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The Pianist (2002)
10/10
Intelligent and Powerful
1 February 2003
"The Pianist" is the kind of assured, confident movie that only an older director can make. Sure, directors like Wes Anderson and Quentin Tarantino have exhibited prowess beyond their relatively young years, but the allure of a seasoned professional is unmistakable and inimitable. He knows you'll be impressed through sheer storytelling magic, and won't jump through hoops to get the audience from point A to point B.

I have read Michael Medved's deliriously inane comments on film and film criticism, and he wrote Roman Polanski's best work since "Chinatown" off as simply a "Holocaust drama." I disagree. Yes, the main character is Jewish in the nineteen thirties and forties, and the Holocaust is used as a backdrop, but this is a simple story of survival. Ronald Harwood's screenplay does not go into tons of exposition about who the Nazis are or what they're doing there, and doesn't use insulting little title cards to sum up the situation at the beginning of the film. It respects the audience's intelligence. We know what the Nazis did, and it doesn't labor the point.

Polanski is gentle, yet masterful, letting the story flow instead of yanking it one way or the other. It uses a minimum of dialogue, and doesn't try to convince us of what is wrong or right. It expects us to know better, and therefore doesn't enforce a kind of ham-handed moral high ground that would be easy to trip over in a film like this. It accepts everyone involved as human beings instead of faceless and soulless killing machines in gray.

The centerpiece of the film is Adrian Brody's performance as Wladyslaw Szpilman, the Polish piano player who watched his family get packed on a train heading to a concentration camp. With Polanski's spare direction and Harwood's lack of dialogue, Brody is the only thing to focus on. One should not underestimate how daunting of a challenge this really is. Actors have broken under lesser pressure, and something like this requires whoever plays the part to immerse himself wholly in the role; to become the character instead of looking like an actor going through the motions. Brody more than rises to the challenge. The soldier from Malick's "The Thin Red Line" and the punker from Lee's "Summer of Sam" vanish. Brody is Szpilman, it's as simple as that. The feat is superhuman.

"The Pianist" is everything a great movie should be. The direction, writing, acting, and everything else are exemplary. All so much so that they become invisible.

**** out of 4
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The Hours (2002)
3/10
"Pompous, Pretentious"
31 January 2003
Peter Jackson, director of the "Lord of the Rings" trilogy, is on record as saying "What I don't like are pompous, pretentious films." I can relate. "The Hours is like the corpse of a beauty queen. Sure it's pretty, but it's not good for much of anything. Much like "Frida," it fails, all the while shrieking of its own importance. "This movie is about an obscure Mexican painter! This movie has Virginia Woolf in it! Come on, guys, this MEANS something!"

This picture has been seen as a meditation on suicide and the psychological scarring of having lesbian urges in a repressive environment. This is some pretty tall talk from Michael Cunningham, (author of the Pulitzer Prize winning novel) David Hare, (screenwriter and playwright) and Stephen Daldry. (director of this and the atrocious "Billy Elliot.") Did you catch that? All of the people behind the crative process of this movie are men. I fancy myself a pragmatist and I don't see guards of aesthetic and moral truth. I see three guys trying desperately to get laid.

At least that's what I think it's about. There is no clear thread bringing Nicole Kidman's Virginia Woolf, Julianne Moore's depressed housewife, and Meryl Streep's real life "Mrs. Dalloway" together except the transparent ones cited in the paragraph above. This must be one of those films where the viewer makes up their own mind as to what it all means. I can't say this without invoking the mother of all Do-It-Yourself pictures: "Mulholland Drive." At least "Mulholland Drive" gave you an incentive to figure it all out in trying to bring all of those seductive images together. What does "The Hours" promise? Why these sullen people were worth making a movie about, of course. Yippee-Damn-Skippee!

One can tell immediately that screenwriter David Hare is a playwright, because the screenplay to "The Hours" is laden with two minute long monologues where the characters spout meaningless words, baring their souls and weeping. What actor wouldn't want to be a part of that? So this degree of separation is apparent on screen of the character in psychological turmoil, and the actor making love to their ego while dreaming of Oscar. Nicole Kidman as Virginia Woolf is the only person on screen that successfully unifies herself with her character, as where anyone else just succeeds in the kind of teary-eyed mugging that even Community College actors wouldn't get away with. This just proves why film is a better medium than theater. Film belongs to directors, who serve the story, while theater belongs to actors, who serve only themselves.

Which brings me back to Peter Jackson's quote. I'm sure a lot of people hold this same opinion, but he was really the only one I've heard who just came out and said it. I personally am of the belief that style is infinitely more important than substance. Don't believe me? Which was better, "Pearl Harbor," or "Eight Legged Freaks?" Told you so.

*1/2 out of 4
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7/10
Press Return...
16 January 2002
Ron Howard's "A Beautiful Mind" is just the kind of movie Hollywood makes. An eccentric genius falls in love while battling his personal demons. It's not a bad film by any stretch of the imagination, but I've seen it before, and in a better version.

