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(08/05/04 4:00am)
Adam Sandler was one of the funniest comedians of the '90s in this critic's humble opinion. The new millennium hasn't been nearly as kind to him, what with the turd-like trifecta of "Little Nicky," "Mr. Deeds" and "Anger Management." Smartly, he's ditching his newly-found Jimmy Stewart-lite persona to embrace the juvenilia of past works. A return to the crude comedy records that helped cement his raunchy rep is an ideal forum to do so. Sadly, Shh…Don't Tell isn't up to snuff with the filthy funnies of yore.\nSandler succeeds most when combining comedy with music. The latest disc doesn't do this as often as previous efforts -- only seven of the album's 20 tracks are songs, the remainder being skits of varying success. Tunes ranging from the cockney-themed masturbation ode "The Amazing Willy Wanker," the Eminem and Dr. Dre knockoff/parody "The Mayor of Pussytown," the euro-trash bush trimming tale "Secret," the seriocomic "Best Friend," the Springsteen by way of smut sounds of "Mr. I Do and the Doo Doos" and Sandler's touching, tickling tribute to his late father, "Stan the Man," all elicit laughs and a modicum of musical respect. The remaining song, "The Mule Sessions" begins by riffing on the Beastie Boys' "Sure Shot" (poorly) and ventures into a series of lame-brained rhyme schemes. Essentially, it's worthless.\nMuch of Shhh…Don't Tell is likely to offend listeners, whether via homophobia or sexism. But it's these moments, vulgar though they may be, that make this record funny. Dicier material is certainly preferable to the safe stupidity of skits (four in total) involving an accident-prone elder named Pibb. Good, but not great, Shhh has a few laughs and little more.
(08/05/04 2:05am)
Adam Sandler was one of the funniest comedians of the '90s in this critic's humble opinion. The new millennium hasn't been nearly as kind to him, what with the turd-like trifecta of "Little Nicky," "Mr. Deeds" and "Anger Management." Smartly, he's ditching his newly-found Jimmy Stewart-lite persona to embrace the juvenilia of past works. A return to the crude comedy records that helped cement his raunchy rep is an ideal forum to do so. Sadly, Shh…Don't Tell isn't up to snuff with the filthy funnies of yore.\nSandler succeeds most when combining comedy with music. The latest disc doesn't do this as often as previous efforts -- only seven of the album's 20 tracks are songs, the remainder being skits of varying success. Tunes ranging from the cockney-themed masturbation ode "The Amazing Willy Wanker," the Eminem and Dr. Dre knockoff/parody "The Mayor of Pussytown," the euro-trash bush trimming tale "Secret," the seriocomic "Best Friend," the Springsteen by way of smut sounds of "Mr. I Do and the Doo Doos" and Sandler's touching, tickling tribute to his late father, "Stan the Man," all elicit laughs and a modicum of musical respect. The remaining song, "The Mule Sessions" begins by riffing on the Beastie Boys' "Sure Shot" (poorly) and ventures into a series of lame-brained rhyme schemes. Essentially, it's worthless.\nMuch of Shhh…Don't Tell is likely to offend listeners, whether via homophobia or sexism. But it's these moments, vulgar though they may be, that make this record funny. Dicier material is certainly preferable to the safe stupidity of skits (four in total) involving an accident-prone elder named Pibb. Good, but not great, Shhh has a few laughs and little more.
(08/05/04 2:05am)
Blatant product placement within films is something that normally pisses me off to no end. It's OK when used appropriately, i.e. James Bond drinking a martini made from Smirnoff vodka or in "Wayne's World" as a source of satire. "Harold and Kumar Go to White Castle" might be the movie most guilty of committing the aforementioned cinematic sin, but for some reason it's fitting. Much like the flick's protagonists, two Asian Americans (something rarely seen onscreen), the titular, slider-serving burger joint is far out enough to be fresh. For Christ's sake, who'd pay eight bucks to see "Dave and Jason Go to McDonald's?"\nJohn Cho (one of the MILF men from "American Pie") and Kal Penn (Van Wilder's horny assistant in the film of the same name) play Harold and Kumar, respectively. Harold is a Korean-American investment banker who's often crapped upon by his Caucasian colleagues. Kumar is a slack-ass Indian-American who toys with the notion of attending medical school to appease his doctor father. These two twentysomething roommates have very little in common -- one's an introvert, the other an extrovert. Though, they bond over bong rips. Think: they're the 21st century's response to Felix and Oscar, only with an ethnic slant and a case of cottonmouth. After smoking out one evening, the duo seeks a sack of sliders -- wacky "high" jinks (Neil Patrick Harris aka Doogie Howser steals their car, Harold's attacked by a presumably rabietic raccoon, the two ride a chiefing cheetah) and hilarity ensue. Yeah, believe it or not, that's the story in a nutshell.\nWhat makes "White Castle" better than many films of its ilk is an acute sense of smarts. Sure, superficially speaking the flick is a stupid stoner comedy, but there's more going on beneath the surface. Harold and Kumar would be periphery characters, most likely stereotypical ones, in other teen flicks. Here, Cho and Penn imbue their roles with heart and humor, which makes for two likable, intelligent and handsome leading men. That the film addresses their races, while also presenting the characters as everymen, is refreshing.\nAs directed by "Dude, Where's My Car?" helmer Danny Leiner, this is a marked improvement. When I first saw "Dude," the only thing that came to mind was, "Dude, Where's My Eight Bucks?" Granted, subsequent viewings on HBO under the influence swayed me … marginally. While seeing "White Castle," I was sober as the wind, and the laughs still stuck (especially a dream sequence depicting the ups and downs of Kumar's romantic relationship with a huge sack of weed). The film also has an uncharacteristically sharp sense of style for a pot comedy -- an opening montage boasts slick jump cuts more often seen in art house fair.\nWhen all is said and done, "Harold and Kumar Go to White Castle" is very much akin to the burgers its heroes crave. That is to say, it's better consumed every so often while drunk or high.
