Where
The Heart Is
Not to be
confused with Yorkshire TV’s sappy midwife drama of the same name, which
appears to exist to give jobs to ex-soap stars who could not quite cut
it in the real world of acting. Where The Heart Is is (oh, this is going
to be so clumsy to write about) is a sort of coming of age, tragi-comic
chick flick thing. This is quite obviously not skewed at my demographic,
like this should bother me, but Where The Heart Is really is not a very
good movie. It remains watchable due to a couple of nice performances,
but there is nothing here which you can really sink your teeth into.
The film
is the tale of a young pregnant girl who gets dumped by her highly unpleasant
and anti-social boyfriend in a supermarket in mid America. Meeting a number
of wacky, oddball characters straight out of any Indie flick from the last
ten years she decides, as you would do, to stay in said supermarket until
her waters break and she needs to be rescued by the shy bookish Librarian
fella. You see our girl never had much of a proper educashun and soon finds
herself being a wonderful mother, and later an award winning photographer.
All this while lousy things keep happening to her, and she keeps smiling.
There was
something obscenely formulaic about Where The Heart Is which insulted me
I think. Because some of the performances are not bad. Natalie Portman
is rather striking as our central character who never lets the lousy hand
life deals her get her down. She is quite inspiring, or at least would
be if the lousy things were convincing. In the scenes she shares with Stockard
Channing there is a real chemistry, and you do at least care a touch for
their enforced quirkiness. But outside of a nice little turn by Joan Cusack
the rest of the acting is insipid. True they have little to work with in
the Mandell and Ganz script (surely City Slickers must have ended
their hellish career) but if Portman can twinkle, why can't’they? They
are probably right not to bother.
Oddly –
though Portman is nominally the star of this movie – Ashley Judd gets a
big billing quite outsized from her role. Its just as well she isn’t in
it much, she oozes fake homespun wisdom and really is working in neutral.
I’ve not seen anything with Judd in I like (remember Double Jeopardy?),
and I am not convinced by her up and coming position. Where The Heart Is
certainly won’t help her. It really won’t help anyone in it. The story
is relatively quirky, and the moral and requisite romantic bits are there,
but the whole affair has been knocked together from a cook-book we’ve eaten
from too many times.
The odd
thing about Where The heart Is is (did it again) that it is actually a
relatively progressive film in its morality. It champions a young single
mother, and shows how she can be a good parent. It reserves its judgement
for its ogreish bad guy (the dumping boy – who quite harshly looses his
legs late doors). Natalie Portman goes on to confirm that she is a more
than watchable, rather good actress – but nothing else really survives
this mess. Inoffensive, but bland. (4)
IF THIS
FILM WERE A CAR CRASH: Fried Green Tomatos At The Whistle Stop Cafe hits
itself over and over again because it was rubbish.
Where
The Money Is
Home is
where the heart is. Where the heart is also happens to be a pretty no mark
piece of sentimental tosh. So Where The Money Is has the misfortune to
have a very similar title to a lousy movie. It would follow that to prevent
confusion, Where The Money Is should also be pretty poor. Unfortunately
this is not the case. That said, whilst its a pretty good, solid film it
also wears its complete lack of ambition on its sleeve. Despite having
two big names in it (one huge name and one general guarantee of a good
performance) - it is in every way the definition of a small film.
Paul Newman
is getting old. He does not even look as good as the half arsed picture
of him on his own brand salad dressing. Age has not been wholly sympathetic
to his pretty boy looks, but it has not diminished his star quality, and
has probably improved some of his acting. That said, a film where the first
half hour promises no more than Newman in a wheelchair catatonic. Whilst
even in this state there is still something of the glimmer in his eye it
would be a difficult piece of portention if it was not for his female co-star
Linda Fiorentino. Newman plays the bank robber who has had a stroke, and
Fiorentino plays his bored nurse. Like the audience she can’t really believe
that this larger than life figure (or in our case Paul Newman) would be
reduced to this ignominious end. She is, of course, right.
What follows
the protracted, but no less delightful, opening is a heist movie, a buddy
movie and a meditation on lifestyle. Well, less of the latter really, this
is not strictly a film about anything. Its an entertainment, and a rather
low key one at that. Which means the gags don’t come thick and fast, rather
they a spread thinly in favour of lingering character moments and the simple,
slow mechanics of the plot. For a heist movie not much happens in Where
The Money Is. The double cross aspect of the plot is as transparent as
it obviously would be with there only being one other person in the film.
It works however, as the film has decided we should not like him - and
this is a film which is more than persuasive if it is trying to tell you
something.
For all
its slow, simplistic plot Where The Money Is delivers in two key areas
that most of this years summer movies have missed. Characterisation and
resolution. Whilst this is definitely wandering into feelgood movie territory,
it still presents an ending which leaves the audience feeling that it was
not cheated. It is difficult to tell if the characterisation in the film
is good, or that the two stars just have such a natural affinity with the
camera. Fiorentino is allowed to be a femme fatale light, and just breathe
- something she has not been allowed to do in more recent films (Men In
Black and Dogma - where she was expected to be the glue which everyone
else did their funny turns around). Newman is just laconic, cool and uses
his age to his advantage. Whilst there is the hint of sexual chemistry
between Newman and Fiorentino - we are not in Entrapment territory here.
