Reviews

In a summer brimming with high flying angels and gravity defying archaeologists comes a movie designed to appeal to that most neglected segment of the movie-going population, adults. Nothing blows up and there isn't a flaming helicopter or open running wound anywhere in sight. In an attempt at counter programming Universal has scheduled Seabiscuit to go mano-e-mano against drunken Caribbean pirates, scantily clad adventurers and three dimensional spy kids, hoping to bring in the parents of the kids who have been dropping their allowance money at the box-office all season.

Who knows, it just might work. The last time I checked people over the age of fourteen enjoyed movies too.

Seabiscuit is the inspiring story of a horse who became an American folk hero during the depression years. Everything about this movie screams prestige, from the Academy Award winning cast to the narration by PBS regular David McCullough to the sumptuous art design. Hell, screenwriter / director Gary Ross even used to write speeches for President Clinton! The result is a predictable, but likeable movie that demands nothing more from you than to feel better when you leave the theatre than you did when you came in.

Based on a book of the same name by Laura Hillenbrand, Seabiscuit reintroduces us to one of the great sports stories from the early part of the last century. There was a time when everyone knew the story, he was so famous in fact that on one occasion hundreds of businesses closed for half a day so their employees could tune in to hear Seabiscuit race against Triple Crown winner War Admiral on the radio. These days, though, because Seabiscuit didn't endorse Nike or Pepsi, his story has been largely forgotten.

The film begins in the heady days before the stock market crash of 1929. Businessman Charles Howard (Jeff Bridges) made his fortune selling cars, and promoting his vision of `the future.' After the tragic death of his son, the future doesn't seem so bright anymore. Tom Smith (Chris Cooper) is an outsider, shunned by most horse professionals because he believes in healing, not killing wounded animals. At a head taller than any other jockey on the horse racing circuit, Red Pollard (Tobey McGuire) is considered a fringe player, but he loves horses and prefers this life to the alternatives – starving on the streets or getting the tar knocked out of him in underground boxing matches.

Seasbiscuit, an undersized horse of good breeding but little in the way of talent is the center around which each of these men revolve. Through hard work and care Seabiscuit is transformed from a candidate for the glue factory into a champion, and basking in the reflected glory are Howard, Smith and Pollard.

Seabiscuit picks up speed in the middle stretch, after a slow first hour. Much of the opening of the film feels like a history lesson, disrupting the flow of the story. Not that you could easily derail this story. Ross has played fast and loose with the facts – for example, Pollard was actually a mean drunk, not the nice guy presented here – cobbling together a story that sometimes feels like Chicken Soup for the Equine Soul.

Inspirational messages tumble from everyone's lips, as though pearls of wisdom flow from their mouths as easily as turning on a facet and watching the water coming pouring out. The script overuses several of these nuggets – ie: `Sometimes when the little guy doesn't know he's the little guy he can do big things…' – which only reinforces their corny sentiments.

If the dialogue seems stilted, the racing sequences certainly do not. Ross puts the viewer directly in the action in a series of beautifully realised shots that seem to be taken from the horse's point of view. In those days racing was a brutal sport where jockeys would punch and shove one another in mid-race. Seabiscuit does an admiral job of recreating the tension and aggression involved in the races with long shots that give the viewer the opportunity to follow the action without confusion.

In the end Seabiscuit is clichéd and predictable, but good work by Bridges, McGuire and Cooper coupled with the movie's indomitable spirit make it a pleasure that is hard to deny.

Anyone who saw Lara Croft: Tomb Raider will agree that it didn't make a great deal of sense. That apparently didn't matter to the people who flocked to the multi-plex to see Angelina Jolie run in slow motion and hang upside down while fighting bad guys. Enough people agreed that trifles like plot and believability were secondary to seeing Jolie battling a frantic robot that a sequel was commissioned.

I'm glad to report that Lara Croft Tomb Raider: The Cradle of Life not only has one of the longest titles of the summer, but also has a story that almost makes sense! Not that we demand much from these movies. The story is simply a peg to hang Ms Jolie's bikini on while temples crash, motorcycles rev and people defy gravity, flying through the air as Lara Croft punches a shark. It's a popcorn movie, not Dostoyevsky, although at times this movie feels as long as a Russian novel. Here's the story as I remember it… Somewhere between diving in a skintight silver wetsuit and riding side-saddle on her English country estate archeologist Croft learns that a shining golden globe – which she had in her possession, then lost – is actually a map to the mysterious Cradle of Life where the famous Pandora's Box is said to be hidden. While wearing a natty kimono Croft learns that former Nobel Prize winner and `modern day Dr. Mengele' Jonathan Reiss has the orb and is close to uncovering its secret. She must don a skin-tight motorcycle jacket and find him, before he discovers the deadly secret of Pandora's Box and sells its poison to the highest bidder.

