Eight Two Reviews

She Woke Up Pregnant (1996 TV Movie)

You can't beat me....heard that one before!

[30 April 2004]

I enjoyed this bleary-eyed melodrama, with a title as tabloidy as any 1950s science fiction B-picture (which this is most certainly not) and a pair of lead performances that hold you through the sometimes dull predictabilities of the story. Wronged, made-for-television women don't come any more emotionally vulnerable than Michele Greene, who, after learning of a mysterious pregnancy, accuses her dentist of raping her while she lay under sedation. Looking like Paige Davis just out of rehab, Ms. Greene doles out her character's screaming and crying judiciously, as if she were rebelling against the teleplay's original directives. With eyes that can gaze wistfully past the grey Toronto horizon as well as stare down various male tormentors (be it the villanous doctor Joe Penny or her disloyal, mistrustful husband William R. Moses) with equal woundedness, Ms. Greene offers the audience a veritable graduate-school course in Lifetime histrionics, without ever succumbing to silliness. As the bad doctor who just can't keep his hands to himself (notably so in the third act!), personification of evil Mr. Penny represents yuppie scum in its most rabid left-wing perception: not only is he a cocky, middle-aged, physically imposing rapist with a comb-over and a dated sports car, but he occupies a profession as bland and emasculating as dentist. One gets the subtextual impression that he's still resentful that he's not a "real" doctor, and with this rage, Mr. Penny icily delivers lines like "You can't beat me" or "You'll never prove anything, because I'm the man and you're the woman" and sends moderate shivers up your spine, if only for the actor's bracing commitment to such a throwaway movie.

As it grows more and more plausible that the final 50 pages of the script were written in a pizza & cocaine-fueled hurry (with Ms. Greene's character musing like Adam West on how to attain a young, beautiful undercover policewoman who also needs a great deal of dental work for a sting operation), one can begin to ask themselves honestly how much better this film would have been starring Ashley Judd and Alec Baldwin, and then, inevitably, one may begin to wonder about what's stopping those actors' careers from being completely replaced, like pod people, with the more obscure but equally competent talents of She Woke Up Pregnant's leads.

Jimmy Kimmel Live! (2003– )

Talk show without firm footing passes on charm.

[22 February 2003]

With a grin that might be mistaken for intoxication, Jimmy Kimmel spends most of Jimmy Kimmel Live seemingly bemused by all the corporate fuss made over his silly ideas (the now-prohibited open bar for the studio audience, his proposal to have a TV monitor on the desk so that he could flip over to competing shows should things become at all dull), and he hosts this talk show much the same way Al Pacino's suicidal ex-navy colonel waltzes through "Scent of a Woman": aware of his own encroaching demise, and free to be himself. The mortality rate of talk show hosts is not comforting to any young upstart, for every Leno and Letterman, there are Chevy Chases, Pat Sajaks, Lauren Huttons, Rick Deeses, Whoopi Goldbergs, Magic Johnsons, Keenan Ivory Wayanses, Chris Spencers, etc., but Kimmel seems to be downright tickled pink. Although defanged considerably since The Man Show and lacking an intrinsically hilarious writing team, he maintains (and relies on) a likeability that patches the often awkward holes well, like early Letterman without the memorable bits.

Opening Night (1977)

Great Great Great - Opening Night is a movie for people who love movies!

[13 August 2002]

Opening Night is *such* a fun movie to watch. John Cassavetes was smack dab in the middle of his stride as a director, having completed A Woman Under The Influence (his watershed picture, a hugely intense, absolutely fantastic movie that manages to zone almost completely on nothing but individual human emotions - fear, love, self-doubt) and The Killing of a Chinese Bookie (an awesome awesome awesome movie with Ben Gazzara where he's working for and running from the mafia around Los Angeles, incredible, resonant, mostly handheld cinematography that places emphasis on human faces and a script that is full of realistic dialogue - probably because the film is heavily improvised) just before this. What it's all about is a middle-aged actress whose overriding insecurities as a human being are drawn to the surface by a single incident: the accidental death of an adoring, enigmatic fan. As she muddles her way through previews of her upcoming Broadway play 'Second Woman' (of which she is the star), her health -- mental and otherwise -- begins to deteriorate. She just can't get it together, and an unsympathetic (and when they feign sympathy and support, they're unbelievable) cast of supporters doesn't help matters. She drinks and drinks and drinks and falls down some and messes up a lot. Will she get it together in time for Opening Night?

