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(04/16/03 8:20pm)
As people file off a train in an England station, the camera floats through them, until the station is nearly empty. Finally, from off the train creeps its last passenger, hesitant for his feet to hit the ground, nervously peering about. This is Spider, the title character of David Cronen-berg's new film and played masterfully by Ralph Fiennes. "Spider" has been crawling through the film festival circuit, garnering much critical acclaim and deservingly so. After enjoying only a limited release, "Spider" has finally come our way. Revolving around the traumatic death of Spider's mother when he was a child, Cronenberg's film is both a complex investigation of insanity and our perception of sanity. Enjoying an amazing supporting cast from Gabriel Byrne, John Neville, Miranda Richardson and Lynn Redgrave, "Spider" is an intricate and subtly directed film, working from an excellent and insightful script.\nThose familiar with Cronenberg's prior films will see this as a break from his typical fleshy thrillers, such as "eXistenZ" and "Crash." Working on a much scaled-down production, "Spider" still has the signature of Cronenberg, with dark, disturbing moments and the expelling of bodily fluid. But this is Cronenberg's most quietly thoughtful film, with its lead character doing little other than wandering the back streets of London, softly mumbling to himself. \nCostume designer Denise Cronenberg and set decorator Clive Thomasson should also be commended for their work on the world in which Spider wanders. Green has been said to be the color most often chosen by geniuses, and the thin line between genius and insanity has been explored in film to cliché boredom. In Cronenberg's film the world is one of a stale and muted green, and serves as both a beautiful and unsettling motif throughout the film.\nWorking off of new gothic author Patrick McGrath's novel, McGrath also being the screenwriter, Cronenberg shows us the world as Spider sees it. Weaving moments of past and present together seamlessly and delusionally, Spider's dangerously fragile grip on reality is emphasized. Cronenberg has described the film as being a slightly askew meeting between Samuel Beckett and Sigmund Freud. With a riveting ending that is as touchingly insightful as it is horrifying, this Oedipal study into schizophrenia is a well-made film and well worth the time and money spent to see it.
(04/16/03 8:09pm)
Call me motherly, or call me other things involving "mother." Nonetheless, Adam Sandler, Jack Nicholson, Marisa Tomei, Colombia Pictures: You should all be very ashamed of yourselves. The fact that you probably won't be disturbs me deeply. The new Adam Sandler vehicle, "Anger Management," is a head-on collision with wretched humor, amateur direction and a steaming pile of script. Head-on collisions are not pretty, my friends. They tend to be deadly, not the sort of thing to bring laughter into the hearts of many, and "Management" is fatally unfunny in the ugliest way. Some sick plague, seemingly hatched from the hell-bent soul of Norma Desmond has been unleashed upon Hollywood. Anthony Hopkins bit it in "Bad Company," Nicholson's been knocked-off in "Anger Mangement" and DeNiro of late has been within a wheeze of showing symptoms. At this rate, we can expect Al Pacino to headline "Next Friday After Past."\nTo even attempt to summarize this flick's absurd plot could cause a nervous collapse, but it basically entails Sandler being sentenced to anger management sessions with the unorthodox Dr. Buddy Rydell, played with clichéd crazy glee by Jack Nicholson. Boasting an ensemble of extras from Woody Harrelson to John C. Reilly, and all-star cameos from Roger Clemens to our own Bobby Knight, "Management" seems to be more than over-compensating for something. Over-compensation is a running motif with a penis-envy subplot that is simply annoying. Written for the screen by David Dorfman and directed by Peter Segal, who's given us such cinematic gems as "Naked Gun 33 1/3," Sandler is Dave Buznik, a cat-clothing creative consultant whose aversion to expressing his anger worries Rydell, who's determined to break him.\nNow, if you find yourself wondering how this means Buznik ends up in anger management, don't worry. So is everybody else. With quite possibly the worst tacked on ending ever committed to celluloid, a thinly veiled and desperate attempt at covering the script's nearly incomprehensible stupidity, "Management" becomes proof-positive that the studios believe not a single intelligent human being exists, only dollar signs. It's hard to conceive that both Sandler and Nicholson have followed critically acclaimed films with such filth. \nMore upsetting than any film-related shortcoming of the movie was its concept of humor. I am not unfamiliar with Adam Sandler and his branch of comedy, nor am I opposed to comedy that approaches upsetting and sensitive subjects. I believe Todd Solondz' sexually depraved black comedy, "Happiness," is brilliant, approaching material Sandler would never dream of. But "Anger Management" isn't dark, it's just mean. The term "misogynistic" is sickeningly gentle. We get porn-star lesbian lovers who get more than a little excited at the thought of Buznik beating women. We get a self-hating bra-and-panty clad beauty gorging on chocolate cupcakes. We are taught that women love confident men and are easily bedded by such lines as, "It's hard to control myself when I'm about to explode in my pants." \nWatching "Anger Mana-gement" in the theatre, surrounded on all sides by writhing, pre-pubescent sexuality, as the 14-year-old girl beside me was passed between three boys, blowing and passing out hand-jobs like a politician, I couldn't help but thank God that we have such a light-hearted film to ease our minds in this time of national unrest. That's hilarious.
