Everything about this movie was a disaster. The acting was like something out of public access cable. The story is blindingly stupid. Rufus Sewell is hopelessly inert, Kiefer Sutherland an embarrassment, and Jennifer Connelly proof that some careers should be ended by act of law if need be. The only one who emerges with his skin intact is William Hurt. The aliens are rip-offs of the Cenobites from Hellraiser. The movie is just adrown in adolescent philosophizing and cinematic murk. If you enjoyed this movie, odds are ten to one you are a precious, pretentious art student. This is really the worst movie I've seen in about ten years, and one of the few where I felt I had actually been robbed--even though I got it as a free rental.
Reviews
5 Reviews
Requiem for a Dream
(2000)
Requiem for a Loser
11 June 2001
Disastrous addiction movie that wears out its welcome very quickly. Between the MTV editing (useless split screens, repeated montages, etc.), weak performances, and aimless story, this morality tale has nothing to offer that hasn't been done better elsewhere. The over-acting and the pretentious script produce numerous moments of unintended hilarity. Destined to become a future generation's Reefer Madness.
Nurse Betty
(2000)
Bad aftertaste...
24 September 2000
To sum this movie up, it is LaBute carrying his sadism over into the realm of comedic farce. The predictable result is that he is constantly stepping on all the jokes by insisting on surrounding them with blood-curdling violence and extremely hateful characters. There is also evidence of his continuing efforts to insult and ridicule everything in sight but then to apologize for it with weak gestures to the PC. Basically the movie just doesn't work, its plot is beyond contrived, the characters are one-dimensional cliches, there is no consistency or development of anything, and the comedy (where it is not totally out of place) is the worst kind of High Concept drivel.
Morgan Freeman and Renee Zellweger are completely wasted on characters that seem like parodies of studio-driven audience pandering--no matter what, make them likeable, neutral (and neutered), and full of moral platitudes. Crispin Glover is in here just long enough to convince you that he doesn't belong in movies anymore. Chris Rock actually has negative chemistry with fellow hitman Freeman--it's as if they are acting in different rooms even when they are two inches away from each other. In effect, Chris Rock seems like a digital insert. At least he isn't as annoying as Jar-Jar.
LaBute's 15 minutes may well be up by now. It's already looking like he's overstayed his welcome.
Morgan Freeman and Renee Zellweger are completely wasted on characters that seem like parodies of studio-driven audience pandering--no matter what, make them likeable, neutral (and neutered), and full of moral platitudes. Crispin Glover is in here just long enough to convince you that he doesn't belong in movies anymore. Chris Rock actually has negative chemistry with fellow hitman Freeman--it's as if they are acting in different rooms even when they are two inches away from each other. In effect, Chris Rock seems like a digital insert. At least he isn't as annoying as Jar-Jar.
LaBute's 15 minutes may well be up by now. It's already looking like he's overstayed his welcome.
The Silence of the Lambs
(1991)
An overrated but sporadically very good suspense thriller
20 May 2000
Warning: Spoilers
That the film has its moments cannot be denied. Hopkins is slightly over-the-top as the diabolical yet urbane Lecter, but it's an enjoyable performance all the same. Lecter's finest moment is when, bound, straightjacketed, and face-masked, he is brought before Senator Martin and, after relentlessly goading her about the fate of her daughter, blurts out the identity of Buffalo Bill and adds, "Love your suit."
Beyond the superficial appeal of a character who can interject such misanthropic witticisms, Lecter embodies the repulsive seduction of this thoroughly erudite monster, utterly free of societal constraints in spirit if not in body. His intelligence is, if remorseless and amoral, open and searching and methodical. We are time and again shown his superiority to the FBI, who rush hither and yon after clues they don't begin to understand, and to the pettiness of his jailor, Dr. Chilton, who subjects Lecter to televangelist broadcasts as punishment for brutal misbehavior.
Yet Lecter is poorly contrasted throughout the film, and his intelligence is falsely elevated by comparison to the unimaginative mediocrities he is up against. Starling is a dreary feminist with a white trash inferiority complex, Dr. Chilton is a preposterously snide asshole, and none of the other characters rise above their status as plot devices. There is something particularly prim and humorless and unlikeable about Starling, and it is impossible to determine why Lecter would take an interest in her childhood trauma about lambs.
