Alicia hires a professional negotiator to obtain the release of her engineer husband, who has been kidnapped by anti-government guerrillas in South America.
A big-budget summer epic with money to burn and a scale worthy of its golden Hollywood predecessors, Ridley Scott's Gladiator is a rousing, grisly, action-packed epic that takes moviemaking back to the Roman Empire via computer-generated visual effects. While not as fluid as the computer work done for, say, Titanic, it's an impressive achievement that will leave you marveling at the glory that was Rome, when you're not marveling at the glory that is Russell Crowe. Starring as the heroic general Maximus, Crowe firmly cements his star status both in terms of screen presence and acting chops, carrying the film on his decidedly non-computer-generated shoulders as he goes from brave general to wounded fugitive to stoic slave to gladiator hero. Gladiator's plot is a whirlwind of faux-Shakespearean machinations of death, betrayal, power plays, and secret identities (with lots of faux-Shakespearean dialogue ladled on to keep the proceedings appropriately "classical"), but it's all briskly shot, edited, and paced with a contemporary sensibility. Even the action scenes, somewhat muted but graphic in terms of implied violence and liberal bloodletting, are shot with a veracity that brings to mind--believe it or not--Saving Private Ryan, even if everyone is wearing a toga. As Crowe's nemesis, the evil emperor Commodus, Joaquin Phoenix chews scenery with authority, whether he's damning Maximus's popularity with the Roman mobs or lusting after his sister Lucilla (beautiful but distant Connie Nielsen); Oliver Reed, in his last role, hits the perfect notes of camp and gravitas as the slave owner who rescues Maximus from death and turns him into a coliseum star. Director Scott's visual flair is abundantly in evidence, with breathtaking shots and beautiful (albeit digital) landscapes, but it's Crowe's star power that will keep you in thrall--he's a true gladiator, worthy of his legendary status. Hail the conquering hero! --Mark Englehart
As revisionist history, Michael Mann's intelligent docudrama The Insider is a simmering brew of altered facts and dramatic license. In a broader perspective, however, the film (cowritten with Forrest Gump Oscar-winner Eric Roth) is effectively accurate as an engrossing study of ethics in the corruptible industries of tobacco and broadcast journalism. On one side, there is Jeffrey Wigand (Russell Crowe), the former tobacco scientist who violated contractual agreements to expose Brown & Williamson's inclusion of addictive ingredients in cigarettes, casting himself into a vortex of moral dilemma. On the other side is 60 Minutes producer Lowell Bergman (Al Pacino), whose struggle to report Wigand's story puts him at odds with veteran correspondent Mike Wallace (Christopher Plummer) and senior executives at CBS News.
As the urgency of the story increases, so does the film's palpable sense of paranoia, inviting favorable comparison to All the President's Men. While Pacino downplays the theatrical excess that plagued him in previous roles, Crow is superb as a man who retains his tortured integrity at great personal cost. The Insider is two movies--a cover-up thriller and a drama about journalistic ethics--that combine to embrace the noble values personified by Wigand and Bergman. Even if the details aren't always precise (as Mike Wallace and others protested prior to the film's release), the film adheres to a higher truth that was so blatantly violated by tobacco executives seen in an oft-repeated video clip, lying under oath in the service of greed. --Jeff Shannon
When it comes to the subject of community, David E. Kelley--the prolific writer-producer behind television's The Practice and Ally McBeal--falls somewhere on a continuum between directors Howard Hawks and Robert Benton. While Hawks's professional characters are bound by a knowledge of how to do what they do even if they don't know why, Benton's people, professional or not, have long ago substituted their own eccentric reasons for that elusive why. Thus we get the kind of in-house, oddball rituals sandwiched between passages of actual work on Ally, and the affectionately entangled personal and professional ties between small-town folks in Kelley's earlier TV series Picket Fences.
Kelley's script for Mystery, Alaska (co-authored by Sean O'Byrne) takes that level of eccentricity to a geographical and spiritual extreme. The film revives the hackneyed Rocky formula, setting a lopsided hockey match within a remote, self-contained hamlet where the members of a tiny population all have to wear multiple hats and still keep neighborly ties intact. The story concerns the town's chief source of identity and pride: so-called "Saturday games," in which local men divide into teams and play pond hockey for the locals. When a prodigal son (Hank Azaria) of Mystery shows up with a television network offer to bring the New York Rangers in for a televised match against the homegrown team, the town fathers agree. Coaching falls to the town sheriff, John Biebe (Russell Crowe), an admirable man and a longtime player recently bumped from the team. John, however, doesn't want the job: everyone knows the real coach in those parts is Judge Burns (Burt Reynolds), but he wants no part of it either. All of that changes after a sad tragedy forces everyone to reevaluate their positions and pull together in order to beat the Rangers.