For support Lara entices an old flame named Gerrard (Terry Butler), currently doing time in a Siberian ultra-high security prison for crimes against the state. Looking fetching in a white fur trimmed winter coat she offers him freedom and a great deal of money to help her. Thus begins their whirlwind world tour of destruction as the dynamic duo travel to Mainland China, Hong Kong, and Africa in their attempt to recover the globe and unlock its secrets. Dutch director Jan de Bont (Speed, Twister) makes good use of the scenery – both Ms Jolie and the international locales – showcasing the beauty and the danger of each. A nicely staged gun battle involves inventive use of a neon sign and a pole vault to a helicopter; another scene shows the couple `flying' over the skyline of Shanghai. In both cases de Bont actually shows us the action. If Charlie's Angels director McG had shot those scenes we would have seen a glimpse of the helicopter blade, a quick cut of someone flying through the air and heard the whoosh of a bullet as it cut through the air. My major complaint with recent action sequences is that we don't actually get to see anything. It's all quick cuts and loud techno music. Jan de Bont avoids that trap, allowing the scenes to play out, and while sometimes they drag on a bit too long, at least we know what we are looking at.

Angelina Jolie plays Lara Croft like a Barbi doll come to life, batteries, but no heart included. She is powerful, sexy, agile, adventurous and no-nonsense (as Gerrard learns the hard way), but like the videogame character she is based on, doesn't seem to have anything going on under the pretty façade. Unlike that other famous cinematic archaeologist, the quirky Indiana Jones, there is no vulnerability to Croft at all.

Jolie's beautiful face is a blank slate, expressionless for most of the film with only the occasional arching of an eyebrow to remind us that a real person lives beneath her perfect skin. Perhaps in Lara Croft Tomb Raider 3: The Saga Continues In More Exotic Lands she will transcend her computer generated origins, and we'll get a glimpse of the real person behind that raised eyebrow.

Lara Croft Tomb Raider: The Cradle of Life is like its name, a bit too long, and kind of silly, but a vast improvement on its predecessor.

The Italian Job is a remake of a 1969 film of the same name that starred Michael Caine and Noel Coward. The cast isn't as upmarket for the re-make – we have to make do with Mark Wahlberg and Jason Statham – but they do seem to be having a good time. Palindromically named director Gary Gray keeps the pace in high gear, staging an elaborate (and unlikely) robbery, a nasty double-cross and a sweet revenge story. Couple those elements with a wild Austin Mini (yes, I said Austin Mini) chase through the streets and subways of Los Angeles and you have the makings of a good lightweight summer heist film.

Punch is a risky Canadian drama that explores an emotionally incestuous relationship between a father and daughter. It also introduces us to the world of Topless Female Boxers, but more about that later.

Newcomer Sonya Bennett is the teenaged Ariel, a rebellious young girl being raised by her single parent father (Michael Riley). When he brings home a woman he is dating Ariel feels betrayed and punches the woman in the face, giving her a black eye. Enter the aforementioned Topless Female Boxer (Meredith McGeachie). She is the tough, lesbian sister of the wronged women, and comes to extract an apology from Ariel and her father.

It all sounds very `Jerry Springer,' and to a degree it is - the topless boxing angle is pure titillation - but there is some substance here. Director and screenwriter Guy Bennett introduces many interesting human drama elements to Ariel's coming-of-age story, but frustratingly fails to fully explore any of them. He hints at things that are daring and unusual, but then backs away from the difficult material. At its core Punch delves into the pain of finding the right emotional distance between yourself and those whom you love, but the message is muddied by too many plot twists. The topless boxing is very, uh. visual and will probably put some bums in the seats but unnecessarily clogs up the story.

Sonya Bennett sizzles as the audacious daughter, while Riley subtly conveys the turmoil the father feels as a respectable man who realizes that his relationship with his daughter is tainted.

