Movie Review

(In theaters, April 2001) After trying to pander to the teen crown with The Faculty, Robert Rodriguez goes after the family market with Spy Kids, one rare example of a film that successfully delivers to the youngsters while keeping the adults interested. Make no mistake; this is still very much a kid’s film, with simplified plotting, much fantasy, not a whole lot of subtlety and no real attempt at an extra layer of sly winks at adults. Still, it’s all very enjoyable; Rodriguez turns in his most polished film yet without losing touch with his dynamic style. There are a lot of fights, cool gadgets, conscious set-pieces and a lot of stuff blows up, but the film is supported by a solid promotion of family values and an overall lack of objectionable material. The latino settings and sensibilities add another touch of pleasant distinctiveness. Bring on the sequel.

(On TV, April 2001) With a title like that, you might expect a martial-arts action-fest jam-packed with sword fights and wire-fu. Well, you’re in for a major disappointment, and that also stands for the film as a whole. The first forty minutes are concerned with, roughly, a wayward husband’s addiction to the fine products of the local bar. Then things get more extreme, with adultery, infanticide, a high body count and more ludicrousness. There is one sword fight, which is actually really good in a cartoonish sort of way, but it quickly passes and the rest of the film is an unabashed loss of time, a clash of genres and a mess of incoherent storytelling. Maybe it can be explained to me through obscure cultural references, but I prefer the simplest explanation; a bad film.

(In French, On TV, April 2001) Four beautiful black women robs banks in order to get out of the ghetto. Sounds interesting? It is, but even that premise has limits. Letting slide the disappointing lack of full frontal nudity, the film’s goal to marry an attempt at a serious out-of-the-ghetto tale to an action crime thriller quickly produces contradictions that are hard to ignore. While the heist set-pieces are very well done, one can’t say the same thing about the rest of the film. The setup is laborious, as each character is manipulated (often by those no-good white rich people and policemen) in a desperate situation. Then, inevitably, we get the group-bonding scenes, complete with requisite drug inhalation and weak jokes. Then the ending conjures up a high body-count, often challenging basic credibility to do so. Characters are shot-down-by-police- while-reaching-for-a-weapon with a eye-rolling predictability, most often out of no discernible reason. (One of the gunfight is precipitated by such a dumb move by a security guard that it effectively destroys the film’s impact from then on.) The ending suddenly tries to milk maximum pathos and does so in such a ludicrous fashion that the net effect is more unintentionally funny than affecting. At least the direction is well handled, in a first effort by Gary F. Gray.

(In French, Second viewing, On TV, April 2001) Not as annoying the second time around, as any false expectations about Hollywood’s capacity to produce a technically accurate film are quickly discarded. What remains is a delightfully silly comedic thriller whose hollywoodesque approach to hacking is too funny to be despicable. At least the script’s in-jokes show passing familiarity with the lingo and the landmarks, a further sign that at least some of the mistakes are intentional. Seeing it six years later also allows for the discovery of an early Angelina Jolie, whose hair has since grown longer with great effect. Otherwise, Hackers is a pleasant distraction, worth a look if nothing else is on.

(On VHS, April 2001) Jim Jarmush does an urban crime film. But that was too simple a concept, and so the references to Japanese samurai ways pile up, accompanied with gratuitously lengthy shots, various meditations on honor, showy characters and other various methods that make it very easy to find depths in a really inconsequential film. At least Forest Whittaker does a good job with his modern samurai character. The film as a whole, however, is just an overlong mob story that’s been told better elsewhere. Don’t be fooled by the pseudo-artistic touches. Note: This is the film that got me banned for life from Rogers Video. Email me for the gory details, but guess what? Rogers Video sucks.