Steve (Russell Crowe) and Monica (Salma Hayek) make a dreadful couple. Something about Monica, a teacher, turns Steve, a photographer, into an insensitive jerk. Steve's behavior makes Monica clingy and hysterical. When the romantic "dramedy" Breaking Up opens, Steve and Monica are doing just that--breaking up. But every time they break up, one of them breaks down and calls the other to suggest, "Let's get together for dinner and talk." By now, they're so hot for each other that they tumble right into bed. As Monica puts it, "As the relationship has deteriorated, we f*** like monkeys!" Breaking Up is a very real portrait of an addictive love affair that strikes a decidedly familiar chord. How many of us have been through unhealthy relationships like this one? Crowe and Hayek are so credible that the movie is most compelling to watch. Their good times are achingly sweet. (When Crowe proposes marriage to Hayek in the back of a taxi, the heart of every female viewer is guaranteed to melt.) But can the good times make up for the bad? Using a mixture of filming techniques--montages, monologues, on-street interviews, plus straight-out dramatic scenes--director Robert Greenwald (The Burning Bed), and Pulitzer Prize-winning screenwriter Michael Cristofer (The Shadow Box), create a provocative, intimate, and erotic anatomy of the quintessential destructive relationship. --Laura Mirsky
"Heaven's Burning" tells the story of a man and a woman who are inexplicably thrown together, amid violence and chaos. They quickly find themselves on the run from many adversaries, but find time to fall in love along the way.
In a time when it seems that every other movie makes some claim to being a film noir, L.A. Confidential is the real thing--a gritty, sordid tale of sex, scandal, betrayal, and corruption of all sorts (police, political, press--and, of course, very personal) in 1940s Hollywood. The Oscar-winning screenplay is actually based on several titles in James Ellroy's series of chronological thriller novels (including the title volume, The Big Nowhere, and White Jazz)--a compelling blend of L.A. history and pulp fiction that has earned it comparisons to the greatest of all Technicolor noir films, Chinatown. Kim Basinger richly deserved her Supporting Actress Oscar for her portrayal of a conflicted femme fatale; unfortunately, her male costars are so uniformly fine that they may have canceled each other out with the Academy voters: Russell Crowe, Guy Pearce, Kevin Spacey, and James Cromwell play LAPD officers of varying stripes. Pearce's character is a particularly intriguing study in Hollywood amorality and ambition, a strait-laced "hero" (and son of a departmental legend) whose career goals outweigh all other moral, ethical, and legal considerations. If he's a good guy, it's only because he sees it as the quickest route to a promotion. --Jim Emerson
Odd little road movie, with Fonda a magician's assistant in 1950s L. A. who hides out in Mexico with several men in pursuit. Thrust of story concerns ``miracle elixirs,'' a Mayan shaman (female), and farcical situations south of the border. An uneasy mix of genres, faintly reminiscent of the film noir OUT OF THE PAST. - Leonard Maltin's Movie & Video Guide
In the near future, control of the police has unwisely been given over to computer-driven technology, and both the programming nerds and their cold-blooded bosses are out of control. Ex-cop and current convict Washington is the only one who can track down a computer-generated bad guy who's been ``sampled'' from the world's worst serial killers! Ugly, to say the least, although it's built on a foundation of some interesting ideas. - Leonard Maltin's Movie & Video Guide
Director Sam Raimi (The Evil Dead) tries gamely to recapture the exotic mysteries of spaghetti Westerns in this stylish but empty film, which stars Sharon Stone as a stranger who comes to the town of Redemption in time for an annual shooting contest. Her real motivations for being there are the stuff that might have found their way into a film by Sergio Leone--in fact, much of this film is a pastiche of Leone's greatest hits, including A Fistful of Dollars and Once upon a Time in America--but one can't quite believe Stone in the role. Gene Hackman gives a predictably solid performance as the town tyrant, and Leonardo DiCaprio is good as a lucky young gunslinger who gets to kiss the heroine. But not even the cast can help this failed project. Raimi brings a lot of razzle-dazzle to his camera work, but it doesn't make the film any more substantial. A widescreen version of the film can be seen on DVD. --Tom Keogh
