(In French, On TV, May 2001) Unexplainably hailed as a good film, this typical seventies piece hasn’t aged well at all. Unlikeable characters, torpid pacing, a non-ending, a single simple point made over and over as is it was a brilliant piece of philosophy… it all adds up to a dull pretentious piece of tripe. For Gene Hackman completists and, maybe, the last scene. If only it had been built up by something stronger…
(On VHS, May 2001) This joins the ranks of the teen comedies with crossover appeal through good writing and irresistible acting. (see Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, Heathers, Bring It On, etc…) A modern-day retelling of Emma, which already gives it a solid plot structure, Clueless plays like a quasi-demented parody of the upper-class California life we’re shown in other similar films. Great lines pepper the dialogue, and the delicious soundtrack polishes the result to near-perfection. Smarter than it appears. Constantly amusing. May unfortunately represent Alicia Silverstone’s career peak. Definitely worth a rental, preferably with other similar films.
(On VHS, May 2001) It’s hard to see where a romantic comedy could go wrong while featuring Russell Crowe and Salma Hayek on-screen for nearly 95% of its duration. The answer is that romantic comedies are supposed to be funny, and romantic. This one isn’t. Like so many independent films, Breaking Up wants to be different, and its idea of different is to foreshadow a break-up for 90 minutes, and then have it happen. Insert cries of disbelief from the audience. Not only is it unsatisfying in itself (everyone loves a happy ending), but it also pretty much makes the whole film feel useless. Fortunately, two or three things save the film from total collapse: The lead actors are completely adorable as their respective archetypes, the writing is decent and the direction has very good moments. But be prepared for one downer of a conclusion.
Harper, 1993, 578 pages, C$6.99 mmpb, ISBN 0-06-100894-X
Stay away from this book. I mean it.
You most probably read thrillers for fun. To pass time on the bus. To relax on the beach. To escape reality to a more interesting world where government are either steadfastly protecting our freedom or working hard at enslaving us.
So you naturally want a well-paced story, protagonists you can root for, an original premise and a kicking conclusion that leaves everyone happy and the bad guys punished.
I’m telling you: avoid Alan Gold’s The Jericho Files.
It does start promisingly. At a peace conference where an agreement is about to be signed between Israelis and Arabs, the Prime Minister of Israel gets up, insults the whole crowd, does everything short of a snappy Nazi salute and plunges the entire proceedings in chaos. There’s no such thing as a good mystery to get the ball rolling on a novel, and this is a fascinating one.
Then we’re inevitably introduced to our two protagonists. Miriam Davis is a tough but adorable Jewish Australian lawyer. She’s dating Paul Sinclair, a journalist. They’re a cute couple, even though they have a few problems due to religious differences. To patch things up, they visit her grandfather, who tells them a story about the Israeli Prime Minister’s past. Photographic proof in hand, he maintains that this particular Prime Minster -back in Pre-WW2 Poland- was a die-hard communist who helped to eradicate entire Jewish villages. Egawd! Could he be right?
Well, of course he is. We’re privy to the conspiracies of an old man, who masterminds a plot for complete Russian world domination! Miriam’s grandfather is killed, Paul’s apartment is ransacked, and before long, our two intrepid investigators are on a plane away from Australia, looking for answers in the old countries.
(Gold doesn’t miss an occasion to pump up Israel’s profile and generally make a fanfare out of Jewishness. That’s cool -I’m generally sympathetic to Israel-, but when constantly repeated over hundreds of pages, it can become annoying.)
Meanwhile, Israel is torn apart by martial law and agents provocateurs. Our protagonists escape from the country with death teams hot on their heels and continue on to Poland, where they confirm the grandfather’s story. But everywhere they go, their witnesses and informants are ruthlessly killed shortly after having talked.
Understand that I’m summarizing a lot, but not condensing much. Even though The Jericho Files nearly hits 600 pages, not a lot happens there. The narrative is padded with useless chatter, scenes which sap the suspense of the novel and a considerable amount of red herrings, cardboard characters, gratuitous subplots and dull moments.
Eventually, Paul and Miriam link up with powerful Russian men who might be in a position to stop the Jericho plan. They gather their forces, prepare their counterstrike…
…and are all killed. Paul and Miriam are taken deep inside a Russian forest and killed one after another by a bullet in the head. They’re then disfigured by sulphuric acid and buried in an unmarked grave.
The End.
I’m not making this up. 550+ pages for a complete failure and an unremarkable death.
Couple this awful ending with the tepid pacing, and you’ve got a recipe for the anti-thesis of everything fun, good and sacred about thrillers. It doesn’t do to kick the reader in the head after s/he’s been patient enough to slog through 550+ pages of mostly indifferent prose to see the novel resolve itself in a big fat nothing. Stay away from this book. Now that I’ve spoiled it from beginning to end, you don’t even have a reason to go through it.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll just go and deface my copy with sulphuric acid and bury it in an unmarked grave somewhere in my backyard.
