Reviews

  • The Sweetest Thing (2002)

    The Sweetest Thing (2002)

    (In theaters, June 2002) It had to happen at some point: A gross-out comedy by and for girls. Eh. To be fair, The Sweetest Thing presents an appealing trio of girlfriends: Cameron Diaz is as loveable as ever, Christina Applegate deservedly gets a good screen role at last and even Selma Blair is rather attractive here. The girl’s chemistry works well and is a welcome change from the usual testosterone-laden sex comedies. A lot of the jokes work well, even though they’re not all that different from what you’d see in movies from a male perspective. (Why is it that stalker-type behavior is almost always funnier if it’s a woman doing the stalking? It’s surely equally creepy in real-life, isn’t it?) Unfortunately, there are several dumb (and gross) moments, enough that they collectively dull the impact of the film to a merely pleasant film. (if that; your tolerance may vary) Maybe worth a curio viewing to compare and contrast with, say, Tomcats, but not an essential film. Unless you’re in that kind of thing.

  • Spaceballs (1987)

    Spaceballs (1987)

    (Third viewing, On DVD, June 2002) Hmmm. Even though I had rather good memories of Spaceballs, seeing the film once again somehow wasn’t the same thing as before. Hey, make no mistake; it’s still a pretty funny film, an amusing take-off on those seventies SF movies. But whether it’s familiarity or incipient maturity, some of the gags just seemed… lame. This DVD version doesn’t add much: The making-of is mildly interesting, but even if Mel Brook’s audio commentary is constantly amusing, it’s also kind of boring. Maybe I just need to shelve this one for a few years and see how well it fares once I’ve forgotten most of it.

  • Queen Of The Damned (2002)

    Queen Of The Damned (2002)

    (In theaters, June 2002) It’s difficult not to laugh during some of the film’s most ridiculous moments: Much like most Goths are simply ordinary folks trying to pass off as somehow special, this is really a B-grade horror film with his pretensions of high darkness. Most of it doesn’t work, and we’re stuck with a bunch of vampire poseurs for ninety minutes. This can be insufferable or amusing, depending on your mood at the moment. At least it’s consistently interesting, moving from vignette to vignette in an expedient fashion. As far as vampire films go, I’m a Blade type-of-guy, but Queen Of The Damned could have been worse. Much, much worse.

  • If Angels Fall, Rick Mofina

    Pinnacle, 2000, 477 pages, C$8.99 mmpb, ISBN 0-7860-1061-4

    (Necessary Disclaimer: I met Rick Mofina at the local mall, where he was holding a signing session for his three books. Half an hour later, I had discovered that Mofina was a local author and left with three autographed books. Adjust the following review accounting for my favorable bias in favor of Canadian/Ontarian/Local authors. Oh, and visit www.rickmofina.com, willya?)

    It can be difficult, in this age of jaded readers, for a new writer to distinguish himself from every other storyteller on the market. Dozen of crime thrillers are published every month; how can they stand out?

    Sometime, just doing the job well can be enough. Rick Mofina’s first novel, If Angels Fall, is in some way a novel we’ve seen many times before, with a deranged antagonist, kids in peril, a burnt-out hero whose involvement eventually becomes very personal and an ace policeman who’s seen far too many of these cases… but in its own fashion, If Angels Fall is a fine thriller with just enough distinctiveness to make it a worthwhile read.

    It certainly grabs you by the throat right at the beginning, as we’re witness to the sudden kidnapping of a young girl from her unsuspecting father. Crime is one thing; crime against children is another. You don’t need to be a parent to be involved. Manipulative or not, this draws us straight in the novel as we try to figure out what is happening, and as we empathize with the grieving parents. We also identify with the kids, as Mofina draws us into their mind-set in a fashion that is not predictably patronizing.

    In short order, we’re introduced to the two protagonists of If Angels Fall: One is Walter Sydowski, a veteran policeman whose cynical behavior has been made impregnable by years of police work. The other is the far more interesting Tom Reed, a journalist who has to live, every day, with a fatal mistake. This division of hero-duties is one of the things to like about If Angels Fall, as the protagonist doesn’t have to be an omnipotent superhero to be at all places at all time. Sydowski handles the police viewpoint; Reed the media aspect. The two rarely mesh well together.

