Pumpkin State

Late Night Shopping
Sometimes a film hinges on a premise which is so fantastical that the rest of the film just has to work to convince you of its plausibility. Look at something like Jurassic Park – its an excuse to get dinosaurs in a film but whilst the effects are great the plotting has to work overtime to make us really believe it. Late Night Shopping is equally such a film – although with a far more modest special effects budget. Instead it has to convince as that a man working night shift never meets his girlfriend who works days, despite a 9 to 5 for her and a 10 to 7 for him. If you swallow this contrivance you could well go on to enjoy Late Night Shopping an awful lot.
This is a film of contradictions. The credits tell us it is part funded by the Glasgow film board, yet you would be lucky to see a Scottish accent until the last ten minutes. Our cast are a bunch of attractive and intelligent slacker twenty-something’s working dead end jobs when they could obviously be doing better things. And the dialogue is hyper-real to the extent that the snappy lines are unlike anything uttered in a early morning café. The strangest thing is what connects these characters – hanging around after their various night shifts – would never happen. This café is their variant of a pub, for the sad yet cool.
All the above should be problems with the film but the writer and director in the first two thirds at least turn all these points to their advantage. The film is stylised, toying with its temporal storytelling technique and presenting four stereotypes it then fleshes out. Some of this fleshing out is better than others. Kate Ashfield’s girl in the gang has the least to work with but like in The Lowdown she manages to create a sympathetic heroine. Luke de Woolfson’s baby faced hospital porter is the heart of the movie and his dithering is just about bearable. James Lance as the caddish lothario of the film has the best lines, and borders on the edge of believability – which is initially distracting but later you connect that with his insecurity. And while the core four interact the film is hip, funny and a low key delight.
Unfortunately in the last third the film feels it needs to get some resolution with the main love story – and takes its characters on an unlikely road trip. This brings out some of the films funniest moments, but in trying to create happy endings for all of its protagonists also undermines the slacker vibe from the rest of the film. Whilst containing the best crazy golf scene in cinema since Overboard the film flounders, piling happy endings and twists upon itself until it outstays its welcome. After fluffing three potential endings it finishes with a symbolic burst of light which is nowhere near as good as the other resolutions.
All that said Late Night Shopping is exactly the kind of film that British film makers should be looking to when knocking out their low budget epics. The script contains some great one liners and the cast are fresh faced and attractive enough to warrant your attention. That the plotting lets it down is a minor point – you will enjoy it despite these flaws. And any film which can wrest such humour out of Marillion’s Kayleigh is a good thing in my book. (7)
IF THIS FILM WAS A CAR CRASH: It’d be Slacker hitting Clerks – with perhaps a little bit too much plot for its own good.

Croupier
I know I should have seen Croupier a few years ago, when it first came out and hung sullenly around the NFT like a kid trying to scab fags in the bikesheds. It got so-so reviews and vanished as quickly as it came in. Then someone made a hoo-ha about it in the USA and the owners realised that actually they had a genuine hit on their hands. Cue its return to the British cinema – ostensibly the same film but now with nice US reviews blazened across its poster. They rather liked Clive Owen’s quiet fortitude, felt it was clever and we were all wrong over here.
Well were we wrong? Yes, the lukewarm reviews garnered here though may have had more to do with it being released a week after the cinematic re-release of Get Carter – Mike Hodges best known piece of work. And admittedly next to Get Carter, Croupier looks a lesser film. However it is a very different type of beast. Whilst Get Carter was a relentless piece of work about revenge, Croupier is that tricky beast – a film about writing, a film about creativity.
The film is structured solidly from the viewpoint of Owen’s Croupier. A man with a past and not much of a present. An unsuccessful author, not really in love with his girlfriend but with a vivid mental fantasy life. The key question of the film is how much are fictional characters autobiographical to their author? And if the author is distinct will he move towards his character the closer life imitates are. Owen’s very suave shiftiness allows us to watch this transformation as the plot inextricably traps him and leads him towards tragedy. The question is how much of this is a literary game, and how much is real – a difference blurred by Owen’s omnipresent narration.
So Croupier is a clever film, a sly thriller which makes up for the relative mundanity of its setting with the glitzy of its down at heel casino. It is also help immeasurably by its supporting characters – in particular Gina McKee as Owen’s equally no-hoper girlfriend and a spiky Kate Hardie as a hostess who has literally been dealt a very bad hand. Only Alex Kingston’s femme fatale jars, her character seems out of place in this world – possibly the idea – but she seems clunky. But the best work in the film is by Hodges himself, managing to tease us with a simple plot resolution which twists surprisingly near the end to present us with an unhappy happy ending.
Croupier is a film of ideas, a film of grit and a mature look at some of those who have fallen by the wayside. Owen commands attention in the lead role and it is impossible to think that he will not move on to larger roles after this. Certainly not a slam bang thriller this is intelligent cinema near its best, a little bit rough and ready but a solid watch. Perhaps its scale is a little bit too small, and perhaps its ending is too convoluted. But its good cinema, and a solid British hit. Watch and learn. (8)
IF THIS FILM WERE A CAR CRASH: Well its got all the good bits of Casino set in seedy London. So The Long Good Friday with something like Barton Fink.

Evolution
The problem with science fiction is that it tends to think that the fiction word should equally apply to the science word. Therefore the science ends up being the most fanciful thing about the story, which is - of course - a great pity as good science fiction is fundamentally about ideas. The beauty of thinking of science, especially complex science, as a latter day rationalisation for magic is that it allows us to imagine the impossible. If you are trying to say something serious, or slip in some sort of idea of verisimilitude - your science should try to be at least grounded in something which works.
Of course Evolution is not trying to say something serious. If its trying to say anything at all then it is probably something along the lines of “Wasn’t Ghostbusters good, I wonder if I can do that again”. For the director of Evolution is Ivan Reitman, the crown prince of the fantasy comedy. Director of Ghostbusters, Multiplicity, Groundhog Day and lest we forget Bedazzled. What all these films have in common is that they have fantastical plot devices which are then used (in the better ones) to tease the humour out of everyman characters. To be brutally honest though, what the good ones of this list actually have in common is that Bill Murray was in them. Evolution is a sci-fi redux of Ghostbusters (anti-establishment misfits save the world) - but lacks the key ingredient that made that film work so well, the deadpan charms of Murray.
Instead we have the deadpan charms of David Duchovney. Now the X-Files star is a lot funnier and more sardonic than previous roles may suggest, however he is now scene chewing comedian. Yet the script keeps thinking he is Murray - down to a mooning gag which is reminiscent of one in Stripes (a - surprise surprise - Reitman film.) His chemistry teacher with a past is too one dimensional, which can equally said of his love interest Julianne (oh dear) Moore. Reitman is also known for his lousy female characters (or at least picking lousy actresses) but even this does not excuse a lack of timing and the work slapstick you will ever see. Only Orlando Jones and Sean Michael Scott leave the film with any dignity and Orlando Jones gets the special kind of dignity you get from being inserted up an aliens anus and covered in goo. There is no reason for Scott’s character to be in this film, yet he does the best with his material. As an ensemble buddy comedy the film flounders.
It is summer though, how does Evolution fare as a summer blockbuster? Well the special effects are great, and oddly despite the silliness there is a sense of impending danger. And whilst the science drops the ball big time near the end, the threat itself is credible. Evolution was originally a horror movie, which Reitman retooled as a comedy. Looking at it you might be hard pushed to see how the horror aspect would have worked - but certain ideas about evolution are never followed through so the aliens always seem alien (unless they are for comic effect). As an action movie it again has a few moments - usually punctuated by a lame gag. It does feel badly put together, and this is eventually its downfall.
All that said, Evolution is not a terrible film. It is full of ideas and its comedy approach is an oblique look way of getting to these points. Whilst its science is bad, or at least its scientists are bad (you would wonder if they might test the effect of heat on the organisms…) it at least offers something new in the monster movie category. It entertains and is just a pity that it is too reminiscent of another much more superior film. And “Who ya gonna call, a couple of college teachers” just doesn’t have the same ring. (5)
IF THIS FILM WAS A CAR CRASH: It would be Ghostbusters without Bill Murray. Or Slimer. And with a much fatter Dan Ackroyd.

