À ma Soeur


As you might gather from the low star rating, I really hated this film. It made me angry, but not good-angry, like if it had made me think and question my reaction, but plain bad-angry at wasting 83 minutes of my life watching a lazy, misguided pseudo-art film. “À ma soeur” (or “Fat Girl”, as it’s insultingly titled in the US) is the latest from Catherine Breillat, whose big thing is to rock snobbish intellectual circles by making so-called feminist movies depicting graphic but cold and impersonal sex acts. The best example of her close-minded vision is a scene in the overrated “Romance” in which a woman is stuck through a wall, with only her legs and private parts on one side, where dirty men rudely screw her or jerk off on her. I found it insulting as a man, and I can’t see how a woman wouldn’t feel the same way. Sure, some men are lowly dogs, but it’s paranoia to put them all in the same league.

Okay, so about this new chapter in Breillat’s long “women are victims” craptacular saga. You’ve got these two French sisters whose parents have brought on a holiday to Italy. Anaïs (Anaïs Redoux) is 12, a bit chubby (I wouldn’t call her fat) and rather conflicted and self-conscious, thanks to her sister’s relentless taunts. Elena (Roxane Mesquida) is 15 and pretty but naïve and often bitchy. Both girls are intrigued by sex, but not in a giggly schoolgirl way ; this is a Breillat pic after all, so they’re already weird and bitter about sex, even though they never did it. They just wanna get rid of their virginity, like it’s a chore. Or so they say? For when Elena hooks up with twenty-something Roman dude Fernando (Libero de Rienzo), she falls back into clueless, love-blinded girly patterns, believing all his obvious bullshit which is only meant to get her in bed, in which he succeeds. And then… Well, not much really happens in the film. The sisters yell at each other a lot, but sometimes they’re friendly. Elena falls more and more for Fernando, giving him access to one orifice after another. And then… Well, more on that later.

Right away, I have to stress how mediocre a film this is. Maybe the premise has the potential to be developed into an unflinching look at teenage girls’ sexuality, but the way writer-director Breillat goes at it, apparently girls have as much fun getting laid as when they’re vomiting. Breillat obviously feels contempt for the male characters, from Fernando as the insincere, lying dick, to the unavailable, grumpy workaholic father. But even the females are portrayed in a bad light. The mother is an impulsive, bitter woman who yells and slaps her kids, Elena is dumb, illogical, slutty and cruel to her sister, and Anaïs is this pathetic “fat” girl who’s always stuffing her face, making out with inanimate objects or singing some whiny ditty which spells out her despair and has her imploring crows to devour her aching heart. Oh, brother.

All this is shown through long, boring scenes of no cinematic or thematic interest, such as a more than 10 minute long sequence in which all we see is highway driving. I’m not kidding, Breillat just shoots the family car passing by other cars and countless trucks, for minutes on end. Oh, the girls are sobbing in their seats, and they say a few words, but it’s still endlessly dull. And then comes the oh-so-shocking ending, which I found retarded and despicable. ***SPOILER AHEAD*** In an even more extreme strain of paranoid nonsense, a big bad wolf of a guy kills both the mother and the older sister and rapes the 12 year old in the woods. It’s depicted almost exactly like the earlier consensual sex scenes because, wouldn’t you know it, all sex is rape and all men are predators, right? =sigh= ***END OF SPOILER***

Don’t encourage Breillat by watching her self-indulgent, utterly unenjoyable and shallow little exposé, and don’t get fooled by the controversy which surrounds it into thinking this is a daring film. Naked teenagers or not, this is still the work of a feminist reactionary without any notable filmmaking skills.

Ocean’s Eleven


How cool is George Clooney? From the first five minutes of “From Dusk Till Dawn”, I knew he would become a huge movie star eventually. Alright, “Batman & Robin” was lackluster, and he’s made a few other ho-hum movies, but lately he’s been on a roll, working with the likes of David O’ Russell, the Coen brothers and, of course, Steven Soderbergh, for whom he first starred in “Out of Sight”. With “Ocean’s 11”, Clooney reaffirms his position as one of the most charismatic leading men of his generation. This is a remake (or re-imagining, to use the current buzz word) of the 1960 cult flick starring the Rat Pack. I haven’t seen the original, but from what I hear it’s not that good, save for the fun of watching Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, Sammy Davis Jr. and others having a good time knocking casinos.

Clooney plays Danny Ocean, a recently paroled con artist who starts planning a new scheme the minute he’s out of the big house. His latest idea for a score is ambitious, if not insane: to rob three Las Vegas casinos during a Lennox Lewis prize fight and walk away with more than 150 million big bucks. To even attempt such a feat, Ocean needs to gather a large team of pros, starting with his old card shark buddy Rusty Ryan (Brad Pitt). Then there’s British bomber Roscoe Means (Don Cheadle), pickpocket Linus Caldwell (Matt Damon), master of impersonation Saul Bloom (Carl Reiner), drivers Virgil (Casey Affleck) and Turk Maloy (Scott Caan), as well as an electronic surveillance specialist (Edward Jemison), a casino owner with deep pockets and crooked leanings (Elliot Gould), a blackjack dealer (Bernie Mac) and an Asian acrobat (Shaobo Qin)! Nothing like this has ever been done, but with all these guys working in synch, they might have a shot. Meanwhile, Ocean’s got an even bigger goal: to steal from casino owner Harry Benedict (Andy Garcia) not only his money but his girlfriend Tess (Julia Roberts), who just happens to be Danny’s ex-wife!

