Reviews

This is a thoroughly disposable movie, and that's not necessarily a bad thing. Jackie Chan and Chris Tucker basically run through a re-tread of gags and plot elements from "Rush Hour" with a nominally higher budget, more villains (John Lone, Zhang Ziyi, AND Alan King), and more plentiful action scenes. There isn't a single part of this movie that isn't derivative or cliched, and the talented cast is largely wasted (especially "Crouching Tiger's" Zhang), but for lightweight popcorn entertainment, it makes for a fun evening. Some viewers might quibble about Tucker's insult-driven humor, which does perhaps have one Asian put-down too many, and Jackie's stunts are not nearly as memorable as his 80s Hong Kong work (to be expected considering his advancing age, plus the fact that Ratner uses too many close ups), but the running time is short and the pacing fast.

For me, this is a marvelous construction of imagery and sound, and fascinates me even 15 years after I first saw it on video. The odd characters, non-sequiter dialogue, and bizarre tableux all combine to create a sensation akin to a dream or nightmare, and prefigure what director David Lynch would later bring to life in his TV series "Twin Peaks".

I find this entertaining, though not in the usual sense. "Blue Velvet" is more a play of ideas than a straightforward, plot-driven film. It's difficult to say what it all adds up to. There's a bit of traditional film noir mystery, satire of small-town life, plus a strong thread of perverse eroticism. A lot of critics say it's a commentary on the dark underbelly of normal society, but I think that's oversimplification.

I would not recommend this to everyone, though. "Blue Velvet" definitely might bore, confuse or offend a lot of people, like most of Lynch's work. However, if you are interested in movies that forego standard storytelling and instead toy around with ideas or are an expression of individual artistic (or self-indulgent and pretentious, take your pick) impulses, I think it's worth a look.

This movie aired recently on the USA network and I saw it for the first time since I was ten years old. Although I did not find myself experiencing nightmares when I went to bed that night, as I did seventeen years ago, I still found the movie's message delivered clearly and with solid dramatic impact.

Upon close analysis, there are flaws, both technical and on the creative end. The post-bomb world seems far too well-lit at times in light of the "nuclear winter" theory. And (as the film's disclaimer says) the actual results are much, much grimmer. Seven years ago I visited Hiroshima and Nagasaki, and the photos, accounts and newsreel footage taken of those who survived are absolutely horrifying.

Some of the plot point devices and characters seem far too constructed (or perhaps outright contrived): Steve Guttenberg and his girlfriend and their tearful reunion, the dying doctor played by Jason Robards returning to the ruins of Kansas City for a final farewell to his home (and wife who died in the explosion). But the acting is strong, and Nicholas Meyer's largely low-key direction (often with no music) hammer home what is the film's message - loss. Not just the typical message that everyone loses in (nuclear) war, but illustrating what would be lost: loved ones, your home, your way of life, simple human dignity. And that it would be lost forever. For me, one of the most chilling lines is when Steve Guttenberg says to his girlfriend, "There's not going to be any phones."

Haunting.

Disappointing to say the least, is what I say about 'Hannibal'. I haven't read Thomas Harris' novel, so I can't judge if the movie is a step up or a step down. Judged on its own merits, 'Hannibal' is a slickly-produced, well-acted film, but it fails to generate much real suspense or tension throughout its elaborate proceedings.

I have to agree with the critics: taking Hannibal Lecter out of his cell and out on the streets makes him least mysterious and interesting. What was so fascinating about Hannibal in 'Manhunter' and 'Silence of the Lambs' was how, despite his physical incarceration, he still had the power to get under a person's skin or into their very minds. And, like all good horror films, it was the implication of what he might do that intrigued far more than the acting out of it onscreen. In fact, when Lecter did finally cut loose in 'Lambs' to do in a pair of Tennessee cops, director Jonathan Demme wisely kept the gore low, but the atmosphere to the maximum. Ridley Scott lets blood, brains and intestines run freely in his film.

In'Hannibal' we get to watch the good doctor hack and slice to his gourmet delight. Although it was entertaining to watch Anthony Hopkins back in action, and at times, the sheer relish he had with the role had an infectious (though demented) joy about it, there didn't seemed to be any real weight behind his actions.

Julianne Moore did an fine job with her portrayal of Clarice Starling, and I didn't find myself missing Jodie Foster. The problem isn't with her acting, it's with the script. Though it is logical that in the intervening decade, Clarice would have become a harder, more battle-weary FBI expert, the story suffers because it was her innocence that made her dance with the demonic Lecter so fascinating. In 'Lambs', Clarice had challenges both external (as a trainee agent tracking down serial killer Buffalo Bill) and internal (matching wits with Lecter - a man who might eat your soul if not your liver). Here, she's more workmanlike in her approach, and because she doesn't scare as easily anymore, neither does the audience. In 'Lambs' we saw the world through Clarice's eyes, and shared in her fears and triumphs.