(07/29/04 4:00am)
"The Bourne Supremacy" picks up where "The Bourne Identity" left off -- both are action flicks in which brains best brawn. Based on a series of novels by late author Robert Ludlum, these two movies have infused the languishing spy genre with grit, intelligence and style -- elements long-since bungled by the Bond franchise. Where "Identity" was an entertaining analog throwback to action films of yore, "Supremacy" holds true to its title as an overall improvement.\nMatt Damon reprises his role as Jason Bourne, a former CIA assassin looking to overcome the amnesia that afflicted him in his first outing. Holed up in Goa, India with anti-Bond girl, Marie (the down to earth Franka Potente), life is good for Bourne. That is until he's targeted by Kirill ("Lord of the Rings" vet Karl Urban), a Russian rival who recently framed our hero for the murders of black-ops agents in Berlin. Things go awry, and Bourne's back on the warpath -- hunting those who choose to hunt him. Amongst these folks are Pamela Landy (an inspired Joan Allen), an unflappable CIA agent, and Bourne's established nemesis from the first film, Agency figurehead Ward Abbott (the irreplaceable Brian Cox). True to form, the worldly action series jet sets from the aforementioned India and Germany to Italy, Russia, New York City and Washington D.C., doing so smoothly and convincingly.\nSeated in the director's chair this time around is Paul Greengrass, helmer of the rightfully praised Irish docu-drama "Bloody Sunday." He's an inspired choice to be sure, much like director Doug Liman (best known up until that point for comedies such as "Swingers" and "Go") was with the first installment. Many have complained about the excessive use of a handheld camera in "Supremacy." It's ever-present to be sure, while also being insanely effective. In tense situations such as a fistfight or car chase, the camera's movements become rather erratic and the editing far more aggressive, capably capturing chaos. The technique is undeniably vérité, but who's to say you can't have a little artistry with your action.\nThe proceedings have improved overall. Damon furthers his muted work as Bourne, which is perfect, as a showier performer wouldn't be believable in the role. Allen imbues her character with dignity and smarts, and it's refreshing to see a woman of power within the action realm. Even aging teen queen Julia Stiles, who's normally grating, does solid work in an extended turn from the first movie. More notable, however, is Urban, who despite rarely speaking conveys great menace and cool as the raging Russkie.\nWhile there are a few plot holes -- that's to be expected for the genre -- they're not so glaring as to completely take audiences out of the narrative. Hopefully, this franchise will continue onward by adapting Ludlum's "The Bourne Ultimatum" with the same sense of gusto and adventure seen in the first two pictures.
(07/29/04 4:00am)
The inspired, yet slightly flawed, cinematic redux of lame '70s cop show "Starsky and Hutch," recently hit DVD. Sadly, the disc doesn't stack up to the manic antics of this comedic cop caper.\nBen Stiller stars as David Starsky, a hard-nosed, by-the-book cop who looms in the shadow of his deceased policewoman of a mother. Fellow officer, Ken "Hutch" Hutchinson (Owen Wilson), plays by his own rules, and isn't above pilfering cash from dead men's wallets, cavorting with pimps and other nefarious types and doing drugs recreationally. Both men are embarrassments to the Bay City Police Department, and therefore, are teamed as partners by Captain Doby (blaxploitation icon Fred Williamson). After all, misery loves company.\nSoon enough, the boys stumble upon a washed up corpse and their first case. All signs point to Reese Feldman (a scenery chewing/Fu Manchu-sporting Vince Vaughn) -- a smarmy pusherman under the guise of model citizen and upper class philanthropist. Aiding the dynamic duo in their pursuit are lovable snitch, Huggy Bear (a solid, if somewhat underused, Snoop Dogg) and Starsky's prized cherry red 1976 Ford Gran Torino.\nMany of the film's laughs come from Stiller's uptight asswad routine and Wilson's lackadaisical stoner shtick. Unfortunately, much of this humor doesn't translate to the DVD. The featurette, "Fashion Fa Shizzle Wit Huggy Bizzle," in which Snoop inanely drones on about his wardrobe, is one of the stupidest special things I've ever seen. Director/co-writer Todd Phillips' ("Old School") commentary is neither funny nor particularly informative, though, he comes across as a nice guy. He probably would've benefitted from the presence of his cast, much like the hilarious track on the "Old School" DVD.\n"Starsky and Hutch" is an entertaining waste of two hours, if only the DVD could've provided a few more.
(07/29/04 2:44am)
The inspired, yet slightly flawed, cinematic redux of lame '70s cop show "Starsky and Hutch," recently hit DVD. Sadly, the disc doesn't stack up to the manic antics of this comedic cop caper.\nBen Stiller stars as David Starsky, a hard-nosed, by-the-book cop who looms in the shadow of his deceased policewoman of a mother. Fellow officer, Ken "Hutch" Hutchinson (Owen Wilson), plays by his own rules, and isn't above pilfering cash from dead men's wallets, cavorting with pimps and other nefarious types and doing drugs recreationally. Both men are embarrassments to the Bay City Police Department, and therefore, are teamed as partners by Captain Doby (blaxploitation icon Fred Williamson). After all, misery loves company.\nSoon enough, the boys stumble upon a washed up corpse and their first case. All signs point to Reese Feldman (a scenery chewing/Fu Manchu-sporting Vince Vaughn) -- a smarmy pusherman under the guise of model citizen and upper class philanthropist. Aiding the dynamic duo in their pursuit are lovable snitch, Huggy Bear (a solid, if somewhat underused, Snoop Dogg) and Starsky's prized cherry red 1976 Ford Gran Torino.\nMany of the film's laughs come from Stiller's uptight asswad routine and Wilson's lackadaisical stoner shtick. Unfortunately, much of this humor doesn't translate to the DVD. The featurette, "Fashion Fa Shizzle Wit Huggy Bizzle," in which Snoop inanely drones on about his wardrobe, is one of the stupidest special things I've ever seen. Director/co-writer Todd Phillips' ("Old School") commentary is neither funny nor particularly informative, though, he comes across as a nice guy. He probably would've benefitted from the presence of his cast, much like the hilarious track on the "Old School" DVD.\n"Starsky and Hutch" is an entertaining waste of two hours, if only the DVD could've provided a few more.