This is Guy Bennett's first film and there are enough indications in this movie of someone who really knows how to direct actors and is willing to take interesting risks as a screenwriter to make lead one to think that while Punch isn't quite there, it'll be interesting to see what this guy will do next.

Burial Society is a film noir, a bargain basement emulation of early Coen Brothers style. It tells the story of loans manager Sheldon Krasner (Rob LaBelle), a man of quiet desperation who embezzles money from the wrong people. In an effort to elude the gangsters who are searching for him he conceives an elaborate plan to join the Chevrah Kadisha or Burial Society made up of devout Jewish men who prepare dead bodies for burial.

As expected with this kind of film there are twists a plenty, but none are really surprising. This kind of quirky film noir piece has become stock – we know to look for the twists and turns and when they do come, they're not that surprising. We've seen this kind of story many times, but director Nicholas Rasz at least shakes things up visually, using several showy shots that break up the functional monotony of the story. In one scene as Krasner is putting money into a bag it is seen from the bag's perspective. Not necessary, but a tricky little shot nonetheless.

Rob LaBelle is fine as the nebbishy Krasner, and at 82 minutes Burial Society flies by, but doesn't leave any lasting impression.

The main thing that this movie suffers from is that it has been condensed to an almost absurd degree. The copy that sits on my shelf clocks in at over 900 pages, written by Charles Dickens with great energy and humor. Director (and frequent Woody Allen collaborator) Douglas McGrath trims the story down to a commercial length, and revs up the pace to an astonishing degree. This film seems like it is in a hurry to get to the closing credits, which in one sense is great because it's not very good.

The movie begins with Young Nicholas (Charlie Hunnam) and his family enjoying a comfortable, idyllic life. The idyll comes to an end when Nicholas's father dies, leaving the family bankrupt. Nicholas, his sister and mother journey to London to seek help from their Uncle Ralph (Christopher Plummer), but Ralph's only goal is to separate the family and take advantage of them. Nicholas is sent to teach at a ramshackle school run by the merciless Wackford Squeers (Jim Broadbent). Eventually, Nicholas runs away with schoolmate Smike (Jamie Bell), and the two set off to bring the Nickleby family back together.

There are some good elements. Christopher Plummer is worth watching as the wicked uncle. Nathan Lane is interesting. Dame Edna as his wife is fun to watch, but by and large the film is beige. Just average. In the title role of Nicholas is Charlie Hunnam a British television actor who made his name on Queer As Folk, and unfortunately he's not very interesting. As the central character you have to want to watch him. You have to care about his character. You have to want him to succeed. You have to want him to marry the right girl. You have to want all that for him, and you don't.

The problem is that while you are traveling with him you meet all sorts of characters that are far more interesting than the central character. You want to say, ‘Nick, you go on. We're going to stay here for a while.'

Historical drama doesn't have to be this dull. Dickens is brimming with juicy characters and interesting plots, if only the filmmakers had trusted the source material, a book that has been delighting people since 1839.

In recent years I have found Spike Lee movies to be very frustrating. Fifty percent of each movie I really like, but then there's the remaining fifty percent that just infuriates me. It's not bad filmmaking; it's just unnecessary filmmaking. There is a lot of stuff in these films that doesn't further the story, that is preachy, and simply doesn't belong there. But the stuff that's good is really, really good, and I found The 25th Hour to be another example of that. Ed Norton plays small-time drug dealer Montgomery Brogan, who, after being arrested by the DEA, reevaluates his life in his last 24 hours before beginning a seven-year jail term. Interesting premise. Why then muddy it up with a commentary on September 11th that seems out of place, and kind of badly chosen? Exploring the relationship between Brogan and his two best friends, Jacob and Frank (Phillip Seymour-Hoffman and Barry Pepper) and how their friendship will change once Montgomery goes to jail would have been a great character drama. Instead Lee adds a September 11th angle that feels tacked on and doesn't add to the movie. Don't get me wrong, it probably comes from a very sincere place. Spike Lee makes incredible movies about New York and is passionate about the city and probably felt like he had to find a way to tell this story, but he ties the September 11th angle to Montgomery's story, and in the context of the whole movie I didn't really understand the connection. If we are supposed to infer that the life New York was changed by the terrorist attacks just as the life of Edward Norton's character was changed by getting arrested I think it is a weak comparison, and frankly, inappropriate. The dynamic between the three friends is great. I wanted more of that. Loose the September 11th stuff, some of the peripheral story lines and just tell me that story and it would have been a better movie.