    As a matter of fact, the journalistic angle brought up by Reed is the one of the main selling points of the novel: While crime thrillers all too often consider the media as annoying gadflies (or even worse; bunglers with ghastly consequences), this insider’s look at journalism is original enough to be compelling. As both the media and the police investigation converge on the main suspect, this makes things more interesting than usual. As a journalist, Mofina’s familiarity with the newsroom shows and illuminates an original section of the novel.

    What’s less original is that eventually, Reed’s involvement in the case becomes very personal. This loved-ones-as-victims crime-thriller shtick is something that’s been driving me nuts for a while now, but I can still get over it, and it’s not as if Reed’s conflict with the murderer isn’t completely organic to the story. As a matter of fact, it’s one of the crucial elements of the plot and doesn’t feel overly tacked-on: Reed has tremendous personal issues to solve, and the involvement of his family only makes a bad situation even worse.

    Considered as a whole, If Angels Fall works quite well. The writing is fluid and limpid. The plot converges to a tense resolution. The characters are depicted with an adequate amount of vividness. There’s a lot to like here for genre readers. While Mofina’s first novel doesn’t redefine the genre, it doesn’t need to: what it needed to do is to prove that Mofina can handle a genre novel with aplomb, and that is obvious by the time the story ends. On to his next book, then.

  • Le Pacte Des Loups [The Brotherhood Of The Wolf] (2001)

    Le Pacte Des Loups [The Brotherhood Of The Wolf] (2001)

    (In theaters, June 2002) I really should have liked this film. On paper, it sure sounds like a winner: An action-packed monster movie set in medieval France, starring a libertine scientist, his Mohawk kung-fu master, Monica Bellucci as a courtesan and a villain played by Vincent Cassel? With wire-fu action scenes inspired and staged by Hong Kong martial artists? Mixing political intrigue and religious conspiracies? I’m there! Unfortunately, while Le Pacte Des Loups has fascinating components, it never manages to put everything together seamlessly. The film jumps from one emotional register to another without smooth transitions and uses various cinematic tricks without seemingly understanding why they should be used. The result is a loud, incoherent mess that ironically feels very, very long. (It doesn’t help that the last forty minutes are repetitive and essentially useless.) This is a film by technicians, not storytellers; the plot is weak and senseless, whereas the images are often gripping. (I laughed out loud at a cheeky transition pan shot that neatly dissolves from Monica Bellucci’s curvy naked body to a CGI shot of hills and valleys.) There is a palpable sense of missed opportunities amidst the stunning scenery, the expensive special effects and the interesting back-story. It’s just too bad that nothing more intriguing has been done with it.

  • The Nightmare Before Christmas (1993)

    The Nightmare Before Christmas (1993)

    (On DVD, June 2002) This is a mind-boggling film: Not only for the intricate step-motion animation work that has gone into it, but also for the freedom of imagination and wit the filmmakers were allowed in making this film a reality. I don’t think anyone has ever seen anything like it before, and that in itself is sufficient to make it a solid recommendation. The art design is awesome, the characters are well-defined and the whole film has the feel of an instant classic. Kids will love it, sullen teens will love it and parents… well, they just might. It’s difficult to imagine anyone not loving it.

  • Minority Report (2002)

    Minority Report (2002)

