For me, Ratatouille seemed like it would be something of a tough sell. As much as I’ve enjoyed previous Pixar efforts (I even get a bit misty over Monsters Inc.), the sheer volume of computer animated fuzzy-critter flicks over the past few years has made me weary of them. And call me coldhearted, but the whole idea of a rat becoming a chef put me off.
But while Ratatouille occasionally has its Willard moments, it’s rarely anything but charming, a great-looking film that avoids the temptation of getting cloying with its messages about savoring the good things in life and following one’s dreams. There are fine vocal performances from the entire cast, and their acting is in turn complemented by Pixar’s ever more astounding animation. (Particularly enjoyable is Anton Ego, a joyless food critic voiced by Peter O’ Toole who stands with a buzzard-like Max Schreck stoop.) The expressive faces of the characters bear neither the creepy stiffness of lesser computer animated efforts, nor the bland prettiness once favored by Disney. To top it all off, that first glittering rooftop view of Paris has all the breathtaking effect of the best cinematic evocations of the City of Lights.
by Victoria Large | Source: Disney DVD
29 Nov 2007 3:25 PM | Submit Comment
The extras documentary on the new ‘Twin Peaks’ gold edition box set is worthy of praise if only for one extraordinary scene midway through, as Angelo Badalamenti remembers his and Lynch’s collaboration on the haunting ‘Laura’s Theme’, recalling how excited the director became as Badalamenti picked out the piano line, becoming almost tearful as he relives what is clearly a defining moment in an extraordinary career. Otherwise it’s pretty standard stuff: fascinating, required viewing for those of us still in thrall to what may yet prove one of the 20th century’s great works of art, completely dismissable for the rest of the population (or as I like to call them, ‘suckers’).
by Tom Huddleston | Source: DVD
27 Nov 2007 11:40 AM | Submit Comment
How Powell and Pressburger managed to become quite so commercially successful is something of a mystery to me, despite my belief that they are perhaps the finest creative team in cinema history. This is not quite the weirdest of the lot- A Canterbury Tale wears that crown- but it is a strange, perplexing film, rich in atmosphere and stunningly beautiful to look at, despite being filmed almost exclusively on the Pinewood backlot. Perhaps the greatest achievement here is making a film about nuns, in which nothing of great note really happens until the end, utterly riveting, and even terrifying: Black Narcissus feels almost like a horror film without the horror, an exploitation movie without the exploitation, brimming with all the seediness and gross, repressed sensuality that made Peeping Tom such a critical blow to Powell’s career. The difference is that here he keeps things in check, simmering just below the surface, equally disturbing but mercifully hidden.
by Tom Huddleston | Source: FlimFour
27 Nov 2007 11:35 AM | Submit Comment
Nonsensical plot, ham acting and portentous doggerel dialogue aside, this may very well be Industrial Light and Magic’s finest hour, besting even Close Encounters in the shock-and-awe stakes. While there maybe nothing as uniquely breathtaking as the mothership in that movie, the sheer scale of the undertaking here is quite astounding- every few minutes there’s something new and striking to feast one’s eyes on. The main problem with this is that the space scenes and planetary exteriors look so good, they can’t help but throw the crude 70’s sets and lame nylon costumes into sharp relief.
Points, too, for Jerry Goldsmith’s worldbeating score, combing the best elements of his own loony Planet of the Apes soundtrack with more commercially successful John Williams efforts like Star Wars to create something consistently surprising and satisfyingly weird, but still triumphal and stirring. Far better, in fact, than the film really deserves. The question still remains- was the guy who directed The Sound Of Music really the best choice?