In the mountainous high country above the Australian bush, wild horses run free: Australians call them wild "brumbies." Author Elyne Mitchell's book, The Silver Brumby, on which this movie is based, is about a magnificent silver stallion, Thowra. The story opens on a dark and stormy night in the high country. Elyne (Caroline Goodall), spins a tale to comfort her daughter, Indi (Ami Daemion). The beautiful mare, Bell-Bell, gives birth to Thowra, an exceptional cream-colored foal, with a mane and tail that gleam silver in the moonlight. We see Thowra grow up through several seasons. Winter has its hardships; the herds of horses find survival difficult in the snow-packed mountains. But summer may be even more dangerous, for that's when men return to the high country to try to catch the brumbies and cruelly break them of their wildness. For one man (called simply "The Man" in Elyne's story), capturing Thowra, now king of all the brumbies, becomes an obsession. The Man is played by Russell Crowe, whose usual fine acting is enhanced here by impressive horsemanship. The struggle between Thowra and The Man takes on mythic proportions, building to a haunting climax. Gorgeous footage of wild horses running and rearing in the mountains make this the perfect movie for horse-lovers of all ages. We come to care deeply about the fate of these splendid creatures, whose wisdom and passion are rivaled only by their beauty. --Laura Mirsky
The burning intensity of Russell Crowe (L.A. Confidential) first lit up screens as a hate-filled, Mein Kampf-spouting skinhead in this brutal Australian drama. Crowe glowers from under his deep-set eyes as Hando, the creepy but charismatic leader of a racist gang who declares war on the Asian immigrants pouring into Melbourne. His rage erupts in violent attacks on the local Vietnamese community, but when his victims fight back his gang breaks up, and Hando flees the city with his best buddy Davey (Daniel Pollock) and redheaded hellion Gabe (Jacqueline McKenzie), a rich girl runaway who turns the dynamic duo into a splintered love triangle. Writer-director Geoffrey Wright's matter-of-fact treatment of this subculture eschews social commentary for visceral immediacy. His portrait of white supremacist punks living like squatters on the fringes of Australian society is powered by coiled anger and simmering frustration, which finds its outlet in brutal fights and murderous rampages (the intense violence earned the film an NC-17 rating). The lack of moral position may bother some people, especially in light of Wright's sympathetic treatment of particular members of Hando's racist army, and the cold, hate-driven violence is sometimes hard to watch, but his vivid characters and richly drawn world create a compelling drama for adventurous filmgoers. --Sean Axmaker
The Efficiency Expert (released in theaters as Spotswood), a warm-hearted, wacky comedy with a social conscience, takes place in Australia in the "Swinging '60s," and its character, substance, music, and design are so authentic one nearly forgets that it was made in 1991. Sir Anthony Hopkins is wonderful as Errol Wallace, the efficiency expert of the title, who devises painful belt-tightening measures for struggling companies. Wallace is hired to modernize the dotty, antiquated Ball Moccasin Factory, and he's stunned at the impossibility of the task. The cutting room resembles a workshop full of Santa's elves; the men literally dance jigs while they work. Still, Wallace takes the bull by the horns and deputizes a young man, Carey (the winning Ben Mendelsohn), to help him downsize the factory. It's like trying to disband a tribe; many of the employees have been there for 30 years; romances blossom there. Homely Wendy (Toni Colette, of Muriel's Wedding and The Sixth Sense) loves Ben, but he lusts after tarty Cheryl (Rebecca Rigg), whose nasty shark of a boyfriend, Kim, is played by a young Russell Crowe. Wallace thinks he's teaching these factory workers how business works, but it's he who learns a lesson. "Work isn't just about money," declares old Mr. Ball, the factory's owner (the exceedingly touching Alwyn Kurts). "It's about dignity, about treating people with respect. People need to make things." The movie's message has timeless resonance, as job security and pride in manufacturing vanishes from large industrialized nations. --Laura Mirsky
Proof, a brilliant allegory about trust, is at once mordantly funny, chilling, and touching. It keeps us off balance from the beginning, challenging our assumptions about everything from the art of filmmaking to the nature of human relationships. The tone is reminiscent of David Mamet and Harold Pinter, but Australian writer-director Jocelyn Moorhouse has a quirky outlook all her own. Hugo Weaving (later known as the villainous Agent Smith in The Matrix), plays Martin, a blind photographer who compulsively shoots photos as proof of the actuality of his existence. He relies on his spiteful housekeeper, Celia (Genevi�ve Picot), to tell him what's in his snapshots. But can he trust her to tell him the truth? Celia rearranges the furniture so Martin will trip over it. Why? Because she's in love with him. But Martin won't let her into his heart; he's never been able to trust anyone. Into this quagmire of mutual torment walks Andrew, a regular guy personified, to become the first real friend Martin has ever had. At this point the picture jumps up a notch, for Andrew is played by hunky, appealing young Russell Crowe, whose emotional range and star quality are already unmistakable. Just when we think that Proof has devolved into yet another feel-good buddy picture, the ground shifts again beneath our feet. There are no easy answers in this movie; that's the pleasure in it. --Laura Mirsky