(In theaters, April 2001) Once in a while, it’s just good enough to hang back and enjoy a good old-fashioned B-grade horror film. In The Forsaken‘s case, not thirty seconds passes before we’re treated to the sight of a naked woman graphically showering off blood from her body. Say no more, make no excuses; this film is a throwback to the good old days of the early eighties, where horror films weren’t self-referentials, and there was enough female nudity to excuse even the biggest plot holes. You won’t find much originality is The Forsaken‘s bland vampire premise, but it’s all done in unassuming fun, with car chases, bitten victims searching for their cure and shotgun decapitations in glorious cheap grainy dark cinematography. You might wonder how an immortal can be so stupid, but don’t worry; this is exactly the type of stupid objection that makes the film so much fun. For connoisseurs of horror films, and fans of pleasantly bad one.

(On TV, April 2001) It’s not the first film to feature a body-hopping serial-killing demon and until it puts all of its cards on the table, Fallen runs a bit too long, a bit too slowly. Once the premise is fully exposed, however, the film becomes more potent, up to the disappointing shaggy dog conclusion. (I think I could see a way out of the ending, but it might not have been as effective as what’s presented on-screen.) Denzel Washington is his usual dependable self as the lead policeman. The direction is effective, though maybe a bit too overeager on “demon-view” shots. Some of the framing mechanisms (both the narration and the ways the protagonist is set up by ze daemon) are weak. On the other hand, it’s a cut above most supernatural horror thriller you’re likely to see. Not bad.

(In theaters, April 2001) Let’s establish right away that for a racing film, the crashes are good enough. Renny Harlin is known for his action set-pieces, and Driven exhibits plenty of those, in fact enough to give the film a marginal recommendation for action film fans who might be starved for some ‘splodin’. Unfortunately, Harlin isn’t known for the quality of the scripts he chooses to direct, and Driven‘s vanity-project history shows through the story, which blends the worst sport clichés along with a special implausible showcase for Stallone. Few surprises, and even fewer original moments. The quick-cutting gets tiresome after the first few moments, and the consistent bad writing really grates, especially when considering the caricatures that pass off as female characters in this movie (there’s a Babe, a Bitch and a Brain. Why even give’em names?) As long as you go see Driven fully expecting what you’re going to get (some action without much thought), you should be satisfied.

(On VHS, April 2001) A film with too many significant flaws to be classically good, but fortunately it’s got so many fascinating elements that it’s hard not to recommend it anyway. A political thriller with global repercussions set entirely on one set, Deterrence harkens back to the theater while going for the highest possible stakes. That in itself would be sufficient to make Deterrence a curio of the highest order. Could have been a great film too, if more care would have been given to the characters and the ending. While the president is ably interpreted by Kevin Pollack (looking a lot like a live-action The Critic) and the presidential staff is mostly well written, the clients of the diner are obviously meant to represent archetypical American views, but never rise above the status of stock cliché. Take, for instance, the French-Canadian waitress; it would have been easy for that character to raise the issue of a foreign national being present during high-stake brinkmanship, or even to raise tension when doubts are raised about the French government… but nothing ever comes out of it. Other missed opportunities abound. And the ending feels a lot like a cheat, simultaneously pulling out a hidden card while ignoring the consequences of it all. (Some of said consequences having previously been raised by the characters themselves!) And, of course, the limitations of the budget are matched by the limitations of the director, who doesn’t really impress by complex camera setups. Still, even after all of the above objections, Deterrence is worth a look if only for the audaciousness of the premise; a single-set global political thriller.

(On VHS, April 2001) I hope that one of the sign of impending critical maturity is the ability to find value in film about which you don’t really go nuts. The Cider House Rules doesn’t include any of the elements I usually enjoy in film, whether it’s explosions, aliens or Nazis, but when all is said is done, it remains a good film worth a rental. Granted, it’s a message film: Abortion is never an easy subject, and setting a pro-choice argument during the medically barbaric 1940s is just trolling for strong reactions, but once the unpleasant first few minutes are past, the film really finds its coming-of-age narrative. (Readers should note my strong pro-choice convictions and adjust their response accordingly.) While Michael Caine won a supporting Oscar for his role, the real glue of the film is Tobey Maguire, who really holds the film together with his patented vacant stare and slight build; he might not act any different than in Pleasantville, but the performance is a good one. Compare with Charlize Theron, whose interpretation is virtually interchangeable with dozens of other young blonde actresses. In any case, the slow pace eventually settles in (weaning out everyone with Attention Deficit Disorder) and the result is a film crafted with a lot of skill, featuring good performances and a message that might not be too subtle, but should properly offend everyone who should be offended by it.