    (In theaters, June 2002) The notion of being able to foresee crimes before they occur is nicely pulpish; not based on any scientific theory, but sufficiently interesting to make us say “what if…?” The problem comes when you try to fit this pulpish notion in a believable “real” world, in which case the incongruities between story conceit and execution become more and more uncomfortable. That’s a lot how I feel about Minority Report, an excellent SF film that takes itself so seriously that the seams holding it together become nearly intolerable. The original story by Philip K. Dick is interesting but abandoned midway through (as the whole “Minority Report” concept becomes merely a MacGuffin), and the film’s attempt to provide authenticity through a “real” future becomes increasingly ridiculous. The vertical highways clash with the film’s other levels of technology, the “precog” concept seems non-scalable and non-renewable, the logical loops become more and more convoluted… Even worse, the procedural aspects of the film are simply untenable, a fatal flaw in a film that spends a lot of time setting them up; a would-be victim is left alone after an aborted crime; the process “witnesses” disappear as soon as they should be important; the security measures of a top-secret facility are laughably deficient… I wouldn’t pick apart such flaws in James Bond movies or dumb SF films like Starship Troopers, but Minority Report is so seductive in its willingness to imagine an original, plausible future that it’s almost asking nit-pickers to double-check. And it fails the test of scrutiny. Or does it? Despite my multiple reservations, I realize that it’s one of the best SF films I’ve seen in a long time, and is likely to remain on my Top-10 list at the end of the year. It’s packed with great action scenes, posits fascinating questions and features some wonderful special effects. What it doesn’t do is damning, but what it actually does is impressive. Despite multiple problems and flaws, Minority Report remains one of the must-see films of 2002, a solid, provocative blockbuster that’s almost better than it deserves to be.

  • Life Or Something Like It (2002)

    Life Or Something Like It (2002)

    (In theaters, June 2002) There isn’t much to tell about this film, mostly because it’s so vacuous. The premise is familiar and short enough to be explained away in a thirty-second trailer, but the resolution is given away in the very first shot of the film, leaving the rest as little more than an exercise in filling in the numbers. Okay, so Angeline Jolie, Edward Burns and Tony Shaloub are talented actor who can rise above the material they’re given, but sadly, the screenwriter isn’t particularly gifted, and Life Or Something Like It flops around, goes through the motions and generally delivers what we expect from it, which isn’t much given that it’s a romantic comedy. I wish we could have had a longer glimpse of Jolie-as-a-teen-rocker (With glasses! Whoaah!), but that’s just me; the film does nothing with it. And so should we.

  • Jason X (2001)

    Jason X (2001)

    (In theaters, June 2002) After two years on the shelves, the latest installment of the Friday The 13th series is finally unleashed in theaters, with a title change and what I guess is an attitude change. After years of derivative knocks-offs, Jason X offers something (slightly) new; a rampaging serial killer… in spaaace! Well, okay, it’s not new after Hellraiser: Bloodline and Leprechaun 4: In Space, but it’s certainly a step more original than anything the series has had to offer before. Alas, the irritating porn-like slasher film structure is still left untouched. But the film exhibits an amusing self-awareness (“Do you want to have pre-marital sex? We love pre-marital sex!”) and even (gasp) some degree of SF literacy (take your pick; cryogenic death, nanotechnology or a funny riff on the whole Alien/Terminator concept). For us guys, it’s a shame that three of the lead actresses look alike and that, alas, the nudity is limited to a few all-too-brief seconds. Even though I generally loathe that type of horror film, I found a few things to like in Jason X, enough to generally enjoy myself for the duration of the film. It’s no classic, but it may be worth a look.

  • Branch Point, Mona Clee

    Ace, 1996, 310 pages, C$6.99 mmpb, ISBN 0-441-00291-9

    As a literary genre, Science-Fiction nowadays is large enough to accommodate a vide range of views on certain subjects. Nuclear weapons, for instance, have been used in a variety of ways by different authors. From the nuke-happy rhetoric of the most extreme military-SF to the wide-eyed horror of the post-apocalyptic segment, there’s been a divergent attitude about the current nec plus ultra in sudden energetic release. Most SF writers have accepted nuclear weaponry as a necessary evil or even as a useful dramatic tool from time to time.

    Mona Clee’s first novel, Branch Point is definitely not ambivalent about nuclear weaponry. The hook of the novel is how an intrepid group of time-travelers painstakingly avert one nuclear war after another. The anti-nuke discourse is strong and strident, up to a point -as we’ll see- that it harms the novel’s overall credibility.

