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(06/17/04 4:00am)
With feminism just beginning to rear its beautiful head and howl in the early '70s, Ira Levin, author of another creepy sleeper you may have heard of, "Rosemary's Baby," unleashed "The Stepford Wives" on an unsuspecting public. An acerbic satire both on and of feminism brewed in the conventions of a sci-fi thriller, "Stepford" immediately became a staple of American pop culture. With a 1975 film adaptation of the slim novel that quickly rose to cult-classic status, the story's secret and the moral were a permanent part of the pop-consciousness. While director Frank Oz and screenwriter Paul Rudnick have made a valiant attempt to refresh the original material, their polarized approach of satirical camp chokes on its own saccharin, like marshmallow razor-blades, leaving us a remake nearly as soulless as its own robots.\nYou can only go so far over-the-top before you crash into the ground. However, Oz and Rudnick seemed fatalistically determined to drive "Stepford" into the core of Mother Earth, some moments bordering on little less than slapstick shenanigans. Nonetheless, considering Oz and Rudnick's task, it's not so much the manner in which they chose to reinterpret the material, as it is the execution. What originally set Levin's and the original film's twisted premise up as a thriller with darkly comedic moments, is Stepford's little secret. Oz and Rudnick face up to the fact that Stepford no longer has anything to hide, therefore, not attempting to create some hokey aura of suspense, instead focusing on and embellishing the comedic aspects. The embellishment, though, goes far and beyond the call of duty. This exaggerated approach is not completely unsuccessful. Director of photography Rob Hahn's beautiful cinematography looks like Thomas Kincade painting Norman Rockwell, creating a lush sterility that carries its own creepy weight.\nBoasting an impressive ensemble cast, its performances may be the most mechanical aspect of the entire film. It is entirely plausible that Christopher Walken filmed the entirety of his scenes in one day, one take a piece. As much as I love Walken, like the rest of the characters in the film, he is little more than a sketched out caricature. I could write an entirely separate review on the handling of the final act, but I'll leave it at this: ham-handed debacle of indecisiveness. Unfortunately, our new "Stepford" has become every bit as mechanical as what it is trying to warn against.
(06/17/04 4:00am)
"Saved!" is director Brian Dannelly's feature debut, who also co-wrote the script with writing partner Michael Urban. The film is a bittersweet, satirical look at life and youth in the crazy world of fundamentalist conservative Christianity. For those critics who would like to label this film as Christian camp schtick, know this: "Saved!" may be one of the most subtly understated films of the decade. Sure to cause backlash and already an issue with the religious right, "Saved!" should have been double-billed with Mel Gibson's "The Passion of the Christ." Aiming at the institution, not the inspiration, Dannelly and Urban's script is a barbed and, in its best moments, a hilariously scathing look at the difference between religious fervor and spiritual faith.\nLead by an all-star cast of indie-teen cred, Jena Malone plays Mary, a devoutly Christian girl attending American Eagle Christian High School. After learning her boyfriend (Chad Faust) is gay, she decides God has called her to sacrifice her virginity in order to bring him back from his brimstone-bound ways. But when he's sent to Mercy House to be de-gayified (yes, these places exist), and Mary discovers she's pregnant, her faith begins to crumble. Leaving the popularity and favor of the Christian Jewels, lead by Heather Faye (Mandy Moore), who ironically bucks her wholesome image by playing a girl who must believe Jesus Christ himself personally shot sunbeams up her ass, Mary joins a group of outsiders. The kids begin to discover faith amongst themselves and the spurious hypocrisy of religiosity.\nWhile the film isn't flawless, its conclusion being heavy-handed and sugar-spun, it's nonetheless effective, heartwarming and eye-opening. The film dares us to consider a God whose love knows no limits, who created us for our differences and who gave us free will to be exercised by ourselves, not given over to an institution. Most importantly, it asks us to consider a God who wants us to be nothing more than ourselves. \nAfter discovering her pregnancy and walking back home, Mary stops at the wall of a church where a cross has been carved into the stone. Her eyes beginning to tear up and, feeling betrayed by God, for the first time she prays the most honest prayer of her life: "Shit. Fuck. Goddamn." The simple vulnerability of that moment is more beautiful and requires more faith than ten-thousand legions mindlessly chanting their empty praises. "Saved!" asks us to consider a God who asks for nothing more.
(06/16/04 11:05pm)
"Saved!" is director Brian Dannelly's feature debut, who also co-wrote the script with writing partner Michael Urban. The film is a bittersweet, satirical look at life and youth in the crazy world of fundamentalist conservative Christianity. For those critics who would like to label this film as Christian camp schtick, know this: "Saved!" may be one of the most subtly understated films of the decade. Sure to cause backlash and already an issue with the religious right, "Saved!" should have been double-billed with Mel Gibson's "The Passion of the Christ." Aiming at the institution, not the inspiration, Dannelly and Urban's script is a barbed and, in its best moments, a hilariously scathing look at the difference between religious fervor and spiritual faith.\nLead by an all-star cast of indie-teen cred, Jena Malone plays Mary, a devoutly Christian girl attending American Eagle Christian High School. After learning her boyfriend (Chad Faust) is gay, she decides God has called her to sacrifice her virginity in order to bring him back from his brimstone-bound ways. But when he's sent to Mercy House to be de-gayified (yes, these places exist), and Mary discovers she's pregnant, her faith begins to crumble. Leaving the popularity and favor of the Christian Jewels, lead by Heather Faye (Mandy Moore), who ironically bucks her wholesome image by playing a girl who must believe Jesus Christ himself personally shot sunbeams up her ass, Mary joins a group of outsiders. The kids begin to discover faith amongst themselves and the spurious hypocrisy of religiosity.\nWhile the film isn't flawless, its conclusion being heavy-handed and sugar-spun, it's nonetheless effective, heartwarming and eye-opening. The film dares us to consider a God whose love knows no limits, who created us for our differences and who gave us free will to be exercised by ourselves, not given over to an institution. Most importantly, it asks us to consider a God who wants us to be nothing more than ourselves. \nAfter discovering her pregnancy and walking back home, Mary stops at the wall of a church where a cross has been carved into the stone. Her eyes beginning to tear up and, feeling betrayed by God, for the first time she prays the most honest prayer of her life: "Shit. Fuck. Goddamn." The simple vulnerability of that moment is more beautiful and requires more faith than ten-thousand legions mindlessly chanting their empty praises. "Saved!" asks us to consider a God who asks for nothing more.