101 Reykjavik
Just when I’ve constructed a nice new archival system, a film comes along like this which challenges me to categorise it. 101 - should that go under O for One hundred and One - or should I create a whole new system for numbers. Damn it, under O it goes, but it certainly gets more than 0 in the ratings. Its not the first Icelandic film I have ever seen (the honour goes to Devil’s Island not reviewed here) but it certainly can be said to be the pre-occupied with what it is to be Icelandic. If you live in a country which is always under snow what do you do? Well the answer here appears to be pretty much drink.
I like films about drinking. I have a sneaking admiration of nihilists, I suppose I find the idea of the swing between hedonism and melancholia romantic. Not that you would find me drinking my life away like Hylnur the lead character here. Indeed whilst he cuts an amusing figure he is by no means sympathetic. Simple and pathetic would be a closer description. Living with his mother in his late twenties, no job, getting up late and drinking the social away. Horrible to the woman who loves him, generally unpleasant to people around him. Eminently watchable, but eminently annoying too.
101 Reykjavik is a coming of age tale, that of adolescence end. It just so happens that this is a severely extended adolescence which is coming to an end. Hylnur’s mother takes up with her Spanish flamenco teacher Lola - a flickering flame of a free spirit in this icy town played by Victoria Abril. A random (or is it?) drunken night of passion gets Lola pregnant and Hylnur finds himself in the difficult situation of being a father, brother and uncle all at the same time. Juggling this with his not girlfriend being pregnant things all look pear shaped. So cue lots of going to the pub, vaguely metaphysical rambling and someone getting a bit of a life. This is a slacker comedy dealing with adult themes in a childish manner. It is - all in all - rather good fun utilising the titular city and ice particularly well.
The film pretty much relies on the elusive charm of Hylnur (Hilmir Gudnanson) which is does for the most part. He is annoyingly self obsessed, but he is also very recognisable in this. Cinematically as well we are given some breathtaking shots of the Icelandic countryside and interesting ones of the capital, and its scenes of drunkeness do have an oddly dislocated feel in themselves. The main irritant in the film is unfortunately Damon Albarn’s contribution to the score. It initially is quite jaunty, modern and interesting but ends up bugging the hell out of you. About the point that Albarn decides to remind us constantly that Abril’s character is called Lola by playing a raspy farting version of the Kinks song on a melodica over and over.
101 Reykjavik is a gently beguiling comedy. The self indulgences and arrested childhood of the lead character is luckily tempered by the films playful sense of humour and a real sense of despair as his world starts to crumble around him. He acts like a spoiled child, which is exactly what he is, and so therefore it is a particularly involving character arc to follow. To top it with a cracking turn from Abril - spitting in English while everyone around talks in Icelandic - gives the film an extra layer of class. Not a huge movie, but one for the adolescent in all of us: telling us to get a job. (8)
IF THIS FILM WERE A CAR CRASH: It would be Devil’s Island - for the Icelandic - mixed with Slacker. Top it off with your latter day lesbian film of choice.

Blow
When you look at some of the most critically appreciated films of the last ten years you’ll notice a few genres pop up more than a few times. One which seems to offer a good return on plot simplicity and the odd gong or two is the biographical narrative, especially when linked to a strong soundtrack and a story encompassing something historically and culturally important. Boogie Nights, Goodfellas, Casino all use this structure successfully to tell not only their own stories but to give an idea of the social history of a few decades. So you would imagine that the story of George Jung, the first major cocaine importer in the States - spanning as it does three decades and more than enough tragedy and excitement would be a perfect fit into this genre. Right?
Director Ted Demme certainly tries to make it fit, down to a turn from Ray Liotta as George Jung’s father. We have the requisite voice over - for once not used from beyond the grave - plus the typically strong soundtrack punctuating the episodic nature of the tale. We follow George from childhood to California, to prison, to Columbia and to (presented) tragedy. And as the poster proudly proclaims, “Based On a True Story”. What the poster does not explain is what the true story is, and what the film has trouble pinning down is the point of the is true story. Jung is presented as an anti-hero but then as he is played by Johnny Depp he was always going to be relatively attractive to a sector of the audience.
Much of the appeal of the film will rest on the appeal of Depp - and here he appears to be sleepwalking almost trying to make Jung not so much dislikable as merely dull. Depp is on a one man mission to chronicle the history of drugs, but unlike his sparky turn in Fear And Loathing In Las Vegas we really get no sense of the drugs themselves - beyond the requisite comedy scenes. Blow does turn quite dark, but for reasons which seem oddly removed from the drugs. He might as well be in the banana importing business, and the qualitative difference between selling marijuana and cocaine is never really touched upon. What is worse, the first person narrative effectively pushes the entirety of the blame on to other people (his partner, his wife and most Oprah-esque, his own mother) so as to become untrustworthy and dislocated.
Oddly, for a film with little narrative structure and a personality vacuum at its heart, Blow is quite entertaining. It is overlong and more than arbitrary about what it shows. For instance Jung’s first major arrest is never shown - a bizarre omission. However there are a number of good performances helping to explain Jung - almost all from characters who are in real life dead. Rachel Griffith’s turns in unforgivably harsh performance as Jung’s mother - the source of his psychological ills - despite only being three years older than Depp. Liotta is equally good as the sanctified father - until the ageing make-up is wheeled out anyway. Franke Potente (Run Lola Run) in particular props the first half of the film up when you despair of Depp having no depth at all. Oddly Penelope Cruz - who has second billing - suffers from both being a complete stereotype and an unpleasant one at that. By the time she turns up you realise the film is losing any semblance of shape and is into a self deluding territory which is interesting to watch but undermines any serious aims the film might have had.
Blow would like to see itself in the company of Boogie Nights or Goodfellas, but it falls down on the fundamental problem of its very assumed selling point. While both of those films had carefully constructed narratives which allowed the freedom to also examine their era and the passing of time - Blow is based on a true story. An interesting and unpredictable story but one with no proper narrative drive, or satisfactory ending. To add to that a disingenuous inability to deal too directly with the actual subject of drugs (except in the crassest of ways) and a pretty flat lead performance. Blow is not a bad movie, but it is also nowhere near as good as it thinks it is. Perhaps they would have been better waiting until Jung had died, to tell a more balanced and less sentimental version. (5)
IF THIS FILM WAS A CAR CRASH: Well I bet it was sold to Depp as Goodfellas meets Fear And Loathing In Las Vegas. Its more Casino hits Reefer Madness.

The Mummy Returns
I think this is the first sequel I’ve got round to reviewing where I reviewed the original. And if you remember (or refer to the original review) I rather liked The Mummy. I also went on to say that it was not rocket science, but that it had a nice line in comedy, action and was instilled with a peculiar sense of overwhelming fun which meant it was quite possibly the best popcorn movie of that year. Of course the general rule of sequels is the law of diminishing returns, and whilst Stephen Sommers did the decent thing in not calling this The Mummy II, is that the case here? Sadly - I have to report - it is.
Not that The Mummy Returns is bad as sequels go. Its a rollicking action adventure comedy which touches bases on many of the original points of the first movie and has a much expanded special effects budget to do an awful lot more. Indeed most of the failings of The Mummy Returns are the fault of the original film. What the Mummy did well was concoct a world of derring do and Egyptology which the second film takes for granted. The first film had an opposites attract love story - which is resolved at the end. Here Brendan Fraser and Rachel Weisz are married, its ten years on so they even have a kid. So bang goes your sexual tension. Take out the effective (if cartoony) characterisation and romance of the first film and you have to pad it out with something. Which pretty much equals more action.
What was nice about The Mummy was its attempt to bring even small snapshots of ancient Egypt to life. The Mummy Returns does this in spades, partially to justify this second convoluted plot (the Scorpion King is terrible idea, and not much better in action) but also to give us a Crouching Tiger-esque bit of girl on girl action. Mummy wise we don’t just get the return of Arnold Vosloo, but we also have the crazily accented Patricia Velasquez as his reincarnated beau. Of course reincarnation is the order of the day since Weisz now appears to be a reincarnated Nefertiti - albeit a pasty Egyptian of Eastern European Jewish extraction. The padding in the plot is also not helped by a proliferation of bad guys - human or dead - acting for little obvious reason. The heroes are plunged from one action sequence to the next with little idea or scale on what this means to the rest of the world - something the original film quite happily dealt with. This lack of depth is what eventually scuppers the film, that and its relentlessness. You only really end up caring for the characters because you cared for them in the first film.
All that said The Mummy Returns is not an unmitigated disaster as a sequel. Parts of the film which would make you cringe in synopsis actually work rather well. The kid, rather than being thoroughly irritating, is actually sympathetic - if a touch too skilled at sand castles. Rachel Weisz revels in her expanded duel role, and she gets most of the chops in the action sequences. Infact it is Fraser who has the least to do here, and the fact that he is now a happily married man is what undermines much of the comedy. And whilst the trials and tribulations are ridiculous, the flashes of imagination (especially the pygmy mummies) makes the film much more watchable.
One of the things which made the original so enjoyable was that it happily skipped genre. You went in expecting a low key horror, you got a comic action adventure. The problem wit The Mummy Returns is that you get what you expect. Instead of cramming the film with characterisation as well as special effects Sommers has gone on with a frenetic plot heavy epic which makes little sense and does not allow the film to breathe. For a frenetic special effects movie with flashes of comedy and eye popping action The Mummy Returns is not a bad movie. But compared to the original it is a bit flat. (5)
IF THIS FILM WERE A CAR CRASH: It would be The Mummy (obviously) with a lacklustre sequel, say Ghostbusters 2. Its not that lacklustre, but its no great shakes either.

