596 items found for your search. If no results were found please broaden your search.
(09/04/03 4:00am)
While most of you were spending the last weeks of your summer moving, finishing jobs and/or internships or simply savoring your final days of freedom poolside with cocktail in hand, I was hanging out with my grandmother.\nHaving finished editing the Weekend in early August, I was left with little to do. I'd already blown quite a bit of cash checking out shows by Blur and the Flaming Lips and traveling to Myrtle Beach with three friends in a haze of beer, blunts and barbeque -- everything that was of the utmost importance had been done. What harm would it do to go see my Granny in sunny Florida? \nI love my grandmother dearly; she's a good woman, someone who's always helped and taken care of me. Since my grandfather passed away a few years back, she gets lonely at times … it's only natural. As a decent grandson, it's my responsibility to go and see her and keep her company -- but little did I know of the repercussions.\nMy grandmother is 82 years old -- anyone of that age is pretty well set in his or her ways. She figures if the way she's gone about her daily routine has afforded her 82 years, it not only must work, but should be embraced by everyone else -- especially me. \nI was force-fed multiple servings of crappy Lactaid milk daily -- I'm not lactose intolerant. I was told which stories I had to read in the morning paper and when to read them. One morning, I happened to be reading and enjoying an article concerning the economic principles surrounding the DVD industry, Granny happened upon me doing so and called me a "fluffer." \nWe went golfing one afternoon. I played brilliantly on the first hole but poorer with each subsequent hole. Much of this might have been spurred by her uninvited tutorials mid-backswing. In spite of this, I shouldn't have sworn and thrown a borrowed golf club in front of her. Charming behavior such as this has finalized my front row center seats in the third ring of Hell. \nOften, we went out to dinner. Occasionally, I'd have a Bud Light or two with the meal. In doing so, she judged me unable to drive. She insisted we go see a play; I prefer movies. She forced the issue and asked why it was I didn't want to go. By that point, I was frustrated and looking for a reaction … any reaction, so I made a tongue-in-cheek comment, said in hopes that her hearing aids weren't in/ She heard but definitely didn't get it. She told me I was uncultured and if other adults had heard me they'd think I was just a stupid kid.\nEventually I won out; we took in no plays. Instead, we saw "Open Range" (I liked it, Grandma fell asleep) and "Bruce Almighty" (she cried by movie's end, said she liked the "black fella," i.e. Morgan Freeman, and said that both the movie and Jim Carrey were stupid). \nNights were lonely. She, being a grandmother, went to bed early. Instead, I sat alone in my bedroom watching television. Luckily, there was a bunch of good stuff on. VH1 played "I Love the '70s" incessantly, as they're prone to do (Michael Ian Black is a god!). Turner Classic Movies had an utterly badass Steve McQueen movie marathon one night (Might I recommend "The Magnificent Seven" or "The Cincinnati Kid?" Sadly, I missed "The Great Escape" and "The Thomas Crown Affair" -- both good flicks, though.). I found a new guilty pleasure to fill the long since departed "Dawson's Creek" void via Fox's "The O.C." Man, I'm a wuss. \nAnd saving the best for last, I tuned into TBS's masterpiece, "Red Water," starring such has-beens as Lou Diamond Phillips and Coolio. You haven't lived until you've seen a wacky-haired rapper take a "Fantastic Voyage" through a river-based shark's digestive track.\nIt'd been a long week. The last day I was there, she and I washed dishes, talked and listened to Neil Diamond's greatest hits -- who knew we'd both have such an affinity for the Jewish Elvis. Turns out we both dig Sinatra and a bunch of other stuff too. So, despite our differences in age, gender and just about everything else, we found a common ground. Grandparents are here to be appreciated and learned from. I suggest calling your grandmother, grandfather -- hell, even your great-aunt -- immediately. Let them annoy you and you'll be all the better for it.
(09/03/03 11:28pm)
While most of you were spending the last weeks of your summer moving, finishing jobs and/or internships or simply savoring your final days of freedom poolside with cocktail in hand, I was hanging out with my grandmother.\nHaving finished editing the Weekend in early August, I was left with little to do. I'd already blown quite a bit of cash checking out shows by Blur and the Flaming Lips and traveling to Myrtle Beach with three friends in a haze of beer, blunts and barbeque -- everything that was of the utmost importance had been done. What harm would it do to go see my Granny in sunny Florida? \nI love my grandmother dearly; she's a good woman, someone who's always helped and taken care of me. Since my grandfather passed away a few years back, she gets lonely at times … it's only natural. As a decent grandson, it's my responsibility to go and see her and keep her company -- but little did I know of the repercussions.\nMy grandmother is 82 years old -- anyone of that age is pretty well set in his or her ways. She figures if the way she's gone about her daily routine has afforded her 82 years, it not only must work, but should be embraced by everyone else -- especially me. \nI was force-fed multiple servings of crappy Lactaid milk daily -- I'm not lactose intolerant. I was told which stories I had to read in the morning paper and when to read them. One morning, I happened to be reading and enjoying an article concerning the economic principles surrounding the DVD industry, Granny happened upon me doing so and called me a "fluffer." \nWe went golfing one afternoon. I played brilliantly on the first hole but poorer with each subsequent hole. Much of this might have been spurred by her uninvited tutorials mid-backswing. In spite of this, I shouldn't have sworn and thrown a borrowed golf club in front of her. Charming behavior such as this has finalized my front row center seats in the third ring of Hell. \nOften, we went out to dinner. Occasionally, I'd have a Bud Light or two with the meal. In doing so, she judged me unable to drive. She insisted we go see a play; I prefer movies. She forced the issue and asked why it was I didn't want to go. By that point, I was frustrated and looking for a reaction … any reaction, so I made a tongue-in-cheek comment, said in hopes that her hearing aids weren't in/ She heard but definitely didn't get it. She told me I was uncultured and if other adults had heard me they'd think I was just a stupid kid.\nEventually I won out; we took in no plays. Instead, we saw "Open Range" (I liked it, Grandma fell asleep) and "Bruce Almighty" (she cried by movie's end, said she liked the "black fella," i.e. Morgan Freeman, and said that both the movie and Jim Carrey were stupid). \nNights were lonely. She, being a grandmother, went to bed early. Instead, I sat alone in my bedroom watching television. Luckily, there was a bunch of good stuff on. VH1 played "I Love the '70s" incessantly, as they're prone to do (Michael Ian Black is a god!). Turner Classic Movies had an utterly badass Steve McQueen movie marathon one night (Might I recommend "The Magnificent Seven" or "The Cincinnati Kid?" Sadly, I missed "The Great Escape" and "The Thomas Crown Affair" -- both good flicks, though.). I found a new guilty pleasure to fill the long since departed "Dawson's Creek" void via Fox's "The O.C." Man, I'm a wuss. \nAnd saving the best for last, I tuned into TBS's masterpiece, "Red Water," starring such has-beens as Lou Diamond Phillips and Coolio. You haven't lived until you've seen a wacky-haired rapper take a "Fantastic Voyage" through a river-based shark's digestive track.\nIt'd been a long week. The last day I was there, she and I washed dishes, talked and listened to Neil Diamond's greatest hits -- who knew we'd both have such an affinity for the Jewish Elvis. Turns out we both dig Sinatra and a bunch of other stuff too. So, despite our differences in age, gender and just about everything else, we found a common ground. Grandparents are here to be appreciated and learned from. I suggest calling your grandmother, grandfather -- hell, even your great-aunt -- immediately. Let them annoy you and you'll be all the better for it.