(07/29/04 2:26am)
"The Bourne Supremacy" picks up where "The Bourne Identity" left off -- both are action flicks in which brains best brawn. Based on a series of novels by late author Robert Ludlum, these two movies have infused the languishing spy genre with grit, intelligence and style -- elements long-since bungled by the Bond franchise. Where "Identity" was an entertaining analog throwback to action films of yore, "Supremacy" holds true to its title as an overall improvement.\nMatt Damon reprises his role as Jason Bourne, a former CIA assassin looking to overcome the amnesia that afflicted him in his first outing. Holed up in Goa, India with anti-Bond girl, Marie (the down to earth Franka Potente), life is good for Bourne. That is until he's targeted by Kirill ("Lord of the Rings" vet Karl Urban), a Russian rival who recently framed our hero for the murders of black-ops agents in Berlin. Things go awry, and Bourne's back on the warpath -- hunting those who choose to hunt him. Amongst these folks are Pamela Landy (an inspired Joan Allen), an unflappable CIA agent, and Bourne's established nemesis from the first film, Agency figurehead Ward Abbott (the irreplaceable Brian Cox). True to form, the worldly action series jet sets from the aforementioned India and Germany to Italy, Russia, New York City and Washington D.C., doing so smoothly and convincingly.\nSeated in the director's chair this time around is Paul Greengrass, helmer of the rightfully praised Irish docu-drama "Bloody Sunday." He's an inspired choice to be sure, much like director Doug Liman (best known up until that point for comedies such as "Swingers" and "Go") was with the first installment. Many have complained about the excessive use of a handheld camera in "Supremacy." It's ever-present to be sure, while also being insanely effective. In tense situations such as a fistfight or car chase, the camera's movements become rather erratic and the editing far more aggressive, capably capturing chaos. The technique is undeniably vérité, but who's to say you can't have a little artistry with your action.\nThe proceedings have improved overall. Damon furthers his muted work as Bourne, which is perfect, as a showier performer wouldn't be believable in the role. Allen imbues her character with dignity and smarts, and it's refreshing to see a woman of power within the action realm. Even aging teen queen Julia Stiles, who's normally grating, does solid work in an extended turn from the first movie. More notable, however, is Urban, who despite rarely speaking conveys great menace and cool as the raging Russkie.\nWhile there are a few plot holes -- that's to be expected for the genre -- they're not so glaring as to completely take audiences out of the narrative. Hopefully, this franchise will continue onward by adapting Ludlum's "The Bourne Ultimatum" with the same sense of gusto and adventure seen in the first two pictures.
(07/14/04 11:21pm)
Yet another rendition of Arthurian lore hit screens last week. Following on the heels of numerous cinematic incarnations over the last half-century: some good (John Boorman's "Excalibur"), some bad (the Sean Connery/Richard Gere team-up "First Knight," which dropped nine years to the day of this latest redux), some comedic ("Monty Python and the Holy Grail") and some musical ("Camelot"), "King Arthur" is a different beast all together. Unlike its predecessors, "Arthur" asserts that it's the truth behind the legend. That is to say, it's factually accurate. As shepherded to the cinema by mega-bucks movie producer Jerry Bruckheimer, this a dubious claim at best.\nThe time frame is 452 A.D. Arthur is Artorius (the appropriately regal Clive Owen), a half-Roman, half-Briton commander of indentured Sarmatian troops. These soldiers amount to be the fabled Knights of the Round Table: among them, incessantly constipated-looking ladies' man Lancelot (Ioan Gruffudd), faithful Gaiwan (Joel Edgerton), noble Galahad (Hugh Dancy), nobler Dagonet (Ray Stevenson), weapons expert Tristan (Mads Mikkelsen) and bald brawler Bors (Ray Winstone). Together, the men fend off local freedom fighters, the Woads (dubbed as such by the blue dye they sport on their skin, but they're essentially Celts), led by a magic-less Merlin (Stephen Dillane). That is until; a greater threat comes in the form of the Saxons, headed up by the decidedly cheerless, similarly named father-son duo of Cerdic (Stellan Skarsgård) and Cyric (Til Schweiger, who funnily enough, is a dead ringer for a dude I met in the drunk tank last month).\nThe film is entertaining to be sure, but it's also deeply flawed. Highly touted historical accuracy is thrown out the window numerous times throughout. Lancelot, fictitious character that he is, should've been excluded, as the love triangle between Arthur, Guinevere (Keira Knightley) and himself is merely hinted at via moony glances. Also, the weaponry implemented (crossbows and trebuchets) wasn't invented until hundreds of years after the fact. Lastly, Knightley's Pict priestess take on Guinevere might've fought ferociously as she's depicted doing in the flick, but she would've done so in the buff, as opposed to wearing "Road Warrior"-inspired S&M gear. I, for one, wouldn't have minded this in the least.\nMuch of what's here is good; it just needed to be fleshed out a tad more. The camaraderie amongst the knights is cool and oftentimes humorous, if only there were more of it to give each of these characters an identity. As is, the only standouts are Owen's dignified Arthur and Winstone's Bors, who hilariously refers to his 12 children as bastards (only one is named, the others numbered) and describes his penis as looking like a baby's arm holding an apple.\nDirector Antoine Fuqua's battle sequences, while compelling (especially an ice-bound one replete with underwater CG shots of the sheets cracking), have obviously been butchered to avoid the dreaded R rating. Each is a surrealistic affair with glimpses of gore, but all are edited so heavily it's often hard to see who's cleaving whom. If ever there was a movie screaming out for a DVD director's cut, it's this one -- hopefully, with blood and guts (both literal and figurative) intact.
