lwkloth

I don't know. Maybe the best way to enjoy SCOOBY DOO is NOT to have had much experience with the original cartoon. I never cared much for the cartoon -- I was always more of a Bugs Bunny/Roadrunner man. As a father of a small child, I've had the chance to see it a LOT more lately; I still can't really get into it and I think the cartoon's animation style is positively primitive and cheap-looking. Popeye short features from the 1930's were far, far better examples of the art of animation, and still outshine many modern efforts. But to each his own, and I guess that includes a lot of people, because some thirty years after it started, SCOOBY DOO is still a mainstay of the cartoon world and the stores are full of Scooby Doo stuff.

I thought SCOOBY DOO the movie was fine as a piece of light entertainment. The actors chosen to play the members of Mystery, Inc. were good, and Matthew Lillard (Shaggy) and Linda Cardellini (Velma) were especially good. Rowan Atkinson was really wasted as Emile Mondavarious; that's not to criticize him -- it's just that the character was not developed, and it didn't seem to be a Rowan Atkinson role. He did as well as possible, considering the limitations of the role.

SCOOBY DOO contains some things that "younger and more sensitive viewers might find upsetting or offensive": scary monsters, the notorious farting contest, sexual innuendo, and some thinly-veiled comments from Shaggy that confirm the long-held suspicion that he is a pot-head. But if you can get past these, and if you have no emotional investment in or great expectations about what this movie is going to be, then you might have a half-way decent time with it. Heck, I might even start watching the cartoons with my kid!

Oh, by the way -- I'll agree with a lot of the other posters here -- Linda Cardellini is a DOLL!

"Hounded," a Disney Original, naturally has become a staple of the Disney Channel. Watch it only if you have absolutely nothing better to do. No -- don't watch it --stretch yourself and find something better to do. A lot of what the Disney Channel runs is pretty inane and forgettable. That goes double for "Hounded." Except that there is something very disturbing in what the makers of this film consider humorous. What I'm referring to is how the little dog, deprived of his medication for a behavioral problem, becomes very vicious, goes berserk, wrecks the house it's in and attacks people. Much of the dog's behavior falls into the category of "cartoon violence:" a Pomeranian obviously can't punch a hole through a door nor can it fly. The film makers might have succeeded a little more if they had stayed with that. But no -- time and again the dog attacks the boy who is stuck in the house with it and all that it looks like is a snarling little dog viciously biting a boy. Man, that's funny. That scene alone should take "Hounded" off the list of movies suitable for small children. Are we to the point that parents of small children have to be wary of the Disney Channel? C'mon Disney -- can this one.

In order to fully appreciate "The Apostle" it might help to have some experience with southern Pentecostal culture. I do, and was completely taken in by the film. My wife, on the other hand, doesn't have that experience and understands neither the film nor my fondness for it. But I think that, if one is not distracted or confused or simply put off by the loud, emotional, sometimes corny religiosity portrayed here, one can see a strong, compelling story of a seriously, ultimately fatally flawed man whose faith in God and in God's mission for him reaches to his very core.

On the surface, one can view Sonny Dewey as just another example of a certain type of religious fraud: the backslapping, perpetually-grinning, wisecracking good old boy who uses religion and exploits his flock for his own selfish ends. He looks like someone who doesn't practice what he preaches. He womanizes, he's not above taking a snort from this pocket flask, he has a troubled marriage and we get the hint that he is the source of more than his share of the trouble, even to the extent of driving his wife into the arms of another man. He seems to be just another Elmer Gantry or, to pick from the real world, he's just like one of the fallen televangelists of recent years. But just when you're comfortable with that judgment of him, Sonny proves you wrong. He admits to his faults, some more freely than others. But he makes no excuses for them and, in the end, he knows that he is going to pay for them.