Now, that’s what I call a movie! This isn’t the deepest, most groundbreaking, most emotionally affecting flick there is. This isn’t by any mean an “important” film. Heck, it doesn’t even try to be. What this is is slick. S-L-I-C-K. Overall and down to the smallest detail, “Ocean’s 11” is mainstream Hollywood moviemaking at its slick best. What makes it so enjoyable? It’s the to-the-point, engrossing script from Ted Griffin, packed with wit, surprises and dialogue where every other line is quotable. It’s Steven Soderbergh, still at the top of his game after his “Erin Brockovich”/”Traffic” double-threat at the last Academy Awards (which had him winning AND losing the Best Director Oscar!), making a film both masterfully conducted and effortless looking. It’s Soderbergh also acting as his own cinematographer (under the name Peter Andrews), shooting a great looking film in real Vegas locations. It’s a David Holmes score which grooves and boogies tirelessly.

Last but not least, it’s a cast to die for in which everyone shines, notably George Clooney, of course, all rogue manliness and charm; Brad Pitt, looking great but not relying on it, delivering instead a nicely natural and not self-conscious Method-type performance, all munching and mannerisms; Don Cheadle, entertaining as always, getting good mileage out of British lingo; Scott Caan and Casey Affleck as amusingly dopey brothers, always arguing and bickering; Carl Reiner with his time-honed comic timing and an impressive ease at sliding into a character-into-a-character of an Eastern European high roller. As for newcomer (!) Julia Roberts, her part is small but her few scenes with Clooney are a treat. I love the way they play off each other, and there’s nearly tangible sexual tension between them. And then there’s Andy Garcia who, surprisingly, turns in the film’s most striking performance. His Benedict is riveting, “like a machine”, all precise, unflinching, purely rational, and utterly threatening.

Some lament that Soderbergh is supposedly lowering himself by doing such an inconsequential heist flick, but what the naysayers fail to notice is that he is not just going through the motions. Most of the scenes in “Ocean’s 11” have familiar outlines, sure, but they’re all given an extra twist, touches of quirkiness which keep the movie unpredictable. It’s things like a montage of past attempts at casino theft with time period clichés like (for a mid-80s robbery, having the criminal wearing a “Miami Vice”-style white on pastel suit, with “Take My Breath Away” on the soundtrack), or Pitt and Clooney’s characters crashing a Young Hollywood poker party between “That 70s Show”‘s Topher Grace, “7th Heaven”‘s Barry Watson, “Charmed”‘s Holly Marie Combs and “Dawson’s Creek”‘s Joshua Jackson!

Oh, and the whole remake thing? I think it’s just a starting point, as the movie mostly feels like an unofficial sequel to “Out of Sight”. Like that previous Soderbergh-Clooney genre pic, “Ocean’s 11” will keep you in a state of grinning glee for its entire length.

The Nightmare Before Christmas


There is a place where different worlds intersect, worlds which revolve solely around the preparation of each major holiday, from Easter to Thanksgiving. Our antihero, Jack Skellington, leads the administration of scares of Halloween Town. It’s understood that the thin, skull-headed ghoul is the best at what he does, but he’s getting bored with it. Screams and darkness can take a toll on a guy, and he longs for something else, something more. One night, his wish is answered as he stumbles upon Christmas Town, which seems to be the opposite of what he’s come to dread: it’s colorful, it’s cheerful. It’s jolly merry good fun! Thus Jack decides to take over that so much more stimulating celebration, even though he and his Halloween friends don’t quite grasp its concept.

Ohmigod. This is AMAZING! Okay, so I’m late on this, but I only “really” watched it for the first time yesterday, between 2 and 4 in the morning (which was a perfectly odd time to do so). I had seen the film around the time it was released, but being only 14 or something at the time, I didn’t quite get it. I found it mostly odd, with too many songs. While, some 7 years later, I still find this to be one mightily bizarre creation, I’m now strongly enamoured of said quirkiness. And the songs. Damn, the music hardly ever stops in the film, but it’s all for the better! Through the years, I’ve grown into a big enthusiast of Danny Elfman’s work, which spans from the bulk of Tim Burton and Sam Raimi’s filmographies to the Simpsons theme and the scores of “Men In Black” and “Good Will Hunting”. “The Nightmare Before Christmas” has got to be his crowning achievement, as it boasts not only plenty of his signature creepy, moody music but also bonafide catchy tunes, many of them sung by Elfman himself singing as Jack Skellington (otherwise voiced by Chris Sarandon).

