Reviews

In spite of the rather contrived setup, the scenes in former Yugoslavia were some of the most horrifying and realistic war scenes on film. These photojournalists had nothing to protect themselves but Nikons and good luck. Just as the photojournalists used their cameras to record the atrocities, director Elie Chouraqui unflinchingly captured the war crimes committed by the Serbs and the chaos and meaninglessness of war. Adrien Brody showed his Oscar worthiness as Kyle Morris, the coke-head, jealous, unaccomplished photographer with a chip on his shoulder. His was the most mesmerizing performance, because it lacked any pretense. He looked scared to death. Brendan Gleeson was also exceptional, wavering between frozen panic and dedicated war chronicler. Andie Macdowell was pretty lifeless, yet she seemed convincing as a woman unprepared for such an undertaking. David Straitharn had a thankless part as the eponymous Harrison. Elias Koteas was underused as well, and his narration was unnecessary. His part was underwritten, but he managed to give it life nonetheless. The title may have hurt this interesting and eye-opening film. It sounded like a show on the Gardening Network. I would have eliminated the last 10 minutes, (as well as the whole flower analogy- Ugh!) sinking the film into melodrama, but this was a good one to catch on Starz.

When Benigno (Javier Camara) fusses about the prone figure of the lovely, comatosed young woman (Leonor Watling) in the hospital bed, you at first, are struck by his devotion and gentleness. You assume that he is her spouse, her brother, or her best friend. He is wearing scrubs, but his demeanor is more than a mere caregiver. You must question his relationship to this woman, but you admire the dedication he appears to have for this patient. Something is amiss, but you put that in the back of your mind. As the movie progresses and Benigno's motivations become clear, you could kick yourself for liking him. He is certainly creepy, yet there is something inherently sweet about him. Such is the subtle maneuvers of this film.

Marco's (Dario Grandinetti) first scene is one of emotional vulnerability, yet in spite of his tears at the ballet, he seems strong and virile. He is drawn to the woman in the man's sport Lydia (Rosario Flores). She, in spite of her fearlessness against a 2 ton bull, is reduced to tears of panic when confronted by a snake. Marco becomes her hero, and they begin a relationship. But Marco seems to occupy the periphery of her life. Reduced to little more than a member of her entourage, he seems emasculated around her. After her accident, he cannot bring himself to do what is so effortless for Benigno. He can't talk to her.

What does occur is that Marco and Benigno become closer than either of them could ever be with the women that they love. It's a touching and complex moment when Benigno tells Marco that he would love to hug him. But the prisoners' glass is between them. Ultimately, the film is about friendship. I was pleasantly surprised by the devotion that Marco showed for Benigno. He had no qualms about declaring himself a friend even when it was apparent that Benigno committed an unthinkable act.

This film was one that stayed in the mind long after the closing credits. The few complaints I have with it are that Lydia's character seemed to conveniently disappear when the plot was through with her, thus making Marco's connection to her rather flimsy. Also to nit-pick, Rosario Flores is not the most attractive woman on screen and at times she looked more like a man than either male leads. (perhaps that is what Almodovar was after, because Javier Camara has the softest hands I've ever seen on a man.) But overall, it is a thought-provoking and intelligent film.

Having no difficulty whatsoever getting in touch with my inner child, I took a deep breath and dove underwater for Pixar's latest film. "Finding Nemo" is no mere cartoon. I don't think I could like any animated character better than I do those "Toy Story" costars, Woody and Buzz, (actually I like Woody and Buzz more than most "real" actors) but Marlin (the ever-neurotic Albert Brooks) and Dory (a hilarious Ellen DeGeneres) are a close second to those screen buddies. Pixar has outdone itself, creating a water world of such splendor that you forget it's drawn with a pen (or a computer). Halfway through the film, when Nemo is captured in the dentist's aquarium, and Marlin and Dorie are two small fish in the vast blue sea, I gasped at the impossibility of them ever seeing each other again. How in the world will they find Nemo? It's a marvel that director Andrew Stanton makes us care enough to help plot escape strategies. The menacing and misunderstood Bruce (named after Speilberg's mechanical fish?), played by Dame Edna, is just too funny, and Stanton himself also does a mean surfer dude as the voice of Crush the seaturtle. Willem Dafoe is sadly perfect as Gil and that underwater sea creature, the one that lives in the very deepest depths of the ocean looks like it's right out of the "Undersea World of Jacques Cousteau. Pixar certainly put to rest the argument "do fish feel?" Of course they do. And they have a pretty good sense of humor too. Don your water wings and fly to see this one.