When a bloke is as charismatic as this, he is just attractive.
Where The
Money Is (banks, if you were wondering - when Newman is asked why he robs
banks this is the answer he gives) is a very satisfying little film. The
main down side is that you know from its very set up that this film is
never going to be anything more than a little film. Therefore it is destined
not to be seen by that many people, and its unremitting niceness also means
that it may not even be remembered that much. A good film, a solid film
if not in any way exceptional it still stands head and shoulders above
much of the lousy fare which has been peddled to us in this autumns harvest
festival of film. (8)
IF THIS
FILM WERE A CAR CRASH: Bonnie And Clyde with Cocoon. If that is not too
distasteful. And it probably would be. Maybe Butch And Sundance with Cocoon.
Which does not stop it being distasteful.
The
Whole Nine Yards
There is
no such thing as objectivity when it comes to reviewing anything. We'll
take that truth as self evident. There are certain actors, certain directors
who I will always go see, and perhaps forgive a lot more than others. Perhaps
this works more in the opposite direction - there are certain actors who
I vehemently dislike (well - fundamentally Denzel Washington, but there
are long, involved reasons for that) and this will almost definitely colour
my opinion of a film. Hollywood relies on this in a lot of ways, the irrational
liking of certain actors. I've said I'll see anything John Cusack is in,
and I also would extend that - with admittedly some chagrin - to Bruce
Willis. I know, I know - you can leave now if you want. That said, I'll
go see pretty much anything with Bruce in - I did not say I would like
it.
The Whole
Nine Yards is a hitman comedy - thus giving us our Cusack connection (Gross
Pointe Blank as if you need telling). Willis plays Jimmy - The Tulip, who
has relocated himself after a stint in jail to Montreal. He moves in next
door to Matthew Perry's Oz - an unhappy dentist who is married to a very
unpleasant and badly accented Rosanna Arquette and much debt. What follows
is a curious melange of farce, comedy thriller and pratfall based black
comedy. It is a mixture which does not quite work - which is a great pity
because there are the bare bones of really a rather good comedy thriller
in here. So what's good and where does the whole thing fall down?
The plot
approaches the labyrinthine, or appears to midway through the film. This
is actually a very good thing, there really is the feeling that we are
not quite sure what is going to happen. Or at least, we are pretty sure
that Perry's character will abide - but how is quite unclear. The concoction
may have, on original reading, appeared to be an almost Hitchcockian piece
of black comedy. The double crossing of characters, coupled with Perry
being the fish out of water, could have originally appeared to give a strong
narrative impetus to the tale. In fact the plot twists are rather clever
and unlike many films of its ilk, they tend to make at least some degree
of sense. Couple this with a nice - if blindfolded - performance from Willis,
and a career making turn from Amanda Peet as the receptionist cum wannabe
hitwoman and things could have worked. Unfortunately this is not enough
to save the film.
The main
problem with The Whole Nine Yards is that of laziness. Sure the story is
good enough, but the comedy is not. I am not a Friends fan, but hold nothing
against Matthew Perry on principle. That said, I am aware that much of
his comic appeal comes from quick witted verbal humour. His dentist never
really gets to say anything funny. Instead we have a succession of nervous
muggings, and plenty of physical humour. Perry luckily shows himself to
be relatively good at the physical stuff, but he has all the lousy lines.
You don't laugh very often from a verbal gag. To add to this there is Rosanna
Arquette's badly accented turn, a gangster with a speech impediment and
a lack of follow through on the black comedy. This is a hitman comedy,
and hence deaths should turn up. Yet the film occupies an odd moral middle
ground which suggests that we should laugh at this good fun, and then does
not do anything funny with its death-toll.
In the end,
the blame for the failure of The Whole Nine Yards can be laid on the director,
Jonathon Lynn. He just does not frame a good movie. This is okay in Willis's
(and Peet's) scenes, they seem comfortable in front of the camera and exude
confidence. Perry is a different matter, his character is by nature nervous
and yet Lynn does nothing with him. Some scenes are interminable, and the
romantic subplot is both underplayed character-wise, and over played with
saccharine moments. There is little depth to any of the protagonists, and
whilst the plot is tightly woven, Lynn appears to do his best to loosen
the pace. Lynn has now made a number of films on the strength of his stint
on Yes Minister, and unfortunately most have been relative hits. Unfortunate
because he just does not have the lightness of touch or the style to pull
off a film like this.
The tragedy
(if that is not being too melodramatic) of The Whole Nine Yards is that
at its core there is really rather a good movie trying to get out. The
plot resolves itself quite well, though the way Lynn directs it there is
a lack of clarity on where our climax should be. But the script needed
polishing, and some proper gags inserted. Alternatively it could have been
played as a noirish thriller (which could have also worked very well).
