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(06/09/04 10:47pm)
Keane, a Britpop trio out of Battle, East Sussex, England, have arrived amid comparisons to Radiohead and Coldplay. With one listen to the band's debut album, Hopes and Fears, such notions will be seen for what they are … rubbish. The band sounds like Travis, and that's that. (Don't believe me, listen to "Everybody's Changing.")\nWhile not the most original of artists, Keane deserves a fair share of accolades. Undermanned in comparison to its predecessors -- the group consists solely of vocalist Tom Chaplin, pianist/bassist Tim Rice-Oxley and drummer Richard Hughes -- Keane boasts more hooks than a tackle box.\nBeginning with the insanely catchy anthem, "Somewhere Only We Know," and closing with the heartfelt vocal propulsion of "Bedshaped," Hopes and Fears rarely falters, this, in spite of a relatively high cheese-factor. Its only dud comes via the overly-produced and lamely titled, "Untitled 1," and even this track's chorus is redeemable.\nChaplin's tenor is a thing of beauty, as are the nimble fingers of Rice-Oxley -- whatever lapses seep into the sonic palette are more often than not filled by Hughes' fills. While these guys sound like a million quid, there's still a snag … this stuff's just too damned sissy. Hopes and Dreams is something you make fun of others for listening to, but while they're at work or in class, the disc inevitably finds its way into the stereo with you singing shamelessly alongside it. Consider Keane a guilty pleasure of the power pop variety.
(06/03/04 4:00am)
Sweet mother of Christ does this movie suck. Not only does it suck, it can't even muster up a way to suck in a sporadically entertaining fashion. "The Day After Tomorrow," a flick purportedly about disasters, becomes engulfed by its own subject matter and transforms itself into something worse than anything seen onscreen.\nA horribly miscast Dennis Quaid (think "The Rookie" filling Jeff Goldblum's loafers) stars as Jack Hall, a scientist grappling with saving humanity from ludicrously abrupt global warming and the climatic calamities, e.g. hurricanes, tornados, tidal waves and a new age Ice Age, resulting. While doing so, he must also make amends with his family: an estranged doctor wife, Lucy (older hottie Sela Ward), and despondent teen-aged son, Sam (Jake Gyllenhaal, who at 23 is way too old to be playing 17). \nAs fascinating as this all sounds, it ain't. Sure, there are kinetic kicks to be had in seeing both the Hollywood sign and Capitol Records building blown to bits via a trio of tornados, but many (this critic included) feel la-la land had it coming … at least cinematically. The fun's done once New York City is assaulted and its citizens die in the most PG-13 ways imaginable. Haven't we seen NYC ravaged enough these past few years in reality? Society and the city itself have changed greatly since "Tomorrow" director Roland Emmerich last laid waste to it in "Independence Day."\nOther problems abound. Logic is thrown entirely out the window. Quaid and his climatologist cronies (Dash Mihok and Jay O. Sanders) trek from Washington D.C. to NYC by means both vehicular (How's a truck supposed to start in sub-Arctic conditions?) and podiatric (Wow, it's cool that these cats can walk a hundred-plus miles withstanding weather we've already seen kill the common folk!). \nThe inanities don't cease there: Gyllenhaal and his academic decathlon chums (Emmy Rossum and Arjay Smith) are permitted to travel from D.C. to NYC sans chaperone. I don't know about you folks, but this sort of thing wouldn't have flown at my high school. Why Emmerich and co-screenwriter Jeffrey Nachmanoff didn't think to throw a teacher into the mix is beyond me. They could've made the character a massive asshole and killed him or her off with a gnarly tidal wave. Speaking of writing, the dialogue spoken here is tin-eared enough to make George Lucas blush. Last but certainly not least, this is a sci-fi film bereft of anything resembling actual science. Problematic? You bet.\nIronically, where "Tomorrow" succeeds and fails most is in its political leanings. The President (prime time soap and sitcom vet Perry King) and Vice President (Kenneth Welsh) are obviously George W. Bush and Dick Cheney knockoffs, so much so that the prez, upon entering the movie and being briefed as to what's going on, asks his underlings, "What should I do?" Later, Americans are seen illegally immigrating into Mexico -- a scenario that's equal parts funny and offensive. Obviously, this is a leftist film (Quaid's character hilariously drives a banana-colored Honda hybrid, while "Bush" dies offscreen in a Hummer), and that'd be fine if there were some substance to accompany the spectacle. There isn't.
(06/03/04 4:00am)
According to the Secret Machines' Web site (thesecretmachines.com) the band is "the latest link in the loose-knit chain that connects Pink Floyd, Neu!, Cau, Brian Eno, Tangerine Dream, La Dusseldorf, Neil Young & Crazy Horse, the Band, My Bloody Valentine and Spiritualized." This is all good and well, and if it's the way they or their publicists feel -- cool -- but to be obtusely accurate, the group sounds far more akin to Led Zeppelin circa Led Zep II and the Flaming Lips of '93 or '95 with no chains left untethered.\nThe trio, from New York by way of Dallas, consists of brothers Ben and Brandon Curtis (the former on guitar and vocals; the latter on bass, keys and vocals) and drummer Josh Garza, all of whom apprenticed with Tripping Daisy, UFOFU, Comet and Captain Audio during the '90s. With Now Here is Nowhere the band has made its full-length debut following the well-received EP, September 000, and it's a doozy. That's not to say it doesn't have its problems, it does -- namely the solid in spite of being overlong opener ("First Wave Intact") and closing title cut, but all in all what's here is pretty killer.\nLead singer Ben Curtis croons his way through the record sounding like the love child of Robert Plant and Wayne Coyne, and Garza's drumming more often than not boasts the bombastic beats of a baby Bonham -- nowhere more so than on the appropriately-titled, "The Road Leads Where It's Led."\nGarza has been quoted as saying the following in relation to the Secret Machines' music, "It's about looking back at the Band, looking back at Zeppelin, looking back at all those bands and saying, 'What did they do, and why did they do it?' As opposed to saying, 'Let's try to mimic, let's try to do what's already been done.'" Sorry to break it to you, dude, but you and your bandmates are mimickers … masterful ones.
