Movie Review

(In theaters, November 2006) Brilliant or pretentious? Fabulous or dull? Too-simple or cryptic? There’s no easy answer with Darren Aronofsky’s latest film, which steps boldly into experimental film territory with all the predictable consequences: Lush visuals, skilled direction and a disregard for anything approaching narrative coherence. Thematically, it’s a big blender of Important Themes: Death, Love, Life, Monkeys, etc. That it’s brilliant is undeniable. That it’s a mess that cares more about its director than the audience can be argued. Those who know they love these films can already go and get the damn DVD: everyone else looking for more conventionally entertaining material can go stare at swirling paint for an hour and a half. Martin Scorsese could have directed this as a short film and still have time to put in a Mafia subplot: Here, we’re stuck along with the important music, important visuals, important camera angles and important themes. Every year sees its own “you must be this masochistic to see this film” entry, and The Fountain is it. Genius, yes, important, maybe, but that doesn’t necessarily translate in anything like satisfaction or even lasting reputation: Who remembers Soderbergh’s Solaris even four years later?

(In theaters, November 2006) One gunshot, four stories. But while the presence of a rifle, deadly danger, abusive policemen and an investigation that spans the globe may suggest an international thriller, Babel is closer to a set of four very intimate dramas. But then again, Babel isn’t about the stories as much as it’s about the way people fail to communicate, or simply the way they all live in today’s world. The solid ensemble cast is one of the finest international group of actors assembled for a single film: While American mainstream audiences will flock to see Cate Blanchett and Brad Pitt, their presence is scarcely more than a small portion of the entire film. The direction is skillful despite the impression that the stories aren’t as linked, nor as interesting as the screenplay wants them to be. It’s certainly a film for an older, less impatient audience, what with the time-jumping, relatively small scales and sometimes-unnerving subject matter. It speaks volumes, for instance, that any discussion of “horny Japanese schoolgirls” in the context of this film is a prelude to unimaginable heartache more than anything else: the conclusion is as significant for what didn’t happen that what did. And that’s the kind of film Babel ends up being, despite depending on one single gunshot.

(On DVD, October 2006) Believe the hype. Or, in this case, the cries and lamentation of scorched viewers around the world as they warn you to stay away from this piece of trash. Knowing that this was (briefly) released in theatres is the only thing that separates this film from the usual straight-to-video crap. If a big budget was involved in the production of this film, you won’t know it by looking at the screen: the special effects are some of the worst in recent memory (oy, that rear-projection!), and the film’s overall look is nothing to cheer about. The actors aren’t much better, with cut-rate performances (to use the term loosely) by Edward Burns and Ken Kingsley. But worst of all is the script, which manages a decent opening before floundering in “time waves” tripe and the usual “pick them off one by one until only the hero and love interest are left” structure. (Worse: the shape of the ending is visible one hour early, and it keeps going well after the point has been made.) Cutting away all that’s bad about the film would give you a meagre five minutes’ worth of acceptable material, but nothing more. Had the filmmakers been more self-aware, there may have been some camp value to this. But it ends up with all of the sophistication of a 50s monster movie, except without the excuse that they didn’t know any better. To think that it sullies a classic SF short story…

(In theaters, October 2006) Yes, I just spoiled a good part of the film by classifying it as “Science Fiction”. One wouldn’t think, for instance, that SF would apply to a tale about feuding magicians at the turn of the nineteenth century: But by telling you that Nikola Tesla is involved and that the film is adapted from the novel by renowned SF author Christopher Priest, I’m not exactly revealing anything that can’t be deduced from the movie poster. Yet The Prestige is such a sure-footed piece of cinema that I could tell you the ending right away and you would still enjoy the entire film. It gives you enough clues to figure it all out, sometimes through heavy symbolism, but the way it’s all put together is nothing short of amazing. There’s some serious skill at work here, from the direction to the set decoration to the writing: At some point, the film delves into three levels of flashbacks yet still makes perfect sense, playing back and forth with dramatic irony, multiple diaries/narration, fascinating details about the stage magic industry and a wonderful small role for David Bowie as Nikola Tesla. Though the take-no-prisoners ending relies too much on its tricks and not enough on its emotional content, there’s a lot to like here. The images are gorgeous, the acting is fun (fans of Christian Bale and Hugh Jackman will not be disappointed), the direction is slick and the story is mesmerizing.