Amores Perros
I mentioned in my review for The Mexican that I went to Mexico last year. US cultural imperialism runs rampant, especially to its southernmost neighbour - though they refuse to speak the language on some sort of principle. In the many multiplexes however amongst the many showings of X-Men and Gone in 60 Seconds one Mexican film was more than holding its own. In the smaller towns which only had one cinema it was unfailingly being shown. It bugged me a touch because the poster was good and yet I could not see it, since there would be no subtitles. That film was Amores Perros - and it is as good as all those Mexican viewers suggest.
The multi-storied film has become a bit of a perennial of late, post Pulp Fiction. Go was a more glossy punchy use of the overlapping storytelling technique, whilst Magnolia raised it to a ridiculous height (eight stories and counting) - even Traffic used it to great effect. Amores Perros shares with Pulp Fiction and Go the three story structure, and all of its stories involve dogs in one way or another. In the first a boy fights his seemingly unbeatable dog to get money to let him and his sister in law run away. In the second a model is severely injured in a car accident (coming out of the first story) and things get increasingly worse for her. In the final story a grizzled old hitman in shown - by the actions of a dog - that perhaps it is not too late to change his life. All three stories are engrossing, filmed beautifully and compliment each other thematically.
This is a film about loss, and takes it from three perspectives. The loss of something you never had is the tragedy of the first story - Octavius is immature and wants the love of his brothers abused wife. Yet she cannot give it to him - ending in tragic circumstances. The second film is both about the loss of ones physical being, and the loss of an ideal. Hours before the car crash the models married boyfriend decides to leave his wife to be with her. The question is, she is not physically who she was so does he still love her? The story does not follow the most obvious path - and is oddly the most humourous (and graphic). Nevertheless the question is suggested in our minds, which only then escalates as the loss increases. In the final story a man has lost his entire life - yet he attempts to make amends near the end. All via a nifty piece of plotting. The grand theme is therefore a hopeful one, yet the contrasts with the harshness in each of these tales makes it clear than nothing is ever easy. The contrast with the dogs is more apposite - is it a dogs life?
Amores Perros is shot in faux documentary style, the colours a muted and there is notable use of hand held camera (especially useful in the dog fighting scenes to not actually show any dogs fighting). It is also a film very much about Mexico, and Mexico City in particular. This is a city which has both the very rich and sophisticated rubbing cheek by jowl with the poor - as evinced by our almost destitute hitman. Also - take my word for it - they drive like madmen in Mexico. And whilst the film is long (two and a half hours) it constantly feeds you something new - be it on the current story or sly references to the other two. It is not temporarily linear, skips about a fair bit but does have its own consistency - along with a very odd and eclectic soundtrack which equally evokes the vibrancy of the city where it is set.
For visceral film thrills, and serious storytelling, Amores Perros probably has not been beaten this year (its parallels with Traffic are strong in some ways, but Amores Perros lacks the political angle which muddles Soderberghs film). Do not be put off by the theme of dog fighting in one tale, you see nothing and violence against humans in films is generally worse - and no dogs were harmed. Instead go to see three very human stories spread out on a back drop of the largest city in the world. Perhaps not all human life is here, but it makes a damn fine approximation on some sectors. Put it like this, nothing will evoke the feeling of loss - as discussed by Amores Perros - more than if you missed this film. (10)
IF THIS FILM WERE A CAR CRASH: Let us mix up the good storytelling and serious subject matter of Traffic, and ram it into the genre defying flair of Pulp Fiction. Go on, let us throw Lassie in there too.

Kiss Me Kate

I thoroughly understand the processes in making a 3-D film, it just so happens that my eyes are not set up to process 3-D pictures. So while perhaps one of the major selling points of this re-release of Cole Porter’s musical was that it was in 3-D, this meant nothing to me. And apart from having to still wear the glasses (I might not be able to process, but else I would have seen the two competing images) it made little difference to me. I went to see it because as an example of stupidly plush fifties musicals it is perfect. Glorious Technicolor, lurid clothing and top songs a-go-go - Kiss Me Kate has it all. It does not really need 3-D to make its point.
What is most interesting about Kiss Me Kate, and one which is partially due to its 3-D filming (it was actually filmed twice, once for 3-D and once 2-D) is the way that the choreography and set design attempts to exploit this. Whilst the dancing rarely gets any better than the almost opening number - Ann Miller’s joyful romp around an apartment to Too Darn Hot, the depth of the sets and high kicking into the screen does give the film an extra degree of fluidity. It is an odd choice for a 3-D musical after all, so much of it is set in the relatively restrictive scene of a theatre. That said some imagination was added to the staging one thinks to toy with the 3-D filming. Imagination is also put into the general lushness of set design - it just looks great if in no way realistic.
A musical is only as good as its songs, and when Kiss Me Kate starts you do fear that you may have wandered into a dud. The opening number is a ridiculous piece of bombast sung almost operatically by the magnificently overacting Howard Keel. Keel hams it up all the way through this, but with everything else being over the top he fits perfectly. Luckily the songs settle down to good comic musical numbers after that, some shoehorned in for no good reason but interrupting the flow of the plot at least every five minutes. This is possibly just as well because - for a musical - the plot of Kiss Me Kate is labyrinthine. A divorced couple putting on a production of Kiss Me Kate, Cole Porters new Taming Of The Shrew based musical, mix with a dodgy betting debt, a love triangle and of course not forgetting the play within the play. It certainly puts to shame any film suggesting it is post modern and knowing now - this was in 1953 and is as self reflexive as any modern piece of fluff. It also completely mucks up the last third of its plot - when it threatens to go amusingly into His Girl Friday realms of farce it merely returns with a weak, unfocussed reunion. But the rest of the film is so much fun that you almost forgive it for that.
I have seen a stage version of Kiss Me Kate and what always impresses is the fact that only fifty percent of the songs really have anything to do with the plot. Tracks like Too Darn Hot, Wunderbar and even Brush Up Your Shakespeare do not really fit here but even the breakneck pace of the plot manages to fit them in. Kathryn Grayson plays a very impressive Lilli Vanessi who is nowhere near as Shrewish as the play within the play may suggest. Indeed this is another film which wrestles at least playfully with the difficult themes of The Taming Of The Shrew. That the ending is so lame suggests it does not do as well as - say - 10 Things I Hate About You, but it does have the benefit of the tunes and choreography to pick it up.
Kiss Me Kate is an old fashioned musical, which is in itself an odd thing to say. Nevertheless it comes before such fayre as West Side Story and Rodgers and Hammerstein’s classics which were less studio. There is a palpable pretence in the staging, and the plot nor the set (which is a theatre) never really convince. Instead the entertainment comes wholly out of seeing the gaudiness and actively participating in the fantasy. Musicals are by their own nature ridiculous, to suggest otherwise seems perhaps a bit disingenuous. And what could be more bizarre than taking something so artificial and trying to make it more lifelike with 3-D. A high kicking (8)
IF THIS FILM WERE A CAR CRASH: Well its The Taming Of The Shrew set to music with a romantic subplot reminiscent of His Girl Friday. Add On The Town to that and the House Of Wax (for 3-D fun) and you’ve got it.