(06/03/04 2:00am)
According to the Secret Machines' Web site (thesecretmachines.com) the band is "the latest link in the loose-knit chain that connects Pink Floyd, Neu!, Cau, Brian Eno, Tangerine Dream, La Dusseldorf, Neil Young & Crazy Horse, the Band, My Bloody Valentine and Spiritualized." This is all good and well, and if it's the way they or their publicists feel -- cool -- but to be obtusely accurate, the group sounds far more akin to Led Zeppelin circa Led Zep II and the Flaming Lips of '93 or '95 with no chains left untethered.\nThe trio, from New York by way of Dallas, consists of brothers Ben and Brandon Curtis (the former on guitar and vocals; the latter on bass, keys and vocals) and drummer Josh Garza, all of whom apprenticed with Tripping Daisy, UFOFU, Comet and Captain Audio during the '90s. With Now Here is Nowhere the band has made its full-length debut following the well-received EP, September 000, and it's a doozy. That's not to say it doesn't have its problems, it does -- namely the solid in spite of being overlong opener ("First Wave Intact") and closing title cut, but all in all what's here is pretty killer.\nLead singer Ben Curtis croons his way through the record sounding like the love child of Robert Plant and Wayne Coyne, and Garza's drumming more often than not boasts the bombastic beats of a baby Bonham -- nowhere more so than on the appropriately-titled, "The Road Leads Where It's Led."\nGarza has been quoted as saying the following in relation to the Secret Machines' music, "It's about looking back at the Band, looking back at Zeppelin, looking back at all those bands and saying, 'What did they do, and why did they do it?' As opposed to saying, 'Let's try to mimic, let's try to do what's already been done.'" Sorry to break it to you, dude, but you and your bandmates are mimickers … masterful ones.
(06/03/04 1:46am)
Sweet mother of Christ does this movie suck. Not only does it suck, it can't even muster up a way to suck in a sporadically entertaining fashion. "The Day After Tomorrow," a flick purportedly about disasters, becomes engulfed by its own subject matter and transforms itself into something worse than anything seen onscreen.\nA horribly miscast Dennis Quaid (think "The Rookie" filling Jeff Goldblum's loafers) stars as Jack Hall, a scientist grappling with saving humanity from ludicrously abrupt global warming and the climatic calamities, e.g. hurricanes, tornados, tidal waves and a new age Ice Age, resulting. While doing so, he must also make amends with his family: an estranged doctor wife, Lucy (older hottie Sela Ward), and despondent teen-aged son, Sam (Jake Gyllenhaal, who at 23 is way too old to be playing 17). \nAs fascinating as this all sounds, it ain't. Sure, there are kinetic kicks to be had in seeing both the Hollywood sign and Capitol Records building blown to bits via a trio of tornados, but many (this critic included) feel la-la land had it coming … at least cinematically. The fun's done once New York City is assaulted and its citizens die in the most PG-13 ways imaginable. Haven't we seen NYC ravaged enough these past few years in reality? Society and the city itself have changed greatly since "Tomorrow" director Roland Emmerich last laid waste to it in "Independence Day."\nOther problems abound. Logic is thrown entirely out the window. Quaid and his climatologist cronies (Dash Mihok and Jay O. Sanders) trek from Washington D.C. to NYC by means both vehicular (How's a truck supposed to start in sub-Arctic conditions?) and podiatric (Wow, it's cool that these cats can walk a hundred-plus miles withstanding weather we've already seen kill the common folk!). \nThe inanities don't cease there: Gyllenhaal and his academic decathlon chums (Emmy Rossum and Arjay Smith) are permitted to travel from D.C. to NYC sans chaperone. I don't know about you folks, but this sort of thing wouldn't have flown at my high school. Why Emmerich and co-screenwriter Jeffrey Nachmanoff didn't think to throw a teacher into the mix is beyond me. They could've made the character a massive asshole and killed him or her off with a gnarly tidal wave. Speaking of writing, the dialogue spoken here is tin-eared enough to make George Lucas blush. Last but certainly not least, this is a sci-fi film bereft of anything resembling actual science. Problematic? You bet.\nIronically, where "Tomorrow" succeeds and fails most is in its political leanings. The President (prime time soap and sitcom vet Perry King) and Vice President (Kenneth Welsh) are obviously George W. Bush and Dick Cheney knockoffs, so much so that the prez, upon entering the movie and being briefed as to what's going on, asks his underlings, "What should I do?" Later, Americans are seen illegally immigrating into Mexico -- a scenario that's equal parts funny and offensive. Obviously, this is a leftist film (Quaid's character hilariously drives a banana-colored Honda hybrid, while "Bush" dies offscreen in a Hummer), and that'd be fine if there were some substance to accompany the spectacle. There isn't.