25th Hour is classic Spike Lee, brilliant, fearless but at the same time troublesome.

No one was more surprised than me that I enjoyed Blue Crush. It is a by-the-numbers teen drama about three Hawaiian wahinis who have crappy day jobs to the pay the rent and support their surfing addiction. One of them, Anne Marie (Kate Bosworth) was a child champion of the sport, but stopped competing when she was almost killed when she lost control of her board and bashed her head on a rock. Now after a break of three years she's signed up to ride the big waves in the island's largest surfing competition. She's in training until she meets a young, rich football player who sweeps her off her feet. Story wise Blue Crush falls flat when it is on land, but the surfing scenes are spectacular. There are a few little twists that set this apart from the usual teen fare - the girls have decidedly unglamorous jobs as hotel maids, and live in a grotty little shack - but don't expect to be wowed by the plot. Think of it as The Wide World of Sports with dialogue.

Spun is a wild ride, an ADD movie that seems to say, `If you don't like what's on screen right now, don't worry it'll change in the next ten seconds.' Director Jonas Akerlund, cut his teeth in the frenetic world of music video and it shows. Spun spins out of control from its opening minutes, shooting out images and plot points willy nilly. This makes Snatch look slow by comparison. If you can keep up with the pace, there is something here. Akerlund takes us deep inside the crystal meth culture, and it is an unnerving but hilarious journey. We meet a group of characters tied together by their association with one man, the crystal meth cook. We get a good sense of the lives of these characters, and even like some of them, no matter how addled they are by their addictions. What we see in Spun isn't story driven as much as it simply a slice of life – a dirty, sped up slice of life. Good performances compliment the material, particularly from Mickey Rourke as the Cook, Jason Schwartzman as the likeable speed freak and John Leguizamo who sheds almost all his inhibitions in this role.

Insomnia is director Christopher Nolan's first film since last year's Memento, and it is a stunner. In this remake of a Norwegian film made in 1998 by Erik Skjoldbjaerg, Nolan has cast three Oscar winners - Al Pacino and Hillary Swank play police officers chasing down a dangerous psychopath played by Robin Williams. Nolan set the film in Alaska, and makes good use of the location, particularly in the opening credit sequence as the camera follows a two-engine prop plane across the unforgiving jagged ice ridges. A foot chase on moving logs provides excitement, but the best thrills here are psychological. This is a film for adults. Insomnia is a serious thriller that relies not only on action, but on issues of guilt and morality to propel the story. Al Pacino hands in his best performance in years, although his accent seems to change from one scene to another. Robin Williams impresses, playing the homicidal Walter Finch with a chilling intensity that should forever put an end to the Mrs. Doubtfire typecasting pit he fell into in the 90s. Swank as the smart small-town cop delivers a multi-layered performance that is completely believable.

Al Pacino is a world-weary New York show biz publicist in People I Know, so world-weary in fact that it looks like he hasn't slept since he finished shooting on Insomnia in 2002. The bags under his eyes aren't bags anymore, they're suitcases. As Eli Wurman he is on the way out, a has-been from another area who medicates himself with a constant cocktail of cigarettes, booze and pills. A personal scandal threatens an event he is planning, and we follow him through the final preparations for his last big hurrah. Director Daniel Algrant pulls great performances out of Pacino, Kim Basinger and Tea Leoni and Robert Klein, who all seem to relish the chance to speak well written, smart dialogue. Set in the present People I Know feels very contemporary, but manages to have a timeless quality about it. The seamy underbelly of New York doesn't really change from year to year, only the faces do.

Narc is the kind of movie that makes you forget the dark patches on both Jason Patrick and Ray Liotta's resumes. You remember Patrick in Rush, and forget about Liotta in Operation Dumbo Drop.

The story is simple enough, and almost clichéd. When the trail on a murder investigation of a policeman goes cold, an undercover narcotics officer, Detective Sgt. Nick Tellis (Patrick), is teamed with loose-cannon detective Henry R. Oak (Liotta) to solve the case. It's old hat – the good cop teamed with a out-of-control cop – we've seen it in movies and on television for as long as there have been police dramas, but when it is treated with the kind of conviction and intensity that Liotta and Patrick bring to their roles it seems fresh and compelling. Both play cops who cross the line into unlawful behavior in order to do their jobs, and have both become tainted by their experiences. Narc explores what happens to a good cop when he is forced to break the law.