Avid watchers of film will equate "A Beautiful Mind" with a little indie flick that came out in 1998 called "Pi." (The actual title is the mathematical symbol.) That film also depicts a mathematical genius, number theory stretching beyond his control, and the game Go. But "Pi" itself was possessed of a spiraling madness. A reclusive mathematician whose computer spits out a 237 digit number which could be translated through Hebrew into the name of God, and thus finding patterns in all the chaotic events of daily life. It was directed by Darren Aronofsky, (who also directed "Requiem For A Dream" and is in talks to helm the "Batman: Year One" film) and was shot on grainy, 16mm black and white. "Pi" had edge and daring and a lot of other stuff "A Beautiful Mind" doesn't have.

That being said, "A Beautiful Mind." is a lovely little film. A man's battle with himself, and a love story to boost ticket sales. It's one of those slivers of a true story that is mostly fiction but we all wish happened anyway. Russell Crowe, in a brilliant performance, plays John Nash, a West Virginia math prodigy who can afford to be arrogant because he's always right. The rest of the movie for the most part is nothing new, but the character of John Nash is something I don't remember seeing. Mumbling in his near indecipherable accent, hobbling along as he ages, looking positively ill at ease in a tuxedo. This is a new level of fearlessness for Crowe. After a guy plays a disgraced-yet-studly Roman soldier in one of the most overrated films ever made, there is a level of coolness that one might feel the need to live up to. Not Crowe. He takes off his leather skirt and jumps right back into the deep characters where he left off with "The Insider."

As a director, Ron Howard is shamelessly commercial. That's not always a bad thing, but it ain't always good either. From his worst movies ("Dr. Suess' How The Grinch Stole Christmas") to his best, ("Apollo 13") Howard shows no artist's touch whatsoever. My feeling is that he just falls ass-backwards into the scripts that'll probably be the highest grossers. Well, more power to him. If he makes more movies like "A Beautiful Mind," he may find himself with one more fan. But pay Aronofsky some royalties, will ya?

*** out of 4
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10/10
Anthony and Dignan Ride Again...
7 January 2002
Apart from Woody Allen, or maybe the Farrelly brothers, Wes Anderson has a singular voice in American Comedy. He goes not for broad strokes but rather for minute character details. It is understatements that get the biggest laughs. And in an era where directors are desperate to get an audience rolling that they will resort to anything, (pie defilement, testicle eating, horse masturbation, etc.) Anderson's films have an air of confidence to them. He knows you'll laugh, so he won't beat you over the head.

And in the tradition of Lubitsch-esque films like his previous two; "Bottle Rocket" and "Rushmore," comes "The Royal Tenenbaums." With this, Anderson has joined the leagues of the greats working today. He must be mentioned in the same breath as such off-beat directors as the Coen brothers, Terry Gilliam, and even Stanley Kubrick. (Although he's dead.) Let it never be said that attention to detail ever broke a movie.

A lesser director might have taken the same materials that Anderson has here (A dysfunctional family of geniuses living under one roof with a shifty and untrustworthy patriarch) and made a terrible film ridden with stock characters and weak situations. But this particular director has made these potential stereotypes come alive with their own little quirks and mannerisms and outlooks.

Consider for example a scene where Richie Tenenbaum (Luke Wilson) is playing tennis, and is losing horribly for he sees his adopted sister Margot (Gwyneth Paltrow) with her new husband in the stands. He is in love with her, and he is at his wits-end, and his reaction to this on the court is funny and heartbreaking at the same time. These characters can easily be classified as neurotics and too quirky for the audience's good, but that is a statement of someone who isn't paying enough attention.

I usually shy away from all-star casts because that usually means that studio executives are swarming around the set insisting that changes be made to make the film more "palatable" for audience consumption. But that is not the case here. Everyone from the film's lead: Gene Hackman as Royal Tenenbaum, to Kumar Pallana as his manservant Pagoda, are all they can be. This film is deeply enriching for general audiences, and for aspiring actors, this is the movie to see to learn how the pros apply their trade.

**** out of 4
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6/10
Yeah It's Evil. But Is It Art?
7 January 2002
"My guitar wants to kill your mama." -Frank Zappa

There will be people who will murder me and shriek for my unborn children in the darkest night for mentioning the next two names in conjunction with a movie directed by Tom Green: Robert Altman and Stanley Kubrick. No, "Freddy Got Fingered" isn't as good as even the worst films by those two mavericks, but rather they share the single minded purpose of the director. Robert Altman's films want to show you the many singular personalities of an ensemble cast. Stanley Kubrick wants to use the entire universe as his play thing. Tom Green? Well, Tom Green just wants to kill you. It's that simple.