It’s just song after song after song, and there’s hardly a dud among them. Being an animated film (stop-motion actually), some might dismiss it as “for kids”, but it doesn’t take long to see that this is a rather dark, complex film with little patience for family movie platitudes. The musical numbers have less in common with those of Disney cartoons than with the cult tunes from “The Rocky Horror Picture Show”, with which “Nightmare” shares an affinity for blending spookiness with offbeat humour. The film is adapted from characters and ideas from the wild imagination of Tim Burton, which were turned into a screenplay by Caroline Thompson (with whom Burton also wrote the wonderful “Edward Scissorhands”) and finally brought to life by director Henry Selick and a top team of designers, stop-motion animators and visual effects artists. There isn’t much of a story; besides how Skellington plans and executes his misguided take on Xmas, there’s a thin subplot about how a Bride of Frankeinstein-type girl falls for and tries to help Jack, as well as villains in the form of a wheelchair-bound scientist with direct access to his brains and the disgusting but festive Oogie Boogie Man, but most of it is inconsequential.

Yet that hardly matters, because the film delivers such a relentless flow of visual and musical wonders. The animation, set design and cinematography are endlessly fascinating, and you will still be have the songs stuck in your head for days! “The Nightmare before Christmas” is one addictive picture which you won’t be able to help but watch again and again, just to take in some more of its delightful eccentricities.

The Deep End


So you’ve got Margaret Hall (Tilda Swinton), a soccer mom from Lake Tahoe whose husband is always out to sea with the Navy, leaving her alone and bored doing chores at home and driving her three kids back and forth to this and that. Danger is brought into her routine when her closeted teenage son (Jonathan Tucker) is followed home by his 30 year old male lover who, after a rocky confrontation, ends up dead on the beach by the family house. Margaret doesn’t want her son to have his life ruined, so she takes the corpse to the other end of the lake and tries to clean away all evidence. Unfortunately, there’s a mysterious stranger (Goran Visnjic) who knows the truth, and he threatens to go to the cops if he’s not given fifty. thousand. dollars.

I’m not sure what’s worse about “The Deep End”: how unconvincing its plot is or how achingly dull it is? The basic elements like murder, cover-up and blackmail have the potential to make for an Hitchcockian thriller, but the bad writing by Scott McGehee and David Siegel (who also produces and directs) kills any possible suspense in the egg and replaces it by contrived twists. Right off the bat, we can’t understand why the mother does what she does, why she doesn’t just go to the cops; it’s made clear early on that this wasn’t premeditated murder, even though manipulative editing withdraws information from us until the end for an unsurprising revelation. This made me think of the “South Park” episode in which Stan’s mom thinks he’s killed a bunch of people and she goes psycho, burying corpses all over her backyard and chaining up nosy cops in her basement. “The Deep End” takes a somehow more realistic approach, but I’m not sure this is for the better, as the film is awfully pedestrian. Watching a mom making credit demands and pawning her jewelry is hardly exciting, and neither is her driving her kids to school or having her Jeep stall on her.

The film is competently directed, but without heart, wit nor style. Giles Nuttgens’ cinematography might have won an award at Sundance, and he does make Lake Tahoe look gorgeous, but in the context of the film, it just slows things down even worse. Pretty scenery does not a good movie make, and the way McGehee and Siegel spend every other scene getting off on shooting in and around water (the lake, pools, fish tanks) gets mighty tedious. All right, we get it, “the deep end”, drowning into more and more trouble, enough already! It would help if something interesting actually happened in the story. As it is, all we’ve got is a chick driving around and making phone calls. Yawn. The filmmakers do try to play the gay card, but only in a half-assed fashion. It’s like they just want to make things grittier; it could have been a girlfriend of the son who was killed and it wouldn’t affect the remainder of the film.

And then there’s Alek, the blackmailer played by Goran Visnjic. Where do I start? I’m guessing this is what drives the film into what the press materials call a “new and provocative landscape”. For you see, he who starts off as the villain at some point walks in on his prey as she’s standing over her father, who’s heart has stopped, and Mr. Big Time Blackmailer gives the old man CPR and saves his life. Then, gradually, he softens up for Margaret, and he doesn’t wanna force her to get the money anymore. But his boss thinks otherwise, and he’s much less accommodating than Alek. I won’t spoil more of the cheap twists that follow, but if you decide to submit yourself to this lousy flick anyway, prepare to roll your eyes and scratch your head over the anticlimactic, ill-thought final events of the film. “Oh, don’t go Mr. Blackmailer, sniff sniff, wait for me.” Even Tilda Swinton, whose intense performance is the only high point of this thrill-less thriller, can’t salvage “The Deep End” from being nothing more than a bargain bin “women-in-peril” pulp novel.

Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone


I don’t think I’ve ever witnessed such frenzy for a series of books. Kids who hate reading are devouring these, as are their parents, who enjoy them as much. And then there’s even tons of people my age who’ve shed their young adult cynicism and cool and allowed themselves to get lost in J.K. Rowling‘s writing. It actually took me forever to get around to reading “Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone”. So many people were hammering me about it (“Oh you HAVE to read this!”) that I was sick of it before I even cracked it open. Plus, I didn’t get why grown-ups were reading these kiddie books. What interest would I have in the adventures of a little brat on a broomstick? Still, I eventually gave in last month and read the first Potter book. What can I say: Harry Potter is one heck of an enjoyable read. It’s not “Catcher in the Rye” or anything, but you do get hooked on it. Rowling knows just how to involve you and it’s easy to identify with the characters, have fun with them and get caught up in the suspense. Then there’s the way magic is almost an aside. This is really a nice book about this little geek who arrives in a new school, makes some friends, studies for exams, confronts bullies, gets on a sport team… Except that the story also involves magic wands, messenger owls, flying broomsticks, centaurs, a troll and a baby dragon!

Many felt Steven Spielberg would have been perfect for bringing the world of Hogwarts to life, but the movie ended up being directed by Chris Columbus. Ok, so he’s no Spielberg, but he does know how to direct kids (ain’t Macaulay Culkin priceless in “Home Alone”?). And I have to say, though I wasn’t as impressed by the film as some others who can’t wait for seconds, Columbus has done a very good job, if only at putting into images Rowling’s vision without sugar coating it or making it crass. This is a classy, imaginative kiddie flick.

I won’t spend too much time on a synopsis, as you probably know all about Harry Potter already. So he’s this legendary young dude whose parents are murdered by the evil Voldermort, who tries to kill the then infant too but, mysteriously, he’s the one who is nearly annihilated. Harry is marked with a lightning-shaped scar on his forehead but lives on, unaware of his history, in the care of his Muggle (non-wizard) uncle and aunt Dursley, who are contemptuous of magic in general and of him in particular. Then one day, on his 11th birthday, a jolly giant named Hagrid (Robbie Coltrane) takes him away to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, where he’ll discover that he has amazing hidden skills…

In the book, this takes a fairly long time, but the movie wisely rushes to get to Hogwarts, avoiding to spend too much time with the obnoxious Dursleys. In any case, things only really get interesting at Hogwarts. The film has some problems, as I’ll get into later, but I have to give it to Chris Columbus: his crew and him have crafted a rich, visually overwhelming world. From the liveliness of Diagon Alley to the train station’s Platform 3/4 to the tall halls of the Hogwarts castle to the scary, fantastic Dark Forest, “Philosopher’s Stone” presents us with many intriguing locations, which are filled with all these quirky details like Goblin bankers, floating candles, and paintings with lives of their own. Columbus must also be applauded for the solid, natural performances he got from his young leads. Daniel Radcliffe conveys an irresistible wide-eyed, naive enthusiasm as Harry, who he portrays just like we imagined him. Redhead Rupert Grint has a smirky charm of his own as the wisecracking Ron Weasley, and Emma Watson is a treat as Hermione, their know-it-all classmate.

So the film is well directed enough, but I was a bit disappointed by the screenplay by Steven Kloves, who had previously adapted Michael Chabon’s “Wonder Boys” into the best movie of last year. There’s no clear plot, which makes for a film that just meanders from set piece to set piece with little sense of purpose. This approach worked better on the page, because books are fitted to chapter-by-chapter storytelling, as you read them little by little, but with movies, you expect a smoother flow. Here, it’s like Kloves tried to include everything from the source material, but obviously he couldn’t put everything on screen unless he was to make a 6-hour movie. Hence, a lot of time is wasted on introducing elements only to then shove them aside, which can be frustrating.

Eventually, the film does get into its main dramatic arc, Harry’s long overdue rematch with Voldemort. Through the film, everything made it clear that it was Professor Snape (played with devilish glee by Alan Rickman), but **** SPOILER **** in the end they pull a bait-and-switch on us and try to tell us that ah! ha!, the bad guy is really the stuttering Professor Quirrell, who we’ve seen maybe two minutes previously. I thought this was a cheap trick in the book, and it comes off even worse in the film, as does the trite, forced happy ending. All of the sudden, the film is dragged down by exposition on top of exposition on top of exposition, as Quirell and Harry and Dumbledore (the wise old headmaster played by Richard Harris) try to talk any and all fun out of the movie. Fortunately, this is followed by a nicely touching goodbye scene between Harry and Hagrid, so the film ends on a good note. **** END OF SPOILER ****

Don’t think I’m panning the film. I just have to set things straight – despite what some critics have proclaimed, it doesn’t hold up to classics like “The Wizard of Oz”, “Star Wars” or “E.T.”. But that doesn’t mean that there isn’t plenty to enjoy, from the fun interaction between the kids to such special FX thrills as confrontations with a troll and a three-headed dog to a deadly game of wizard’s chess and, of course, Quidditch, a kind of flying broomstick basketball. I don’t quite get how it’s played or, more precisely, why the players bother with all the passing, aiming, blocking and scoring when the only thing that can get them victory is catching the stupid “snitch”, but it does make for an exciting sequence on a purely sensory level. Overall, “Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone” is a well crafted blockbuster for the whole family, but it’s nowhere near as extraordinary as the hype surrounding it.