by Tom Huddleston | Source: Sky Movies
27 Nov 2007 11:32 AM | Comments (2)
Just making sure my favourite film of the year really was as good as I remembered it. It was, and though a few challengers have arisen in the months since This Is England’s release (most notably Mister Lonely and I’m Not There), Shane Meadows’ film is still a strong contender. The story is simple and lovingly crafted, the characters sharp and familiar. The photography- particularly those amazing slo-mo sequences- is fantastic, and the music vibrant and wonderful. But the film’s biggest strength- as in all Meadows’ films- remains it’s performances, particularly Stephen Graham’s powerhouse turn as psycho Combo, and the welcome return of Meadows regulars Andrew Shim and Vicky McClure, natural, likeable screen actors who deserve more attention. The ending still feels slightly undercooked and perfunctory, but overall this is a warm, exhilarating evocation of England’s past, and a stark warning for the future.
by Tom Huddleston | Source: DVD
27 Nov 2007 11:30 AM | Submit Comment
Working my way gradually through the Sturges box set, this is perhaps a little broader than previous efforts, but still a cut above. It’s the closest a cynical wit like Sturges could ever get to patriotism, as a disillusioned factory worker returns home claiming to be a war hero, and the town wants to elect him mayor. The gags are daft, the dialogue crackles, the human interest is strong and the narrative pointed and direct. You really can’t argue with this kind of quality.
by Tom Huddleston | Source: DVD
27 Nov 2007 11:29 AM | Submit Comment
The gangster epic is looking a little tired nowadays. Ridley Scott’s newest is, like The Departed before it, an overlong, self- serious attempt to relive the glory days of The Godfather and Goodfellas (or even Carlito’s Way), undeniably entertaining but possessing relatively little of it’s predecessors’ wit, style or insight. And why choose to focus on the seen-it-all-before rise to fame part of the Frank Lucas story, when the final stages- Lucas turns state’s evidence and puts all his old rivals behind bars- seems so much more interesting? Perhaps the film’s producers were afraid of a backlash by the sponsors of American ghettoland’s recent and popular ‘don’t tell’ campaign.
by Tom Huddleston | Source: 35mm print
27 Nov 2007 11:25 AM | Submit Comment
Shivajee Chandrabhushan’s sophomore feature Frozen is a strong candidate for the most beautifully photographed film ever made. Every frame could be printed and hung, every angle is perfect, shimmering monochrome and deep shadows creating a vivid, startling portrait of a strange and jarring world. DP Shanker Raman, who also wrote the screenplay, deserves not only to win the Oscar, but a newly created Nobel Prize for Cinematography, and perhaps an honorary knighthood to boot. That’s how utterly stunning this film looks.
Sadly, nothing else in the film quite works. The story is chronically slow and quite hard to follow, detailing the hardships faced by a small family of peasants living in the harsh Himalayan foothills. Things seem to happen with no lead-in and no consequence, as though the scenes have been switched around. The characters are interesting but underdeveloped, and the narrative- basically, rags to even worse rags- predictable and depressing. The ending is an effective surprise, and as a window into an alien world the film is undoubtedly fascinating. But the reason to see Frozen, the only real reason, is it’s staggering, flawless visuals.
by Tom Huddleston | Source: 35mm print
27 Nov 2007 11:22 AM | Submit Comment
Wow, Paris kinda sucks. For a film emphasizing the I Love You portion of its title, most of the ten-minute “arrondissements” depict the French capital as a place where you can get beaten up, stabbed, addicted to drugs, addicted to drug dealers, divorced, drunk, dumped, heckled, stalked by a vampire, and led to your dead son by a cowboy. I suppose a two-hour film fawning over the mystical wonders of Paris would be utterly painful, but I don’t see how the aforementioned alternatives are any better. And, to be fair, Paris, Je T’aime has its moments of pure wonderment, including Wes Craven’s surprising short about a man and woman who separate in Pere-Lachaise and are reunited thanks to the ghost of Oscar Wilde. Vincenzo Natali’s vampire story is enjoyably atypicalÑa nod, it seems, to the films of FeuilladeÑand Alexander Payne’s closing contribution gives us a great performance from Margo Martindale. But the undeniable and overall best comes from Sylvain Chomet, whose story involves a young boy telling the story of how his parents, both mimes, fell in love; there is an element or two of fantasy, some stunning cinematography and special effects, and the usual scent of humorous anti-Americanism, enough to make “Tour Eiffel” both stand out on its own and fulfill the four-word promise of the film’s title.