(06/16/04 10:59pm)
With feminism just beginning to rear its beautiful head and howl in the early '70s, Ira Levin, author of another creepy sleeper you may have heard of, "Rosemary's Baby," unleashed "The Stepford Wives" on an unsuspecting public. An acerbic satire both on and of feminism brewed in the conventions of a sci-fi thriller, "Stepford" immediately became a staple of American pop culture. With a 1975 film adaptation of the slim novel that quickly rose to cult-classic status, the story's secret and the moral were a permanent part of the pop-consciousness. While director Frank Oz and screenwriter Paul Rudnick have made a valiant attempt to refresh the original material, their polarized approach of satirical camp chokes on its own saccharin, like marshmallow razor-blades, leaving us a remake nearly as soulless as its own robots.\nYou can only go so far over-the-top before you crash into the ground. However, Oz and Rudnick seemed fatalistically determined to drive "Stepford" into the core of Mother Earth, some moments bordering on little less than slapstick shenanigans. Nonetheless, considering Oz and Rudnick's task, it's not so much the manner in which they chose to reinterpret the material, as it is the execution. What originally set Levin's and the original film's twisted premise up as a thriller with darkly comedic moments, is Stepford's little secret. Oz and Rudnick face up to the fact that Stepford no longer has anything to hide, therefore, not attempting to create some hokey aura of suspense, instead focusing on and embellishing the comedic aspects. The embellishment, though, goes far and beyond the call of duty. This exaggerated approach is not completely unsuccessful. Director of photography Rob Hahn's beautiful cinematography looks like Thomas Kincade painting Norman Rockwell, creating a lush sterility that carries its own creepy weight.\nBoasting an impressive ensemble cast, its performances may be the most mechanical aspect of the entire film. It is entirely plausible that Christopher Walken filmed the entirety of his scenes in one day, one take a piece. As much as I love Walken, like the rest of the characters in the film, he is little more than a sketched out caricature. I could write an entirely separate review on the handling of the final act, but I'll leave it at this: ham-handed debacle of indecisiveness. Unfortunately, our new "Stepford" has become every bit as mechanical as what it is trying to warn against.
(04/24/04 12:36am)
Sex. Cinema. Politics. Pure Bertolucci. Opening to critical acclaim and controversy, such things synonymous with the name Bertolucci, Italian director and auteur Bernardo Bertolucci has crafted his finest return to form with the new film "The Dreamers." Bertolucci, who infamously brought Marlon Brando, Maria Schneider and a stick of butter together with his "Last Tango in Paris," returns to Paris and his erotically-charged roots to explore the sexual complexities and curiosities of impassioned youth, caught in the middle of a cultural revolution. \nSet against the explosive background of the '68 student riots, following the firing of Henri Langlois and the closing of the Cinematheque Francais, Bertolucci's "The Dreamers" is a love letter, though bittersweet and twisted at times, to both the children of that amazing moment in time, as well as to cinephiles and film buffs the world around. With the Internet Movie Database listing over 20 films referenced, both stylistically and narratively, "The Dreamers" is most heavily steeped in the films of the French New Wave, the works of Truffaut and Godard being historically at the heart of the student movement, as well as the soul of the film. However, having no knowledge of French politics and film movements does not necessarily render Bertolucci's film inaccessible, but likely less enjoyable.\nMichael Pitt, baring an uncanny and, at times, distracting resemblance to Leonardo DiCaprio, plays an American student studying in Paris whose insatiable hunger for film leads him into the company of the ever-brooding Theo (Louis Garrel) and the darkly playful Isabelle (Eva Green). The children of a well-known French poet and his British wife, Theo and Isabelle invite Matthew (Pitt) to stay with them while their parents are gone. Residing in a gorgeous Victorian Gothic townhouse, the children begin an emotionally sadomasochistic game of sexual consequences and conquests, all the while waxing philosophical over Maoist Communism, whether Hendrix or Clapton reinvented the electrical guitar and the incomparable Keaton/Chaplin debate. Bertolucci's palette, working with cinematographer Fabio Cianchetti, is as lush as it has ever been, beautifully sculpting his images out of light and shadow, letting the colors drape the silver screen like royal silk tapestries. Furthermore, Gilbert Adair, who adapted the screenplay from his book, handles the pacing fluidly, allowing 140 minutes to simply float away. Bertolucci handles his subjects with a master's delicacy, allowing a certain grace and nostalgia to our dreamers and their idealistic naiveté which could never last forever. A gorgeously captured coming-of-age story, Bernardo Bertolucci's "The Dreamers" is a film not to be missed.