(07/14/04 4:00am)
Yet another rendition of Arthurian lore hit screens last week. Following on the heels of numerous cinematic incarnations over the last half-century: some good (John Boorman's "Excalibur"), some bad (the Sean Connery/Richard Gere team-up "First Knight," which dropped nine years to the day of this latest redux), some comedic ("Monty Python and the Holy Grail") and some musical ("Camelot"), "King Arthur" is a different beast all together. Unlike its predecessors, "Arthur" asserts that it's the truth behind the legend. That is to say, it's factually accurate. As shepherded to the cinema by mega-bucks movie producer Jerry Bruckheimer, this a dubious claim at best.\nThe time frame is 452 A.D. Arthur is Artorius (the appropriately regal Clive Owen), a half-Roman, half-Briton commander of indentured Sarmatian troops. These soldiers amount to be the fabled Knights of the Round Table: among them, incessantly constipated-looking ladies' man Lancelot (Ioan Gruffudd), faithful Gaiwan (Joel Edgerton), noble Galahad (Hugh Dancy), nobler Dagonet (Ray Stevenson), weapons expert Tristan (Mads Mikkelsen) and bald brawler Bors (Ray Winstone). Together, the men fend off local freedom fighters, the Woads (dubbed as such by the blue dye they sport on their skin, but they're essentially Celts), led by a magic-less Merlin (Stephen Dillane). That is until; a greater threat comes in the form of the Saxons, headed up by the decidedly cheerless, similarly named father-son duo of Cerdic (Stellan Skarsgård) and Cyric (Til Schweiger, who funnily enough, is a dead ringer for a dude I met in the drunk tank last month).\nThe film is entertaining to be sure, but it's also deeply flawed. Highly touted historical accuracy is thrown out the window numerous times throughout. Lancelot, fictitious character that he is, should've been excluded, as the love triangle between Arthur, Guinevere (Keira Knightley) and himself is merely hinted at via moony glances. Also, the weaponry implemented (crossbows and trebuchets) wasn't invented until hundreds of years after the fact. Lastly, Knightley's Pict priestess take on Guinevere might've fought ferociously as she's depicted doing in the flick, but she would've done so in the buff, as opposed to wearing "Road Warrior"-inspired S&M gear. I, for one, wouldn't have minded this in the least.\nMuch of what's here is good; it just needed to be fleshed out a tad more. The camaraderie amongst the knights is cool and oftentimes humorous, if only there were more of it to give each of these characters an identity. As is, the only standouts are Owen's dignified Arthur and Winstone's Bors, who hilariously refers to his 12 children as bastards (only one is named, the others numbered) and describes his penis as looking like a baby's arm holding an apple.\nDirector Antoine Fuqua's battle sequences, while compelling (especially an ice-bound one replete with underwater CG shots of the sheets cracking), have obviously been butchered to avoid the dreaded R rating. Each is a surrealistic affair with glimpses of gore, but all are edited so heavily it's often hard to see who's cleaving whom. If ever there was a movie screaming out for a DVD director's cut, it's this one -- hopefully, with blood and guts (both literal and figurative) intact.
(07/08/04 4:00am)
Spider-Man 2" is a rare cinematic treat. It joins the illustrious likes of "Aliens," "Terminator 2: Judgment Day" and "X2" in being a sequel that exceeds the quality of its predecessor. Moreover, it's amongst the best comic book flicks ever made. Yes, this includes "Superman," "Batman," "The Crow" and the aforementioned "X-Men" offering. Director Sam Raimi and co. have made one hell of a summer movie thrill ride -- a film that's equal parts spectacle and sincerity.\nWhen last we left Peter Parker/Spider-Man (Tobey Maguire, back and better than before), he'd jilted his unrequited love, Mary Jane Watson (the luminous Kirsten Dunst), after the funeral of their friend Harry's (a suitably sullen James Franco) father, Norman Osborn/ Green Goblin (Willem Dafoe). The reasoning: fear of his superhero status endangering the young lovely. \nLife's improved very little since. Peter's been canned from his pizza delivery boy job; a secondary gig shooting snapshots for the Daily Bugle is in constant jeopardy; his grades are in the crapper; he's constantly being harangued by his loutish landlord; Aunt May (the sublimely grandmotherly Rosemary Harris) faces foreclosure on her mortgage and Mary Jane, hurt in the wake of constant rejection, shacks up with an astronaut (Daniel Gillies). Worse yet, this flyboy's the son of Peter's priggish Daily Bugle publisher, J. Jonah Jameson (an inspired J.K. Simmons). \nThis myriad of misfortune ultimately results in Peter having a series of Tony Soprano-esque panic attacks, which place his powers on the fritz, i.e. no web slinging or wall climbing. The malfunction couldn't come at a worse time, as there's a new baddie on the block, tentacled terror Doc Ock (a nuanced Alfred Molina).\nTop to bottom, "Spider-Man 2" beats the pants off its respectable forebear. Raimi's direction has grown more assured. As the founding flick marked his first full-blown foray into franchise filmmaking, Raimi produced an adequate, if not entirely adventurous, entertainment. Here, he harnesses the manic energy of "Evil Dead II" (look no further than Doc Ock's operating room rampage for evidence) and bridges it with the pathos of "A Simple Plan." The screenplay is better too. By bringing Pulitzer Prize-winning author Michael Chabon ("The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay") and Oscar-winner Alvin Sargent ("Ordinary People") aboard to script, characterization reigns over chaos. Humor is abound (see the "Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head" montage), not horror. The special effects (supervised by "Star Wars" phenom John Dykstra) and cinematography (courtesy of "Matrix" lenser Bill Pope) astound, nowhere more so than during the film's action centerpiece -- a badass train-bound brawl. The cast has improved as well. Maguire admirably fills Spidey's tights, Dunst finally has the charisma to sell her cheesy dialogue ("Go get 'em, tiger!") and Molina proves a sympathetic antagonist, something Dafoe, great actor though he is, couldn't pull off. \nFresher, funnier and funkier than its forerunner, "Spider-Man 2" leaves itself a huge out for a sequel. I, for one, am elated.