Occupying the middle ground between comedy and thriller does the film no
favours. Matthew Perry is game, but he does not cut it as our Cary Grant
or Jimmy Stewart type fish out of water who turns the tables on the bad
guys. Equally, while Willis is good, the role is a touch too close to Hudson
Hawk for us to feel overtly comfortable with it. So if the film was pitched
wrong, cast badly and directed with less than aplomb, what is there left
to say? Well, it is all very good natured. The cast look like they are
having fun, the plot makes sense and there is a happy ending for all involved
- at least those that survive. So whilst it fails on almost every count,
you cannot hate it. Or I might just be saying that because I like Bruce
Willis. (5)
IF THIS
FILM WERE A CAR CRASH: Grosse Point Blank meets Fletch. But not as good
as either of them (and trust me - Fletch is a good movie).
The
World Is Not Enough
What to
say about a Bond film? It is not like reviewing a film at all, more some
latest installment in a culturally bereft and hideously staid soap opera.
The same buttons are pushed, nothing new happens and we know this well
in advance. TWINE (as this film shall hithertoo be refered to as) has about
as much innovation in its entire make up as Clockwatchers had in its opening
sequence. And you have to bear in mind that I found Clockwatchers immensely
tedious. So instead are we patronising to it, and review it as a Bond movie?
Where does it stand in the nineteen strong canon and can we therefore justify
it being any good? I'm not wholly sure what I think about it, it limping
out at the end of a year when ITV have shown all the previous eighteen.
I can Bond for my country, and find the spectre of a "meet the new Bond,
same as the old Bond" rather unsettling.
What is
worse is that Bond is symptomatic of patriotic fervour in Britain. Bond
is British through and through, and watch him slay all comers at the box-office.
I don't see your Batman franchises doing this kind of business after four
films, and the closest they have to a winning franchise is a TV spin-off,
ie Star Trek. Franchise movies are very big in the States at the moment,
the idea that with the right concept you can keep dishing out the same
old tripe and the same old people will go and see it (all the beter when
there was a lot of those ssame old people in the first place). Franchise
is a particularily good word for Bond movies, since they may not be set
out in exactly the same way, even down to the hero - yet you go into a
MacDonalds in New York and its not wholly different to one in Cleethorpes.
The only thing that differs is the personnel, the story is resolutely the
same. The order of the day is stunts, shags and one liners - the film stands
and falls on its quality in these key areas. What a tragic way to design
a film.
So lets
start with Stunts. TWINE starts well, a nice improvised abseil using a
cord far to strong and far too long to ever be pratically used in a pair
of venetian blinds. We cut to a wholly pointless and improbably chase on
the Thames using a super-boat out of Knight Rider, the wetsuit years (also
known as Thunder In Paradise and very strange series starring the even
stranger Hulk Hogan). This is alright, is preposterous and utterly pointless
in the scheme of things. Later we have a nice dinky bit of ski-ing, culminating
in an odd inflatable igloo effect and some unfollowed up claustrophobia
from a female lead. It gets dull for about twenty minute, then we get a
few bits of back projected explosion escaping. Then a battle against some
chainsaw weilding helicopters (they missed a trick not refer to them as
choppers) which is rather unsatisfying. The finale involves running up
and down, inside and out a flooding submarine - bit of a lame-o fight,
and the non-scary presence of water yet again (see Deep Blue Sea to why
water is not scary). On the stunt-o-meter TWINE scores a five out of ten,
mainly for the first ten minutes.
Step two.
The shags. The tottie factor is split nicely for both the boys and the
girls. The girls get the "all of a sudden rather middle aged" Pierce Brosnan
and a bit of a deformed and not looking at all sexy Bobby Carlyle. We boys
get a rather minxy Sophie Marceau and an awfully cardboard (yet pneumatic)
Denise Richards. There is not real spark though, its all eye-candy and
none too interesting eye-candy at that. The locations don't help. There
is only so much romance in the arse end of Uzbekistan, and we get about
fifty percent of it. Shags: five out of ten
Step three.
The one liners. All you need to know on this behalf is that Denise Richards
character is called Doctor Christmas Jones. Last line of the film writes
itself. Indeed so pleased with themselves are the four script writers that
they really do not bother writing any other gags in the movie at all. Lump
this up with a villain who does not do stand up comedy and we are left
with Robbie Coltrane's appalling Russian accent and Goldie's - er - appalling
Russian accent. So on the gag front a charitable four.
I do not
know why people still go see Bond films. There was a palpable sense of
excitement in the cinema, but excitement for what? There is no tension,
there is no real romance. Plot development exists simple to get from "The
names Bond, James Bond" to "I thought Christmas only came once a year"
in its two hours. The films bear no relation to anything written by Ian
Fleming (not necessarily a bad thing in itself), and each new one takes
the previous and parodies it to some strange effect. It is well known that
there is a group of scoiety that fears change, and perhaps it is them who
are being served by their now two year fix of Bondage. It is comfy, but
it is also rather dull. That this amount of money is spent on not just
vapid entertainment, but an empty rehash of the same old ideas; the eighteenth
sequel to Dr No fer'chrissakes. I don't know, the time appeared to fizz
along nicely enough but for me, Bond Is Not Enough. And certainly not a
Bond film without a car chase in it. (5)
IF THIS
FILM WERE A CAR CRASH: Oh, I'll give you ten guesses..
