Movie Review

(In theaters, March 2006) Hurrah for Russia! Just as Hollywood urban fantasy is crumbling under its own lack of interest, here comes a dark and grimy kerosene-fuelled tale of good versus evil. Oh, it’s derivative all right, with enough common fantasy elements in one film to make anyone wonder how that particular internal mythology is going to hold together. It doesn’t, not really: but Night Watch is so much fun that it doesn’t really matter. Part of the appeal, despite such well-worn tropes as vampirism and Big Evil, is to be found in the contemporary Moscow setting: grimy, unpleasant and naturally different, it’s almost naturally suited to urban fantasy. The other big strength of the film is in its pedal-to-the-metal style, with overactive cuts, loud rock music and idea-a-minute visual inventiveness. Even the excellent English subtitles of the American version get in the act, with font changes, interaction with on-screen material and other occasional flourishes. After a long revving-up period, Night Watch attains its own cruise speed, but watch out: It’s setting itself up as the first volume in a trilogy rather than a complete volume. I’m still not sure that it all holds together, but I like it nonetheless. I want to see the rest of the story; I want to see more of Olga; I want to see more of that crazy everything-included mythology. Frankly, I just want to see the next two segments of the trilogy. Volume Two (Day Watch) is already screening in Russia; Volume Three (Dawn Watch) is planned for next year: Bring’em over, Fox Searchlight, and I’ll be there on opening day.

(In theaters, March 2006) Yes, it’s silent, black-and-white and older that most of your grandparents. Get past that and have a look at what, at the time, must have been a pretty amazing film. The special effect are crude, but it’s fun to imagine how they must have been perceived at the time. Before even the original King Kong, this was the state-of-the-art of effects cinema. Even today, some of the crude character details is textbook stuff for Special Effects artists. What’s heartening, once you dismiss the threadbare plot (read the novel for a more enjoyable experience) is the realization that years before Godzilla madness, there was a healthy appetite for monsters wreaking havoc in big cities. Not an essential film, but a significant piece of cinematic history. (Semi-privately screened.)

(In theaters, March 2006) Once past the initial shock of surprise (No way! Spike Lee is trying for a mainstream movie! And look at that cast!), the best things about Inside Man is how it doesn’t disappoint. Oh, the script is generously riddled with embarrassing holes and arguable developments, but it’s so well-rounded with spicy characterization that it’s hard to care. What’s more, the dream-project cast is a sheer pleasure to watch, from the sheer coolness of Denzel Washington and Clive Owen to the brainy iciness of Jodie Foster all the way to head-turning screen-melting performances by newcomers Samantha Ivers and Florina Petcu. (The cast is so top-heavy that even solid players such as Willem Dafoe and Christopher Plummer get barely a passing mention.) The accumulation of details and quirky character moments is what truly makes this a solid thriller, helping in overlooking a familiar premise and story problems. It helps that both the script and the director wholeheartedly embrace New York in all of its cosmopolitan quirkiness, lending a very modern feel to the whole thing. For the first ninety minutes, Inside Man is a thriller at the top of its genre, moving quickly and efficiently with considerable wit and charm. It does lose a lot of energy during its last thirty minutes, bogging down in details that seem redundant and laboured after its excellent start. But no matter: Despite the flaccid last act, all that remains is a solid thriller, a fabulously entertaining movie and some of the best work in a while for all the names involved in the film. This is top-notch studio entertainment: I’ll let other decide whether Spike Lee has sold out or not, but as far as I’m concerned, I can only ask for more.

(In IMAX theaters, March 2006) As a real-life adventure, running down the Nile from its source to Cairo is unparallelled. As an excuse for an IMAX film, it’s a source of fabulous images. As a documentary feature, though, it has its lengthy moments. The fault isn’t with the characters: Pasquale Scaturro and his merry crew of adventurers are a lot of fun to follow through unimaginable adventures and arresting images. Part of the fun is wondering how they managed to get those pictures. But after a while, the film meanders a bit and gets bogged down in religious and spiritual reflexions. But no matter: it’s all part of the adventure, from rapids to lost civilizations to friendly natives to portages and natural dangers. Good fun, well-served by the advantages of Omnimax. (In Omnimax theatre)

(In theaters, March 2006) There is something old-fashioned in this straight-up thriller by veteran director Richard Donner. The trailer may try to sell you an action film, but there’s little in the actual film to reflect that: Much closer to traditional crime thrillers, 16 Blocks even indulges in a considerable amount of character development between its leads, a burnt-out useless cop (Bruce Willis), and an annoying criminal (Mos Def). There are few highlights in the film, but on the other hand it’s solid throughout its entire duration (with a number of third-act slip-ups) and doesn’t waste the elements in hand. Willis is especially solid as a terminal case seeing a last chance at redemption; it’s great good fun to see him go one-on-one with David Morse. There isn’t anything particularly memorable about this film, but it doesn’t matter as much as you’d think: at a time where even solid thrillers are rare, this isn’t bad at all.

(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.