by Adam Balz | Source: DVD
27 Nov 2007 9:38 AM | Submit Comment
God bless Antony. Were it not for him, this would be Lian Lunson’s dazzling little disaster, built on bad marketing and the egos of a half-dozen singers. To watch the trailer is to expect a documentary about the laureate of song himself, peppered with ever-so-relevant performancesÑa chronology of music. Instead, we have a concert interrupted by flat interviews and annoyingly frequent transitions and superimpositions; everything we would ever want to know about Leonard Cohen is found elsewhere, and everything we already know is found here: Bono discussing Cohen’s “sexy” voice and “Biblical significance,” the Edge touching on his importance to a generation, and so on. All the while the man himself is shot in such unprofessional close-ups that his head escapes into blur. He could easily have occupied the entire film, if only someone had let him.
by Adam Balz | Source: DVD
27 Nov 2007 9:34 AM | Submit Comment
I knew going in that I would be moved by Shake Hands With The Devil. I knew that I would sympathize with Canadian General (now Senator) Romeo Dallaire as he struggled against international indifference; as he was forced to witness the Rwandan genocide and to interact with its perpetrators while being forbidden to intervene; as he returned home to Canada and was treated for post-traumatic stress, and was eventually driven to attempt suicide because of what he had seen, and done, and been unable to do.
I knew the content of the movie would impress me. What I didn’t expect was that I would be so impressed by the making of the film itself. The music, the cinematography, the acting, the script — all were fantastic. With a subject like the Rwandan genocide it would be easy to sensationalize, to go for the goriest and most emotionally wrenching moments possible, to create martyrs and monsters and to leave out the details. Too many accounts of Rwanda show a spontaneous, inexplicable, outburst of tribal violence — they make no mention of the planning that went into the genocide, the organization, the training, the scheduling, the making of lists. They don’t mention the civil war that had been ongoing for years. Shake Hands With The Devil includes that context, and shows the various international factors and voices that constrained Dallaire and his men. Not many international players come out of this looking good.
Some critics have suggested that the movie focuses too much on Dallaire, and not enough on the true victims of the genocide; that its emphasis on his struggle somehow minimizes the suffering of the Rwandans. That’s a cheap shot in my book. Everyone is entitled to tell their own story, and the story of the commander of the United Nations forces in Rwanda, who was given explicit orders not to intervene in the genocide, is one that is certainly worth hearing.
by Eva Holland | Source: 35 MM Theatrical Print
25 Nov 2007 7:40 PM | Submit Comment
If you’ve ever wondered what the Mayfield neighborhood would look as a cloudless Technicolored heaven enclosed by metal Romeroesque fencing, this is the film for you. Billy Connolly is a member of the undead harnessed by the living as a pet—a gray, groaning Benji, complete with matching collar (to protect against unvented zombie rage) and backyard chain. Named “Fido” by his new owner, an adolescent outcast, he threatens to divide the family: Mom, played by Carrie-Anne Moss, exhibits more than just a soft-spot for the decayed former-person, while Dad—the great Dylan Baker, as a cowardly Ward Cleaver—is reminded of his own past experiences with zombies and shuns the family’s new addition. A great little piece of overlooked humor, as well as a highly original commentary on both the zombie subgenre and our culture as a whole.