M. Night Shyamalan seems like such a great guy. He had the guts to reject his parent's vocation and instead of going to medical school he decided to make movies. I was completely taken by surprise with "The Sixth Sense" and I loved "Unbreakable." I so wanted to love this movie. I wanted to have it pull me in and keep me in its clutches for 106 minutes. But there was something missing. I fear that Mr. Shyamalan had wanted to pay homage to Alfred Hitchcock and Steven Spielberg but just didn't have the goods.

There were a number of holes in the somewhat interesting plot. Mel Gibson, who was doing his best Bruce Willis impression, is an ex-priest and farmer, who doesn't seem to like farmwork. Was he a priest first and a farmer second? Or did he take up the cloth because farming was too dirty for him? Okay, never mind that. I'll accept it. He had corn.

He loses his faith when his wife is killed in an auto accident. I'm not a devout Catholic, but his faith must have been quite watered down for this to make him question his maker. If his wife were murdered or he lost a child, that would make for some real soul searching, but an auto accident should not shake the very foundation of a priest's devotion. But okay. I'll accept it. He lost his faith.

The real problem with the film was that the family's dilemma was too isolated from the rest of the world when it was meant to encapsulate what was occurring internationally. The television news coverage was insufficient to create the kind of panic, that the townspeople experienced in say "Jaws" or "The Birds." Therefore the danger level was never elevated. There was never a growing sense of doom. And the crop circles themselves were virtually dropped after the initial viewing. Not much was explained or examined except to say that they were possibly a navigational tool. We were then expected to believe that these alien creatures were so sophisticated as to create these intricate circles in cornfields around the world, but they can't open a locked pantry door.

I enjoyed Joaquin Phoenix, and both the children were refreshingly unselfconscious. There were some really nicely done, creepy scenes, one with a pet dog, and the alien was a shocking and interesting creation. The ending was satisfying and had the now trademark Night twist. But I must say that I had trouble with Mel Gibson. I didn't buy him as a priest and his low wattage performance bothered me. If they wanted Bruce Willis then why not hire Bruce Willis? For a big, strong farmer type, (he wore a flannel shirt and everything) Mel seemed awfully wimpy and weepy. And are we expected to believe that he didn't own a gun? Don't all farmers have guns?

Mr. Shyamalan is definitely someone to watch. I've loved his past work. It's great that he aims to please an audience rather than feed his vanity. This one is not up to par, but then again, maybe I've misread the signs.

I'm no Jedi warrior and I don't know the business end of a light saber, but I know a good movie when I see one. And as a self-proclaimed movie lover, I was unimpressed with the latest Lucasfest. Granted, he has his loyal followers, and Moonie-esque devotees, wearing the odd clothes, chanting and shaking their heads at us most unfortunate beings who just don't "get it." I've had my eyes glaze over more than once while someone explains the plot of "Attack of the Clones" to me with the enthusiasm of a five-year-old telling his first joke. After about 15 minutes, I have to make like Tommy Lee Jones in "The Fugitive" and say, "I don't care." It isn't the Warren Report, for chrissakes. You'd think they found the magic bullet.