(07/08/04 12:47am)
Spider-Man 2" is a rare cinematic treat. It joins the illustrious likes of "Aliens," "Terminator 2: Judgment Day" and "X2" in being a sequel that exceeds the quality of its predecessor. Moreover, it's amongst the best comic book flicks ever made. Yes, this includes "Superman," "Batman," "The Crow" and the aforementioned "X-Men" offering. Director Sam Raimi and co. have made one hell of a summer movie thrill ride -- a film that's equal parts spectacle and sincerity.\nWhen last we left Peter Parker/Spider-Man (Tobey Maguire, back and better than before), he'd jilted his unrequited love, Mary Jane Watson (the luminous Kirsten Dunst), after the funeral of their friend Harry's (a suitably sullen James Franco) father, Norman Osborn/ Green Goblin (Willem Dafoe). The reasoning: fear of his superhero status endangering the young lovely. \nLife's improved very little since. Peter's been canned from his pizza delivery boy job; a secondary gig shooting snapshots for the Daily Bugle is in constant jeopardy; his grades are in the crapper; he's constantly being harangued by his loutish landlord; Aunt May (the sublimely grandmotherly Rosemary Harris) faces foreclosure on her mortgage and Mary Jane, hurt in the wake of constant rejection, shacks up with an astronaut (Daniel Gillies). Worse yet, this flyboy's the son of Peter's priggish Daily Bugle publisher, J. Jonah Jameson (an inspired J.K. Simmons). \nThis myriad of misfortune ultimately results in Peter having a series of Tony Soprano-esque panic attacks, which place his powers on the fritz, i.e. no web slinging or wall climbing. The malfunction couldn't come at a worse time, as there's a new baddie on the block, tentacled terror Doc Ock (a nuanced Alfred Molina).\nTop to bottom, "Spider-Man 2" beats the pants off its respectable forebear. Raimi's direction has grown more assured. As the founding flick marked his first full-blown foray into franchise filmmaking, Raimi produced an adequate, if not entirely adventurous, entertainment. Here, he harnesses the manic energy of "Evil Dead II" (look no further than Doc Ock's operating room rampage for evidence) and bridges it with the pathos of "A Simple Plan." The screenplay is better too. By bringing Pulitzer Prize-winning author Michael Chabon ("The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay") and Oscar-winner Alvin Sargent ("Ordinary People") aboard to script, characterization reigns over chaos. Humor is abound (see the "Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head" montage), not horror. The special effects (supervised by "Star Wars" phenom John Dykstra) and cinematography (courtesy of "Matrix" lenser Bill Pope) astound, nowhere more so than during the film's action centerpiece -- a badass train-bound brawl. The cast has improved as well. Maguire admirably fills Spidey's tights, Dunst finally has the charisma to sell her cheesy dialogue ("Go get 'em, tiger!") and Molina proves a sympathetic antagonist, something Dafoe, great actor though he is, couldn't pull off. \nFresher, funnier and funkier than its forerunner, "Spider-Man 2" leaves itself a huge out for a sequel. I, for one, am elated.
(07/01/04 4:00am)
When last we heard from Wilco, Reprise Records unceremoniously threw frontman Jeff Tweedy and his revolving door of bandmates out on their ears. Subsequent online leakage of the record that caused the rift piqued the interest of Nonesuch Records. It in turn released the album, which debuted at Number 13 on the Billboard Charts to unanimous acclaim. That record is the now-beloved Yankee Hotel Foxtrot -- one of the best LPs of this century's infancy. Funnily enough, both Reprise (who paid for Foxtrot, and then ostensibly gave it back to Wilco) and Nonesuch are owned by Warner Bros. -- how's that for an "f-you" to record industry fat cats?\nTwo years have passed since this modern day David and Goliath story transpired, and a lot's happened in that time. Wilco toured extensively, saw its story play out in the rock doc "I Am Trying to Break Your Heart," returned to its native Chicago, recorded a record, Tweedy checked himself into rehab for an addiction to pain killers and the album was delayed as a result of his stay. Unsurprisingly, the listener-friendly group made A Ghost Is Born, its fifth record, available online months in advance of release. It too was heralded, and rightfully so -- Born is a revelation.\nPerhaps not its predecessor's equal, the album is still vital listening. Pitch perfect from beginning to end with the exception of the 12 minutes of feedback and distortion that accompany "Less Than You Think" (A friend of mine asserts that this aside is essential, "You just have to smoke and zone out to it." Perhaps I don't toke enough? Either way, the waning moments of the tune give me a migraine on par with Tweedy's.) -- Born is a near-masterpiece.\nSmartly re-teaming with Sonic Youth vet Jim O'Rourke, who mixed and played on Foxtrot, Wilco has made the perfect companion piece to its masterwork. It was Tweedy and O'Rourke who infused the last record with its sense of innovation. Their tinkering with the buzzes, bleeps and bloops elevated the material beyond mere rock and inevitably got the band shit-canned off Reprise. That same experimentation is here, albeit to a lesser degree. The album has a more natural feel to it, as if the band were playing in your living room. This is appropriate, as Foxtrot assessed America as a whole and Born turns things individually inward -- it's more personal.
