Reviews

(On VHS, July 2001) The best bio-fiction entertain as much as it explains, and if Spike Lee’s Malcolm X does a credible job of showing us who, when and why was Malcolm X, it’s not nearly as successful at being entertaining. The problems start right at the beginning, as the first few extravagantly choreographed minutes are visually interesting, but set the self-indulgent tone of much of the film. The story of X advances in spurts, often spending too much time on the wrong things and telling us nothing new. At least two things keep our interest; Denzel Washington’s excellent performance, and Spike Lee’s ability with the camera. Once the story gets going, though, it’s quite engrossing. X was a charismatic and controversial figure, and the film manages to represent him as a good person while not shirking away from the more extreme facets of his personality. There is a touch too much pathos and paranoia in his ultimate downfall, but then again this is a Spike Lee film. Worth a look, even if you don’t think you’ll be interested in the subject.

(In theaters, July 2001) It was midway through the film, when it became clear that it wasn’t going to get any better, that I started musing about meta-text and contextual expectations. Granted, working with an English major colleague has warped my fragile little mind in ways I won’t soon be able to analyze, but Kiss Of The Dragon is such a switch from the usual martial arts fare that it got my critical mind in gear. Most American martial arts fans are weaned on Jackie Chan films, which present martial arts as an acrobatic, amusing choreography. To that, add what I call the American-action-movie-aesthetics, all glossy bloodless movement filmed in glorious hues and carefully sweaty heroes. Heroes are virtuous, heroines are admirable and villains possess a certain evil dignity. Then compare and contrast European aesthetics, with their claustrophobic settings, accidental grime and dripping locations. Sure, our hero Jet Li is as noble as ever, but his awful haircut is an indicator of how unpleasant the rest of the film is: gory fights, a drug-addicted prostitute heroine (Bridget Fonda, blah), uncomfortable settings… at least Tcheky Karyo brings a certain poise to his antagonist. If you want to generous, you can point at a few fun action sequences and argue that this is the best European martial-arts film yet. Unfortunately, the rest of the film plays like too many of those late-night action B-movies with the added disadvantage of being actively unpleasant. Say whatever you want about PG-rated Jackie Chan films or Bruckheimer glossy blockbusters, but at least they don’t actively work at being repulsive. Now, is that a failure of the film or the viewer? Hmmm.

(On VHS, July 2001) Anyone who’s wondering who’s the next Hitchcock might want to check the work of David Fincher and this film in particular, one of the purest thrillers in recent memory. A simple but effective hook; what if there was a game with the explicit aim to take over your life? Where’s the difference between reality, fiction and outright paranoia? Michael Douglas turns in a great performance as the persecuted hero. The look of the film is typically polished-Fincher. Unfortunately, the script that makes things so good in the first four-fifth of the film veers off toward a conclusion that is both disappointing and inevitable. Unfortunately, the heavy hand of movie magic (“That can only happen in a movie!”) is a bit too overbearing in these final moments. (And I still can’t figure out when the photos were taken) Hey, don’t take this as an excuse not to see the film; I still think it’s one of the most enjoyable thrillers of the nineties, a solid film and a great rental… but keep in mind that it’s ultimately a bit of a letdown.

(In theaters, July 2001) Let us be perfectly candid from the onset and declare this the worst film of 2001. No argument, no competition: Any professional reviewer (and the vast majority of casual viewers) will agree that Freddy Got Fingered has managed to attain a new abyss of bad taste, incoherent plotting, gratuitous gross-out gags and stupid humor. (Only the unintentional atrocity of Battlefield Earth makes it a worse film than Freddy Got Fingered.) This movie works hard at pissing you off. Don’t be surprised if you stop watching midway through. And yet… and yet… This very intentional drive to produce the vilest film of the year in some sick way make it a recommended rental for everyone with the willingness and the stomach to face such an experience. Writer/Director/Star Tom Green has slipped the ultimate bad film out of the gates of the studio, probably earning him an exile from Hollywood but also producing a real curio in the process. Call it awful or atrocious, Freddy Got Fingered rates as an “interesting film” on the orthogonal scale. It’s impossible to like, but not inconceivable to admire.