It's impossible to watch 'Hannibal' without cynically thinking about how much the film (and the novel it was based on) are largely motivated with the public's fascination and desire for more Lecter product (evidenced by the awful serial killer knock-offs that followed 'Lambs'). Even the little continuity notes in the movie (Barney the orderly makes a return appearance, and Clarice listens to the tapes of her old conversations with Lecter - which now via Soviet-style revisionist history, have Moore's voice dubbed over Foster's) only seem intended to goad me into re-renting 'Lambs'.

It seems to me that Harris and company simply failed to come up with anything really new or original to do with Hannibal and Clarice and felt content to re-hash what (apparently) worked before, though like many photocopies, beauty runs only skin deep. Let's hope that, despite the box-office bonanza the film is making for Universal, good taste prevails and the series is brought to a halt. At least before Hannibal goes the route of all movie monsters and we have to sit through 'Abbott and Costello Meet Hannibal Lecter'.

After months of build-up, I have to say that 'Shadow of the Vampire' was a bit of a let down in a number of areas. First off, although the conceit that the making of 'Nosferatu' involved the participation of an actual vampire is intriguing, the filmmakers do precious little to exploit or explore the subject. For the most part, they seem content to play things for laughs, milking humor out of Malkovich's manic portrayal of F.W. Murnau and Dafoe's heavily accented Max Shrek/Count Orlok.

A whole host of ideas could have been played with - the fact that Murnau sees film as a beautiful medium for giving immortality to images, contrasted with the horrific curse actual physical immortality has been for Max Shrek. Old world nobility (and superstition) could have been played against new world and 1920s decadence and science. There is a brief hint from a single line of dialogue uttered by Catherine McCormack about how the camera, a tool of the future, merely takes life from performance, as opposed to live theater, but little is played with this later.

Nothing, or close to nothing, is done with any of that. Especially irksome when you consider how much the real Murnau made 'Nosferatu' a fascinating rumination on nightmares of sexuality, disease, death, and even Western European xenophobia, one that was still stands heads above more popular versions of the vampire myth such as the talkie 'Dracula' with Bela Lugosi.

The film also seems to have odd lapses of continuity, hazy motivations and explanations. What exactly happened to Wolf, the first cinematographer? What is happening to the disappearing cast and crew? (Presumably, Shrek is eating them one-by-one, but we only watch one such inccident, and no one ever comments on it) Eddie Izzard's foppish actor Gustav just fades away at some point, never to return.

What should have been a climatic revelation scene, in which Malkovich finally fesses up to his colleagues Shrek's true nature, is done so matter-of-factly as to be dull. And the climax is telegraphed way in advance for anyone familiar with the real 'Nosferatu'.

Only Willem Dafoe's performance really kept me consistently entertained. The make-up is absolutely fantastic, in terms of its recreation of the real Shrek's appearance, and as a truely repellant (though not over-the-top) creation. Dafoe then imbues the design with a variety of gestures - sniffing like a predatory animal, hypnotic gazes, clicking his clawlike fingers - that truly make this vampire feel (ironically) alive and very real. He also manages one really great dialogue scene, in which Shrek gives his interpretation of Bram Stoker's novel Dracula, expressing the tremendous lonliness of a vampire, while two members of Murnau's crew listen with complete ignorance of the truth, but in also in total awe of what they think is a master method actor at work.

'Shadow' is basically a blip in the long history of cinematic vampires. If you want something with real bite, check out Murnau's original.

In light of 'Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon' tearing up the American box office, it's a good time to reflect upon the first time a martial arts film made such an impact.

It's been more than 20 years, but Bruce Lee's sole Hollywood starring role still has a lot to impress the audience. Sure, the plotline is sub-Bond, and a lot of the acting and dialogue is pretty laughable. I've always found Jim Kelly to be the funniest of the lot, his "I'll be too busy looking goooood ..." causing a huge grin to break out across my face.

But then there's Bruce Lee, with his intense gaze and body coiled to spring like a predatory animal. That's the reason to see this film. According to eyewitnesses, Bruce Lee was a true martial artist par excellence first and an actor second. And due to fate being unkind, he left this world too soon, with only a small body of film work left as a testament to his personal achievements - mental, physical and spiritual.

'Enter the Dragon' is the best of these cinematic records, in part due to the fact it is the best made of them all - Warner Brothers supplying a decent budget and production values. Also, because Bruce Lee's onscreen persona was an extension of his true self (the character simply called "Mr. Lee"). This held true throughout all his Hong Kong films, but even more so in 'Enter the Dragon'. Among my favorite parts of the movie are where Bruce verbally expresses his views on the martial arts ("It is like a finger pointing towards the moon") or the scene where he outwits the Australian karateka (an unworthy blowhard) rather than fighting him.