(09/03/03 11:01pm)
Critics have begun singing Robert Pollard's praises again … perhaps they spoke too soon. With his highly prolific band, Guided By Voices, Pollard has unleashed Earthquake Glue. \nWhat's here is well-written, sung nicely in Pollard's trademark cigarette-tinged rasp and backed more than ably by his bandmates. True to form, most of the cuts are either too short or too long. If only Pollard had used his unique ability to make a minute-long track seem epic, then the longer cuts wouldn't have collapsed under their own weight.\n There are exceptions to this rule: "My Kind of Soldier" and "The Best of Jill Hives" are reminiscent of older, better and altogether poppier works, featuring hard-driving guitar riffs and catchy choruses. "Mix Up the Satellite" dispels the popular belief that GBV is little more than window dressing to Pollard, as Kevin March's drumming is some of the best I've heard recently.\nNot nearly as solid as the band's revolutionary and best-known effort Isolation Drills nor as entertaining as last year's underrated Universal Truths and Cycles, Earthquake Glue is a tad disappointing. My advice: pick-up one of the aforementioned records or see GBV when they play the Bird again -- this one's for the Guided By Voices faithful only.
(08/28/03 4:17pm)
What would happen if one were to throw classic discs by Lynyrd Skynyrd, the Allman Brothers, Tom Petty, Randy Newman, Dire Straits and new school rockers the Strokes into a blender and hit puree? Physically, it'd be one hell of a mess. Sonically, it'd sound something akin to Kings of Leon's debut record, Youth and Young Manhood -- a near revelation.\nThough somewhat derivative in sound, the Kings, comprised of the brothers Followill (lead vocalist/rhythm guitarist Caleb, bassist and sometime pianist Jared and drummer/background vocalist Nathan) and their cousin, lead guitarist Matthew Followill, have such enthusiasm and musicality it hardly matters. These Tennessee-bred sons of a Pentecostal minister will single-handedly resurrect the oft-forgotten sub-genre of country-fried Southern rock.\nHighlights include the very Strokes-esque "Happy Alone," "Joe's Head," "California Waiting" and "Genius." Another fave is the deeply hidden (unfortunately so) bonus track "Talihina Sky," which happens to be the album's truest ballad, even besting the more than competent stylings of resident softer cut, "Trani." "Spiral Staircase" and "Molly's Chambers" are some of the funkiest, sexiest and most raucous rockers I've heard in ages -- the former even finds Caleb cribbing some of the late Bon Scott's greatest hits.\nThe record's only drawback is Caleb's occasional vocal stumbles. When in a higher register, he sounds much like an "Exorcist"-era Linda Blair minus all the shtick. Otherwise, it's smooth sailing.
(08/28/03 4:00am)
What would happen if one were to throw classic discs by Lynyrd Skynyrd, the Allman Brothers, Tom Petty, Randy Newman, Dire Straits and new school rockers the Strokes into a blender and hit puree? Physically, it'd be one hell of a mess. Sonically, it'd sound something akin to Kings of Leon's debut record, Youth and Young Manhood -- a near revelation.\nThough somewhat derivative in sound, the Kings, comprised of the brothers Followill (lead vocalist/rhythm guitarist Caleb, bassist and sometime pianist Jared and drummer/background vocalist Nathan) and their cousin, lead guitarist Matthew Followill, have such enthusiasm and musicality it hardly matters. These Tennessee-bred sons of a Pentecostal minister will single-handedly resurrect the oft-forgotten sub-genre of country-fried Southern rock.\nHighlights include the very Strokes-esque "Happy Alone," "Joe's Head," "California Waiting" and "Genius." Another fave is the deeply hidden (unfortunately so) bonus track "Talihina Sky," which happens to be the album's truest ballad, even besting the more than competent stylings of resident softer cut, "Trani." "Spiral Staircase" and "Molly's Chambers" are some of the funkiest, sexiest and most raucous rockers I've heard in ages -- the former even finds Caleb cribbing some of the late Bon Scott's greatest hits.\nThe record's only drawback is Caleb's occasional vocal stumbles. When in a higher register, he sounds much like an "Exorcist"-era Linda Blair minus all the shtick. Otherwise, it's smooth sailing.