(04/22/04 4:00am)
Sex. Cinema. Politics. Pure Bertolucci. Opening to critical acclaim and controversy, such things synonymous with the name Bertolucci, Italian director and auteur Bernardo Bertolucci has crafted his finest return to form with the new film "The Dreamers." Bertolucci, who infamously brought Marlon Brando, Maria Schneider and a stick of butter together with his "Last Tango in Paris," returns to Paris and his erotically-charged roots to explore the sexual complexities and curiosities of impassioned youth, caught in the middle of a cultural revolution. \nSet against the explosive background of the '68 student riots, following the firing of Henri Langlois and the closing of the Cinematheque Francais, Bertolucci's "The Dreamers" is a love letter, though bittersweet and twisted at times, to both the children of that amazing moment in time, as well as to cinephiles and film buffs the world around. With the Internet Movie Database listing over 20 films referenced, both stylistically and narratively, "The Dreamers" is most heavily steeped in the films of the French New Wave, the works of Truffaut and Godard being historically at the heart of the student movement, as well as the soul of the film. However, having no knowledge of French politics and film movements does not necessarily render Bertolucci's film inaccessible, but likely less enjoyable.\nMichael Pitt, baring an uncanny and, at times, distracting resemblance to Leonardo DiCaprio, plays an American student studying in Paris whose insatiable hunger for film leads him into the company of the ever-brooding Theo (Louis Garrel) and the darkly playful Isabelle (Eva Green). The children of a well-known French poet and his British wife, Theo and Isabelle invite Matthew (Pitt) to stay with them while their parents are gone. Residing in a gorgeous Victorian Gothic townhouse, the children begin an emotionally sadomasochistic game of sexual consequences and conquests, all the while waxing philosophical over Maoist Communism, whether Hendrix or Clapton reinvented the electrical guitar and the incomparable Keaton/Chaplin debate. Bertolucci's palette, working with cinematographer Fabio Cianchetti, is as lush as it has ever been, beautifully sculpting his images out of light and shadow, letting the colors drape the silver screen like royal silk tapestries. Furthermore, Gilbert Adair, who adapted the screenplay from his book, handles the pacing fluidly, allowing 140 minutes to simply float away. Bertolucci handles his subjects with a master's delicacy, allowing a certain grace and nostalgia to our dreamers and their idealistic naiveté which could never last forever. A gorgeously captured coming-of-age story, Bernardo Bertolucci's "The Dreamers" is a film not to be missed.
(04/01/04 5:00am)
Oscar-winning documentarian Kevin Macdonald's most recent and critically lauded film is an interesting blend of genres and styles, combining documentary narration with narrative recreation, in a similar vein to Robert Pulcini and Shari Springer Berman's American Splendor. Touching the Void tells the incredible story of mountaineers Joe Simpson and Simon Yates, whose extraordinary expedition into the Peruvian Andes has become a mountaineering legend. Offering indelible proof that fiction can't handle the truth, Simpson and Yates' story could only be captured by Macdonald's fusion of documentary and drama. For as a purely fictive film, Void would be utterly unbelievable to the point of being ridiculous, and yet, as a pure documentary, it could be little more than droning heads. However, combining the two, watching Simpson and Yates tell their story, watching their memories unfold into images, the audience is constantly reminded that regardless of the absurdity, this actually happened.\nAfter successfully climbing the previously unscaled west face of Siula Grande, Simpson and Yates begin their descent down the north face, and here their story begins. Shortly into the journey down, Simpson falls, shattering his right leg, the lower-leg bone being driven up through his knee-cap. Because the men practice a minimalist form of mountaineering called Alpine style, this is imminent doom and a fatalistic twist in destiny for both of them. Obviously, with the men telling their story, their fate is not unknown, and this could have left the film completely dull. Macdonald, though, tautly handles this, creating a film which continually turns the screw of suspense, the story not centering on if Simpson and Yates can survive, but how they will survive. Macdonald uses a variety of appropriate styles to capture the ever-escalating levels of intensity, moving from epic sweeping shots into a more cinéma vérité mode and finally becoming more experimental as Simpson begins to plunge into delusional insanity.\nTowards the center of the film, Touching the Void loses some of its momentum and there are moments when it feels like little more than a glorified Discovery Channel special. However, these moments are rare, with Macdonald quickly picking up the slack after Simpson's injury. Furthermore, this is inevitably the kind of film which loses its power as screen size is diminished. Something about scaling a twenty-some-thousand foot mountain down to a 20-inch screen seems to just suck the wonder right out of it, while watching this on a three-story IMAX screen would be a truly incredible experience. In the end, this is a great film which should be seen on the big screen, that is, if you're going to see it at all.