The Mexican
I’ve been to Mexico. A lovely country it is too. Very big, spread wide from the United States up top then curving round to Guatemala. Bordered by the two major oceans on both sides and with one of the largest cities in the world hemmed in by some volcanoes. Lovely country like I said, and full of Mexicans. I know this is picky, but when I see a film called The Mexican, I kind of hope it is about Mexicans. Or at least the Mexican in question is the lead character. Not a ropey old Macguffin like plot device of a pistol. So I was already on the back foot when it came to The Mexican.
Of course the lead character was never going to be Mexican, since the film happens to star Brad Pitt and Julia Roberts - never of whom could convincingly pass off as Hispanic. Of course problem is here neither of them really pass themselves off as anything that human either. This is a script where “despite their obvious bickering there is chemistry between the lead characters”. This is a film where this line was taken as read as the two leads happen to be two of the biggest box office draws in the world. The chemistry either got left on the cutting room floor, or never really existed. This is not all Brad and Julia’s faults. Their characters are one dimensional at best, or based on other characters they have played before at worse. (Brad in particular appears to be riffing on his character from Twelve Monkeys without the over the top madness.)
So a screwball, action , romantic comedy is what the Mexican bills itself as. We know its a comedy because people keep pulling faces and bumping their heads. This is - of course - very funny. It is also very funny when Brad Pitt’s job in Mexico keeps getting worse. It is also funny when Julia Roberts gets kidnapped by James Gandolfino’s hitman, pretty much a reprise of Tony Soprano but with the comedy twist that he is gay. However there are no jokes, the action is sloppy and fundamentally you do not care about these losers. The plot keeps twisting itself into knots, hoping that absurdity and narrative will help it out of its sluggish rut - but it just drags.
The Mexican is a half decent idea dragged in the wrong direction. This may be partly due to its stars not really being suited to the material. It may also be due to the director not quite knowing when to play for laughs, and when the drama kicks in (for a romantic comedy there is an awful lot of death). It also needlessly plays on lazy Mexican stereotypes for the plot complications. Brad and Julia are watchable, Gandolfino even more so, but the air of pointlessness does hang over the entire project. In the end the film fails because it does not understand that whilst loveable stupid characters do exist, stupid does not necessarily equal loveable. (3)
IF THIS FILM WAS A CAR CRASH: It wants to be a Hitchcock hitting a Nora Ephron, and oddly enough it is about as bad as that would suggest.

But I’m A Cheerleader

Teen actors - I can’t imagine it being a laugh being one. They pretty much split into two groups after all - the pretty and the kooky. The pretty are frighteningly so, I mean I know orthodontistry is prescribed by law in Hollywood but there is something so rigid about those teeth that can cause nightmares. Oddly though this regulation beauty which ends up turning out the Rachel Leigh Cooks, and the Jennifer Love Hewitts of this world - blandly pretty. The other group, not so much a group as a selection of four or five actors are left to fumble around in teen movies as they became famous in other movies, for acting. Christina Ricci avoided this by never doing a teen movie, Anna Paquin is now sniffing around - and Natasha Lyonne - well she does the odd ones.
Lyonne is a good actress, and has a very dry wit. This was showcased best in Everbody Says I Love You, though The Slums Of Beverly Hills also used it - tempered with vunerablity. Of late though, after a criminally underused turn in American Pie, she has been looking for the unusual to keep her going. But I’m a Cheerleader is a teen comedy, a romance but one with much more of a John Walters sensibility than Freddie Prinze Jr. Lyonne plays the titular cheerleader whose parents suspect is a lesbian and pack off to a deprogramming group to make her normal again. Cue satire on gender roles, hetero and homo sexuality and a quite sweet love scene.
But I’m a Cheerleader is not an overly ambitious movie, and is filmed in a rough and ready style much like mid-period John Waters - replete with snarly punk-pop tunes and lack of any real character depth beyond the stereotypes. And this film is full of stereotypes, at the True Directions camp every possible gay stereotype is represented. This can - in retrospect - make the film relatively uncomfortable. At the heart of the movie is a serious issue about prejudice and tolerance for homosexuality, and yet playing heavily with stereotypes is something which actually plays into the hands of bigots. Its a minor problem and certainly not the only problem the film has. Yet the story, script and often inspired set direction pushes the film on with such joie de vivre it would be churlish to say that the film does not entertain.
Oddly one of the weakest aspects of the film is Lyonne herself, as our lead character. She never really convinces as the clean cut cheerleader, it is possible that this is due to my familiarity of her in smart talking outsider roles. To be fair, if you have seen Confessions Of A Trick Baby, you’ll never see Lyonne as a victim - so whilst she plays her scenes with as much wide eyed innocence as she can - she only really comes into her own when she comes out. Also the film does seem rather confused with its own premise, it seems to admit that homosexuality is innate, but then flirts with ideas of becoming and being turned gay which seem to contradict itself. That said the film was never going to be in the vanguard of gay liberation, and seen as a fun piece of slightly more intelligent teen fluff holds up exceptionally well.
Whilst there are problems with But I’m A Cheerleader, it is so short, sharp, sweet and funny that you tend to ignore them until after the film is over. The set and costume design in particular for the True Directions ranch help emphasise the cartoonish nature of the film, which also suggests the cartoonish foolishness of such an institution. That such places do exist is surely the most frightening thing, and that they are run on a relatively similar line (albeit without the PVC boy and girl outfits) is not too far fetched. Its a fun film, it won’t change your life, but it is a good trashy laugh in the meantime. (7)
IF THIS FILM WERE A CAR CRASH: It certainly has the smell of Even Cowgirls Get The Blues hitting Hairspray - though for the life of me I don’t know why.

Captain Correlli’s Mandolin

Well, it would seem that every single popular novel to be seen being read on the Tube three years ago have now all been turned into films. Unsurprising I suppose, the film industry loves to canibalize other media for its successes. And most of those films (High Fidelity, Bridget Jones’s Diary) have been pretty successful. And so to Captain Correlli’s Mandolin, a book which - at first sight - is much more cinematic than the other two more confessional blockbusters. Correlli, with its sweeping love story set during World War Two surely offers a film-maker both lush settings and exciting battlefield set pieces. Doddle right?
Unfortunately the other thing Captain Correlli’s Mandolin offer is a selection of wide ranging European accents. The multinational cast which the book can get away with nicely comes and bites the film on the nose rendering anything else it tries to do hopelessly silly. The fact that the film has decided to give all of its characters broad European accents renders it laughable, especially when some of those accents are not even very authentic. Nicholas Cage’s Correlli sounds much like the Italian captain in ‘Allo ‘Allo, and even his stupid accent lapses into American more often than not. “Bella Bambina” indeed. Worse is to come - Penelope Cruz is doing a Spanish accent, mainly because she is Spanish and does not speak English that well. Even Christian Bale camps it up mercilessly, also growing the least convincing beard in cinema for quite some time. Only John Hurt manages to get away with his accent in any form, and merely because he has the gravitas to make it look part of the character.
This would be a pity if the rest of the film worked, but unfortunately the problem with a wide ranging book like Captain Correlli’s Mandolin is there is too much plot to fit in. Therefore some of the important characters in the book are merely sketched, and then appear to act oddly out of character. Borrowing the books narrative pacing, but altering the effect also leaves the film feeling bitty, the earthquake near the end is shown to be dramatic - but actually has no effect on the characters. What is worse is that the film plumps to change the very ending, offering a quick fix happy ending which completely undermines the vague air of tragedy the film should rightly be offering.
Truth is there is just too much depth in a book like Captain Correlli’s Mandolin, and its character are too well drawn. Instead the Italian Army here are presented as Keystone Cop like in their incompetence, the German’s the usual ruthless bad guys. Cage seems to be playing Correlli as a Marx Brother, all ticks and getting drunk. It is difficult to see what Cruz’s Pelagia sees in him, it is equally difficult to understand her when she tries to articulate. Perhaps the most damning aspect which sums up the film is that the theme picked out by Correlli, the big love theme is a piece of Grade One plucking as basic as Three Blind Mice. The film has a similar degree of superficiality.
If you want to see a relatively undemanding love story the Captain Correlli’s Mandolin will probably suit your purposes. Especially if you like the requisite Mills And Boon background of a sunny Greek island. However if you were expecting any depth, or a faithful conversion of the book then this movie is not for you. It will probably sour the book for you, instead of this dapper charming Italian captain, you will forever see Nicholas Cage saluting with a flower and shouting “Bella Bambina”. And that not a memory anyone should have to stick to. (4)
IF THIS FILM WAS A CAR CRASH: Escape From Athena - dodgy WWII action movie - hitting Shirley Valentine - for the Greek Love aspect. Except with ‘Allo ‘Allo accents and a complete lack of any real emotion.