(08/08/03 5:26pm)
I was really pulling for "S.W.A.T." I'd hoped to see a film with some modicum of intelligence headed by the talented likes of Colin Farrell and Samuel L. Jackson, and to a certain extent I did. The problem is, despite solid if underwritten turns by its leads and the intermittently promising direction of actor-turned-director Clark Johnson (he was a regular on "Homicide: Life on the Street" and has directed episodes of "The Shield") the flick didn't add up to the sum of its parts.\nPerhaps I'm not qualified to review "S.W.A.T.," as the shortly lived TV series of the same name (from which the movie is based) debuted in 1975, well before my time. But then again, "S.W.A.T." is nowhere near as accomplished as other TV-to-film adaptations i.e. "The Fugitive" or the "Mission: Impossible" flicks. Hell, even the first "Charlie's Angels" pic bests these boys in blue -- this, minus the ass factor of the former.\n"S.W.A.T." opens in grand fashion with an introductory scene that could best be described as a case of art imitating life imitating art (the scene's a direct, albeit abbreviated, rip-off of the bank heist from "Heat," which was enacted in actuality a few years back during the North Hollywood shoot-out). This is also the audience's introduction to officer Jim Street (Farrell, filling in, appropriately enough, for the recently departed Robert Urich). Street, who, along with his trigger-happy partner, Brian Gamble (Jeremy Renner, best known for his work in "National Lampoon's Senior Trip"), arrives on the scene, storms the bank and caps the crooks. In doing so, Gamble intentionally shoots a civilian to get a clear shot at his perp. As this is a movie, the stunt gets both boys booted from S.W.A.T. in a sea of cop movie/TV show clichés.\nRedemption comes in the form of Lt. Dan "Hondo" Harrelson (Jackson), a kindred spirit to the loose cannon likes of Street. Hondo, in a gesture serving as little more than an upturned middle finger to the brass, invites the young officer aboard his upstart S.W.A.T. team. The crew also consists of Chris Sanchez (the utterly annoying Michelle Rodriguez -- honey, Jenette Goldstein cornered the market on tough latinas back in '86 with her turn as Vasquez in "Aliens"), David "Deke" Kay (an even more agitating LL Cool J, which is too bad, as I liked the guy in "Deep Blue Sea" and "Any Given Sunday"), cookie cutter cop, Boxer (Brian Van Holt in his full mustached glory) and the Lando Calrissian of the bunch, T.J. McCabe ("Sports Night" survivor Josh Charles).\nThe gang's put to the ultimate test when a smarmy, incarcerated, French drug kingpin by the name Alex (Olivier Martinez, last seen in the highly overrated "Unfaithful") offers "One hundred meeleeon dollars" to would-be hoods on national television in exchange for his safe extraction. Especially, when said escape will ultimately be perpetrated with the aid of former S.W.A.T. allies.\nThe film has many problems, one of which stems from the fact that a primary villain is more likable than two-thirds of our heroes. Other snags include, but are not limited to: a crappy soundtrack consisting of trendy rap metal (a few choice cuts by the Rolling Stones and Jane's Addiction being the sole exceptions) and a series of poor action beats (when a lock being blown to bits via a claymore mine serves as a highlight, you know you're in trouble).\nAs the flick's tagline suggests, "Even cops dial 911," with "S.W.A.T.," it's understandable. The film serves far more as a fantastical police recruitment ad than it does an actual narrative.
(08/08/03 5:04pm)
Obviously, finality has no place within the realm of slasher flicks, as exemplified by the hilariously titled "Final Destination 2" -- a garishly entertaining oxymoron in and of itself.\nThose familiar with the first "Final Destination" know what to expect: someone, in this case a cute little coed named Kimberly Corman (A.J. Cook), has a vision not only of their death, but the deaths of those around them. Said individual does something drastic to avoid such tragedy, but in doing so, places themselves and others on Death's shit list. As is customary for films of its ilk, "FD2" heaps on the carnage. If the idea of a pigeon-kicking punk being smashed under the weight of a giant pane of glass or a stoner being split into thirds by airborne barbed wire gets your rocks off, then rent or buy this movie immediately -- it's awfully funny -- if not, go rent "The Hours" with your mom.\nIn addition to this guilty pleasure of the Grand Guignol variety, the DVD boasts a plethora of special features. Most are worthwhile i.e. "Bits & Pieces: Bringing Death to Life," which chronicles the processes behind all of the flick's major make-up effects. Others, such as "The Terror Gauge," in which three pubescent wieners are strapped to machines measuring the physical and psychological effects "FD2" had upon them, are mind numbingly stupid.\nEither way, the opening highway pileup sequence, lensed to perfection by director David R. Ellis (Burt Reynolds's former stuntman), stands toe-to-toe with the bigger-budgeted vehicular mayhem of this summer's "The Matrix Reloaded" (which was also overseen by Ellis, though as second unit director), "Terminator 3" and "Bad Boys II." The intro alone merits viewing the film in its entirety -- sure, you might feel dumber for having done so and in all likelihood you'll want a shower afterwards, but I'll be damned if you're not entertained.
(08/07/03 9:04pm)
Steven Soderbergh's latest cinematic experiment, "Solaris," met with a predominantly negative critical and commercial reception this past Thanksgiving. The film was more akin to a space shuttle crash than the pop culture juggernauts Soderbergh had unleashed in the years preceding i.e. "Sex, Lies and Videotape," "Out of Sight," "Erin Brockovich," "Traffic" and "Ocean's 11." It's sad, really -- a film of this pedigree (written and directed by Soderbergh and produced by James "I'm King of the World" Cameron) deserved better. "Solaris" is in no way a bad movie, just a challenging one. Now that it's available on DVD, astute cinephiles who enter with an open mind and a thoroughly ingratiated sense of patience will be aptly rewarded by sci-fi sans spectacle.\nGeorge Clooney headlines as psycholgist Chris Kelvin in Soderbergh's reinterpretation of Stanislaw Lem's classic sci-fi novel. Kelvin has been sent aboard an isolated space station orbiting the mysterious titular planet in order to investigate his friend, Gibarian's (Ulrich Tukur) disappearance. While there, he and his fellow crewmembers, Gordon (Viola Davis) and Snow ("Saving Private Ryan" vet Jeremy Davies), experience an onslaught of oddities, including, but not limited to, visitations from deceased acquaintances. Included amongst these apparitions is Kelvin's wife, Rheya (Natascha McElhone). What follows is an internal struggle that's equal parts romantic and rococo.\nThe movie itself is good enough to warrant a rental, but it's the commentary track that will spur purchase. Soderbergh and Cameron speak intelligently in long, fascinating dialogues concerning the film's thematic arcs, technical specs and the differentiating styles of each man's filmic style. Honestly, it's one of the better tracks I've ever heard, and accompanies its strange cinematic brethren beautifully.