Underneath this, John Cassavetes stages and films various scenes of the fictitious play in front of an actual audience, aware of the film cameras filming a movie or not. In that sense, these bits of the film are incredibly interesting. John Cassavetes and Gena Rowlands share unmatched chemistry on stage, being that they were one of the most in-love couples in the annals of film history, and it shows. Cassavetes reminds me you of his dynamite ability as a nuanced, fun-to-watch character actor, and Gena Rowlands reminds you of why she's believable as an adored, successful stage actress. These are somewhat arcane stage performances, but are delightful.

What is wrong with Opening Night? It's a movie for people who love movies, with long takes, memorable camera moves, first rate acting, high-concept ideas, a solid beginning middle and end, a great score, and a central theme that is very compelling. Some of Cassavetes' best work, a real brawny film, tall and beautiful, heavily recommended to people who are sick of cotton candy movies, sick of feature-length trailers, sick of all the crap. If you want a thick, expansive thing, Opening Night sits on the shelf, waiting.

Bash: Latter-Day Plays (2001 TV Movie)

Again

[9 February 2002]

Neil Labute's fascination/understanding of what compels ordinary citizens into acts of pure evil was certainly explored in his first two films, In The Company of Men and Your Friends & Neighbors. Though both incredibly good, these movies ultimately suffered from Labute's theatre background, the fact that he staged the actors as if they were on a stage. In Bash: Latterday Plays, his instincts are appropriate, because it is a stage play: one is not distracted by bland blocking, allowing for full participation in a quietly horrifying hour and a half. The tales told here are rife with concepts that befit Labute's dramatic tastes -- pedophilia, hate crimes, the killing of one's child -- but never before has he, as a writer, accounted for more jaw-dropping plot twists. Like a triptych of O. Henry stories adapted by Todd Solondz, Bash demands that you like (or at the very least, pity) each of its characters, and it promises that they will each betray you.

Mulholland Drive (2001)

The Best Movie of the Year

[3 December 2001]

What is a film's responsibility if not to make us feel something? Whether we laugh, cry, or get angry, movies are the inert roller coasters of our cultures, functioning best when hearts begin to beat faster, for whatever reason. After having made an extremely opaque film in 1997 ("Lost Highway"), only to be followed by an extremely simple film in 1999 ("The Straight Story"), David Lynch returns in 2001, happy balance in hand, with "Mulholland Drive", a film that manages to play to every one of his strengths, again and again and again. At once both a scathing expose and a gushing love letter to the machine of Hollywood, Lynch unfurls a dark, choppy ocean of contempt, lust, fame, and hope with the precision of a brilliant magician, withholding his hand until the viewer is ready to find it. There are concrete, logical explanations to be found in all of the fog and mist, but unlike the other L.A.-set noir of 2001 ("Memento"), the pay-off isn't in the twist ending, but rather in the body of the film itself. This is a two-hour plus Thanksgiving dinner for film fans, full of the sort of rich, sensual imagery that only the medium of film can offer. In the hazy walls of the movie, it may not be absolutely clear at all times who is who and what is what, but what is clear with "Mulholland Drive" is that in a year's worth of new releases, it extracts emotions from its audience so strong, there can be no question as to which performs it's basic task with the greatest aptitude. Hilltop, Lynch's magnum opus succeeds on every cinematic level, meeting all the necessary hallmarks to qualify as the best movie of the year.

Mulholland Drive (2001)

"And Getting Stranger ..."

[24 October 2001]

David Lynch's predilection for elusive storytelling still has the potential to be mighty frustrating, but ten years after Twin Peaks, it may be wise just to sit back and enjoy the ride. Adhering to the same sort of non-linear script structure he has all but trademarked, Lynch spends two hours and twenty-six minutes unraveling Mulholland Drive, a dense film that is mostly a brilliant noir, with various bits of meaningless bulls*** peppered throughout. All of it, though, is frequently nothing short of enthralling, with Lynch's pure ability as an interesting filmmaker taking precedence over virtually everything else. Normally with a mystery, it's difficult to go into detail about the plotline for fear of giving things away. In Mulholland Drive's case however, it seems the only way to even relate the most basic events of the story is to describe them as a conjunction of scenes starring Naomi Watts, Laura Elena Harring, and Justin Theroux that only make sense upon hindsight. It is a dazzling, self-assured jigsaw puzzle of a movie, a continual mindbender that appears to take great satisfaction in its own slithering ambiguity, confident of where it's eventually going. Much has been made of how Mulholland Drive was salvaged from the ashes of an aborted ABC television pilot and restructured into a feature. Obviously, David Lynch had planned to stay with these characters and situations for a while longer than he eventually did, it's fascinating how it achieves the sort of slow-creep plot twist that is best suited for the long-term medium of T.V. In the end, it can be assumed that the writer/director has accomplished in a few hours what he was going to try to accomplish in multiple years of episodes. Demanding and rewarding, Mulholland Drive is sure to be one of the best films of 2001.