> From one point of view, these scenes can come across as pretty campy, with Bruce Lee almost sounding like a fortune cookie (my apologies for the analogy, no insults intended). But he says them with such conviction, I cannot help but find myself believing him. (Watch the television interview included on the 25th Anniversary edition tape for more of the same).

Then there's the fighting scenes. Now, in the intervening years, the Hong Kong film industry has pretty much re-written how fight scenes of all kinds are filmed - from fisticuffs to bullets. Jackie Chan, Jet Li, and Sammo Hung have made movies more daring, fast-paced, or innovative, but 'Enter' still stands as a major benchmark. In some ways, it is far more realistic than anything made today, since most of the fights follow the realities of hand-to-hand combat: He who gets in the best shot first wins, and the better guy usually gets in the first best shot. No wires, trampolines or acrobatics, just solid, brutal action. It's not very pretty, but it certainly has a captivating ferocity I can't take my eyes off of. Just check out that crotch kick Bruce Lee delivers to Bob Wall (as O'Hara) halfway through the movie.

So, Bruce Lee, allow me to bow in respect. You earned it.

Is 'Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon' the best martial arts film ever made, as some people say? I hesitate to agree. A serious fan of the genre, I have spent many hours watching the notable entries - 'Enter the Dragon', 'Once Upon A Time in China', 'Drunken Master II' - analyzing the conventions and aesthetics, and deciding what I like and dislike. Compared to those other works, I say no: no new ground is broken. For sheer physical skill, Jackie Chan's 'Drunken Master II' or Jet Li's 'Fist of Legend' win out. Fans of fantasy kung-fu can turn to 'Chinese Ghost Story' or the superlative 'Zu: Warriors of Magic Mountain'. If over-the-top action with rapid-fire editing and tons of "wire work" is your piece of cake, check out 'Iron Monkey' or 'Fong Sai Yuk'. Even thematically, the angst-ridden heroes of 'CTHD' have graced the screen before. Doomed warrior-lovers Leslie Cheung and Brigitte Lin in the 'The Bride with White Hair' are tragic cousins to Chow Yun-Fat and Michelle Yeoh in 'CTHD'. Not to mentioned the powerful yet lonely beings that inhabit the poetic 'Ashes of Time' (which has a dessert setting similar to the middle act of 'CTHD'). So Ang Lee's 'CTHD' is not the best martial arts film every made, in my opinion. But that's okay, because it is not a martial arts film anyway. It is a film about martial arts. Now let me clarify before I'm accused of using academic double-speak.

Most martial arts movies, be they Chinese kung-fu flicks or Japanese chambara (swordfight), Italian gladitor adventures or American B-movies of the 'Best of the Best' or 'American Ninja' variety, use fighting as window dressing. Action is employed to generate visceral thrills, to visually provoke that rush of adrenaline and satisfy the desire to watch someone "kick ass". They are rarely analytical, exploring what it means to be a warrior, to live a life of violence, and the consequences that follow. At best, they make cursory (and cliched) statements about honor and loyalty (The "Ha-ha, you killed my father, prepare to die!" element). There is nothing wrong with this. Escapism is important. Having fun is important, and I myself have watched 'Blade' more times than I care to admit. But I think there is something wasteful about using martial arts, or, more accurately in this case, martial arts story-telling, strictly for kicks. Especially since, as 'CTHD' shows, they can be used to say a lot about the human condition, no less than poetry or song. In an interview, the late great Bruce Lee, both a true martial artist and a bona fide movie star, said that the hardest part about being a martial artist was to express oneself truthfully. And from my own experience (6 years in aikido) and looking at history, being true is the only way one can really succeed in all arenas of the martial arts - learning, teaching and fighting (where ultimately, no amount of lies or bluffing will protect you - either you can or cannot). There lies the conflict that propels the drama of 'CTHD'. Li Mu Bai (Chow) and Shu Lien (Yeoh) are torn between their love for one another, and their pledge to honor the memory of Shu Lien's slain betrothed, who was Li's friend. Li Mu Bai is also faced by a host of other conflicting choices: his desire to put down the sword and his duty to avenge his master's death, not to mention mentoring the young Jen (ZiYi Zhang). On the surface, Jen is a woman of class and gentility, but inside lies a warrior, and a burning passion for the rugged thief Lo (Chen Chang). And as a warrior, she has the choice to follow the righteous path of Wudan master Li, or scoundrel ways of Jade Fox (Cheng Pei-pei). What these characters - superhuman, powerful - are unable to speak, is expressed in their skill. While the dizzying fights choreographed by veteran Yuen Woo-Ping might not be the great standouts of his career in and of themselves, it is the manner in which they are used. Jen's impetuousness versus Shu Lien's discipline, age and experiences are not described but shown in vigorous one-to-one fight set within an enclosed training hall. The dichotomy between the characters' ability to literally fly free of the earth, and their entrapment within roles, responsibilities and traditions makes them especially poignant. The superheroes of their world, they do not have secret identities (well, some do), but they do have secrets; deep, repressed longings, which keep them from being as truly great as they could be. As Li Mu Bai says near the beginning of the film, he is not yet enlightened. As the film progresses, though, everyone is peeled away layer by layer. Jen emerges as a great fighter, even better than her evil teacher Jade Fox, but is not truly a warrior yet. In their mutual deaths, Jade Fox and Li Mu Bai finally reach the full truth, as Jade Fox's insecurities and hatred come to fore, and Li Mu Bai's love for Shu Lien finally is given expression. Li Mu Bai's death is a final lesson for the film, given to the next generation of potential warriors symbolized by Jen and Lo. Shu Lien tells Jen to live true to herself, and Jen takes a (literal) final leap, thought not one of faith, but of being.

