Reviews

Sammyboi "Action" Jackson, Jeremy "Leg" Irons and the ultimate Bruce "Beastiboi" Willis star in this maddeningly erotic romantic-thriller. Three men are forced to confront the inevitable: their mutual attraction...buried deep beneath the surface.

They do lots of movement and yelling and there are lots of guns. But these are unsubtle, crude images betray their deepest feelings, drives and animal desires -- to explore the untamed wilderness of each other. Try to imagine the Pulp Fiction pawnshop scene played out for several intense hours -- but with 3 Gimps! Yes, that is the most perfect possible definition for this wonderfully tasteful film. Yum!

Everyone should know better than to praise, or even endure this abysmal, pretentious film. Appropriately titled, the film is certainly a dog, and a vacuous ghost as well.

Famous for his avoidance of storyline, Jim Jarmusch takes it to the extreme here, with Forest Whitaker sleepwalking through takes, with a 'wake me when it's over' expression on his face. Miserably grim yet unemotional, Ghost Dog looks to be inspired by too much TV and way too much beer. One might think a random series of takes would prove more effective.

I cannot fathom what the people who funded this film were thinking...a big stinking pile of pretentious nothing.

I have this vision of what George Lucas must be like as a director. It's 4 in the morning, the lights are hot, everyone is wearing too many robes, and have been doing the same scene for 22 hours straight. Sam Jackson looks like he's about to pop a cap in someone's arse, but he's trying to be cool, look centred and all Jedi -- like in the last scenes of Pulp Fiction.

George has no where to go. Unmarried geek freak, he's capable of making money but never getting a stone's throw near actual art. "Okay people, one more time...and remember, more VIDEO GAME." It's not hard now, when lines too pedestrian to even laugh at are recited for the tenth, twelfth, twentieth time. Samuel L. Jackson has transitioned: from the mushroom cloud layin mutha, to all the dramatic power of a sleepy janitor leaning on his broom at the end of his shift.

I wonder if fans at Star Wars conventions will hold contests, to recite lines from this film with less feeling than the original actors. "That's possible..." is my favourite line (Jackson); though most any of Portman's and any of Christensen's will do. I won't say much about teen-Vader, his performance speaks for itself -- I can't fathom why an actual actor wasn't hired. Whatever the case, this film does make an excellent text for authors on how NOT to write dialogue.

Star Wars was never particularly impressive under close scrutiny. It's science fiction without science; general consumption space-opera. It works with plot, with character, with action. That Joseph Campbell informed mythopoetic tradition is nowhere to be found in this film. Under the thumb of toddler TV direction, it becomes tedious and silly. Characters do not bleed, their hair does not ruffle in the strongest wind. No one vomits over the outrageously distasteful subplot with teen-Vader openly lusting over a woman who helped raise him. When confronted, the princess tells him "it makes me uncomfortable." It makes EVERYONE uncomfortable!

What force does Lucas wield that allows him to wring all of the life out of even the best of actors? To stray so far from entertainment, or good taste? Perhaps he is a clone....

Some films make you laugh, others make you cry; some make you cuddle with your guy and help further the illusion that you will stay together after the kids are grown. Some films make you ask...why? Others: WHY!!!!???? Some bring you to a deeper understanding of life, love and the quest for...whatever that SUV is a substitute for. Others bring you to your very knees, as you stare blithely into the corroded and opaque corridors of your very soul with a Kafkaesque gasp of mortality held for one epiphanous illusion-shattering moment.

This film is none of the above. This film is doo-doo. It's an insult to the landfills it should be dumped in. The only way it could work is if the hooker turned out to be a transvestite, and (as far as we know) that would require a cast change. Get a grip and go watch something decent with Sean Penn, Lily Taylor or Christopher Walken.

This was a really meaningful film for me, discovered at just age 12, as budding science fiction fan and science fiction writer. Thoroughly entertaining, exciting, exhilarating, intelligent, with a sweet whimsical charm, silly on the edges, but pouring with heart straight through.

Wonder: that is what SF is really about isn't it? That glow of wonder brought to the heart of every fan, transferring us from the ordinary bs of everyday life, to the apex of wonderous doings. Classed with the old film greats, when films were films...not corporate programmed video game previews. Honest, sincere and always on target, this film preserves the grace of the comic whilst rising to the occasion of being a potent blockbuster film.