Visually director Joe Carnahan captures the feel of the mean streets, using a grainy film stock and handheld cameras to underline not only the dirt, but the energy of the street and the sleazy underbelly in which these two men operate.

Narc is a great cop movie, but it has a generic title, and a grainy feel to it that I don't think audiences will connect with because they want to see something glitzy, something happy, something that is going to make them feel a little better. Hopefully it's the kind of movie that will build a nice cult following on DVD.

Mile Zero is a film about male vulnerability. Michael Riley plays Derek, a psychologically brittle man who lets jealousy devour him, eventually pushing him to break the law. It's a family drama about a family gone wrong. Riley excels in his role, as does Connor Widdows, the young boy who plays Derek's son Wil. I could have used a little less of the home movie flashback scenes, but they did reinforce the sense of loss Derek was experiencing after his wife kicked him out of the house. It's heart wrenching stuff, and while you can't condone Derek's actions, Riley makes him human enough that the viewer can at least understand his behaviour.

Director Danny DeVito uncovers the soft underbelly of children's television in this dark comedy starring Edward Norton and a manic Robin Williams. This is a mean spirited piece of work, so dark and profane you have to give Mrs. Doubtfire and the guy from Taxi credit for making it work. With a lesser cast and without a steady hand behind the camera this could have turned into an unredeemable mess. Instead DeVito and cast churn out a comedy that does something unusual, they remain likeable – particularly Williams playing against his recent family-man image – while delivering unpredictable laughs for those who like their humor with a mean streak. Maybe the `Posterboy for Bad Taste' Tom Green should study this movie before he writes his next screenplay.

A surreal movie based on a short story collection by Mississippi writer Larry Brown. Arliss Howard directs and stars as Leon Barlow, a drunken writer who struggles with the demands of his ex-wife (Debra Winger), his children and his best friend (Paul LeMat). He is a failure on almost every level – certainly personally and professionally – and Howard doesn't shy away from his protagonist's shortcomings. The resulting film is a meandering look at the creative process, and how one man messed up his life. It's a well crafted directorial debut from Howard who handles this quiet tale of an artist's redemption with a firm hand.

The Irish mafia isn't given nearly as much screen time as their Sicilian cousins. For every Miller's Crossing there are three Godfathers; a Sopranos for every Grifters. Road to Perdition sees Tom Hanks as Michael Sullivan, personal `Angel of Death' for Irish mob-boss John Rooney (Paul Newman). Sullivan, an orphan, had been raised as Rooney's son, and carved a nice Norman Rockwellian life for himself, his wife and two kids. Each morning he has breakfast with his family in their lovely country home, before heading off to work to intimidate and kill Rooney's enemies. Unbeknownst to Sullivan, his oldest son (Tyler Hoechlin) tags along on one of these missions, and sees exactly what his father does for a living. In a misguided effort to silence the boy Rooney's son kills Sullivan's wife and youngest boy. Revenge and the safety of his surviving son motivate Sullivan to hit the road. Road to Perdition is beautifully rendered look at 1930s depression era America. Director Sam Mendes has stayed true to the story's graphic novel roots, and dishes up a spectacular looking film, one so finely detailed you can almost smell the gunpowder and smouldering cigarettes. Hanks is surprisingly effective as the strong silent hit man. His Sullivan is complicated, the actor subverts his natural likeability to present a man who is at once loyal and caring, but will put a bullet through your skull without a second thought. It's a layered, subtle performance that moves away from the heroic characters that Hanks usually favours. Look for the supporting cast at awards time. Jude Law as a sadistic killer-for-hire shines, but it is Paul Newman that shows the rest of the cast how it should be done. His Rooney is a great cap to a distinguished career. I only have to wonder why an actress of Jennifer Jason Leigh's calibre would take on the thankless and nondescript role of Sullivan's wife. Is there really that little work in Hollywood for women that actresses of her experience must take whatever scraps are offered?

Brotherhood of the Wolf is all over the place. It's a French Revolution/ horror/ martial arts epic with style to burn, and makes up for the gaping holes in its story with sheer energy and sensory assault. Director Christophe Gans packs every moment of Brotherhood of the Wolf with either bone crunching action, (imagine if John Woo had directed Dangerous Liaisons), or some crazy audio / visual effects or busy scenes with beautiful people. Gans knows how to amuse the eye, he just isn't much of a storyteller, but Brotherhood of the Wolf is so entertaining that we'll forgive him just this once.