OK, so the film is a bit of a choppy edit and the story doesn't always flow right.

OK, so a few scenes seem to cross over from being "boundary pushing" to creepy (at least for me, any involving Ben Affleck's character).

OK, so Smith's natural sensibilities seemed to have been blunted by the big budget and blockheading studio blundering.

But . . . It's still pretty damn funny.

I just saw the film on DVD and watched all the "making of" extras and listened to the director's commentary. What sticks in my mind was the fact that Smith says he was doing a bit of an homage to the early comedies of John Landis - Blues Brothers, Animal House, etc. - and Mallrats definitely has a similar loose and anarchic feel to it. In fact, in my opinion, Silent Bob is simply a more polite and less sexually driven version of John Belushi's Bluto from Animal House (his various hidden gifts and talents seem to come from The Peanuts' Snoopy, though).

Regardless, also having been a comic book fan, a follower of John Hughes and Tim Burton movies, and having spent many an aimless adolescent day in malls or comic book stores, Mallrats appealed to me on many levels. And I swear to God, I've known guys like Brodie all my life.

Not View Askew's best, but OK. I consider it Kevin Smith's Magnificent Ambersons next to the Citizen Kane of Clerks.

It was a strange experience watching the newly-released version of the Exorcist. On one hand, I greatly admired the craft of the movie. The acting is terrific, most of the direction understated (and almost like a documentary) and the low-tech effects still impressive after all the years. The new soundtrack blew me away, with every scratch and eerie howl echoing through the theater walls.

The story overall still has power, but many scenes induced laughter in myself and the audience. Inevitable, I supposed. Some due to being very dated (Ellen Burstyn's fashions, the possessed Regan's profanity is tame compared to the "South Park" children, and a doctor's hilariously earnest endorsement of Ritallin as a cure-all), while others were simply too familiar (Regan's bed shaking and convulsions).

However, the really "killer" elements of the movie still left everyone gripping their seats. Those semi-subliminal shots of the demon's face still haunt the mind, and the restored "spider walk" sequence is mind-blowing. And, during the exorcism itself, I realized that the audience was dead silent when the priests started shouting, "The power of Christ compels you."

The truly strange part of the evening came when I came home. Though a fully grown adult male and well aware that what I watched was the fabrication of a movie studio, I walked around my apartment with a cautious air, checking around every corner, and instinctually flipping on lights. When it was time to go asleep, every shadow and every sound seemed amplified - darker, creepier, larger than usual.

For that, I don't care about any of the creakier bits of the Exorcist. It kept me scared hours after the credits rolled, which made it well worth the 8 bucks.

Despite Bela Lugosi's iconic visage and the film's classic status, Tod Browning's 1931 version of "Dracula" ranks as one of my least favorite cinematic versions of Bram Stoker's vampire tale. The camerawork is far too static, and key elements of the action (Dracula's vampiric attacks, shape-shifting abilities, etc.) occur offscreen, betraying the screenplay's stage origins (the old Balderstone-Dean play). Also, Lugosi's performance, which was probably very effective in a theater setting, is far too obvious and theatrical for my (or perhaps modern) tastes.

The film also suffers in comparison with the other Universal horror films, especially James Whales marvelous Frankenstein movies ("Frankenstein" and "The Bride of Frankenstein"). Those films have plenty of strong visual images (as opposed to special effects), good pacing, plus a dash of black humor that allow them to bridge the gap with today's more sophisticated filmgoers.

Though far off the mark in terms of being a faithfal adaptation of the novel, I find the Hammer film "Dracula"/"Horror of Dracula" to be a much more memorable depiction of the Translyvanian bloodsucker.

