Movie Review

(In theaters, August 2001) My expectations were probably set a touch too high for this film. I should have been happy just to see a recent Hong Kong actioneer on a big theater screen. What I got was fine enough to keep me interested, though not overwhelmingly impressive. It’s as if the movie works extra-hard not to make us care about the pathetic protagonist and the lesbian policewoman (!) he accidentally sleeps with (!) and makes pregnant (!!!). It’s when watching things like that that you really start bitching about the sad state of screenwriting around the globe. The storytelling is so chaotic that you’ll understand what’s going on maybe five minutes later. There are a few action scenes, but nothing truly new or exceptional; just people shooting at each other. Fortunately, we eventually get the exceptional apartment fight (with a wonderful canyon-like urban environment, used to maximum effect), a good airport sequence and an over-the-top scene mixing gunfights and childbirth that relegates Hard-Boiled‘s finale to the rank of amateur in attempted audience manipulation. (Waah! One life begins! Bang! One life ends!) I give it a solidly mixed review.

(In theaters, August 2001) While I didn’t love the first Rush Hour film, I liked it a lot: The mixture of Jackie Chan action, Chris Tucker’s loudmouth antics and general sense of fun (not to mention the racial diversity of the film) made it one the little surprises of 1998. I was looking forward to the sequel; Brett Ratner know how to deliver and it was hard to see where he’d fail. And yet, for a while, it looked as if he would: The Hong Kong section of Rush Hour is, generally, a notable flop: The screenwriter doesn’t do anything interesting with the Tucker-out-of-his-element premise, makes him talk way too much (in dangerous situations where you start to wonder how he ever survived up to this point) and even adopts a slightly patronizing tone. There are a few good action sequences, but that’s it. Then, happily, the film moves back to the United States and improves sharply. (It might or might not be a coincidence if we get a lingerie shot of Latino beauty Roselyn Sanchez at approximately this moment. On a similar register, Ziyi Zhang is menacing and adorable in the henchwoman role.) The film then keeps on getting better and better until the Las Vegas climax, by which time a middling film is rescued by a greatly enjoyable conclusion. But, at times, it was a close thing.

(On VHS, August 2001) Egawd. If you’re going to make a thriller, at least make sure that there are a few thrills in it. If you’re going to make a drama, make sure there’s drama in it. Heck, if you’re going to make a movie, make sure there’s something in it that might interest me. Rules Of Engagement throws a little bit of this (a Vietnam prologue that might seem incredibly important, but really isn’t and might have been taken care of with one of two extra lines of dialogue), a little bit of that (like a big action scene that is not interesting. At all.), some more of this (ooh! Government conspiracy!) and some more of that (Rrrr… Courtorrom drama). That the film withholds crucial information isn’t even a cheat; it becomes only a pale irritant when you don’t care at all about what’s happening. Oh, and the cathartic shot of the little girl holding a gun… got a huge laugh from the three Sauvé siblings, assorted with cries of disbelief at the blatant manipulation. Even if Tommy Lee Jones, Samuel L. Jackson and Guy Pearce all do a good job, they just can’t save this borefest. Checking the credits, it’s no surprise to find that this is an original story by James Webb, author of one of my least favorite military thrillers of the nineties, Something to Die For. Now he strikes again, this time on movies. Gawd, viewers, just go watch something else, okay?

(In French, On TV, August 2001) Well, add another sad case to the group of failed “parody” comedies of the nineties. Apart from the two Hot Shots!, almost nothing came close to the rollicking humor of the classic Airplane!-style movies of the eighties. This one is a little more painful to watch than most, given the low production values, a terribly unfunny Leslie Nielsen (at the beginning of his bad self-parodying phase) and the whorish presence of Linda Blair. Yes, she’s “re-possessed” by the devil. Cue green vomit gag. Hey, a few jokes work, but the average is just so very, very low. Oh, and the awful musical segment… argh. The film runs on far too long, drawing an interminable conclusion at a point where everything should happily work toward a snappy ending. Not worth the bother, unless you’re particularly bored.