(04/03/03 5:00am)
Cheez Whiz. Pizza. Lots of beer. This is the diet of the beautiful people. Or at least one could assume as much watching Brazilian director Bruno Barreto's new romantic comedy "View from the Top." The culinary habits of "View" are but a trivial example of a sugar-coated arsenic pill of a theme that naively frolics throughout: you can have your cake and eat it too, literally at some points. \nRiddled with stereotypes worthy of spine-snapping cringes, critics have wrapped their embittered fists around "View" and flung it to its fiery demise like a certain angry ape that once scaled the Empire State.\nOf course, a certain amount of common sense seems to have simply vaporized when it comes to the production of this film. First, screenwriter Eric Wald wrote this spec script while doing some time with the UCLA MFA Screenwriting Program as an assignment. Afterwards, it sat on a Miramax shelf collecting dust and dumb jokes for two years before being picked up; this is glaringly obvious. Second, this is a movie about flight attendants.\nBut the big question on everyone's mind is what in the name of all human sanity did Gwyneth Paltrow ever do to deserve being sentenced to such a film? WARNING: Please be careful when contemplating this question, as brain spasms and massive hemorrhaging may ensue.\nFurthermore, what unpardonable wrong, what dastardly deed did Mark Ruffalo, who got Brando-esque comparisons in the Oscar-winning "You Can Count on Me," commit to be cursed with this? \nSuch questions may never be answered simply because of the sheer amount of refuse that comes with a "View from the Top." The worst aspect of this film, as already mentioned, is in the end. How cute. How romantic. How ridiculous. Those who dream and dare to follow will learn the truth of sacrifice. That's life. And this movie is a burning heap of twisted metal that comes as a slap to the face to those who have known their dreams and the sacrifices they demand.
(04/02/03 2:59pm)
Cheez Whiz. Pizza. Lots of beer. This is the diet of the beautiful people. Or at least one could assume as much watching Brazilian director Bruno Barreto's new romantic comedy "View from the Top." The culinary habits of "View" are but a trivial example of a sugar-coated arsenic pill of a theme that naively frolics throughout: you can have your cake and eat it too, literally at some points. \nRiddled with stereotypes worthy of spine-snapping cringes, critics have wrapped their embittered fists around "View" and flung it to its fiery demise like a certain angry ape that once scaled the Empire State.\nOf course, a certain amount of common sense seems to have simply vaporized when it comes to the production of this film. First, screenwriter Eric Wald wrote this spec script while doing some time with the UCLA MFA Screenwriting Program as an assignment. Afterwards, it sat on a Miramax shelf collecting dust and dumb jokes for two years before being picked up; this is glaringly obvious. Second, this is a movie about flight attendants.\nBut the big question on everyone's mind is what in the name of all human sanity did Gwyneth Paltrow ever do to deserve being sentenced to such a film? WARNING: Please be careful when contemplating this question, as brain spasms and massive hemorrhaging may ensue.\nFurthermore, what unpardonable wrong, what dastardly deed did Mark Ruffalo, who got Brando-esque comparisons in the Oscar-winning "You Can Count on Me," commit to be cursed with this? \nSuch questions may never be answered simply because of the sheer amount of refuse that comes with a "View from the Top." The worst aspect of this film, as already mentioned, is in the end. How cute. How romantic. How ridiculous. Those who dream and dare to follow will learn the truth of sacrifice. That's life. And this movie is a burning heap of twisted metal that comes as a slap to the face to those who have known their dreams and the sacrifices they demand.
(03/27/03 5:00am)
He's creepy in that quietly threatening way that makes you wrap your arms tighter around loved ones. He lives in a dilapidated castle of a mansion with his wheezing, sickly mother. It's disturbingly obvious that this individual is either on the crumbling edge of sanity, and if he's not, it's because he jumped long before we got there. And he's out for blood. This could serve as a fairly loose interpretation of Hitchcock's Norman Bates from "Psycho." But the one I describe deserves one more little nail-biting, shiver-inducing detail: he holds power over hordes of rats. This is the basic premise of Glen Morgan's revenge-ridden, rat-loving, freak-fest of a remake, "Willard," based on the 1971 cult-smash of the same name.\nAtmospherically filmed in an upsettingly slightly-polished filth that would have David Fincher singing certain Christina Aguilera panty-anthems, Morgan's "Willard" is stylish creep-show fun with just enough complexity to make it worth the ticket-price. Crispin Glover turns in one of his best performances as the socially maladjusted peon who uses his newfound flair to wreak rat-writhing revenge on his ceaselessly ingratiating boss, Frank Martin,
(03/26/03 8:41pm)
He's creepy in that quietly threatening way that makes you wrap your arms tighter around loved ones. He lives in a dilapidated castle of a mansion with his wheezing, sickly mother. It's disturbingly obvious that this individual is either on the crumbling edge of sanity, and if he's not, it's because he jumped long before we got there. And he's out for blood. This could serve as a fairly loose interpretation of Hitchcock's Norman Bates from "Psycho." But the one I describe deserves one more little nail-biting, shiver-inducing detail: he holds power over hordes of rats. This is the basic premise of Glen Morgan's revenge-ridden, rat-loving, freak-fest of a remake, "Willard," based on the 1971 cult-smash of the same name.\nAtmospherically filmed in an upsettingly slightly-polished filth that would have David Fincher singing certain Christina Aguilera panty-anthems, Morgan's "Willard" is stylish creep-show fun with just enough complexity to make it worth the ticket-price. Crispin Glover turns in one of his best performances as the socially maladjusted peon who uses his newfound flair to wreak rat-writhing revenge on his ceaselessly ingratiating boss, Frank Martin,
(03/13/03 5:00am)