(04/01/04 4:03am)
Oscar-winning documentarian Kevin Macdonald's most recent and critically lauded film is an interesting blend of genres and styles, combining documentary narration with narrative recreation, in a similar vein to Robert Pulcini and Shari Springer Berman's American Splendor. Touching the Void tells the incredible story of mountaineers Joe Simpson and Simon Yates, whose extraordinary expedition into the Peruvian Andes has become a mountaineering legend. Offering indelible proof that fiction can't handle the truth, Simpson and Yates' story could only be captured by Macdonald's fusion of documentary and drama. For as a purely fictive film, Void would be utterly unbelievable to the point of being ridiculous, and yet, as a pure documentary, it could be little more than droning heads. However, combining the two, watching Simpson and Yates tell their story, watching their memories unfold into images, the audience is constantly reminded that regardless of the absurdity, this actually happened.\nAfter successfully climbing the previously unscaled west face of Siula Grande, Simpson and Yates begin their descent down the north face, and here their story begins. Shortly into the journey down, Simpson falls, shattering his right leg, the lower-leg bone being driven up through his knee-cap. Because the men practice a minimalist form of mountaineering called Alpine style, this is imminent doom and a fatalistic twist in destiny for both of them. Obviously, with the men telling their story, their fate is not unknown, and this could have left the film completely dull. Macdonald, though, tautly handles this, creating a film which continually turns the screw of suspense, the story not centering on if Simpson and Yates can survive, but how they will survive. Macdonald uses a variety of appropriate styles to capture the ever-escalating levels of intensity, moving from epic sweeping shots into a more cinéma vérité mode and finally becoming more experimental as Simpson begins to plunge into delusional insanity.\nTowards the center of the film, Touching the Void loses some of its momentum and there are moments when it feels like little more than a glorified Discovery Channel special. However, these moments are rare, with Macdonald quickly picking up the slack after Simpson's injury. Furthermore, this is inevitably the kind of film which loses its power as screen size is diminished. Something about scaling a twenty-some-thousand foot mountain down to a 20-inch screen seems to just suck the wonder right out of it, while watching this on a three-story IMAX screen would be a truly incredible experience. In the end, this is a great film which should be seen on the big screen, that is, if you're going to see it at all.
(03/04/04 5:00am)
It's practically impossible for me to compress my range of reactions to Mel Gibson's "The Passion of the Christ" into a 400 word review. Garnering a massive amount of media coverage, Gibson's controversial film has become the archetype of the cliché: "There's no such thing as bad publicity." Surrounded by experiences which only seem to grow more surreal, Gibson's little film on Jesus, which no studio would touch, was slammed by claims of anti-Semitism, but now has exploded at the box office and even caused a woman to have a heart attack and die while watching it. If nothing else, Gibson's film is a pure testament to the power of what one man can do when he is truly passionate in what he believes.\n"The Passion of the Christ" follows the last 12 hours of Jesus Christ's life -- some of the most consequential moments for the Christian religion. Jim Caviezel's performance as Christ is the best given to date, full of humanity, humility and love without oozing sappy sentimentality or coming across as a pompous deity. Furthermore, it is obvious Gibson approached the film with the original intentions of including no subtitles, as he creates some of the most beautifully moving and brutally disturbing images to ever be captured -- speaking volumes regardless of the language. And while the film is not completely flawless, especially concerning the end and its tacked on resurrection scene, it's as close as we could ever hope to get. Regardless of your own religious beliefs, "The Passion of the Christ" still stands as a meaningful work of art.\nComing from a deeply religious background, my own father being a minister, the story and teachings of Christ are more than familiar to me, to the point of becoming stale. Breathing new life into our carcass-like souls, Gibson opens our eyes to what the real cost of Christ's love was. The violence is repulsive and nauseating and it's certainly the most violent film I have ever seen. That is neither the point, nor the most poignant part of the film. Hearing Christ teach of loving your enemies while nails are driven through his flesh, screaming out for the forgiveness of his persecutors. The final image of Mary holding the broken body of her dead son on Golgotha, her eyes full of a piercing intensity which is beyond any amount of words. These were the moments which left the audience with their faces in their hands, their hearts melting down their cheeks, as Gibson's movie both challenges and reminds us that the greatest gift we could ever give would be to love with the passion that Christ loves us all.
(03/04/04 3:35am)
It's practically impossible for me to compress my range of reactions to Mel Gibson's "The Passion of the Christ" into a 400 word review. Garnering a massive amount of media coverage, Gibson's controversial film has become the archetype of the cliché: "There's no such thing as bad publicity." Surrounded by experiences which only seem to grow more surreal, Gibson's little film on Jesus, which no studio would touch, was slammed by claims of anti-Semitism, but now has exploded at the box office and even caused a woman to have a heart attack and die while watching it. If nothing else, Gibson's film is a pure testament to the power of what one man can do when he is truly passionate in what he believes.\n"The Passion of the Christ" follows the last 12 hours of Jesus Christ's life -- some of the most consequential moments for the Christian religion. Jim Caviezel's performance as Christ is the best given to date, full of humanity, humility and love without oozing sappy sentimentality or coming across as a pompous deity. Furthermore, it is obvious Gibson approached the film with the original intentions of including no subtitles, as he creates some of the most beautifully moving and brutally disturbing images to ever be captured -- speaking volumes regardless of the language. And while the film is not completely flawless, especially concerning the end and its tacked on resurrection scene, it's as close as we could ever hope to get. Regardless of your own religious beliefs, "The Passion of the Christ" still stands as a meaningful work of art.\nComing from a deeply religious background, my own father being a minister, the story and teachings of Christ are more than familiar to me, to the point of becoming stale. Breathing new life into our carcass-like souls, Gibson opens our eyes to what the real cost of Christ's love was. The violence is repulsive and nauseating and it's certainly the most violent film I have ever seen. That is neither the point, nor the most poignant part of the film. Hearing Christ teach of loving your enemies while nails are driven through his flesh, screaming out for the forgiveness of his persecutors. The final image of Mary holding the broken body of her dead son on Golgotha, her eyes full of a piercing intensity which is beyond any amount of words. These were the moments which left the audience with their faces in their hands, their hearts melting down their cheeks, as Gibson's movie both challenges and reminds us that the greatest gift we could ever give would be to love with the passion that Christ loves us all.