Curb Your Enthusiasm (2000–2024)

It's like, you know ...

[9 October 2001]

The meteoric success of "Seinfeld" left American culture with a sizable awareness of the often bizarre social etiquette and pleasantries that pepper it, and it is undoubtedly because of that show that "Curb Your Enthusiasm" is allowed to exist. Not so much a spinoff as it is a runoff, Larry David seperates his show from Jerry's in two ways: taking full advantage of HBO's amenities, he runs each show without a studio audience and formally written script, preferring to improvise around a general plotline. Also, focusing less on merely astute observations on society's absurd codes of behavior and more on a constant struggle against them, David places himself in full-throttle victim role. Each seemingly minor faux pas at a social gathering evolves into a life-altering mistake, and it is these Byzantine tragedies on "Seinfeld"-esque topics such as phone call cut-off times and how long one must wait to have sex after a funeral that make "Curb Your Enthusiasm" an intriguing show. It's not about a group of neurotic pals who get themselves into hijinks week after week, but rather a self-referencing parody of human behavior that, dare I say, often surpasses "Seinfeld"'s efforts. It's like, you know ... funny.

Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back (2001)

Too Fat and Happy

[24 August 2001]

Slowly inching towards something close to cinematic maturity with "Chasing Amy" and "Dogma", Kevin Smith seems to have gotten frustrated and given up, resulting in "Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back", a wobbly, disappointing entry into Smith's filmography that plays to all of his weaknesses, and ignores the few strengths he ever had as a filmmaker. Glutted on a budget of ten million dollars and a thick rolodex of Hollywood friends, the movie adopts the uneven form of the Road Movie early on, and does its damndest to stuff as many pop culture references as it can (a large majority of which revolve around Smith's own pop culture creation, the `View Askewniverse') into its hundred minute running time. This would be fine if the movie could somehow find a balance between a coherent narrative and the rapid-fire string of gags, but it never does, and the smirking inanity that Kevin Smith has always prided himself in finally begins to seem gratuitous. As the titular duo, Jason Mewes and writer-director Smith's journey from Red Bank, New Jersey to Hollywood, California (on a mission to stop the production of a Miramax movie about characters that are based on their own pot-smoking existence) often seems like what it very well may be: the most irresponsible possible edit of itself. Although it contains a bear's share of rewarding sequences for Smith's die-hard fan base, subplots and secondary characters are either given way too much screen time or not enough, with an almost tactical emphasis placed on what's most unimportant. Many may be quick to forgive the basic fundamental mistakes Kevin Smith has made here in exchange for a few cheap laughs, but I believe that any movie that wastes the presence of both George Carlin *and* a reasonably well-trained orangutan is simply unforgivable.

Bash: Latter-Day Plays (2001 TV Movie)

Four Stars, 10/10, One of the Great Plays!

[31 July 2001]

Bash is the sort of thing that causes me to lose all analytical abilities. It's so good that my prose breaks down into nothing but gushing. The acting by Calista Flockhart, Paul Rudd, and Ron Eldard gives the stories honest-to-goodness LIFE and it stays with you for days. Neil LaBute masters the form of the one-act, three times over. "Latterday Plays" is a brutally tragic masterpiece, LaBute's magnum opus, and one of the greatest plays I've ever seen.

Requiem for a Dream (2000)

Rat Tat Tat

[18 February 2001]

The genius of this movie is that he didn't come at you right away. The gimmick-laden camerawork is something to marvel at, yes, as is the nails-on-chalkboard score by Clint Mansell and the Kronos Quartet, but the real beauty of "Requiem For A Dream" is the pacing.

Many people had commented to me before I saw this film that it would easily usurp movies like "Trainspotting" and "Leaving Las Vegas" as the ultimate commentary on addiction. That it would rock me and that it'd stay with me, that I'd feel sick and re-invigorated at the same time after viewing. I was more than willing to believe them going into the theatre, but for the first half-hour, a little voice in the back of my head whispered,

"Where is it?"