In certain circles, and overseas, where the sudsy…er, I mean, studly soap-superstar Jimi Mistry has quite a fanbase, "The Guru" has enjoyed its fair share of success. Here, in America, there have been critics who've praised the Bollywood-goes-Hollywood hilarity of "The Guru." This not being England, and I not being one of said critics, "The Guru"'s mystic charm really failed to enchant. Director Daisy von Scherler Mayer, whose prior work includes such romantic deadliners as "WOO" and "Party Girl," has actually stepped her game up with "The Guru." Of course, this is a lot like saying Paulie Shore's appearance on TRL marks a comeback in the best rock and roll sense of the term. \nJimi Mistry plays Delhi-dance heartthrob Ramu Gupta, whose own heart was slickly swept away at a tender, young age by the swiveling hips and coy lips of John Travolta and Olivia-Newton John in a Hindi-subtitled "Grease." Looking like Travolta in that not-so-much kind of way, Gupta informs friends and family alike that he is leaving for NYC to pursue the easily attainable American Dream. Once in the Big Apple, Ramu is absurdly naively duped into auditioning for the lead in a porn. In a scene I'm sure has Bob Seger choking on his Pabst Blue Ribbon, Ramu performs as Cruise in "Risky Business" with a Vishal Ailawadhi cover of "Old Time Rock and Roll." Miraculously cast as the lead, when it comes time for Ramu to shine…well, let's just say Ramu can't quite find the light.\nThe plot of this film continually spirals toward absurdity and we get Heather Graham as the porn-whore with a heart of gold who Ramu is quickly falling for and Marisa Tomei, cast as a New Age burnout who needs a spiritual fix. While the movie has some legitimately charming and hilarious moments, by the end, our Guru's guidance has been broken down to film-by-numbers. The last act involves the inevitable wedding sequence that comes so close to dumb-downed cliché. While it barely misses, the stale, bitter aftertaste is still there, and things feel more like an easy way out than any kind of real creative endeavor. Some have looked passed the film's flaws, and simply said it is a light-hearted screwball comedy. I believe what they were trying to say was light-headed comedy that missed the ball and is pretty much just screwed.
(03/13/03 5:00am)
It brings a blush to some and a twinkle of mischievousness to the eyes of others. It can be colorblind in the most beautiful ways and is something shared by all races. Its versatility in emotion is unmatched. It can be soft and tender. It can be rough and raucous. It can be purely divine or it could be tragically hellish. It drastically affects the world in which we live and if you're reading this article, it's because people you know partake in the process. From the most feeble minds to our greatest thinkers, sex is something that has intrigued the entirety of humanity. Artists have used sex to explore the never-ending intricacies of the human condition, ranging from a comedy of errs to the pinnacle of passionate expression. The world of film, which is no exception, has had an interesting, if not convoluted history concerning human sexuality.\nThis semester I have been part of a Topics in Cinema class in which we are studying several older directors. Of the directors, there was one that I was unfamiliar with, and, save for the true cineaste, I'm willing to bet few others are familiar with his work. The director is Max Ophuls. Ophuls was an international director born in Germany and made films in France, Italy, Holland and the United States. He became notorious, especially within the world of quick-cut classical narrative style in Hollywood, for his long shots that often involved elaborate camera movement. Considering that his films were made pre-Steadicam, watching Ophuls' gorgeous takes are often breathtaking and mind-blowing. Ophuls ethereal camera became the visual metaphor for his most constant themes: love, making love and man's unending search to find it. Ophuls' films dealt with sexuality in a sophisticated, although often light-hearted manner. By today's standards, in which the words sophisticated and sexuality seem hopeless disparate, Ophuls' films can seem nearly trite and by no means scandalous. But for his time, in which the utterly restrictive Hays Code was the epitome of sexual repression concerning film, Ophuls' films were frank to the point of being banned in the US.\nIn 1999, Stanley Kubrick, who was influenced by Ophuls' work, released his last and arguably most notorious film "Eyes Wide Shut." Lambasted by the moral majority and certain critics alike for its explicit sexuality, "Eyes Wide Shut" seemed to open eyes to things some wished not to see. Practically channeling the darker spirit of Ophuls, Kubrick's film was a challenging and intriguing look into the darker recesses of human sexuality and the ways in which jealousy and hidden truths can corrupt the most seemingly stable of relationships. In the infamous orgy scene held in the Long Island mansion, Kubrick's camera is absolutely haunting, detached and moves around its characters like a demented Ophulsian dance sequence. Drawn for Arthur Schnitzler's novella "Dream Story," both Kubrick and Ophuls worked with Schnitzler's material, which was often intricately psycho-sexual.\nWhile Kubrick was busy "corrupting" the minds of any who dared see his film, a certain other film was exploring new horizons in masturbation with pastries along with the various female orifices that a flute could be stuffed. And no one was batting an eye. There seems to be a glaring contradiction with this. Stanley Kubrick, whether a critical success or not, had offered the public a very frank and honest film, one that was dealing with difficult and sophisticated sexual issues and the consequences that our sexual endeavors, both hidden and known, can carry. Our other film, "American Pie," was about four guys determined to lose their virginity by prom. I'll be the last person to say that I haven't laughed watching "American Pie." And, in a certain perverted way, its tone could almost be seen as relating closer to something like Ophuls, who loved the comedy of sexuality. But I believe the difference lies within the sincerity of the storyteller. With "American Pie", sex was little more than a thoughtless joke, something that was typically treated in a vulgar and inconsequential manner. With "Eyes Wide Shut" sex was treated with elegance and complexity, daring to challenge our minds.\nSadly enough, the gross-out teen sex comedy is definitely were the market has fallen and predominately what the studios are pushing out. In our alleged sexually-liberated society, and in taking film to be a reflection of the masses, one can't help but wonder and worry about what this says of our current concept of sex. In the hands of masters, in the works of Ophuls and Kubrick, sex was something to be in awe of, something both beautiful and frightening, moving from laughter to tears, an expression of passionate love to frenzied lust. Sex was as complex and as complete a representation of the intricacies of the human mind. Today, sex seems little less than a series of thoughtless follies involving super-hold hair gel, the pleasuring of elephants, and the consequences of choosing the wrong lubricant. All things considered, the monks may be on to something.