"X-Men" left me pleasantly satisfied. I was not blown away, nor did I feel like cinema had been redefined. But I felt that what I had seen was very good. Bryan Singer and his production team have overcome pretty formidable odds - fan & studio pressure, reduced time and money, iconic source material, not to mention a last-minute actor replacement (Hugh Jackman for Dougray Scott) - to create a nicely-paced, intriguing, and well-produced fantasy adventure with strong performances, good action scenes, and well-done special effects. Almost as fascinating as the film and the hype has been the aftermath. Mainstream reviews from folks like Roger Ebert and Michael Wilmington at Chicago Tribune have ranged from underwhelmed to outright dislike. While on the other hand, response in alternative press, sci-fi fansites and fan postings has been overwhelmingly positive. Where lies the schism, I wonder. Comparing some reviews, I find it almost hard to believe that everyone watched the same movie. One person accuses the film of drowning in special effects, while another says there are not enough. A critic decries the lack of character development, while a non-X-Men-comic book fan says they clearly understood each character.

I will be the first to admit, the film requires a leap of faith just to accept the initial premise - that genetic mutation would result in divergent and fantastic abilities like weather control and laser-beam eyes. It seems that everyone's ability to suspend disbelief and buy into the film lies at a different level, a problem that also occurred with Singer's "The Usual Suspects" (one of my personal favorites). I will also agree that the large number of characters has resulted in unbalanced plot development, with a lot of exposition time and ciphers abounding. Halle Berry's Storm is an especially unfortunate casualty, barely registering until the action, and then not as tough as her comic book counterpart. I am guessing a lot of this is due to the 45 minutes the studio had Singer cut from the movie. However, those details did not detract from my overall enjoyment of the film, or taking pleasure in what I regarded as its successes. The film benefits enormously from Singer's deliberate decision to play everything straight, without the camp that marred other comic book ventures. When humor does occur, it grows naturally out of the situation and attitudes (Cyclops:"Where's my motorcycle";Wolverine: "You're a dick"). I also liked the fact that the actor's all underplayed their lines. Amid the fantastic trappings and special effects, over-the-top villainy or histrionic heroism would have destroyed the film. When the action scenes kick in, with digital effects, explosions, morphing, and wire-work kung-fu, Singer still keeps things very straightforward and matter of fact. He does not dwell upon the fantastic nature of what is going on, nor drag out the fight scenes for the sake of fighting. Take the initial Wolverine-Sabertooth encounter and subsequent rescue by Storm and Cyclops. Each being uses their powers according to the rules laid out. Nothing is delayed for artificial dramatic effect, it just happens. No one talks when they're fighting, probably cause in real life, no one would. This approach does remove an emotional element from the fight scenes that occurs in other films (i.e. The Matrix), but that is because Singer, as always, has goals that are more intellectual than emotional. The climatic destruction of Magneto's mutant device and rescue of Rogue is not what interests him the most, but the aftermath and what it says about the characters: Wolverine has proven himself to the team, our novice heroes have had their first trial by fire, Magneto now knows how far Xavier's team will go to stop him. Again, much of this is inferred. Singer does not spell it out, which I found to be a welcome change. Though the film generally moves well, it does have an episodic and stop & go quality. This did not bother me too much, since the original comic books tended to be episodic, though I am guessing part of this is actually due to last-minute re-writing and studio-imposed cutting. Most fascinating for me was the realization of the extent to which "X-Men" manifested all the fears and fantasies of childhood through adolescence. As children, we often feel small and helpless. The origin of Magneto's contempt of mankind is traced to the boyhood trauma of watching his parents' killed, an honest fear even I can recall experiencing as a young child. Marie/Rogue embodies adolescent terrors of puberty, budding sexuality, and the feeling of isolation (which extends to all mutants). At the same time, we see images of what we would like to be. Cyclops is the handsome, clean-cut hero. As Xavier's number one guy, he's the jock, prom king, guy who dates the cutest girl in school - we awkward nerds might hate him (as Wolverine does), but we also envy him. At the same time, Wolverine is that other side boys fantasize about - tough, street-smart, rebellious, a loner. He's the superhero equivalent of James Dean. Then there is Professor X - wealthy, all-knowing, all-powerful, and the guy in charge. The film is dotted with other childhood fantasies: running away from home (Rogue), beating up bullies/authority figures (Mystique to Senator Kelly: "It's because of people like you I was afraid to go to school"), anonymity (Mystique's shape-shifting), powers contrasting one's size or limitations (Professor X is handicapped but telepathic; Toad is ugly, yet a deadly killer). Returning to a previous thought, if we fear lack of control, then our desire for control is represented by Storm (weather), Professor X (thought), and Jean Grey (matter). Perhaps this explains the split. Fans tend to be younger than critics; maybe the film speaks clearer to them. I have noticed that people who have seen the film close to my age (27) or younger have enjoyed it the most. For us, we still feel a bit like X-Men.