"Freddy Got Fingered" is pure, unadulterated malice. Evil of a kind that could only be rivalled by the glint in the eye of Satan himself. But it's not malice for any ethnic group, political party, or religion. No, no. Just YOU! For eighty-seven minutes, Green beats you over the head relentlessly with shocking and perverted imagery. Makes the movie going experience uncomfortable. Makes your life a living hell. Why? For his own sick amusement.

But in a way, this is a refreshing kind of approach. Tired am I of seeing movie after movie pander to my good side. Cute little computer generated monsters, eleven year olds seeing dead people, other eleven year olds riding around on brooms, and hobbits, hobbits, hobbits. One cannot live by "Kate & Leopold" alone.

Sitting through this film the first time was one of the most mystifying experiences I've ever had in a theater. At first I was disgusted, then offended, then bored, then all of that gave way to sheer dumbstruck awe. He's really going to go all the way through with this, I thought. Then many months later I decided to pick up the DVD to see what kind of mind operates like this.

On the director's commentary, Green was very evasive as to what went into the film or why he settled on that story (or indeed any story). But the clincher was the laugh track taken of the audience's reaction at the world premiere. The laughing stopped twenty minutes in as it gave way to groans and uneasy silence. Now his pleasure is yours too. Listen to that audience squirm.

Normally I would give this a star rating, but I don't know what the hell it is. It's not so much a movie as it is a experiment.
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Joe Somebody (2001)
5/10
What The Hell Kind Of Family Movie Is This?
29 December 2001
Once upon a time, I would guess, there was a spec script floating around Hollywood. A sensitive, adult-oriented and thought provoking piece about a man who loses his dignity in front of his daughter, and feels the need to make changes in his life. Sort of an "American Beauty" type thing, though not as phony.

And lo and behold, it was optioned by Twentieth Century Fox. They liked it very much, but they thought some changes were necessary:

"Lets make it a family movie and put Tim Allen in it," said one Fox executive who, for sake of this narrative, we shall call Steve. "It shall be a Christmas movie, and will make us untold millions!" And all the other little Fox executives clapped and cheered and Rupert Murdoch himself gave Steve a lovely corner office.

The production of this film, which Steve himself decided to call "Joe Somebody," was set into motion. It was to be directed by John Pasquin, who is known in some third-world countries as the Anti-Christ for his work on "Jungle 2 Jungle." Steve worked hard on this movie, trying to train every bit of originality and warmth out of this once beautiful and thought-provoking script. It was now a parable against revenge and was marketed for the thirteen and under crowd and their parents, all the while Steve was ignorant of the possibility that kids might cry when they see Tim Allen assaulted in a parking lot while his daughter looks on. He was also ignorant of the possibility that adults will raise their eyebrows when they see not only Julie Bowen in lingerie, but also that a supposed "family film" has product placement from Miller Lite beer and Parliament cigarettes.

Not that Steve could kill the movie entirely; some viewers could still see the passionate film that made up the foundation of the tame and boring family movie.

And then the movie opened. It was a mistake to make it a Christmas release, for opening two days earlier was the first installment of "The Lord of the Rings," which is a masterpiece. And opening that same day was "Jimmy Neutron: Boy Genius," which does for kids what Steve would never have dreamed "Joe Somebody" would do.

And "Joe Somebody," which began so humbly, bombed out at the box office. It didn't even make as much money as "How High," which didn't get promoted on any of the major television networks! And poor Steve now works mopping up the floors at the Adult Emporium.

And all the people who saw "The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring" lived happily ever after. The End.

** out of 4
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Ali (2001)
6/10
A Subtle Downhill Slide
29 December 2001
Warning: Spoilers
For those who don't know boxing history, there are spoilers in this review.

We open in an R & B club, and Sam Cooke is taking the stage and sings a medley of his best songs. As we see the crowd in thrall to him, we cut back and forth, from one of the most electrifying men on stage to the most electrifying man ever to step into the ring, Muhammed Ali. We see him train, and watch Sonny Liston dominate an opponent in the ring. We watch the twinkle in Ali's (Will Smith's) eyes as he finds his destiny.

This is the best part of Michael Mann's new biopic, simply named "Ali." D.P. Emmanuel Lubezki's beautiful transitions from film to digital video, and Mann's direction of actors Smith, Jamie Foxx, Mario Van Peebles, and Ron Silver in muted camera filters and silence, provide a beautiful contrast to the fire of Cooke's music. (One might sense that Mann is trying to imitate Scorsese, but is that really all that bad?)

And from there, almost invisibly, it starts to go wrong. For the first two hours of Mann's 157 minute opus, there is no wrong step taken. Ali is shown as a contemplative and confused man who runs for comfort in all the wrong places; in adultery and a horde of yes-men who vanish without a trace when his license is revoked and rematerialize magically when he gets it back again. Will Smith is fantastic both in trash-talk mode and in his brooding silences. Some will say that Ali was not as stoic as Smith and Mann make him out to be, but you get no complaints of historical inaccuracies from me. I pity the fool who tries to get his history from motion pictures.