The Dish
Sometimes you do not need much to make a film. Just a small story will do, as long as you treat it properly and in a consistent style. The Dish is one such film, based on a footnote of history, which takes a tiny story and manages to spin it into an hour and a half of gentle whimsy. How does it succeed? Merely by presenting some equally simple characters, peppering them with a number of obvious subplots and bolstering the lot with stock footage and some music. It certainly isn’t the most complex movie in the world, but sometimes a bit of simplicity is the order of the day.
The Dish is the story of Australia’s part in the 1969 moon landings. Australia, or Parkes - the town where this is all set - has one of the worlds largest radio telescopes which was used to relay the TV footage. During the mission the station lost transmission for a small amount of time, and the dish was held in place even though the wind could have ripped it out and destroyed it. Of course when held up against an achievement like the moon shots it is a truly tiny tale, but the beauty of The Dish is it takes this moment in history and actually shows in the reactions of the ordinary people, how extraordinary the event was. Ostensibly about the dish, the film is also about wonder, about how people pulled together and an almost bygone sense of awe.
The film, as it is, is nothing new. It is cobbled together using identikit plot devices from numerous other films. The town is of course peopled with eccentrics from Sam Neill’s pipe smoking dish operator to the peace loving daughter of the mayor. There is the expected culture clash between the Americans and the Australians, and there are two moments which would equate to some form of tension. These are all handled well by the director and the Working Dog writing team (who made the equally as genial The Castle) with plenty of heart. Indeed what makes The Dish work at all is the genuine affection it has for its characters. They would be easy to patronise as hicks if the film wanted more jokes, but instead it treats its subject with almost too much respect - almost so much that the moments of suspense never convince because we know the characters are competent. We also know that the mission was televised, which would also do us on the tension front too.
The most impressive aspect of The Dish is not in the writing or acting at all. It is the cinematography of The Dish itself. The film more than adequately conjures the size of this thing, from the oddly absurd game of cricket which takes place within its huge span, to the amount of power required to move it. Coupled with some well chosen psychedelic hits these musical montage scenes actually drive the film along, rather than slow the thing down as might be expected. When this is blended with the familiar stock footage of NASA and the moon landing, coupled with some fine reaction shots it actually conjures the moment up very well. There may not be much story to speak of, but the big story is always worth retelling.
The Dish is a very sweet movie, which is almost contemplative in its approach to storytelling. Whilst there is much in the film which could be said to be almost clichéd, and the extent that this is really based on a true story is at best suspect - it still manages to conjure up an era. Rather than the bombast of an American telling, this skewed view is both good natured and truly evocative. There is much to like here, but you walk away merely feeling in awe both of the moon landing, and of the scale of the dish itself. A small movie, about a very big thing. (8)
IF THIS FILM WERE A CAR CRASH: The Right Stuff meets The Full Monty. But in Australia and without the nakedness.

Don’t Look Now

I had a long discussion post seeing this new print of Don’t Look Now about watching films over and over again. I rarely rewatch stuff on video, and do not really own many. However there are films which I would watch again if they happened to be on television. Don’t Look Now would probably not be one. As a spooky ghost story it works exceptionally well, but it is similar to that other ghost story The Sixth Sense that once you know how it ends what made the film so interesting is wholly destroyed.
Don’t Look Now is a fantastic ghost story in as much as the less you know about it, the creepier the thing is. The more baffled you are by the film, the more it will shock and surprise you. If - like me - you know the ending then it just doesn’t work at all. Slight of hand and misdirection are rife in this film, even up to the point that - taken logically - the end of the film is wholly unrelated to the rest of it. However Nicholas Roeg uses every trick at his discretion to suck the audience into a film which doesn’t really have a plot at all.
Cinematically Don’t Look Now appears quite dated now, thirty years on. The effects in the film are pretty primitive and the electronic music - whilst still quite spooky - nevertheless seems more than a touch tacky. However the acting really gels the film together. From the excruciatingly twee and unpleasant opening scene, through to the rest of the movie - Donald Sutherland treads a tightrope between hysterical overacting and rather moving bemusement. The latter wins out and it is one of his finest performances. Julie Christies role is a touch easier, however she displays that effortless cool which made her reputation. Even running around in some hideous clothes looking far too much like my Mum she displays both her loss and confusion.
The Venice location is also as important as a character. The foreigness of a place which has canals instead of roads is used to a heightened effect - to push the supernatural aspect further. This is no ordinary town, and it is easy to get lost. Perhaps getting characters lost, and running around incessantly is a cheap trick to heighten suspense, but Roeg pulls out all the stops on that front. To also offer us in the two old ladies a pair of grotesques whose intentions are never clear leaves us with little in the way of an idea of where the film is going. Until that bizarre final scene it is never clear what is going on. Of course when you see that final scene it becomes all to plain why it was not clear. Yet even at this point Roeg’s film does not disappoint leaving us with an uncomfortable crescendo which is anything but a happy ending.
Don’t Look Now is without a doubt one of cinemas finest ghost stories. Bookended by two equally disturbing scenes and filled in between with a true sense of mystery and menace it is clear why this film has endured - despite looking dated in other aspects. Christie and Sutherland always convince as a real couple, and therefore the sympathy level with them is always high. The film understands that true fear and suspense comes from not knowing - and happily ratches up the mystery until you really are not sure what will happen, and more importantly why. Its just when you find out, you can never watch it again. It just would not be the same. (9)
IF THIS FILM WERE A CAR CRASH: If the Sixth Sense went back in time and hit surprisingly Citizen Kane coming forward in time, then you might have some semblance of this creepy classic.

Girlfight
What makes a film good? Its rarely a question which wanders through the mind when you are actually watching a good film, since the enjoyment of the superior entertainment is doing a more than good enough job of distracting you. Watching Girlfight – which is, rest assured, a very good film you cannot help but notice that its plot is more than a touch formulaic. It is a coming of age drama, with touches of fish out of water. It is about combating prejudice and challenging gender roles. It is – fundamentally – a harder version of Billy Elliot. So why is Girlfight much better than the ballet dancing flick?
The main reason Girlfight is head and shoulders above Billy Elliot is in the performance of Michelle Rodriguez. That and the attention the film pays on her. This is a film about her, so she is literally in every scene. Billy Elliot widened its scope to much, it was a film about a boy discovering ballet, but it was also trying to be an historical document about the miners strike. The two themes did not really gel, allowing Billy’s father far too much of the limelight, and heroism in coming to terms with his son as a dancer. Girlfight leaves all the battle, and therefore all the glory to Diana, Rodriguez’s character, and therefore the sense of triumph at the end is much more concentrated.
The film starts with a defiant stare from Rodriguez, and within a minute she is seen to be having a fight with her school. Aggression is very much part of her life, so whilst the plot does tick over almost mechanistically to get her into boxing, the film stays true to its central premise. Diana is a complicated character, and the film leaves much of her roots unsaid. Her father is a drinker, her mother is dead. The reason for the later is dangled over the audience for much of the film, until we get to an extremely powerful scene which is always on the cards, but nevertheless shocking. The film never shies too far away from the grimy, gritty side of boxing either. It is seen as a form of discipline and in its often used route out of the gutter. It also shows how unlikely that will be.
There really isn’t anything remarkable about either the coming of age plot, boxing plot (which follows a tried and trusted rules of the boxing movie) or even the love story bundled in. It is unlikely a Mills And Boon would ever be set in the world of mixed amateur boxing – an area where the film is shaky on reality – however if it were it would go just like this. Like Save The Last Dance (a glossy mix of Girlfight and Billy Elliot without the coming of age) the love story works like clockwork, yet is more than worthwhile when Rodriguez breaks into a smile. The moment that her stony scowl finally cracks reminds you exactly how much the film, and the actor has got you involved in the character. Certainly not many love stories end with a boxing match between the two protagonists, but it is certainly the only time boxing has ever been seen as romantic.
Director Karyn Kusama has created a gritty but touching story which exists in a part of society Hollywood never gets to. Sure in a film like Save The Last Dance we can visit the ghetto, but Kusama puts us in there without undermining or patronising the participants. There isn’t a “happy ever after”, there is merely a “slightly better than the start”. To add to that some boxing footage which manages to convey what it is like to be right there more than makes this one of the best films of the year. Add to this Michele Rodriguez’s towering performance and you have a fantastic piece of work (9)
IF THIS FILM WERE A CAR CRASH: Billy Elliot, Save The Last Dance and – you guessed it – Raging Bull. And yes, it is that good.