As I cleared the larger chunks of regurgitant from my throat yet again, I sat back, a lump of hard mucus in my throat, and took another long drink from the 72 oz. soda I'd purchased earlier in the lobby. My then girlfriend had been sobbing since the previews, through the credits, and incessantly throughout the film. I had my arm around her, frequently drifting into daydream where we could be alone, away from the movie, and I could be working her over with a ballbat. I'd give you something to cry about, I muttered, as the bile rose again to my throat. Choking, I lurched forward, popcorn and soda firing into the seat ahead. I patted my pouting puella who clearly was forcing every possible ounce of moisture out of her body through her tearducts in mock deaththroes, and forced myself to glance briefly at the screen. Insipid, redundant, utter tripe melodrama filled the screen. I begun to laugh but then the rush came again, as my throat filled once more... Not recommend for those fond of human dignity or nutritional retention.

I suppose that with rewrites from an actual writer, this material may have congrued into a cohesive and useful story -- blending action and drama; however the two have been crudely separated, with the first film stuffing reels of comic book fake action play, and this second film little more than insipid, manipulative melodrama that would better find its home on daytime soap.

Scene after scene represents an insult to good taste, with children manipulated and threatened by soulless creeps, and vast acts of cheap thrill-kill sadism. A scene from Tarantino's Dusk to Dawn comes to mind, where he plays a psychopath that kills young women: the scene contributes in no way to the plot, the writer simply appears on screen, commits a grotesque act, looks pleased (and aroused) by it. That scene seems to be an accurate summation of Tarantino's muse or the man himself. When unfettered by actual writers, he is given over to gluttonous indulgence of sadism, supposedly as...entertainment?

Wrestling Fans Only -- that should have been printed in bright red letters across the movie posters of these silly, callow films. Any adult viewer ought to be insulted. Each scene requests we lower our standards a bit more, accept less, permit more poorly acted, terribly written, implausible drivel. This is below the level of freak show material, below the worst Stephen King horror film.

Banal, trite, pedestrian...ridiculous! Do yourself a favour and do something creative...finger puppets, lip-syncing, sleeping, anything...I promise you, you can find something more entertaining and stimulating than this mess. A disgrace. Grow up Quentin. You know better.

Well okay, we waited a long time, and here we are with this massive scene of a ton of sweaty folks dancing and looking super sweaty. Then like these dudes are walking around gabbing for like an hour, saying idiot stuff like "Whats it all about? ever wonder?" (Man I wondered!) So after (what seems like) ten hours later, there's finally some matrix stuff with River Phoenix doing a ton of jumping and Samuel L. Jackson just sitting there with sunglasses on saying "it's cool, it will all work out." And that old broad Navinity is ultra boring and does almost nothing.

Anyway, then there's about 60 zillion CGI scenes that are real dumb and finally some big thing with David Soul sitting there in this huge plush chair and MTV playing all around him and then there's this psycho guy from out of no where that makes it a cliffhanger. I am sorry to say this review is more exciting than the film. Yeah.

They wanted me to talk. Yes, that's right: talk. I said, forget it! What I tell you! then...oh dear god, then, this film...NO!!!

...I awaken, shaking...

It was just a dream; dear god thank god. It did end, somewhere, in that dingy movie theatre lobby; My face buried in a tub of nasty plastic popcorn, staring at the ticket girl's shoes or the rain outside, apound upon the pavement black...resurrection from the mielous pit of icy dark deathmaw, reborn from this sorrowful, meandering horrorshow spectre, burst forth accostive to stand consessive -- abrowse in candy and popcorn and sodas of all kinds. Herethere stood I, the disquieting tangentalist nightmare in roaring doom past. Reaching slowly, in redemptive hunger, for that bright and cheery yellow tub of sunshine goodness, hope and happiness and love that only cheap stale popcorn can bring.

This is a meandering and tawdry film that keeps you wondering why you are watching it at all. The director had some good films previously...naturally that is the reason, faith. But the strengths of his other films are absent here: there are no colourful characters (most are downright implausible), no quirky dialogue (almost no dialogue, actually); there is some action but no suspense; it is like watching a video game played very well from over someone's shoulder.