Still, zombies don’t win Oscars. At least, none have so far. Anybody playing a member of the undead is given a limited character to inhabit—a flat, flesh-eating canvass of rotting cheeks and glowing-black eyes, their libidinous appetites yearning fresh, flowing blood. Dialogue consists of “Errgh” and “Agghh” and, occasionally, “Brains!” With Fido, there are a multitude of surprisingly great performances to complement the storyline, the least of which comes from Tim Blake Nelson as a next-door neighbor and former researcher whose own pet is a young, blonde, scantily-clad female. A refreshing little movie, even with Halloween now two weeks passed.
by Adam Balz | Source: Lionsgate DVD
16 Nov 2007 2:55 PM | Submit Comment
Such a flawless ensemble, from Russell Crowe and Denzel Washington to Ruby Dee, Ted Levine, and Josh Brolin, makes this a worthwhile exercise in performance over screenplay. Steven Zaillian’s script is good, yes, but evokes Goodfellas far too much. (In fact, the similarities are uncomfortably eerie.) Still, American Gangster has the best closing shot of any film I’ve seen this year, period.
by Adam Balz | Source: 35MM Theatrical Print
16 Nov 2007 2:25 PM | Comments (3)
No, that’s a W-2; a WW2 is a second world war.
Daryl Zero is a meticulous, reclusive genius, but what best characterizes him is a lack of common sense and social insecurity. He possesses a variety of fabricated forms of identification, and regularly dons wigs or faux mustaches to observe his clients, which he does with exemplary discretion—he’s the best private detective in the world. It’s only when someone approaches Daryl Zero outside of the pretense of investigation that he fails to implement even the most basic customs of human interaction.
The Zero Effect contains a mystery – a wealthy man who is blackmailed – but its principle concern is the mind of its central character. We are as intent to figure him out as we are the mystery. Zero will resolve everything in the end, and his success is laureled by no one.
by Rumsey Taylor | Source: Turner Home Entertainment DVD
13 Nov 2007 2:34 PM | Submit Comment
Roughly the final two thirds of R. Kelly’s pièce de résistance lack the comprehensibility and sincerity of the opening chapters, which are somehow brilliant in their rudimentary conception of narrative, plot, voice-over narration, and rhyming schema. It all amounts to a memorably redundant spectacle, for better and for worse, as quantifiably brilliant as it is ridiculous.
by Rumsey Taylor | Source: DVD
13 Nov 2007 2:31 PM | Submit Comment
The Big Lebowski is ostensibly a film of indifference and pacifism, yet it possesses such rage. Reminders of the first Gulf War decorate its periphery, but these reminders serve to identify a hostility and xenophobia that brew throughout. This is all manifested in John Goodman’s Walter, who is summarily introduced as both a hypocrite and moron. He’ll remain like this throughout the film; both the Vietnam and Gulf wars incidental suppliers of his rage, when the real threat remains some hypocritically greedy German nihilists.
Additionally, this has arguably the most marvelous use of voice-over narration since Days of Heaven.
by Rumsey Taylor | Source: Universal DVD
13 Nov 2007 2:29 PM | Submit Comment
Begotten is less compelling than the critics’ quotes that strew its VHS cover: “The result is a thing of beauty, where realistic images are turned upside down by the grotesque and flowers are trampled by the darkening clouds of a nightmare.” —Film Threat; “Makes Eraserhead seem like Ernest Saves Christmas.” —Richard Corliss, Time; “One of the ten most important films of modern times.” —Susan Sontag. Oddly or not, it is Corliss’ comparison that is the most apt. And Sontag’s? Lunacy.
by Rumsey Taylor | Source: VHS
13 Nov 2007 2:26 PM | Submit Comment
A lot has been written about the so-called “torture porn” subgenre of horror films, as realized by blood-banquet impresario Eli Roth and the Saw co-creators, and all I can add is: Enough. Seriously, it was fun for a while, like a vacation into the dark recesses of our unconscious to see where exactly that line between tolerable and intolerable imagery existed, and I’m sure it taught us a little something about ourselves (not to mention the people we saw the films with). And yes, the first two installments of Saw were both sick and ingenious: Two men in a room with shackles and dull tools; a pit of dirty hypodermic needles; a villain willing to give himself up, if only the police officer would wait and talk. But the subgenre is already dead—perhaps the shortest span of one ever. When you open a third sequel with the complete, uncensored autopsy of a lovable sicko—skin folded over like flaps, face peeled away, ribs spread, skull sliced open, genitals awash in light—and then present him in flashbacks as a good husband, a kind businessman and neighbor, and an expectant father, you’re admitting that you’ve lost all control over character. When, ten minutes from the end, you introduce a vital someone we haven’t seen in over a year, and then expect us to lean forward in our seats and say “Aha!”, you’ve lost all grasp of common sense. By the end of Saw IV I was hoping for some sort of reconstructed timeline; I had no idea what was happening, who was from what previous installment, or how the filmmakers convinced Tobin Bell to do this again. And sure, the scene with an abused wife speared to her husband was good, but it was just too underdeveloped. So please, for the sake of retaining some respectable embrace over a good idea, just stop.