(08/07/03 4:00am)
Steven Soderbergh's latest cinematic experiment, "Solaris," met with a predominantly negative critical and commercial reception this past Thanksgiving. The film was more akin to a space shuttle crash than the pop culture juggernauts Soderbergh had unleashed in the years preceding i.e. "Sex, Lies and Videotape," "Out of Sight," "Erin Brockovich," "Traffic" and "Ocean's 11." It's sad, really -- a film of this pedigree (written and directed by Soderbergh and produced by James "I'm King of the World" Cameron) deserved better. "Solaris" is in no way a bad movie, just a challenging one. Now that it's available on DVD, astute cinephiles who enter with an open mind and a thoroughly ingratiated sense of patience will be aptly rewarded by sci-fi sans spectacle.\nGeorge Clooney headlines as psycholgist Chris Kelvin in Soderbergh's reinterpretation of Stanislaw Lem's classic sci-fi novel. Kelvin has been sent aboard an isolated space station orbiting the mysterious titular planet in order to investigate his friend, Gibarian's (Ulrich Tukur) disappearance. While there, he and his fellow crewmembers, Gordon (Viola Davis) and Snow ("Saving Private Ryan" vet Jeremy Davies), experience an onslaught of oddities, including, but not limited to, visitations from deceased acquaintances. Included amongst these apparitions is Kelvin's wife, Rheya (Natascha McElhone). What follows is an internal struggle that's equal parts romantic and rococo.\nThe movie itself is good enough to warrant a rental, but it's the commentary track that will spur purchase. Soderbergh and Cameron speak intelligently in long, fascinating dialogues concerning the film's thematic arcs, technical specs and the differentiating styles of each man's filmic style. Honestly, it's one of the better tracks I've ever heard, and accompanies its strange cinematic brethren beautifully.
(08/07/03 4:00am)
Obviously, finality has no place within the realm of slasher flicks, as exemplified by the hilariously titled "Final Destination 2" -- a garishly entertaining oxymoron in and of itself.\nThose familiar with the first "Final Destination" know what to expect: someone, in this case a cute little coed named Kimberly Corman (A.J. Cook), has a vision not only of their death, but the deaths of those around them. Said individual does something drastic to avoid such tragedy, but in doing so, places themselves and others on Death's shit list. As is customary for films of its ilk, "FD2" heaps on the carnage. If the idea of a pigeon-kicking punk being smashed under the weight of a giant pane of glass or a stoner being split into thirds by airborne barbed wire gets your rocks off, then rent or buy this movie immediately -- it's awfully funny -- if not, go rent "The Hours" with your mom.\nIn addition to this guilty pleasure of the Grand Guignol variety, the DVD boasts a plethora of special features. Most are worthwhile i.e. "Bits & Pieces: Bringing Death to Life," which chronicles the processes behind all of the flick's major make-up effects. Others, such as "The Terror Gauge," in which three pubescent wieners are strapped to machines measuring the physical and psychological effects "FD2" had upon them, are mind numbingly stupid.\nEither way, the opening highway pileup sequence, lensed to perfection by director David R. Ellis (Burt Reynolds's former stuntman), stands toe-to-toe with the bigger-budgeted vehicular mayhem of this summer's "The Matrix Reloaded" (which was also overseen by Ellis, though as second unit director), "Terminator 3" and "Bad Boys II." The intro alone merits viewing the film in its entirety -- sure, you might feel dumber for having done so and in all likelihood you'll want a shower afterwards, but I'll be damned if you're not entertained.
(08/07/03 4:00am)
Those of you that have read my column over the past year or so have probably come to realize something. I love lists. Without fail, I write lists of all shapes and sizes revolving around all things movie related. Some might say lists and movies are to me what math and music are to others -- an easy way to get off (figuratively that is, not literally).\nI am to the Weekend what Rob Fleming is to Nick Hornby's brilliant book High Fidelity (also a great movie for the three of you that have yet to see it). Fleming wrote "Top Five" lists concerning all things pertaining to pop. I prefer to write lists in increments of 10 or 15 -- five's too small for a guy with tastes as listless as mine. He ponders the top five songs to be played at his funeral. I blather endlessly about what flicks look to be worth a damn each season (fall, spring, summer -- it doesn't really matter), or better yet, which films I found to be most entertaining during a particular year or decade. In doing so, I realize I'm a complete and utter dork, but it gives me a sense of satisfaction. To know that my tastes are head and shoulders above all others (yes, I know this is "cocky"), well, it's reassuring.\nSo, without further ado, I'll do what it is I always do -- write another list. Certainly, I'm lacking in creativity, but it's 6:36 in the a.m., I've yet to go to sleep and I'm on a tight deadline. This one concerns the Top 10 Flicks Released This Summer. Believe it or not, this was a rather arduous task, as much of what's out there sucks. Whether it be the stalling motors of "The Italian Job" and "2 Fast 2 Furious," the primping prissies of "Charlie's Angels: Full Throttle" or the clogged barrels of "S.W.A.T.," the output's been sub-par. To do you all a favor, I'll keep it short and concise.\n1.) "Finding Nemo" -- Who knew I had the capacity to cry like a little bitch at some animated fish flick?\n2.) "Bad Boys II" -- It's the biggest, dumbest, loudest, fastest and freakiest thrill ride of the summer. What's not to like?\n3.) "The Matrix Reloaded" -- This movie is to my keister what Ron Jeremy's trouser snake is to an unsuspecting, topless sunbather's rump -- rocked!\n4.) "Terminator 3: Rise of the Machines" -- Larry Clark's titular "Bully" (i.e. Nick Stahl) becomes an action hero for the new millennia. Very cool.\n5.) "Better Luck Tomorrow" -- Stupid, close-minded folks might've labeled this flick as "gooks with guns." In doing so, they not only showed their complete and utter stupidity, but missed one hell of a piece of work. Minus an especially ill-timed visible boom mic, "BLT" is the best coming of age film I've seen in sometime.\n6.) "Seabiscuit" -- Glue factory jokes aside, horses and the all-star human cast surrounding them are this summer's prestige pic champions.\n7.) "X2: X-Men United" -- Wolvie berserker style! Schnicky, schnicky, schni!\n8.) "Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl" -- Sure, the title's long and unruly, but Johnny Depp plays his pirate character as nothing more than a Keith Richards caricature. Bar none, the best performance of summer. \n9.) "28 Days Later" -- For those of you who dismissed this flick's tonal change in the third act, you're an idiot. Mixing "Apocalypse Now," "Die Hard" and George Romero's greatest hits together into one broad masterstroke was the most brilliant 10-15 minutes I've spent in a theater all summer. Now, if only they'd ended on the freeze frame.\n10.) "American Wedding" -- As if it were possible, the makers of this final chapter to the greatest comedic trilogy of all-time (yes, you read correctly) actually managed to make Stifler (Seann William Scott) both dumber and more obnoxious than he'd been before. It's good to see he got his just desserts.