Almost everything is covered. His conversion to Islam, his refusal to cooperate in the draft, the subsequent suspension of his license, his first fight with Joe Frazier, his relationship with Howard Cosell, and "The Rumble In The Jungle." It's that last one that gave me problems. Imagine if you will, a long pane of glass going along a conveyor belt. This pane is without blemish or smudge until the very edge of the pane is smashed by a hammer. Not only does this ruin the edge, but makes cracks all the way through.

The fight at the very end against George Foreman in Zaire, is the typical sports movie ending, where Smith takes a boat-load of punishment and then comes back to knock out his opponent. This will inspire some people to clap in the theater, but that is a shallow response. In the previous two hours of the film, we see Muhammed Ali as a flawed man trying to figure things out. It was a sensitive and convincing portrait, but shouldn't that render a boxing victory meaningless? They went from a potentially great film to the next "Rocky" sequel.

Michael Mann is a great director, whose "Heat" has a place right beside "The Godfather" in the pantheon of great crime films. And his work on "The Insider" not only should have made more money, but was cheated out of a few Oscars. There must have been Columbia executives breathing down his neck for a more upbeat ending, because you get the sense that Mann should have known better. At least with all the money this movie will make, he can start work on his next masterpiece.

**1/2 out of 4
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10/10
Take Notes, Kids. This Is What Ambition Looks Like.
29 December 2001
Ever since "Braveheart" came out, the rebirth of the Epic Motion Picture has made its way to the silver screen. Movies like "Titanic," "Pearl Harbor," "Gladiator," and even "The Mummy Returns" try to imitate the vast scope of movies like William Wyler's "Ben-Hur," D.W. Griffith's "Birth of a Nation," and both of Cecil B. DeMille's versions of "The Ten Commandments." Wyler, Griffith and DeMille are considered the architects of the Epic. The spirits of these men, and even James Cameron, Steven Spielberg, George Lucas, and Ridley Scott must make way for the Epic's new all-time master: Peter Jackson.

"The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring" is the best movie I have seen in recent memory. Some may hate this film: People who have been mired in motion picture realism and don't take to epics very well. Normally I would be venomous and outraged that some people would dare attack a movie of such scope and depth, but in this instance, I don't care. The delicate yet masterful direction of J.R.R. Tolkien's classic novel has elevated me into the ether, and all is at peace. It's that good.

Never have I seen an event film that could be so minute, and yet so massive. Take into consideration the battle scenes of the evil orcs against the men and elves. When you see a "Star Wars" picture, ships whiz in and out of the frame, shooting laser beams. They're here and they're gone, leaving no lasting impression. But in Peter Jackson's film, (And I don't know how he does it.) each of these tiny, computer generated figures has a life of it's own. They struck me as characters who had travelled great distances to engage in a war, and had either been cut down, or had risen victorious.

The main actors achieve a delicate feat. The line between the actors and the characters blur, and they're so good that they're practically invisible. There is no force in Ian McKellen's raised eyebrows, Christopher Lee's evil sneer, or Sean Bean's descent into madness. It is all natural, and always stunning. Did these actors know they were creating icons?

The action feels spontaneous instead of being locked into some kind of plot structure where the movie stops for an action scene and then resumes. Everything is in a nice leisurely flow, and requires attention to be paid. Never does this movie pander, or have low expectations of its audience.

Peter Jackson is a director out of New Zealand who has made cheapie horror movies like "Bad Taste" and "Braindead." He has made an Academy Award nominated art film ("Heavenly Creatures") and has had one previous Hollywood effort ("The Frighteners"). While watching these films, I always wondered what he would make if given a real budget, and how it would look. Now I know. Mr. Jackson has shown me places that have eluded me in my wildest dreams, and creatures that dwell in the inkiest corners of my darkest nightmares.

This reminds me of something that Whoopi Goldberg once said: "Movies have to be big, because if they're not big, they're television." And "The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring" sure as hell ain't television.

**** out of 4
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How High (2001)
7/10
Peace, Love & Dope
28 December 2001
Dear readers, are you worn out from Oscar Season? Has the weighty subject matter of films like "A Beautiful Mind" and "Ali" got you down? Has the emphasis on making the world a better place gotten on your damn nerves already? I can think of no better remedy than "How High." No real story, no real moral, and no one comes out of this a better person, but dear sweet Lord is it funny.

Redman and Method Man star as losers from the projects who, through contrivances so funny I cannot reveal them here, have grown a magical Marijuana plant. This plant makes them smarter and they get into Harvard, where hilarity ensues. That's pretty much it. "How High" is juvenile and structureless with characters who have no arc, but that doesn't matter. This film's duty to the audience, first and foremost, is to make them laugh. And indeed it does. This is the first movie I've seen in a long while in this Farrelly Brothers wasteland that knows how to do gross-out comedy successfully. Movies like "Freddy Got Fingered" and "Not Another Teen Movie" remember the gross-out, but not the comedy.

