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Aaron Burr, Part 2 (directed by Dana O'Keefe) In this unusual and stylish re-telling of Burr's duel with Alexander Hamilton, history is re-imagined by Burr in a modern retrofitted narrative. Starting out with a James Bond, circa-1970s visual style, the two figures appear as secret agents, with a jaunty jazz score accompanying Burr's contextualization of the engagement. As each minute unfolds, Burr repeats the engagement again and again while giving his biased re-assessment of the faults of history. Director O'Keefe shoots Burr back and forth through time periods as his contempt for Hamilton climaxes in a hilarious final missive. At the end of this comic, intelligent, and innovative film, I found myself amazed that only nine minutes had passed.

FEAR X is the type of art-house/ indie fare that is just elusive enough, and slow, to make you think you are watching something more enriching than it is. The slow moving and provocative beginning has you involved enough not to pop out the disc in boredom and maybe even has you sitting up on your couch so you don't actually fall asleep and miss "the point." Don't worry. Your dreams are just as portentious and hold up to better analysis. The entire look and pace of FEAR X plays out like the forgotten love child of David Lynch and Stanley Kubrick. The problem is that the cinematic dna of this pairing got only the residue of its style and mood. It's no coincidence it looks Kubrick seeing as that Stanley's longtime gaffer worked on the film. In scene after scene there is stark usage of the color red to foretell of rage and foreboding violence. Curtains, lamps, coats, scarves...you name it. Red, red, red. I got it. Can we move on? The answer is no. The movie plays out in this mind-numbing slowness of pace leaving you to question if you are simply "not getting it." By the end you will not care...you won't "want it." FEAR X is not an awful movie but it can frustrate you with its artistic pretensions in a medium that has the ability to entertain, enrich and educate. FEAR X pretends to do all of these things...and does none. I hate a faker.

Second film by Brooks that I've caught and he seems to have a great feel for what works. Never act with children and animals they say...these guys would be on the losing end of that equation if they weren't children themselves. Shot in and around Los Feliz and the L.A. Zoo the film focuses on two guys who take the responsibility of watching and protecting stray dogs for a living. The problem is, "they don't work there." The concept of two guys chasing down stray dogs as so-called volunteers plays out in series of great docu-style scenes. Particularly funny is the sequence when the two 'heroes' find themselves fighting over a chew toy in a pet shop. 'Catch' it if you can.

Caught this gem at the Portland Short Subject Film Festival (PISS FEST) and it stood out as one of the strongest entries. (It won various awards there and, I believe, other festivals). Tyler Brooks plays everyone from the director and star all the way down to the boom operator. None of the characters speak anything resembling English or any other language...they rather incoherently babble in 'art speak'. The kind of accent that would eventually evolve from self-referential, idiosyncratic artists if you locked them all in a room for a year with a camera. It was especially nice that 'Behind the Deuche' a faux documentary was actually loger than it's subject matter...hilarious. Brooks is definitely on to something.

If there's any upside to the recent advent of DVDs adding audio-commentaries and documentaries to movies no one wanted to see in the first place, it's this; One can, perhaps, glean what went wrong with a movie that seemed to have so much going for it. In this case, with Dreamcatcher, that premise is put to the ultimate use.

It's quite telling that the Dreamcatcher DVD has included an interview with Stephen King after he has seen the rough cut of the film. First of all, King has little to say about the actual movie and more on his motivation on writing the book (the car accident in '99). His only bon mot seems to be a throw away comment that "it's very good." Yet, even with this slight endorsement from "The King" one is dumbfounded that he isn't cracking the camera lense with a pipe in pure, irrational vengence for making such a prime embarrassment out of his novel.

But no, here's King making a statement, which in itself by even agreeing to be seen associated with this free-wheeling catastrophe, is a sort of endoresment. So this tells me that somehow, somewhere at the sourse, there had to be something wrong in the batter. I think it's also valuable to note that King also DID NOT endorse the Kubrick version of The Shining, but rather, put his seal of approval on the later tv-movie version starring Stephen Weber. While Webers performance was admirable in this retooling, I don't think anyones making the mistake of replacing Jack Nicholson on their AFI lists.

