Movie Review

(Downloaded, December 2002) Now this is the best Science-Fiction film of 2002 you won’t see. Shamefully under-distributed in theaters (and not at all in Canada, hence leading me to, er, “alternate” distribution systems), this science-fiction film brings together an Orwellian techno-fantasy with some of the most amazing action sequences of the year for a science-fiction experience that’ll bore you, then kick your eyeballs with split-second fight scenes that will make you gasp “Did I really see that?” Equilibrium mixes martial arts with guns and a whole lot of style. I’d describe it as “Gattaca with gun-kata”, if you want a ready-made blurb. Yes, the first hour is slow (neither dumb nor pretentious, though… and that’s already quite a recommendation), but that last forty minutes… watch out! It all culminates in a deliriously cool hand-to-hand fight scene where both fighters fires guns at each other point-blank. Damn! I guarantee you haven’t seen anything like it. Christian Bale turns in one of his best performances as the uber-cool priest who turns to the good side. A bunch of other known actors also pop up here and there: Sean Bean, Taye Diggs, William Fichner as well as Emily Watson (who looks positively hot with a long wig) have small roles in this low-budget film. Writer/Director Kurt Wimmer has done miracles with what looks like a tight budget and an even tighter schedule. I can only wonder about what he could accomplish with the means to execute his vision. In the meantime, don’t fret or delay; get a copy of Equilibrium by any means necessary and get fired up!

(In theaters, December 2002) Yikes. I can understand that black comedy isn’t a familiar genre in French-Canada (where the preference goes more to crude popular comedy), but it’s not an excuse to mess up this film so badly. While the film enjoys a relatively flawless second quarter (which compares more or less with such films as Snatch), everything goes to hell as the movie advances toward its conclusion. This simple tale of kidnapping can’t be bothered to maintain an even tone throughout, nor to respect the intelligence of the audience: The staging become more and more ludicrous, the finale is extended beyond anyone’s reasonable patience and the whole thing ultimately ends in a muddled mess. Headliner Stéphane Rousseau grandstands without any adult supervision and Véronique Cloutier is allowed to torture viewers through two musical numbers. (On the other hand, she’s pretty cute… but not enough to make us forgive everything.) The stereotypes are unworthy of existing in a movie released in 2002, and so are some of the plot shortcuts used in lieu of clever plotting. (Can you believe the “lost glasses” shtick? Me neither.) Oh, it’s not as if the entire film is unpleasant, but the tremendous waste of potential here is almost offensive. We’ve got enough stupid American movies up here; we don’t need to make our own.

(On DVD, December 2002) Now here’s a good film destroyed by inappropriate casting. Hubris, even, as the miscasting in question is writer/director Woody Allen giving the protagonist role to himself. Awful choice, especially where we’re to believe that he’s lusted after by none other than, oh, Elizabeth Berkley, Kaili Vernoff and the divine Helen Hunt. Yikes. What, Bruce Campbell wasn’t available? In any case, if you close your eyes and manage to convince yourself that this isn’t Woody Allen they’re lusting after, the film isn’t too bad: The atmosphere successfully evokes the war-years period, and so does the witty dialogue between Hunt and Allen. Yes, the whole hypnotism shtick is profoundly silly, but never mind that: it’s all in good fun. In the end, this sense of fun (oh, and the girls; I’m that shallow) is what sort of saves The Curse Of The Jade Scorpion from total failure. But I can’t wait until we’ve got the technology to replace Allen out of this picture…

(In theaters, December 2002) By the end of the very first musical number, it’s obvious that this is a triumphant return of the classical musical. Chicago isn’t as audaciously post-modern nor as self-conscious as Moulin Rouge!, but whatever go-for-broke edge it lacks doesn’t really matter when it’s so well-done. This ultra-cynical tale of profitable crime isn’t particularly complicated, but it’s told with plenty of style. Even the outrageous musical numbers are carefully integrated as being part of the characters’ imagination with what’s certainly the best editing of the year. Renee Zellweger, Catherine Zeta-Jones and Richard Gere sing and (tap)dance and yes, they’re believable. What’s not so obvious are the other great supporting performances, from Queen Latifah to John C. Reilly to Colm Feore’s non-singing part. The result is pretty amazing. I wanted to clap at the end of some sequences. Who could have guessed that a musical written in the thirties would contain such biting social commentary even today? The ventriloquism/puppetry sequence alone is worth the price of admission, not to mention the “had it coming” tango, the court-circus piece or even the preposterously appropriate tap-dancing around legal arguments. No doubt about it; Chicago is a superior film that makes an effort at showing us far more than what is required to tell a good story. It’s remarkably funny, paced like an action film and surprisingly memorable. See it. Now.