(07/01/04 3:44am)
When last we heard from Wilco, Reprise Records unceremoniously threw frontman Jeff Tweedy and his revolving door of bandmates out on their ears. Subsequent online leakage of the record that caused the rift piqued the interest of Nonesuch Records. It in turn released the album, which debuted at Number 13 on the Billboard Charts to unanimous acclaim. That record is the now-beloved Yankee Hotel Foxtrot -- one of the best LPs of this century's infancy. Funnily enough, both Reprise (who paid for Foxtrot, and then ostensibly gave it back to Wilco) and Nonesuch are owned by Warner Bros. -- how's that for an "f-you" to record industry fat cats?\nTwo years have passed since this modern day David and Goliath story transpired, and a lot's happened in that time. Wilco toured extensively, saw its story play out in the rock doc "I Am Trying to Break Your Heart," returned to its native Chicago, recorded a record, Tweedy checked himself into rehab for an addiction to pain killers and the album was delayed as a result of his stay. Unsurprisingly, the listener-friendly group made A Ghost Is Born, its fifth record, available online months in advance of release. It too was heralded, and rightfully so -- Born is a revelation.\nPerhaps not its predecessor's equal, the album is still vital listening. Pitch perfect from beginning to end with the exception of the 12 minutes of feedback and distortion that accompany "Less Than You Think" (A friend of mine asserts that this aside is essential, "You just have to smoke and zone out to it." Perhaps I don't toke enough? Either way, the waning moments of the tune give me a migraine on par with Tweedy's.) -- Born is a near-masterpiece.\nSmartly re-teaming with Sonic Youth vet Jim O'Rourke, who mixed and played on Foxtrot, Wilco has made the perfect companion piece to its masterwork. It was Tweedy and O'Rourke who infused the last record with its sense of innovation. Their tinkering with the buzzes, bleeps and bloops elevated the material beyond mere rock and inevitably got the band shit-canned off Reprise. That same experimentation is here, albeit to a lesser degree. The album has a more natural feel to it, as if the band were playing in your living room. This is appropriate, as Foxtrot assessed America as a whole and Born turns things individually inward -- it's more personal.
(06/24/04 4:00am)
Assembling and releasing a solid compilation disc for a band that's had dozens over the course of its 40-plus year career is no easy task. That's where Sights and Sounds of Summer succeeds. Rarely, does a group's "greatest hits" collection cut as wide a swath as this one does. Nor do many bands have the immense staying power and accessibility of the Beach Boys.\nThe strictly musical portion of the package was released last summer, the folks at Capitol, shrewd businesspeople that they are, released the same set a year later, throwing in a 10-track DVD as a bonus. Unlike Beach Boys comps of yore (i.e. Endless Summer and Greatest Hits, Vol.'s 1 and 2), the disc is blissfully sprawling (30 tracks stretching 75 minutes and change) and arranged categorically as opposed to chronologically. The classic songs of surfing ("Surfin' Safari," "Surfin' U.S.A." and the achingly beautiful "Surfer Girl") and adolescence ("When I Grow Up (To Be a Man)," "In My Room"), for which the band is best known, are lumped together. \nOther essentials including the propulsive pop of "I Get Around," a heartrenching trio of ballads "Don't Worry Baby," "God Only Knows" and "Wouldn't It Be Nice" and the band's piece de la resistance "Good Vibrations" are also thrown into the mix. Nearly all of the aforementioned tracks have been remastered and are unlikely to have sounded better before. The album's only downfalls come with inane covers of "Come Go With Me" and "Rock and Roll Music," but then again, 28 tracks out of 30 ain't bad.\nThe DVD is a nice addition, but it's nothing essential. Mainly, viewers will get glimpses at Mike Love's lame dance moves, a wet Carl Wilson (scary!) and Brian Wilson's cracked state of consciousness via a Pet Sounds promotional film in which the band members don Halloween masks to haunt Love in a wooded area. It's best just to let the music speak for itself.
(06/24/04 3:16am)
Assembling and releasing a solid compilation disc for a band that's had dozens over the course of its 40-plus year career is no easy task. That's where Sights and Sounds of Summer succeeds. Rarely, does a group's "greatest hits" collection cut as wide a swath as this one does. Nor do many bands have the immense staying power and accessibility of the Beach Boys.\nThe strictly musical portion of the package was released last summer, the folks at Capitol, shrewd businesspeople that they are, released the same set a year later, throwing in a 10-track DVD as a bonus. Unlike Beach Boys comps of yore (i.e. Endless Summer and Greatest Hits, Vol.'s 1 and 2), the disc is blissfully sprawling (30 tracks stretching 75 minutes and change) and arranged categorically as opposed to chronologically. The classic songs of surfing ("Surfin' Safari," "Surfin' U.S.A." and the achingly beautiful "Surfer Girl") and adolescence ("When I Grow Up (To Be a Man)," "In My Room"), for which the band is best known, are lumped together. \nOther essentials including the propulsive pop of "I Get Around," a heartrenching trio of ballads "Don't Worry Baby," "God Only Knows" and "Wouldn't It Be Nice" and the band's piece de la resistance "Good Vibrations" are also thrown into the mix. Nearly all of the aforementioned tracks have been remastered and are unlikely to have sounded better before. The album's only downfalls come with inane covers of "Come Go With Me" and "Rock and Roll Music," but then again, 28 tracks out of 30 ain't bad.\nThe DVD is a nice addition, but it's nothing essential. Mainly, viewers will get glimpses at Mike Love's lame dance moves, a wet Carl Wilson (scary!) and Brian Wilson's cracked state of consciousness via a Pet Sounds promotional film in which the band members don Halloween masks to haunt Love in a wooded area. It's best just to let the music speak for itself.