    Branch Point is set up with a minimum of fuss and believability. We are to believe that by 1962, the US government was able to build a secret facility in California named “The Bunker”, designed to protect the best and the brightest of American scientists. The facility is activated when the October Crisis goes nuclear. A hundred years later, the dying facility has perfected time-travel (uh-huh) and is about to send three teenagers to avert the war. All three happen to be half-American, half-Russian, which is weakly justified (Visiting Soviet scientists were in The Bunker when the missiles flew, and they were far more interested in procreation than their nerdy American counterparts) but rather handy when, later, the teenagers will have to go to Russia.

    Within a few dozen pages, the October crisis is avoided. But it’s not the end of the adventure for our three protagonists: years later, four preeminent American politicians are assassinated and missiles fly again. As it turns out, our protagonists have “three more tries” by which to avoid nuclear war, and they’ll avoid that one too, bringing history closer to the one we’re familiar with.

    But the cycle starts anew as the 1990 Soviet putsch (in our timeline) diverges in yet another nuclear war, which our protagonists mop up once again. The universe of Branch Point then diverges in “our” future. Naturally, missiles will fly again in the early 2020s, and this time our heroine must use her last chance to avoid nuclear war ever again…

    Her solution is rather curious, which is to say that she travels back to a time where Russians could have colonized California, and manipulates them in doing so. It’s an interesting conceit (suggested in the first two pages of the novel, so don’t worry about me spoiling the novel) and interestingly executed.

    What I didn’t like as much is the way Clee goes out of her way to suggest that nuclear weapons will forever be banned in her “final” future. Physics go a certain way, and it seems highly doubtful that alternate sciences will not re-create nuclear weapons ever again. In this light, a lot of Branch Point seems highly convoluted. (And let’s not speak of the parts of the novel which are convoluted, such as seeing an old flame of the protagonist pop up at exactly the right moment.) Knee-jerk condemnation of nuclear weapons isn’t nearly as credible or interesting as coming to grip with a responsible usage of them… short of global thermonuclear war, naturally.

    Rabid Republicans might also howl at the hero-worship representation of both John F. Kennedy and Bill Clinton as minor characters in Branch Point. Baby-boomers are liable to be impressed. Others, like me, are more likely to be amused.

    But even despite these problems, big and small, Branch Point remains an interesting novel, more in terms of execution, ideological standpoint and historical Easter Eggs than in terms of overall plot. Certainly, it’s a bit more memorable than other time-travel thrillers, and maybe even a bit more desperate. How much of Clee’s own pet likes and dislikes show through this novel? I’m sure some enterprising thesis author will try to find out at one point.

  • The Bourne Identity (2002)

    The Bourne Identity (2002)

    (In theaters, June 2002) Don’t worry if you don’t remember much from the original Robert Ludlum novel: There’s scant resemblance to the original story beyond the premise of an elite secret agent who’s lost his memory. This remake is a solid thriller; perhaps too much so: There’s a definite sense of deja-vu here, as the film laboriously puts together what may be one of the blandest, least imaginative thrillers in recent memory. All of it is familiar by-the-numbers spy stuff. I could hand you the film’ premise and you’d develop a story roughly similar to this incarnation of The Bourne Identity. Matt Damon is decent as the hero, but not particularly noteworthy. The same can be said of director Doug Liman, who does the job with a very occasional flourishes but seldom any sustained panache. I drifted off midway through, bored by a second or third repetition of the same plot structure (Agent is sent to kill Bourne. Bourne kills agents, learning tantalizing clue. Agent dies before telling more) and I’m not sure I missed out on anything. Well-done but bland. There’s a nice little care chase, though.