(In theaters, December 2002) Everyone loves to see a deserving hero get away with something, and that’s exactly what this Spielberg film delivers. This is the loose biography of con man Frank Abagnale, who spent the late sixties impersonating airline pilots, doctors and lawyers and forging checks to great profit. Constantly outwitting authorities, he was eventually captured… but still managed to beat the system. This delightful film announces its colors from the onset, through a deliberately retro credit sequence that plunges us back in the time period. Leonardo DeCaprio is convincing in the variety of roles Abagnale chooses to play, and the direction is comfortably laid-back. This film could have been done at any time over the past twenty years; there is nary a “modern” technique in sight. A cursory glance at interviews with Abagnale is sufficient to uncover significant deviations from reality (there was, for instance no single FBI agent pursuing Abagnale through all these years), but the fiction is a compelling, entertaining piece of entertainment. Spielberg is a consummate professional, and he knows how to create a feel-good piece of cinema. Even the too-long ending is built to show how one could see Abagnale simultaneously becoming a law-abiding citizen while beating the system even more outrageously than as a criminal. Catch Me If You Can isn’t a particularly deep or challenging film, but it’s a lot of fun. A terrific criminal procedural enhanced by a compelling cat-and-mouse story, it’s pretty much designed for maximum entertainment. Enjoy!

(On DVD, December 2002) It’s not because it’s French that it’s good. In this case, this particular take on the classic monster story is interesting because it stars the adorable Sophie Marceau and takes place in Paris, but as for the rest, well… Apart from the striking visuals, it’s strictly a run-of-the-mill supernatural thriller. Possession clichés are trotted out one after another, and if the Egyptian lore is cause for a good frisson or two, those shivers remains overwhelmingly based on potential alone. Belphégor has too much visual pizzazz to be considered boring, but on the other hand it’s nothing particularly striking.

(In theaters, November 2002) Full Disclosure: As an editorial board member of a French-Canadian magazine called “Solaris”, I was a bit concerned about this latest adaptation of Stanislaw Lem’s classic novel. Given the ability of Hollywood movies to contaminate the memepool for years, it clearly wouldn’t do to see the name of our proud magazine associated with a big dumb sci-fi disaster. The first sign we had nothing to worry about came when the posters and the full trailers were revealed: You had to squint real hard to see any type of sci-fi action in them. As it happens, the movie itself isn’t very good, but it’s not very good in a curiously satisfying way. Director Steven Soderbergh is back in full-blown artsy mode, and the result is not audience-friendly: the ambiguous narrative jumps back and forth in time, presented in a sparse visual style. Long, slow but not without commanding a certain befuddled respect, Solaris feels a lot like an art-film gate-crasher at a sci-fi party. I suspect that most viewers’ reaction will be to dismiss the film as a dull and pretentious bore. That wouldn’t be wrong; this story could have been told with considerably more energy and concision without losing its romantic edge. But it would be a mistake to completely dismiss the film: There are a few good ideas left in the script, despite the considerable simplification of the novel’s plotline. George Clooney turns in yet another good performance, and so does the statuesque Natascha McElhone. Even the atmosphere works, if you’re favorable to that type of mood. In the meantime, my magazine shall henceforth be associated to a dull film only brainiacs will understand. I can live with that!

(In theaters, November 2002) This is an Indian film starring Indian actors in an Indian setting, but don’t mistake this for a Bollywood film: Monsoon Wedding is closer to the type of American drama designed for Oscar recognition than to a full-blown musical. It’s realistic, dramatic, contemporary and very successful: This tale of a family on the verge of all sorts of thing may take place during a wedding, but it’s neither much of a comedy nor an Indian version of My Big Fat Greek Wedding. Instead, we have a heart-wrenching study of child abuse, class differences, arranged marriages, celebrity affairs, parent-children friction, the westernization of traditional values and all sort of other not-so-fun stuff. The beauty of Monsoon Wedding is how well it works, from simple scenes (the return home of the hitherto-comic “wedding fixer” says a lot in only a few simple seconds) to difficult choices (family or friend: pick one). The mixture of English, Hindi and Punjabi is effective (with subtitles), illustrating today’s India in what feels to be a very naturalistic fashion. Fans of family dramas and foreign movies can rush to this one. Complex, ultimately uplifting and generally quite enjoyable, it’s good enough to impress even those who don’t usually go for these films.