(06/17/04 4:00am)
What reads like a rock 'n' roll supergroup on paper is essentially just that. Velvet Revolver, which consists of Guns N' Roses vets Slash (guitar), Duff McKagan (bass) and Matt Sorum (drums), as well as former Stone Temple Pilots frontman/ "rehab poster boy" Scott Weiland (vocals) and Wasted Youth expat Dave Kushner (guitar), come out of the gates with both guns blazing on the aptly-titled (given the group's sordid drug history), Contraband. The results are primarily what you'd imagine them to be: these guys might as well have dubbed themselves Guns N' Pilots, and believe it or not, that's not a bad thing.\nThe band is missing one key ingredient, though: the J.D. Salinger of rock himself, Axl Rose. I saw GN'R with its ever-changing line-up a little over a year and a half ago in Moline, Ill., and that show kicked the crap out of anything heard on Contraband, including material from the infamously oft delayed, Chinese Democracy. While Slash, and to a lesser extent McKagan and Sorum, are insanely proficient musicians, Rose (despite being bat shit crazy) was always the group's artistic compass. Such direction, while here in small doses, is sorely missing from the overall proceedings. Rose is twice the frontman Weiland is, and that's not to say the STP singer isn't talented, he is, I just can't see a "November Rain" coming out of the guy. \nThe album opens admirably with "Sucker Train Blues," which sounds akin to an Appetite for Destruction b-side. The band (Weiland especially) then bravely tackles its drug problems and media personas on the inspired "Big Machine" (propelled primarily by Sorum's bombastic beat) and "Dirty Little Thing." The "Stone Temple Roses" vibe is later heard to great effect on "Do It for the Kids" (where Weiland apes Rose), "Headspace" and "Slither." Velvet Revolver then oscillates between the cock/arena rock ("Illegal I Song," the ironically-titled "Spectacle" and the rip-roaring "Set Me Free," heard over the closing credits to the "Hulk") and power balladry ("Fall to Pieces" -- think "Sweet Child O' Mine"-lite, "You Got No Right" and "Loving the Alien"), which made their previous collectives famous. There isn't a stinker in the bunch.\nIdeally, the original GN'R line-up (minus drummer Steven Adler) would still be intact releasing records on par with Appetite and the Use Your Illusion discs, and Weiland would capitalize on the artistry seen most clearly in the STP compilation, Thank You. Alas, this is an impossibility amid an onslaught of lawsuits, incessant band infighting and frequent trips to rehab. From the rubble comes Contraband, and while the album doesn't reinvent the wheel, it sure as hell tweaks it. If nothing else, it beats waiting around another decade or so for Chinese Democracy. \nPerhaps I'm not being fair? Hailing from the Lafayette area (hometown to GN'R members/Velvet Revolver absentees Rose and Izzy Stradlin), I feel a loyalty to the boys from "Paradise City." What's here is good -- really good -- it just ain't GN'R.
(06/17/04 4:00am)
In this critic's humble opinion, "Field of Dreams" is one of the 20 best movies ever made. Superficially, it could be considered a sports flick, but dig deeper and you'll find a film whose mind is further steeped in fathers, sons, second chances and spirituality. \nNot being exceedingly close to my own father (though, we possess a mutual love and respect for one another), "Dreams" serves as a conduit between us. Regardless of what's going on, if we're in the same place and the movie's on the tube, we'll drop whatever we're doing and watch it together -- both having a good cry and bonding for having done so. Luckily, moments such as these can be all the more frequent with the release of a new two-disc anniversary edition DVD.\nThe plot's pretty well-worn, so I'll be brief. Iowa farmer Ray Kinsella (Kevin Costner) hears a mystic voice stating the now-clichéd, "If you build it, he will come." The "it" being a baseball diamond and the where being atop his cornfield. Soon enough, apparitions begin emerging from the remaining cornstalks; most prominent among them is the ghost of Shoeless Joe Jackson (a pre-"Goodfellas" Ray Liotta). Shortly after, the voice returns and Ray is summoned to Boston to abduct J.D. Salinger-esque author, Terence Mann (James Earl Jones). Together, they travel to Chisholm, Minn., where they happen upon ballplayer-turned-doctor, Archie "Moonlight" Graham (Burt Lancaster, in his last feature film). We all know where the movie proceeds from here, and it's a beautiful thing. \nThe special features, while OK, are nothing to write home about, which is unfortunate for a film of this pedigree. There's a few rightfully excised deleted scenes, a dry yet informative commentary track by writer/director Phil Alden Robinson and cinematographer John Lindley, a self-serving "Field of Dreams Roundtable," in which Costner and baseball legends Johnny Bench, George Brett and Bret Saberhagen kiss one another's asses in a most uncomfortable fashion -- with Costner being the worst offender. The highlight of the extras is "America's Stadium Trivia," which gives a comprehensive look into all of our country's Major League ballparks. The DVD's strongest aspect is the movie itself. With Father's Day quickly approaching, the disc would make one hell of a gift and may even spur the time-honored question, "You wanna have a catch?" What could be better?