(02/19/04 5:00am)
A fascinating trend I have come to observe in great, or at least interesting, films is that they will often divide their critics on shared conclusions: the reason they hate the film is the exact same reason that they love the film. Robert Altman could probably be the poster septuagenarian for this theory. \nConsidered by some to be one of America's greatest living directors and by others to be little less than a pretentious hack, either their love or hate of the man is typically unified and focused toward one element: Altman's predictably unconventional method of direction. His latest foray into forcing the fringes of cinema to its, at times, bearable edges, "The Company" is a signature Altman film that seems to ultimately suffer directly because of this.\nAltman's film revolves around the Joffrey Ballet of Chicago, one of the most respected dance companies in the world. Conventional wisdom of the celluloid world alone could already warn of the oozing sentimentality and melodrama that would be easily exploited within the world of a dance company. Altman is anything but conventional, and with sheers honed on the silver screen over five decades of work, he expertly trims these extraneous elements out of the film. However, the hand that holds the scissors seems to have gotten a little trim happy and Altman has nearly sliced the very soul out of his own picture. \nUsing the Altman trademarks of an ensemble cast, the overlapping dialogue, crucial moments of character development captured by wondering zooms, Altman's use of the subtle to create moments that exist in the now has spread anything left of the already minimalist story so thinly that its center, ballet as a performance, becomes a vacuum, the characters' seemingly hollow shells connected to nothingness.\n"The Company" has been Neve Campbell's labor of love for many years, and it is shown by her involvement in the film as writer, co-producer and star. Campbell, herself, was a dancer with the National Ballet of Canada before becoming an actress. Campbell can, in most cases, hold her own next to the professional dancers of Joffrey, and strictly from a visual standpoint, Altman captures some truly sublime moments of overwhelming grace and beauty with the performances. Nonetheless, these performances become isolated elements, detached from the very ones who are creating them because our sense of character has been left to little more than a few scattered loose ends. "The Company" had the raw potential to be a powerfully moving film, but that potential seems to have been left on the cutting room floor.
(02/19/04 12:45am)
A fascinating trend I have come to observe in great, or at least interesting, films is that they will often divide their critics on shared conclusions: the reason they hate the film is the exact same reason that they love the film. Robert Altman could probably be the poster septuagenarian for this theory. \nConsidered by some to be one of America's greatest living directors and by others to be little less than a pretentious hack, either their love or hate of the man is typically unified and focused toward one element: Altman's predictably unconventional method of direction. His latest foray into forcing the fringes of cinema to its, at times, bearable edges, "The Company" is a signature Altman film that seems to ultimately suffer directly because of this.\nAltman's film revolves around the Joffrey Ballet of Chicago, one of the most respected dance companies in the world. Conventional wisdom of the celluloid world alone could already warn of the oozing sentimentality and melodrama that would be easily exploited within the world of a dance company. Altman is anything but conventional, and with sheers honed on the silver screen over five decades of work, he expertly trims these extraneous elements out of the film. However, the hand that holds the scissors seems to have gotten a little trim happy and Altman has nearly sliced the very soul out of his own picture. \nUsing the Altman trademarks of an ensemble cast, the overlapping dialogue, crucial moments of character development captured by wondering zooms, Altman's use of the subtle to create moments that exist in the now has spread anything left of the already minimalist story so thinly that its center, ballet as a performance, becomes a vacuum, the characters' seemingly hollow shells connected to nothingness.\n"The Company" has been Neve Campbell's labor of love for many years, and it is shown by her involvement in the film as writer, co-producer and star. Campbell, herself, was a dancer with the National Ballet of Canada before becoming an actress. Campbell can, in most cases, hold her own next to the professional dancers of Joffrey, and strictly from a visual standpoint, Altman captures some truly sublime moments of overwhelming grace and beauty with the performances. Nonetheless, these performances become isolated elements, detached from the very ones who are creating them because our sense of character has been left to little more than a few scattered loose ends. "The Company" had the raw potential to be a powerfully moving film, but that potential seems to have been left on the cutting room floor.
(02/05/04 5:00am)
Much like Leonardo da Vinci's "Mona Lisa," a certain shroud of mystery surrounds the subject of what is oft considered Delft artiste Johannes Vermeer's masterpiece, "Girl with a Pearl Earring." Painted during the decadence of the 17th century Dutch Golden Age, Vermeer's portrait was and still is starkly minimalistic with a quiet sense of intimacy. Managing to bring the subtle intensity of Vermeer's painting to the silver screen, director Peter Webber adapts Tracy Chevalier's acclaimed novel, making his feature directorial debut with "Girl with a Pearl Earring."\nWorking with director of photography Eduardo Serra, Webber's film is chock full of quietly gorgeous cinematography. Serra seems to draw from Vermeer's own palette of lusciously muted earth-tones, sculpting light around shadow and creating complexities of color that are both simple and rich. In a similar fashion, although stylistically on opposite sides of the spectrum, to what Julie Taymor did bringing Frida Kahlo's art literally to life. So it is with Webber's "Girl," we do not only see the artist's inspiration but Vermeer's paintings actually living and breathing. Furthermore, Olivia Hetreed's script is one focused more on moments of silence and unspoken desires, letting the images speak for themselves and allowing the audience to come to their own conclusions. \nLikewise, Colin Firth gives us his best brooding artist, though, at times a bit melodramatic, and Scarlett Johansson rivals her other understated performance of perfection from this past year (i.e. "Lost in Translation"). Webber is also fortunate enough to have a supporting cast that gives delicious performances. Tom Wilkinson, known to play individuals both regal and refined, plays Vermeer's patron Van Ruijven, an incredibly coarse glob of slime that has somehow managed to learn to walk and acquire a bank account. And then, there is Maria Thins, Vermeer's domineering mother-in-law, played impeccably by Judy Parfitt. With little less than the twitch of a lip and the flick of an eye, Parfitt's frozen orbs of ice could send Satan scampering back to Hell, tail tucked between his legs.\nWebber's film is one of whisper-soft observations and moments pulsing with intense delicacy, as he explores the relationship between the artist and his inspiration and the way that relationship effects every other aspect of his life. For those looking for a little more than a two-hour studio plea for a golden statue, Webber's "Girl" won't let you down.