Startup.Com


From filmmaking team Chris Hegedus and D.A. Pennebaker (“The War Room”) and newcomer Jehane Noujaim comes this very timely documentary on the rise and fall of dot-coms. It follows high school buddies Kaleil Isaza Tuzman and Tom Herman has they cook an idea for a website acting as a portal between local government and citizens. You want to renew a permit, or to pay a parking ticket? Why waste a whole day running around municipal facilities when you can do it from home, sitting in front of your computer in your underwear? It’s a good idea, and while the two partners don’t have experience and expertise, they make up for it in ambition and enthusiasm and soon enough, millions of dollars are raised and govWorks.com is born.

Unfortunately, all too often, what goes up must fall down. CEO Tuzman gradually realises that business is harsh. Yes, they’re making money and he’s making the rounds, being featured in national magazines and TV shows and even meeting with President Clinton, but they can’t rest on their success. The company must keep up with technology which evolves daily, fierce competitors and the instability of the stock market. More so, Kaleil finds himself growing apart from his girlfriend, from his friend Tom and from his old ideals. I don’t know how directors Noujaim and Hegedus managed to always be there to record crucial conversations and happenings, but that applies to documentaries in general. How can people allow to be followed by cameras spying on their personal struggles and confidential business dealings ? Well, in any case, this makes for a very compelling watch, as
the real-life drama is more unpredictable than most fiction.

Technically, “Startup.com” is a well crafted, well paced documentary with a nice balance of business and the personal, as it focuses as much as the creation and maintaining of govWorks.com as on the intimate lives of the people behind it. What got me the most, I think, is Kaleil. He’s a wonderfully complex and interesting character, which is odd to say since he’s a real person but still, he just has that special something on screen that involves you with what he’s going through. There’s a sense of a kid trying to act like a grown-up and actually achieving to project real leadership, but remaining somehow naïve nevertheless. You also feel for Tom, who seems to be even more in way over his head. He eventually does crack, and the particulars of his outing are wrenching.

“Startup.com” is out on home video and DVD from Artisan Entertainment, it’s well worth checking out.

Sexy Beast


Spain’s hot. Too hot. But not for Gal Dove (Ray Winstone), who loves nothing better than to lie by his pool, in the back of gorgeous hacienda out in the sticks, letting the sun almost literally bake him like a turkey. Yeah, this is the life, living off his past accomplishments in glorious retirement with a beautiful wife (Amanda Redman) he loves. But happiness won’t be ever lasting for the couple, as Gal’s shady past comes back to haunt him in the form of Don Logan (Ben Kingsley), a seemingly psychotic gangster he used to work with occasionally before he retired. Ray tries to tell Don just that, to little avail. Logan is here to offer him to go back to London and take part in an ambitious heist. Retirement, schmetirement. Don wants Gal on the job, and that’s that. No? Yes. No, Gal can’t. Yes he can. No he can’t. YES HE CAN! Cause Don frickin’ said so!

Tee hee. “Sexy Beast” is a movie hard to pin down, but whatever your grasp of it is, you can’t help but be sneakily amused by it. It’s a movie all about style and attitude. There’s a plot, but barely. The film lasts less than 90 minutes, and it’s perfect like that. It quickly establishes Ray’s pleasant, sun-drenched life, then shadows it with a sense of nameless dread. Said dread soon gets a name in Don Logan’s, a name which casts a general feeling of uneasiness as soon as it is spoken by Jackie (Julianne White), the wife of one of Gal and his wife DeeDee’s friends. And when Don arrives in Spain, all their bad feelings are confirmed. Don will not leave them alone until he gets what he wants, and he’ll spend at least half the movie harassing Gal into accepting to do one last job. This sounds redundant and dull, but it’s actually endlessly riveting, and the reason for that is Ben Kingsley. Truly, you do not wanna deprive yourself of seeing Kingsley in “Sexy Beast”, especially if you still think of him mostly as the actor who won an actor for playing Gandhi. Don Logan is a whole different ballpark, one badass, tough as nails, foul-mouthed ballpark! This is quite possibly the most intense and memorable performance I’ve seen all year.

“Sexy Beast” is the feature film debut of commercial and music video director Jonathan Glazer. Sometimes this spells trouble, as filmmakers skilled at crafting short pieces strain to make a whole movie as consistent, or they’ll rely on bells and whistles too much and make a pretty but empty picture. Glazer’s film is indeed pure style to a degree, playing on sort of the same turf as Guy Ritchie’s flicks, which also put a Cockney spin on the post-Tarantino gangster flick genre. Except that instead of multiplying characters, overcomplicating things story-wise and staging forced bits of black humor, the Louis Mellis and David Scinto screenplay Glazer’s working from sticks to a few basic ideas which are nicely developed into an exciting, witty modern noir tale. And while the events that occur through the film aren’t all that numerous, they have much weight to them. Logan isn’t just any thug coming for Ray. They have a history of bad blood together, a history which also involves Jackie, for whom Don had/has confused feelings that only make things more awkward. A lot more is implied than is spoken aloud, but that’s part of what makes the film interesting, how it plays in nuances.

