Movie Review

(In theaters, April 2003) It is incredibly fitting that this film will leave viewers with (at least) two very different impressions. The first one stems from the first half of the film, which is a cliché-ridden, yet aptly-executed murder mystery that lulls us in predictable conformity. But pay attention, because the film suddenly veers in fantasyland, leading to our second impression. The central conceit of Identity is so audacious it feels like something midway from genius and pure audience contempt. In a way, it rescues a film that seemed to be headed for pure clichés. In another, it slaps the audience in the face and shouts loudly “Ha. Didn’t see That Coming!” Some of you will enjoy. Some of you won’t care. Some of you will feel cheated. And some of you will feel all of this at once. Suffice to say that there’s a lot to like at a basic level: John Cusak turns in one of his best performances in years, with able support from Ray Liotta, Amanda Peet and a good supporting cast. Director James Mangold manages to do interesting things with familiar material. Plus, of course, the script… but enough about that. Except to say that the last minute is a howler, the kind of cheap ending that has no relation to reality. But that, in many ways, is the whole point.

(In theaters, April 2003) Kung-fu is cool. Ancient secrets on scrolls are cool. Chow Yun-Fat is the king of cool. Sean William Scott can be cool. Jamie King will be cool one day, once she acquires a distinct personality and starts playing off her resemblance to Catherine Zeta-Jones. Nazis are cool, and gorgeous blonde Nazi psycho bitches are even cooler. Why, then, is Bulletproof Monk so uncool? Maybe it’s the lazy direction. Maybe it’s the uneven script which neutralizes every cool thing with an uncool things seconds later. Hey, if you can’t even use a mega-über-cool character name like “Mister Funktastic” properly, you’re just not trying. Bulletproof Monk barely distinguishes itself in the “let’s pair an Asian cinema star with a hip Hollywood young thing” sub-genre that has become so tiresome in recent years. Rather than exploit Hong Kong cinema stars’ innate charm, they try to shoehorn them in yet another Hollywood formula and the result is generalized boredom. Bulletproof Monk has a few worthwhile moments, but frankly… it’s as if the filmmakers didn’t even care. So neither will we.

(In theaters, April 2003) Behold the most charming teenage sport romance since Bring It On. A successful blend of light ethnic drama and underdog comedy, this is the kind of low-budget film that doesn’t need much more money to keep the audience interested. A good script coupled with great performances… and voila! Keira Knightley may be the “sexiest tomboy beanpole on the planet” (to borrow an unfortunate expression from the embarrassing ads running on Aint-it-Cool-News), but she’s nowhere nearly as hot as Parminder Nagra, the adorable protagonist of the story. You don’t need to be a fan of soccer/football to cheer for our plucky heroine as she tries to reconcile both her Indian heritage and her English culture. (Don’t worry, it’s far from being as dreary as it sounds) Certainly a painless conversation piece about ethnic integration if there’s one, Bend It Like Beckham earns that highest distinction; a film that deserves to exist. While the script often takes easy dramatic shortcuts (“comic” misunderstandings can often be seen coming miles away), the film also exhibits a remarkable level of realism on how some characters react to some situations. Good stuff. The direction is appropriate, with frenetic soccer scenes and lush wedding sequences. Existing in a continuum forged by films like The Full Monty, My Big Fat Greek Wedding and East Is East, Bend It Like Beckham is one delicious piece of cinema. Please don’t miss it.