There will be some who say that this is vulgar and tasteless and has no redeeming social value. You will get no argument from me, but therein lies its charm. "How High" takes nothing sacred and doesn't play it safe, as opposed to the Adam Sandler movies where he feels the need to redeem himself.

And there will be a few more who say, in this post "Bamboozled" era, that this film caters to the absolute worst in a predominantly African-American audience. There I will disagree, for "How High" is a movie about pot, which gets the same response out of everyone. The race of the main characters, I believe, is incidental. This could be about two white guys and the results would look roughly the same.

I could talk about the political response to this film for ages, but this film doesn't really warrant such a discussion. It's a comedy, which by definition is designed to make you laugh, and it's successful if it meets that end. Besides, how foolish would you look if you got into a discussion of the social ramifications of a movie like this?
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The Majestic (2001)
7/10
Patriotism vs. Manufacture In Motion Pictures
28 December 2001
Frank Darabont's "The Majestic," despite its Capra-esque tones and feel-good nature, will make some people feel uncomfortable. In this post-bombing environment, any dissention towards the American government will cause ripples in the minds of the most timid viewers. And besides, it just doesn't look good.

I will say, before I climb on my soapbox, that the movie itself is very good. Jim Carrey delivers an Oscar caliber performance and unlike most supposed feel-good movies, I actually walked out of the theater feeling good. It's like eating a homemade dinner at your Grandma's house. The combination of the hearty food made from a recipe she most likely learned before you were born, and the relics of her past in plain sight around you, makes one nostalgic for a time one was not alive to fully appreciate.

But the poor showing of the movie at the box-office and a slew of poor critical reviews indicates that it has drawn the ire of some viewers, be it they're deeply conservative or just plain confused. The heart of the story centers around the McCarthy Communist witch-hunts of the 1950's. It's one of the more shameful chapters in American history, and in an environment such as this, some may think it best that it's not brought up. It raises criticisms of the American government.

Certain critics will destroy this movie, while recommending transparent acts of audience pandering such as "Pearl Harbor" or "Behind Enemy Lines." I can't necessarily blame them; they're just concrete thinkers. In those two films, it's as clear as day who the bad guy is: In "Pearl Harbor," it's us against the Japanese. In "Behind Enemy Lines," it's us against the Bosnians and NATO obstinance.

But in "The Majestic," its us against us, and therein lies the problem. Being that the film was set into production last year, they had no way of knowing about the events of September eleventh. But if this film were released next year with such a tragedy behind them, it would still be necessary to see this movie. This country is in a Gung-Ho state, and many people feel that we should get the bad guy no matter what. But what "The Majestic" shows is that if we try to defeat what we fear by breaking our own rules, it seals our certain doom. It shows that America is something we keep in our hearts and in our minds, not something we slap on our bumper or have put on a t-shirt.

It emphasizes feelings and thoughts over products and molds, and it should damn well be acknowledged.

*** out of 4
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3/10
The latest product of the demon seed.
24 December 2001
What is it about Meg Ryan that makes me irate beyond all reasonable comprehension? What is it about her blue eyes and sunny demeanor that conjures up images of torture so foul that they would make even James Ellroy weep with disgust? I guess it's because she reminds me of the girls who picked on me in Junior High. But in any case, that's my problem and not yours. But what is your problem and indeed everyone's problem is that this woman hasn't been in a decent movie since 1986. ("Innerspace") Can this woman not be stopped?

But my gripes with "Kate & Leopold" spring not from Ryan, but rather its director, James Mangold. Is the direction of "Kate & Leopold" bad? No. It's like most other films where you don't even notice the technique behind the camera. My problem stems from his selling out. Mangold has made two very intelligent and powerful films: "Heavy" and "CopLand." Those films told absorbing stories and were powerfully acted. He also directed the critically accalaimed "Girl, Interrupted," which has not been seen by me at this date. And he decides to follow these films up with a Meg Ryan romantic comedy? I will mail the man No-Doz, for he has fallen asleep at the wheel.

One of the major plot points in the film involves Ryan's artist ex-boyfriend (Liev Schrieber) who finds a portal off the Brooklyn Bridge into 1876 New York; where he finds Hugh Jackman's Duke of Albany, and brings him to the present, where he can fall in love with Meg. How does this guy find this damn portal, anyway? How does he know how long it's gonna be there? How does he know that jumping back into the waters below the Brooklyn Bridge will get him back to the present? Where did this guy get his degree in science? But we aren't supposed to ask these questions. We're supposed to be lulled to sleep by Meg and Hugh making eyes at each other.

But what makes this film plummet from "Bad" to "Downright Insulting" is its round-about defense of focus groups in the motion picture industry. Meg Ryan's character works as an analyst who hands out the questionnaires at the ends of test screenings to find out what people think about the movie. This chokes the life out of the American Cinema. As a matter of fact, Mangold himself makes a cameo as a director who shows up at one of the test screenings and tells Ryan's character that.