I don't know if the few semi-serious scenes are meant to be sincere, because they reek of falsity and dreadful cliché. Poor Sonny Chiba, he looks like he's doing a Pepsi commercial! There is a *great* amount of gore, and in fact almost every scene has a particularly nasty element to it; this is much more in the vein of 'Natural Born Killers' than 'Pulp Fiction.' But story, where is the story?

What story there is, is terribly full impossibilities, too many to list. After a while you just have to guess that it is a kind of dream that doesn't adhere to any reality (except the director's indulgence). That's rarely a good time.

Did it really take him nearly a decade to make this? If so, Quentin really should learn to make better use of his time. Much of this film could have been shot in a weekend (with all the contrived title cards and video effects wrapped up in a month). Much has been made about choreographed fight scenes, but later I read the script was discarded and much of it was done freeform. This seems very likely, as most of the fighters just look like stunt men standing around waiting to fall when Uma taps them. There's just no skill here; no discernable authentic martial arts being done.

Overall, an insipid and unsatisfying film.

I don't know if it is fair to hold this film up in comparison to other films, because after viewing it I'm not sure if the writers/directors are either sane or of this planet. I don't want to insult the mentally ill here. This is only really a 'film' in the sense that it contains footage that has been recorded on film. There is no plot discernable to the human brain, no sense of how a human being would act, or awareness of the nature of time. The closest possible comparison would be the film featured in Philip Dick's book VALIS. Possibly the work of a schzophrenic or alien mind. A challenging film to watch, which offers little to the average viewer.

I've never felt more ripped off in my life than with this film. I've been waiting for a Hulk film since I was a kid. Well, I'm still waiting. The first hour of this film focuses (and I use that term loosely) on a lot of scientists scribbling in notebooks, wringing their hands and saying "it can't be!" Sorry, but it can, I think. There are dozens of flashbacks of people having flashbacks of a flashback that happened to them during an earlier flashback; ie more flashbacks than a Grateful Dead reunion could possibly provide. We have Nick Nolte, once a capable actor, now looking fished out of the nearest alcoholic sewer, doing lots of hand wringing, scribbling, and whispering ("it can't be!).

Looking for the HULK...? I was, I waited and waited and waited and waited.....children ran screaming up and down the aisles, parents chatted on cell phones, others dozed. I finally took to standing up to stay awake during this snooze fest film. Surely they wouldn't make an entire Hulk film without a Hulk...? I dunno. After about 90 minutes I left, regretting I wasted my time, money and energy. Whatever Ang Lee is doing, it has nothing to do with entertainment.

Touted as a 'feel good' chick flick film, this offers nothing for any but the terminally brain dead. Were it shorter, it might be laughable as lunkhead pretty boy pitt, facile and shallow as ever is incredibly miscast as Death. Following lots of tense melodrama with Anthony Hopkins at his most vague, we wait hours for a plot to appear. Instead we get lots of gushing scenes with pitt looking as though he's just sustained a head injury and the dumb girl appearing to be in training for the crying olympics. Avoid wasting 3 hours of your precious life on this absurd garbage!!!

Junk, total junk. I am a huge Trek fan, but I beg to differ. This is not Trek. Trek has scripts, a story, some heart. This is a run-through ad for a video game, at best. There is nothing logical here. I laughed at this film's absurd predictablity and inane premise. Please! Don't bother, Paramount has clearly given up on putting quality people behind the Trek franchise (Voyager surely proved this) and the real fans are walking away.

Several years ago, late in the night, I was driving across country, going through Colorado or perhaps Kentucky. Suddenly a car appeared beside me; there were lights, sirens, shouting. I pulled over and was immediately dragged from my vehicle by a half dozen armed men. A hood was pulled over my head and I was beaten, badly. Finally I passed out, but soon after woke to find myself tied to a chair, a glistening spotlight in my bloodshot eyes. A large man with large fists approached me, his soulless eyes like silver daggers poised to sink into my very soul. Then the questions began. Have I seen this movie? Have I heard of it, read the book? What did I think it was about? Did I like the cast, the music, the sets? So many questions. I wondered in my haze of pain and confusion who were these men. Much later I would divine that they were the publicity department, trying out a new tactic of promotion. Who'd have guessed! Every few years I go back to this film, to remember what I've been through and how it has affected my life. I guess the promotion worked.

