Mar
21
On his fifteenth birthday a fa…
March 21, 2010 | Leave a Comment
On his fifteenth birthday a family friend tells Francois (Quentin Dubuis) a shattering truth – tying his family’s past to the Holocaust – that may enable him to develop his own sense of self. Until then, the secret had lain unspeaking, known only to a two, including his mother Tania (Cecile De France), his father Maxime (Patrick Bruel) and lifelong family friend Louise (Julie Depardieu).
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Mar
18
Orphaned baby Tarzan is raised…
March 18, 2010 | Leave a Comment
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Orphaned baby Tarzan is raised by gorillas in the African jungle. With his commonsensical-cracking ape friend, Terk, and upset elephant friend, Tantor, Tarzan
lives happily until humans, including the skilful Jane Porter, her old man and vicious huntswoman Clayton invade his world.
Mar
15
Shark Tale (2004)
March 15, 2010 | Leave a Comment
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Mar
13
Where The Truth Lies review
March 13, 2010 | Leave a Comment
way possible, but at least Kevin Bacon manages to give his usual good performance.”
Reviewed by Dennis Schwartz
It’s Canadian director of Armenian heritage Atom Egoyan’s (”Family
Viewing”/”Ararat”) attempt at making a film that’s a cross between a crass
pseudo-biopic and a pulp mystery story; Egoyan adapted it from Rupert Holmes’s
2003 gossipy crime novel. It’s one of the arty director’s more mainstream
films and, in my opinion, his worst; one that seems brazenly set on trying
to please its audience with guilt-pleasure sexual treats but fails overall
to be a credible work due to many missteps, not the least being the director
doesn’t seem suited for this type of roman a clef tale and the filmmaking
is sloppy (it never looks like anything but a B film). It tries to answer
the question of what caused the scandalous Dean Martin and Jerry Lewis
split, in a loose manner of speaking, and bring to the front some of Hollywood’s
well-kept dirty secrets. It uses the stand-up comedy team of the vulgar
Jewish comedian Lanny Morris (Kevin Bacon) and classy Brit comedian Vince
Collins (Colin Firth) to stand-in for the famous Hollywood duo and tells
its muddled, preposterous and unappealing story through the eyes of a journalist
doing a story on them. It was unsatisfying in every way possible, but at
least Kevin Bacon manages to give his usual good performance. This misfire
is a big stumble from grace for the uneven Egoyan, who at his best in films
like Calendar and Exotica managed to be nimble in getting to his nasty
metaphorical truths about reality. In this dismal offering, Egoyan is at
a loss to find anything to say that really matters.
The heyday of the Collins and Morris comedy team was in the 1950s,
and through flashback we see their shtick in a swanky Miami hotel nightclub
act and during a polio telethon (reminding one of Lewis’ muscular dystrophy
telethon). The gist of the story involves the death of pretty Maureen (Rachel
Blanchard), a college student and ambitious aspiring journalist, who worked
summers as a hotel room service waitress and interviewed Lanny for her
college newspaper. It’s now sometime in the 1970s and a young journalist
named Karen O’Connor (Alison Lohman) is interviewing Vince about his life;
her book publishing company is paying him a million bucks to make it a
juicy tell-all memoir. Karen’s aim is to draw out from the reluctant Vince,
who no longer is on the top and needs the dough, what happened to cause
the breakup of their popular act. She suspects that it happened because
Maureen was murdered, and possibly could have been murdered by them because
she was blackmailing them. Maureen was first found in their hotel suite
bathtub on the eve of their telethon, but their gangster benefactor (Maury
Chaykin) arranged for her to be found in a New Jersey hotel. Though cleared
by the police, gossip persists it was a coverup. The scandal evoked brings
up reminders of what brought down the career of the once popular comedian
Fatty Arbuckle.
The problem is the acting was stilted and the script was so off-the-wall,
filled with contrivances that are hard to digest such as Ms. O’Connor on
the night of the murder being at the telethon as a young girl cured of
polio and speaking on TV of her miracle. If that weren’t enough Ms. O’Connor,
now the journalist, has a sexual encounter with one partner she meets accidently
on a flight and is drugged by the other to have a lesbian encounter so
he can hold sway over what she writes.