The Tailor Of Panama
Second film in as many weeks to be based on a best selling British novel co-written by the author and Andrew Davies. In the art of taking book to film there is possibly no better abridger than Davies working today - though it is a pity that more of his original stuff isn’t made. This is however miles removed from Bridget Jones’s Diary - this is supposedly a grim and gritty John le Carre. Except it isn’t, its equally a comedy of errors as Jones’s is - its just that the error in this one cause people to die.
The Tailor Of Panama is a John Boorman film and so we are already in pretty safe territory. Boorman is going through a bit of a renaissance, post The General (one of the best movies of the nineties) and here he is having a lot of fun. Fundamentally he is playing around with the idea of espionage, secrets and lies. Geoffery Rush plays the titular tailor - a man who has lied to everyone in his life about his identity. Pierce Brosnan plays the disgraced spy, who uses the tailor as a source to set up various operations. The only problem is, the tailor is a liar - and ends up setting up some horrific events with both personal and global effects. The film is a gentle political comedy, with elements of drama and tragedy sprinkled on. Those elements do not quite work, lending the last reel of the film a sloppy unfocussed atmosphere. It is however still pretty entertaining to watch.
Much of the fun here comes from Pierce Brosnan’s bad guy. It is quite obvious from the moment of casting that the fact he plays a spy allows him to trade on the Bond reputation. He goes out and trashes it for all it is worth. What is odd though, for all his characters duplicity and nastiness he still retains that ineffable charm, and convinces somewhat more than Bond does as a secret agent. This is pretty much the Bond of Fleming, a user, ruthless and eventually only out for himself. Up against him Geoffrey Rush’s tailor is a bit of a charicature - the East-End kid from the rag-trade. He is playing in the great tradition of Shylockesque Jew’s but neither the accent nor the mannerisms quite convince. He is not a bad liar - but Boorman’s introduction of Uncle Benny (played by Harold Pinter of all people) as his imaginary conscience does the film few favours. Jamie Lee Curtis is equally unconvincing as a potential mate for Rush, and gets to do next to nothing in the film as it is.
So one good cad performance does not make a film. Here though the slack is taken up by the supporting cast. John Fortune as the ambassador playing a role he knows to a tee, Leonor Varela’s Marta playing a woman with more than enough history. To top it all a bizarre turn from Brendan Gleason playing Orson Welles playing an American playing a Panamanian drunk freedom fighter, a turn so close to being ridiculous it is fantastic. Nevertheless this is a film which pretty much stand up on its story, a political thriller, a commentary on the place for spying in the world these days. It is also a treatise on deception, and whilst the ending has been chopped up and looks rough and unsatisfactory, the final scene is one which plotwise is wrong - but fits into reality. This is the kind of film where the bad guys get away, its the bad guys with a conscience who get to suffer.
Boorman has created a nice confection here, and films it exceptionally well. The film is pacey and yet takes its time to linger over little ticks, and nuances of expression. Brosnan is obviously having a ball here (much like Hugh Grant revelled in playing the bad guy in Bridget Jones’s Diary - Andrew Davies can write a cad). He also manages to show the contrasts of Panama in a less than travelogue style, street poverty next to corrupt politics. So while you are entertained you also get a fair whack of history and politics of this odd region - all rather well explained.
The Tailor Of Panama is fun, with a few serious ideas lurking in its underbelly. It is therefore a pity that some of them are not more developed - however Boorman has picked a tone and manages to stick with it. It is a film with antecedents - it knows it owes much to Our Man In Havana - and Rush’s white linen suit is a nod to Alec Guinness. There are also obvious hints of Casablanca and a Touch Of Evil all adds to the fun. That the film is not wholly successful is partially due to a slightly lack-lustre Rush and perhaps the decision to toy with some of the moral aspects without fully developing them. Nevertheless it has - with the exception of a butchered ending - been put together well and is worth seeing for the sneering Pierce alone. (7)
IF THIS FILM WERE A CAR CRASH: Let us imagine a proper Bond version of Casino Royale with Our Man In Havana.

The Hole
Trailers for movies are merely the same as old vaudeville billboards. As advertisements they are nowhere near as imaginative as any of the car or perfume shorts we see before the films, and considering that they are the dumbest of cinema adverts you get the vague idea how simplistic they are. After all most trailers consist of a cleverly strung together set of clips from the movie, usually the good bits, telling us pretty much what the tone, characters (and if you are unluck) the story will be. Which puts you in an odd situation when you go see a film whose trailer promises one thing, and the film delivers something else. The trailers to The Hole have been knocking around for a good six months - and quite grisly they were too. The film on the other hand, well its not exactly horror.
The Hole is a thriller from the unpredictable narrator school. The tale is simple, four schoolkids bunk off of a field trip (Wales - Ugh!). Amongst them we have the standard stereotypes, jock, posh twit, teen queen, weirdo - though worth noting that this is a British public school so only one of them (two if you count Thora Birch’s unpredictable accent) are American. Anyway, they are locked in the hole by forces unknown and what follows is the long, slow starvation and onset of illness. As described well in the trailer.
Except that is not what follows. Mindful that there is little suspense in the eventual death of all his characters Nick Hamm then pulls us out of the story. This is after all a version of events told by Birch’s Liz - and she clearly places the blame on supercilious nerd boy. We then see the tale as he imagines it - and its a touch sexier. It still does not cut to the maggot heavy quick which is where the gross out shocks and thrills are to be had in an emaciation movie. The time wasted in dallying with the frankly obvious mystery is almost as annoying as the “this is how I did it” storytelling conceit which the film eventually uses to get us to the point of the film. Watching the panic and various deaths unfold it becomes clear that this possibly could have held the attention. Instead we are left with a weak twist ending with holes in the plot larger than the titular hole.
Its all a bit of a pity because the set up is convincing. What is more Hamm and his cast presents five teenagers from public school who you actually come to like. This is no mean feat, especially since these are supposed to be obnoxious stereotypes. The film deals with interesting ideas like cliques, puppy love and alienation obliquely, but so much better than its actual plot. It also makes best use of the contrast in its visuals. But outside the teens the characters are both thick and dull (the police in general). I cannot help think how much different the film might have been if Holly Aird’s spiky copper from The Criminal was in here instead of Davidtz’s dull psychiatrist cop. In the end though the film feels over long and has one too many plot holes in it to convince. And the scares only come in the last reel, by which point we already know what the cause is.
The Hole is a technically competent film, and there are some really good performances in it - though not from its stars (Birch almost pulls it off, but the accent really doesn’t help). In the end though the film cannot decide if it is a horror movie (it isn’t), a thriller (no thrills) or a mystery (a simple one). A viewing of The Blair Witch Project would have certainly helped up the psychological ante, or a look at The Usual Suspects could have seen how important plot consistency is. As my mate Paul would say - its not real. In this case I’ve got to agree. (5)
IF THIS FILM WERE A CAR CRASH: The Usual Suspects meets a teen horror movie, with The Blair Witch Project just dying to get involved - poor love.

