Author: Christian Sauvé

(In theaters, February 2006) Some movies don’t have a reason for existing, and this is one of them. A limp thriller that takes far too long to get to the point and then does nothing with it, When A Stranger Calls is mass-produced entertainment for the undemanding teenage audiences. Don’t worry, though; even the stupidest teenager won’t be fooled by this slick and lifeless rehash of a punchy urban legend. Audiences nowadays are familiar with the “…inside the house!” punchline, and making them wait 65 minutes for it is just another mark of incompetence in a long list of problems for this film. Director Simon West has done some acceptable work before (Con Air, The General’s Daughter), but even a good grasp of technical fundamentals can’t mask the lack of thrills in this thriller. While the set design is fabulous (When A Stranger Calls is yet another film where the house is more interesting than all the characters put together) the rest is so obvious that audiences are constantly smarter than the screenwriter. The discovery of an underwater corpse is more likely to evoke a sense of expectations fulfilled than anything approaching horror. Don’t worry if you’re reading this and can’t remember even hearing about this remake: given how it failed to find a reason to exist, how can it even find a way to aspire to posterity?

(In theaters, February 2006) Oh yawn, you may say at first glance: Another musical biography in which the hero abuses substances and sleeps with too many women. Cue the childhood flashbacks, the musical number, the early touring recreation, the celebrity cameos, the rise to glory, the detox. What usually gets left by the wayside is the whole musician angle: why do these people choose to be musicians? What makes them tick? In the case of Johnny Cash, the question is more than academic, given how he portrayed himself as an outlaw despite a tepid personal background. This aspect of the man, unfortunately, takes a back seat to the drugs and adultery. But the usual caveats aside, when Walk The Line clicks, it does so enjoyably: The musical numbers are fit to leave you humming Cash tunes for a few days (with a particular nod toward “Walk the Line” and “Ring of Fire”), and there’s a fabulous fifteen minutes sequence in which Cash shares a tour with other budding superstars such as Roy Orbison, Jerry Lee Lewis and (if I caught that moment correctly), Elvis Presley. (Can you imagine seeing such a show?) The early rockabilly stuff is pure toe-tapping enjoyment, and Joaquin Phoenix’s performance is fabulous. Then the film slides into a more conventional self-destructive spiral interrupted in time for a graceful climactic salvation. Eh; I’d rather learn more about Johnny Cash than just the usual dramatic arc.

(In theaters, February 2006) My rather silly quest to see every single Oscar-nominated film of the year can lead to some unusual situations, and so that’s how I found myself, five minutes into Transamerica, wondering if I’d ever make it to the end of the film. Felicia Huffman may turn in a fabulous performance as a transitioning woman, but her character starts out as one of the most pitiful and unlikable character of the year. Things don’t really start getting any better as we meet her son, a small-time junkie teen prostitute whom she takes on a road trip from New York to California. Uncomfortable situations follow one another in picaresque fashion mixed with a strong blend of low-budget griminess. Fortunately, the movie started to work just as I was contemplating the EXIT sign with some interest. The protagonist finally exhibits a few likable qualities and the humour emerges to the forefront. By the end of the film, starting from its dysfunctional-family third act, it’s easy to feel a rough sympathy for all characters. The film redeems itself right before the credits, leaving us with a positive impression despite the early rough going. Transamerica is not a transcendentally moving film, but it eventually comes together: I’m glad I stayed for the entire thing.

(Second viewing, On DVD, August 2007) I almost hated Transamerica in theatres, but I must say that it plays a lot better on DVD. Knowing where the story is going frees up the comedic elements of the film, and the director’s commentary is truly interesting to hear as it details the ways a low-budget film is made, and what elements went into the conception of the film. Transamerica hasn’t suddenly sprung up to the top of any of my lists, but I now carry a much fonder impression of it than before.

(In theaters, February 2006) This film is trash from beginning to end and I loved it. Seemingly written by an European screenwriter whose only understanding of America comes from true-crime stories and Tarantino films, Running Scared drops us in a pocket universe of roughly twenty awful people who never, ever sleep as their destinies clash on a night where a stolen gun is the object of all desires –and the root of all evil. Nice description, but even I don’t believe it: it’s easier to see this as an exercise in style, loosely hung together with some of the most outrageous writing in recent memory. Gun-runners, killer couples, child abusers, sadistic hockey players and two kinds of mafias abound in this dark fairy tale: even a chance slip into a van to avoid danger bring a character to horrors scarcely imaginable. It works only because the execution is as wild as the script, with plenty of delicious shots to keep things hopping. The film is as manipulative as it’s exhilarating, reaching for Domino-style excess well after it has pummelled its viewers in insensibility. There is a particularly affecting scene involving snuff-making pedo-serial killers (no less) that is unbelievably preposterous, yet gripping even as you realize you’re being played. It’s easy to dismiss this film as nothing more than a self-indulgent mess, but it’s a lot more fun to go along with the ride and whoop it up as the atrocious coincidences and the impossible twists just keep piling on. Throw a challenge at the film: dare it to lose you. I may be a minority of one on this, but I would rather be prodded by a bad film than bored by a good one. Running Scared certainly won’t be for everyone; I can only hope you’ll be one of the lucky few who get the joke.