There’s plenty of sleaze, but it’s not any fun. This filmmaker was
ill-prepared to make anything out of the outlandish dirt he dug up concerning
public image and private reality, fame, power trips, corruption and sex;
the film seems to be done without any conviction or purpose, and in the
end leaves one with an empty feeling that it wasn’t worth the effort going
down this tawdry road to come away with so little.
Mar
11
Born to Dance (1936)
March 11, 2010 | Leave a Comment
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Planned as a revue with Cole Porter numbers, this evolved into a full-fledged musical with On the Community organize: three sailors on shore leave (Stewart, Silvers, Ebsen) become confused with a triple of girls (Powell, Merkel, Langford). Reminders of the native conception concrete in a series of specialty acts – a ballroom dance duo, clever monologues notwithstanding store floor-walker and switchboard moll, a Chaplinesque mime by a cop with a yen to be an orchestra conductor – which are surprisingly movables and cleverly integrated with the main action, concerning Stewart’s efforts to resolve a romantic rift with Powell and to closed her telling break as a dancer. The celebrated finale is complete of Powell’s rather machine-driven rap numbers, crown with spectacular chorus, on the foredeck of a battleship, but she comes up with much more inventive routines to ‘Rap Tap on Wood’ and ‘Easy to Love’ (the latter in euphoric comeback to a crooning Stewart in moonlit Central Park). Cole Porter’s excellent score also includes ‘I’ve Got You Under My Skin’, and a delightful Gilbert & Sullivan pastiche for Raymond Walburn’s manful captain and his crew.
Mar
9
Morgan Freeman does not play h…
March 9, 2010 | Leave a Comment
Morgan Freeman does not play himself in “10 Items or Less,” but the joke is that he’s coming incomparably cheese-paring. His role is that of an beloved and respected actor known in return a majestic voice and a sense of authority. We know he is not Morgan Freeman – too innumerable unsubtle hints sprinkled throughout parody care of that – but there’s this sprightly way the movie never quite comes fully clear about it, teasing us with game gags about Ashley Judd movies.
Freeman’s anonymous character – labeled simply “Him” in the credits – is a legendary movie star whose fears of commitment and failure have communistic him in hiding. He hasn’t made a film in four years. Under he’s back, taking a selfish lines in an independent production, even if he won’t let himself admit it; he’s hurried to disbosom oneself everyone that he hasn’t officially agreed to the part. Flat, he has agreed to character scrutinize, planning to spend a few hours at a rundown grocery bank in a seedy part of town.
Character research, it turns out, is his gifted passion. He spends every minute of his waking life studying others. Their quirks, their patterns, their infinitesimal rote mannerisms. He loves it, finding intimate wonder in, think, how fast an office worker can flip auspices of a collect of files, or how rhythmically a cashier can touch groceries. As a man so cut off from the dozing of the world, he sees this as a turn to reconnect.
It’s at the grocery he meets a palpable firecracker named Scarlet (the unbearably adorable Paz Vega). She runs the express lane with a hard-hearted efficiency. In defiance of a piercing mouth and a quick temper, the actor also sees a sweetness and an intelligence to go along with that tough on the dole ethic.
When the actor’s ride fails to show up (and the actor discovers he doesn’t even advised of his own phone number), Scarlet offers him a lift. So begins their day of great change: she determination learn to unlock the confidence and ambition she has within, he will learn about the world maximal Brentwood.
Written and directed by Brad Silberling (”Moonlight Mile,” “A Series of Unhappy Events”), “10 Items or Less” was filmed in two weeks as something of an trial in debilitated budget filmmaking. The follow-up is a tight, laconic little falsification of characters sharing a day. Scarcely happens; the biggest plot turns are a visit to Aim (the actor can’t imagine those prices!) and, later, Scarlet’s job interview, which has the brazenness to take place off sift.
The big events in these people’s lives want happen after the credits; we are watching the seeds of coppers being planted, but we leave not till hell freezes over think over them sprout. But that can be a good task, as Scarlet and the actor are so mismatched so far so luckily in tune with each other that watching them spend a heyday has a palatable tone to it all. There is great joy to be had in watching Morgan Freeman originate the little wonders of everyday life – a tour to the buggy wash, a visit to Arby’s.
The film is an warm up in efficiency. The running time is a brisk 82 minutes, and the pattern twelve of those are for credits and a number of “cookies” featuring unexpectedly footage of the various everyday folks we met along the particular. But weigh what Silberling, Freeman, and Vega do in the remaining 70 minutes: they manumit fully developed, endlessly endearing characters, and show us how they attain maturity and chance and reconnect. This is a story close by self-finding, and we by to see it all happen in a surprisingly compact amount of regulate. This is a dazzling piece of figure study, set to a blithesome, charming sound.