(05/25/04 3:09pm)
Sorely overlooked during awards season this past year, "The Last Samurai" arrives on DVD in a sterling two-disc package that doesn't quite live up to the grandeur of the film itself, but is quite impressive nonetheless.\nTom Cruise stars as Captain Nathan Algren, a disheartened Civil War veteran summoned to Japan in order to train the Emperor's army in the ways of modern warfare. Shortly thereafter, he's taken prisoner by rebel samurai -- the very men he's been hired to kill. Slowly but surely he sees the worth of his captors, primary among them honorable samurai master, Katsumoto (an immensely engaging Ken Watanabe), and his allegiances are rightfully swayed. Expertly written, shot, directed, scored and acted by its talented cast and crew, "The Last Samurai" is a beautiful companion piece to other modern epics such as "Dances with Wolves," "Braveheart" and "Gladiator."\nThe DVD has a nice array of bonus features. The commentary by writer/director Edward Zwick is equal parts informative and sleep inducing -- the latter trait may be attributed to his nasally speech rather than the track's content. Other extras include the History Channel documentary, "History Vs. Hollywood: The Last Samurai" (as the title suggests, it's both interstitial and educational), absorbing, albeit abbreviated, featurettes concerning production, costume and weapon design and near-fellating profiles of Cruise and Zwick. The extras may be a tad self-serving, but more often than not they're interesting and reveal two intelligent men with a passion for their work. Hell, they made a really solid movie -- a little gloating may be in order.\nKurosawa this ain't, but for a fascinating glimpse into the Japan of yore, "The Last Samurai" is well worth a look or even a purchase on DVD.
(05/25/04 2:55pm)
Remember that scene in "American Wedding" where Stifler (Seann William Scott) accidentally feeds Michelle's (Alyson Hannigan) wedding ring to a dog, and retrieves it via the magic of ex-lax? Well, watching "Van Helsing" is sort of akin to that. Only there's no diamond to be found -- perhaps a few peanuts and the cereal box toy your dog ate the previous morning. Either way, you're rooting through shit and reaping few benefits.\nHugh Jackman (lacking the bad-ass magnetism he displayed as Wolverine in the "X-Men" flicks -- then again, he's wearing a silly-looking pimp's hat) stars as the titular character, a pallid mish-mash of Bram Stoker's Abraham Van Helsing, Indiana Jones and James Bond. Van Helsing is a hired gun for the Church, who's built up quite the reputation for dispatching all things demonic. His latest assignment consists of traveling to Transylvania to terminate the dreaded Count Dracula (Richard Roxburgh, so hammily good as The Duke in "Moulin Rouge," and yet so hammily bad here). He must do so in order to lift a curse upon the Valerious clan, whose sole heir, Anna (a pouty Kate Beckinsale), is in the midst of battling Dracula herself. Shock of shocks, she's resistant to his aid and the two bicker flirtatiously throughout. \nAlso along for the ride are: Carl (David Wenham, best known for playing Faramir in "The Lord of the Rings" films), a vice-riddled friar who plays Q to Van Helsing's Bond, Frankenstein (a good but all together too talky Shuler Hensley), the Wolf Man (Gap pretty boy Will Kemp), Igor (a deliciously depraved Kevin J. O'Connor) and Drac's bevy of brides (Elena Ayana, Silvia Colloca and underused superhottie, Josie Maran). Most of these folks (excepting Wenham, Hensley and O'Connor) are jettisoned by writer/director Stephen Sommers' ("The Mummy") insipid script and bloated direction.\nWhile disappointing, "Van Helsing" isn't without its strong suits. Two introductory sequences, one of which hearkens back to James Whale's classic "Frankenstein" adaptation and another depicting a bell tower brawl between Van Helsing and Mr. Hyde (voiced by "Harry Potter" expat Robbie Coltrane), hint at what could've easily been a much better movie. Intermittent action sequences involving the brides' attack on a village (think the flying monkeys of "The Wizard of Oz" by way of the Playboy Mansion with the aesthetics of a Marilyn Manson video thrown in for good measure) and a stake-primed exploding carriage elevate the proceedings slightly. Also, Van Helsing's gas-powered, automatic crossbow, while conceptually inconceivable, is admittedly cool. Lastly, Alan Silvestri's gnarly, guitar-driven score, while reminiscent of his work from "Predator," rocks.\n"Van Helsing" is a rousing roller coaster ride of a film. Sadly, most will be lost, as seat belts, much like logic and substance, weren't included.
