Avalon-13

I laughed, I cried. Unfortunately, it was out of disbelief at how shallow and lifeless this movie was. The sometimes-pretty retelling is an insult rather than an homage, with a lack-luster cast caught knee-deep in purple blood, incessant lame humor, and a shockingly antithetical plot `twist' that is far more embarrassing than it is revolutionary.

The only redeeming aspect of the film is a luscious Gerald Butler as The Vamp himself. Sadly, he has nothing to do but stand around and look pretty (something he excels at, by the way) while teen idols prance around self-righteously baring illbegotten fangs and hammering stakes into one another. In `Dracula 2000' Dracula has fewer lines than the leeches that suck on him (lucky devils).

The plot, if there was one, was promising at first. Revived and raring to go, Count Lascivious--I mean Dracula--is pursued by the aging Van Helsing and a poster-boy sidekick as he seeks out his psychic soulmate Mary in turn-of-the-millenium New Orleans. Along the way he picks up a few dates and apparently buys them matching outfits. But halfway through you begin to realize that you already saw this movie-when it was called `End of Days'-and you still can't understand why she's running away from the succulent, supernatural, raven-haired Casanova into the arms of a tepid underwear model with a big gun.

At best, this is eye candy, and it manages to squander its best chances at being even that. Butler, an irresistibly smoldering Dracula-as-rock-star, is reduced to a sappy, underdeveloped, non-threatening supporting player and Jeri Ryan as his most interesting concubine takes a backseat to the lukewarm Colleen Fitzpatrick. The writing and acting have nothing to recommend them either (one starts to believe that Christopher Plummer situated himself under that bed to cease the humiliation), and the soundtrack ignores the gothic, century-straddling romance in favor of slasher-film death metal. Your time would be better spent writing your own Stoker rip-off as it will inevitably be better than this one--as long as it has at least one scene with a black-clad Gerry Butler half-obscured in dry ice fog purring `I will be with you forever.'

Canada's up-and-coming media-hopper Don McKellar is a phenomenon you must see to believe. McKellar was writer, director, and star of last year's Apocalypse Canadian-style, Last Night, as well as co-writer and co-star of Francois Girard's internationally praised indie The Red Violin. He also had a part in eXistenz, another Canadian export, and he is working on new episodes of his television brainchild Twitch City.

The disturbing irony of Twitch City is that it makes you adore and revile at once the medium of television. McKellar's Curtis is probably the most repulsive example of human life one is likely to find on Canada's stellar network, the CBC. Lying around 24/7 in grungy attire while snacking on Fruity-O's with his eyes and ears glued to the most abhorrent garbage the idiot box has to offer, Curtis supports his agoraphobic lifestyle by over-charging the sketchiest characters in Toronto for the extra room in his seedy downtown flat. He even manages to rent out the closet for $100 a month. He is assisted by fellow TV-junkie Newbie, the wisecracking clerk at the corner market who supplies his old University buddy with expired edibles and vintage TV trash. Closet-dwelling Hope, the impossibly understanding girlfriend of Curtis's former roommate Nathan, attempts to keep their abode civilized (but of course fails miserably).

The enigma of it all is that this unlikely cast, surrounded by the ever-changing gaggle of extraneous roomies, may be the most ridiculously hilarious and intoxicatingly original ensemble on television. From an American point of view, this is a diamond in the rough. Would that we Stateside slobs could get a little more exposure to this kind of artistry.

With all the recent exposure and a near-sweep at the Genies (Oscar's Canadian red-headed step-child), McKellar may be on his way to the international recognition he deserves, both as a comic screen-writer of genius proportions, and as an unconventionally arresting actor. Don't look for him in People's year-ending soft-porn layout (a.k.a. 50 Most Beautiful People), but those with a sophisticated palate where humor is concerned should get ready to make room for him--somewhere between Oscar Wilde and Woody Allen.

While the title is something of a misnomer, this well-written, superbly acted coming-of-age tale is undoubtedly one of the best films of its genre. It is unique, original, funny, intelligent, beautiful, and inspiring. In short, it is Canadian. Sandra Oh, one of the most emotionally devastating actresses of our time, plays liberated dreamer Jade Li who hopes to escape the suffocating environment of her over-bearing parents' expectations and become an actress.

Double Happiness delves into all of its components with equal sensitivity and skill. Jade is the very essence of youth's wanderlust and creative vitality, her parents the quintessential picture of over-protective cultural transplants. Jade's young sister Pearl is the go-between, lovingly supportive of her sister's blossoming talent while resentful of the rift it creates within the family. Already rent from their disowned brother (who committed similar indiscretions), Jade must walk the thin line between traditional Chinese values and enlightened Canadian independence. While quietly entertaining her dramatic ambitions, she begins to kindle a forbidden love affair with a young Caucasian man which ultimately forces her to choose between loyalty to her father and loyalty to her own dreams.

If you are like me and expect a literal interpretation of the title, the ending will leave you wondering exactly who came up with it and where you might write to his or her employers to ask to have him or her severely reprimanded, but this in no way diminishes the fine accomplishments by the cast and crew in making Double Happiness a work of cinematic art. Callum Keith Rennie as Jade's lover is heart-breakingly perfect in his first major feature role and Sandra Oh is nothing short of Oscar-worthy--but I guess Genies will have to do for now.