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Mar
8
Dancer in the Dark review
March 8, 2010 | Leave a Comment
There is always some sort of controversy at the Cannes Film Feast. Someone is each pissed substandard about the movies that weren´t included in competition. Someone is unexceptionally pissed off about who was put on the jury. Everyone has an opinion about the picture that wins the Palme d´Or. Matrix May, when the jury awarded the pinnacle jackpot to “Dancer in the Ill-lighted,” the collect reaction must´ve been downright terrifying to people unfamiliar with Cannes´s tradition of controversy–half the audience cheered wildly while the other half booed soundly. There was a near-disruption right-wing incarcerated the fabled halls of the Cannes auditorium.
Crooner Björk plays Selma, an outsider from Czechoslovakia. She works at a plant in rural Washington. She suffers from a hereditary disease that is causing her to go blind, and she is saving up money to on for an operation that will keep her son from the same fate. Catherine Deneuve plays Selma´s richest friend Kathy, Peter Stormare plays the lad who wants to date Selma, and David Morse plays Nib, Selma´s landlord. Restaurant check has personal problems of his own, and it is the interaction between Selma and Neb that ultimately dooms her.
The film´s first 15 minutes establish the basics of Selma´s soul, and I was heartbroken by virtuous how sad and desperate her world seems. As regards more than two hours, von Trier leads us down a path of utter hopelessness. The other characters and the situations in the film aren´t unnecessarily hard-hearted to Selma; rather, the screenplay suggests that insurmountable misunderstandings that arise on an everyday base coalesce into something that guilelessly collapses on her. Make no misapprehend mix up with–this isn´t some sentimental schlock of Hollywood chump. The film is a grim, curt cry of quit.
Sundry viewers have on the agenda c trick called “Dancer” an “anti-melodic melodious.” There is a point to that remark. When I popped the DVD into my especially bettor and started watching the cinema, I was bewildered as to why I was just seeing a connect of ink blots on the evaluate. Then I remembered seeing something on the song listings in the distinguished features part of the disc. I was actually watching an overture in the tradition of the films made in the ´50s and ´60s!
The characters mention give how absurd it is for people to suddenly break asunder into bother and prom in musicals, and the harsh realism of this film also slams right into the in any event absurdity when Björk and company bust into musical numbers. Yet, somehow, it works.
“Dancer in the Dark” is the type of till that provokes as much bull session about its production as well as its content/style. Von Trier was so demanding that he almost drove Björk off the set. The Icelandic soda water star has vowed never to decree again because the experience was so taxing on her disposition and ardent facilities.
“Dancer” also caused theater goers to dash out of the theater in disorganized to vomit. The jittery camerawork in “Dancer” outdoes even the flurry of motion in “The Blair Witch Project.”
On another note, the movie also acts as a critique of the American justice way and the implementation of the death sentence. The cast and crew are primarily European, and the Europeans are bewildered as to why a progressive liberal democracy such as ours would permit the existence of the death judgement. A protracted finale shows us Björk´s utterly terrified Selma going into traumatic throes during her final hours. More than any Hollywood crapola (”The Preservationist Mile,” “The Model Dance,” and conceivably impartial “Dead Retainer Walking”), “Dancer in the Dark” condemns the utter inhumanity of executing someone, anyone. I mean, what big-hearted of annoyed buffoon is it to report register a yourselves to ride out if he is “mentally capable of understanding the punishment bestowed upon him?” I find creditable in the effectiveness of the death penalty, but this film made a convincing case to me that we should re-examine its go in circle.
Mar
6
The Night Stalker (1972) had …
March 6, 2010 | Leave a Comment
The Night Stalker (1972) had been a ratings phenomenon. Richard Matheson’s teleplay, about a Hildy Johnson-esque camerawoman, Carl Kolchak (Darren McGavin), hot on the trail of an ages-old vampire stalking the streets of brand-new-day Las Vegas, earned an incredible 54 allotment on a 33.2 rating, numbers purposes impossible in today’s boob tube market – except perhaps on Super Bowl Sunday. Matheson’s immediate follow-up, The Unceasingly Strangler (1973), did almost as approvingly, paving the passage concerning Kolchak: The Vespers all the time Stalker, a weekly hour-long series that debuted in the 1974-75 season. But as spectacularly well-liked as the two TV movies had been, Kolchak the series barely limped through a short-lived, single time of unbiased 20 episodes, then disappeared without a trace.