(05/24/04 8:41pm)
Following on the sandaled heels of Ridley Scott's "Gladiator" (a film that single-handedly resurrected the seemingly deceased swashbuckler sub-genre -- see "The Lord of the Rings," "Pirates of the Caribbean" and the upcoming "King Arthur" for further examples), comes "Troy," director Wolfgang Peterson's reinterpretation of Homer's timeless, epic poem, "The Iliad." \nAnyone who's taken English in either high school or college is likely to have read Homer's tome, and if they expect to see it accurately represented onscreen, they have another thing coming. The tone of "Troy" is akin to melding the "Classics Illustrated" comics of one's youth with the period pieces of the 1950s and '60s (think: "Ben-Hur," "Spartacus" and "Cleopatra"), only spruced up via the four "b's" of modern Hollywood cinema - boobs, buns, blood and budget.\nBrad Pitt headlines as mythic Greek warrior, Achilles, but the heart of the film lies with Hector (a banner Eric Bana), prince of Troy. Trouble brews when Hector's younger brother, Paris (a congruously cowardly Orlando Bloom), begins banging Helen (Diane Kruger), the wife of Menelaus (irreplaceable Irish thespian, Brendan Gleeson), king of Sparta. The young queen then departs with her prince charming across the Aegean Sea to the titular, walled city. Understandably, Menelaus is pissed and enlists the help of his brother, Agamemnon (irreplaceable Irish thespian #2, Brian Cox), in retrieving his bride and toppling Troy. Fighting for the greedy Greek are Odysseus (Sean Bean) and the aforementioned Achilles, albeit begrudgingly or for self-aggrandizing purposes in the latter's case. Battles large and small ensue, culminating with the arrival of the storied Trojan horse.\nThe cast is good across the board, though, it's Bana (bettering the tour de force of Aussie import, "Chopper") and Peter O'Toole as the Trojan king, Priam, who truly shine. Admittedly, it takes a while to accept Pitt as Achilles, but once you've gotten used to the fact that it's BRAD PITT playing ACHILLES, he fills the role nicely. Achilles was a rock star in his time and place, and Pitt plays this up accordingly. Bloom plays the bitch to perfection, which begs the question -- will this guy ever have nuts onscreen outside of "LOTR?" Newcomer Kruger is pretty and gives a serviceable performance, but she's hardly the face to launch a thousand ships. Cox and Gleeson do what they do best -- they're imposing. \nDirector Peterson does an admirably workmanlike job. That's saying something, as I rarely dig the dude's flicks (the exceptions being: this, "Das Boot" and "In the Line of Fire.") The same craftsmanship can be seen in screenwriter David Benioff's (author of "25th Hour") script, which pares down "The Iliad" by relegating a majority of the story's mythological elements. In spite of its explicit sexuality and violence, "Troy" is a real throwback to the epics of yore, albeit one with its cheesier moments i.e. a knife-to-throat sex sequence that'd make Joe Eszterhas blush and a servant's line reading of "She's left with the Trojans!" (Well, let's thank Christ she's using protection.) Flaws and all, "Troy" is a real coup.
(05/24/04 8:29pm)
Do you hate America? Does the prospect of watching an innocent woman tortured over the course of nearly three hours appeal to you? Are you a sadomasochist? If you can answer yes to any of the aforementioned questions, then perhaps "Dogville" is your cup of toxic tea. All others need not apply.\nDanish Dogme designer and didactic director Lars von Trier ("Breaking the Waves," "Dancer in the Dark") returns with another yarn of the oft-suffering heroine. Only this time, he sets his sights beyond merely debasing women, opting instead to skewer democracy, capitalism and the U.S. as a whole. Funnily enough, Trier has never even set foot on American soil due to his immense fear of flight.\n"Dogville" is the story of Grace (the always lovely and rarely braver Nicole Kidman), a woman on the run from the mob (spearheaded by James Caan), who stumbles into the titular town. Here, she meets Thomas Edison Jr. (Paul Bettany), a wannabe writer and the community's self-appointed moral compass. The none-too-subtly named Tom takes an immediate shine to the even less subtly named Grace. In doing so, he coerces his friends, family and neighbors into providing refuge for the wanted woman; she in turn becomes the citizens' (among them all-star character actors Lauren Bacall, Philip Baker Hall, Stellan Skarsgård, Patricia Clarkson, Ben Gazzara, Jeremy Davies and Chloë Sevigny) indentured servant. \nThis is all good and well, until, the authority's pursuit of Grace grows more heated, and Dogville's denizens demand a better deal, i.e. more work, less pay. Inevitably, poor Grace becomes the town's whipping post/scapegoat, and an onslaught of degradation ensues. She's raped by nearly every man in town and is later made to wear a makeshift dog collar of sorts to keep her from escaping. Suffice it to say, the enterprise, while masterfully crafted and acted, is a smidgen hard to sit through -- especially, at its exorbitant three-hour runtime.\nHonestly, and this reflects poorly upon me as a critic, I fell asleep for about 15 minutes an hour into the film. What with its lack of sets (the entire thing was shot upon a sound stage with white and black sheets suggesting night and day and chalk outlines serving as houses) and music (the only song highlight was the appreciated but inappropriate use of David Bowie's "Young Americans" over the ending credits), I got a tad bored. Both you and I realize that mankind can, at times, be inherently evil, and such wrongdoing isn't exclusive to Americans alone. We don't need an overly long reinterpretation of "Our Town," which might as well be redubbed "Our Hell," to tell us so. Trier has made a provocative powder keg of a film that poses, then disposes of, some interesting ideas. There's something to be said for this, as few filmmakers have the balls to look beyond the bottom-line. It's just too bad that we, the audience, ultimately feel like Grace, trapped and abused amid the ugliness of "Dogville." Lars would have it no other way.