by Adam Balz | Source: 35MM Theatrical Print
12 Nov 2007 10:29 AM | Submit Comment
For years I’ve tried to follow what I call the Charles Bronson rule: Never criticize a movie you see for free. It comes from a saying attributed to the actor himself: “We don’t make movies for critics, since they don’t pay to see them anyhow.” Obviously this rule has its flaws, and I’m far from what you would call a real, respectable critic. But Bronson, intending to or not, highlights an important aspect to film criticism—putting down seven or eight dollars for a movie is an investment in the film, giving you ample right to hate it when it doesn’t meet expectations.
Lions for Lambs was screened in Green Bay for free, at a theatre less than two miles from my home, on a night in which I had absolutely nothing else to do. And yet, as the film ended and the lights came up, I felt cheated, robbed of something I couldn’t account for. This is Robert Redford’s first directorial effort in seven years, a dramatized look at the on-field and in-office battles surrounding the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. Written by Matthew Michael Carnahan, who also wrote The Kingdom, which I didn’t see, Lions for Lambs had the opportunities so many others have had—to deliver knock-out blows to everyone in the upper echelon of American politics, from the Administration that wipes away civil liberties like flies from their face to the journalists—the so-called Fourth Estate—who should have awoken the national conscience with privileged words and pictures but didn’t. Lions for Lambs is an exercise in retroactive protest, an experiment that is ninety minutes too long and arrives five years too late. It has nothing new to say, no offered solutions or lessons to learn, even when it so easily could. And because Redford’s film refuses to break any rules, I’ll break my own: This is garbage.
I should also take this opportunity to admit that, besides being a bad “critic” who frequently breaks his own rules for film-viewing, I’m also a sell-out. This screening, which was monitored by security, was also attended by an MGM representativeÑa polite, hospitable man who I have absolutely no qualms with. He didn’t write the movie, he didn’t cast the movie, and he didn’t direct the movie; he did his job with utmost respect to us all, even after a humiliatingly public wanding in a roped-off area outside the theatre. So when time came to leave, a gauntlet of moviegoers passed by him outside the theatreÑno ropes, no metal detectorsÑand he managed to stop me. Me and me alone. He asked me what I thought of the film, a pen braced to blank clipboard paper, ear bent to my every word; and slowly, carefully, I took a deep breath, gathered every thought that had manifested during the 90-minute runtime, and said: “Pretty good.” No. Not “pretty good.” In fact, only a few paces back, I had handed my circled “3” rating to an older gentleman in a nice suit, not caring whether he saw the faint ink-shape or not. I wanted to leave, to go home; it was night, and I was pissed. And yet I gave my “Pretty good,” waited for any other questionsÑthere were none, he never looked upÑand then departed.
All through the parking lot I felt like a hypocrite: Had I not learned anything from the film I had just watched, from those thin little scenes with Redford’s college professor lecturing some young undergrad punk with tangled hair about how his generation was being lazy? Was I not, just now, being that young undergrad punk, only on a shallow personal level? I’ve never been to a film where someone from the studio was there, asking for my opinionÑthis should have been my greatest moment, to let the verbal opinions spew forth. But I knew the film was finished, that no “needs more this” or “needs better that” would have any impact on anyone. So, yes, I’m a sell-out, someone who learned nothing from what he just saw; but, then again, my act of self-betrayal will remain on this website, while another man’s will be in theatres everywhere this weekend.