A better title for this movie would have been Legally Bland. The makers of the sequel to 2001's surprise hit comedy Legally Blonde seem to have pushed the new film through the dreaded `movie de-flavourizer,' sucking all the charisma, fun and worst of all, the humour, out of the script. Even Reese Witherspoon, who charmed her way into the Hollywood a-list as pretty-in-pink Elle Woods in the first instalment, seems flat and uninspired.

The story, such that it is, holds a bit of comedic promise. Woods, the not-so-ditzy blonde, wants to invite the mother of her closet friend to her upcoming wedding. That friend is, of course her dog Bruiser, and unfortunately the mother is trapped in an animal testing facility. After trying to convince her stuffy law firm to take action against the laboratory, and getting herself fired in the process, she decides to take on Washington. From here on in the movie follows the pattern established by the original, minus the jokes. As Elle tries to get an animal rights bill passed in congress she is pitted against a series of sit-com worthy characters who are eventually won over by the perky fashionista.

It's all very trite, which is fine, this is a summer teen movie after all, but the complete absence of chuckle worthy material makes what should have been a light and airy film float like a lead balloon. Not even the reliable Bob Newhart as the wise doorman can wrestle a laugh out of this script.

Making a sequel can be a nasty, unforgiving business – in this case the original was as sweet and gooey as pink cotton candy while Legally Blonde 2: Red, White and Blonde is a sugarless retread.

The Funk Brothers had to wait a long time to get their due. From the late Fifties through to the early Seventies this revolving group of Detroit session musicians defined the Motown Sound – a danceable blend of R&B and pop – by laying down the funk as the back-up band on hundreds of records produced by Hitsville USA. It wasn't until Marvin Gaye's 1970 album What's Goin' On that the musicians were given credit on a Motown album, and they would have to wait another thirty-odd years for the documentary Standing in the Shadows of Motown to tell their stories and show their faces. Essentially a concert film with the history of The Funk Brothers woven in, Standing in the Shadows of Motown functions more as a meet and greet with these sadly neglected musicians than an in-depth documentary. The documentary segments – including several ineffective flashback sequences and lots of stock photos – don't dig deep enough. Sure, there are some funny stories, a few touching moments and a sense of the camaraderie between the bandmates, but the history is often sketchy and there is no explanation as to how the Motown Sound evolved over the years. The musical sequences, however, make up for many of the film's shortcomings. The Funks play host to a variety of singers, including Joan Osborne, Gerald Levert, Me'shell NdegeOcello, Bootsy Collins, Ben Harper and Chaka Khan. The guests are a hit and miss proposition but the band is always a pleasure to listen to. This two disc set features Spanish and English subtitles, a trivia track, deleted scenes a close-up and personal featurette called Dinner with the Funk Brothers and a touching tribute to the band members who passed away before the movie was made. Despite its failings as a historical document, this DVD has a great beat and you can dance to it

It's hard not to like a movie that features scantily-dressed fun-lovin' women kicking butt and having a good time, but Charlie's Angels: Full Throttle rings so hollow I can't muster much enthusiasm for it.

The first film, 2000's Charlie's Angels was empty-headed, but at least had a sense of fun. This instalment ups the hip quotient, taking all the elements that worked well in the previous one and amplifying them – the actions scenes are louder, the kicks (and the skirts) a little higher, Cameron Diaz has not one, but two dance sequences and story is even more confusing than the first – jamming maximum eye candy into every frame. It has everything that summer audiences crave, everything that is, except soul. The MTV reared director McG moves the action along at the speed of light, proving that he has an attention span only as long as his name.

Last time around McG and producer Drew Barrymore (who also starred as Dylan Sanders) created a movie that paid homage to, but winked at the original 70s television series. In that daftly subversive movie the trio were at the beck and call of the mysterious Charlie, but were in no way enslaved by him, which was the uncomfortable reality of the television show. The movie Angels were playful and powerful.