Oh for shame, James. It's almost as if he's trying to shift the blame from himself to Miramax Films for his movie sucking. But I blame you, James. I blame you for making Natasha Lyonne's indie cred vanish into thin air by casting her in this. I blame you for further sullying the once good name of Miramax Films. I blame you for making another Meg Ryan movie. I blame you for wasting two hours of my life that I will not get back.

I blame you, James Mangold. You are choking the life out of American Cinema.

*1/2 out of 4
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5/10
American Pile
11 December 2001
What's wrong with this picture? If any genre--ANY genre deserved a swift kick in the pants it was the sappy teen picture. The ones where instead of actually having a damn relationship he just converses with his brain-dead best friends about this girl he really wants to talk to. Then talk to her, for Christ's sakes! Moaning ain't gonna help matters!

Which was why I was thrilled to see "Not Another Teen Movie." I was hoping for something like "Scary Movie" which really and truly hated the slasher movie genre. Here was my revenge on Ryan Phillipe and James Van Der Beek and that odious little simpleton Freddie Prinze Jr., who thieved hours from my life with their whining. If I want to see someone whine about their relationships, I can rent a Woody Allen movie and actually be entertained!

But sadly no. "Not Another Teen Movie" wasn't my sweet revenge on the most lackluster group of films in cinematic history. It actually pays tribute somewhat to the teen genre instead of ripping it to shreds. You just can't call your target audience on being idiots, I guess. Instead of single-mindedly making all of it's gags at the expense of the genre it's mocking, "Not Another Teen Movie" just settles for grossing you out. So *this* is how screenwriting students at the bottom of their classes make their livings.

I'm not easily offended, nor did anything that happened in this film do so, but gross rarely equals funny. Do you remember those videos you used to watch in your High School biology class? You know, the ones about the inner workings of the vocal cords that actually show footage from inside the human body? That stuff grosses people out, and that stuff is nature. It takes someone with a brain to be funny.

The three best teen films I've ever seen are as follows: Cameron Crowe's "Say Anything...," Wes Anderson's "Rushmore," and Terry Zwigoff's "Ghost World." Why are they better than all the others? Because they were funny, sensitive movies by funny, sensitive people. Unlike the products of the other directors, who probably have difficulty remembering that their socks go on first in the morning.

But my biggest problem with the movie is the title: "Not Another Teen Movie." Actually it is another teen movie, in the fact that it sucks.

1/2* out of 4
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Vanilla Sky (2001)
9/10
...or IS IT?
11 December 2001
Warning: Spoilers
There are spoilers here. Be forewarned.

Between "Waking Life," "Mulholland Drive," and this one, "Vanilla Sky," I'm wondering when the hell *I'm* gonna wake up. Dreams have had a rebirth in the medium of motion pictures, and why not? They're fertile ground for material and give the director a much more broad visual landscape. Remember when studios had animated bugs, haunted houses and comets battling each other at the box office? And they say the movie industry's gone down the toilet.

"Vanilla Sky" is a remake of the 1997 Spanish film called "Abre Los Ojos." That film was directed by Alejandro Amenabar. While I admire Amenabar's work, (He went on to direct "The Others.") his source material doesn't hold a candle to the remake by vastly underrated writer-director Cameron Crowe. Crowe has done two personal and character driven masterpieces ("Say Anything..." and "Almost Famous.") and I must admit that I had some hesitancy to see the advanced screening that I saw this evening. Crowe's forte is small, personal films, and the previews would have us believe that this is some super-charged erotic thriller designed purely to earn untold millions. But in reality, "Vanilla Sky" is anything but. What I love about Crowe's films is that his characters always have the right things to say. Not so much in the dialogue sense, but in the fact that one line an actor can deliver can give a very real sense of a feeling or an emotion.

And the cast Crowe has wrangled to deliver these lines is top notch. Penelope Cruz gives off great vulnerability that would not be normally seen when her sex kitten image is taken into account. Cameron Diaz is very good at using her face to reveal dark undertones through a sunny demeanor. Jason Lee has a believability that could convince one that he could walk off the screen and talk to you. But the really impressive performance is by Tom Cruise, who plays a millionaire womanizer who is horribly disfigured after a car accident. He hits his notes of bitterness very well, considering that he's Tom Cruise and has precious damn little to be bitter about.

"Vanilla Sky" is so full of secrets that I've probably given a few away already with out having meant to. Sorry about that. But this movie is about the domain of dreams, and the only problem I have with "Vanilla Sky" is at the end, everything is explained. This is not bad in and of itself, but "Mulholland Drive," David Lynch's far superior film, deliberately didn't explain anything. That left the viewer with an urge to make up an explanation and become an armchair Freud. This leaves you with nothing to say but "Wow. That was a good movie."