(In theaters, March 2003) Though Bruce Willis has been moving toward John Wayne territory for a while, this is the film that will solidify his image as the newest tough elder/actor/warrior. We’ve seen Willis in other movies, and here it doesn’t take much more than a moment to get a full grasp of his character’s professional weariness. That, in itself, works wonders to boost the believability of Tears Of The Sun, a war drama that may no be all that credible, but with such an earnest message it’s hard to pooh-pooh. Released scant weeks before the start of the Iraq War, this is a film that seems to espouse the “New American Century” party line of vigorous military intervention in face of atrocities. Is this reading too much politics in what should be an action movie? Hey, movies do not exist in a vacuum, and this is only truer in these troubled times. In case anyone misses the allusion during the film, it closes with the famous quote “the only thing required for evil to triumph is for good men to do nothing.” Too bad that it’s so inconsistent in its execution: There is something wrong in seeing Monica Belluci’s carefully-sweaty cleavage featured in a film where mammary mutilation is used as a manipulative element. There is something weird in seeing an experienced military officer throw everything in jeopardy on flimsy motivations. There’s something incongruous in ending a dour military film with an orgy of fuel-air explosions. There’s something dumb is seeing someone make a phone call from the deck of an aircraft carrier as planes are leaving. There’s a lot to like in Tears Of The Sun (terrific combat sequences, lush cinematography, Bruce Willis and Monica Bellucci) but also a lot of elements that don’t fit in nearly as well. This isn’t a pleasant film, but its biggest mistake is that it still tried to be so.

(In theaters, March 2003) From the first few frames, it’s obvious that Poolhall Junkies tries to be very very cool. It often tries too hard, but that’s a common enough flaw in movies by a rookie actor/writer/director. In this case, Gregory ‘Mars’ Martin (or is it “Mars Callahan”?) turns out a film that’s a lot of fun to watch despite small flaws here and there. For one thing, this is a film about pool. Yes, billiard. There have been other movie on that theme before (and they’ll all come to mind during this film) but for fans of the sport, this alone makes this film essential. A celebration of hustling in all of its forms, Poolhall Junkies is a not-entirely-successful blend of genre (some parts seem taken from American Pie, crime thrillers, romantic comedies and sport dramas) but the rewards offered by the film are numerous, including a fantastic cameo by Christopher Walken and some very cool pool tricks. The rest of the acting talent is a mixture between the old pros (Chazz Palminteri and Rod Steiger in a tiny role) and newcomers with things to learn from the pros. Some moments are, for lack of a better expression, too self-consciously cool –with unintentionally amusing results. (“I’m going to get my brother!”) This won’t matter much for an audience looking for new independent films, pool coolness or a diverting time out: Poolhall Junkies will fit the bill. Don’t miss it; it’s an update of classic pool material by a filmmaker exhibiting considerable promise.

(In theaters, March 2003) By now, we’ve seen so many movies about escaped psycho ex-special-forces fugitives that we can dispose with exposition. And that’s exactly the path taken by The Hunted, a film that feels like a snappy adaptation of a lengthier novel. It cares so much about its audience’s comfort that it even features Tommy Lee Jones in the exact same role he’s played in half of his movies for the past decade. It’s strictly hunter-hunted stuff (appropriately enough), but executed with a brutal flair that doesn’t flinch as blood sprays under the cool north-western drizzle. The final battle is particularly punishing, as the two lead characters keep on bashing each other with a variety of painful instruments. There’s nothing nice or cool about the violence in The Hunted, and that alone sets it apart from most run-of-the-mill thrillers. Alas, it’s not nearly enough to make it memorable. The bare-bones script has intriguing elements, but they’re quickly forgotten in the rush to the conclusion. Some characters, such as most of the female characters, appear for a scene or two and then quietly disappear in the background. It’s enough to make anyone wonder about a bunch of presumably deleted scenes. (One scene that should have been deleted, however, is the one where a massive manhunt is interrupted as both lead characters take the time to fashion knives from rocks and scrap metal. Hey, no kidding.) In the end, The Hunted may be brutal, but it’s not much more than that.

(In theaters, March 2003) Take a large blender, stuff in as many Stephen King novels you can, set everything to puree and let it spin. Then let the result rot for a few weeks and you’ll have the main elements of Dreamcatcher. The saving grace of the film is how it manages to polish a trash B-movie script that teeters on the edge of parody and -somehow- transform it in a horror film that looks as if it can fool some of the audience in thinking it’s actually any good. Gleefully mixing psychic powers, childhood friendships, evil aliens, explosive parasites, nutty soldiers and a large dose of phallic imagery, Dreamcatcher plays a lot like a drunken send-up of the Stephen King oeuvre. Alas, it never even seems to realize how ludicrous it is: Director Lawrence Kasadan puts a professional gloss over the whole production that visually sets it apart from most of the B-movie schlock out there. There are plenty of gory moments, CGI critters and yucky scenes, so all will not be lost for horror fans. But others may wince at the dialogue, the literal representations of elements so familiar to King’s symbolism and the atrocious ending. Dreamcatcher is seldom dull, but it’s even more rarely satisfying. Morgan Freeman is wasted, but his eyebrows turn in a memorable performance. In some ways, this film will be remembered –as a train wreck of a movie, a gloriously gonzo mishmash of ill-fitting parts and a liberal rip-offs of other works. It’s a bad film, but a spectacularly bad one.