(05/20/04 4:00am)
Following on the sandaled heels of Ridley Scott's "Gladiator" (a film that single-handedly resurrected the seemingly deceased swashbuckler sub-genre -- see "The Lord of the Rings," "Pirates of the Caribbean" and the upcoming "King Arthur" for further examples), comes "Troy," director Wolfgang Peterson's reinterpretation of Homer's timeless, epic poem, "The Iliad." \nAnyone who's taken English in either high school or college is likely to have read Homer's tome, and if they expect to see it accurately represented onscreen, they have another thing coming. The tone of "Troy" is akin to melding the "Classics Illustrated" comics of one's youth with the period pieces of the 1950s and '60s (think: "Ben-Hur," "Spartacus" and "Cleopatra"), only spruced up via the four "b's" of modern Hollywood cinema - boobs, buns, blood and budget.\nBrad Pitt headlines as mythic Greek warrior, Achilles, but the heart of the film lies with Hector (a banner Eric Bana), prince of Troy. Trouble brews when Hector's younger brother, Paris (a congruously cowardly Orlando Bloom), begins banging Helen (Diane Kruger), the wife of Menelaus (irreplaceable Irish thespian, Brendan Gleeson), king of Sparta. The young queen then departs with her prince charming across the Aegean Sea to the titular, walled city. Understandably, Menelaus is pissed and enlists the help of his brother, Agamemnon (irreplaceable Irish thespian #2, Brian Cox), in retrieving his bride and toppling Troy. Fighting for the greedy Greek are Odysseus (Sean Bean) and the aforementioned Achilles, albeit begrudgingly or for self-aggrandizing purposes in the latter's case. Battles large and small ensue, culminating with the arrival of the storied Trojan horse.\nThe cast is good across the board, though, it's Bana (bettering the tour de force of Aussie import, "Chopper") and Peter O'Toole as the Trojan king, Priam, who truly shine. Admittedly, it takes a while to accept Pitt as Achilles, but once you've gotten used to the fact that it's BRAD PITT playing ACHILLES, he fills the role nicely. Achilles was a rock star in his time and place, and Pitt plays this up accordingly. Bloom plays the bitch to perfection, which begs the question -- will this guy ever have nuts onscreen outside of "LOTR?" Newcomer Kruger is pretty and gives a serviceable performance, but she's hardly the face to launch a thousand ships. Cox and Gleeson do what they do best -- they're imposing. \nDirector Peterson does an admirably workmanlike job. That's saying something, as I rarely dig the dude's flicks (the exceptions being: this, "Das Boot" and "In the Line of Fire.") The same craftsmanship can be seen in screenwriter David Benioff's (author of "25th Hour") script, which pares down "The Iliad" by relegating a majority of the story's mythological elements. In spite of its explicit sexuality and violence, "Troy" is a real throwback to the epics of yore, albeit one with its cheesier moments i.e. a knife-to-throat sex sequence that'd make Joe Eszterhas blush and a servant's line reading of "She's left with the Trojans!" (Well, let's thank Christ she's using protection.) Flaws and all, "Troy" is a real coup.
(05/20/04 4:00am)
Do you hate America? Does the prospect of watching an innocent woman tortured over the course of nearly three hours appeal to you? Are you a sadomasochist? If you can answer yes to any of the aforementioned questions, then perhaps "Dogville" is your cup of toxic tea. All others need not apply.\nDanish Dogme designer and didactic director Lars von Trier ("Breaking the Waves," "Dancer in the Dark") returns with another yarn of the oft-suffering heroine. Only this time, he sets his sights beyond merely debasing women, opting instead to skewer democracy, capitalism and the U.S. as a whole. Funnily enough, Trier has never even set foot on American soil due to his immense fear of flight.\n"Dogville" is the story of Grace (the always lovely and rarely braver Nicole Kidman), a woman on the run from the mob (spearheaded by James Caan), who stumbles into the titular town. Here, she meets Thomas Edison Jr. (Paul Bettany), a wannabe writer and the community's self-appointed moral compass. The none-too-subtly named Tom takes an immediate shine to the even less subtly named Grace. In doing so, he coerces his friends, family and neighbors into providing refuge for the wanted woman; she in turn becomes the citizens' (among them all-star character actors Lauren Bacall, Philip Baker Hall, Stellan Skarsgård, Patricia Clarkson, Ben Gazzara, Jeremy Davies and Chloë Sevigny) indentured servant. \nThis is all good and well, until, the authority's pursuit of Grace grows more heated, and Dogville's denizens demand a better deal, i.e. more work, less pay. Inevitably, poor Grace becomes the town's whipping post/scapegoat, and an onslaught of degradation ensues. She's raped by nearly every man in town and is later made to wear a makeshift dog collar of sorts to keep her from escaping. Suffice it to say, the enterprise, while masterfully crafted and acted, is a smidgen hard to sit through -- especially, at its exorbitant three-hour runtime.\nHonestly, and this reflects poorly upon me as a critic, I fell asleep for about 15 minutes an hour into the film. What with its lack of sets (the entire thing was shot upon a sound stage with white and black sheets suggesting night and day and chalk outlines serving as houses) and music (the only song highlight was the appreciated but inappropriate use of David Bowie's "Young Americans" over the ending credits), I got a tad bored. Both you and I realize that mankind can, at times, be inherently evil, and such wrongdoing isn't exclusive to Americans alone. We don't need an overly long reinterpretation of "Our Town," which might as well be redubbed "Our Hell," to tell us so. Trier has made a provocative powder keg of a film that poses, then disposes of, some interesting ideas. There's something to be said for this, as few filmmakers have the balls to look beyond the bottom-line. It's just too bad that we, the audience, ultimately feel like Grace, trapped and abused amid the ugliness of "Dogville." Lars would have it no other way.