***1/2 out of 4
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Waking Life (2001)
10/10
Candy for the eyes and nourishment for the mind.
10 December 2001
The human mind is like a being in and of itself. Every once in a while it needs to be fed. In an age of digital armies, huge explosions and pie defilement in our multiplexes, thank God Richard Linklater's "Waking Life" has come into our midst. What passes for entertainment these days is sad, and not even entertainment if the definition in the dictionary holds up. It's all disheartening and sad. I found no film this year more depressing than "Pearl Harbor," and wasn't that supposed to be our big popcorn movie for the year? Why was it there? Why was I there? What purpose did it serve? If anything can be said about "Waking Life," it has reasons for being there.

I won't get into the story because there really isn't one. It just floats from person to person, conversation to conversation, in a slow and leisurely pace. But the conversations are of the like that we should see more of. About the inner-workings of dreams, the philosophy behind reincarnation, how the standard rules of etiquette between strangers keeps us from ever really connecting with most people. To me at least, that's a hell of a lot more interesting than how the damn Bears did on Sunday.

Richard Linklater shot this film on a digital camcorder and gave it to internet artist Bob Sabiston to draw over. The result is an animated film of the likes which we have never seen and probably won't see again. The nuances of human behavior are caught in a fluid manner. The result is really quite spectacular.

Some might chalk this film up to amateurish philosophizing. But isn't it nice that a film is made just to philosophize at all? This movie is filling and you will walk out asking questions about yourself and the universe around you. "Waking Life" is art at its peak.

But, alas, I fear the worst. I fear that some will read my words and the words of other devoted fans of this masterpiece, and then drive to their local theater to buy tickets to "Black Knight."

**** out of 4
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Pootie Tang (2001)
3/10
See this film as proof that God hates us all.
9 December 2001
Isn't 79 minutes supposed to make a pathetically short movie? I rented "Pootie Tang," which is of that running time, and I thought "The Patriot" was shorter than this. I guess it's just Einstein's theory of relativity at it's best. "Magnolia" and "Mulholland Drive" are over in fifteen minutes while "Freddy Got Fingered" and *this* lump of trash last for days and days on end.

"Pootie Tang" was made in association with Chris Rock. This, and "Down to Earth" just go to show that the guy can be funny in a movie, just keep him away from the typewriter and the checkbook. "Pootie Tang" is to unfunny as David Lee Roth was to leather pants. I only laughed once during this puddle of moose vomit, and that was during a point where the incomprehensible Pootie Tang himself didn't say a word. I thought that was his shtick.

There is one extremely high point in this movie, though. During a stock footage montage, Pootie Tang is standing next to Gwyneth Paltrow-YES, Gwyneth Paltrow. What is she doing here? Shouldn't she be working on something with Soderbergh, or Scorsese, or even John Landis? She won an Oscar for "Shakespeare in Love," I hardly see "Pootie Tang" as the next logical step. This is a moment of surrealism that would make the ghost of Luis Bunuel himself disperse with envy.

*1/2 out of 4
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Amélie (2001)
10/10
I walked out grinning like an idiot.
9 December 2001
I am a hard-hearted cynic of the first degree. I loathe children and see animals as potential footwear. It takes a hell of a movie to make me care or even crack a smile, but man, if I didn't walk out of "Amelie" grinning like a complete and total buffoon. "Amelie" is cinematic wizardry of the first order.

Paris has never looked better as director Jean-Pierre Jeunet centers his story on an Oscar-worthy performance by Audrey Tautou. So vulnerable, so cute, so unabashedly good, the emotions of the character of Amelie Poulin seep into the minds and hearts of the audience. She is surrounded by quirky neighbors and co-workers that make up a few major strokes of "Amelie's" canvas. Jeunet also populates his film with bizarre special effects that provide a better grasp of the interior of Amelie's world, making the entire movie a free-for-all funhouse of imagination and wit.

Anything could happen, which is not something you could say for ninety-nine percent of the romantic comedies that are released in America. Freddie Prinze Jr./Tom Hanks/Richard Gere falls in love with Jessica Biel/Meg Ryan/Julia Roberts, but doesn't really talk to her very much, before gunning to the airport to talk her off a plane before she goes to New York/San Francisco/Los Angeles for school/work/her fiance. Here, time is taken, characters are developed, and a journey is made instead of stagnant scenes where the male hero talks to his insipid best friends. "Amelie" is so full of brilliance and charm and full on verve that the pat and simple ending may not come for those who want it.

**** out of 4
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Tomcats (2001)
1/10
I can state, free from exaggeration, that this is the worst film ever made.
7 December 2001
I am not a man who has a problem with hyperbole, nor am I a man who is prone to quick and rash judgement when it comes to bad films. I am also not a man who hasn't seen more than his fair share of motion pictures (I am guessing about 2000 in all in my nineteen short years). But I am hard-pressed to find in my memory a film that is as odious, as foul, as worthless, as out and out evil as Gregory Poirier's "Tomcats."

