Year: 2005

(In theaters, February 2005) It’s no accident if Spanglish shares its first few letters with Spank Me: It would take some serious masochism to sit through this sad excuse for a movie a second time. Within five minutes, I already knew I hated this film. Exploitation of illegal immigrants, rich white guilt, indulgence toward fat kids (let’s not hurt her feeelings)? Funny stuff, that. But even past my general loathing for the film’s unthinking acceptance of class exploitation, Spanglish fails on its own terms: the story goes everywhere and nowhere without any strong conductive tread, and ends with the laziest “…and she quit” plot cheat. What’s between awful beginning and bad ending is the stuff lame movies are made of. Inconsistent characters, grossly simplistic situations and dumb motivations: It’s hard to watch Tea Leoni struggle with her cardboard character and remember that this is from the same writer capable of writing Broadcast News. Adam Sandler also struggles with the saccharine puppet he’s asked to play, occasionally blowing off steam in two or three lines stolen from his usual angry personae. Spanglish never coheres, never does anything with the elements it has, never even tries to deliver something satisfying to its audience. Stay away from it.

(In theaters, February 2005) The premise doesn’t promise much: A depressive wine connoisseur with delusions of literary competency goes on a wine-tasting road trip with a womanizing friend on the eve of his wedding. Wackiness ensue. But to dismiss the plot of the film is to ignore the way Sideways progressively becomes more and more sympathetic, despite its flawed characters and maybe even thanks to them. Not only is Paul Giamatti pitch-perfect as the miserable protagonist, but the rest of the cast also does fantastic work. Best of all is the screenplay, which not only teaches more about wine than you’d ever expected to know, but also finds just the right spots between comedy and tragedy. (It just may be writer/director Alexander Payne’s best effort yet). The Californian wine-country cinematography is gorgeous and the direction is unobtrusive. I didn’t expect to enjoy this as much as I did, but then again it features an exchange I can identify with: “So you’ve written a novel?” “You you like to read it? I’ve got a copy of it in the trunk of my car.” Ah, so true.

(In theaters, February 2005) I initially avoided this film due to the incessant “this is the film that makes Christmas feels good” marketing blitz. But it’s hard for a Special Effects geek to ignore an all-CGI film like this one, especially if it represents yet another curious foray in the world of motion capture. Tom Hanks plays three characters? Heck, why not? But once you get past the entire “The spirit of Christmas is in you” crap, there’s a lot to admire about this film. For one thing, there’s a ton of action; I can see why people raved about it being on IMAX-3D. Some scenes approach pure roller-coaster goodness, including a terrific sequence set atop a frozen lake. Then there’s the very good quality of the animation which, creepy human characters aside, works relatively well. Director Robert Zemekis has always been a fan of the virtual camera (see Forrest Gump, or What Lies Beneath) and the purely virtual nature of The Polar Express allows him unprecedented flights of fancy: I’ll simply single out the “ticket ride” uninterrupted shot as a virtuoso sequence that would be impossible in live action. The rest of the film I don’t care too much about (the less said about the last interminable fifteen minutes the best, I suppose), but there’s simply too much intriguing material in The Polar Express to miss it.

(In theaters, February 2005) Sweeping musical drama that leaves a leaden impression despite lavish sights, The Phantom Of The Opera both impresses and disappoints. Some of the staging is fabulous: the cinematography, set design and costumes are all Oscar-worthy and director Joel Schumaker has enough experience with big-budget cinematography to do justice to the romantic sweep of the piece. Add to that the enormously likable Emily Rossum as the romantic heroine and it’s hard to see where it can go wrong. But it does; after the first few songs and the showpiece tunes everyone has heard at least once (“Music of the Night”, “Masquerade” and, obviously “Phantom of the Opera”), the rest of the film blurs into an undistinguished series of maudlin ballads. From my limited musical perspective and my tin ear, some of the dubbing work is off: Emily Rossum is convincing; Gerald Butler is not. The film remains spectacular throughout, but it also gets boring really quickly. Far too long and inconsistently slavish to Andrew Lloyd Weber’s stage musical, The Phantom Of The Opera cries out for some snipping.