(In theaters, July 2001) There is no doubt that this is a must-see film, though you’d be advised to remember that this in no way implies a particularly enjoyable movie. To re-state the obvious; yes, this is the first feature-length computer-animated film to attempt full photo-realism, especially when depicting human characters. Again, to re-state the obvious: no, it’s not undistinguishable from your living, breathing actors. But it comes close, and that’s why Final Fantasy is such a landmark. Had the animation been slightly more stylized, there would be no end to the technical praise; as it stands now, however, it’s so close, and yet so far, from full photo-realism that your pattern-recognition mechanism might temporarily balk at what you’re seeing. At least visually, the film makes full usage of its capabilities, depicting ruined cities, deserted wastelands and other areas hugely expensive to re-create practically. It’s a shame, though, that the overall palette of the film is so… bland and ugly. Believe me, you’ll thirst for non-LED green after a while. There is some amount of visual clutter too, almost as if the animators spent too much time cramming each frame with cool effects. Still, the film’s technical aspects will hold your interest for its whole duration, which is fortunate given the paucity of the story running the engine. You might have Titan A.E. flashbacks. Viewers approaching Final Fantasy as an SF film that happens to be animated will have a harder time at digesting the story than those who watch it knowing fully that Final Fantasy is a Japanese anime film that happens to be computer-generated. (The final minutes, for instance, are pure-anime mumbo-jumbo-mystical-sacrifice, entirely logical within the conventions of anime, but harder to grasp outside the genre.) See it, if only as a harbinger of things to come in a very few years.

(In theaters, July 2001) Little-seen Australian comedy well worth tracking down for a pleasant diversion. Taking place in 1969, during the first mission to the Moon, it concerns the efforts of a few technicians to keep the Moon-Earth relay open despite difficulties. Given that said link (the title “Dish”) is in a little Australian community, you can expect a quasi-nostalgic portrait of a small town. It may not sound like much fun, but it’s actually quite charming. There’s even some material for deeper reflection about the importance of creating cultural mementoes for later generations, but only if you like to overanalyze your films. The biggest flaw of The Dish is that it’s based on a true story, and as such has to contend with structural difficulties. (For instance, that the film’s most dramatic moment comes maybe halfway through, after which we’re almost left wondering “what else?”). The conclusion is weaker than it should; there was ample room for a what-happened-next epilogue, but unfortunately we’re left wondering. Still, a good film for everyone, and a unexpected treat for space-nuts in particular.

(In theaters, July 2001) It’s a shame that films are limited to sight and sound (with the occasional bass-driven tactile vibration) when seeing food, but hey—hearing my dieting female companion coo in envy at every single chocolate shot of the film almost made up for it. The initial structure of the film will be instantly familiar; an uptight community gradually liberated by an outsider. (In this case, a chocolatière -the wonderful Juliette Binoche- deftly stuffing our prudish cast with sinful chocolate). Strong symbolism, and it’s hard to see where you could go wrong with it. But it does, as soon as a second outsider comes in (Johnny Depp, with a good performance in a useless role) and mucks up what had been up to then a relatively clear narration. Blame it on the original novel if you must, but a large part of the film’s appeal simply runs on empty whenever Depp’s character is around. The other big flaw of the film is its very deliberate nature, where even the tragedies are carefully metered out in portions designed to thrill without offending anyone. You could say that the film feels designed for Oscar, and you wouldn’t be totally wrong. Still, once you get past that, the film still feels delicious in a completely non-challenging way. It reinforces liberal thinking, makes you hungry and won’t offend anyone: Follow it up by a trip to the ice cream parlor and you have an instant great date.