(05/13/04 4:00am)
Remember that scene in "American Wedding" where Stifler (Seann William Scott) accidentally feeds Michelle's (Alyson Hannigan) wedding ring to a dog, and retrieves it via the magic of ex-lax? Well, watching "Van Helsing" is sort of akin to that. Only there's no diamond to be found -- perhaps a few peanuts and the cereal box toy your dog ate the previous morning. Either way, you're rooting through shit and reaping few benefits.\nHugh Jackman (lacking the bad-ass magnetism he displayed as Wolverine in the "X-Men" flicks -- then again, he's wearing a silly-looking pimp's hat) stars as the titular character, a pallid mish-mash of Bram Stoker's Abraham Van Helsing, Indiana Jones and James Bond. Van Helsing is a hired gun for the Church, who's built up quite the reputation for dispatching all things demonic. His latest assignment consists of traveling to Transylvania to terminate the dreaded Count Dracula (Richard Roxburgh, so hammily good as The Duke in "Moulin Rouge," and yet so hammily bad here). He must do so in order to lift a curse upon the Valerious clan, whose sole heir, Anna (a pouty Kate Beckinsale), is in the midst of battling Dracula herself. Shock of shocks, she's resistant to his aid and the two bicker flirtatiously throughout. \nAlso along for the ride are: Carl (David Wenham, best known for playing Faramir in "The Lord of the Rings" films), a vice-riddled friar who plays Q to Van Helsing's Bond, Frankenstein (a good but all together too talky Shuler Hensley), the Wolf Man (Gap pretty boy Will Kemp), Igor (a deliciously depraved Kevin J. O'Connor) and Drac's bevy of brides (Elena Ayana, Silvia Colloca and underused superhottie, Josie Maran). Most of these folks (excepting Wenham, Hensley and O'Connor) are jettisoned by writer/director Stephen Sommers' ("The Mummy") insipid script and bloated direction.\nWhile disappointing, "Van Helsing" isn't without its strong suits. Two introductory sequences, one of which hearkens back to James Whale's classic "Frankenstein" adaptation and another depicting a bell tower brawl between Van Helsing and Mr. Hyde (voiced by "Harry Potter" expat Robbie Coltrane), hint at what could've easily been a much better movie. Intermittent action sequences involving the brides' attack on a village (think the flying monkeys of "The Wizard of Oz" by way of the Playboy Mansion with the aesthetics of a Marilyn Manson video thrown in for good measure) and a stake-primed exploding carriage elevate the proceedings slightly. Also, Van Helsing's gas-powered, automatic crossbow, while conceptually inconceivable, is admittedly cool. Lastly, Alan Silvestri's gnarly, guitar-driven score, while reminiscent of his work from "Predator," rocks.\n"Van Helsing" is a rousing roller coaster ride of a film. Sadly, most will be lost, as seat belts, much like logic and substance, weren't included.
(05/13/04 4:00am)
Sorely overlooked during awards season this past year, "The Last Samurai" arrives on DVD in a sterling two-disc package that doesn't quite live up to the grandeur of the film itself, but is quite impressive nonetheless.\nTom Cruise stars as Captain Nathan Algren, a disheartened Civil War veteran summoned to Japan in order to train the Emperor's army in the ways of modern warfare. Shortly thereafter, he's taken prisoner by rebel samurai -- the very men he's been hired to kill. Slowly but surely he sees the worth of his captors, primary among them honorable samurai master, Katsumoto (an immensely engaging Ken Watanabe), and his allegiances are rightfully swayed. Expertly written, shot, directed, scored and acted by its talented cast and crew, "The Last Samurai" is a beautiful companion piece to other modern epics such as "Dances with Wolves," "Braveheart" and "Gladiator."\nThe DVD has a nice array of bonus features. The commentary by writer/director Edward Zwick is equal parts informative and sleep inducing -- the latter trait may be attributed to his nasally speech rather than the track's content. Other extras include the History Channel documentary, "History Vs. Hollywood: The Last Samurai" (as the title suggests, it's both interstitial and educational), absorbing, albeit abbreviated, featurettes concerning production, costume and weapon design and near-fellating profiles of Cruise and Zwick. The extras may be a tad self-serving, but more often than not they're interesting and reveal two intelligent men with a passion for their work. Hell, they made a really solid movie -- a little gloating may be in order.\nKurosawa this ain't, but for a fascinating glimpse into the Japan of yore, "The Last Samurai" is well worth a look or even a purchase on DVD.
(04/30/04 3:46pm)
Summer is almost here, and with it comes the prototypical onslaught of big-budgeted studio tripe. Below are flicks which both embrace and debunk the characteristics of summer moviegoing, which may well turn out to be worth your hard-earned green. They're arranged chronologically and
categorically for your viewing pleasure.
(04/29/04 4:00am)
Summer is almost here, and with it comes the prototypical onslaught of big-budgeted studio tripe. Below are flicks which both embrace and debunk the characteristics of summer moviegoing, which may well turn out to be worth your hard-earned green. They're arranged chronologically and
categorically for your viewing pleasure.
(04/24/04 12:39am)
It's been said before and I'll say it again: Quentin Tarantino sure knows how to compile one hell of a soundtrack. Once more, he resurrects numerous forgotten musicians and songs, while seamlessly integrating his snappy dialogue into the proceedings.\nThose who dug the album accompanying "Vol. 1" may be disappointed with the new record. That's not to say it isn't any good -- it certainly is -- it's just disparate from its predecessor.\nRumors suggesting that "Vol. 2" is little more than an unabashed love letter to spaghetti Westerns seem founded, as much of the music is in this thematic milieu. Registering best among said cuts is Ennio Morricone's beatific "L'Arena." \nOther highlights include; Luis Bacalov's rockin' and reelin' "Summertime Killer" (a track tailor-made for onscreen ass-kicking), Johnny Cash's achingly heartrending "A Satisfied Mind," Morricone's ominous "A Silhouette of Doom" (this should be committed to memory by now, as it's appeared in nearly every trailer), notorious Sex Pistols manager Malcom McLaren's kitschy, between the sheets bombast "About Her" and RZA's untitled bonus cut featuring a prototypically foul-mouthed but nonetheless hilarious Dirt McGirt a.k.a. Ol' Dirty Bastard, which hearkens back to the inspired sounds of RZA as Bobby Digital in Stereo only traversed to Tarantino-land.\nThe record's not perfect, however. Shivaree's insipidly chick-y "Goodnight Moon," is likely to grate on your last nerve, and Chingon's "Malaguena Salerosa" (produced by Tarantino's filmmaking brother in arms and "Kill Bill: Vol. 2" scorer, Robert Rodriguez) sounds like something you'd hear in a Mexican eatery i.e. it's better after three or four Coronas in the midst of digesting fajitas.