Bridget Jones’s Diary
I do not as a rule like films based on books. The point has usually eluded me - you want to read the book get it out the library. This is mainly due to the fact that generally what attracted an audience, and quite possibly the filmmakers, to the book is something inherent in its style, which is also tied up with its bookness. Of course there is the idea that people want to see their favourite books brought to life and are quite happy to devour the same stuff in different mediums - but the general truism is that the films are always worse than the book. That’s a truism I have always agreed with, until in a drunken argument the other night I realised that this was a) a nonsense generalization, and more worryingly b) a fair number of my favourite movies are adaptations of books. Take last year, my favourite film was probably Wonder Boys - a film based on a book.
So okay, maybe there are certain types of books which are easier to adapt. Maybe it is even that cinema is now a more dominant artform than literature so the pacing, narrative and structure of books are now taking their lead from cinema - becoming more cinematic. I think there might be something in that, but maybe it is just that directors are getting better at filleting books to retain the essence without the padding. And of course, talking of padding brings us directly - and finally - to Bridget Jones. Not that fatness is any strict description Renee Zellweger here. Rather she appears to have a couple of cheeks.
Some of my suppositions above just do not work for the Bridget Jones book, let alone the film. A book of a newspaper column, it evolved rather than was written as a straight narrative, and the diary form does not lend itself obviously to the film form. Director Sharon Maguire toys with a couple of diary like conceits (writing on screen, billboard signs) but generally ditches the diary form to offer us more in the way of romantic comedy. And yet retaining much of the plot of the book means this has an odd set of beats, this is not a typical three act romantic comedy. And also for all the insistence within the film that this is a story of one persons search for love - it does an awful lot more than that. Against all odds this is a cosy British film which is actually pretty funny.
The Bridget Jones phenomenon (I think it is safe to call it that) is due to identification. As a heroine Renee Zellweger plays Bridget as scatty, clueless, dependent yet independent and wholly loveable. It is a comic creation different to the one in the book, but one which works in cinema terms awfully well. Not only is it an attractive character it is also identifiable and the film mercilessly presses the button of embarrassment for most of its set piece gags. Forget the accent, forget the English rose nonsense - this is a solidly impressive role, considering that much of the script plops stereotypes and obvious gags for her to bounce off of. Its just as well that she is in every scene - because the film does not really flesh anyone else out that much. That said Hugh Grant is easily at his most attractive playing the kind of bastard you understand women fall for. Suave, ruthless and fantastically charming. It takes what on paper would be a one sided conflict and moves it into the realms of the vaguely believable.
I am not a huge fan of Richard Curtis style movies. They exist in a London which I do not recognise and find a touch patronising. Whilst Bridget Jones’s Diary also exists in this world (she lives above a pub she never goes in) because it is so grounded in Bridget herself it does not jar. Also there are more gags and much more sensitive direction than that you usually get from the jobbing directors doing a Curtis script - also to note that Helen Fielding and Andrew Davies (possible the best book adapter in the business) have a hand in it. Whilst the film is both preposterous and unreal, there seems an odd indomitable charm and spirit with Zellweger’s Jones that makes it rise above most of its flaws.
I rather enjoyed Bridget Jones’s Diary, and the cinema I was in seemed to agree. And whilst Hugh Grant is good - the success of the project is wholly down to three women - which makes a nice gender change in British cinema. Sharon Maguire for some rather surefooted direction (the film is slightly overlong but does not outstay the considerable welcome it builds itself). Renee Zellweger’s meaty take on this most odd of characters - she has done the nigh on impossible and made this role her own. But most importantly, Helen Fielding - she wrote the book of the film after all. (8)
IF THIS FILM WAS A CAR CRASH: A lazy man would say a female High Fidelity. Zzzzzzzz. Hitting Notting Hill?

Miss Congeniality
It seems remarkable that something as innocuous and vapid as beauty pageants can be a recurring theme in the cinema. Over the last couple of years we have had Drop Dead Gorgeous (a toothless satire), Happy Texas (gently amusing) and now we have Miss Congeniality - a fish out of water comedy set in the bitchy in fighting world of beauty shows. An odd action comedy which we should be thankful was rescued and produced by Sandra Bullock - for surely it would only have ended up as an hilarious Martin Lawrence or Eddie Murphy dragging up comedy.
Bullock produces, Bullock stars and its probably her best role since While You Were Sleeping. This is of course not saying an awful lot when you think 28 Days and Practical Magic prop up that career - but it is at least vaguely amusing. And Bullock is game in it - she dresses herself down relatively well to start off with. It is never completely convincing that she is unattractive, but it is certainly convincing that she is a workaholic. Bullock plays the kind of FBI agent which only exists in the movies - the type that is kooky and makes mistakes but is brilliant underneath. It then is required - via the magic of plot inventing machines - that they need someone to go undercover at the Miss United States competition and Bullock is unwillingly put forward. Cue makeover but a faxing in performance Michael Caine, and a few nice jokes at the expense of the pageant - then its off to the action based finale. It hits the mark, its winsome enough. And it finishes and you have not been rained on for a couple of hours.
Its such a simple formula that you wonder why Bullock has floundered so much in the last few years. She is still a big enough name to open a movie despite not having a serious hit for quite some time. Yet she seems to have forgotten the films that made her were not romantic comedies at all - rather action comedies (Speed is after all quite a funny film). Girl next door looks equal identification, but what the boys like about Bullock is her feisty side. Miss Congeniality gets to display that again - which is a welcome return. And oddly while the set up is vaguely amusing there really aren’t that many jokes in here. The film ends up relying on Bullock as a comedienne, and she is a pretty good one when she puts her mind to it, and her charm. It survives better than expected - especially when all around her - Benjamin Bratt in particular - are overly lacklustre.
Of course the film has at its heart a decidedly dodgy moral. Bullock learns to be more like a girl, and becomes a better person. Beauty contests are not bad things, they are staffed with intelligent and pretty girls (not that this intelligence is in any way obvious - one of the best gags in the film is the dimmest of them being cited as a Particle Physician). Yet the film never seems to make up its mind, and does not wholeheartedly get behind the objectification of beauty. After all its not beauty that Bullock finds completes her - though its handy she gets it - but making friends. Sickly I know, but at least the film almost gets its moral in the right place. That the film is effectively neutral on the political position of beauty contests is unsurprising - but you don’t go to see a film like this to be surprised.
Miss Congeniality is probably the most formulaic Hollywood film I have seen for quite some time. There are absolutely no quirks in here at all, and as a star vehicle it relies dangerously on its star. Luckily it is the kind of role she is particularly good at - and that coupled with a pretty good poster (note - no close ups of Bullock laughing) has made this a hit. Now hopefully for the sake of her career we won’t have to wait another five years until she works it out again. Not great, but it never hurts. (6)
IF THIS FILM WERE A CAR CRASH: Well lets say Big Momma’s House without the fart gags hitting Drop Dead Gorgeous. It wants to be My Fair Lady - but completely gets the makeover bit wrong (should have made more of the gag about the FBI Manicure and Pedicure squads).

Enemy At The Gates
Not really been a lot of films about the Russian side of WWII, or World War Two as it should be known in polite company. Well, let me rephrase that, there have probably been loads of films about the Russian side of World War Two, its just they probably haven’t been in English. Or - to be fair - a bundle of laughs. The scale of the tragedy of the Eastern Front is still one which is difficult to conceive - and that at least a film set there like Enemy At The Gates may prompt a few interested souls to look with more depth into the history of that particular part of the conflict. But I daresay the main problem was that the Amercians were in no way involved with the battle on the Eastern front so they cannot claim in anyway that they won that particular part of the war.
Well, that’s okay, because there is only one American in Enemy At the Gates, and that is Ed Harris playing the bad guy. That’s right, this is a film set in Stalingrad - during one of the bloodiest battle of the conflict - but it is the kind of film that also has a bad guy. The idea I suppose is by telling a small story occurring within the conflict, we also manage to tell the big story. Its a nice idea, but possibly the scale of the Stalingrad story is too much for the film to handle. Or, and to be fair this seems to be more likely, they’ve picked a duff story.
As it is that story is one of Jude Law’s heroic, proletarian sniper - Joseph Fiennes less heroic propaganda officer, Rachel Weisz’s spunky proletarian heroine and Ed Harris’s posh German aristo. So what we have actually been dished up is a love triangle and a class struggle. Whilst these are universal themes, and often a strong base for films in general - here the plot pretty much defines the characters. To call the lead characters two dimensional would be to insult the majority of portraiture even made. Its a cookie cutter plot and all the will in the world, and interesting setting will not liven up a tale when you do not care about the characters. Even when real historical figures are thrown in the mix (Bob Hoskins’ bizarre version of Kruschev) the lack of verisimilitude is still plain. Which is a great pity because in almost every other - less important extent - the film is pretty good.
As has been de riguer in war films since Saving Private Ryan the film opens with an extended battle sequence which illustrates the horrors of war™. Enemy At The Gates shows us a different mindset to the gung-ho but basically patriotic SPR - where you are just as likely to get killed by your own side as the opposition, and this sequence is frankly stunning. Its just when we focus on our characters that the film falls down. The city is recreated in the film with fantastic accuracy (I can say this because I saw the World At War - Stalingrad episode directly afterwards), and the terror of the city is well recreated in many of the well paced sniper segments. Jude Law is a leading man, he captivates even though he has little to work with. Indeed the actors cannot be blamed for their characters, maybe merely for the choice of accents which equates growing up in the Urals with an East-End barrow boy. And there are genuine moments of innovation in the action sequences - sniper films will always have a degree of tension. But in the end even the plotting is subject to the vagaries of bad writing, relying on coincidence and luck just too many times to make us think that Law does not earn his unsurprising victory.
The biggest tragedy of Enemy At The Gates is that it does not do its own subject matter justice. As well as a film about Stalingrad it wants to be a film about media exploitation, class, race (Weisz and Fiennes are - handily - Jewish), war, loyalty and a love story too. That is too much for this little film to bear, despite looking good and having decent actors. Despite what the film says about the historical existence of Law’s character, he seems no more real than Harris’ well played but ridiculously conceived gentleman sniper. There are better films about Stalingrad, and even better documentaries. Not a bad film, but it could have been so much better. (5)
IF THIS FILM WAS A CAR CRASH: It would be the first third of Saving Private Ryan hitting the second half of Full Metal Jacket and bits and bobs of The Day Of The Jackal. And no sniping.