Yes, it was better then "Phantom Menace." Yes, the special effects were awesome. But it didn't engage my sense of wonder, or even satisfy my sense of fun. It lumbered from one scene to the next, giving the audience exactly what they wanted, and nothing more. The actors were no more than plastic action figures that Lucas placed into position. If it weren't for the CG spaceships whizzing by in the background they all, with the exception of the great Christopher Lee, and at times Ewan McGregor, looked like they were acting in front of their bedroom mirrors. I had held out hope that Hayden Christensen would add something to the film that Jake Lloyd so annoyingly detracted. But his line readings along with the banal dialogue, were not much better than his pre-adolescent predecessor. The lovely Natalie Portman was passable but the dialogue was difficult to swallow. And the little amount of screen time devoted to Jar Jar Binks, was still too much. Admit it. He's a digital embarrassment.

There were some aspects of the movie that worked, however. The special effects were tremendous, and the "car" chase was extremely well done. The fight scenes were better than any video game. Christopher Lee had no problem with the ridiculous dialogue and his final scene with Yoda was a blast. I just wish the rest of the movie was as much fun as that little guy whooping ass.

Peter Parker is in the midst of adolescent angst when something strange happens. He turns into a spider. Instead of finding this fact worrisome, he sews himself a costume and starts to swing.

Tobey McGuire is about the only actor around who could pull off this high-wire act. He's got the right amount of boyish charm and childish enthusiasm. He looks just dorky enough in glasses and without them he looks like a 1950's All-American boy. His crush on M.J.(Kirsten Dunst) is palpable, even if Dunst lacks charisma, McGuire takes moondog to a new level.

The first half of this film is interesting as Peter discovers, and masters his powers. But what follows, with Spiderman battling The Green Goblin is stilted and uninspiring. Willam Defoe, a fine actor, was a bit too intense as Spiderman's arch nemesis. He needed to have a little less of a problem embracing his evil side. It would have made it a lot more fun, if he just let loose, and played it more for laughs. James Franco, so wonderful as James Dean, is positively enervated as Parker's wealthy friend. The special effects were cheesy and cartoonish, which suited the subject matter, but with each new film of this sort a certain amount of computer magic is expected. It was passable, but if you notice it, chances are that it isn't doing the job.

There were some funny moments as Peter enters a wrestling match, seemingly outmatched by Bone Saw McGraw (Randy Poffo). But it is J.K. Simmons as J. Jonah Jameson, the cigar-chomping editor, who steals every scene he's in. The words comic book implies humor, but more often than not there isn't much that is comical about these films. J. K. Simmons, shedding his Nazi persona from "Oz", looked like he was having a bit of fun. So did I.

Sometimes films are telescopes that focus on the distance. They show us someplace far away that one never imagined. However, often they are more like microscopes, focusing on the small things that make up a life. "In the Bedroom" is the latter, scrutinizing the pain of loss and the anger that cripples the soul. This film, by first time director and actor (Nick Nightingale in "Eyes Wide Shut) is beautifully done, with the lightest of touches, and an eye for the poetic. It centers on a Maine family whose young son Frank, (Nick Stahl) falls for a lovely and decidedly older woman Natalie, (Marisa Tomei). His parents Dr. Matt Fowler (Tom Wilkinson) and Ruth Fowler (Sissy Spacek) are not entirely happy about the union. Natalie has two, young sons and is not divorced from her violent husband Richard, (William Mapother). The plot, not so much predictable as inevitable shows Richard as menacing and his presence besets much tension and the expectation of violence. Once the inevitable and horrific event occurs, the family must then cope with the anger and unrelenting despair of continuing to live a life of loss.

Tom Wilkinson is superb as the gentle father who keeps his grief in check. The scene where he surveys his son's bedroom is heartbreaking but there is a simpler scene, where he is eating eggs with a friend, that cuts deeply into the black void of loss. As the friend makes idle small talk, Matt Fowler can barely keep up the pretense, finally asking for Tabasco sauce to smother his tasteless breakfast. Wilkinson is such a marvelous and steady actor that it doesn't feel like acting.