(On VHS, May 2001) If you’re going to remake a film, don’t remake Rosemary’s Baby! And if you’re going to remake that dull piece of solid boredom, at least make it more interesting. But no. We’re stuck with a Charlize Theron made ugly Mia-Farrow-style, a somnolent pacing and a completely linear plot. The best (and “best” is still pretty bad) is kept for the end, where we finally get some special effects. The big twist is that the alien wins. There, now you know all. There are a few good camera tricks, but they somehow come across as being more pretentious than interesting. But then again, the pacing will put you to sleep before you have a chance to notice any of it.
(On VHS, May 2001) Irresistible Victorian-era comedy inspired by an Oscar Wilde play. Completely depends on the skill of the actors, who all rise superbly to the challenge. The sex-appeal factor alone (Minnie Driver, Cate Blanchett and Julianne Moore, in elegant period dresses) is worth the rental for guys, but my sister assures me that Jeremy Northam and Rupert Everett have a similar impact on female viewers. The comedy itself is literate, civilized, steadily amusing and appropriate for the whole family. The conclusion may require a moment’s thought. A wonderful film that most would unfortunately be tempted to overlook.
(In theaters, May 2001) The power of the media! The lack of responsibility of current Americans! The failings of the judicial system! The undue respect given to criminal behavior! Big ideas! Bad execution! 15 Minutes has a twist or two that save it from total collapse, but more often than not, it ends up playing like a cartoon with a body count. The caricatural east-European bad guys don’t help, and neither does the oh-so-bad media newsperson. I mean; we’ve seen most of these issues raised as afterthoughts in Die Hard… did we need an entire film dedicated to it? Wit requires subtlety, and 15 Minutes is usually as subtle as a sledgehammer. If anyone escapes from the film with some honor, it’s Ed Burns, turning in a good performance despite a badly-written role that follows the typical cop-turns-psycho arc we’ve come to expect. (It doesn’t make much sense, but then again it rarely does. Other plot threads even disappear in mid-flight.) Good cinematography, and the direction had its moments despite an overuse of “amateur camera” shots. The film’s third quarter is actually quite good, thanks to one hard plot twist and a meanly effective fire action sequence. After that, it just gets sillier, and I don’t think that was the intent of the filmmakers.
Picador, 1996, 310 pages, C$10.99 mmpb, ISBN 0-330-37525-3
01/05/2001: 13st8 (Eek! What am I, a bowling ball?), cigarettes 0 (as if), alcohol units 0 (yeah, right), 6/49 tickets 0 (not feeling one-in-fourteen-million special enough), nasty calls from Rogers Video 0 (v.g.), siblings visiting 2, calories stratospheric (shouldn’t have had third slice of pizza. Nor fourth, fifth or sixth one).
L. came in my office again today, complaining about latest dating prospect and wondering whenever she’ll meet Mister Right and if new clothes make her too fat. Did my best impression of a gay best friend, sympathizing with everything she said while personal designs on her neither gay nor simply friendly. Have to wonder how I ended up in this bizarre situation someday, but not today as answer likely to be too depressing.
Thought about L. a lot while finishing Bridget Jones’s Diary, but also about my own situation; young professional still single more by circumstance than choice. Whole book told as year-in-the-life diary of said Bridget Jones, single Londoner with more neuroses than entire Woody Allen oeuvre.
Great book, fun reading, many laugh-out-loud moments. Even though Bridget not brightest bulb, it’s impossible not to really like her, problems and all. Constant metaphorical yearning to hug her and say everything would come out all right. Author Helen Fielding does great job at funny writing with huge drops of honesty. Loved passage about how single friends would rather keep everyone else single than lose their time with them because they’re in relationship.
Had a few problems with the book, though; bunch of coincidences, mostly. Eventually learned that Mr. Darcy character based on similar Mr. Darcy in Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice, which might explain a lot if ever I end up seeing Pride and Prejudice.
At least book much superior to movie, which stumbled worst when straying away from novel. Major distractions include whole mother subplot, which is nastier in book than film. Unfortunately, this cause movie ending to be far more Hollywoodish than book, which is far more satisfying (“Why did you do it?” “I think it’s obvious.” Perfect!) Whole book generally less formula romance than film, which now feels more contrived than ever. (While book never sends Darcy to New York, there is unfortunately no fist-fight. Oh well.) Interestingly enough, movie/book changes will keep up interest in the book for movie fans.
Writing sharp, fast, hilarious & hypnotically easy to imitate. Fielding has comic genius; some embarrassed glances from other people in the bus after hearing me laughing aloud.
Social significance of Bridget Jones probably worth noting, but too little space here to do so. Ironically enough, Bridget Jones’s Diary could be compared to a female Fight Club, both being about modern social dilemma stemming from doing first thirty years more or less right and then discovering things that parents never told you about. Modern teenhood being pushed back ten-fifteen years? Lack of established social models to deal with modern zeitgeist? Judging from bestseller lists in England and now States, chances are that many many ladies are identifying with Jones. Personal query; where are they all? Like to think of self as being much closer to Darcy than Daniel.
Realize enjoyed Bridget Jones’s Diary a lot despite not being target audience, which leads self to question validity of initial premise. Maybe not as far away from Jones as would like to believe. Eek.