This time out the film tries to hard. The fun, what little of it there is seems forced and uninspired. Instead of empowered women, Full Throttle offers up high kicking Barbies devoid of the charm that made them so winning the first time. In lieu of an actual character Cameron Diaz (look for her to earn multiple nominations when the next Golden Booty Awards are announced) simply flashes her toothy smile and underpants around, while Lucy Liu is still trading off the same hard-core dominatrix pose she perfected on Ally McBeal. Only Barrymore's character seems rooted in reality, but even that sense of humanity evaporates the first time we see her fly through the air, kicking the stuffing out of the bad guys. As the villainous ex-Angel Madison Lee, Demi Moore looks fabulous in her barely-there wardrobe. Apparently she has spent a good deal of time since we last saw her on the big screen at the gym. Too bad she didn't skip the weights and take an acting course or two. Never a brilliant actress, I believe this is the first time Moore has actually been upstaged by her own abs.

Other supporting cast members fare only slightly better. Demi's ex Bruce Willis is seen for under a minute, while the teenage Olsen Twins barely muster ten seconds of screen time. Other star cameos include Pink, Robert Forster, Carrie Fisher, Eric Bogosian and television Angel Jaclyn Smith. Director McG should be fully throttled for his mishandling of John Cleese as Lucy Liu's father. It's a funny idea to have a tall gawky Brit playing the diminutive Liu's father, but his talent is utterly wasted. He's given nothing to do except react with bulging eyes to a string of cheap double entendres. On the plus side Crispen Glover reprises his role from the first film as The Thin Man, delivering a delightfully unhinged performance as the hair fetishist assassin.

In the end big and bloated are two words I'd never use to describe the Angels (for fear of bring pummelled) but would use to describe the movie.

Robert Evans is the last of a dying breed. The kind of Hollywood mogul who calls women `broads' and hands out his phone number with the caveat `I'm only seven digits away, baby.' In other words, a real character. His life is the subject of a new documentary directed by Brett Morgan and Nanette Burstein, based on his autobiography. It's an stirring story. Evans was offered his first movie role by Norma Shearer who liked the way he looked in a bathing suit as he lounged by the pool at the Beverly Hills Hotel. He rose from b-actor status to become head of production for Paramount Pictures, putting films like The Godfather, Love Story and Chinatown into production. He led a fairy-tale life – married to a movie star, living in a Beverly Hills mansion, hanging out with Jack Nicholson – until bit by bit his Hollywood dream turned into a nightmare. His films started losing money; he was kicked off his beloved Paramount's lot; his wife left him for Steve McQueen, and he started using drugs. His high-rolling life unravelled and it seemed he'd never eat lunch in Hollywood again. But to paraphrase the title, the kid stayed in the picture, and has lived to tell the tale. Evans narrates the film without a hint of self consciousness, and entertainingly mimics everyone from Ali McGraw to Roman Polanski. It's an absorbing look at a complicated, resilient man. Highly recommended.

Cherish is one of those films that people like to call `quirky.' It is a strange little story about a fantasy-prone woman named Zoe who winds up under house arrest for a crime that she didn't commit. She finds ways to cope with her situation, which at first doesn't seem that bad. There are worse ways to do your time than in a huge Ikea furniture decorated loft in San Francisco, but the limitations of movement soon become obvious, and you realize that anywhere can become a prison if you aren't allowed to leave. Robin Tunney rises above the messy script to actually give Zoe some life, while Tim Blake (O Brother Where Art Thou?) Nelson's love-sick deputy is an understated gem of a performance. If nothing else Cherish is a good antidote to the smash-‘em-up summer blockbusters currently clogging up multi-plex screens.

Auto Focus is basically like a nicely acted, snappily directed episode of E! True Hollywood Story. The account of sitcom star Bob Crane's rise to fame, first as a DJ, then as the lead in television's Hogan's Heroes and fall into the pit of sex addiction and (every actor's nightmare) dinner theatre has all the elements of great tabloid trash. Top that off with a brutal murder – that may or may not have been a direct result of his years of skirt chasing – and you're mining pop culture gold. Auto Focus, however, takes itself a little too seriously to be great trashy fun. The movie could have been a wild romp, but director Paul Schrader chose to unfurl the film in a clinical way, which avoids the pitfalls of exploitation, but also sucks some of the fun out of the story. Greg Kinnear plays against his usual good guy type and delivers a vivid portrait of Crane as a superficially smirky shallow man only interested in his hedonistic sex life. Willem Dafoe has the art of playing the villain down to a science, and hands in a creepy performance as John Carpenter, the seedy audio/visual salesman who introduced Crane to the world of orgies, swinger's bars and the naughty possibilities of video tape.