Sissy Spacek's Ruth is silent in her grief as well, but with her silence is an accusation that her husband is somehow to blame for their son's death. Spacek is a shoe-in for the Academy Award, for this performance. She is not as sympathetic a character as a grieving mother would be, and that is what makes this performance so intriguing. She is cold and judgmental, and she holds herself above her husband, implying that her grief is so much more painful. The argument that erupts between them is merciless and unflinching as Matt and Ruth blame each other for what happened. Matt finally saying "is it a grieving contest that you are after?" Spacek works wonders in a small scene where she is looking at the family photographs of a friend. The pain of looking at the photos, filled with smiling faces of children, is reflected in her weary eyes as she tries to smile and carry on with the inanities of life without her only child.

Todd Field has a wonderful eye. Perhaps as an actor, he seems able to hold back just enough. It was nice to see Marisa Tomei, after a long absence and an Academy Award for "My Cousin Vinnie", return to the screen in a nicely underplayed performance. Nick Stahl looked a bit too young, (he's supposed to be 21, but looks 15) but his performance was sweet and moving.

Matt's final act is something he does for Ruth. When he returns home, Matt crawls exhaustedly into bed but he will get no sleep. His eyes are open. His soul will find no rest. The film ends in the bedroom, where Matt must now live, not only with loss but guilt as well.

The monsters in this film are real. Rascism, hatred, poverty, execution. But at the heart of all that is ugly and destructive lies some decency. This film by Marc Forster, doesn't pull any punches, but somehow he allows us glimpses of the kindness that draws us together.

Hank (Billy Bob Thornton) is a man of strength and that strength comes from his rascist upbringing his belief in the rules at all costs. He is a corrections officer like his sick (in more ways than one) father (Peter Boyle). His son, (Heath Ledger)is carrying on the family tradition but his heart isn't in it. He is compassionate and caring, and his father's lessons in manhood are too much for him. The weight of the misery in this film is palpable.

Leticia (Halle Berry) is an executioner's widow and by the time she meets Hank she is just about out of rope. When her son is hit by a car, Hank comes to her aid and theirs is a relationship born out of despair and hopelessness. Their desires are in check until one night when they find themselves alone and a bit drunk. Their animal instincts take over in a scene that is rather unpleasant to watch but displays their desperation all too clearly.

Billy Bob Thornton is superb here. His treatment of his own son levels so much disdain for him that his redemption seems impossibly difficult. But Thornton pulls it off, and by the end of the film, we are able to see the man he should have been, if his diseased father hadn't poisoned him. Halle Berry is without makeup and pretense here and she is stunning. She is completely unaware of her beauty, although it is hard to disguise. Her poignant portrayal of a woman who loses everything, and ironically finds something else because of the losses, is wonderfully done.

If I had one complaint it would be that there was perhaps one too many sad coincidences in the film. It was a bit hard to swallow, but that aside, the acting was first rate, and the subtleties of the performances and the writing make this a riveting and lasting film. One more thing - Peter Boyle is so chillingly despicable that I feel that I should apologize to him for wanting him to die. The line between actor and character are blurred and it was hard to appreciate a terrific performance through the disgust.

The opening sequence of "Amores Perros" instantly hurls you into the adrenaline rush of violence and chaos. Ordinarily, a chase scene comes in the last third of a film, but here it initiates the viewer to the unexpected and uncontrollable world we are about to enter. Octavio, (Gael Garcia Bernal) drives fast and recklessly as Cofi, his dog, lies bleeding in the backseat. Where he is going? We don't know. Who is chasing him? We don't know. After the tremendous impact at the conclusion of the scene, the director, Alejandro Inarritu, takes us back in time to the lives of a poor Mexican family getting by on armed robbery and dog fighting. But this film is not content with telling only one story. Inarritu weaves three main stories all connected by a collision at an intersection. The collision will be replayed again and again, each time showing it's effect on another character in the film. The intersection becomes the place where all disconnected lives converge and change irrevocably.