Prolific horror writer H.P. Lovecraft once wrote that (paraphrasing) the oldest emotion of mankind is fear, and no fear is stronger than fear of the unknown.

Those words seem to apply to all of Bryan Singer's films. In "Public Access", "The Usual Suspects", and "Apt Pupil" he creates singularly evil characters, let's them do terrible things, but doesn't offer a great deal of insight into their deeper nature.

It is a storytelling decision (which I believe is conscious, not sloppy or lazy writing) that seems to bother many critics and vieweres. Why does the stranger in "Public Access" choose to spin his web in the small town? What makes the young teen so fascinated by the Holocaust in "Apt Pupil"? Who or what the hell is Keyser Soze?

We never get to the bottom of it, but I think that what makes the characters so extraordinarily creepy. It's the same kind of eerie feeling when one contemplates the teenagers at Columbine, or serial killers like Jeffery Dahmer. What motivated them, at what point did these human beings deviate from the norm and become monsters?

In real life, I don't believe there is a single answer. We can blame television, bad parenting, drugs, the economy, the government, unpleasant bosses, etc. But it always comes up inadequate.

But I think that your average American hates this lack of clarity. People want to know what makes a bad guy. It gives a person relief to know that they aren't the monster, they they are the good guys. But the truth is, you never know, and never will. Maybe there is no reason, which is the scariest reason at all.

Apt Pupil offers a few short glimpses of what makes Brad Renfro's character tick. He appears to be extremely intelligent, signified by his good grades and graduating as a high school valedictorian. He is disciplined and methodical, in both his textbook research of the Holocaust and his painstaking gathering of information to blackmail Ian McKellan.

But the above details are just tools. Knowledge and brainpower end up becoming the servants of a cold, distant, and dark personality. But why? His homelife looks good, he plays sports, doesn't appear to be a social outcast and has solid friendships. What went wrong? What made him what he is?

Isn't that question scary?

Burton's best films are a personal labor of love. "Beetlejuice", "Ed Wood" and "Edward Scissorhands" are all great because Burton's infectious enthusiasm ends up being projected throughout all elements of the film - from the actors to the set designers and the soundtrack composer (invariably Danny Elfman). The results are fascinatingly bizarre characters, fantastic visuals and entertaining off-kilter moods that more than compensates for the director's (self-confessed) deficiencies as a straight storyteller.

"Sleepy Hollow" is no different. A grand gothic mystery set in an expressionistic vision of rural New York in the late 18th Century, Burton paints a picture of people under siege from supernatural forces, while a lone outsider (Johnny Depp's Ichabod Crane) attempts to rectify the situation.

The look of "Sleepy Hollow" beats anything Burton has done before. The intricately detailed set design brings out every nook and cranny, makes every wooden door, thatched roof, even the leaves seem real enough to touch. The cinematography is amazing, seeming to leach the color out of every surface to the point that the movie almost seems black and white, so that when color does appear (usually the crimson red blood of the Headless Horseman's victims) it is like a rich visual eruption that focuses your attention. I've never seen anything like it, except maybe Neil Jordan's "Company of Wolves".

The special effects are all seamless and perfectly suit the action. Decapitations, stabbings, rotting corpses and hideous witches all done with typical professional aplomb by Kevin Yagher (make-up) and ILM, making the magic come alive. Also, kudos to Nick Gillard and Ray Park from "Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace" to bringing their physical gifts to "Sleepy Hollow" in order to make the skull-challenged Hessian warrior truly a force to be reckoned with.

The acting is wonderful - everyone camps it up to the perfect degree - whether to express dread or menace. Johnny Depp is a bag of surprises, as always, adopting a Colonial English accent and fussy, scared demeanor that suits his smart, educated, but definitely inexperienced New England constable, and makes him a memorable character. I also thoroughly enjoyed seeing some of my favorite Brits - Ian McDiarmid, Michael Gough, Richard Griffiths, Steve Waddington and Michael Gambon. Miranda Ricahrdson was wonderful as always, and Christopher Lee's cameo reminds you of why he was Hammer's No. 1 guy. Only Christina Ricci disappoints. The fire her more recent film roles have displayed is nowhere to be seen. It seems like she's trying to hard to be "respectable" here, and it's boring.

I've read a couple of reviews that criticized the divergence from Washington Irving's original story. I actually like the the way in which "Sleepy Hollow" deviates from its source; it is very much in keeping with the way the old Hammer horror films (and their American counterparts at AIP)- Burton's admitted inspirations for this film- messed with their stories. Regarding the addition of very modern action scenes to the story - anyone remember the blood and thunder climax of "Horror of Dracula" in which Van Helsing goes mano y mano with the Prince of Darkness? Personally, the results are wonderful.