I have seen one-hundred nineteen of the releases of 2001, (12-8-01) but even the worst ones have an edge on this. "Corky Romano" was brain-dead, but harmless. "Freddy Got Fingered" was grossly and wholly incompetent. Harmless and incompetent are hardly the words to describe "Tomcats." The makers of this film know how to line up a shot, they've practically memorized that God-forsaken Lew Hunter book, but they forgot their morals. I may sound like a prude or a member of the religious right, but I'm not. My favorite film so far this year is "Mulholland Drive," if that's any indication. Poirier and his band of miscreants just forgot, or didn't learn in the first place, what's funny and what isn't.

Anally raping a girl while she's puking out of the back window of a car: Not funny.

Someone unwittingly eating a testicle: In more capable hands, maybe. But not funny here.

Jerry O'Connell hocking food into Shannon Elizabeth's drink: Not funny.

Bill Maher: Not funny.

I am of the opinion that anything can be funny, but the guys writing it have to think that just because they wrote it, doesn't mean it'll work. I've seen train wrecks that were funnier than this pile.

zero stars out of 4.
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6/10
This movie is good. Please hear me out.
7 December 2001
Horror films are a weird batch, these days. Ever since "The Blair Witch Project" came out, the marketing apes in Hollywood figured out that confronting an audience with a force that they can't even see is much more effective than parading some knife-wielding munch around in a mask and making the film the longest "Scooby-Doo" episode in recorded history.

But even these new "horror" movies (as opposed to formerly "slasher movies".) have also gone down the creative drain. We zoom in on an empty space and then we cut to a shot of Haley Joel Osment or Nicole Kidman looking absolutely petrified. This new breed makes their ghosts more and more cuddly to the point that we aren't scared anymore.

Enter "Thirteen Ghosts," the second William Castle/Vincent Price remake since 1999. Some, or I should say many, will find this movie loud, vulgar, irritating, and stupid. I can't argue with them, but I will say this: It gives the audience what they want. This film has thirteen horrible spectres that, if you met them in real life, would cause even the bravest to douse their drawers. And they're not docile by any stretch of the imagination. They are out for blood.

Imagine "The Juggernaut," who picks up his victims and breaks them in half. Or "The Hammer," who is run through with a couple dozen railroad spikes. Or even "The Torso," who's name is self-explanatory. This film isn't scary in the conventional sense, don't get me wrong. But it is intimidating, and that's saying something.

*** out of four
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6/10
When it turned into a remake of "Entrapment," I tensed up.
5 December 2001
Steven Soderbergh is one of America's best directors, which is why it shocked me that he would willingly direct such easy entertainment. His success with "Traffic" at the box office proves that his usual analytical art can make a hell of a lot of money. "Ocean's Eleven" is an all-star remake of the 1960's Rat Pack classic about a daring casino heist. Not exactly "sex, lies, and videotape II," now, is it?

The first ninety minutes of the film is very entertaining as Soderbergh returns to the verve that he had with "Out of Sight" and "The Limey," with very good performances by George Clooney, Brad Pitt, Matt Damon, and a shocker from Bernie Mac. The first half of the film is stylish and surprisingly believable, but then descends into what can be referred to irrationally as a remake of "Entrapment", complete with sporty silver suits, and laser beam sensors. Soderbergh should have known better.

An even bigger bright note though: Julia Roberts is in the film and she doesn't smile once. There is a God.

*** out of 4
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10/10
As everyone tries to figure it out, David Lynch smiles.
5 December 2001
After a plethora of surrealistic neo-noirs that went next to nowhere and the great (albeit defanged) story of Alvin Straight, David Lynch has made the film that one gets the feeling he has tried for a decade and a half to get down pat. "Mulholland Drive" takes the flashy imagery of "Lost Highway", the feel of noirs like "Touch of Evil", and the products of his own nightmares and exudes an unruly brilliance.

This film takes place inside a dream, (There is no disputing that since the second shot in the film is a POV shot of someone going to bed) where things such as reflections, reversals, recurring images, childhood fears of the boogeyman, self-idealizations, and images of one's parents are the norm. "Mulholland Drive" is like a textbook of the florae and faunae that reside on the oneiric plain and doesn't resort to psychoanalytical claptrap. For this alone it should be praised.

The performances are wonderful, (Especially Naomi Watts who inhabits both sides Hollywood female ideal) the technical credits are great, and the script, which most would spit upon, does a great job of becoming more and more abstract the more you try to make sense of it. Those who would say it's a bad script are those who would be looking for a story, which Lynch plainly doesn't offer. Blasting "Mulholland Drive for a lack of cohesion would be like blasting a Charlie Chaplin movie for a lack of dialogue.

What I personally find most entertaining about "Mulholland Drive" is nowhere to be found on the screen, but rather in the reactions of those who don't get it. I get the feeling that as he hears the drivel of the poor inhibited souls who bemoan this film for "not making sense," David Lynch smiles at a job well done.

**** out of 4
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