Save The Last Dance
You would like to think that MTV Films is possibly the worst idea ever. A branch of the ubiquitous channel devoted to producing movies. Its a recent development, and you would think that said movies would be terrible. And yet - the second film made by MTV Films was the cutting satire which was Election. And now we have Save The Last Dance, which is the most recent entry in that rarest of genres - the intelligent teen movie.
Perhaps intelligent is claiming a bit too much for Save The Last Dance (which is also the latest film of a much greater canon to be named after a sixties hit). But it is certainly a film which is not going to pander to the more vacuous aspects of its genre. For instance teen movies rarely start with an under credit sequence explaining away a characters mothers death in a graphically morbid fashion. Indeed the first twenty minutes of the film are relentlessly downbeat, and this certainly is not a feel-good all the time movie. When the good things happen you feel the characters earn them, and you are well aware that this is a world where good things do not necessarily happen. That is because it takes place in the real world. (Not that real world.)
The story is frighteningly simple. The excellent (as always) Julia Stiles plays a Sara white-bread ballerina girl who gets turned down by Julliard and loses her mother on the same day. She goes to live with her estranged father in downtown Chicago where she ends up in a predominantly black school. After a few adjustment problems she starts dating one of the smartest kids in the School (Sean Michael Thomas) who helps her regain her confidence, come to terms with her mothers death and dance again. You could call it a Romeo And Julliard for the twenty first century except it has a happy ending, and the culture clash never really occurs. Of course the two worlds that Sara has contended with are very different but her character is not prejudiced. And when prejudice does rear its head, it never comes across as thrown in as a plot device. The film - whilst perhaps a touch melodramatic in its portrayal of this part of town - is at least honest about black culture.
The film is most interesting in the way it sets up certain clichés to knock them down again. It is almost underwritten with regards to sub-plots, there are sub-plots and some of them do get resolved but most of them just tick on to sort themselves out. This blossoming love is never going to solve the problems of the city, of society, and what it paints is a picture of two people who are able to escape. It is not a kind to those who a fated to repeat history. That said this is a story of growth for Sara, notably she appears to do little in return for her boyfriend except allow him to help her and give him a few choices. Equally her supposedly dysfunctional relationship is not all that dysfunctional at all, and she has little difficulty fitting in to the new school because she is funny, chatty and in no way prejudiced herself. The film allows you to expect such scenes, play them in your head, and then resolutely ignores them in favour of an almost reportage style. There is surprisingly little conflict in the film, when it occurs it does feel almost shoe-horned in. However the leads do have a genuine chemistry and Stiles is - as always - a joy to watch. Whilst it would be nice to watch her get meatier roles, it is nice to see that she she can turn even relatively generic fayre like this into something a cut above the rest.
Save The Last Dance is a genre film, and its genre (teen romance) is one which can offer little in the way of surprises. In many ways it follows its genre to the letter with regards to its plotting (even down to the almost failing, turned around to triumphant finale). The freedom the director has exploited in the film is in portraying young, black Americans. Not all gangsters, not all junkie, just as people leaving in a different way, in different circumstances. The film is not judgmental, and instead leaves the audience free to decide how much of what they see is real. It does not feel sanitised, so despite the unbelievable core of the film (as romances always are) there is something which grounds it. The dancing may be a bit flat, the hip-hop not quite as dazzling as I expected, but in all this is about as thought provoking as this genre can get. Which isn’t very, but its a start. (7)
IF THIS WAS A CAR CRASH: And pcture it if you will, the mall town jalopy of Footloose ramming into a Spkie Lee Joint - say Do the Right Thing. Don’t nobody mention Jungle Fever round here.

Spy Kids
Whatever happened to the Childrens Film Foundation. I suppose what happened to the British Film Industry in the eighties - started to be seen as an industry so it should look after itself. That and they let Keith Chegwin in far too many of their films. They probably also noticed that it was not actually leading kids into either appreciating good cinema (Robin Hood Jr?) or equipping them for a career in film. When was the last time you heard someone on This Is Your Life talking about their Children Film Foundation years - except Keith Chegwin. In that respect the CFF was like Schoolboy football - a bunch of kids you will never hear of in ten years time. That said - this idea that kids were making films for other kids does have a germ of intelligence in it. Who better to judge the tastes of the kids crowd than other kids.
Or - as might be the case - Robert Rodriguez. Yes I know that on paper that looks ridiculous, Robert Rodriguez hasn’t made a film which has clocked in under a eighteen certificate yet, and here he is directing a U kids film. Directing, writing, editing, doing some music and special effects. And it stars a couple of not particularly cute kids. It is also easily his best film. Why? As mentioned about the idea of the CFF was for kids to make kids films. Robert Rodriguex is making a film for a kid - himself as a kid. This kind of experience, of actually having a rich fantasy life as a child - is something which unfortunately the large gangs of scriptwriters of most Hollywood kids movies seem to have beaten out of them. By doing everything himself Rodriguez has control, and control in this case allows him to spin his ideas out.
What ideas they are too. Spy Kids is a simple kids tale of two spy parents being rescued by their quickly catching on to the idea of being spies kids. It is pretty non-violent (in the sense that - like Charlie’s Angles which it shares more than a sense of fun with- guns are nowhere to be seen). It is exciting though, fast moving and played with a kids sense of wonder and irony. This is not a nudge nudge sense of irony to placate the parents, this is a slight tempering by the knowledge that this is a very unusual scenario - as opposed to fourth wall breaking gags about being in a film. The film burst with visual ideas, gadgets and just plain goofiness. The plot makes about as much sense as it needs to, but in the end this is a film about kids - so its all about the kids.
Lord spare us from dysfunctional American kids. Here, he has. Whilst both the kids in the film have problems, they do not rule their lives. When placed in a situation where they have to cope, they cope - returning to their problems afterwards. Any film which opens with the application of wart cream cannot be standard US fayre. This is not US fayre anyway, the family are Latino and the film is not set in any specific place though some sort of South American locale is suggested. This, along with many other touches, detaches the film from reality - and allows the excellent child actors to be the centre of the piece. Its a quick, fast and funny eighty minutes - with some excellent jokes.
Be warned, Spy Kids is a kids movie. It is also too much fun to be seen by just kids. Whilst there are moral messages in here, the film is not all about them (and they are naturally deduced by the characters - rather than shoved in). There are as many good jokes as an Austin Powers movie, and the design is just great to look at. So some of the special effects are a wee bit ropey - this almost adds to its charm. Robert Rodriguez has nailed what a fun kids movie should be, and I daresay created a franchise in the process. Good on him, he seems a nice chap. (8)
IF THIS FILM WAS A CAR CRASH: Everyone says James Bond hits Willy Wonka. So let me say I think there might be an assist from Charlie’s Angels.

All articles copyright Peter C.Baran (or authors where stated).
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