(03/12/03 9:19pm)
In certain circles, and overseas, where the sudsy…er, I mean, studly soap-superstar Jimi Mistry has quite a fanbase, "The Guru" has enjoyed its fair share of success. Here, in America, there have been critics who've praised the Bollywood-goes-Hollywood hilarity of "The Guru." This not being England, and I not being one of said critics, "The Guru"'s mystic charm really failed to enchant. Director Daisy von Scherler Mayer, whose prior work includes such romantic deadliners as "WOO" and "Party Girl," has actually stepped her game up with "The Guru." Of course, this is a lot like saying Paulie Shore's appearance on TRL marks a comeback in the best rock and roll sense of the term. \nJimi Mistry plays Delhi-dance heartthrob Ramu Gupta, whose own heart was slickly swept away at a tender, young age by the swiveling hips and coy lips of John Travolta and Olivia-Newton John in a Hindi-subtitled "Grease." Looking like Travolta in that not-so-much kind of way, Gupta informs friends and family alike that he is leaving for NYC to pursue the easily attainable American Dream. Once in the Big Apple, Ramu is absurdly naively duped into auditioning for the lead in a porn. In a scene I'm sure has Bob Seger choking on his Pabst Blue Ribbon, Ramu performs as Cruise in "Risky Business" with a Vishal Ailawadhi cover of "Old Time Rock and Roll." Miraculously cast as the lead, when it comes time for Ramu to shine…well, let's just say Ramu can't quite find the light.\nThe plot of this film continually spirals toward absurdity and we get Heather Graham as the porn-whore with a heart of gold who Ramu is quickly falling for and Marisa Tomei, cast as a New Age burnout who needs a spiritual fix. While the movie has some legitimately charming and hilarious moments, by the end, our Guru's guidance has been broken down to film-by-numbers. The last act involves the inevitable wedding sequence that comes so close to dumb-downed cliché. While it barely misses, the stale, bitter aftertaste is still there, and things feel more like an easy way out than any kind of real creative endeavor. Some have looked passed the film's flaws, and simply said it is a light-hearted screwball comedy. I believe what they were trying to say was light-headed comedy that missed the ball and is pretty much just screwed.
(03/12/03 9:11pm)
It brings a blush to some and a twinkle of mischievousness to the eyes of others. It can be colorblind in the most beautiful ways and is something shared by all races. Its versatility in emotion is unmatched. It can be soft and tender. It can be rough and raucous. It can be purely divine or it could be tragically hellish. It drastically affects the world in which we live and if you're reading this article, it's because people you know partake in the process. From the most feeble minds to our greatest thinkers, sex is something that has intrigued the entirety of humanity. Artists have used sex to explore the never-ending intricacies of the human condition, ranging from a comedy of errs to the pinnacle of passionate expression. The world of film, which is no exception, has had an interesting, if not convoluted history concerning human sexuality.\nThis semester I have been part of a Topics in Cinema class in which we are studying several older directors. Of the directors, there was one that I was unfamiliar with, and, save for the true cineaste, I'm willing to bet few others are familiar with his work. The director is Max Ophuls. Ophuls was an international director born in Germany and made films in France, Italy, Holland and the United States. He became notorious, especially within the world of quick-cut classical narrative style in Hollywood, for his long shots that often involved elaborate camera movement. Considering that his films were made pre-Steadicam, watching Ophuls' gorgeous takes are often breathtaking and mind-blowing. Ophuls ethereal camera became the visual metaphor for his most constant themes: love, making love and man's unending search to find it. Ophuls' films dealt with sexuality in a sophisticated, although often light-hearted manner. By today's standards, in which the words sophisticated and sexuality seem hopeless disparate, Ophuls' films can seem nearly trite and by no means scandalous. But for his time, in which the utterly restrictive Hays Code was the epitome of sexual repression concerning film, Ophuls' films were frank to the point of being banned in the US.\nIn 1999, Stanley Kubrick, who was influenced by Ophuls' work, released his last and arguably most notorious film "Eyes Wide Shut." Lambasted by the moral majority and certain critics alike for its explicit sexuality, "Eyes Wide Shut" seemed to open eyes to things some wished not to see. Practically channeling the darker spirit of Ophuls, Kubrick's film was a challenging and intriguing look into the darker recesses of human sexuality and the ways in which jealousy and hidden truths can corrupt the most seemingly stable of relationships. In the infamous orgy scene held in the Long Island mansion, Kubrick's camera is absolutely haunting, detached and moves around its characters like a demented Ophulsian dance sequence. Drawn for Arthur Schnitzler's novella "Dream Story," both Kubrick and Ophuls worked with Schnitzler's material, which was often intricately psycho-sexual.\nWhile Kubrick was busy "corrupting" the minds of any who dared see his film, a certain other film was exploring new horizons in masturbation with pastries along with the various female orifices that a flute could be stuffed. And no one was batting an eye. There seems to be a glaring contradiction with this. Stanley Kubrick, whether a critical success or not, had offered the public a very frank and honest film, one that was dealing with difficult and sophisticated sexual issues and the consequences that our sexual endeavors, both hidden and known, can carry. Our other film, "American Pie," was about four guys determined to lose their virginity by prom. I'll be the last person to say that I haven't laughed watching "American Pie." And, in a certain perverted way, its tone could almost be seen as relating closer to something like Ophuls, who loved the comedy of sexuality. But I believe the difference lies within the sincerity of the storyteller. With "American Pie", sex was little more than a thoughtless joke, something that was typically treated in a vulgar and inconsequential manner. With "Eyes Wide Shut" sex was treated with elegance and complexity, daring to challenge our minds.\nSadly enough, the gross-out teen sex comedy is definitely were the market has fallen and predominately what the studios are pushing out. In our alleged sexually-liberated society, and in taking film to be a reflection of the masses, one can't help but wonder and worry about what this says of our current concept of sex. In the hands of masters, in the works of Ophuls and Kubrick, sex was something to be in awe of, something both beautiful and frightening, moving from laughter to tears, an expression of passionate love to frenzied lust. Sex was as complex and as complete a representation of the intricacies of the human mind. Today, sex seems little less than a series of thoughtless follies involving super-hold hair gel, the pleasuring of elephants, and the consequences of choosing the wrong lubricant. All things considered, the monks may be on to something.