(08/07/03 4:00am)
I was really pulling for "S.W.A.T." I'd hoped to see a film with some modicum of intelligence headed by the talented likes of Colin Farrell and Samuel L. Jackson, and to a certain extent I did. The problem is, despite solid if underwritten turns by its leads and the intermittently promising direction of actor-turned-director Clark Johnson (he was a regular on "Homicide: Life on the Street" and has directed episodes of "The Shield") the flick didn't add up to the sum of its parts.\nPerhaps I'm not qualified to review "S.W.A.T.," as the shortly lived TV series of the same name (from which the movie is based) debuted in 1975, well before my time. But then again, "S.W.A.T." is nowhere near as accomplished as other TV-to-film adaptations i.e. "The Fugitive" or the "Mission: Impossible" flicks. Hell, even the first "Charlie's Angels" pic bests these boys in blue -- this, minus the ass factor of the former.\n"S.W.A.T." opens in grand fashion with an introductory scene that could best be described as a case of art imitating life imitating art (the scene's a direct, albeit abbreviated, rip-off of the bank heist from "Heat," which was enacted in actuality a few years back during the North Hollywood shoot-out). This is also the audience's introduction to officer Jim Street (Farrell, filling in, appropriately enough, for the recently departed Robert Urich). Street, who, along with his trigger-happy partner, Brian Gamble (Jeremy Renner, best known for his work in "National Lampoon's Senior Trip"), arrives on the scene, storms the bank and caps the crooks. In doing so, Gamble intentionally shoots a civilian to get a clear shot at his perp. As this is a movie, the stunt gets both boys booted from S.W.A.T. in a sea of cop movie/TV show clichés.\nRedemption comes in the form of Lt. Dan "Hondo" Harrelson (Jackson), a kindred spirit to the loose cannon likes of Street. Hondo, in a gesture serving as little more than an upturned middle finger to the brass, invites the young officer aboard his upstart S.W.A.T. team. The crew also consists of Chris Sanchez (the utterly annoying Michelle Rodriguez -- honey, Jenette Goldstein cornered the market on tough latinas back in '86 with her turn as Vasquez in "Aliens"), David "Deke" Kay (an even more agitating LL Cool J, which is too bad, as I liked the guy in "Deep Blue Sea" and "Any Given Sunday"), cookie cutter cop, Boxer (Brian Van Holt in his full mustached glory) and the Lando Calrissian of the bunch, T.J. McCabe ("Sports Night" survivor Josh Charles).\nThe gang's put to the ultimate test when a smarmy, incarcerated, French drug kingpin by the name Alex (Olivier Martinez, last seen in the highly overrated "Unfaithful") offers "One hundred meeleeon dollars" to would-be hoods on national television in exchange for his safe extraction. Especially, when said escape will ultimately be perpetrated with the aid of former S.W.A.T. allies.\nThe film has many problems, one of which stems from the fact that a primary villain is more likable than two-thirds of our heroes. Other snags include, but are not limited to: a crappy soundtrack consisting of trendy rap metal (a few choice cuts by the Rolling Stones and Jane's Addiction being the sole exceptions) and a series of poor action beats (when a lock being blown to bits via a claymore mine serves as a highlight, you know you're in trouble).\nAs the flick's tagline suggests, "Even cops dial 911," with "S.W.A.T.," it's understandable. The film serves far more as a fantastical police recruitment ad than it does an actual narrative.
(08/07/03 1:57am)
Those of you that have read my column over the past year or so have probably come to realize something. I love lists. Without fail, I write lists of all shapes and sizes revolving around all things movie related. Some might say lists and movies are to me what math and music are to others -- an easy way to get off (figuratively that is, not literally).\nI am to the Weekend what Rob Fleming is to Nick Hornby's brilliant book High Fidelity (also a great movie for the three of you that have yet to see it). Fleming wrote "Top Five" lists concerning all things pertaining to pop. I prefer to write lists in increments of 10 or 15 -- five's too small for a guy with tastes as listless as mine. He ponders the top five songs to be played at his funeral. I blather endlessly about what flicks look to be worth a damn each season (fall, spring, summer -- it doesn't really matter), or better yet, which films I found to be most entertaining during a particular year or decade. In doing so, I realize I'm a complete and utter dork, but it gives me a sense of satisfaction. To know that my tastes are head and shoulders above all others (yes, I know this is "cocky"), well, it's reassuring.\nSo, without further ado, I'll do what it is I always do -- write another list. Certainly, I'm lacking in creativity, but it's 6:36 in the a.m., I've yet to go to sleep and I'm on a tight deadline. This one concerns the Top 10 Flicks Released This Summer. Believe it or not, this was a rather arduous task, as much of what's out there sucks. Whether it be the stalling motors of "The Italian Job" and "2 Fast 2 Furious," the primping prissies of "Charlie's Angels: Full Throttle" or the clogged barrels of "S.W.A.T.," the output's been sub-par. To do you all a favor, I'll keep it short and concise.\n1.) "Finding Nemo" -- Who knew I had the capacity to cry like a little bitch at some animated fish flick?\n2.) "Bad Boys II" -- It's the biggest, dumbest, loudest, fastest and freakiest thrill ride of the summer. What's not to like?\n3.) "The Matrix Reloaded" -- This movie is to my keister what Ron Jeremy's trouser snake is to an unsuspecting, topless sunbather's rump -- rocked!\n4.) "Terminator 3: Rise of the Machines" -- Larry Clark's titular "Bully" (i.e. Nick Stahl) becomes an action hero for the new millennia. Very cool.\n5.) "Better Luck Tomorrow" -- Stupid, close-minded folks might've labeled this flick as "gooks with guns." In doing so, they not only showed their complete and utter stupidity, but missed one hell of a piece of work. Minus an especially ill-timed visible boom mic, "BLT" is the best coming of age film I've seen in sometime.\n6.) "Seabiscuit" -- Glue factory jokes aside, horses and the all-star human cast surrounding them are this summer's prestige pic champions.\n7.) "X2: X-Men United" -- Wolvie berserker style! Schnicky, schnicky, schni!\n8.) "Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl" -- Sure, the title's long and unruly, but Johnny Depp plays his pirate character as nothing more than a Keith Richards caricature. Bar none, the best performance of summer. \n9.) "28 Days Later" -- For those of you who dismissed this flick's tonal change in the third act, you're an idiot. Mixing "Apocalypse Now," "Die Hard" and George Romero's greatest hits together into one broad masterstroke was the most brilliant 10-15 minutes I've spent in a theater all summer. Now, if only they'd ended on the freeze frame.\n10.) "American Wedding" -- As if it were possible, the makers of this final chapter to the greatest comedic trilogy of all-time (yes, you read correctly) actually managed to make Stifler (Seann William Scott) both dumber and more obnoxious than he'd been before. It's good to see he got his just desserts.