The first act consists of nothing remarkably vicious. We are introduced to the four principles, we get to know their drugs, their inter-relationships, etc. We see blink-and-you'll-miss-it cuts one on top of the other, which do, to some degree, warp your mind a little, but nothing on the level of a "Midnight Express" moment.

Aronofsky is obviously a fan and a student of good movies. He knows the rules, and is smart to not indulge himself by breaking them when he makes his own movies. It would be easy to attack an audience with ideas, but in this, only his second feature, he really only lets the characters' actions be the attack *until* the last fifteen minutes, when he puts down his restraint and declares absolute war.

At times, the last act of "Requiem for a Dream" feels like the cinematic equivalent of a tommy gun, blasting you down before you have a chance to get up. Seeing it, it often resembles the film montage showed during Alex's rehabilitation in "A Clockwork Orange". Colorful, compelling, and original, the entire film as a whole will stay with you for a very, very long time, even if you don't think so for the first half-hour. The director unleashes an assault on your opinions about addiction and may very well make you question the very fabric of your own sanity the next time you pick up a cigarette or cup of coffee.

A

I Am Cuba (1964)

Film School

[10/10 · 27 January 2001]

No less than thirty shots have been ripped off from this movie in the past five years, in films like Out of Sight, Boogie Nights, and Pulp Fiction. Watching "I Am Cuba" is an education in film technique and the beauty of the eponymous country. The picture's plot is abysmal. It is an exercise in cinematography. It is among the most influential movies, style-wise, that the American public has never seen and honestly brilliant on all terms.

Imagine taking a tour of Cuba, in 1964, through the eyes of four metaphors: luxury, poverty, revolution, and vagrancy. Times are changing, the country is changing. However, no matter how much anything changes, the sun-soaked gorgeousness of the land doesn't budge. The camera glides around like a member of the tour who has gone off on his own, looking at the four principles.

I Am Cuba is film that needs no hyperbole. It Is Great

Annie Hall (1977)

Definitely Not Ostentacious To Call It The Best

[9 January 2001]

Woody Allen's odd structuring of his first serious comedy-- subtitles, animation, fourth-wall devesation, proved that even at his most traditional, the heart of a neurotic rebel still shines through.

Many have called this the seminal romantic comedy of the 100+ year history of movies. Blending old and new archetypes, it insists on never exhibiting a dull moment in the relationship of Alvy and Annie, always leaning towards quirky sequences and Vaudeville-like setups to deliver the entertainment over traditional plot arcs. The fact that "Annie Hall" used an original framing device of a murder mystery allows the movie to get away with a great deal. Plus, it helps that it beat out "Star Wars" to win Best Picture, Best Director, and Best Original Screenplay at the Academy Awards in 1977. If you're reading these comments as a means of recommendation, please do know that from a very conservative filmgoer's POV, "Annie Hall" is the real thing: it won't waste your time. It's funny, touching, heartfelt, and wonderfully executed. Woody Allen at his most Woody Allen, it stands in the top 10 funniest movies ever made and in the pantheon of Great Films.

"Maybe a snow shovel?"

HA!

****

The Eyes of Tammy Faye (2000)

Little Big Epic

[6 September 2000]

Much like 1997's "Boogie Nights", "The Eyes Of Tammy Faye" deals with the rise and fall of a well-intentioned protaganist and the glitzy, overindulgent world that brought them down hard. But where "Boogie Nights" was a huge, cinematic, sprawling work, "The Eyes Of Tammy Faye" is a little movie who's tone and mood outsize its aspect ratio. This, however, plays to its advantage.

The life story of Tammy Faye Bakker-Messner is straight melodrama. Small town girl makes good. She meets Jim Bakker, they pay their dues in the early years of serious Christian television programming, and ultimately, attain a kind of success that most people should never know: a success so blindingly unconditional that no error need be noted until it's too late. Eventually, as these people get their come-uppance for their sins, their world not only falls apart, but they do too.