(02/27/03 5:00am)
Rebecca Miller, the writer and director of her second film "Personal Velocity: Three Portraits," does not have an easy path to follow. This is because that path has been previously paved by her famous (and oft-infamous) father, legendary playwright Arthur Miller. Following her first critically acclaimed but underexposed film, "Angela," Miller returns with "Velocity." Adapted from her own book, Miller's indie film found itself on the fast-lane to major distribution, fueled by the purest form of advertising octane -- good word of mouth. \n Capturing critics at the Toronto Film Festival, "Velocity" soon felt Sundance shine upon it by garnering the coveted Grand Jury Prize. To the disdain of film purists, "Velocity," being entirely filmed on DV and blown-up to 35mm, was also awarded Best Cinematography at Sundance.\n"Velocity"'s three vignettes display an under-appreciated talent by Miller, creating rich characters developed at light-speed. When the majority of movies can't create a single believable character in two hours, coming in at 85 minimalist minutes, Miller delivers three human beings we get to know and care for. "Delia"' the first segment, tells the story of a woman whose love is deeper than the bruises left by her abusive husband. But when the violence begins to bleed into the lives of her children, she knows they must escape. The second section, "Greta," involves a New York City editor who is coming to the cutting conclusion that her husband's unflinching fidelity feels devoid of passion, and she growing bored. The final, and arguably most poignant act, "Paula," gives us a woman who has picked up a hitchhiker after escaping a freak accident. The hitchhiker's hidden secrets will take Paula on her own personal journey, one of reawakening and the chance of redemption.\nThe one criticism I have with Miller's film is a major one, one that brings "Personal Velocity" to an impersonal screeching halt at times. The voice-over narration, sounding directly dictated from the book, should be entirely cut from the film. Riveted with sloppy poetic abstraction, it completely cancels out the sole purpose of a visual medium: to convey the ideas of the abstract through the details of its characters. Miller, for the majority of the film, does a beautiful job of this, leaving the excess narration utterly ignorable at best and heavy-handed at its worse.
(02/26/03 10:12pm)
Rebecca Miller, the writer and director of her second film "Personal Velocity: Three Portraits," does not have an easy path to follow. This is because that path has been previously paved by her famous (and oft-infamous) father, legendary playwright Arthur Miller. Following her first critically acclaimed but underexposed film, "Angela," Miller returns with "Velocity." Adapted from her own book, Miller's indie film found itself on the fast-lane to major distribution, fueled by the purest form of advertising octane -- good word of mouth. \n Capturing critics at the Toronto Film Festival, "Velocity" soon felt Sundance shine upon it by garnering the coveted Grand Jury Prize. To the disdain of film purists, "Velocity," being entirely filmed on DV and blown-up to 35mm, was also awarded Best Cinematography at Sundance.\n"Velocity"'s three vignettes display an under-appreciated talent by Miller, creating rich characters developed at light-speed. When the majority of movies can't create a single believable character in two hours, coming in at 85 minimalist minutes, Miller delivers three human beings we get to know and care for. "Delia"' the first segment, tells the story of a woman whose love is deeper than the bruises left by her abusive husband. But when the violence begins to bleed into the lives of her children, she knows they must escape. The second section, "Greta," involves a New York City editor who is coming to the cutting conclusion that her husband's unflinching fidelity feels devoid of passion, and she growing bored. The final, and arguably most poignant act, "Paula," gives us a woman who has picked up a hitchhiker after escaping a freak accident. The hitchhiker's hidden secrets will take Paula on her own personal journey, one of reawakening and the chance of redemption.\nThe one criticism I have with Miller's film is a major one, one that brings "Personal Velocity" to an impersonal screeching halt at times. The voice-over narration, sounding directly dictated from the book, should be entirely cut from the film. Riveted with sloppy poetic abstraction, it completely cancels out the sole purpose of a visual medium: to convey the ideas of the abstract through the details of its characters. Miller, for the majority of the film, does a beautiful job of this, leaving the excess narration utterly ignorable at best and heavy-handed at its worse.