Then again, this unwillingness to spell everything out for the audience and the often very thick accents of the cast can make the film difficult to comprehend by moments, and some things are left unanswered, like what’s the implications of all the bunnies pointed or being pointed at by guns, what’s the deal with Gal’s pool boy or even the meaning of the title. Yet even if you find yourself scratching you head, you can always content yourself with enjoying the savvy with which the film is crafted. The cinematography and editing are very dynamic and the powerful visuals are matched by a very effective, beat-heavy score. “Sexy Beast” is not without flaws, but it has a sustained edge in and around Ben Kingsley’s Don Logan that you won’t forget anytime soon.

Shallow Hal


When Hal (Jack Black) was 9, his beloved father died but before he passed away, the old man had time to make his boy promise him one last thing: to not settle for average, and only pursue “hot young tail”. Now all grown up, Hal does just that, judging women solely by their looks and treating them as sex objects. Then one day, he has another influential conversation, this time with TV self-help guru Anthony Robbins (playing himself), who hypnotises him so he’ll only see women’s inner beauty. Thus here he goes flirting with girls he wouldn’t even have had a second thought for before, to the great dismay of his best buddy in bigotry, Mauricio (Jason Alexander). More so, Hal falls in love with fun-loving Rosemary (Gwyneth Paltrow), aware only of what a great personality and a big heart she has. How will he feel when he realises that’s she actually weighs 300 pounds?

I did not want to see this movie. The trailer was horrible. It made the film look like a beyond mediocre comedy, with a premise that seemed not only silly but offensive. Guy is “cursed” into finding fat women hot. Oh, so we get to laugh at all the fatties and how ridiculous it would be to actually love one because, gasp, she’s a good person. And Gwyneth Paltrow in a fat suit? *sigh* Not only did I not laugh once during the trailer, I found some of the jokes so lame that I wanted to avoid seeing the movie just to not have to watch them again. Fat Gwyneth jumps in pool, big splash, little kid is thrown into a tree. *long sigh* Okay, so I ended up seeing the movie anyways. Why, you ask ? Well, first there’s the fact that it’s directed by the Farrelly brothers, whose every film from “Dumb & Dumber” to “Me, Myself & Irene” has made me laugh hard and often. I figured that there had to be some funnies in their latest. And then there’s Jack Black.

Who? JB! Wonderboy! I’m in awe of this guy. I’ve discovered him only last year in “High Fidelity”, in which he stole every scene. Then I saw him in “Saving Silverman” a comedy which, while uneven, had its share of guffaws, many of them thanks to JB. What really made Black a god in my book though is my discovery of his band, Tenacious D. The idea of two overweight, average looking dudes with acoustic guitars proclaiming themselves the greatest band on earth is amusing, but as funny as their CD and their live gigs can be, what’s really surprising is how hard they really rock! When he’s on, Black has the presence of a Jim Morrison, no kidding, you can’t take your eyes off him! And that, my loyal readers, is why I paid good money to see a movie which I wasn’t interested in seeing at all.

Now here’s the funny thing: the movie was surprisingly good. I’m even tempted to say great, but I’ll need another watching or two to confirm my initial reaction. The fatty jokes from the trailer? Barely a few minutes of the running length. Turns out the movie isn’t mocking overweight people, it’s saying OK, some people are big, get over it. They can be as smart, funny and lovable as anyone. Through its protagonist who sees beyond appearances, “Shallow Hal” makes you realise that you should really take the time to know people before saying they’re “not your type”. Beforehand, I deemed the premise hypocritical and artificial, i.e. what good is it if you get to love “ugly” people only by thinking they’re pretty and thin? There’s no worth in being brainwashed into being less shallow, right ? Well, as the film aptly retorts, everyone’s already brainwashed by TV, magazines and movies into thinking teenage anorexics are ideals. Tony Robbins and the movie are only levelling the field for Hal, so he can see past his shallow instincts.

What makes it work for the audience is that by showing us Rosemary looking gorgeous like Gwyneth Paltrow, the picture also makes us not reduce her to her extra pounds. We kind of forget that and get lost in the cutesy love story. We fall for Rosemary along with Hal, we find her cool and interesting and funny, we think they make a nice couple. By the time Hal -and us- finally see her as her natural, wider self, we are able to get past that. She’s still Rosemary, we still love her, and we still want our lovers to get their happy ending. When have the manipulative mechanics of romantic comedies ever been used to communicate such a potent lesson?