  • Astérix & Obélix: Mission Cléopâtre (2002)

    Astérix & Obélix: Mission Cléopâtre (2002)

    (In theaters, June 2002) The second cinema adaptation of the classic “Asterix & Obelix” comic book, and it was a risky proposition: Not only is the first (animated) movie rightfully considered a classic (ooh, those musical numbers… “Quand l’appétit va, tout va!”), but the first live-action Asterix and Obélix wasn’t very well received critically. This second live-action film is better than the lackluster Astérix et obélix contre César and falls short of the insane greatness of Astérix et Cléopatre, but still results in a rather good historical fantasy-comedy. The style is often frenetic, with plenty of sight gags, multiple anachronisms, some good dialogue and a constant sense of fun. Mission Cléopatre is so packed with jokes that even though non-French-European viewers (including French-Canadians) might not understand half the gags, there are still more than enough left to amuse. It relies a lot on pop culture, though (including a reference to Star Wars), so I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s not nearly as good in ten or fifteen years. In the meantime, enjoy the performances, the jokes and the visual effects.

  • Army Of Darkness (1992)

    Army Of Darkness (1992)

    (Third viewing, In theaters, June 2002) Some movies somehow never lose their charm. This is one of them; a short (81 minutes) horror/comedy hybrid with inconsistent effects but a solid sense of fun. I’ve been watching this one yearly for about half a decade and it’s still as cool as it was. What more can I say? If you haven’t seen it yet, go!

    (Fourth viewing, On DVD, August 2006) There are few movies that I’ve watched more often that this one, but happily enough I’m still not bored by it. Bruce Campbell has the role of a lifetime in this film, and the constant creativity of the direction keeps piling the laugh deeper and deeper. There’s more stuff in this 85-minutes film than in some three-hour epics I’ve seen. The bare-bones DVD isn’t particularly interesting: surely there must be something better out there?

  • The Modular Man, Roger MacBride Allen

    Bantam Spectra, 1992, 306 pages, C$5.99 mmpb, ISBN 0-553-29559-4

    There are no surer ways to inflame a crowd of Science-Fiction geeks than to try to define the “mission” of the genre. Some will argue that there is none; others will use this as a tangent to discussing the definition of SF; others will simply sneak away for more snacks.

    As with many other experienced SF geeks, I tend to be amongst the group that slinks away for more food. Not only because I’m a hungry fellow or because the debate tends to be invariably circular, but mostly because I’ve made my peace a long time ago with what SF should be. And that, constant reader, would be a literature of ideas.

    Of course, SF should be well-written, packed with vibrant characters and constant entertainment. But that’s not the point. You can walk into any mall bookstore, head for the general fiction section and pick non-genre novels that do all that. But what other literature can seriously examine the human impacts of technological change? Which other literature always starts with “What if?” (Well, okay, Fantasy is the other one) Where else can you read accessible book-length dramatization of future issues that will soon preoccupy us? In Science-Fiction. Purely and simply.

    Certainly, the good old school of SF understood this: A standard template for an Analog magazine story was to find a scientific issue, derive a consequent problem with the power of affecting human lives, discuss the issue and then offer a solution to the problem. Hundreds, thousands of stories have been written to that specification. Some were good, some not-so-good, but most of them were unabashed SF.

    It’s in this techno-problematic tradition that we must place Roger MacBride Allen’s The Modular Man. There isn’t much of a plot (dying scientist downloads self in machine, political interests try to convict the robot, courtroom drama ensues), but the novel certainly features a thorough examination of the upcoming blur between humans and cyborgs, along with euthanasia, immortality, wealth hoarding and other such philosophical trifles.

    Fortunately, The Modular Man is explicit in what it tries to do. Fourth in the short-lived “The Next Wave” didactic SF series (published in the early nineties by Bantam Spectra), the book comes packaged with an after-word on “Intelligent Robots” written by none other than Isaac Asimov. It’s a good piece, though the novel naturally offers most of the same ideas in a more entertaining (albeit longer) fashion.

    What MacBride Allen sets up in his narrative is nothing else but an excuse to explore the legal nuts-and-bolt issues that might one day surround the artificial enhancements of humans. The Modular Man isn’t set particularly far in the future, and the writing style of the novel is much closer to legal thrillers than to more stereotypical SF. There’s certainly a lot of reasonable-sounding realism throughout the book, even though there may be too many issues to untangle simultaneously. But that’s what happens when all of your subplots relate to your central theme.