So, here was have King wanting to fashion a sort of Stand By Me meets B-movie monster flick. Along comes Kasdan...who one would assume would rather retool this premise and find a way to keep all the monsters inside the characters heads and play out the movie in a therapists office (which, aptly, the movie actually does at the top. ) From there all resemblence to a Lawrence Kadan movie ends.

Which, once again, brings me back to the DVD. Kasdan tells how William Goldman took a pass at the script (not 'passed' which I'm sure alot of folks now wish they had)and alluded that he wanted to remove alot of the 'bigger aspects' of the script. One can only dream, pardon the pun, of what that film could have been. Kasdan continues to say that he put all those elements back cause he wanted to "Do something different." Well, he suceeded. The feeling is of a director who knows the exact nuance and fringes of character, behavior with a strong sense of dialogue and development who then careens off-the-road into a territory of the unknown where the boundaries of taste, believability and ridiculousness match that off only Ed Wood.

There was first, some sense that perhaps this production went south when Kasdan had wrapped the shooting and then lost all restraint in the post-production CGI effort. Maybe, just maybe, he farmed out the creature effects to a company and they muscled him into believing these were good ideas. But, alas, no. If there's only one scene that shatters that notion it's where Thomas Jane has a psychic conversation with Damian Lewis and he uses the gun handle as a psychic telephone. One wonders if/ how they kept a straight face through the shooting of that sequence and whether Tom Sizemore walked off the set to put a gun to his own head.

Which leads to, onceagain, to how did you have so many elemnts and go so wrong?It seems like Kasdan wasn't interested in making a an M. Night Shyamalan film...he WANTED the overblown sci-fi. It's simply a case of overcompensation, trying 'too hard' to escape those elemnts that you excel in It's akin to Morgan Freeman's performance in that you expect that usual astute, complex performance and instead he sheels you with bland, cliche military bravado with an occasional "Bucko" thrown in to remind you he's tried and true american.

There were fleeting moments through-out DC that I pondered some metaphor for communism. The recurring 'red' infection, the possession of the mind, the overblown americana and internment camps at the military base. But decided mid-way that the movie, if trying for such an outdated metaphor, wasn't worth the analysis.

All in all, it must be said that all these words wouldn't be put down about such a traesty if it didn't enrage people who were being led along into thinking this was gonna be a good movie. The cast of non-superstar, yet more ably talented movie regulars, in Tim Olyphant (GO, Gone in Sixty Seconds), Jason Lee (Mumford, Chasing Amy) Damian Lewis (Band of Brothers) and Thomas Jane (The Last Time I Committed Suicide, Boogie Nights)heralds in a touching, subtle and character driven opening...the Kasdan tease to lure you inot thinking this was revamp of The Big Chill. Rounded out by Morgan Freeman and Tom Sizemore one wonders if this ready-to-be-stars cast wasn't scribbling down oscar acceptance notes during shooting breaks. Now they're probably getting e-mail barrages begging thme to show up for the Raspberries.

Still, I'm haunted by the idea theres a version of William Goldmans script sitting out there...perhaps in a toilet with it's lid down popping up frantically to get out and attack this arena thats been sprayed with bloody crap. Maybe on the next dvd release, eh? What could have been.