(On VHS, July 2001) It’s not because it’s a lesbian teen romance that it’s necessarily more interesting! While the initial potential of the film is interesting enough (a girl with lesbian tendencies is sent to a “rehabilitation camp”), the treatment is hampered not only by a low budget, but also a low imagination. The true satiric potential of the premise is barely scratched, almost as if everyone was afraid to really push the limits of the idea. While the romance between the two leads (a cute Natasha Lyonne and the ever-wonderful Clea Duvall) is very sweet, it definitely sucks energy from the comedy and the result is not only harmless, but a bit boring too. The cast of characters at the camp should have been a limitless reservoir of comedy, but instead the caricatures are too broad and too lazy to be interesting. (While the girls aren’t all necessarily butch, all the guys are clichéd gay stereotypes that are immediately recognizable as real film characters, not real characters.) There are a few inspired moments (the “gay underground railroad”) but the rest isn’t nearly as interesting as it should have been. Very quickly, I can see two ways in which the film could have been improved: A> with a re-write by Kevin Smith (heresy!), or B> as a full-blown hard-core porn film. In the meantime, well, it’s a disappointment. Don’t be surprised if the end leaves a considerable number of threads untied.

(On TV, July 2001) The Mob and showbusiness intersect in this Woody Allen film set in the New York of the swingin’ twenties. As usual for an Allen film, the cast is stellar and the story is slight, but amusing. While initially predictable, the film takes a pleasantly surprising course in the last third. Don’t worry; there’s a happy ending. Nothing special to report; once again, Woody Allen defeats my intention to write more than a few lines about his films.

(In theaters, July 2001) Yet another of those thrillers that don’t really make sense if you give it more than a moment’s thought, Along Came A Spider works better as a way to feature Morgan Freeman and/or string along a series of suspense sequences. Though the film tries to sell you a super-criminal mastermind, the end effect is under-whelming and doesn’t possess an aura of reality. The final twist is a pure cheat, once again making no sense if you watch the film a second time. Not bad while you’re watching it, but it might leave a sour aftertaste.

(In theaters, July 2001) The traditional fault of filmed science-fiction is the preponderance of visuals versus content, of gosh-wow over serious extrapolation. A.I. is a useful lesson in the lesser-known danger of going too far in another direction and ending up with a pretentious snoozefest. To put it simply, the nonhuman thing has been done already. From Star Trek’s Data to TV’s Alf (with countless other examples), I think we’ve seen every conceivable modern interpretation of the Outsider/Pinnochio myth. We didn’t really need another one, and needed even less a film that boldly went where every other SF writer has gone before. Thematic failure compounded by an overabundance of stupid non-questions (“Can humans love objects?” Well, try taking my teddy bear away from me and you’ll die.) and contrived non-questions (“Well, we’ll grant you your biggest wish, but babble-babble-babble it’ll only be for a day. Sorry. Nature of the universe. Sucks, doesn’t it?”) It wouldn’t be so bad if it wasn’t all done in an entertaining fashion, but no… Stock up on caffeine before starting the film, because otherwise it’s a straight trip to sleepyland. It’s a shame -and a telling impression- that I wanted a film about the Teddy and Gigolo Joe secondary characters rather than the one I ended up seeing. It really doesn’t help that the film ends fifteen minutes after its logical ending, with a grating end sequence that it awful in all sort of different ways, but most egregiously by telling you what’s going to happen, and then spending ten minutes doing exactly that. And notice how I haven’t yet said anything about the manipulative sentimentalism of the production. Much has been said about this Spielberg/Kubrick “collaboration”, but in the end, Spielberg on Kubrick is like pouring a ton of sugar on a concrete slab. Interesting concept, but not an intrinsically entertaining experience.

(On VHS, July 2001) Admittedly a relatively early Jackie Chan effort (considering his breakout Police Story as the baseline), with a nagging lack of technical polish and often-simplistic dialogue. The historical focus of the tale, centered in 19^th century Hong Kong, doesn’t help at making things comfortable for the western viewer. Of course, that doesn’t matter very much once the fights start. As usual, there’s a lot to enjoy here, from a barroom brawl to an original bicycle sequence to a good final assault. Ends somewhat abruptly.