All of the characters own dogs. The dogs are companions, and bread winners. The fight scenes are so gruesome that I had to be reassured at the end that no animals were harmed in the making of this film. Most of the dogs are an outward extension of the hot-blooded volatility exhibited by the men in the film. There are other dogs too, gentle and peripatetic. Unfortunately, the dogs themselves never become characters in the film. Except for Cofi, the other dogs in the film are pretty much indistinguishable. The dogs are integral to the lives of the characters but the emotional connection to them is implied and not explored. The tramp, El Chivo, (Emilio Echevarria) has a pack of mongrels that nip at his tattered heels. Their somewhat predictable fate is lessened because we can't tell one from the other, or exactly how many there are. However, El Chivo is obviously devoted to them and what happens apparently has a cathartic effect on him. His story is long in telling, and he is complex and unsavory. He is a hit man, killing businessmen in a newly emerging capitalist society, who also stalks his long lost daughter. He takes one last job, and the Cain and Abel twist is gleefully ironic. But El Chivo, as interesting as he is, remains remote. If the scene where he invades his daughter's home and leaves a heartfelt message on her answering machine is to be effective, we should see him as something other than a brute. Yes, he loved his dogs, but that in and of itself doesn't make him likeable.

Valerie is a beauty and a model, selling perfume on billboards all over town. Her lover has left his wife and two daughters to take up residence with her in a newly acquired apartment with one huge flaw in the floorboards. When her life is shattered by the collision and her beauty is in question her life falls apart, and her lover gradually comes to see the foolishness of his haste to throw away his family. The fate of furry little Richie is ingenius and mirrors the entrapment Valerie feels after her accident.

Alejandro Inarritu has made a film that has many lasting images and compelling insights. I wish I could have connected to it on less a visceral and more an emotional level. But it certainly made for a fascinating 153 minutes.

Having never seen the original "Ocean's Eleven" and considering myself lucky, I was a bit skeptical when I heard that Soderbergh was remaking this Rat Pack hack. But Soderbergh breathes life into the heist movie genre and creates a complex and enjoyable tour de force. Since there are at least eleven characters that need to be introduced, each character is given his mini-moment scene to steal. Elliot Gould is a hoot as Ruben Tischkoff and his shameless hairiness is almost as difficult to watch as a Rupert Pupkin film festival. George Clooney's Danny Ocean is slick, smart and a little dangerous, a part he can play blindfolded, let's face it. But he can still command the screen and there aren't too many actors that can do that these days. Brad Pitt is a pretty boy, no doubt about that. But he gives a cool (if not fattening - eating in every scene.) performance. Don Cheadle, as Roscoe Means, covers his privates as he detonates a transformer that blows the lights in Vegas. Whether or not that was a bit of actorly improvisation or it was written into the script, doesn't matter much. It was a stroke of genius. Matt Damon, looking rather Ripleyesque, holds his own with these Soderbergh regulars. Bernie Mack shows a good deal of range for a stand-up comic. Casey Affleck (brother of Ben) and Scott Caan (son of James) are dumb and dumber as brothers who drive the truck, kind of. The one weakness in this frat pack flick was Julia Roberts. Unfortunately, there was not much chemistry between her and Clooney. Just watch "Out of Sight" if you want a movie definition of "chemistry." The sparks between J-Lo and Clooney fly off the screen. But for all their off-screen comraderie, (in endless interviews) Roberts and Clooney seemed more like siblings than ex-lovers.

Soderbergh, behind the camera as well as directing, has developed a signature look to his films. His humor and his sensibility make an interesting combination. The scene with "That Seventies Show" Topher Grace and "Dawson's Creek's" Joshua Jackson playing with the big boys is wonderfully loopy. "Ocean's Eleven" is one remake that makes the original pale by comparison.