“Shallow Hal” confirms something I suspected about Peter and Bobby Farrelly, that they’re not about gross-out humor as much as they’re about heart. The recurring themes in their filmography are not merely bodily fluids and functions but love and friendship. What makes their movies succeed in the end, I think, is that they’re about often unusual people making good together. We’ve seen sympathetic characters in their films who were dumb (and dumber), bowling players, Amish, retarded, handicapped, schizophrenic, albino, overweight. Sure, they have jokes about these differences, but it’s not mean, it’s like they only want to include them in the comedy, to judge everyone fair game. Take Walt, a supporting character in “Hal” who’s afflicted with spina bifida, which restrains him to walk on all four. Actor Rene Kirby’s condition is sometimes played for laughs, but what comes through mostly is how happy and fulfilled he seems, and how he’d be the first to take a crack at himself. This reminds me of an anecdote told by legendary French Canadian comedy group Rock et Belles Oreilles in their DVD anthology. They talk about how, after a skit in which they played blind hockey players aired, the Association for the Blind not only didn’t protest but they gave them an award! I guess people prefer to be included in good humor than be taken in pity.

But I’m getting sappy here: it *is* the Farrellys we’re talking about, and they still have a knack for making you laugh hard. They’re not filmmaking visionaries, but their movies have a smooth flow, bright visuals and consistently enjoyable alt pop soundtracks. They also get solid work from their actors. Jack Black, of course, rocks. He might not have conventional leading man good looks, but his natural charisma more than makes up for it and, dare I say, that makes him sexy. He’s got some really funny men-behaving-badly scenes with Jason Alexander, playing a rowdier, dumber George Costanza with sprayed on hair, and he actually has chemistry with Paltrow. She really shines in the film, endearingly playing as insecure and self-conscious. You just want to hug her, with or without the fat suit (which doesn’t look as grotesque as it could have, thankfully).

So there you have it. Yes, “Shallow Hal” ‘s marketing campaign made it look unfunny and offensive but as it nicely reminds us itself, you shouldn’t pass judgement on appearances alone. While it’s quite often hilarious, it’s not the Farrelly’s funniest, but it’s probably their most mature, heartfelt movie.

The One


Hey, y’all, what do you know? We thought we were living in a universe, right? Well we were wrong, this is in fact a multiverse! There are countless (well, 125) dimensions similar but different in varying degrees to ours, and there is another version of you in each of these dimensions. In one particular world, unlike here though, people are aware of this reality, and they’ve even found a way to hop from one dimension to another. But wait, it is highly RESTRICTED! There’s even a multiverse police to keep thing balanced. Cause there needs to be a balance. So things remain, er, balanced. Unfortunately, there’s a bad little boy named Yulaw (Jet Li) who decided to travel illegally between worlds, systemically killing each of his selfs? Why? Because apparently, everytime one of your other “you” dies, his energy is divided between the survivors. Yulaw figures that if he kills all of his personas, he’ll become a God!

But what about natural death? Everyone dies eventually, do those who live longest get stronger and stronger? How many 90 year olds do you know who can dodge bullets and crush cars? And why exactly 125 dimensions? And why does there have to be the same people in each, only with different hair or a different job? And what is it about black holes and breaches and whatnot that make it possible for one to slide into another world? And… Dah, why bother? I could spend all night trying to make sense of the huge gaps in logic “The One” suffers from, but I’ll sum them up as such: it’s a STOOPID movie! TV writers James Wong and Glen Morgan’s screenplay is an astonishing achievement in the field of mediocre, pseudo sci-fi writing. Monkeys could come up with less leaky concepts!

One might suggest that this being a Jet Li action film, the plot doesn’t matter. Well, if there was 10 minutes of it and then 80 of badass kung-fu, I might fall for it. But this is a movie in which the fights are few and far between, and in the meantime we have to sit through scene after scene of exposition hogwash debited dead serious by really bad actors. Delroy “Mr. Potato Head” Lindo embarrasses himself as a Multiverse cop with incomprehensible motivation paired with Jaston Statham, who commits an even more obnoxious, unconvincing non-performance as his idiotic, “procedure is bullshit” partner. Worst still is the tacked on, ultra cheesy and derivative love story with Carla Gugino.

You just know that “The One” was green-lighted just for this pitch, “Jet Li against Jet Li”. Then why did they have to bury this geeky thrill into retarded inter-dimensional nonsense? It does lead to some tasty eye candy, I’ll grant that much. Wong (who directed his script) does have some visual flair. There are a few pretty cool scenes in which one of the Jet Lis does some superhuman stuff, like killing guys four times before they hit the ground or using motorcycles like fly swappers. Wong rips off “The Matrix”‘s signature bullet-time shots, but it’s used effectively. Yet as stated, there isn’t enough action in the film to compensate for the utter dullness of its plot.