It is a testament to these franchise's staying power that both have resorted to evolving into completely different genres in order to survive. Of course Jason escaped into sci-fi and Freddie into, well, post-modernism. The truth of the matter is that the entire horror genre has evolved and these two franchise icons are duking it out like your two grandfathers arm-wrestling. It's cute and you worry about their health...but you're not really impressed. The traces of Freddie's post-modern sensibilities are still there, though, as Freddie speaks directly to the audience, an old friend it seems, and makes the statement that the worst fate for him is to be forgotten which is why he has no power. This seems oddly telling in that one has come to realize that in these modern times the only way to kill anything is to...well, stop paying for it. These characters will never die no matter how much pathos, gore and mythology to stab them with. They live on money and maybe that's what Freddie's trying to tip his hat at. The horror genre has been spliced and diced like it's protagonists in recent years. With the self-reference of such films as Scream and the truly frightening Sixth Sense, 28 Days Later, etc. one wonders if we need new definitions or genre monikers. It seems that the american audiences have been tricked into a sophistication they don't really want. As Freddie Vs. Jason spooled on the very notion we are watching the filmakers try to supply a narrative seemed absurd as did any emotional sincerity of the actors. The audience was unwittingly saavy and soon enough the laughter crept in to the point where the collective was looking far more forward to another bad acting moment, bad script line and frankly another cliched murder.

It seems we're just running out of ways to kill people and that audiences who just want to see a slasher film have been made suddenly aware of the genres cliche, structure and absurdity. They've been inured to any real fear of the villains (now the heros)to the point where even the filmakers aren't bothering to make Freddie's make-up look burned. Freddie's face looks no less than painted latex as Jason's does a real hockey mask (I was impressed a young stoner in the film even recognized it as hockey equipment with the quip "That goalie was p***ed!"). Perhaps the evolution here is from horror to monster movie. Whereas both film started as low-budget, exploitation gore fests there was still a pathos and urban mythology. The characters hadn't been raised to the deifying level they have in the later years. There was still a human story of avenging teen or killer and still the hope they could be vanquished. But now they are no more than latex accesories and comic book powers...one half expects Professor Xavier to roll in and give Jason a ride back to the mutant academy. The question is; What is the horror genre left with when it has lost the very element of it's title. What is horror without...horror? Unfortunately that conclusion may be far more frightening than the movie itself. There was a point in the film where a little girl turns to our protagonist female and claims, "One, two...Freddie's coming for you." (This is explained later by another character to her that it means...Freddie's coming for you.)The horror of this moment is not in the fact that, golly, Freddie's coming (thats why we're here) or the fact she has had her eye's gouged out by him (yeah, yeah, he's a bad guy) but by the audiences complete complacency. There is another moment where Freddie calls this breast augmented teen girl (who, obviously, already submitted to the knives) gets her breasts cleaved by Freddie's talons as he proceeds to put them between her legs and calls her a "bitch". (once again...yeah, yeah, he's a bad guy.) It is only in the final moments of the film a truly crowd stunning moment ocurred...in a brief moment of indecision Mr. Kreuger truly couldn't decide which teen to kill next. As Kelly Rowland's character incites him to follow her to have her friend's go free, Freddie turns to her and says, "Mmmmm....darkmeat." The awe and shock of the audience was audible. People began heckling the screen...others simply silent with his complete lack of decorum. Freddie had lost friends. It seems that even Freddie hasn't seen enough genre films to understand complete misogyny, human visceration and pedophelia are standard fare...but even a super villain has to understand there are boundaries. Which leads me to believe that 'horror' films aren't meant to scare...they are meant to comfort. They are delivering devices for the id and the ego to seek recluse from actual human conflict and pain. They are the porn of fear.

First off, the music-fueled, club-set, 'this is the last day of my life' promise of the trailer for 25th Hour already did itself a dis-service by pulling in a disparate audience from the one that actually might want to see this meandering, overcast opus. I sat in the lobby of the theatre for twenty minutes with my girlfriend trying to fight through all the bad word-of-mouth that was coming out of the screenings before me...but that damn trailer seemed so appetizing and that CAST... Regardless, I trudged on wary but enthusiastic that maybe I would "get it" and would have a new film to defend and champion in typical LA dinner conversation. But, alas, no. While you couldn't assemble a better cast (where's a phonebook for them to read when you need one?) even the greatest talents need a friend in the editing room. I can see Spike Lee trying to inbue his uninspired sprawl with quick jump-cuts that replay mili-seconds of rections and small movements ala mtv (or was it Godard...I lose track sometimes)the effect doesn't energize but simply make you wonder why someone would ADD to make this slow-mover even longer. It's the equivalent of a cinematic stutter that contributed to an overall lack of urgency and constantly left me wishing the whole thing would just 'get on with it'. Leaving the theatre one is left with a feeling of loss...unforunately it is not for the characters, their dilemna, or the obvious calamity that has shaken the great city (that is self evident and always present in our lives). It is a loss of the potential for a great movie. Lee's obvious talent, the immense ensemble, an intriguing concept play upon your self-dount of your gut feeling that, yes, you did just walk out of a boring movie. Lee's spoil of cinematic riches to play with truly leaves one wondering what went wrong in the kitchen and why the temperature wasn't turned up on this cake that didn't rise.