(07/31/03 4:00am)
Three men suffering through the hardships of the Great Depression find solace in a common good. Strangely, the lynchpin that holds these downtrodden figures together happens to be of the equine variety. "Seabiscuit," as adapted from the beautifully written book by Laura Hillenbrand, is both a story of these men succeeding in the face of adversity and that of its titular character -- a diminutive racehorse with more personality than many folks on this campus.\nAuto magnate Charles Howard (Jeff Bridges) is reeling from the loss of his son; tight-lipped horseman Tom Smith (Chris Cooper) is finding his old West lifestyle slipping away in favor of modernity and jockey, prizefighter and sometime wordsmith Johnny "Red" Pollard (Tobey Maguire) is suffering abandonment issues in wake of parting ways with his newly impoverished family. Together, as owner, trainer and rider respectively, the triumvirate not only found success, but also a page in the history books alongside their legendary four-legged friend.\nHillenbrand's heavenly piece of non-fiction is a small story told on a grand scale. In adapting the book, writer/director Gary Ross (best known for having written and directed the appropriately titled "Pleasantville") had to pare away many of the book's finer details. Snippets involving jockeys taking neck-deep baths in fresh horse manure to shed pounds or the juicier tidbits revolving around Pollard and Co.'s stints in a Tijuana whorehouse are sadly excised. Yet, other nuances remain; in one of the film's funnier moments, Seabiscuit forcefully removes a goat -- his would-be stallmate -- via a mouth-based lob. A story such as "Seabiscuit" would have been better served by mini-series treatment ala HBO's retooling of the late, great Stephen Ambrose's "Band of Brothers." Character arcs are abbreviated amongst all the primaries, and even peripheral figures such as fabled jockey George Woolf (played by real-life jockey, Gary Stevens) get the short shrift.\nDespite these quibbles, the flick's still a class act. Maguire, relegating his "Spider-Man" tights in favor of jockey garb, is convincing. Having lost much of his superhero bulk and dyed his locks red, he looks the part, and hits the right emotional notes to boot. Bridges is appropriately affable, as Howard was essentially a nice guy with deep pockets and a keen sense of PR. Cooper turns-in nice, subtle work as Smith, but Ross's script sadly betrays the character with far too much dialogue -- the man was notoriously taciturn. Providing ample support are Stevens, Elizabeth Banks (seen previously to hilarious effect in "Wet Hot American Summer") as Howard's kind-hearted second wife and William H. Macy as a fictitious, loud-mouthed radio announcer. The cinematography by John Schwartzman (half-brother of actor, Jason, i.e. Max Fisher) is lushly vibrant, nowhere more so than in the film's kinetic and all-together convincing race sequences. And aside from his slight misuse of Seabiscuit and Smith, Ross has crafted a briskly paced 2 hour and 20 minute feel-good spectacle that's sure to leave audiences (at least those who haven't read the book) cheering. His attention to period detail must also be commended.\n3-1 this horse is taking home Oscar gold come next year.
(07/30/03 11:48pm)
Three men suffering through the hardships of the Great Depression find solace in a common good. Strangely, the lynchpin that holds these downtrodden figures together happens to be of the equine variety. "Seabiscuit," as adapted from the beautifully written book by Laura Hillenbrand, is both a story of these men succeeding in the face of adversity and that of its titular character -- a diminutive racehorse with more personality than many folks on this campus.\nAuto magnate Charles Howard (Jeff Bridges) is reeling from the loss of his son; tight-lipped horseman Tom Smith (Chris Cooper) is finding his old West lifestyle slipping away in favor of modernity and jockey, prizefighter and sometime wordsmith Johnny "Red" Pollard (Tobey Maguire) is suffering abandonment issues in wake of parting ways with his newly impoverished family. Together, as owner, trainer and rider respectively, the triumvirate not only found success, but also a page in the history books alongside their legendary four-legged friend.\nHillenbrand's heavenly piece of non-fiction is a small story told on a grand scale. In adapting the book, writer/director Gary Ross (best known for having written and directed the appropriately titled "Pleasantville") had to pare away many of the book's finer details. Snippets involving jockeys taking neck-deep baths in fresh horse manure to shed pounds or the juicier tidbits revolving around Pollard and Co.'s stints in a Tijuana whorehouse are sadly excised. Yet, other nuances remain; in one of the film's funnier moments, Seabiscuit forcefully removes a goat -- his would-be stallmate -- via a mouth-based lob. A story such as "Seabiscuit" would have been better served by mini-series treatment ala HBO's retooling of the late, great Stephen Ambrose's "Band of Brothers." Character arcs are abbreviated amongst all the primaries, and even peripheral figures such as fabled jockey George Woolf (played by real-life jockey, Gary Stevens) get the short shrift.\nDespite these quibbles, the flick's still a class act. Maguire, relegating his "Spider-Man" tights in favor of jockey garb, is convincing. Having lost much of his superhero bulk and dyed his locks red, he looks the part, and hits the right emotional notes to boot. Bridges is appropriately affable, as Howard was essentially a nice guy with deep pockets and a keen sense of PR. Cooper turns-in nice, subtle work as Smith, but Ross's script sadly betrays the character with far too much dialogue -- the man was notoriously taciturn. Providing ample support are Stevens, Elizabeth Banks (seen previously to hilarious effect in "Wet Hot American Summer") as Howard's kind-hearted second wife and William H. Macy as a fictitious, loud-mouthed radio announcer. The cinematography by John Schwartzman (half-brother of actor, Jason, i.e. Max Fisher) is lushly vibrant, nowhere more so than in the film's kinetic and all-together convincing race sequences. And aside from his slight misuse of Seabiscuit and Smith, Ross has crafted a briskly paced 2 hour and 20 minute feel-good spectacle that's sure to leave audiences (at least those who haven't read the book) cheering. His attention to period detail must also be commended.\n3-1 this horse is taking home Oscar gold come next year.