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Kolchak’s brief run precluded any sort of syndication deal, and while the two TV movies have been around on videotape and now DVD, the series has been much less accessible, though it did run on the Sci-Fi Channel.** This reviewer remembers one particularly cold Michigan winter where on January 31, 1975, at the impressionable age of 10, I was visiting my aunt and uncle and scared out of my wits watching an episode called “Chopper,” about a headless, sword-brandishing motorcycle rider. More than 30 years later this show now plays as more than a trifle silly, but back then Kolchak really did creep out the Brady Bunch generation.
Looking at Kolchak: The Night Stalker now, it’s easy to see why it flopped so badly as a weekly series. Beyond its “monster of the week” formula, the writing for the most part just isn’t there (Matheson had nothing to do with the series), even though in many ways the series does a great job emulating the look of the TV movies. What made The Night Stalker movie work (and, to a lesser degree, The Night Strangler), was that Matheson’s script did such an extraordinary job making such an absurd concept (Vegas vampire) perfectly acceptable. Much as Nigel Kneale had done with his Quatermass stories for British television 15 years before, Matheson builds his fantasy on a foundation of extraordinary logic, which in turn makes audiences more willing to suspend their disbelief. Reporter Kolchak may be something of a loose cannon, but his conclusions make sense given the carefully conceived evidence he uncovers.
The 50-minute shows don’t have the time to carefully build a believable menace, and anyway they’re structured to get the monster front-and-center, before the first commercial break if at all possible. The structure is awkward, too, with Kolchak’s Independent News Service now inexplicably based out of Chicago. (The first film was set in Vegas, and the second TV movie in Seattle.) In both TV movies Kolchak’s wild theories drive his boss, editor Tony Vincenzo (Simon Oakland), to distraction. This is carried over to the series as well, but makes little sense. Vincenzo wants Kolchak to do his job, covering ordinary murders and the like, but he’s forever sneaking off chasing after various ghosts and ghouls. Why does Vincenzo always get so mad when Kolchak’s theories are always right on the money? How does Kolchak make a living if the authorities inevitably cover-up his discoveries (and/or kill his stories) week after week? The X-Files, the most obvious of Night Stalker imitators, shrewdly avoids this kind of nonsense by making such investigations the main characters’ job, but in Kolchak all this friction between Kolchak and Vincenzo plays awfully forced.
And it’s forced in spite of the wonderful chemistry between McGavin and Oakland, and in spite of McGavin’s terrifically likable title character. The two actors had been kicking around Hollywood for years, the hard-to-cast McGavin never quite taking off as an edgy leading man type, and Oakland as one of the busiest character actors on television and, to a lesser degree, in films. Kolchak’s disregard for authority and his perennial outsider status endeared him to teenagers and counter-culture types, and McGavin’s likeability made a permanent imprint in television history, even if the series fizzled out like soda water gone flat.
Beyond McGavin and Oakland, the series’ best feature is its moderately effective atmosphere, which is inconsistent but sometimes very good for 1970s series television. Gil Melle (The Andromeda Strain) seems to have written most of the show’s stock themes and its memorable main title track, while others like Jerry Fielding wrote scores for individual shows. Jack Cole’s title design is particularly good, as is some of the art direction. The Chicago setting was a mistake, however. Though the producers clearly took McGavin there to shoot miscellaneous stock shots of Kolchak driving around the city and such, most of the action is clearly filmed on Universal’s backlot, or on location around Los Angeles, where the scrubby, arid terrain matches the Midwest not at all.
Episodes are undistinguished, though a few stand out as above average. The aforementioned “Chopper” was based on a story by Bob Gale and Robert Zemeckis, their first big-studio sale; and “Horror in the Heights,” generally regarded as the best episode of the short-lived series, was written by longtime Hammer scribe Jimmy Sangster. Charles Aidman, Scatman Crothers, James Gregory, Mary Wickes, William Daniels, Eric Braeden, Tom Skerritt, Ned Glass, Keenan Wynn, Julie Adams, Jamie Farr, Larry Linville, Marvin Miller, Jay Robinson, Jackie Vernon, Dwayne Hickman, Kathleen Freeman, and John Hoyt are among the guest stars.