(04/24/04 12:37am)
Ben Kweller broke onto the scene two years ago with the inspired pop/rock of Sha Sha. A lot has happened since -- he's gotten married, toured extensively and teamed with fellow Ben's -- Folds and Lee -- for the solid The Bens EP. Now, he's returned with the less catchy but more mature, On My Way, and in doing so he's avoided the sophomore slump admirably.\nGoofy, albeit funny, lyrics along the lines of "sex reminds her of eating spaghetti," are replaced by heartwarming proclamations of love for his young bride ("On My Own," "Down," "Living Life," "Believer"), an ode to his New York City abode ("My Apartment") and pip-squeaky punk posturing ("Ann Disaster" -- the record's only lame cut). \nKweller came out of the gate sounding something akin to a Folds/Weezer hybrid and has transmogrified himself into a singer-songwriter-piano man in the vein of Billy Joel and Elton John. Such flourishes are colored by homages to other musicians. Kweller's time spent hanging out with Kings of Leon is apparent in the country-fried chords of "The Rules" (no real surprise, as Kings producer Ethan Johns manned the boards) and strange as this reads: the lad sounds like an emo-fueled Johnny Cash on the title track. Kweller reverts back to his Foldsian ways with "Different But the Same," which sounds an awful lot like something the Five would've churned out in their Reinhold Messner days -- that is to say, it's fucking great.\nNothing here boasts the poppy infectiousness of "Wasted and Ready" or "Commerce TX" (hell, what does?), but "Hear Me Out" comes awfully damned close. The song, punctuated by hellacious harmonica and Kweller's incessant sing-songy pleas of "Hear me out (you don't know I'm) hear me out (you don't know I'm), hear me out, you don't know I'm here," is a thing of beauty. "I Need You Back," "Hospital Bed," "My Apartment" and "Living Life" all stand in this song's shadow, but are lovingly-crafted pop numbers nonetheless. \nThe unique thing about Kweller is his uncanny ability to merge urgency, humor and heart into one tidily-wrapped package i.e. he's to new school rock what the Farrelly Brothers are to cinematic comedy. Rarely will a musician emerge spouting lyrics as dissimilar as "I'll kill him with karate that I learned in Japan" and "I'm in love with someone who's as pretty as a flower," and not sound like a horse's ass. Kweller does it and then some.
(04/24/04 12:34am)
Those of you out there who hated "Kill Bill: Vol. 1" (being an unabashed snobbish asshole, I refer to you as the culturally retarded), take solace. Quentin Tarantino, in his infinite wisdom, has created a captivating capper to this epic grindhouse saga which even you'll love. \nIn eschewing over-the-top carnage in favor of crystal clear characterization, dynamic dialogue and a poignantly perverse sense of romanticism, Tarantino has crafted yet another masterpiece. The flick boasts the maturity of "Jackie Brown" and the bravado of "Pulp Fiction" -- that's no small feat. The long and short of it is this: "Kill Bill Vol. 2" is a joy to behold.\nWhen last we left The Bride (Uma Thurman, bettering an already brilliant performance), she'd offed Yakuza queenpin O-Ren Ishii (Lucy Liu) and hatchet woman-turned-homemaker Vernita Green (Vivica A. Fox). This, in revenge for the matrimonial massacre hinted at in the first film and fully realized here. The three other perpetrators: cyclopic assassin/uber-bitch, Elle Driver (a deliciously dastardly Darryl Hannah), scummy strip club bouncer, Budd (Michael Madsen, in a turn so adept it nearly equals his work in "Reservoir Dogs") and our titular William (the masterful snake charmer who is David Carradine), encounter Hattori Hanzo steel with varying degrees of success.\n"Vol. 2" is much more akin to Tarantino's previous works, whereas "Vol. 1" was an exercise in style over substance -- albeit an amazingly entertaining one. Whatever gravitas the original lacked is more than filled in with the latest installment. The film is more leisurely paced (136 minutes as opposed to 111) and its characters are far more likely to wax pop cultural than whack Asian nationals i.e. Bill's magnificent monologues concerning a goldfish's untimely demise and Superman. Where "Vol. 1" was firmly rooted in Far East mythos, "Vol. 2" has a twinge of this tradition with a hearty helping of spaghetti Western. This entails long, lingering shots of scenic desert vistas and extreme close-ups of actors' faces and feet (QT's flicks suggest flagrant foot fetishism) -- standards of the genre.\nDespite laid back pacing there's still kinetic kicks to be had. The Bride and Driver's trailer-set grudge match meshes "Jackass" and the Patricia Arquette/James Gandolfini bathroom brawl of "True Romance" (also penned by Tarantino) resulting in some of the coolest close quarters combat ever committed to celluloid. Also, The Bride's training sequence at the hands of Pei Mei (a hilariously wispy-bearded Gordon Liu, who starred as Johnny Mo in "Vol. 1") is equal parts buffoonery and brutality.\nThose of you who loved "Vol. 1" for its violence and its violence alone may very well loathe "Vol. 2," as it's essentially a meditation on love and life filtered through Tarantino's cinematic kaleidoscope. Oh well, your loss.