I noticed that "Sleepy Hollow" was produced by Francis Ford Coppola, who also produced versions of Dracula and Frankenstein, making this his third foray into old-style Gothic horror. In my humble opinion, this is the first time he got it right.

A fine example of British filmed science fiction at its best. This Hammer production intelligently condenses Nigel Kneale's teleplay into a moody and fascinating thriller.

Yes, the special effects are dated, as is the production design (the very 50's style rocket ship with its big fins and riveted bulkheads is very quaint). And in comparison to the other four Quatermass features, is the least ambitious in scope (especially compared to the superbly outre Quatermass and the Pit) and has the weakest of the Professor Quatermass actors (Brian Donlevy always struck me as a bit too stiff and, well, American).

Yet, the film does what all good science fiction does: take a concept, then play out the various scenarios and consequences that result. In this case, man encounters an unknown organism from space - an entity that is capable of absorbing any living matter, taking on its mass and characteristics.

Parts of the film resemble the standard "monster on the loose" or "it came from outer space" flicks that dominated drive-ins at the time, but Kneale's script is wisely constructed like a police procedural, and Val Guest directs it like a film noir mystery.

See it. It's definitely worth your time.

Although somewhat conventional in comparison to most of the great WWII film dramas, Go For Broke remains important as the only Hollywood acknowledgement of the 442nd, and the bravery of the Japanese-Americans who fought with it.

One of my grandfather's brothers was in the 442nd himself, and can still recall tales of basic training and serving in Italy.

I am bothered, however, by the fact that the cover on the video box does not show a single Japanese-American face, and the description does not really explain the historical significance of the events portrayed.

Hey Ted Turner, get your guys together and rectify this problem!

Dwight Sora

I just watched the anime and live-action versions of "Wicked City" back-to-back, and find it almost impossible to believe that they were based upon the same source material.

The original, Japanese animated version of "Wicked City" was a wildly original blend of supernatural horror, film noir, and secret agent adventure. It's tale of humans and demons battling on earth was really compelling, thanks to some interesting characters (the MIB-like Black Guard) and visuals (a spider-woman assassin, demons whose severed body parts continue to do battle).

The Tsui Hark-produced live action version virtually jettisons everything plot-wise that the anime version built up. The setting is Hong Kong instead of Tokyo, instead of supernatural demons, the villains are alien "Reptoids" (whose origins remain murky). Whereas the anime version drew energy from the conflict/romance between the partnering of the male human agent and the female demon one, plus an impending showdown between the two worlds, the Hong Kong version is more like a modern mafia drama with its multi-leveled relations and betrayals, only that the mobsters are shape-shifting reptillian monsters.

The film begins promisingly enough with what initially promises to be a scene-by-scene recreation of the prostitute/spider woman attack that opens the animated version. Before the segment ends, you already get the sense that something is amiss.

A couple of other visuals are swiped from the animated version: the lead agent's big gun, the female reptoid has laser-like claws that pop out of her hand like the demon-world female agent in the anime.

After that, everything is different - the plotting, character dynamics, everything.

Judged on its own merits, "Wicked City" has some impressive (though low-budget) special effects, an interesting visual style and decent fight choreography. However, I would take the animated version over this film any day.

Blue in the Face is basically like a backyard barbecue for some seasoned actors (Harvey Keitel, Giancarlo Esposito), a generally good director (Wayne Wang) and a classy writer (Paul Auster). I finally saw it on video recently, a number of years after seeing the earlier collaboration by the same artists - Smoke - and I'm glad I saw it on the small screen. It's a tiny little picture; almost inconsequential. A series of improvised vignettes in and around the Brooklyn Cigar Co. store from Smoke, anchored by Keitel's character of Augie.

Some of the scenes played like great snapshots of life, in particular Jim Jarmusch's conversation with Harvey Keitel about his last cigarette, and Lou Reed's waxing poetic on smoking - they reminded of late-night chats in bars and coffee shops in my own north side Chicago neighborhood. I also liked the videotaped interviews with folks around Brooklyn. I don't know if those were just regular folks or actors, but the authenticity of their voices and stories made the whole neighborhood ring true to me.

Other parts of the film ranged from mildly amusing (I liked the scenes with the Watch Man and even Roseanne) to just plain awful. I thought the appearances by Michael J. Fox, Madonna and (gasp) RuPaul were both gratuitous and distracting from the whimsical, and believable, mood established in other scenes (what was with the dance number?).

Overall, not a bad little movie. I actually recommend watching this one first, then following it with Smoke, which definitely has bit more meat on it.