(On TV, April 2001) Weak action film that doesn’t spark any interest despite a solid helping of gun fetishism. It doesn’t help that protagonist and antagonist pretty much look the same. The shootouts have moments or interest, but the rest simply lies inert. Many blood squibs. At least the film proves that not all Hong Kong bullet ballets are spectacular.

(In theaters, April 2001) I’m all wrong for this type of film, but that shouldn’t stop me from stating that it’s quite enjoyable. No, I don’t have a lot in common with Bridget Jones, a thirtyish Londoner obsessed by her alcohol consumption, smoking, weight and impending spinsterhood, but some of my colleagues do and the film plays those strings like a virtuoso. In any case, the film is executed with all the grace, good-natured charm and technical polish so typical of British-set romantic comedies produced by Americans. Better-than-average script, sympathetic characters, funny set-pieces and a happy ending ensure that no one should feel cheated. You might not want to see it, but if you catch the first five minutes, you’ll be hooked until the end. There are problems, certainly; Renee Zellweger is incapable of looking anything worse than adorable, making her portrait of a plain girl a bit unbelievable. She does turn in one of her best performances yet, along with a solid Colin Firth and the ever-dependable Hugh Grant (who successfully manages to portray a real bastard without really deviating from his usual aw-shucks shtick.) The script is filled with a mind-boggling array of coincidences, unfortunately cheapening the narrative (At its worst, a trip to the convenience store ends up with something akin to “Oh, so you are the barrister of this incredibly important guy whom I’m trying to interview!”) A few unfortunate shortcuts also undermine the ending, which stretches believability a bit too thinly to provide a fully satisfying ending. Still, as far as romantic comedies so, Bridget Jones’s Diary is a fine one. Cheer up whenever your significant other suggests it.

(On VHS, April 2001) I’m not familiar with pre-Police Story Jackie Chan, but in the meantime I’m quite willing to declare Gorgeous to be the worst Jackie Chan ever. (I was on the Internet within minutes registering my displeasure.) Four very average fight scenes smothered by an awful framing story that’s as inane as Chan’s other films without any of the intentional humor. Granted, Chan at least makes an effort at playing a different character, but it’s not enough to be interesting.

(On VHS, April 2001) I’m not a wrestling fan, but it’s not necessary to be one to be amused, disgusted, fascinated and amazed by the wild universe exhibited by Barry W. Blaustein in Beyond The Mat. Blaustein is obviously a die-hard fan, and his film shows it, treating the subject with a brutal honesty but never a mean spirit. Not a WWF/WWE puff-piece nor a naively sophisticated exposé on how wrestling is (newsflash!!) all fake, Beyond The Mat goes past all the false pretence to focus on the people behind the wrestlers. Think it’s fake? You’ll see real stitching and real pain. You’ll see the glitz of the WWF/WWE and the scum of the bottom-feeders. You’ll see a maniac in the ring and a model father out of it. You’ll see three wrestling “archenemies” chatting up a little kid. You’ll see too much of a reunion between maladjusted dad and daughter. You’ll see the various ways a wrestler can go over the hill. Most of all, you’ll see one of the most revealing documentaries of the year, a masterful tour through the grotesque and the pathetic, the awful and the stunning. Blaustein knows how to package his subject, but most of all it’s his love for his subject that gives the film its ultimate edge. Wrestling fans will love it, but average people shouldn’t pass it up. Good stuff.