TRAINSPOTTING: Too often, politicians seem to get it wrong when it comes to art; all the vilification of Robert Mapplethorpe seven years ago ignored the vast majority of his work that was not controversial (not to mention his status as a fairly minor talent). Similarly, Bob Dole was way off base in his criticism of Trainspotting as a film glamorizing heroin use. In fact, no one with half a brain who has actually seen the film would so much as contemplate trying smack, in light of the gruesome and therefore accurate details of the world it portrays. (As of this writing, Dole has not seen it to my knowledge.) Our guides into this world are four irrepressible ne'er-do-well addicts: the weak-minded Tommy (Kevin McKidd), the doltish Spud (Ewen Bremner), the conniving and aptly named Sick Boy (Jonny Lee Miller), and the bright and introverted Renton (Ewan MacGregor), our narrator and protagonist. As in Mean Streets, they are introduced to us with on-screen signs. In addition, just as in Mean Streets, they are fleshed out enough by the writer and the actors to elicit sympathy and interest from us without making them especially nice people or excusing their behavior. (In fact, the real villain of the piece, the vile Begbie {Robert Carlyle}, is not a junkie; he is addicted to the one vice more destructive than heroin--hurting and using other people.) The cinematography also includes many lapses into surrealism that simulate the influences of various drugs--perhaps the movie's most harrowing touch. What really convinced me of the film's greatness, however, was the ending, which generates almost unbearable tension and approaches the great climaxes of such films as The World of Apu and The 400 Blows. (As a side note, one of my favorite movies in the whole world is For All Mankind, a documentary about the Apollo missions to the moon. The soundtrack to that film, done by Brian Eno and Dan Lanois, includes a luminous piece called "Deep Blue Day," used to accompany the Earthrise in the moon's sky. The tune, to my great surprise, reappears in Trainspotting in what I can only describe as a much more earthly scene.)

SHE'S THE ONE: A disappointment at first, this movie does grow on you a bit as time goes on. Director Ed Burns plays his own protagonist, a solid and virtuous New York cabdriver surrounded by the immorality and cynicism of others--his sexist father (the ever-reliable John Mahoney), his deceitful ex-fiancee (Cameron Diaz), and the most despicable pond scum in the known universe, his wealthy brother (the unbearable Michael McClone). Suddenly, everyone (including the cabbie himself!) is a bit confused when he does something impulsive--he picks a woman up in his cab and then marries her three days later! The plot is weak, because we never get an idea what attaches him to this particular person (played convincingly by Maxine Bahns), or her to him; furthermore, McClone is so annoying that he's actually hard to watch. The ending redeems things a lot, as does Jennifer Anniston (Rachel on Friends, for those of you who just got back from two years abroad), playing the woman unfortunate enough to be married to McClone. I wouldn't run out to the theatre to see this one, but I'd certainly rent it. (An irrelevant aside I can't work in anywhere else: another actor of Mahoney's generation--Frank Vincent--keeps threatening to steal the film playing Anniston's father, a charming codger who virtually defines the term "dirty old man." This is the first time I have ever seen him playing anything other than an Italian racist in a Spike Lee movie. Funny, I thought Spike Lee was out to challenge ethnic stereotypes in movies. But I digress...)

ON TAPE:

MALLRATS: As many of you know, I became a Kevin Smith fan the first time I saw his riotous first feature, Clerks. That film, made on a mere $27,000, put him on the map, where he quite definitely deserved to be. Unfortunately, his followup--for which he had millions of dollars, big-studio backing, and Technicolor--seems almost designed to prove that old stereotype that an artist gets spoiled when he gets successful. As in Smith's first feature, the (minimal) plot revolves around two wisecracking slackers having a bad day. However, while Clerks leads Brian O'Halloran and Jeff Anderson, while not great acting talents, were still naturals and a lot of fun to watch, this movie's equivalents (Jeremy London and Jason Scott Lee) aren't great acting talents, aren't natural, and aren't fun to watch. We end up being more interested in their girlfriends (Shannen Douherty--yes, that's the Shannen Douherty--and Claire Forlani) and Jay and Silent Bob (Jason Mewes and Smith himself), the utterly useless hangers-on who either have appeared or will appear in every film Smith makes. Still, Smith, like many other directors, has gifts that never fail him even in wretched projects like this one; the script has many side-splitting jabs at the pop culture Smith obviously loves. In addition, the opening credits make delicious fun of comic books and the way they mirror young males' obsessions to an almost embarrassing degree. (Speaking of comics, there's a wonderful cameo by Stan Lee--yes, that's the Stan Lee--and you won't have to watch for it because he plays himself.) Overall, though, the film is mostly lame, 1980's-teenage-sex-movie shenanigans, and we all know Smith can do a heck of a lot better than that.