(02/20/03 5:00am)
Near-unsolvable moral dilemmas. Sexual expression a la kink. Criss-crossed gender roles. No, I'm not talking about the latest political scandal. Spanish director Pedro Almodóvar is back at his old tricks with his new film, the critically-acclaimed and controversial "Talk to Her." Cleaning up on an international level, the film has garnered a mass of awards and has been nominated for two Academy awards, for Best Picture and Best Original Screenplay. \nAlmodóvar's last film, the equally critically-lauded "All About My Mother," was high melodrama steeped in sheer eccentricity with its transvestite hookers, a pregnant nun, and a gender-crossing dad. Yet it still found a way to get into our hearts and won the Best Foreign Film Oscar. With "Talk to Her," Almodóvar doesn't so much give up his obsession with sexually-intricate eccentricity, as much as he more subtly directs it. Trust me, it's all there. Revolving around two men who are brought together by the literally comatose women they love, Almodóvar weaves a story that is every bit as tender as it is weirdly erotic.\nJavier Cámara plays to deadpan perfection a male nurse, Benigno, who spent the entirety of his youth caring for his mother night and day. Benigno is at the heart of Almodóvar's film, a man who seems full of compassion, who refuses to regard his sleeping beauties as hollow shells, but real women. But watch as Almodóvar, with scalpel precision, begins to reveal layer after complex layer and we find this compassion begin to bleed into sheer obsessiveness. His sexuality called into question by the characters and audience alike. Is he an overstuffed teddy bear or an undersexed psychopath waiting to happen? Darío Grandinetti plays a writer, Marco, who moves from moment to trembling moment, his eyes ever-wet with sadness. Marco's love is Lydia, one of the rare female bullfighters in a male-dominated sport, whose coma is a result of being gored. \nAlmodóvar does a superb job of directing, mixing a masterful martini of uproarious silliness with unsuspecting seriousness, leaving film fanatics intoxicated with his skill. One scene in particular cuts between an absolutely scandalous silent film and a situation whose gravity we don't realize until too late. With twists that leave the jaw on the floor and a tissue at the eye, take the time to listen to what Almodóvar is saying in "Talk to Her"
(02/19/03 4:44pm)
Near-unsolvable moral dilemmas. Sexual expression a la kink. Criss-crossed gender roles. No, I'm not talking about the latest political scandal. Spanish director Pedro Almodóvar is back at his old tricks with his new film, the critically-acclaimed and controversial "Talk to Her." Cleaning up on an international level, the film has garnered a mass of awards and has been nominated for two Academy awards, for Best Picture and Best Original Screenplay. \nAlmodóvar's last film, the equally critically-lauded "All About My Mother," was high melodrama steeped in sheer eccentricity with its transvestite hookers, a pregnant nun, and a gender-crossing dad. Yet it still found a way to get into our hearts and won the Best Foreign Film Oscar. With "Talk to Her," Almodóvar doesn't so much give up his obsession with sexually-intricate eccentricity, as much as he more subtly directs it. Trust me, it's all there. Revolving around two men who are brought together by the literally comatose women they love, Almodóvar weaves a story that is every bit as tender as it is weirdly erotic.\nJavier Cámara plays to deadpan perfection a male nurse, Benigno, who spent the entirety of his youth caring for his mother night and day. Benigno is at the heart of Almodóvar's film, a man who seems full of compassion, who refuses to regard his sleeping beauties as hollow shells, but real women. But watch as Almodóvar, with scalpel precision, begins to reveal layer after complex layer and we find this compassion begin to bleed into sheer obsessiveness. His sexuality called into question by the characters and audience alike. Is he an overstuffed teddy bear or an undersexed psychopath waiting to happen? Darío Grandinetti plays a writer, Marco, who moves from moment to trembling moment, his eyes ever-wet with sadness. Marco's love is Lydia, one of the rare female bullfighters in a male-dominated sport, whose coma is a result of being gored. \nAlmodóvar does a superb job of directing, mixing a masterful martini of uproarious silliness with unsuspecting seriousness, leaving film fanatics intoxicated with his skill. One scene in particular cuts between an absolutely scandalous silent film and a situation whose gravity we don't realize until too late. With twists that leave the jaw on the floor and a tissue at the eye, take the time to listen to what Almodóvar is saying in "Talk to Her"
(02/13/03 5:00am)
Returning to his Outback homeland, big budget director Phillip Noyce ("The Bone Collector") has given us "Rabbit-Proof Fence," a film of understated power and beauty, delving into a still raw period of Australian history concerning their indigenous people, the Aborigines. From 1905 to 1971, the Australian government sanctioned the kidnapping of "half-caste" children, who came from Aboriginal-white marriages, and placed them in institutes where they could be "domesticated," or white-washed, depending on your particular spin. Today, these children are known as the Stolen Generations.\nSet in 1931, "Rabbit-Proof" tells the true story of three young girls, ranging from 8 to 14, who crossed some 1500 miles of Australian outback to rejoin their mother, using the expansive rabbit-proof fence as their guide. Noyce, who cast three aboriginal non-acting children in his lead roles, gives us moments of natural reality both heart-wrenching and warming, but never veering into sentimentality or melodrama. Noyce films the children's journey with sweeping and silent minimalist shots, letting the natural images speak for themselves. On the other end of that spectrum is a claustrophobic world skewed with canted angles and distorted conceptions. Kenneth Brannagh chillingly plays A.O. Neville, the official who oversaw the "protection" of the Aborigines, and helped institute the government's "relocation" program for the half-castes. Brannagh becomes a disturbingly intricate character whose motives may have been right, but whose actions were terrifying.\nNoyce's film has caused some controversy Down Under, where the government seemingly still refuses to apologize for its actions. Gary Hardgrave, the Citizenship/ Multicultural Affairs Minister of Australia, commented saying, "…(The) practice is not continuing today and I believe it is important for American audiences not to judge Australia by past practices" (www.aintitcool.com). Obviously, Noyce had the opportunity to explore complicated themes within his film: the loss of innocence in children, the banal nature of evil, a seething world of politics. What makes "Rabbit-Proof Fence" a wonderful film is that Noyce takes these complex ideals and weaves them under a gorgeous tapestry of simplicity, letting the images and the actions of the characters speak volumes more than mere words. While film freaks and general audiences alike will soon be filling the hours (so-to-speak) with upcoming award shows and self-serving congratulations, what we should be watching (where the real beauty and art lies) is in the eyes of three small girls who are quietly crossing 1500 miles of Australian outback to return to their mother, following the rabbit-proof fence.