(In theaters, November 2002) For a while, this film nearly doesn’t work. Hampered by its low budget, lousy audio, choppy editing, lame comic timing and overall lack of Ooomph, this Canadian Bollywood take-off sputters. Fortunately the luscious Lisa Ray (oooh!) appears on-screen in a tight angora sweatshirt (double oooh!) and this unforgettable sight is soon followed by a fantastic musical number starring Bollywood celebrity Akshaye Khanna. Then we’re ready to follow the film along, wherever it leads. Even if it’s in familiar Pretty Woman territory, despite the self-awareness of director Deepa Mehta’s script. As is the norm with Indian films, the story definitely takes a back seat to the musical numbers (of which there are too few) and the megawatt charm of the leads. The nearly-local Toronto backdrop adds to the enjoyment. Other highlights include a fun group musical number atop an apartment building, a credit sequence starring the film’s crew and amusing subtitles that tell you exactly what the scenes are about. It all amounts to, what else, a fine time at the movies. I could quibble with a lot of other things, but this is the kind of film where I’d feel guilty doing so. Viewers with a deeper familiarity with Bollywood will undoubtedly get more out of this film than I did. I just wish a bigger budget could have accommodated a few more dancers, a few more numbers and a better sound quality.

(In theaters, November 2002) The biggest surprise of this film is not how conventional it actually is, but how much it doesn’t suck, especially as a pop music star vehicle. I may or may not like Marshall Bruce Mathers III / Slim Shady / Eminem (a rapper who sells because he annoys the parents of his target audience… gee, that’s an original tactic for anyone who doesn’t remember Elvis, KISS, Public Enemy, Ice-T, Marilyn Manson and dozen of others) but he seems willing to take chances in this project, and the film works because of this willingness. It’s not as if he’s stretching; this tale-from-the-hood protagonist is everyone’s archetypical underdog, and the structure of 8 Mile is immediately familiar to anyone who’s seen a sports film or two. (Still, the silliness of the intrigue is obvious whenever one tries to summarize the film: “So this guy’s having trouble with his mom, his girlfriend, his work, his friends, his car… but then he says poetry to another guy on a stage and like -bang- he wins everything, man!”) But when it works, it works, and after seeing 90 minutes of Jimmy “Rabbit” Smith getting humiliated, beaten up, trodden upon and cheated on, it’s curiously satisfying to see him get the upper hand by acknowledging the reality of his situation. Mathers may not be much of an actor, but he does have a quality that makes him compelling for the film’s duration. Director Curtis Hanson’s done a good job with material that might have bombed in any other hands. As is stands, 8 Mile might not be anything spectacular, but it’s more than good enough for what it tries to be.

(In theaters, October 2002) The worldwide hybridization of action films continues (after, say, Kiss Of The Dragon) with this French-written, American-financed, Chinese-directed film. Like most similar attempts at combining different strains of the action genre, this one falls a little bit on its face. For starters, the writing is simply juvenile, jumping from situation to situation without grace or cleverness. The romantic angle is particularly ill-handled, skipping straight -like so many awful films- from flirtation to sweaty sex scenes. (Alas, we see nothing) It’s written by Luc Besson, so don’t be too surprised if it feels a lot like a teenager’s fantasy. The opening scene even segues straight from his Taxi scripts, minus the quirky French lack of polish. The directing (by Hong Kong maven Cory Yuen) is too choppy to be effective, though some fight scenes show a lot of imagination and some shots are a bit nervy. This aside, the best reason to see the film is for lead actor Jason Statham, who here solidifies his potential as an action star. His ex-SAS operative protagonist is one of the most credible action heroes in recent memory, and his showing ought to give Vin Diesel a run for his money. The fight choreography also shows him handling a heck of a lot of martial artistry without stunt doubles. As a confirmed sinophile, I can testify that Shu Qi is cute beyond words as the woefully underwritten love interest/MacGuffin. All in all, a decent action film, but nothing worth bothering unless you’re a Jason Statham fan… and you will be one, eventually.

(In theaters, October 2002) There are many things that don’t work in this film, but maybe the most offensive of them all is that for all the drug abuse, sexual perversions, loud music and overall hedonism of the story, it’s just not much fun. Too few naked coeds, scant enjoyment of illicit substances and sucky music combine with annoying characters and a lame “message” to produce what may very well be one of the most boring films of the year. The fault doesn’t lie with the actors, who do their best (though Shannyn Sossamon’s role is her weakest to date), but with writer/director/yadda Roger Avary, who mishandles some very promising material. I’m not talking about the original novel, which is reportedly quite different and rather loathsome if I’m to believe my Spy Notes on the book. Even with radical structural changes and simplifications, this adaptation feels directionless, meaningless and, yes, worthless. There are a few cute camera tricks, but don’t get too excited yet, because they don’t do much to support the story, nor add to them. It’s like if a film student wanted to try a whole lot of new (not-so-cool) tricks without having an idea why he should do so. The film lacks spark, energy and simple coolness. Doug Liman’s 1999 film Go outshines this film on all levels, from the soundtrack to the understated perversion, from the nihilism to the filmmaking. Too few, too late, too lame (“Nobody can really now another person?” Is that the best you can do for a moral?), there’s no real reason to see The Rules Of Attraction. I don’t even predict a cult following.