(In theaters, February 2005) Built around the acrobatic skills of Tony Jaa (billed, with good reason, as “the next Jackie Chan”), this movie is best appreciated as a dance exhibition involving plenty of kick-boxing. In the grand tradition of martial arts action films, Ong Bak features a plot just simple enough to lead from one eye-popping action scene to another. The camera work is substandard, the acting is primitive, the dialogue is ordinary and the image quality suffers from the Thailand-France-USA lineage of the film (Luc Besson’s efforts are the only reason why this import film made it to American cineplexes; a few French subtitles subsist on the print copy), but that’s not the point. The point is in showing Tony Jaa jumping, leaping, kicking, punching and neck-snapping his share of obstacles. Jaa’s on-screen personality is still a blank (he doesn’t have the goofy charm of Jackie Chan or the good-boy cool of Jet Li), but the physical talent is definitely there. Warning; this is a brutal skull-cracking film, far removed from the gentle ballet of what has recently come to be known as “kung-fu films” in the West. Probably best appreciated at home on a smaller screen, as the Xth-generation copy looks grainy and cheap on a big screen.

(In theaters, February 2005) Making a reasonably watchable film about genocide is a dicey proposition: You can be heartfelt and veer into melodrama, bashing the audience with massive quantities of guilt and disgust for the human race (hello Schindler’s List), or conversely treat the subject as nothing more than a great excuse for explosions, guns and righteous vengeance (I’m talking about you, Tears Of The Sun). This in an exception, though: by taking the path of a suspense film, canny writer/director Terry George manages to create a film that is both revelatory and, yes, fun to watch. Protagonist Paul Rusesabagina is your proverbial everyday man, stuck in an impossible situation without anything but his wits to keep the Rwandan genocide away from his hotel. Powerful stuff, but the way the film is constructed, as a series of mini-crises to be solved or else, makes its message accessible to a much wider audience. The suspense runs high, the horrors are shown crisply and the final message is one of quiet optimism: Bad things happen and most will try to pretend otherwise, but it’s possible to do good if you work at it. Competent technical credits and excellent acting from all players involved only make a good film great. Canadians will feel a strange sense of helpless pride at the sight of Nick Nolte as a Canadian UN peacekeeper (loosely modelled on real-life hero Roméo Dallaire) seething in impotent rage at the world’s inaction. The best thing about Hotel Rwanda is that it communicates this rage to us without feeling like a message film.

(In theaters, February 2005) My dating life needs all the help it can get, so Hitch had a pedagogic quality slightly beyond its simple entertainment value. Fortunately, it turns out to be one of the best romantic comedies of the past few years, a compliment that says more about romantic comedies in general than Hitch‘s actual worth. The originality of the premise alone is worth a look: Nominally paying attention to romance from a male perspective (at a time where romantic comedies are aimed straight at women), Hitch depends on the considerable charisma of leading-man Will Smith as a “Date Doctor” teaching hapless guys like me the proper way to woo women. It’s an excuse for good gags, of course, but also an interesting way to jump-start twin romantic plot-lines that don’t depend on silly love triangles to work. (Indeed, the disappointing third act reaches it nadir when it tries to use the “other man” plot device for a few moments.) Will Smith is as appealing as ever; perhaps one of the few actors working today able to pull off the required empathy/self-confidence shtick required to make this character work. Eva Mendez makes for a capable foil as another super-powered character who has to be convinced of the value of romance in order to fall for him. If the film has a principal flaw, it’s that it fails to exploit this “stronger characters require stronger romance” thread. Well, that and the fact that it become more and more conventional as it goes along. But one could use Hitch as a gateway for a discussion of romantic comedies without scratching the surface of why this is an enjoyable film for both males and females. Funny performances (with particular props to the irresistible comedic timing of Kevin James) enhance a good but wasteful script, and the result is more than tolerable.