(02/05/04 2:19am)
Much like Leonardo da Vinci's "Mona Lisa," a certain shroud of mystery surrounds the subject of what is oft considered Delft artiste Johannes Vermeer's masterpiece, "Girl with a Pearl Earring." Painted during the decadence of the 17th century Dutch Golden Age, Vermeer's portrait was and still is starkly minimalistic with a quiet sense of intimacy. Managing to bring the subtle intensity of Vermeer's painting to the silver screen, director Peter Webber adapts Tracy Chevalier's acclaimed novel, making his feature directorial debut with "Girl with a Pearl Earring."\nWorking with director of photography Eduardo Serra, Webber's film is chock full of quietly gorgeous cinematography. Serra seems to draw from Vermeer's own palette of lusciously muted earth-tones, sculpting light around shadow and creating complexities of color that are both simple and rich. In a similar fashion, although stylistically on opposite sides of the spectrum, to what Julie Taymor did bringing Frida Kahlo's art literally to life. So it is with Webber's "Girl," we do not only see the artist's inspiration but Vermeer's paintings actually living and breathing. Furthermore, Olivia Hetreed's script is one focused more on moments of silence and unspoken desires, letting the images speak for themselves and allowing the audience to come to their own conclusions. \nLikewise, Colin Firth gives us his best brooding artist, though, at times a bit melodramatic, and Scarlett Johansson rivals her other understated performance of perfection from this past year (i.e. "Lost in Translation"). Webber is also fortunate enough to have a supporting cast that gives delicious performances. Tom Wilkinson, known to play individuals both regal and refined, plays Vermeer's patron Van Ruijven, an incredibly coarse glob of slime that has somehow managed to learn to walk and acquire a bank account. And then, there is Maria Thins, Vermeer's domineering mother-in-law, played impeccably by Judy Parfitt. With little less than the twitch of a lip and the flick of an eye, Parfitt's frozen orbs of ice could send Satan scampering back to Hell, tail tucked between his legs.\nWebber's film is one of whisper-soft observations and moments pulsing with intense delicacy, as he explores the relationship between the artist and his inspiration and the way that relationship effects every other aspect of his life. For those looking for a little more than a two-hour studio plea for a golden statue, Webber's "Girl" won't let you down.
(01/22/04 5:00am)
They are the ruthless ones, the ones that revel in their own inspired grotesqueness. They are the ones that actually have a pair and aren't afraid to slap you in the face with them. They are the ones whispered in cryptic corners between your co-workers, the ones about dead babies and airplanes plunging into towers. They are jokes with a wicked sense of humor. \nDark comedy is a carefully crafted witches' brew that, when served correctly, has the ability to strip us down to the nasty little demons we all harbor inside, self-righteous objections coming from the peeled lips of a curdling smile. \nWayne Kramer's feature-film directorial debut, The Cooler, would desperately like to believe it has tapped into these darker powers. It hasn't. Likewise, its illusions of cinematic grandeur extend to elements of film noir and romantic comedy, seemingly being billed as each. Kramer's Cooler ends up being about as noir as a Hardy Boys' mystery, as romantically comedic as seeing a lame dog run over. Twice.\nKramer, who also co-wrote the script with Frank Hannah, gives us the story of Bernie Lootz (Macy), a man so pathetically exuding bad luck, he's been hired by the Shangri La casino to "cool off" tables that are becoming too hot for the House of La to handle. However, when Lootz finds love with cocktail waitress, Natalie (Bello), things heat up, and he becomes anything but a cooler. While this should be a wonderful event, Lootz's lot in life brings about the interesting, if not obvious twist. Armed with a promising enough premise, Kramer gives us glimpses into the lives of characters nearly on par with the desperation seen in Mike Figgis's infinitely better executed Leaving Las Vegas. Sketches, though, are all we're ever given as a stereotyped Macy and Alec Baldwin turn in as expected performances, meaning good, but not great.\nUltimately, it is the film's genre-oriented indecisiveness that leaves Kramer's muddled Cooler in a puddle. Our fine friends at the MPAA, with their rusted, silver scissors, convinced Kramer to leave his cajones on the cutting room floor, lest he be branded with the mark of the beast, NC-17. However, this seemed to be more oriented toward some rather earthy sex scenes between Macy and Bello. There are two distinct moments in the film, one involving a pregnant woman, the other the end (which I won't spoil), where The Cooler is given redemptive opportunities, moments, if followed through with, of nauseating cruelty and deterministic heartbreak that would have proved much more true to the film's characters and tone. In the end, though, The Cooler winds up being about as ballsy as a quivering pre-pubescent boy.