The film (narrarated by RuPaul) gives us a lighthearted, non-judgmental look at Tammy Faye, and while it is a story worth being told, one often feels like they've seen it before. Filled with the same kind of MTV-inspired edited (lots of information thrown at you as quickly and as often as possible), it is a carbon copy of every "E! True Hollywood Story" in existence. And that's how it seems the directors (Fenton Bailey and Randy Barbato) want it. Scored at times with epic, Carmina Burana-type thunder songs, the movie (which features mockingly wholesome puppets doing chapter stops) nearly bursts at the seams with points and counterpoints. Right down to the censoring of profanity, it feels like it was made for television. It is a very well done cinematic manifesto by which Tammy Faye can plead her case into immortality. But other than its downsized big-ness, it's big flaw is that it spends *too* much time trying to immortalize Tammy Faye as if we weren't already sympathetic. They relentlessly tug on our heart strings, and the audience is laughing so hard from a funny sequence that they are too busy to notice.

A Nightmare on Elm Street 4: The Dream Master (1988)

With this, the Freddy Franchise officially disavowed any knowledge that it was supposed to be scary

[8 July 2000]

Campy as anything Troma ever put out, it places Freddy Kreuger in his most surreal "real world" setting yet, making Springwood a living piece of bubblegum. The script gives him full pardon to do whatever he likes regardless of the bumpiness in the arc, and because of this, the horror in the movie is shot to death. But there's something oddly addictive about this sequel. Maybe it's my nostalgia for the ridiculous *looks* of the 80s (the clothes, the haircuts, even the set design), and maybe its the comfort I take in seeing a movie so gleefully hollow in its making. It seems as if they were working on a budget that ranked a few thousand dollars higher than that of a BBC infomercial, and blew the healthy bulk of their load on a scant few stunts. At times, the sound is on par with a really well done porn film, and the lost gaze in the eyes of the movie's lead, Lisa Wilcox is re-assuring that this is not much more than a bad comedy. But it's the kind of bad that's......uh.....good.

Watch this if you're an 80s nostalgic who likes to watch good bad movies.

Léon: The Professional (1994)

Got Milk?

[5 July 2000]

In "Léon", the title character (who is a professional "cleaner", or hitman) wears his trademark beanie hat and small circular sunglasses whenever on the job to hide his immediate identity: he goes to necessary lengths not to be recognized. In a way, the adornment of this combo is the dividing point between himself and his work. Léon needs that. A clear barrier to seperate the two sides of his life. And when he's working, no one is better. In the first action sequence, director Luc Besson shows us the full set piece of how our hero behaves during office hours: methodical, precise, deadly. He moves like Batman, somehow navigating through the building unseen and well enough to off all the bad guys without even breaking a sweat. It's Besson's exclamation point saying, "This is how good he can be!".

In the aftermath, when the hat and the glasses are taken off, Léon becomes the average Joe. Walking along the streets of modern New York with a Chaplin waddle, he leads a lonely but simple existence: water his plant, do his situps, and drink his milk. He doesn't need anything else. The plant is his companion, the situps his release, the milk his indulgence. This Order Of Things shows a childlike contentment. As long as he does things right, he's not a bad person.

Meanwhile, down three doors lives Mathilda (young young young Natalie Portman), the waifish daughter of a drug middleman. With a bully sister, a prostitute step-mother, an abusive father, and a cheery little brother whom she looks after, she, save for her brother, has little to look forward to. When a crooked D.E.A. officer (Gary Oldman - more electric in this movie than he's ever been) slaughters her family over a drug dispute while she's at the store, she has no choice but to intrude on the life of the Man At The End Of The Hall, Léon. It means her life.

Extremely relunctant, he eventually agrees to take Mathilda under his wing and train her to "clean". Their relationship quickly blossoms like a giant magnolia, with him providing shelter, and her providing a little life in his life.

Mixing his French influences with New York sensibility, Luc Besson OUTDOES himself. The entire film foreshadows something else, and the incredibly well-scripted emotional growth shown by the two main characters is all the greater foreshadow to how much the wonderfully unwired Gary Oldman character needs to be punished for his madness. This movie flawlessly blends the best of both worlds: it is at once both a movie guys would love and a movie girls would love. It's the unisex action film.

Among the ten best films of the 1990s, definitely Luc Besson's best movie, and dare I say, one of the best love stories ever made.

Five stars.

Heavenly Creatures (1994)

Beautiful Madness

[2 July 2000]

No one captures "frenzy" quite like Peter Jackson. With his intertwining use of shaky, still, loud, and suspiciously quiet moments, his filmmaking style can absolutely *define* the emotion of momentarily losing your mind.