(07/24/03 2:11pm)
"Bad Boys II" is the biggest, dumbest, loudest, fastest and freakiest thrill ride of the summer. For many, this might be a turnoff, for yours truly, it's a blessing, albeit a slightly mixed one.\nThe film essentially picks up where its predecessor left off, but it takes a completely different tack in allowing its narrative, and I take great liberties in stating that it has one, to unfurl. "Bad Boys II" is about as deep as a kiddie pool; only the urine's been replaced by rivers of blood and the comedy stretches well beyond the beginning stages of toilet humor escalating into full-on tirades concerning homosexuality, necrophilia, rat-on-rat fucking and overprotective parenting of the foul-mouthed variety.\nWill Smith and Martin Lawrence return as the titular "Bad Boys." What little story there is concerns Marcus Burnett's (Lawrence) desire to transfer his pudgy ass to a safer police district outside Miami -- understandable, as he wants to protect both himself and his family. His partner, Mike Lowrey (Smith), is up to the same old tricks -- shooting perps with reckless abandon by day and chasing skirt by night, only this time, the skirt belongs to Marcus's DEA agent of a kid sister, Sydney (the fetching Gabrielle Union). \nTogether, the trio is looking to bust a hilariously psychotic, Cuban E dealer by the name of Johnny Tapia (Spanish actor Jordi Mollà, best known to American audiences for his solid work in the late Ted Demme's modern masterpiece, "Blow"). Meanwhile, Tapia is having problems with a rival drug peddler (a prototypically bizarre Peter Stormare). Reams of corpses amass in ways both new (a baddie does a back flop on a land mine, a slew of henchmen are vanquished via a remote-controlled car bomb and a cadaver has its head knocked off by a car tire) and old (one villain is dispatched in an abbreviated homage to the conclusion of "Scarface"). All the while, Smith (who's only been better in "Ali") and Lawrence (funnier here than he's been in ages) chuckle and jibe through the morbidities.\n"Bad Boys II" is a return to form for director Michael Bay, who after having taken potshots for his somewhat sudsy epics, "Armageddon" and "Pearl Harbor," revitalizes the slickly gritty ultra-violence of his best work, "The Rock." In watching the flick, it appears he's been holed-up in a bunker somewhere cribbing old John Woo movies, Arnold Schwarzenegger's '80s schlockfest "Commando" and Brian DePalma's aforementioned gangster classic. Bay's also picked-up a few newer, slicker tricks over the years. His camera careens through the tanned legs of drugged-up starlets in a strange hybrid Busby Berkley and Aaron Spelling. He's also ripped-off the digitally- aided pans and tilts seen and beloved in David Fincher's "Fight Club," and unbelievably, gone about improving them. Sure, the guy's a hack, but he's orchestrating mayhem with such zeal that it hardly matters.\nAs is, "Bad Boys II" is a simultaneously brilliant and mind-numbingly stupid two and a half hour exercise in excess -- nothing more, nothing less.
(07/24/03 4:00am)
"Bad Boys II" is the biggest, dumbest, loudest, fastest and freakiest thrill ride of the summer. For many, this might be a turnoff, for yours truly, it's a blessing, albeit a slightly mixed one.\nThe film essentially picks up where its predecessor left off, but it takes a completely different tack in allowing its narrative, and I take great liberties in stating that it has one, to unfurl. "Bad Boys II" is about as deep as a kiddie pool; only the urine's been replaced by rivers of blood and the comedy stretches well beyond the beginning stages of toilet humor escalating into full-on tirades concerning homosexuality, necrophilia, rat-on-rat fucking and overprotective parenting of the foul-mouthed variety.\nWill Smith and Martin Lawrence return as the titular "Bad Boys." What little story there is concerns Marcus Burnett's (Lawrence) desire to transfer his pudgy ass to a safer police district outside Miami -- understandable, as he wants to protect both himself and his family. His partner, Mike Lowrey (Smith), is up to the same old tricks -- shooting perps with reckless abandon by day and chasing skirt by night, only this time, the skirt belongs to Marcus's DEA agent of a kid sister, Sydney (the fetching Gabrielle Union). \nTogether, the trio is looking to bust a hilariously psychotic, Cuban E dealer by the name of Johnny Tapia (Spanish actor Jordi Mollà, best known to American audiences for his solid work in the late Ted Demme's modern masterpiece, "Blow"). Meanwhile, Tapia is having problems with a rival drug peddler (a prototypically bizarre Peter Stormare). Reams of corpses amass in ways both new (a baddie does a back flop on a land mine, a slew of henchmen are vanquished via a remote-controlled car bomb and a cadaver has its head knocked off by a car tire) and old (one villain is dispatched in an abbreviated homage to the conclusion of "Scarface"). All the while, Smith (who's only been better in "Ali") and Lawrence (funnier here than he's been in ages) chuckle and jibe through the morbidities.\n"Bad Boys II" is a return to form for director Michael Bay, who after having taken potshots for his somewhat sudsy epics, "Armageddon" and "Pearl Harbor," revitalizes the slickly gritty ultra-violence of his best work, "The Rock." In watching the flick, it appears he's been holed-up in a bunker somewhere cribbing old John Woo movies, Arnold Schwarzenegger's '80s schlockfest "Commando" and Brian DePalma's aforementioned gangster classic. Bay's also picked-up a few newer, slicker tricks over the years. His camera careens through the tanned legs of drugged-up starlets in a strange hybrid Busby Berkley and Aaron Spelling. He's also ripped-off the digitally- aided pans and tilts seen and beloved in David Fincher's "Fight Club," and unbelievably, gone about improving them. Sure, the guy's a hack, but he's orchestrating mayhem with such zeal that it hardly matters.\nAs is, "Bad Boys II" is a simultaneously brilliant and mind-numbingly stupid two and a half hour exercise in excess -- nothing more, nothing less.