    As fiction, The Modular Man isn’t much of a show-stopper. The characters are serviceable, but their places in the narrative are clearly delimited. (And yet… and yet… you’d be surprised at how moving some passages of the book are.) The plotting all leads up to the predictable Big Courtroom Victory, though there are a few twists here and there. The writing style is brisk and businesslike.

    But as idea-fiction, The Modular Man is nearly exemplary. Ever chapter raises and interesting question or two, and even offers sort of a proposed solution, or at least a path worth exploring. There’s a definite pleasure in peeking in the future in that fashion; barring significant progress in nanotech, the increased reliance on artificial body parts is inevitable… and so will be the legal issues surrounding extended life-spans, artificial minds, non-humanoid bodies and such. So why don’t to get a conceptual head-start on everyone else and start studying tomorrow’s headlines now?

  • The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Sunken Ships and Treasures, Stephen Johnson

    Alpha, 2000, 452 pages, C$24.95 tpb, ISBN 0-02-863231-1

    I really do like the “for Dummies” and the “Complete Idiot’s” series of non-fiction books. Despite their title, they usually offer a clever introduction to a variety of subjects. A glance at their catalog is usually good for a giggle or two (Elvis for Dummies?!), but the truth is that there are few other better ways to get a quick primer on a given subject than to settle down with one of their books. The Guide to Sunken Ships and Treasures is a primer on the exotic -but compelling!- field of, well, sunken treasures. This Guide offers a general primer on shipwrecks, underwater exploration, treasure-hunting and a few related subjects like pirates, nautical lore and salvage law. Most of the book is dedicated to a series of short primers on famous shipwrecks, from the antiquity to the cold war.

    There are certainly a lot of good stories in this Guide. The most fascinating section of the book are undoubtedly parts 3 to 5, which describe the event leading up to fifteen famous shipwrecks, from the 1622 Spanish treasure fleet to the USS Scorpion, without forgetting such famous names as the Bounty, Lusitania, Andréa Doria and the unavoidable Titanic. Even if you think you know a lot about some of these stories (like many of us are likely to do after seeing TITANIC), there’s a lot of interesting information presented in an accessible fashion. Furthermore, each of those fifteen chapters also highlights when and how the shipwrecks were later found and salvaged by modern treasure-hunters. It usually makes for fascinating reading, especially if you absorb it in small doses, one shipwreck per evening.

    Alas, the rest of the book isn’t as tightly focused. The first section of the guide, for instance, hops left and right, constantly repeating information on various subjects without a clear outline and a steady progression from one point to another. It really starts to grate after a few chapters, as the author sometimes refers to past pages, and just as often breathlessly re-introduces the same concept yet another time. The book’s overall organization is a murky mess: Part 6, which follows the “famous shipwreck” section, is about pirates and modern treasure-hunters; it’s unclear why it had to be segregated to the back of the book when it fits more naturally with a general introduction to the subject.

    This lack of organization is most visible at the page-per-page level of the book. The sidebars, which fit so naturally well in other Complete Idiot’s Guide books, here seem excerpted almost verbatim from the main body of the text. The Complete Idiot’s Guide series also ends its chapters with a brief recap of the chapter’s most essential points. Not so here, where “The Least you Need to Know” endbar goes fishing for the most trivial points of the chapters and passes them along like essential facts. I stopped reading them half-way through.

    All of the above leads me to wonder if Stephen Johnson’s manuscript was maybe written on spec as a stand-alone book, only to be retro-fitted later as part of the Complete Idiot’s Guide series. It would explain many of the highly annoying flaws of the book, especially when compared to the overall pleasant flow of the text. (The other reasonable explanation is that Johnson, a newspaper journalist, isn’t completely at-ease when structuring a longer work).

    It’s a shame, really, when considering the intrinsic interest of such an unusual and fascinating subject. The movie TITANIC did a lot to revive interest in shipwrecks (let’s not fool ourselves; it probably sparked the writing of this book too), but it’s not the only wreck out there and there is a lot more to learn about the field than simply deep-water submarines expeditions. Pick up this Guide to Sunken Ships and Treasures to learn more… but prepare for some frustration along the way.