With "Dead Alive", he gained much lauding by making a winking schlock movie, a film so revved up on its own excessive fantasmagoria that it eventually burped up an impressively maddened comedy. Jackson had used this kind of soak-'em-with-everything-you-got philosophy before with "Bad Taste" and "Meet The Feebles". Although, unlike "Alive", those two films do not carry the same sort of coherent slapstick that makes Jackson's horror hilarious.

Like all good directors, Jackson realized that, at some point, he had to shake off the fleeting applause and take things to the next plateau. And so he did. In "Heavenly Creatures", his fourth outing, Peter Jackson took the rambunctious glee of his past three films and combined it with a quiet tale of true crime. The amalglam of his jumpy sensibility and the subtle, dark personality of Pauline Parker and Juliet Hulme (played perfectly by Melanie Lynsky and Kate Winslet) makes for an extrordinarily colorful film. To see his imagination and the lengths he'll go to to re-create the situation of two obsessive teenagers in 1950s New Zealand mesh with the stale, flat reality of how sad these girls lives really were is a marriage made in heaven (or is it Borovnia?). The gray existence they (are forced to) lead is the true villain of them, and the director captures it (see: bathtub scenes) as cinematically as he does their fantasy world escape (the aforementioned Borovnia: expansive, three dimensional home of lifesize clay warriors, unicorns, and jumbo butterflies).

This movie does not act as an explanation nor an excuse, simply as an adaptation of an emotion. When it gets down to it, the true frenzy of "Heavenly Creatures" is the unmoving *love* that two people can have for each other, and the unnecessary graves they will dig to not let it go.

*****

Blue in the Face (1995)

A Collection Of Scenes

[1 July 2000]

This movie, as before known, was made on the excess of Wayne Wang's ensemble dramedy "Smoke". Gathered among is a collection of actors improvising a collection of scenes that all have their own cinematic worth.

Some of them are truly great (the plastic bag monologue is one of the great film monologues of the 90s), some are less than great (Madonna as a singing telegramist: wow!), but they all are unique in their own, esoteric-vision-of-Brooklyn kind of way.

Whatever flimsy plot Wang strung together concerns the apparent Last Days of Auggie Wren's cigar shop, set to be closed and re-done by the highest bidder. And through that, we see characters of all kinds wander in, improv a scene, and wander out. Kind of like a 24-hour acting class for working actors.

Rent this if you're an actor looking for a good scene to do.

***

Goodbye Lover (1998)

Without hyperbole, one of the worst movies I've ever seen.

[30 June 2000]

The death of "Goodbye Lover" obviously came in its editing. Because watching it, you do see that hidden within the numerous layers of ridiculous bile, there was at some point, an actually coherent plot. Not to fault editor Bill Steinkamp too terribly, because while the story may be choppy and often unexplained and lacking a central arc due to the cuts made, one gets the overwhelming impression that, with or without editing, this film *stinks*.

It doesn't know whether it wants to be funny, tense, smarmy, sexy, or devious. It is literally as if the writers drew slips of paper titled "things we like about movies" from a hat and put it into the script. Director Roland Joffé (who did The Killing Fields - what happened?!) does his best, I guess, but that is not enough. The cast tries hard enough that it's only fair to warrant that it isn't their fault. But, there's nothing that could have saved this movie short of never making it.

Lost in America (1985)

Albert Brooks is a genius

[29 June 2000]

The script is just *fantastic*. We begin with an unhappy yuppie speaking in hypothetics, searching for a way to change his life. The plans that he based the rest of his yuppie-hood are quickly sullied, and this springboards him into a new way of life (which is justified by the "success" of fictional characters in his favorite movie). He takes his suppressed wife along with him, and just like that, without anyone really noticing, "Lost In America" is off to the races.

Since every one of Albert Brooks' films are damn near perfect(with the exception of his 1999 clunker, "The Muse"), it is silly to call this his best film. But it certainly is his most focused. The subplots are a little more than quick, sketch-like detours, leaving the central story of what actually happens when responsible people drop out to fill the screen for all ninety-one minutes of neurotic bliss.

The smartest thing Brooks could have done was to make it appear as if this was a movie about two people with a lot of money and a Winnebago travelling across country, encountering hijinks along the way. In fact, this movie is about reality. This movie's about two people who liquidate their assets, buy a Winnie, set out for the rest of their lives, and then LOSE EVERYTHING. The comedy of "Lost In America" is imbedded in the "what now?" expression that the star and director carries in his eyebrows. What could be angled for heavy dramatic purposes is turned into situational comedy (the main character's wife leaving him, going off with an ex-convict, who then beats up the main character is FUNNY?) beautifully by the writers (Brooks and frequent co-conspirator Monica Johnson).