(On DVD, October 2006) Weak stuff, very weak stuff. While there’s something interesting in the idea of someone who burdens himself with the sins of others (hey, I was raised a good French Canadian Catholic, you know?), it’s certainly not a limp effort like The Order that’s going to fulfil that potential. Bad pretentious dialogue is actually one of the film’s lesser problems: the lack of interest in what’s going on is far more damaging. There is little here that we haven’t seen anywhere else: even Constantine was a lot more fun to watch. The actors don’t even try to improve things: It’s worth noting that once-hot Shannyn Sossamon has slunk back in obscurity since this last big-budget effort, which isn’t completely surprising given the lack of screen presence she exhibits here. If there’s one thing saving this film from complete collapse, it’s the beautiful cinematography and the sometimes-competent camera work: It may be a boring horror film, but it’s also a very pretty one, and that’s at least something to raise it above the usual scary-Catholic snoozefests. Weak comforts for a weak film.

(In theaters, October 2006) History is fine and war history is even better, but mixing the two is a risky prospect. The battle of Iwo Jima was due for a post-Saving Private Ryan retelling. Unfortunately, his Flags Of Our Fathers often feels like the mash-up between two or three movies that might have been better left separated: First, you have the spectacular historical recreation, depicting men at war with the realism that only CGI reconstruction can provide. This section of the film is easily its highlight: It’s tense, chaotic, confusing, exhilarating and feels extraordinarily real. The famous raising of the flag itself is excellent, even if it’s not quite what we expect… and definitely doesn’t mean the end of the fighting. But this war drama is only less than half the film. The other almost-half of the film follows some of the flag-raisers as they’re brought back to the United States in an effort to promote War Bonds. While more thematically interesting, this section of the film is generously spliced in between the war fighting, giving the false impression of a deeper structure pulling it all together. Finally, the rest of the film is dedicated to a contemporary framing device that gives context, but also an unfortunate dose of on-the-nose “Greatest Generation” melodrama. And though, taken separately, most of Flags Of Our Fathers‘ segments are skilfully executed, their union somehow feels lesser than the sum of its parts. Part of it, I suspect, is that the filming took place simultaneously with another film, Letters From Iwo Jima, telling the same battle from the Japanese side of the events. Maybe we’ll have to wait until that film to drawn our conclusions… or maybe we’ll be able to mix-and-match segments from two films in order to tell four stories!

(In theaters, October 2006) We’ve been waiting a long time for the 2006 Oscar contenders and now that fall is here, they’re finally starting to come out of the woodwork. First up: A gritty Boston-flavoured remake of the fabulous Infernal Affairs by none other than Martin Scorsese. For once, the remake is worth it: The plot beats remain intact but the sequences are generally different, the Boston setting infuses every character and the dialogue is beyond delicious. While the impact of the concept is wasted on Infernal Affairs fans (I do miss the conference table scene), the pieces of this intricate double-cross game are moved with skill and the film-making aspect of the end product is very slick. Mark Wahlberg and Alec Baldwin are flashy with their aggressive dialogue, but even they take a second role to the combined star power of Matt Damon, Leonardo Di Caprio and Jack Nicholson: For once, the hype is real and the actors truly live up to their reputation. This may or may not be Scorsese’s best film since Casino, but it’s certainly in the top list for 2006.

(In theaters, October 2006) I’ll say it right away: Don’t expect too much from this film. Yes, it’s about George W. Bush getting killed, but leftist members of the audience ought to calm down and take a chill pill, because this film is about the least partisan film one could make about such an event. Executed as a mock “documentary from 2008” relating events in 2007, Death Of A President fails to deliver on the promise of its title. Yes, the president is killed, and Stuff Happen. But despite touching upon themes of restricted civil liberties, anti-Muslim profiling, violent activism, class warfare, racism, the war in Iraq and other contemporary issues, the film seldom delves deep into its subject. That makes it a thematic failure, but worse yet is the increasingly irrelevant dramatic tension of the film, at least in its second half. The first half, before the shooting, effectively cranks up the tension and shows how the situation spins out of control. The second half, unfortunately, is reset into a whodunit that never completely works, especially given how the identity of the assassin is revealed to be someone who barely blips up earlier in the film. It doesn’t help that, for all of the mesmerizing quality of the archival footage cleverly cut into scenes specifically shot for this film, the film never feels completely authentic as a documentary: The tension feels artificial, the talking heads are obviously actors and the amount of information withheld until late in the film goes contrary to what we expect from non-fiction pieces. Too bad: For all of the nerve of the film’s premise, one would have thought that the filmmakers could deliver on their promises.