(02/12/03 5:47pm)
Returning to his Outback homeland, big budget director Phillip Noyce ("The Bone Collector") has given us "Rabbit-Proof Fence," a film of understated power and beauty, delving into a still raw period of Australian history concerning their indigenous people, the Aborigines. From 1905 to 1971, the Australian government sanctioned the kidnapping of "half-caste" children, who came from Aboriginal-white marriages, and placed them in institutes where they could be "domesticated," or white-washed, depending on your particular spin. Today, these children are known as the Stolen Generations.\nSet in 1931, "Rabbit-Proof" tells the true story of three young girls, ranging from 8 to 14, who crossed some 1500 miles of Australian outback to rejoin their mother, using the expansive rabbit-proof fence as their guide. Noyce, who cast three aboriginal non-acting children in his lead roles, gives us moments of natural reality both heart-wrenching and warming, but never veering into sentimentality or melodrama. Noyce films the children's journey with sweeping and silent minimalist shots, letting the natural images speak for themselves. On the other end of that spectrum is a claustrophobic world skewed with canted angles and distorted conceptions. Kenneth Brannagh chillingly plays A.O. Neville, the official who oversaw the "protection" of the Aborigines, and helped institute the government's "relocation" program for the half-castes. Brannagh becomes a disturbingly intricate character whose motives may have been right, but whose actions were terrifying.\nNoyce's film has caused some controversy Down Under, where the government seemingly still refuses to apologize for its actions. Gary Hardgrave, the Citizenship/ Multicultural Affairs Minister of Australia, commented saying, "…(The) practice is not continuing today and I believe it is important for American audiences not to judge Australia by past practices" (www.aintitcool.com). Obviously, Noyce had the opportunity to explore complicated themes within his film: the loss of innocence in children, the banal nature of evil, a seething world of politics. What makes "Rabbit-Proof Fence" a wonderful film is that Noyce takes these complex ideals and weaves them under a gorgeous tapestry of simplicity, letting the images and the actions of the characters speak volumes more than mere words. While film freaks and general audiences alike will soon be filling the hours (so-to-speak) with upcoming award shows and self-serving congratulations, what we should be watching (where the real beauty and art lies) is in the eyes of three small girls who are quietly crossing 1500 miles of Australian outback to return to their mother, following the rabbit-proof fence.
(01/30/03 5:00am)
Director Stephen Daldry's critically lauded film "The Hours" has finally come to Bloomington. Based on the Pulitzer-prize winning novel by Michael Cunningham, it is a homage to Virginia Woolf's "Mrs. Dalloway." With three of our best actresses performing today, the pedigree nature of this film has been unquestionable nearly from its inception. \n"The Hours" tells the story of Woolf writing her most important book, and the lives of two women in two different times, whom it greatly affects. Nicole Kidman plays the self-destructing Woolf, and by now her plastic nose will probably be up for Best Performance by a Prosthetic Appendage. Julianne Moore plays a suffocating and unraveling housemom in 1940s post-War L.A. And Meryl Streep plays a lesbian publishing editor who's beginning to question the worth of her own existence.\n"The Hours" is a film that has been primarily marketed toward women. But to take this film as only applicable to women is a mistake of sexist proportions. "The Hours" deals with heavy themes: growing old, the daily routines we try to force lifelong importance on, our right to chose life or death every day and what choosing life really means. "The Hours" is ultimately about those things, those questions that have crossed the generations of humanity. Daldry is able to visually bring this theme out, if at times overbearingly so, through cutting on parallelisms occurring across the eras. \nThe lead performances in "The Hours" are unarguably three of the year's best. The film is tautly directed and worthy of its acclaim. But the film is unquestionably aware of its own self-worth, which becomes its biggest flaw. There are moments of such complete pretension in the film, that Kidman, Moore, or Streep could be reciting HTML and it would sound like The Answer to Life. There's no question which film this year is singing the Siren's song to the Oscars, but "Time" critic Richard Schikel has named "The Hours" the worst film of 2002, specifically because of this self-indulgence. While a certain amount of pretension and attention grabbing seems to be motivating such a drastic decision, there is an element of irrefutable truth. "The Hours" is a fine and important film, one that's life-affirming in the toughest way, one that is due even more acclaim still.