Albert Brooks is NOT a West Coast Woody Allen. Woody Allen, as much as I love him, isn't this funny in his best movie.

******

John Leguizamo: Freak (1998 TV Special)

Best one-man show ever

[28 June 2000]

If you've ever seen John Leguizamo in "Freak", than you know what it is to watch a man give of his soul for two hours.

Creating a unique hybrid of every kind of one-man show performance ever, Leguizamo tells us the abridged story of his life, and goes out of his way (with a riveting, touching, hilarious performance) to cushion the many blows he has to reveal for an audience so unsuspecting of a damaged genius.

Directed for television by Spike Lee, John's *stage* performance was nominated for a Tony in 1998 for Best Actor In A Play (he lost to Anthony LaPaglia). His past show, "Spic-O-Rama", showed a diversity to play the eccentric characters of his life. But "Freak" proves something much greater: on such a fluid, risky platform as a one-man show with nearly no blackouts, Leguizamo can express emotions that are not yet eccentric or dull, but real. To see him give child abuse a whimsical perspective leaves a mark on you.

This is what he will be remembered for.

*****

Being There (1979)

The Subtlety Of Sellers

[27 June 2000]

If Dr. Strangelove is Peter Sellers' magnum opus of comic diversity, then Being There is his homage to precise subtlety.

There is not a moment in the film when he is not doing precisely what he had planned to do the night before. He is clean, quiet, and crisp for the entire picture, always walking the thin line between any definable emotions his character "Chance" might have. He never lunges at a single choice, he simply lets the choice happen itself. The perfectionist in him knew that if he gave the role any clear objectives other than wanting to watch T.V., he would come across as more than what Chance was: a naive gardener who goes with the flow and always remembers to say "thank you".

The story concerns a man who, due to the death of his boss, suddenly finds himself having to leave the house at which he has tended the garden all his life, the house that he has never left before. Out and about in the rough, modern Washington D.C., he quickly falls into the hands of Eve Rand, the wife of Ben Rand (played by Melvyn Douglas, who got the Oscar for his Supporting role), who is a multi-millionaire banker. Chance's unusually simplistic manner of speaking (one that he has because, always guarded from the outside world, he doesn't know how to be any more expressive with his words) wins over the Rands, and soon, Chance's background becomes of national interest after he gives the President some down-to-earth advice on the economy.

Essentially, this is a film about being at peace with life, and letting that which does not matter truly slide. The Late Great Hal Ashby flexes superior director muscles here, showing us, like all the Greats do, that simple works.

"I like to watch."

Happiness (1998)

Not your father's Altman movie

[10/10 · 18 June 2000]

Happiness is a jaded ensemble film, one that takes the chance to play with numerous main characters in a Deviated America head on.

It's a wonderfully written, wonderfully acted, wonderfully directed movie. It deals with issues ignored by most of American film, and uses them as plot devices and character traits in a way that, through the film's harmonious intertwining, leaves your mind stunned and your heart warmed.

If you like movies that are unlike most other movies ever made, this is the one for you.

Good Will Hunting (1997)

The Real Best Picture of 1997

[18 June 2000]

While everyone took sides with L.A. Confidential (for it's Old Hollywood flair and tight-as-a-girdle plot arc) or Titanic (for it's generally inescapable, juggernaut-like aura) as the Best Picture of 1997, it seems that too many people overlook Good Will Hunting for what it was: a timeless little opus that managed to make South Boston look romantic and happened to make Ben Affleck and Matt Damon some of the most deserving superstars in recent memory.

Because before they were anybody, they were just the writers of this tale of a reluctant human being named Will Hunting, a mathematical genius who wore the guise of a hoodlum, and all of the sudden obstacles he had to take on to truly step in to manhood. Among these obstacles were a straight-forward shrink who outright dared Will to bulls*** him (played by Robin Williams, who got his overdue Oscar for it), a brilliant M.I.T. professor who felt it his own personal redemption to put Will's mind to great use somehow (Stellan Skarsgård, who never fails to steal nearly every scene he's in), and a girl who doesn't understand why the boy she loves so much cannot love her.

It was these obstacles that made Will Hunting such a complex character: while he was a genius at the definite (math), he was a bit of a moron at the indefinite (human relationships). His rough-edged exterior was simply a cry for help, and the process of which the obstacles in his life realized that and attempted *to* help him was nothing short of extraordinarily touching.