(04/22/04 4:00am)
Those of you out there who hated "Kill Bill: Vol. 1" (being an unabashed snobbish asshole, I refer to you as the culturally retarded), take solace. Quentin Tarantino, in his infinite wisdom, has created a captivating capper to this epic grindhouse saga which even you'll love. \nIn eschewing over-the-top carnage in favor of crystal clear characterization, dynamic dialogue and a poignantly perverse sense of romanticism, Tarantino has crafted yet another masterpiece. The flick boasts the maturity of "Jackie Brown" and the bravado of "Pulp Fiction" -- that's no small feat. The long and short of it is this: "Kill Bill Vol. 2" is a joy to behold.\nWhen last we left The Bride (Uma Thurman, bettering an already brilliant performance), she'd offed Yakuza queenpin O-Ren Ishii (Lucy Liu) and hatchet woman-turned-homemaker Vernita Green (Vivica A. Fox). This, in revenge for the matrimonial massacre hinted at in the first film and fully realized here. The three other perpetrators: cyclopic assassin/uber-bitch, Elle Driver (a deliciously dastardly Darryl Hannah), scummy strip club bouncer, Budd (Michael Madsen, in a turn so adept it nearly equals his work in "Reservoir Dogs") and our titular William (the masterful snake charmer who is David Carradine), encounter Hattori Hanzo steel with varying degrees of success.\n"Vol. 2" is much more akin to Tarantino's previous works, whereas "Vol. 1" was an exercise in style over substance -- albeit an amazingly entertaining one. Whatever gravitas the original lacked is more than filled in with the latest installment. The film is more leisurely paced (136 minutes as opposed to 111) and its characters are far more likely to wax pop cultural than whack Asian nationals i.e. Bill's magnificent monologues concerning a goldfish's untimely demise and Superman. Where "Vol. 1" was firmly rooted in Far East mythos, "Vol. 2" has a twinge of this tradition with a hearty helping of spaghetti Western. This entails long, lingering shots of scenic desert vistas and extreme close-ups of actors' faces and feet (QT's flicks suggest flagrant foot fetishism) -- standards of the genre.\nDespite laid back pacing there's still kinetic kicks to be had. The Bride and Driver's trailer-set grudge match meshes "Jackass" and the Patricia Arquette/James Gandolfini bathroom brawl of "True Romance" (also penned by Tarantino) resulting in some of the coolest close quarters combat ever committed to celluloid. Also, The Bride's training sequence at the hands of Pei Mei (a hilariously wispy-bearded Gordon Liu, who starred as Johnny Mo in "Vol. 1") is equal parts buffoonery and brutality.\nThose of you who loved "Vol. 1" for its violence and its violence alone may very well loathe "Vol. 2," as it's essentially a meditation on love and life filtered through Tarantino's cinematic kaleidoscope. Oh well, your loss.
(04/22/04 4:00am)
Ben Kweller broke onto the scene two years ago with the inspired pop/rock of Sha Sha. A lot has happened since -- he's gotten married, toured extensively and teamed with fellow Ben's -- Folds and Lee -- for the solid The Bens EP. Now, he's returned with the less catchy but more mature, On My Way, and in doing so he's avoided the sophomore slump admirably.\nGoofy, albeit funny, lyrics along the lines of "sex reminds her of eating spaghetti," are replaced by heartwarming proclamations of love for his young bride ("On My Own," "Down," "Living Life," "Believer"), an ode to his New York City abode ("My Apartment") and pip-squeaky punk posturing ("Ann Disaster" -- the record's only lame cut). \nKweller came out of the gate sounding something akin to a Folds/Weezer hybrid and has transmogrified himself into a singer-songwriter-piano man in the vein of Billy Joel and Elton John. Such flourishes are colored by homages to other musicians. Kweller's time spent hanging out with Kings of Leon is apparent in the country-fried chords of "The Rules" (no real surprise, as Kings producer Ethan Johns manned the boards) and strange as this reads: the lad sounds like an emo-fueled Johnny Cash on the title track. Kweller reverts back to his Foldsian ways with "Different But the Same," which sounds an awful lot like something the Five would've churned out in their Reinhold Messner days -- that is to say, it's fucking great.\nNothing here boasts the poppy infectiousness of "Wasted and Ready" or "Commerce TX" (hell, what does?), but "Hear Me Out" comes awfully damned close. The song, punctuated by hellacious harmonica and Kweller's incessant sing-songy pleas of "Hear me out (you don't know I'm) hear me out (you don't know I'm), hear me out, you don't know I'm here," is a thing of beauty. "I Need You Back," "Hospital Bed," "My Apartment" and "Living Life" all stand in this song's shadow, but are lovingly-crafted pop numbers nonetheless. \nThe unique thing about Kweller is his uncanny ability to merge urgency, humor and heart into one tidily-wrapped package i.e. he's to new school rock what the Farrelly Brothers are to cinematic comedy. Rarely will a musician emerge spouting lyrics as dissimilar as "I'll kill him with karate that I learned in Japan" and "I'm in love with someone who's as pretty as a flower," and not sound like a horse's ass. Kweller does it and then some.