(In theaters, March 2003) Let’s first settle one detail: Yes, The Core can be tremendously stupid at times. Even I, quite willing to give the film every chance it asked for, nearly lost it completely at the geode sequence. Scientific mistakes abound, and that’s not even counting the numerous times where the special effects completely misinterpreted the script (I can accept the Coliseum being destroyed by huge lightning strikes, but seeing it explode? Ahem.) And yet, and yet, despite the predictable nature of the plot (Who dies next? Take your pick. Or don’t, because it’s already obvious.), the early silliness (so, what, they had a whole convention of pacemaker-wearing people?) and the dull characters (D.J. Qualls as an elite hacker. Ergh.), I found a lot of things to love in The Core. For one thing, this is exactly the type of city-destroying disaster film I feared they wouldn’t be made in the wake of the September 11^th events. (Though, times changing as quickly as they are, shuttle crashes and tragic Frenchmen have acquired a very different resonance in between the production of the film and its release.) Second on my list of warm and fuzzy feelings about the film was the variety of (often poorly integrated) cool scenes, from seeing the Golden Gate Bridge get it to a few nifty camera shots. Finally, and this may be my biggest yay-movie sentiment, The Core is a straight-up shot of Golden-Age Hard-SF. You know; the genre where humanity’s cleverness is its own biggest virtue, evil characters see the errors of their ways and disaster is narrowly averted. The kind of stuff I like. Even despite whatever misgivings I may have about the rest of the film.

(In theaters, March 2003) There’s a fine line between a good and a bad twist ending, but Basic stepped over the line well before its final few minutes, roughly at about the time it becomes obvious that the film will make absolutely no sense. Good twist endings allow you to go back and watch the film in an entirely new light, but no such exercise is possible with Basic. This isn’t a Rashomon-like exercise in truth-telling… not when everyone’s lying with radically versions of the story that have no reasonable reason to exist. Don’t bother trying to make sense of the film; smarter people than us all have tried and failed. (Can anyone explain the sudden closet fight/kiss? I mean; really?) Oh well; at least John Travolta is a lot of fun to watch throughout, perhaps the only reason anyone would have to sit through this mess. The headache-inducing cinematography is filled with rain, thunder and lighting, making this film best enjoyed at home rather than the theatre. It’s a measure of how the film squanders its potential that it features two of the most attractive women working in film today (Connie Nielsen and the luscious Roselyn Sanchez) only to stick them in deeply unattractive outfits. Not to mention the waste of such actors as Samuel L. Jackson (in what amounts to a quasi-cameo), Taye Diggs or Harry Connick Jr. A lot of missed opportunities here, in a film that ought to have been much better. It’s still quite entertaining -the ending alone makes it all seem pretty cool-, but it could have been much, much better.

(On VHS, February 2003) I’m not a big fan of spiritual/Christian-themed films, and even less of dull teen bait. So you can imagine my distinct lack of interest in seeing a blend of the two which doubles as a strong pro-conformity propaganda piece. Here, a bad boy is caught doing a bad thing with his bad friends, and comes to reform his way thanks to a preacher’s daughter. It all develops in a heart-warming love story that doesn’t include pre-marital sex. All in all, it’s a movie made for parents more than teenagers; the perfect teen film for your grandma. (Who probably remembers, chuckling knowingly, that she had teen years much wilder than yours) I found the first half-hour unbearable; the rest got better and the final few minutes were just amusing given that they unfolded exactly as I had predicted. Christian pop-star singer Mandy Moore is unspeakably cute, and doesn’t embarrass herself in her first major role. It could have been worse. But faced between the two unpleasant alternatives, I’ll take a gratuitously offensive comedy over a harmless religious drama any time of the week.