(01/21/04 9:33pm)
They are the ruthless ones, the ones that revel in their own inspired grotesqueness. They are the ones that actually have a pair and aren't afraid to slap you in the face with them. They are the ones whispered in cryptic corners between your co-workers, the ones about dead babies and airplanes plunging into towers. They are jokes with a wicked sense of humor. \nDark comedy is a carefully crafted witches' brew that, when served correctly, has the ability to strip us down to the nasty little demons we all harbor inside, self-righteous objections coming from the peeled lips of a curdling smile. \nWayne Kramer's feature-film directorial debut, The Cooler, would desperately like to believe it has tapped into these darker powers. It hasn't. Likewise, its illusions of cinematic grandeur extend to elements of film noir and romantic comedy, seemingly being billed as each. Kramer's Cooler ends up being about as noir as a Hardy Boys' mystery, as romantically comedic as seeing a lame dog run over. Twice.\nKramer, who also co-wrote the script with Frank Hannah, gives us the story of Bernie Lootz (Macy), a man so pathetically exuding bad luck, he's been hired by the Shangri La casino to "cool off" tables that are becoming too hot for the House of La to handle. However, when Lootz finds love with cocktail waitress, Natalie (Bello), things heat up, and he becomes anything but a cooler. While this should be a wonderful event, Lootz's lot in life brings about the interesting, if not obvious twist. Armed with a promising enough premise, Kramer gives us glimpses into the lives of characters nearly on par with the desperation seen in Mike Figgis's infinitely better executed Leaving Las Vegas. Sketches, though, are all we're ever given as a stereotyped Macy and Alec Baldwin turn in as expected performances, meaning good, but not great.\nUltimately, it is the film's genre-oriented indecisiveness that leaves Kramer's muddled Cooler in a puddle. Our fine friends at the MPAA, with their rusted, silver scissors, convinced Kramer to leave his cajones on the cutting room floor, lest he be branded with the mark of the beast, NC-17. However, this seemed to be more oriented toward some rather earthy sex scenes between Macy and Bello. There are two distinct moments in the film, one involving a pregnant woman, the other the end (which I won't spoil), where The Cooler is given redemptive opportunities, moments, if followed through with, of nauseating cruelty and deterministic heartbreak that would have proved much more true to the film's characters and tone. In the end, though, The Cooler winds up being about as ballsy as a quivering pre-pubescent boy.
(10/09/03 4:00am)
Sofia Coppola has more than fulfilled the promise she made with her critically-acclaimed 1999 film The Virgin Suicides. Her latest film, Lost in Translation, has been generating Oscar buzz practically since its premiere at the Toronto Film Festival, and the critics have come to call the film their own, officially dubbing it one of the best films of 2003. \nWritten and directed by Coppola herself, Lost in Translation will leave you at a loss for words and resonating with the emotional poignancy and contemplativeness of Coppola's first film. Likewise, as critics have noted, Bill Murray quite possibly turns in the best performance of his career: the final (and possibly golden) thread that pulls a beautifully woven tapestry together.\nLost in Translation follows former action-star-turned-whiskey-endorser Bob Harris, played to perfect nuanced perfection by Murray, while he films a commercial in Japan. Aside from jet lag and a odious dose of culture shock, Harris is handling a marriage that seems to be on its last legs and could be considering a midlife crisis. Any attempt at communication is utterly … well … lost in translation. \nSpending his insomniac nightlife in the hotel lounge and bar, Harris meets Charlotte (Scarlett Johansson), the new wife of a rock photographer who is entirely consumed by his profession. When Charlotte and Harris meet, they have plenty to discuss; both are making strange and, at times, frightening reevaluations of exactly where their lives are headed.\nAt the core of Coppola's film is a story about the difference between individual moments and the reality they compose. Caught up in a strange world with stranger inhabitants and living lives that could or could not be unraveling, Coppola's characters offer myriad insightful moments, exemplified by Bob's karaoke number, in which he sings, "More than this there is nothing." \nTogether, Harris and Charlotte have an electric chemistry, discussing great abstractions with booze-induced clarity and an understanding that could never come from those who know them best. Together, their rapport is beautiful and exciting and easily seductive -- but reality waits for them at home, \nCoppola's latest offering presents a vast array of complex characters in relatable situations. Thought-provoking and bittersweet, Lost in Translation is a sure sign that the Coppola name could soon find cinematic redemption.