(In theaters, October 2006) One of the best things about suspense cinema these days is how it’s finally going global: Syriana, The Constant Gardner, Lord Of War… and now this film, which follows the true story of a South African family man as he becomes a radical and starts fighting against his own government to bring down Apartheid. The movie works wonders in putting viewers in someone else’s shoes and making his situation understandable. By the time our once-shy protagonist straps on the AK-47 and decides to fight for what’s right, there isn’t much doubt in our minds that he’s doing the right thing. Amusingly enough, this 1980-era movie now feels more relevant than ever as twenty-first century western society seeks to differentiate between freedom fighter and terrorist: the line may be thinner than anyone expects, and Tim Robbins’ sympathetic portrait of an Apartheid enabler serves as a further reminder that what’s wrong is often perceived as being necessary. While a fairly restrained and intimate drama, Catch A Fire is not without its share of good moments and powerful sacrifices: Our protagonist eventually comes to lose everything that’s dear to him through a combination of being at the wrong place at the wrong moment, and being unable to accept submission. Well-done, well-told and well worth seeing.

(In theaters, October 2006) This film is likely to remind you of two things: First, that there will always be a place for noir in cinema. Second, that Brian de Palma is capable of the best and the worst. There are times where The Black Dahlia works really well: The sequences flow naturally, the historical recreation is credible, Aaron Eckhart square-jaws his way through his tough-guy dialogue, Scarlett Johansen appears on screen, and so on. De Palma can still move his camera like an artist, and some sequences show him at his best. But then there’s the silly stuff, the over-the-top comedy that intrudes on the film, the side tangents that don’t illuminate as much as they grind the film to a halt. Other than Eckhart, the actors all look as if they’re pretending more than acting: Scarlett Johansen is cute but vapid, Hillary Swank can only do femme fatale for seconds at a time and Josh Hartnett sleep-walks his way through another role without showing more than the essential hound-dog emotions. The result feels scattered, but the two scenes of insane family comedy look as if they’ve been clipped from another film, and their impact on the rest of the picture is considerable. What could have been a great film (considering the pedigree of the talent) becomes at best a passable one, and at worst just something to forget.

(In theaters, October 2006) Spy movies for the younger set have enjoyed a small wave of popularity with the Spy Kids and Cody Banks series, but redoing Bond for the younger high school kids requires a bit more than simply a Bond story with a younger protagonist: Alas, the first filmed instalment of the Alex Rider series doesn’t even try too hard to get to that level. If adults are likely to be amused by the film’s almost camp approach, it still takes itself too seriously to be appreciated as a self-aware piece of absurdity. Instead, we’re left groaning as the increasingly ludicrous set pieces betray a lack of spatial logic and of elementary spycraft. While the supporting players are very good (with a cast like Stephen Fry, Robbie Coltrane, Bill Nighy, Mickey Rourke, Andy Serkis and the luscious Sophie Okonedo, it’s hard to sink a film –though this one comes close), the problem is with Alex Rider himself, who is envisioned and played as an adult’s idea of teen cool, with disastrous results: Rider comes across as a sullen, smarmy and incompetent protagonist, one that owes more to Johnny English than James Bond. The disconnect between what the film is and what it wants to be is only too obvious when it’s contrasted against some wonderfully loopy moments in the film itself, whether it’s Fry’s deadpan gags or Nighy’s caricature of a stiff high-echelon bureaucrat. But few problems rankle as much as the terminally asinine staging, from the most contrived helicopter take-off in history to the way the characters don’t even act like what they’re supposed to be. In the end, I suspect that the younger teenage target audience will look at the movie and think “Do they really think we’re stupid enough to like this?”

(In theaters, September 2006) “I want my elephant!” may be the signature line of one of the worst Simpsons episodes ever aired, but it serves as a handy plot device in Tony Jaa’s second film, which is once again just an excuse to demonstrate why Jaa can rightfully pretend to be Jackie Chan’s heir in terms of pure kinaesthetic action. Yes, it’s “just” a martial arts film with intricately choreographed fight scenes strung together by an inane “plot”. (Here, every character can meet everyone else by just walking down the street.) But ordinary martial art films can’t rely on breathtaking actors like Jaa, nor on the film’s mind-bending showcase scene: A long uninterrupted take in which Jaa kicks, punches and fights his way up four stories of bad guys in a circular staircase. Even jaded action fans will feel their jaws drop at that particular anthology scene. The other noteworthy element of The Protector is the antagonist, a mesmerizing, mature, sexy and ruthless “Madame Rose”, played to unnerving effect by Xing Jing (whom you should Google for a fascinating life story): short of having Condoleeza Rice play herself in a martial arts film, it’s one of the most enjoyable antagonists in recent memory. The performance, along with Jaa’s unbelievable dexterity, is what makes The Protector substantially better than its innate silliness.