(In theaters, August 2001) The premise isn’t fresh (strangers in a contest to find a huge amount of money; think Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World.) but it’s fresher than most recent so-called “comedies” in recent memory. The end result isn’t totally satisfying, but it’s a pleasant diversion. You might be attracted to the film for its cast, but in the end, it’s two near-unknowns (Brecklin Meyer and Amy Smart) who will keep your interest, as John Cleese and Whoopie Goldberg simply go by the numbers and Rowan Atkinson grates nearly every time he’s on screen. (I still can’t say anything even remotely nasty about Seth Green, though.) Not every plot thread is equally funny, but they all have their moments. The gags are good an plentiful, but what’s most interesting about them is the intricate build-up of outrageousness, often sustained throughout several minutes as a funny situation steadily gets funnier. That Hitler gag… oh my… (The bets placed by the bored millionaires are also a steady hoot) The conclusion has the problem you’d expect, as the script tries semi-successfully to find a way to make everyone win. Much like the viewers, who’ll enjoy it equally, but not completely.

(In theaters, August 2001) As an Ottawa-born cinephile, I have a duty to be indulgent about any hometown product. And there’s a lot to be indulgent about with this nano-budget film (think Blair Witch Project, except even lower) shot on 16mm film. Blurry image, atrocious looping, unpolished editing, bad acting… it just goes on. Cheap to the point where the title graphics look better than the rest of the film. The sound is especially bad in a movie theater, though home viewers won’t have to struggle as much to hear what’s being said on-screen. If you look past the flaws, however, there’s a lot to like in Jesus Christ Vampire Hunter. The weird sense of humor is the film’s biggest selling point, from the premise implied in the title, to the opening MacGuffin (someone’s killing all the lesbians in the Ottawa area! Edge festival threatened!) to the use of Mexican wrestler Santos as a main character—along with an unexplainably amusing sexual harassment joke involving his assistant. But beyond that, look even closer and you’ll find some compelling fight choreography (!) with an imagination rivaling Jackie Chan’s usual antics. The musical numbers are also pretty enjoyable (“It’s okay/it’s all right/Everybody gets laid tonight”) despite the lousy sound, and even feature local-area bands. Storywise, it holds together as well as other kung-fu films, even though the end Jesus/Doctor battle is somewhat too tasteless to my liking. I’m still not sure if I’d recommend the film to anyone else, but I had some fun watching it, Ottawa scenery or not.

(In theaters, August 2001) You know, it might be heresy to say so, but aside from 1995’s In The Mouth Of Madness (the finest Lovecraft story ever filmed), I don’t think I’ve ever truly enjoyed all of a John Carpenter film. While his B-movies sensibilities make him a fan favorite, they’re also an impediment to technical polish and sophisticated entertainment. Ghosts Of Mars is a step down from even the lackluster Vampires: While the opening credit sequence and the final minute are all quite good, what’s in between barely registers on the interest scale. Did we truly need another zombie story, especially if it’s brought forth so -you’ll excuse the pun- lifelessly? There is nary a chill in the vision of KISS-like undead rampaging through a Martian town. Heck, there isn’t even a chuckle to be found in this wasteland. I tried to care, I really did… but in the end, this ugly, boring, meaningless film simply refuses to be liked. Repeat after me: Waste. Of. Time.

(On VHS, August 2001) Cheap B-grade horror film that is nevertheless not quite as cookie-cutter as you might think. After all, when dealing with a killer doll animated by the spirit of a serial murderer… well… all preconceptions are off. Effective -but slightly longuish- introduction. There is a lull in the middle third, as it just takes the expected inordinate amount of time for everyone to realize that, yes, there is a killer doll on the loose. The climax is one of those ultra-extended one, where the doll gets shot, chopped, burned and still comes back for one more go at it. Not actively bad, as far as those type of films go.