(In theaters, February 2006) A triumphant return to the old-style movie musical comedy without any of the trappings that made Moulin Rouge! or Chicago so distinctive, The Producers‘ post-modernism is derived solely from its tortuous history as a movie adaptation of a musical from a film lampooning musicals. Everything about this film is practised, with even Matthew Broderick and Nathan Lane reprising their Broadway roles. Though the pratfalls and asides must have been considerably more effective in a live setting, this film does carry over an effective sense of fun and spectacle. The jokes are all well-worn, but they still work even despite, or because, their broad delivery. Uma Thurman makes a surprisingly funny Ulla (“Now, watch Ulla dance!”) and the songs are finger-snapping good. There’s no depth here, nor anything approaching subtlety, but it’s a fine time at the movies and that’s not so bad.

(In theaters, February 2006) No one really asked for another interpretation of Jane Austen’s classic novel so soon (relatively speaking) after either the now-definitive BBC miniseries or the Bollywood take-off Bride & Prejudice. But there is now another version, and it’s not bad at all. Kiera Knightly can’t fill a dress, but she does looks cute as a bookish brunette. Fortunately, she manages to tie the whole film together. Given that most viewers are likely to be familiar with the story, it all boils down to how well the interpretation is handled. Here we see that the director has fun with a few fancy camera moves and occasional flights of fancy. (The ballroom scenes are particularly good in this regard.) Less pretty but just as distinctive is the often-unromantic view of life during that period, with omnipresent dirt, soiled dress hems and a definitive lack of modern medical facilities. Clocking in at a relatively springy 127 minutes, this story is focused on the romantic comedy, with a side-helping of wonderful dialogues. Otherwise, well, you already know what you’re going to get from this film, don’t you?

(On DVD, February 2006) You have thirty seconds, tops, at the start of Murderball to feel sorry for the wheelchair-bound stars of the movie. After that, it’s a macho sports fest until the end. A documentary about the sport of Quad Rugby, Murderball features trash talk, intense competitiveness and unbelievable action. There’s plenty of conflict to go around (Canadians even get the bonus of seeing “their” team beat the Americans) and the film is snappy from start to finish. The sport sequences themselves have a good energy to them and the rest of the documentary is as slick as you want it to be. The film definitely doesn’t allow you to “forget” that its protagonists are in wheelchairs, but it certainly goes past that simple evidence to something far more interesting, and definitely enjoyable. Yet another solid documentary in a very strong field, Murderball is worth a good look.

(In theaters, February 2006) It’s a musical with naked ladies: what else can I say? Judi Dench has a fine turn as a matriarch with a flair for controversy, presenting a nude musical revue in WW2 London. (Nervous viewers can relax: she does not disrobe in this film.) It’s a slight comedy that would go well with Calendar Girls in tone and subject matter, which is to say so innocuously naughty that it could very well pass for family entertainment. The nudity certainly isn’t anything to be concerned about, given how unremarkable it quickly becomes. Otherwise, the script is fine (despite an ill-advised tragic subplot and a last-minute speech that overlays higher motivation over a crass business decision) and the film is nicely wrapped up. A minor film, but a good show.

(In theaters, February 2006) Few people expected Woody Allen to tackle a crime/romance thriller as his next project, but he did so, and Match Point is the honourable result of the experiment. Far from the kind of whiny self-referential comedies that have become a staple of Allen’s oeuvre for the past decade, Match Point tackles luck and rotten characters underneath sociable exteriors. The romance gradually cedes way to drama, and then to suspense as Chekhov’s rule comes into play. It’s not bad at all, especially given the lack of such drama on big screens these days. Acting credentials are all good, as would befit a character study. The directing could use some tightening-up, but there are a few good suspense sequences, and some awfully confident camera shots throughout. Devotees of funnyman Allen won’t be surprised to note the wry humour running through the entire film, or the superbly ironic final twist. Despite a few lengths, this isn’t a bad time at the movies at all.

(In theaters, February 2006) On paper, this has all of the characteristics of a quirky black comedy: An ordinary man accidentally meeting a neurotic assassin, joining forces in order to solve each other’s problem. It’s not difficult to imagine the kind of riotous material that could come out of this premise. Alas, The Matador falls flat more quickly that you can imagine, neither stretching nor embracing the limits of its own tunnel vision. While Pierce Brosnan turns in a fabulous lead performance as an amoral assassin on the precipice of self-destruction, his character transcends the film around it, making the rest look hollow and faded. Hope Davis makes the most out of a thin character, but she and Greg Kinnear are pretty much the average couple they’re supposed to portray, and that’s part of the problem: For all the uncouth world-weariness of Brosnan’s anti-hero, The Matador grinds to a halt whenever Kinnear is involved. More sarcasm, more self-awareness might have helped, but instead we’re stuck in low-budget, low-imagination limbo. The film chuckles over its last bit of edginess, not realizing that it had created higher expectations for itself.

(On DVD, February 2006) I’m sure that some people, somewhere, like this film. They call it “a touching portrait of family values”, “a small-scale American tragedy”, “a heartfelt meeting between city and country” or even “a complex drama in shades of complexity”. Fine. They had a good time; I can only envy them, because as far as I’m concerned Junebug vaults at the top of the pile of the dullest movie experiences of the year. More boring than even Aeon Flux, if that’s possible. Granted, I really don’t go for small-scale family drama films: It took the film’s lone Oscar nomination to convince me to seek it out. Still, you would at least expect a plot of some sort, or even a way to stay awake. Instead, the film drips heavily like molasses, featuring scene after scene of uncomfortable bonding experiences and small-scale miseries. No wonder one character spends the entire movie sleeping on the couch: it doesn’t take much time for us to identify with him. By the time Something Horrible happens, we’re way past caring. It ends without a conclusion, with people driving away from the havoc behind them, saying something like “I’m glad this is over.” Seconded.