(07/17/03 3:59pm)
Boston-based rockers Guster have returned following a four-year hiatus with the intermittently entertaining and ultimately unchallenging Keep It Together.\nThe trio, best known for its simplistic acoustic guitar and bongo-driven sound, has diversified by integrating pianos, banjos and the occasional flirtation with all instruments electric into the mix. This broader sonic palette makes Keep It Together a moderately more interesting listen than its predecessors, and yet, Guster seems unable to lift itself into the higher echelons of the pop pantheon. \nThe collective shines when performing bittersweet songs named after chicks i.e. "Diane" and "Ramona," or guiltily enjoyable dribble like "Come Downstairs and Say Hello," and that's about it. Lead-off single, "Amsterdam," is moderately if not moronically catchy, and sounds as though it was cribbed from Third Eye Blind's latest record (no, this is not a compliment). A guest appearance by the infinitely talented Ben Kweller on the album's closer, "I Hope Tomorrow Is Like Today," shows these dudes as the minor hacks they most assuredly are. The track left me wanting to hear Kweller's new album as opposed to a bonus track by these Beantown boobs. With Roger Moutenot (Yo La Tengo) producing, one would understandably expect more from Keep It Together. As is, it'll certainly get heavy rotation come September when the frat rats return.
(07/17/03 3:46pm)
"There's Something About Mary" was an undeniably special film upon its release some five years ago. It hearkened back to the gross-out genre established by such classics as "Animal House" and "Caddyshack," which had gone ignored by major Hollywood studios for the better part of two decades. Replete with potshots at the mentally handicapped, long, lingering shots of breasts (albeit sagging, wrinkly ones) and a variety of jokes revolving around Ben Stiller's penis, "Mary" was and still is a revelation. There really is something about "Mary" -- hence, the new DVD treatment.\nFor those not already in the know, Stiller stars as Ted, a struggling writer who remains infatuated with his near-high school sweetheart, Mary (a luminous Cameron Diaz). He decides to do something about it by hiring a sleazy private dick named Pat Healy (Matt Dillon) to track her down. Naturally, as Mary's successful, smart, sweet, single and sexy as shit, Healy quickly grows smitten as well. The rest of the flick concerns who will win fair Mary's hand.\nRenamed "There's Something More About Mary," the disc's moniker is somewhat of a letdown. Many of the extras are remnants of Special Edition VHS and DVD treatments from a few years back. And a vast majority of the newer supplements look as though they were produced cheaply and with little care. Viewers have the option to watch the original theatrical version or the new extended version, which adds 15 unneeded (not to mention unfunny) minutes to the flick. \nWhat few highlights there are come through the Farrelly Brothers' light and breezy updated commentary track and the "Best Fight" MTV Movie Awards montage featuring Stiller and Puffy the Dog. Two featurettes also entertain; one entitled "Up a Tree" focuses on the movie's resident balladeer, Jonathan Richman, and the other, "Touchdown," is nothing more than a conversation with Brett Favre -- stupid jocks make me laugh.\nNot as funny as "Dumb and Dumber" and "Kingpin," yet better than "Me, Myself and Irene" and "Shallow Hal," "Mary" remains smack-dab in the middle of the Farrelly catalogue. Hilarious and nearly classic, "There's Something More About Mary" deserves better and proves less is sometimes more.
(07/17/03 4:00am)
"There's Something About Mary" was an undeniably special film upon its release some five years ago. It hearkened back to the gross-out genre established by such classics as "Animal House" and "Caddyshack," which had gone ignored by major Hollywood studios for the better part of two decades. Replete with potshots at the mentally handicapped, long, lingering shots of breasts (albeit sagging, wrinkly ones) and a variety of jokes revolving around Ben Stiller's penis, "Mary" was and still is a revelation. There really is something about "Mary" -- hence, the new DVD treatment.\nFor those not already in the know, Stiller stars as Ted, a struggling writer who remains infatuated with his near-high school sweetheart, Mary (a luminous Cameron Diaz). He decides to do something about it by hiring a sleazy private dick named Pat Healy (Matt Dillon) to track her down. Naturally, as Mary's successful, smart, sweet, single and sexy as shit, Healy quickly grows smitten as well. The rest of the flick concerns who will win fair Mary's hand.\nRenamed "There's Something More About Mary," the disc's moniker is somewhat of a letdown. Many of the extras are remnants of Special Edition VHS and DVD treatments from a few years back. And a vast majority of the newer supplements look as though they were produced cheaply and with little care. Viewers have the option to watch the original theatrical version or the new extended version, which adds 15 unneeded (not to mention unfunny) minutes to the flick. \nWhat few highlights there are come through the Farrelly Brothers' light and breezy updated commentary track and the "Best Fight" MTV Movie Awards montage featuring Stiller and Puffy the Dog. Two featurettes also entertain; one entitled "Up a Tree" focuses on the movie's resident balladeer, Jonathan Richman, and the other, "Touchdown," is nothing more than a conversation with Brett Favre -- stupid jocks make me laugh.\nNot as funny as "Dumb and Dumber" and "Kingpin," yet better than "Me, Myself and Irene" and "Shallow Hal," "Mary" remains smack-dab in the middle of the Farrelly catalogue. Hilarious and nearly classic, "There's Something More About Mary" deserves better and proves less is sometimes more.