(In theaters, February 2003) Darn typical old-school French film, where a decent eighty-minute thriller is stretched over two dull hours for no good reason at all. In a nutshell, it’s a film about the way a shy deaf professional woman meets an ex-con and how they help each other out dealing with superiors and other criminals. It’s not terribly pleasant and passes no chance to show how truly squalid it is, but it tells a decent story. The beginning is weak (too lengthy) and so is the ending (too unconvincing) but with some judicious editing, this could have been more interesting. Otherwise, well, it’s hard to bother. Heck, there’s even an entire gratuitous plot thread left untied at the end. Maybe if you watch it in fast-forward…

(In theaters, February 2003) This ordinary follow-up to 2000’s Shanghai Noon takes the Jackie Chan / Owen Wilson duo away from the wild west and drops them in Victorian London. Various hijinks ensue, this time more focused on straight comedy than all-out action: Chan, after all, is getting older. It’s all fun and entertaining, but the discomfort comes from seeing an original situation being churned in boring limpness. There are winks and nods to Arthur Conan Doyle, Charlie Chaplin, Jack the Ripper and other period icons… but they’re lazy and witless. After dozen of clever steampunk books playing around with the Victorian era, it’s hard to be amused by dumb name-dropping. Laziness is indeed the style of comedy as practiced here; most of the gags can be seen coming miles away and aren’t very funny anyway. Oh well. Shanghai Knights isn’t terrible, mind you; just dull and ordinary. The ending is overlong. Anachronisms abound, but you’d expect that, right? Even the bloopers have a forced air, including a cell-phone bit that surely sounded contrived. At least for Jackie Chan fans, it’s a definite step back in the right direction after the horrible The Tuxedo.

(In theaters, February 2003) Did we need yet another Holocaust film? Well, maybe not, but few will complain after seeing Roman Polanski’s latest effort. It’s the based-on-true-events story of a Polish Jew whose adventures in war-torn Warsaw defy common sense. Adrian Brody turns in an Oscar-worthy performance as a protagonist who’s harassed, saved, helped, forced to hide and then to flee in the remnants of a destroyed city. Technical credits are top-notch, and Polanski’s direction is in fact pretty darn good in an understated fashion. The film, maybe inevitably, is stronger in its first half as we witness the casual harassment of the Warsaw Jews; whereas The Pianist never gets close to a concentration camp, this section film shows that plenty of horrible things did happen in the so-called “safe” city. The second half of the film is a touch less urgent and rather more surreal, as the protagonist becomes a rabbit stuck between the armies fighting for Warsaw. You haven’t seen this story before. But you probably should.

(In theaters, February 2003) For a while, I was nearly taken by this film. It starts with an interesting conceit, okay characters and a first third in which it’s possible to discern some intellectual/philosophical depth. Plus, Kevin Spacey is almost always a pleasure to watch even when (like in here) he shamelessly overacts and gives a smarmy edge to whatever role he’s playing. But what becomes more and more obvious as the film progresses is that it will stop at nothing to wring out suspense out of situations that don’t have any. The discovery of the first tape is an example; the second visit to the crime scene is another. Suddenly, you may start asking questions about the plot, and it’s an exercise that’s almost always fatal to such a thinly-plotted story like this. Whether it’s an ominous cowboy or a cell phone that doesn’t work or a car that breaks down, The Life Of David Gale transforms itself from a decent “issues” drama to a cheap thriller. And if you haven’t been paying attention, the wretched conclusion will drive home the point that this film doesn’t make sense. Not from an internal logic viewpoint (the ending nullifies what the “heroes” have tried to accomplish) and not from an external thematic viewpoint either (whatever message the film had, if it had one, got lost in the plot mechanics). Sure, it has a dramatic inertia that keeps it bearable… but this is the type of film that gives “twist ending” a bad name.