(In theaters, February 2005) I wish I could be mad about this film, but there’s something to be told about truth in advertising. Everything I’d seen or heard about this film -premise, trailer, poster- screamed “boring”, and it took the official Oscar nominations to make me see the film. While certainly not bad, it’s certain long and boring. The “true story behind the classic” shtick has been done, better, by Shakespeare In Love, and it takes only one errant cough to see where this film is going. I suppose that Peter Pan fans will get a lot more from this film than I did. Even at 106 minutes, Finding Neverland still feels like a slug. I can’t fault the technical side of the film nor the acting of Johnny Depp and the rest of the cast. On the other hand, the script has me wondering: Even though it’s supposed to be a celebration of imagination, the way that Depp’s character simply recycles everything he hears tends to diminish the role of the writer’s creativity. Oh well; if ever I saw the ideal target audience for this film, it was the three nattering ladies in front of me, who seemed to delight in even the tritest plot developments. Let them buy the DVD and torture their grandchildren with it.

(In theaters, February 2005) Let the opening monologue be a warning regarding the quality of Elektra‘s writing: “obvious” doesn’t do it justice, though “lame” is closer to the mark. The following ninety minutes are rarely better: this is a superhero film that manages to make Daredevil look good in comparison. Oh, sure, the cinematography has one or two moments of interest and Jennifer Garner has a compelling figure. But that won’t be much of a comfort once the clichés start lining up, from the beautiful-but-mentally-disturbed heroine to the Asian Gang to the Reluctant Assassin. Worse is the half-hearted treatment by director Rob Bowman, who is directing far more for the paycheck that the audience’s enjoyment. Elektra makes a lesbian kiss dull, prolongs meaningless fights far past the point of annoyance and screws up even simple special effects. Everything about the universe of this film rings false, and nothing makes it even remotely interesting. It’s somewhat of a defeat for me, easy-to-please fan of bad fantasy and good-looking women, to struggle to find something of value in this film. Let’s just mention Jennifer Garner once more and blandly state that she deserves better.

(In theaters, February 2005) It took ninety seconds and the non-revelation of a Nazi flag to make me warm up to the film, and nothing that came after that could shake my happy contentment. Sure, the plot is just good enough to make us wish for something better. Sure, this comic-book adaptation is an abomination for fans of the original Hellblazer. Sure, the supernatural eyeball kicks are thrown into the film without regard for coherence or plausibility. Sure, you may not like Keanu Reeves constrained performances. But I do, so ha. Plus, I like Tilda Swinton and Rachel Weisz even more, so I’m not complaining. The upshot is that Constantine is pleasant enough for its entire duration despite a few lengths toward the end. Hey: I’m such a visual effects film geek that I’m likely to enjoy anything that has a whiff of competence. With this first film, director Francis Lawrence delivers a self-assured piece of visually ambitious supernatural suspense. It’s often very funny (and not in an obvious catchphrase kind of way, more in an offbeat Satan-in-a-leisure suit fashion) and just as often weird enough to be fascinating. Not a classic (nor even the best possible way to deal with the elements assembled here), but more than good enough to warrant a look.

(In theaters, February 2005) Two men, two women and a full-contact emotional destruction derby: Closer is one mean piece of work best appreciated as a performance showcase than anything profound on the nature of love. For one thing, keep in mind that this is an adaptation of a stage play: The unusual structure of the film, following short dramatic moments over the course of several years, is a direct off-shot of this, and so it the script’s reliance on dramatic dialogue. (Closer doesn’t spend much time showing us what happens when things go well for months at a time). As an excuse for showy acting, it’s nearly perfect: all four main players do well, but Clive Owen steals the show (as usual) over Natalie Portman, Jude Law and Julia Roberts. Still, don’t read too much in the characters: “What are you, twelve?”, says one at the beginning and so it’s difficult to imagine that we’re seeing the actions of anything but the puppets of a writer. If there are some terrific dialogue scenes throughout the entire film, it’s hard to connect with the impulsive actions and juvenile attitudes displayed by the characters. Closer, ironically, rebuffs any attempt to come closer to the characters: they are best admired, like the script, as a performance piece.