Mar
3
Island of Lost Souls (1933)
March 3, 2010 | Leave a Comment
Not a extensive good at the constantly, undoubtedly because its horror is more intellectual than graphic, this adaptation of HG Wells’ The Island of Dr Moreau (repudiated by the novelist, and originally banned in Britain) is nevertheless a remarkably powerful film. Laughton is magnificently stomach-turning as the fiendish doctor whose evolutionary experiments, involving sedulous vivisectional graftings, have resulted in a pitiful archipelago community of hideous restrain-beasts. Satanically bearded, the epitome of imperialist arrogance in his immaculate chaste ducks, the whip-toting Moreau rules his ‘natives’ be means of rituals of trepidation and misery; and in a subplot that suffuses the film with a testy venereal sadism, he indulges his cerebral objet de virtu by plotting to comrade a human (Arlen) with the beautiful girl he has created from a panther (Burke), but who is already reverting to her animal state. In the delirious final series, superbly staged and shot by Karl Struss as the ‘natives’ rebel and lallygag the screaming Laughton away to his own ‘House of Pain’, the film’s subversive spirit surfaces with a honest wildly.
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Feb
28
Tarnation review
February 28, 2010 | Leave a Comment
Tarnation (2004)
Rating:
3 1/2 Stars (out of 4)
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Couch Trip
By Jeffrey M. Anderson

Using the movies as psychoanalysis is a tricky business. Sometimes it
can work, such as Brian De Palma turning his neuroses into a string of
stylish, edgy suspense flicks. Sometimes it doesn't work, such as French
director Catherine Breillat (
Fat Girl
) flaunting her bizarre
sexual degradation with an air of disdain and pretentiousness.
If that line isn't fine enough, we now have the "reality
show" factor to contend with. Is this filmmaker really battling his
innermost demons, or does he just want to get on television?
First time filmmaker Jonathan Caouette deftly overcomes all such
labels with his new film
Tarnation
, a surprising, shocking and
genuinely compassionate look at his own life using a sampling of home
movies, VHS camcorder footage, answering machine tape, pop songs, random
bits of television and new digital footage. It's edited and processed
through the iMovie program on Caouette's Macintosh computer, adding text
and bizarre effects.
Since Caouette has delivered one of the finest gay films in ages,
it's not too surprising that Gus Van Sant — a gay "godfather"
to beautiful young boys — and John Cameron Mitchell — creator of the
ultimate gay rock opera,
Hedwig and the Angry Inch
– signed on
as executive producers and helped
Tarnation
see the light of
day.
The film follows the torrid life of Caouette's mother, a child model
who fell from a roof and was paralyzed for 6 months until her parents
tried shock therapy. She met a man, Steve, whom she married long enough
for her to get pregnant before he disappeared.
While his mother bounced back and forth between institutions, the
Texas-born Caouette went through all kinds of rebellious periods,
including hanging out at a gay club at age 13, disguised as a "goth
girl," and smoking his first two joints without knowing that their
extra ingredients, PCP and formaldehyde, would send him into a disturbed
"dream state" for months on end.
Among the many startling scenes is footage of Caouette at age 11
doing a remarkably grown-up monologue — in drag — about an abused wife
and mother.
Finally Caouette moves to New York City, his mother's health worsens
and he meets his father for the first time.
Caouette uses his treasure trove of photos and footage like Jimi
Hendrix uses his guitar. He slices them up, flip-flopping the images for
disturbing results, smashes them together into split screens,
triple-screens and quadruple-screens, tints them and distorts the sound.
The faces contained within begin to look less and less human and more
like howling, torturous demons.
We eventually learn that Caouette was influenced by underground
movies and horror films, as well as punk music, and
Tarnation
–
made for a reported $218 — betrays all of those origins. It's perhaps
because of this homemade edginess that Caouette gets away with his
potentially lethal dose of psychotherapy on film. Instead of sending the
audience screaming from the room,
Tarnation
touches us with its
curious, ultra-personal cautionary tale.
Starring:
Jonathan Caouette, Michael Cox, Adolph Davis, Rosemary Davis, Renee Leblanc, David Sanin Paz
Written by:
Jonathan Caouette
Directed by:
Jonathan Caouette
MPAA Rating:
NR
Running Time:
88 minutes
Date:
October 15, 2004
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