More and more, as the evolution of television leaps forward with such groundbreaking shows as 24, Band of Brothers and 6 Feet Under, we are taught how antiquated and limited your basic TV Movie has become. No better example here in MARTIN AND LEWIS which in years past would shine as your basic movie-of-the-week. But now, with those shining comparisons, it seems like a low-budget, commercial-laden highlight reel of a much longer and complex tale. That being said, the one thing that does rise above it's medium here is the talents of both Northam and Hayes. Jeremy Northam has a twinkle in his eye as he dances around the murmuring voice cadences of Dean Martin (who seems to be positing that Martin sounded drunk even when he wasn't...if that is possible). I don't know another actor who could so effortlessly play Martin's playful masculinity. Unfortunately the actor is forced to go from 0-60 because he must portray divorce, conflict and then playful boozer in scenes back-to-back. The same can be said of Hayes ,who has the unenviable job of homaging an actor still alive and is under that scrutiny (with the apparent well-wishing Lewis on-hand). Both actors live up to their spot-on casting but the production seems bogged down by it's limited time-length and by the length of ground it needs to cover (which it wearily tries to compensate for by endless scrolls of posters portraying the countless films these two did together). All in all, a great effort but, once again, it leaves one asking..."Why didn't they do this on HBO?" which is less a criticism of the movie than of network programming altogether.

Do yourself and Anderson a favor and don't go in with expectations on this film and you'll love it. Anderson seems to know that Sandler's strength is adolescent rage and sensitivity and they both play it to the hilt. The film reminded me of being a frustrated and love-lorn teenager while Sandler is a full-grown man who's kept himself from evolving due to constant berating by his clueless sisters. It's fun and though, yes, Watson and Hoffman and Guzman aren't fully untilized (can they ever?)it's all in the way of an off-beat, original film. Stop placing the moniker of auteur on Anderson and let them have fun. Sandler's great whether it's a break-out or just good casting...who cares? It's a good film. Enjoy.

I caught this short in San Diego at its first ever film festival along with a slew of others...alongside The BOYSCOUT and ANNA IS BEING STALKED, this film really stood out. A simple premise of dysentary after some bad tequila south of the border, the cinematography, acting and editing make this film stand out immediately. The skylines are a crisp blue but most of all the central performance by the traveller and his completely visceral need for a bathroom have you, well, on the edge of your seat...sorry. Great short.

I caught ANNA while down at the San Diego Film Festival and it stole the show along with two other shorts. People were tapping shoulders to make sure everyone knew something good was on and I concur. The film, like her stalker, follows her about as she simply trudges on with the knowledge there is an albino stalker who is incoherent, mumbles "happy Birthday" to everything and is obviously nore frightened of her than the opposite. You know the film is working when the stalker character tells Anna he is going to kill her and the audience laughs because this poor, disabled sycophant obviously is harmless and Anna simply, exhautedly remarks, "I know."