Jeff Goldblum is known for his quirky characters and his off kilter delivery. Once again his quirkiness works in this small gem of a movie. Having no expectations, I was pleasantly surprised by this tale of mistaken identity and rebirth. Jeff Goldblum plays John Nolan, an insurance executive in Armani suits and a rather nice car. His life seems to be idyllic, if not a bit stalled, when a bottle of wine and a bullet change everything. Nolan finds himself drawn to the life and death of a store clerk until he slowly begins to assume the man's life. Why would a successful business man want to step into the shoes of an ex-con? Goldblum's performance makes this life change subltly understandable. Anne Heche, craziness aside, has always been a fine actress and she is great here as the ex-con's pen pal. Sweet and naive she believes in this man and her capriciousness is contagious. She leaves her small town life to live with a man she's never met, but he's not the man she thinks he is. Check this one out for yourself.

Ed Crane was there all right. He was in every shot, practically every single frame of "The Man Who Wasn't There." Anchoring every scene, Ed was the compass that the other characters maneuvered around without knowing that he was silently, and unwittingly manipulating their lives. Ed, played with boxed energy, by Billy Bob Thornton is the guy you never notice, at the bank, at the park, at the corner barbershop. Ed doesn't say much, but still waters run as deep as his nicotine habit. His partner, Frank (Michael Badalucco) is as chatty as Ed is tight-lipped. His non-stop banter (like the two old ladies who sat behind me in the theatre) assaulted every silence with good-natured and insufferable banalities. Doris Crane, played pitch perfect by Frances McDormand, is sass and brains, but she too, becomes the accidental victim of Ed's not so brilliant plan. James Gandolfini is able to rid himself of Tony Soprano's mantle as Big Dave, the meaty, menacing, and not as bright as he thinks he is, boss of Doris Crane. Jon Polito is so wonderfully sleazy as the toupee wearing, dirty dry-cleaning entrepreneur, Creighton Tolliver, (don't you just love it?) that you expect his business card to have fingerprints all over it. And Tony Shalhoub as Freddy Riedenschneider, who refers to himself in the third person, is hilarious as a fastidious, self-serving, fast-talking attorney.

The Coen brothers love movies. They love to make them, they love to watch them, and the love is contagious. There are some brilliantly staged scenes in The Man Who Wasn't There, all shadows and smoke, and the noirish atmosphere is heavy with the inertia of a man that everyone takes for granted. As the world moves on quickly in one direction Ed travels slowly against the current. Billy Bob Thornton is the picture of actorly restraint as the ordinary guy that becomes tangled in a spider's web of his own creation. The $10,000 Ed asks as a blackmail sum is so meager, even by 1940 standards, that it's as if to say that it isn't about the money. It's about the fun of the chase. And that could be the Coen Brother's motto.

In "The Deep End" Tilda Swinton's maternal instincts may not be of the average variety, but she makes us believe that they are well within the character's realm. Not all mothers would work so arduously and secretly to protect her child. Margaret Hall, despite her plain looks and stereotypical lifestyle, is not common. She does what few women would find the courage to do when faced with the possibility of her son's wrong doing. She covers it up and then sets about plugging the dams that her deception has created. She is at once inexplicable and endearing. Folding laundry while trying to come up with the blackmailer's money, not confronting her son about his deed, it all seems a bit strange. But Margaret Hall is not given to hysteria. She has lived without a man, and knows how to keep her head. Margaret is an extraordinary woman and Tilda Swinton wraps her in an ordinary guise to throw us off.

The film is not about blackmail or murder, it's about the tenuous relationship between mother and child, and the need for delicacy in the face of corruption. Alec Sparrow, the enforcer, is struck by Margaret's strength and the family that is at the center of her courage. He wanders around her empty home, noting the simpliciites of a family that he intends to destroy. That lovely scene, in all its nuances, shows Alec to be more than he appears and his altruism is all the more poignant in it's recklessness.

This film is not a run of the mill blackmail movie. Nor is it, as has been said, a "Movie of the Week." The superb acting and fine direction elevates it above the rest. In a summer of by the numbers films, this one surprises with its intensity.