The King of Comedy (1982)

Simple and tense

[18 June 2000]

This is a wonderful film that anyone who's ever gotten a bit of a cold shoulder from a celebrity would like. Martin Scorsese uses remarkable degrees of tension as his paintbrush, making the emotions felt by Robert DeNiro's character so extreme, that you literally wince with anxiety when he oversteps his boundaries over and over again.

Essentially, this movie looks at how to be successful in show business without really trying. Rupert Pupkin is an obsessive fan who's not only obsessed with Jerry Langford, the Carson-like host of his eponymous television show, but obsessed with getting a little fame himself. He doesn't want to waste time honing his bits at small clubs and working his way up, he just wants to do his act (the act which he's done a million times in the privacy of his own room and he believes to be solid) on The Jerry Langford Show as soon as possible. And so, with the help of fellow obsessor Sandra Bernhard, he kidnaps Langford in an effort to secure a spot, however fleeting, in national spotlights.

Although found in the DRAMA section, "The King Of Comedy" is one of the damndest comedies I've ever seen. Rupert Pupkin's life, his habits, his desires, are all extremely funny. Because while some people might nod off during lunch to the fantasy of meeting a celebrity, Rupert takes his anxious wishes to action, going to ridiculous measures to make sure his rather intricate fantasy world (the fantasy world where he's a bigger star than Jerry, and he hangs out with Jerry on the weekends, etc.) doesn't come undone by the actual and very blunt rejection from Mr. Langford himself. Rupert just won't listen to anything anyone has to say unless it facilitates into re-affirming his fantasies. And it's this stubborn insanity/dedication that makes Pupkin (often misspelled and mispronounced) one of the great characters.

This film is tight, fitting in as many angles of the nooks and crannies of Rupert Pupkin's crazy, crazy mind as possible with it's allotted running time. Scorsese doesn't fuss with doing anything extra to get his point across; he knows what is needed and he accomplishes it.

Keep this in mind to rent next time you go to video store if you haven't seen it.

Magnolia (1999)

When it's all said and done, Magnolia is more emotionally and cinematically explosive than any other movie in history.

[10/10 · 29 May 2000]

Magnolia.

Magnolia.

Magnolia.

For me, Paul Anderson has done quite a job at making this simple four-syllable word resonate in my ears, calling me to attention and slowly letting the indescribable mixture of emotions I feel every time I am exposed to this movie flood back in to my heart.

It's better than Short Cuts. It's better than Nashville. It's better than The Godfather. For whatever reason, the unique balances thrown into the making of this wonderful, exquisite, inescapable picture are better than any other movie ever assembled. That doesn't come from a place of melodrama, it comes from a place of gratitude. How else am I to accurately describe the *gratitude* I feel towards Mr. Anderson and this film in general? I sure haven't seen another that has left me in a near fetal position at the end, literally floored by the glowing synchronicity (music, editing, acting, directing, plot arcs, everything just BURSTS at the end and is left lying on the asphalt like dead frogs to the tune of "Save Me") of it all. The movie isn't just good, or great, or really, really great, it's perfect. It shines like polished gold in my mind, and whenever I run across clips of it on T.V. or on the internet, I feel the same overwhelming sense of gratitude towards the maker.

The critics of Magnolia claim that it's too long, or that it's too melodramatic, or it's too unrealistic, or that there is no point. They didn't want to see Tom Cruise talking about how to destroy women, they wanted to hear him talk about how to love women. The idea of a ten minute prologue that has no "names" infuriated the movie brats. To me, I feel that these people, these movie brats, have absolutely no idea what it means to sit in a theatre and watch a good movie. Those who wish to escape for ninety minutes walked out because, frankly, it's not every weekend that The Greatest Movie Ever Made comes out, and they just weren't ready to cope with the fact that they had to PAY ATTENTION for more than their alloted hour and a half. In short, there IS NO excuse to not like Magnolia, save for lack of attention span or willingness to understand that it is a work of fiction. It *is* relevant, it *is* true, it *is* real. It's not some little ditty that's going to be washed away from it's stature the next time an ensemble movie comes out.

No matter WHAT ANYONE SAYS, nothing (not critics, not time, not anything) will eeeever be able to change the fact that when it's all said and done, Magnolia is more emotionally and cinematically explosive than any other movie in history.

****************