(On VHS, August 2001) Killer doll Chucky (now familiar enough to be his own catchphrase) is back, after an opening sequence in which all the sacred commandments of horror movie sequels are upheld: The doll is cleaned, refurbished, repainted and… well… obviously escapes. The setup isn’t as clean nor as fun as the first one, though the general quality of the film is higher. The deaths are also more inventive in that quasi-pornographic way I loathe to enjoy. Hey, if you liked the first film, you might as well also look at that one…

(In theaters, August 2001) Whee! Six-shot guns and loads of fun! Let’s not kid ourselves and pretend that American Outlaws has anything more than superficial historical accuracy: This is an out-an-out action film with virtuous heroes, hissable villains, predictable plotting and pretty darn good explosions. Our hero here is Jesse James, and of course he’s not a bank robber as much as he’s a farmer trying to save his homestead. His friends are along for the ride, fortunately, and together they make beautiful bank robberies. Oh now, what’s that? Timothy Dalton as Alan Pinkerton? Hmm! In any case, don’t be surprised if you end up calling when bad guys arrive on the scene to set fire to the houses or capture our hero. You’re just supposed to go along with the ride and whoop it up at the Hong Kong-style double-gun action. All in good fun. Don’t mind the dialogue.

(On VHS, August 2001) One thing I hate about teen romantic comedies: Suddenly, after a whirlwind courtship in which both participants are madly in love with each other, have confessed their deepest secrets, have spent days professing their true love for one another, one of them learns that the other’s initial motive for seduction has been less than honorable. Do they say “Hey, I’ve seen enough to convince anyone that’s not true anymore?” Do they ask for an explanation? Nope! They scream betrayal and vow never to see the other one again. Apart from that particular annoyance, 10 Things I Hate About You isn’t too bad, with added points because I’m a marginal fan of the main actors. Very loosely adapted from a Shakespeare play like so many recent teen films, which gives it an interesting plot structure. Worth a look if ever you’re a fan of the genre.

(In theaters, July 2001) In a few years, whenever the gross-out comedy sub-genre is finally dead and buried, film historians will look upon Tomcats as the film that got fatally contaminated by the trend. In concept, it’s similar to The Bachelor‘s theme of marriage-as-trauma for single guys. (Except that Tomcats protagonist Jerry O’Connell exhibits more charisma lying unconscious than Chris O’Donnell ever did in his entire career.) In execution, most of the film is actually quite enjoyable. While contrived, the gags work well in a pleasantly charming way. Unfortunately, this is marred by a few sequences that borrow a bit too much from the latest excesses in tasteless comedy. One such hospital sequence lasts five minutes, is only tangentially related to the plot, will make every guy in the audience visibly squirm. By itself, said sequence takes off a full star from the film’s final rating. Cut it, along with a few other weak jokes, and the film suddenly becomes a marginal recommendation. Tomcats has a dynamic rhythm, appealing actors (with particular props to Shannon Elizabeth, who never struck me as gorgeous before, but really kicked in my strong-women-in-uniform fetish in this film. Oh, and I liked Bill Maher too, except in a wholly different way.), unexpected parodies (loved the Mission: Impossible 2 doves) and a few very strong individual sequences. (The standout remains the one that begins as my basic redheaded-librarian fantasy and ends up straight from my worst nightmares) It’s a shame that the stench of tastelessness overpowers the rest of the film.

(On VHS, July 2001) Straight-to-video release that once again proves that there are no accidents in the theater/video release rift. Granted, it’s not always bad, but then again it’s nothing worth writing about. The first few minutes hold considerable promise, as a gun-toting priest (Michael “Grrr!” Rooker) mows down a satanic sect with the help of laser sights. But right after that, we slip in an X-Files episode that flops around without Mulder or Scully and feels much longer than the 90-odd minutes running time. The creature feels less and less impressive as time goes by. It’s the kind of movie during which you can fall asleep and miss preciously little. Catherine Bruhier plays a cute female police officer, though.

(On VHS, July 2001) Mostly unremarkable music/romance teen film of the sorts you’ve seen countless times already. The interracial romance does adds a certain interest (and a small surprising hospital scene in which a few highly meritorious points are made), but that’s far from being enough to be interesting. The first hour of the film is by far the worst, as the screenwriter piles up every single cliché from romance, newly-moved, musical and gangsta teen films. Julia Stiles turns in an average performance, looking adorable in one scene and just plain boring in the next. Nothing to see here; even a free rental left me somewhat cheated. Oh, okay, you can add a few extra points if you like slow boring hip-hop.