(10/08/03 11:06pm)
Sofia Coppola has more than fulfilled the promise she made with her critically-acclaimed 1999 film The Virgin Suicides. Her latest film, Lost in Translation, has been generating Oscar buzz practically since its premiere at the Toronto Film Festival, and the critics have come to call the film their own, officially dubbing it one of the best films of 2003. \nWritten and directed by Coppola herself, Lost in Translation will leave you at a loss for words and resonating with the emotional poignancy and contemplativeness of Coppola's first film. Likewise, as critics have noted, Bill Murray quite possibly turns in the best performance of his career: the final (and possibly golden) thread that pulls a beautifully woven tapestry together.\nLost in Translation follows former action-star-turned-whiskey-endorser Bob Harris, played to perfect nuanced perfection by Murray, while he films a commercial in Japan. Aside from jet lag and a odious dose of culture shock, Harris is handling a marriage that seems to be on its last legs and could be considering a midlife crisis. Any attempt at communication is utterly … well … lost in translation. \nSpending his insomniac nightlife in the hotel lounge and bar, Harris meets Charlotte (Scarlett Johansson), the new wife of a rock photographer who is entirely consumed by his profession. When Charlotte and Harris meet, they have plenty to discuss; both are making strange and, at times, frightening reevaluations of exactly where their lives are headed.\nAt the core of Coppola's film is a story about the difference between individual moments and the reality they compose. Caught up in a strange world with stranger inhabitants and living lives that could or could not be unraveling, Coppola's characters offer myriad insightful moments, exemplified by Bob's karaoke number, in which he sings, "More than this there is nothing." \nTogether, Harris and Charlotte have an electric chemistry, discussing great abstractions with booze-induced clarity and an understanding that could never come from those who know them best. Together, their rapport is beautiful and exciting and easily seductive -- but reality waits for them at home, \nCoppola's latest offering presents a vast array of complex characters in relatable situations. Thought-provoking and bittersweet, Lost in Translation is a sure sign that the Coppola name could soon find cinematic redemption.
(10/02/03 4:00am)
Peter Mullan's latest film bears the unmistakable mark of the beast, the sign that sets certain films apart from the rest of the world of celluloid. A torrent of controversy has surrounded it, primarily coming from the Catholic League, which has denounced Mullan's film as anti-Catholic. \nHowever, any simpleton can push buttons without realizing the method to his madness. Peter Mullan recognizes his method, is unashamed of the madness, and his unflinching look at an inconceivable institution is not only uneasy but demands to be confronted by our emotions and mind. Mullan's most recent is a Golden Lion-winning polemic.\nThe Magdalene Sisters is based around the actual Magdalene Laundries that existed in Ireland in which women deemed a (typically sexual) threat to society were held for an indeterminate time under slave labor and degradation so they could achieve salvation. Some 30,000 women passed through the Magdalene Laundries before the last one shut down in 1996.\nMullan gives us the story of three women whose fictionalized selves are composites of testimony that Mullan took from Magdalene survivors. There is Margaret (Anne-Marie Duff), who was raped by her cousin at a wedding party; Bernadette (Nora-Jane Noone), a flirtatious and, unfortunately, voluptuous schoolgirl who must pay penance for her beauty; and Rose (Dorothy Duffy), who committed the unpardonable sin of bearing a child out of wedlock. \nStructurally following the overly-familiar conventions of a prison-story, Mullan delivers himself from simplistic cliché by being justifiably biased to his characters. The women are heartbreaking and full of humanity, while their religious zealot oppressors are walking embodiments of soulless evil. Geraldine McEwan, playing head Sister Bridget, gives a remarkably sadistic performance.\nMullan's film is angry and mean-spirited. The Catholic League is absolutely right in deeming the film anti-Catholic. But Mullan doesn't stop there. The film is anti-oppression, anti-sexism and anti-class discrimination. There is enough blood on the hands of Christian religion, be it Catholic or Protestant, to damn every soul on this earth and to provide salvation for every atheist who lost his faith while watching travesties being carried out in the name of our Loving Father, Jesus Christ. \nMullan unabashedly strips away the sugar-coated surface of religion to reveal a writhing monster in the hands of the pious. It would serve each of us well to see this film and let it challenge the foundations upon which we build our institutions.
(10/01/03 10:32pm)
Peter Mullan's latest film bears the unmistakable mark of the beast, the sign that sets certain films apart from the rest of the world of celluloid. A torrent of controversy has surrounded it, primarily coming from the Catholic League, which has denounced Mullan's film as anti-Catholic. \nHowever, any simpleton can push buttons without realizing the method to his madness. Peter Mullan recognizes his method, is unashamed of the madness, and his unflinching look at an inconceivable institution is not only uneasy but demands to be confronted by our emotions and mind. Mullan's most recent is a Golden Lion-winning polemic.\nThe Magdalene Sisters is based around the actual Magdalene Laundries that existed in Ireland in which women deemed a (typically sexual) threat to society were held for an indeterminate time under slave labor and degradation so they could achieve salvation. Some 30,000 women passed through the Magdalene Laundries before the last one shut down in 1996.\nMullan gives us the story of three women whose fictionalized selves are composites of testimony that Mullan took from Magdalene survivors. There is Margaret (Anne-Marie Duff), who was raped by her cousin at a wedding party; Bernadette (Nora-Jane Noone), a flirtatious and, unfortunately, voluptuous schoolgirl who must pay penance for her beauty; and Rose (Dorothy Duffy), who committed the unpardonable sin of bearing a child out of wedlock. \nStructurally following the overly-familiar conventions of a prison-story, Mullan delivers himself from simplistic cliché by being justifiably biased to his characters. The women are heartbreaking and full of humanity, while their religious zealot oppressors are walking embodiments of soulless evil. Geraldine McEwan, playing head Sister Bridget, gives a remarkably sadistic performance.\nMullan's film is angry and mean-spirited. The Catholic League is absolutely right in deeming the film anti-Catholic. But Mullan doesn't stop there. The film is anti-oppression, anti-sexism and anti-class discrimination. There is enough blood on the hands of Christian religion, be it Catholic or Protestant, to damn every soul on this earth and to provide salvation for every atheist who lost his faith while watching travesties being carried out in the name of our Loving Father, Jesus Christ. \nMullan unabashedly strips away the sugar-coated surface of religion to reveal a writhing monster in the hands of the pious. It would serve each of us well to see this film and let it challenge the foundations upon which we build our institutions.
