of the movie is that we are shortchanged on the surfing shots. I would have liked to have seen another 15 minutes or so of surfing. Especially more of George riding his knee board. The other two surfers, Nat Young and Ritchie West, could also have done with more. The quality of the waves ridden was not good enough to really showcase the talent of these men.
Okay, but for all that being said (plus and minus), the final third of the movie must surely stand as a cinematic classic. In fact, I will go out on a limb and venture to say that it is the single finest piece of visual experience ever rendered on film. I can think of nothing else that really comes close. And too, the mix of the visuals with the sound is perfection. In an interview with the producer David Eflick on the DVD, he describes the interesting story of how he managed to secure the song Echoes for this part of the movie. Lucky indeed that he did. I suggest you watch this on as big a screen as you can, with a pumping sound system, and just be plain ole mind blown.
And I am not saying that this is only a visual acid-trip. Far more; this is real genius-level stuff. I have watched this part of the movie at least fifty times, and I can see no end to the depth of it. Every frame is stunning. Then each wave experienced is stunning. The evolution of this part of the movie is akin to an unending holograph. It builds sequentially in force and power, while at the same time revealing in a seamless way new, unexpected depth to its subject, every wave. Just when you are thinking "Yes this is beautiful and sublime", suddenly the same wave reveals an even greater beauty and light. Finally, the entire sequence leaves one transfixed. That I can watch it even now after so many times, and still be moved deeply, just amazes me.
Nuff said
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Riding Giants (2004)
very good, but...
I have this movie on DVD and must have watched it thirty times by now. I must really love it, right? Well, not really.
I was a surfer earlier in my life, and I loved the sport. To this day, I am fascinated by good surfing. Riding Giants has plenty of that, and thus I am a sucker for the thing. But I definitely have some bones to pick with it. (Peralta, you listening?).
First, the movie has too little faith in its subject matter. The cutting and editing of the waves is such that the majority of them are sort of ruined. Very, very few waves are actually shown ridden from start to finish. Peralta seems addicted to a hyper kinetic, cut-and-pace method. It gets especially bad in the middle section on the spot Mavericks in Northern California. Not a single wave is ridden start to finish. Almost the entire section on Mavericks (one third of the movie) is a jarring montage of clips with an equally jarring soundtrack. I can understand the effect Peralta was trying to achieve with Mavericks, as the place is a truly frightening mix of bone crushing waves in frigid open ocean chop, but he goes way too far. Mavericks is not just a bad acid trip. Waves are actually ridden there, even with great performances. It would have been good to see some of them. If Peralta thinks this is a grand sport (and I am sure he does), then why does he insist on messing with the subject matter so much? At times, the editing reduces the movie to the inscrutable. There is one fast clip in the section on Peahi in Hawaii, which I still cannot understand. Even if I run it on slow motion on DVD, the image is too fast to be decipherable. It must be a couple of frames in length at the max.
Second, have the guys who made this thing ever learned about understatement? It is particularly galling to watch the narrated directors' version on DVD. These guys sound like two over-the-top valley girls. The same sentiment shows up in the main production. Every thing is always so goddamn "amazing" etc. One character in particular is just plain obnoxious -- Sam George, the editor of Surfer Magazine, who is practically peeing in his pants every time he has anything to say. He is a super drag on the movie.
There is a tremendous amount of effort that went into this movie. I mean, just to get the old movie shots they have, and also, all of the interviews. The movie is a great story, and I think it is generally captivating entertainment. Thematically it is well laid out, with the three parts centering around Greg Noll, Jeff Clark, and Laird Hamilton respectively. There are some uses of still photography that are phenomenal. In the directors' narration, they say it is a new type of 3D technology, and it really works. The three principle characters shine, both in their interviews and in the water. As an athlete, Laird Hamilton is a revelation. He rises to the pinnacle of his sport in a way that I have only seen Michael Jordan do in basketball. And too, the story of his meeting his father is a gem. It really touched me.
It is just that the movie could have been so much more. The very last part of the movie, when the credits roll, gives a hint of what it could have been. There are some beautiful panoramic shots of waves with a magnificent soundtrack. (The soundtrack in the rest of the movie is rubbish, though you may like it if you are fan of the modern, frenetic school of rock.) Anyway there's my two cents...