What I liked best about the live version of Fail Safe was that the restrictions of live TV forced the filmmakers to concentrate on those two old-fashioned values: acting and writing. Without the opportunity to edit or use fancy visuals, director Stephen Frears was forced to keep his camerawork and pacing crisp, simple, and efficient. As a result, the actors were really allowed an opportunity to shine. Every line of dialogue had to be well-delivered, and every gesture and facial expression had to be meaningful. The absence of music, black and white photography, and slow pacing allowed time to steadily absorb what was going on and churn it about in my mind; and I loved every minute of it.

Admittedly, the story of Fail Safe seems a bit dated in the post Cold War period, and the originally film itself paled in comparison to the similar Dr. Strangelove. But as an experiment in the art of storytelling, it was a triumph. The best qualities of watching a live play married with the television's ability to reach mass audiences.

I'm hoping that this does signal a resurgence in live TV, because it opens up real possibilities for what the medium could be used for. For one, it forces both directors and actors to all be just a little smarter and more alert - no opportunity to fix mistakes. It makes them more self-consciously aware that the folks at home better be entertained or at least interested in what goes on onscreen.

I'm hoping that next CBS or some other network experiments with some original live fare. After all, back in the 50's, live TV produced some great scripts, some of which were re-made into movies (Marty, Requiem for a Heavyweight) and made the careers of people like writer/producer Rod Serling and actors like Paul Newman.

Overall, I'd say that Romeo Must Die was a fair movie. The plot is nothing to shout about (and has little to do with the title), and the dialogue is frequently creaky and cliched (the Chinese ganglords were particularly laughable), but the pace is decent, that action scenes are well done, and the performances generally outdo the limitations of the script.

I thought that Jet Li fared very well in his first starring role in an American picture. He may not have had a lot of dialogue, but his self-effacing charm during the comic moments, and his intensity during dramatic ones kept me interested in his character. I had no problem with the action scenes, and for those folks who keep complaining of the CGI and wire work, you should really check out more of Li's HK films. There is a whole tradition of "flying people" kung-fu movies since way back (Zu: Warriors of Magic Mountain, Chinese Ghost Story, Once Upon a Time in China) They're not everyone's cup of tea, but they are no less "valid" than the Jackie Chan or Bruce Lee brand of action.

I look at this film as Jet Li paying his dues in Hollywood, just as Jackie Chan did with Rush Hour and Chow Yun-Fat did with The Replacement Killers. Yes, the films are compromised creatively, and are nowhere near as good as their Hong Kong films, but they provide these artists with a foot in the door. I just have higher expectations for their next project.

Soft, lyrical and deliberately paced. Jim Jarmusch does to the action film what he did to the American Western in Dead Man: takes it apart and strips it down, leaving only the bare essence. Ghost Dog is the haiku version of the hard-boiled gangster movie.

I have read several reviews that are critical of the fact that the characters are largely stereotypes or stock genre movie icons (the silent soft-spoken hit man, the two-bit hoods, fat Italian mobsters), and that the plot still retains the same generic arc used by everything from Dirty Harry to Death Wish. But I look at it differently. Jarmusch has approached the conventions of action movies - both of the Hollywood and foreign variety - in the same manner as the formalist constraints of Japanese Noh theater. In Noh, the plot, character, costumes and music are all rigidly controlled, each and every component rigidly delineated and isolated within its assigned space. It is job of the Noh artist to discover and convey the greatest meaning with the most minimal of resources. As a result, even the spaces of time between dialogue and action, when nothing is happening onstage, take on tremendous significance. An idea echoed in one of the quotes from Hagakure used in Ghost Dog.

The film is also a marvelous commentary on the action films produced within the past half-century have reflected the impact of different cultures upon one another. The film is jammed with referential information - the films of Kurosawa, Melville, John Woo, Sergio Leone, Don Siegel, to name a few. Two scenes are taken directly from the 60s Japanese noir thriller Branded to Kill directed by Seijun Suzuki.

The characters in this film are a dying breed - warriors of an old code. The gangsters - old, fat, and decrepit - falling behind on the rent for the hideout and their houses all put up for sale. Ghost Dog is an anachronism and a cultural anomaly - a black man in a hip-hop gangsta rap world who obeys the way of the Japanese samurai. They are living, as several charactesr put it, in a world that "doesn't make sense anymore". They have outlived their usefulness. But, as per the rules, the mafia guys get to "go out like real gangsters" and even Ghost Dog gets to have his final showdown in the street (I almost expected a tumbleweed to roll across the screen).

Interesting to note that the book Hagakure, was written during the Tokugawa period, when Japan was unified under the power of a single dominant clan. With the need for local garrisons and standing armies giving away to a more regularized police force, the samurai went into decline as a class. When Hagakure was written, it was an attempt by warriors to make sense of their lot in life, as it was becoming increasingly senseless.