ON THE WATERFRONT: What can I say about this movie that hasn't been said already? Only a few things: firstly, that the Marlon Brando/Eva-Marie Saint-starring film about union corruption on the docks in New York City isn't the least bit dated, so don't let the black-and-white scare you away. That amazing back-seat-of the cab scene, where Brando and Rod Steiger (playing his mobster brother) seem tugged equally by the past and the present, has been parodied many times; of course, it's parodied because it's so well-known, and it's well-known because it's so good. Personally, my favorite line is actually earlier in the movie, when Steiger, impatient with Brando's and Saint's involvement, shouts at his brother "It's an unhealthy relationship!" I also love Karl Malden's relentless diatribes against the mobsters, which will be eye-opening to anyone who thinks that Malden's main creative activity has been his testimonials for American Express Travelers' Checks. Hopefully, I've now convinced you to see it if you haven't...

SHADOWLANDS: In actor/director Richard Attenborough's broad-shouldered epics like Gandhi and Cry Freedom, there often were scenes that hinted he could work on a more intimate scale; this unusual and surprisingly moving love story proves his abilities in this area beyond a doubt. Anthony Hopkins is C. S. Lewis, the theologian and fantasy author, living a quiet life with his brother while teaching at Oxford and giving talks about his stoic interpretation of Christianity. Debra Winger, an American admirer, is determined to find her way out of her rotten marriage and into his life; it's not too hard to root for her, especially in the awkward beginning, at least partly because she reminds us of those times that we aspired for something similar. The acting talents are up to the task (is there any task to which Hopkins is not up?), with one glaring exception--Winger never quite settles on one accent! Most interestingly, the script does not try to cover up or forget about the religious devotion that is critical to any understanding of Lewis's life. This, and the talent and humanity of the principals, make the film more than a mundane romantic picture. If you usually like those kinds of movies, you'll love it; if you don't, see it anyway--you might be surprised.

BAUHAUS, TEXAS: THE LIFE AND ART OF DONALD JUDD: The late Donald Judd (1928-1994) was a celebrated minimalist sculptor, known for his dictum that "a shape, a volume, a color, a surface is something in itself"--a philosophy he put into practice successfully in his work. While covering his whole life, this biographical documentary centers on his move to an abandoned Army base in Marfa, a tiny, dusty town in West Texas, which he turned into a studio, gallery, and artist's colony. The director--a noted German documentarian--provides a lot of background information in combination with interviews (with Judd himself and with others) and good cinematography of actual works, so someone who knows nothing about Judd won't be left behind. The project gets tiresome, however, by becoming an ode to Judd; he is credited with co-inventing minimalism, reviving Marfa's economy, helping emerging artists, even with being environmentally conscious at his on-site foundry. This praise gets so bad it contradicts itself; Judd is lionized both for escaping the New York art world and for getting lots of art luminaries to come all the way to Marfa for openings! Still, there are many of the precious moments that make documentaries a joy to watch. Claes Oldenberg and his wife, the art critic Coosje Van Bruggen, huddle together on a living room couch like teenagers as they discuss Judd's significance, and Marfa's town sheriff jokes about how he got to accept Judd's art for its tourism value, even though he still doesn't quite understand what it means. These kinds of priceless moments will stay with you longer than the film's hagiographic habit.

To close, a few recommendations: It's been too long since I saw it for me to write a full review, but I'd heartily recommend a documentary called Visions of Light: The Art of Cinematography, a movie about moviemaking done under the auspices of the American Film Institute. The title comes from the fact that shooting film (or, for all that matter, videotape) is ultimately photography, and the most important single element of photography is the use, adaptation to, and manipulation of, light. An incredibly wide assortment of cinematographers, from Ernest Dickerson to Vittorio Storaro to Sven Nykvist, are interviewed about their craft. Let me give you fair warning, though--you will be forced to add about 200 movies to your to-rent list as a direct result of seeing it. Also, I know I promised you book notes in a previous issue, so here goes: I was very impressed with Michael Lee Lanning's Vietnam at the Movies, his narrative of Hollywood's treatment of this century's most controversial war. While his (very conservative) views are on constant view and are annoying, his central thesis is hard to escape: Vietnam veterans have been treated very stereotypically in certain Hollywood movies and TV programs in ways we seldom consider. Furthermore, his guide to movies set in, about, or concerning the war and the protest movement may be the most definitive compiled by anyone. I would also give a big thumbs-up to the new edition of The Film Encyclopedia by Ephraim Katz, now in bookstores. This is the place to look for information on actors, directors, and even technical terms; it really needed an update, because the previous edition dated back to 1980! Its only drawback is that you still need a review book like Leonard Maltin's to look up individual movies; there wasn't room for that in this already huge encyclopedia.

Until next time...