Watching this film has caused me to really consider if there is any meaning in life whatsoever. I seriously doubt it, and find myself entertaining thoughts of suicide (believe me those thoughts are more entertaining than this film). I haven't felt this depressed since I first heard Michael Bolton. This film is a bleak, horrific document of the worst in all life; even a concentration camp looks more fun than enduring this film. This is the bottom of the evolutionary scale, and any thinking life form will surely detest it. It restates the negativeness of the universe in a terrifying, haunting way that rivals catholicism. Godless, hellish, eternal grief.

A poorly understood epic story portraying the taut homoerotic tension between two men, played skillfully by Jackie Gleason and the great Burt Reynolds. Their desire plays out in mesmerizing chase scenes, which slowly and cleverly reveal their true feelings to the camera. As the tension builds it becomes clear that neither man will realise the dream of the other, and all passion must be sublimated. Aching and sublime on every level.

It's not clever, it's not cute, it's not meaningful and it's not scary. It's just a big waste of time. Go watch your toliet flush, you'll see much of what you see here. There are some qualified actors here -- a few -- whose talent is utterly wasted on this overly stupid plot. Pretentious and shallow and not even slightly self aware, this is a film for only the most terminally brain dead.

I wouldn't have touched this film if Walken wasn't in it. Let's face it, Christopher Walken is a brilliant, stupendous actor, who could make anything at least watchable. There are good ideas here, but not much else. The college boy actors are boring and unconvincing, giving the ensemble feel of a high school play. Walken is perfect all through, and I found my attention waning when he wasn't on camera. Most of this story is rubbish, and the story telling is terrible. The music is corny, and long tangental scenes are clearly inserted to pad the running time. The soundtrack is inexcusibly bad, and the romantic scenes would make Dawson's Creek look downright artistic. A silly film best avoided.

One of the funniest films I've ever seen, a laugh a minute riot! I never knew what would happen next, and it left me giggling all the way! On par with Monty Python, Bean, etc. This is a VERY silly little movie, perfect for light-hearted entertainment. Zany!!!

First let me say I'm a big Trek fan, so I'm certainly not slamming Star Trek. But this film...should be prescribed for insomniacs. I've tried about 10 times to watch it in one sitting -- including buying the souped up DVD -- but WOW not a chance. I've either fallen asleep or simply could not focus on the film. The plot has all the vibrancy of watching paint dry. The characters could have been substituted with cardboard cut-outs with no noticable change in dramatic effect. The special effects are simply silly. This film manages to overlook everything that was special and magical about the original Star Trek series. This is a Star Travesty, giving space exploration all the excitement of a long dull bus ride. A film challenging only in its unwatchability.

Another triumph for Henry Winkler, actor, comedian and directer par excellence. Burt Reynolds has never been better than in this carefully, cleverly crafted gem of a movie. Consider this the 'Persona' for our time: a complex, polylayered psychological work. A combination of humour, drama, action, suspence, mystery, science fiction, horror, documentary and the occult carry this film to a shocking and incredibly moving conclusion! A cinematic event on the grandest scale.

After perusing some of the other reviews of this superb film, it occurred to me that most -- if not all -- reviewers are simply missing the point of this film. Yes, it is a light hearted, often brilliantly funny comedy, but it is also a serious and reverent look at Russian culture, shown in perhaps the only truly effective way it can be shown, from the perspective of a policeman in training. A cop on the street, a cop on the beat. I challenge you to watch this film, and take the title to heart: Mission to Moscow. Make it your mission to enter the heart of this great city seen through the eyes and ears of both comic genius and police authority. This is not a film to be missed, and is one of the few great cinematic achievements of our time.

This is not a film but an expression hatred towards those born intersexed or otherwise conditions of indeterminate gender. The imbeciles who funded and made this film are frightening and pitiful their ridicule of those with a birth defect. This is no different than making fun of children in wheelchairs or joining the KKK. This film is sickening, humourless and obscene.