(01/29/03 11:49pm)
Director Stephen Daldry's critically lauded film "The Hours" has finally come to Bloomington. Based on the Pulitzer-prize winning novel by Michael Cunningham, it is a homage to Virginia Woolf's "Mrs. Dalloway." With three of our best actresses performing today, the pedigree nature of this film has been unquestionable nearly from its inception. \n"The Hours" tells the story of Woolf writing her most important book, and the lives of two women in two different times, whom it greatly affects. Nicole Kidman plays the self-destructing Woolf, and by now her plastic nose will probably be up for Best Performance by a Prosthetic Appendage. Julianne Moore plays a suffocating and unraveling housemom in 1940s post-War L.A. And Meryl Streep plays a lesbian publishing editor who's beginning to question the worth of her own existence.\n"The Hours" is a film that has been primarily marketed toward women. But to take this film as only applicable to women is a mistake of sexist proportions. "The Hours" deals with heavy themes: growing old, the daily routines we try to force lifelong importance on, our right to chose life or death every day and what choosing life really means. "The Hours" is ultimately about those things, those questions that have crossed the generations of humanity. Daldry is able to visually bring this theme out, if at times overbearingly so, through cutting on parallelisms occurring across the eras. \nThe lead performances in "The Hours" are unarguably three of the year's best. The film is tautly directed and worthy of its acclaim. But the film is unquestionably aware of its own self-worth, which becomes its biggest flaw. There are moments of such complete pretension in the film, that Kidman, Moore, or Streep could be reciting HTML and it would sound like The Answer to Life. There's no question which film this year is singing the Siren's song to the Oscars, but "Time" critic Richard Schikel has named "The Hours" the worst film of 2002, specifically because of this self-indulgence. While a certain amount of pretension and attention grabbing seems to be motivating such a drastic decision, there is an element of irrefutable truth. "The Hours" is a fine and important film, one that's life-affirming in the toughest way, one that is due even more acclaim still.
(01/23/03 5:00am)
Director Julie Taymor first came to critical fame with her visually stunning Broadway adaptation of Disney's "The Lion King." From here, Taymor moved her acclaimed visionary eye to Shakespeare with her directorial debut "Titus," delivering a world richly cloaked in color and surrealistic metaphor, leaving some in awe and others in angst. Taymor once again returns to this world of wonder in her most recent film "Frida," this time her focus is on surrealist painter Frida Kahlo. Working from Hayden Herrera's autobiographical book, Taymor's "Frida" seems to channel the spirit of the artist as we watch the silver screen become a canvas rich with imagery and moments of magical realism. From an uncredited puppet nightmare surgical sequence by the Brothers Quay to Kahlo's own paintings literally coming to life, Taymor has created a seductive vision that is every bit as autobiographical as the story itself.\nJust as seductive is the incredible acting of Salma Hayek as Frida Kahlo. If Taymor managed to channel Kahlo, Hayek seems to actually embody the artist. In a performance of amazing and uncanny accuracy that recalls Jim Carey singing the Mighty Mouse anthem in "Man On The Moon," Hayek passionately plays and succeeds in convincing the audience that she is Kahlo. Alfred Molina turns in a strong, if not frustrating performance as mural painter Diego Riviera, the ever-unfaithful husband to Kahlo. More than once, the audience ended up shouting at the screen. "Frida" is peppered with cameos from Ashley Judd, Antonio Banderas, Geoffrey Rush, and Edward Norton.\nKahlo lives her life openly and honestly, being a too oft-overlooked revolutionary on many fronts. From a horrifying bus accident that should have taken her life at a young age, Frida seems to move from one surrealist moment of pain to the next, and yet she stays strong. Instead of degenerating into a cliché cycle of self-destruction for her moments of self-realization, Kahlo turned the physical and emotional pain of her life into moments of art, moments that can be both bitingly acidic and tenderly beautiful in the same instant. Taymor and Hayek have managed to capture this essence, making "Frida" a film that can inspire and should not be missed.
(01/22/03 8:39pm)
Director Julie Taymor first came to critical fame with her visually stunning Broadway adaptation of Disney's "The Lion King." From here, Taymor moved her acclaimed visionary eye to Shakespeare with her directorial debut "Titus," delivering a world richly cloaked in color and surrealistic metaphor, leaving some in awe and others in angst. Taymor once again returns to this world of wonder in her most recent film "Frida," this time her focus is on surrealist painter Frida Kahlo. Working from Hayden Herrera's autobiographical book, Taymor's "Frida" seems to channel the spirit of the artist as we watch the silver screen become a canvas rich with imagery and moments of magical realism. From an uncredited puppet nightmare surgical sequence by the Brothers Quay to Kahlo's own paintings literally coming to life, Taymor has created a seductive vision that is every bit as autobiographical as the story itself.\nJust as seductive is the incredible acting of Salma Hayek as Frida Kahlo. If Taymor managed to channel Kahlo, Hayek seems to actually embody the artist. In a performance of amazing and uncanny accuracy that recalls Jim Carey singing the Mighty Mouse anthem in "Man On The Moon," Hayek passionately plays and succeeds in convincing the audience that she is Kahlo. Alfred Molina turns in a strong, if not frustrating performance as mural painter Diego Riviera, the ever-unfaithful husband to Kahlo. More than once, the audience ended up shouting at the screen. "Frida" is peppered with cameos from Ashley Judd, Antonio Banderas, Geoffrey Rush, and Edward Norton.\nKahlo lives her life openly and honestly, being a too oft-overlooked revolutionary on many fronts. From a horrifying bus accident that should have taken her life at a young age, Frida seems to move from one surrealist moment of pain to the next, and yet she stays strong. Instead of degenerating into a cliché cycle of self-destruction for her moments of self-realization, Kahlo turned the physical and emotional pain of her life into moments of art, moments that can be both bitingly acidic and tenderly beautiful in the same instant. Taymor and Hayek have managed to capture this essence, making "Frida" a film that can inspire and should not be missed.