Several points regarding Lecter's escape make no sense at all, and at crucial stages the total incompetence of his captors is required to pull it off. That Hopkins manages to keep the suspense going is a testament to the actor's ability to rise above the script. Regarding the ultimate capture of Buffalo Bill, it is too much to swallow that Starling's success hinges upon uncovering photographs in the victim's abandoned bedroom years after it had been scoured for evidence by FBI agents. This twist hangs one ridiculous premise on another and is a sorry attempt to justify Starling's centrality to the story.
The cinematography and direction do contribute something interesting to the tumultuous descent to Lecter's asylum cell, but are otherwise unremarkable. Buffalo Bill is more bizarre than chilling, and the final confrontation between him and Starling is contrived. The film ends on a note that suggests it could have been alot better.
Warning: If you purchase the DVD of THE SILENCE OF THE LAMBS, resist the urge to listen to Jodie Foster's commentary. While the lambs may be silent, it is next to impossible to get her to shut up. Her grating, man-hating (and totally outdated) style of feminist rhetoric comes close to self-parody, although not often enough to be truly entertaining. Conclusion: this über-bitch is a gaseous windbag. But if you don't believe me, listen for yourself. You'll be saying "Pass the Chianti" before you make it through the first reel.
Beyond the superficial appeal of a character who can interject such misanthropic witticisms, Lecter embodies the repulsive seduction of this thoroughly erudite monster, utterly free of societal constraints in spirit if not in body. His intelligence is, if remorseless and amoral, open and searching and methodical. We are time and again shown his superiority to the FBI, who rush hither and yon after clues they don't begin to understand, and to the pettiness of his jailor, Dr. Chilton, who subjects Lecter to televangelist broadcasts as punishment for brutal misbehavior.
Yet Lecter is poorly contrasted throughout the film, and his intelligence is falsely elevated by comparison to the unimaginative mediocrities he is up against. Starling is a dreary feminist with a white trash inferiority complex, Dr. Chilton is a preposterously snide asshole, and none of the other characters rise above their status as plot devices. There is something particularly prim and humorless and unlikeable about Starling, and it is impossible to determine why Lecter would take an interest in her childhood trauma about lambs.
Several points regarding Lecter's escape make no sense at all, and at crucial stages the total incompetence of his captors is required to pull it off. That Hopkins manages to keep the suspense going is a testament to the actor's ability to rise above the script. Regarding the ultimate capture of Buffalo Bill, it is too much to swallow that Starling's success hinges upon uncovering photographs in the victim's abandoned bedroom years after it had been scoured for evidence by FBI agents. This twist hangs one ridiculous premise on another and is a sorry attempt to justify Starling's centrality to the story.
The cinematography and direction do contribute something interesting to the tumultuous descent to Lecter's asylum cell, but are otherwise unremarkable. Buffalo Bill is more bizarre than chilling, and the final confrontation between him and Starling is contrived. The film ends on a note that suggests it could have been alot better.
Warning: If you purchase the DVD of THE SILENCE OF THE LAMBS, resist the urge to listen to Jodie Foster's commentary. While the lambs may be silent, it is next to impossible to get her to shut up. Her grating, man-hating (and totally outdated) style of feminist rhetoric comes close to self-parody, although not often enough to be truly entertaining. Conclusion: this über-bitch is a gaseous windbag. But if you don't believe me, listen for yourself. You'll be saying "Pass the Chianti" before you make it through the first reel.
Sister My Sister
(1994)
The Good, The Bad, & The Kinky
31 March 2000
This otherwise ponderous, arty pic is saved (but just barely) by some enthusiastic lesbian scenes between the two appealing leads. A hothouse atmosphere prevails, but the guilty pleasure is offset somewhat by arch performances and a good amount of scenery chewing. Numbingly dull and pointless in places, the film murks its way to a preposterous and over-the-top climax that sets a new standard in pretentious portent. The film clobbers the audience over the head in the most ridiculously blatant manner with its psychological interplay, which at times comes embarrassingly close to the level of tedious undergrad productions.
However the forbidden ardor between the sisters is just enough to make this a worthwhile selection for those who like that kind of thing. Brittle feminists will probably also enjoy it.
However the forbidden ardor between the sisters is just enough to make this a worthwhile selection for those who like that kind of thing. Brittle feminists will probably also enjoy it.
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