Like Wong’s other superficially well crafted movie “Final Destination”, “The One” turns out to be a confused, shallow, pointless mess. Even the initially cool fighting gets repetitive, and the climactic Li-on-Li showdown is a big letdown, with a lot of distracting camera trickery but very little actual physical prowess. What’s cool about Jet Li is that he’s this little, harmless looking fella but when he gets mad, he can fight like a god. Smacking a lot of special effects over this can be nice, but not when it overshadows what Li does best. “The One” is a must-miss, unless you’re a diehard Jet Li fan. Even then, you might be better off not seeing him in a film so bad even The Rock turned it down.

The Man Who Wasn’t There


Ah, the Coen brothers. You really can’t pin those lads down. Then again, you couldn’t mistake one of their films for anyone else’s. Their big thing seems to be to take an established genre, like gangster films or Capra feel-good comedies, reproduce it down to the smallest details, then start wedging in a bunch of more or less subtle odd touches. Someone taking just too long to die. Golden age wrestling. A Cyclops. Killer thieves watching the Tonight Show. The Dude, abiding. Henceforth, what looked like an utterly classic, by-the-numbers genre piece ends up being an offbeat, hard to define movie not quite like anything you’ve seen before. Take “Fargo”, their best film in my opinion. There’s this man, who has his own wife kidnapped to score a ransom from her wealthy father. Yawn, right? Yet watch as the Coen bring in the most unlikely of cops, an amusingly down-to-earth pregnant woman. Sometimes, though, the Coen’s work can be obnoxious, like in last year’s misguided “O Brother Where Art Thou?”, their dull one-joke redneck comedy (wonderful soundtrack, though).

And then there’s films like “Raising Arizona” or this one which, while they don’t work perfectly, have well enough great things about them to be memorable. “The Man Who Wasn’t There” is the Coen’s take on the film noir. Shot in glorious black-and-white, set in northern California in the late 1940s, with all the nice big American cars, the old fashioned hairstyles (“the executive contour”), everyone’s smoking drenching every shot with moody smoke. And at the centre of it all, another iconic Coen character in Ed Crane, played with evocative reserve by Billy Bob Thornton.

Crane works the second chair at his brother-in-law Frank (Michael Badalucco)’s barber shop. Crane is a man of few words. “I don’t talk much. I just cut the hair.” And so he does, keeping to himself, the eternal cigarette dangling between his lips. He’s the kind of man you don’t notice, a man without stories. But he does have a pretty wife in Doris (Frances McDormand), who works as an accountant in a department store downtown, he’s got a nice bungalow, an electric ice machine, garbage disposal… He’s got it made.

Yeah. But Ed’s not content with his station in life. He’s fed up with being “the barber”. Second chair barber at that. So when he hears about this new thing which is supposed to become a cash cow, something called dry-cleaning, he’s intrigued. And tempted. It sounds crazy (“cleaning, without water!”), but what if this is his big opportunity? All he needs is ten grands to launch himself. He doesn’t have the capital, but he soon figures out a blackmailing scheme directed at his wife’s boss (James Gandolfini), with whom she’s two-timing him. A simple plan. Unfortunately, simple plans have a tendency to get complicated, especially if you’re an everyman character in a film noir pastiche who’s stepping out of line for the first time. I won’t get into the specifics, but the Coen bros are far from being done with their barber.

The film is almost melodramatic in its unflinching succession of cruelly ironic twists. It walks a very fine line between tragedy and ridicule, and it’s hard to tell which the filmmakers would rather lean towards. To me, this is the main reason why I found “The Man Who Wasn’t There” good, but not great. It had the potential to be emotionally wrenching and thematically haunting, but just too often Joel and Ethan Coen can’t help but get silly and take potshots at the genre. Those are actually pretty funny, like when Ed’s potential dry cleaning partner (Jon Polio) makes a pass at him (“That was way out of line!”), or when Big Dave’s wife (Katherine Borowitz) rambles on about UFOs, but it takes you out of the story. The Coen say their movie is about “existential dread”, but you get the feeling it’s also a joke to them. Of course, I can’t pretend to know what their intents truly are, but this is the impression I got, that they cared less about involving us with the characters’ ordeal than about being clever.

Still, if only on an aesthetic level, “The Man Who Wasn’t There” is one of the most beautifully crafted movies they’ve made. I couldn’t get enough of Roger Deakins‘ b&w cinematography, of the almost expressionistic use of light and shadow, the Carter Burwell score playing around Beethoven sonatas. And then there’s the Coen’s wonderfully rich and colorful dialogue dispensed by Billy Bob Thornton (mostly in deadpan voice-over) and by the all-around great supporting cast. James Gandolfini has strong presence without relying on his Tony Soprano mannerisms, Frances McDormand is interestingly colder and sultrier than usual, Tony Shalhoub steals many scenes as a smarmy, full of b.s. lawyer. There’s also a few very nice, ambiguous scenes between Thornton and Scarlett Johansson, who plays a pretty young girl whom Crane likes to watch play the piano. So, even though I wish the Coen had invested themselves in their story more seriously, they more than make up for it with style and atmosphere.