And P.S.: Valkyrie looks terrible.
by Adam Balz | Source: 35MM Theatrical Print
09 Nov 2007 9:25 AM | Submit Comment
This could be the first instance in which a director, hoping to strengthen the dramatic pull of a stock-footage moment, incorporates technology from “Late Night with Conan O’Brien”: Dick Cheney, speaking at the funeral of his late boss and friend, convulses mid-eulogy and, for a split second, grows a new set of lips. I’m not sure from which rotunda memorial service of the last few years Gabriel Range borrowed this footage but, much like the rest of the film, it’s a pointless and detestable display.
by Adam Balz | Source: Lions Gate DVD
09 Nov 2007 9:16 AM | Submit Comment
After the eight-minute opening credits sequence, we are offered a visual promise—Luna’s Stranded is molded in the genius of Kubrick’s 2001. Unfortunately, as is often the case, promises as grand as these are meant to be broken, and Luna—also known as co-star Maria Lidon—does so with vengeance and disregard. The acting, especially from Danel Aser, is distractingly torturous, with every word ground heel-down into the film-stock, and the entire plot is ridiculous to the point of becoming unintentional camp.
by Adam Balz | Source: 20th Century Fox DVD
09 Nov 2007 9:12 AM | Submit Comment
As I remarked to some friends after seeing this, at the Brattle, for the fourth time in four subsequent Halloweens, Evil Dead II is a film I have essentially memorized, yet each time I see it I have a different favorite part. This time around it’s the scene in which all the living room dressings are laughing hysterically at Ash, and the moment at which his own hysteria escalates into outright terror. Ash just stands there with a sort of delirious moan as the camera pivots around him, the room filled with cackling light fixtures and hardware, revealing no exit. And in one of this film’s multiple climaxes, Ash aims his shotgun directly toward you and fires.
by Rumsey Taylor | Source: 35mm print
05 Nov 2007 12:03 PM | Submit Comment
by Rumsey Taylor | Source: Anchor Bay DVD
05 Nov 2007 11:56 AM | Submit Comment
I share Jason’s inability to really criticize this film, but I think, objectively, it remains charmingly juvenile. Its characterizations are pitch-perfect, its swashbucklery excited and harmless like a pillow fight. Two random bits of trivia: one of the prominent IMDb plot keywords for this film is “Group Vomit,” and it has a sequel in the form of an NES game.
by Rumsey Taylor | Source: VHS
05 Nov 2007 11:55 AM | Submit Comment
In search of some All Hallows’ Eve excitement, a sextet of horny teens steals a body from the morgue, hefts it to the local graveyard, and invokes the dark lord to bring it back to life. Meanwhile, a second gang of kids decides trick or treating is for the birds, and that a creepy night in the selfsame cemetery is just the ticket to sate their need for a fright fix. Also boneyard bound is a Dr. Loomis-style psychiatrist who is convinced that the recently filched body was, in life, one of Satan’s favorite vessels, and that bringing it back to the land of the living is a bad idea.
While elements of Halloween, Friday the 13th, and other slasher benchmarks are in evidence (particularly in regards to the central slaughterer, a Michael-Jason hybrid, but with more anger and less discrimination), this excellent Mexican offering has a wonderful spirit all its own, skimming over potentially tedious elements like back-story and character development, and focusing on the good stuffÑpsychiatrists stealing police cars, awkward make-out sessions, self-inflicted axings, and yes, lots and lots of zombies.
If originally released in English, this determination to give the horror fans what they love would have undoubtedly secured the film a place within the canon of ’80s horror crowd-pleasers. Hopefully a recent DVD reissue, still in Spanish but with English subtitles, will attract Cemetery of Terror the following it deserves.
by Thomas Scalzo | Source: BCI Eclipse DVD
01 Nov 2007 12:28 PM | Comments (1)