(06/17/04 1:23am)
In this critic's humble opinion, "Field of Dreams" is one of the 20 best movies ever made. Superficially, it could be considered a sports flick, but dig deeper and you'll find a film whose mind is further steeped in fathers, sons, second chances and spirituality. \nNot being exceedingly close to my own father (though, we possess a mutual love and respect for one another), "Dreams" serves as a conduit between us. Regardless of what's going on, if we're in the same place and the movie's on the tube, we'll drop whatever we're doing and watch it together -- both having a good cry and bonding for having done so. Luckily, moments such as these can be all the more frequent with the release of a new two-disc anniversary edition DVD.\nThe plot's pretty well-worn, so I'll be brief. Iowa farmer Ray Kinsella (Kevin Costner) hears a mystic voice stating the now-clichéd, "If you build it, he will come." The "it" being a baseball diamond and the where being atop his cornfield. Soon enough, apparitions begin emerging from the remaining cornstalks; most prominent among them is the ghost of Shoeless Joe Jackson (a pre-"Goodfellas" Ray Liotta). Shortly after, the voice returns and Ray is summoned to Boston to abduct J.D. Salinger-esque author, Terence Mann (James Earl Jones). Together, they travel to Chisholm, Minn., where they happen upon ballplayer-turned-doctor, Archie "Moonlight" Graham (Burt Lancaster, in his last feature film). We all know where the movie proceeds from here, and it's a beautiful thing. \nThe special features, while OK, are nothing to write home about, which is unfortunate for a film of this pedigree. There's a few rightfully excised deleted scenes, a dry yet informative commentary track by writer/director Phil Alden Robinson and cinematographer John Lindley, a self-serving "Field of Dreams Roundtable," in which Costner and baseball legends Johnny Bench, George Brett and Bret Saberhagen kiss one another's asses in a most uncomfortable fashion -- with Costner being the worst offender. The highlight of the extras is "America's Stadium Trivia," which gives a comprehensive look into all of our country's Major League ballparks. The DVD's strongest aspect is the movie itself. With Father's Day quickly approaching, the disc would make one hell of a gift and may even spur the time-honored question, "You wanna have a catch?" What could be better?
(06/17/04 12:14am)
What reads like a rock 'n' roll supergroup on paper is essentially just that. Velvet Revolver, which consists of Guns N' Roses vets Slash (guitar), Duff McKagan (bass) and Matt Sorum (drums), as well as former Stone Temple Pilots frontman/ "rehab poster boy" Scott Weiland (vocals) and Wasted Youth expat Dave Kushner (guitar), come out of the gates with both guns blazing on the aptly-titled (given the group's sordid drug history), Contraband. The results are primarily what you'd imagine them to be: these guys might as well have dubbed themselves Guns N' Pilots, and believe it or not, that's not a bad thing.\nThe band is missing one key ingredient, though: the J.D. Salinger of rock himself, Axl Rose. I saw GN'R with its ever-changing line-up a little over a year and a half ago in Moline, Ill., and that show kicked the crap out of anything heard on Contraband, including material from the infamously oft delayed, Chinese Democracy. While Slash, and to a lesser extent McKagan and Sorum, are insanely proficient musicians, Rose (despite being bat shit crazy) was always the group's artistic compass. Such direction, while here in small doses, is sorely missing from the overall proceedings. Rose is twice the frontman Weiland is, and that's not to say the STP singer isn't talented, he is, I just can't see a "November Rain" coming out of the guy. \nThe album opens admirably with "Sucker Train Blues," which sounds akin to an Appetite for Destruction b-side. The band (Weiland especially) then bravely tackles its drug problems and media personas on the inspired "Big Machine" (propelled primarily by Sorum's bombastic beat) and "Dirty Little Thing." The "Stone Temple Roses" vibe is later heard to great effect on "Do It for the Kids" (where Weiland apes Rose), "Headspace" and "Slither." Velvet Revolver then oscillates between the cock/arena rock ("Illegal I Song," the ironically-titled "Spectacle" and the rip-roaring "Set Me Free," heard over the closing credits to the "Hulk") and power balladry ("Fall to Pieces" -- think "Sweet Child O' Mine"-lite, "You Got No Right" and "Loving the Alien"), which made their previous collectives famous. There isn't a stinker in the bunch.\nIdeally, the original GN'R line-up (minus drummer Steven Adler) would still be intact releasing records on par with Appetite and the Use Your Illusion discs, and Weiland would capitalize on the artistry seen most clearly in the STP compilation, Thank You. Alas, this is an impossibility amid an onslaught of lawsuits, incessant band infighting and frequent trips to rehab. From the rubble comes Contraband, and while the album doesn't reinvent the wheel, it sure as hell tweaks it. If nothing else, it beats waiting around another decade or so for Chinese Democracy. \nPerhaps I'm not being fair? Hailing from the Lafayette area (hometown to GN'R members/Velvet Revolver absentees Rose and Izzy Stradlin), I feel a loyalty to the boys from "Paradise City." What's here is good -- really good -- it just ain't GN'R.
(06/10/04 4:00am)
Keane, a Britpop trio out of Battle, East Sussex, England, have arrived amid comparisons to Radiohead and Coldplay. With one listen to the band's debut album, Hopes and Fears, such notions will be seen for what they are … rubbish. The band sounds like Travis, and that's that. (Don't believe me, listen to "Everybody's Changing.")\nWhile not the most original of artists, Keane deserves a fair share of accolades. Undermanned in comparison to its predecessors -- the group consists solely of vocalist Tom Chaplin, pianist/bassist Tim Rice-Oxley and drummer Richard Hughes -- Keane boasts more hooks than a tackle box.\nBeginning with the insanely catchy anthem, "Somewhere Only We Know," and closing with the heartfelt vocal propulsion of "Bedshaped," Hopes and Fears rarely falters, this, in spite of a relatively high cheese-factor. Its only dud comes via the overly-produced and lamely titled, "Untitled 1," and even this track's chorus is redeemable.\nChaplin's tenor is a thing of beauty, as are the nimble fingers of Rice-Oxley -- whatever lapses seep into the sonic palette are more often than not filled by Hughes' fills. While these guys sound like a million quid, there's still a snag … this stuff's just too damned sissy. Hopes and Dreams is something you make fun of others for listening to, but while they're at work or in class, the disc inevitably finds its way into the stereo with you singing shamelessly alongside it. Consider Keane a guilty pleasure of the power pop variety.