What really draws me into the film, and what really makes Sonny interesting for me, is the way Duvall has made him such a complex character. He's a bad guy and a good guy. He is darkness and he is light. He is sometimes endearing and other times someone you really don't feel comfortable trusting. But by creating this ambiguity, Duvall does a service not only to the way religious leaders are characterized in film, he also pays homage to core religious issues. By diving into the murky waters of Sonny's soul, Duvall goes into territory known to any seriously religious person. As much as you might want things to be black and white, a good portion of the time you're being pulled back into the shadows: there are good intentions and evil deeds; there are selfless aspirations and appetites to be fed. Sometimes you swing wildly from one side to the other. Sometimes you are on an even keel. Sometimes you're not sure.

Faith and work determine how such a struggle will turn out. Sonny is energized by both. He believes in what he is doing. He believes that God has given him a mission and he is determined to accomplish it, even in spite of himself. While it might be tempting to make a stark contrast between the message Sonny preaches and the actions he has done that are contrary to it, one must always remember that a good preacher always preaches to himself as well as his congregation. But some of the more revealing moments of the film are not when Sonny is in front of a congregation, or even with other people generally, but when he is alone with God: ranting at God in anger; dedicating himself to God in the moment that he becomes the Apostle; the soul-searching moments when he forgives his wife and resigns himself to his fate.

The no-punches-pulled realness of Sonny's struggle is a refreshing departure from the usual film portrayals of religious figures: plaster saint, con-man, one-dimensional milquetoast. But it also brings to the forefront the question of whether Sonny, or any of us, can be used for divine purpose.

"The Apostle" is beautifully filmed and captures well a portion of the rural South: you can almost feel the humidity and smell the swampwater. And while the well-known actors in the film (Farrah Fawcett, Billy Bob Thornton, Miranda Richardson) all turn in fine performances, it is the unknowns --the church members and townfolk -- that really give the film an added authenticity.

I happened to catch "Held Up" on cable one day while flat on my back in bed with the flu. Maybe it was just the delirium talking, but I felt cheered up by it. I went into this movie with no expectations. I wasn't previously acquainted with Jamie Foxx. I started to get more interested when John Cullum and Barry Corbin showed up, hoping for a little "Northern Exposure" magic to kick in, but it never quite did. All in all, "Held Up" is a harmless bit of fluff, with some mildly amusing moments, and I did find myself getting interested in how it was going to turn out. Would I have gone to the theater to see this? Absolutely not. Would I rent it? No. But if I come across it again some day when I am not in the mood for anything more substantial and challenging, I'll most likely watch it.

"Jesus of Nazareth" is a landmark in film-making, and the definitive "life of Christ" film. Nothing made before or since compares to it in quality or power. I remember that before the film was originally shown, there was some controversy because the director said something to the effect that this would shake everyone's preconceptions about Jesus. I am not sure this is true, and I am not sure that the director said what he meant to say. If he meant that his portrayal of Jesus would not be of the "plaster-saint" variety, then certainly it marked a departure from some previous portrayals. What is attractive to me about this film's portrayal of Jesus, and Robert Powell's magnificent performance, is that they present him as a real person. He is accessible. His joy is real, his compassion real, his grief real, his indignation real, his pain real. At the same time (and I write as a theologically-trained Christian of the Eastern Orthodox tradition fully aware of the theological understanding of Jesus) he is one in whom the face of God is seen. In this portrayal, the humanity of Jesus is not presented at the cost of the divine, nor is the divine presented at the of the humanity.

All the performances are first-rate, as is the overall production quality of the film. Of course, the subject matter itself drives the production, and the actors and film-makers have managed to take some of the more powerful and memorable moments from the Gospels and make them some of the more powerful and memorable moments on film: the healing of the man born blind; the telling of the parable of the Prodigal Son in the midst of a wild party and the eye-opening reconciliation it brings between Peter the disciple and Matthew the tax-collector; the appearance before Pilate; the brutal, gut-wrenching crucifixion; and, particularly effective, a cinematic rendition of "Pieta" with Mary holding the body of her son in the rain.

All true art is a product of the imagination and the soul. "Jesus of Nazareth" succeeds in being art in this sense in its portrayal of a remarkable personage and the remarkable events of his life and the drama of the human response to him that continues to this day. Seeing it can be a enriching experience for Christians as well as for those of other faiths.