I must admit to being caught completely by surprise after this movie. From it's title, 'Original Sin' to it's marquee stars to it's trailer, one would expect a by-rote movie-of-the-week type production about sex and betrayal. Yet, even saying this, I almost can't say that it is more than that...a movie about love and betrayal. Yet, Michael Cristofer has done what any great director does...he takes an old story (is there such thing as a new one?) and makes it new simply in it's honesty and conviction. Cristofer has convinced me that no has, or maybe will, use Angelina Jolie (if one CAN actually 'use' her) better. He gets her...in all her sexuality, danger and, more importantly, vulnerability. Of all people to keep me from seeing this theatrically, it was Banderas casue of a string of bad choices. Well, this was mine, cause he was everything he became a star for...alluring, charismatic and dangerous, as well. I seem to be rather singular in my admiration of this film but I'll take the critical burning. The themes of being loved, or more precisely, the fear of being loved and the difficulties of accepting it when it's true are truly, and nastily, addressed here. I don't think this film should be overlooked for it's sexuality or just because it's attractive...how far these characters are willing to go to get, and get away from, love is not exaggurated in the slightest. At it's core it is saying that to get to honesty and trust takes alot more than words. It takes sacrifice and work. And last but not least...when, oh, when, is Thomas Jane going to be in a successful movie so he can be a star and just get it over with?

PARIS BLUES won't change your life unless you were one of those people (and I count myself one of them) that has been teetering on the verge of Euro-philia and this is the final straw to make you sell off all that crap you've acumulated over the years and live like a peddler just to be in Paris. Even if you are not, this movie could make you think twice. The core of the film is basically by-rote romances that, in themselves, would be non-descipt except for the fact that nothing Paul Newman touches can be bland. It is the elements surrounding these two romances that makes the film worth watching. Generally, to be a watchable film, the sum of the parts have to add up to more than the whole. Here, the film is simply the sum of it's parts...and those parts are wonderful. If I was to tell somebody there was a film out there where Paul Newman romances Joanne Woodward in a fifties jazz club in Paris alongside Sidney Pointier while they compete with Louis Armstrong most would go "What?Where? What movie?" which was exactly my reaction. Paris, Jazz, coffee...Newman. It's a confection with absolutely no nutritional value and yet you feel so much better having tried it.

The concept, cinematically, of TAPE is the conceit that you are going to keep three actors in a room talking for an hour and a half and that we are going to stay interested. At the top we have a giddy and uncomfortable Ethan Hawke who is awaiting the arrival of his friend Robert Sean Leonard. The interaction between these two seems forced at the beginning...almost as if the two actors know they are stuck in a room for awhile and they better make it interesting. But soon enough, one comes to realize that the uncomfortability is due more to the estranged and uneveness of the two's relationship more than anything else.

TAPE unfurls in an imrov-like environment (I was actually surprised this was a play in that I did think the actors imrovising)where theres overlapping, interruptions, belches and tangents...it leads you to believe you are on a banal ride of actor's without direction and slowly steers you towards and unexpected conclusion. Luckily, true to Linklater, this conclusion isn't of the gunshot variety( always the easy out when faced with the harder possibility of character epiphany of any sort)but rather of the more painful type of self-reflection and realization.

Hawke bumbles, preens and flounders all over the screen as Leonard expertly evades scrutiny...but the real revelation here is Thurman. For the first time since Beautiful Girls she is just -playing-a person. Doing so, she shines right through in her most powerful role to date. She arrives completely in her own skin and then, without much of any prestidigitation, uses that same humble demeanor to lance through the boys complete murk and bulls**t. For that reason alone this film merits viewing.

It's other virtue is in it's rambling force in which it arrives at an honest dissection of our own hipocrisy.

Always take note of a role or project that an actor quits the business after or never recovers mentally from. Val Kilmer in 'The Doors' , Marlon Brando in 'Last Tango in Paris' and Angelina Jolie in GIA. Situations like these usually mean the actor put something onscreen they feel they can't get back.

Jolie tears a jag across the screen in this role. She won the Golden Globe and basically the Oscar (only then they called the movie 'Girl, Interupted') for putting it all out there for this project. It was the beginning of all the HBO biopics that followed and set the standard. Jolie is naked in more than just the obvious way...she holds nothing back and manages to balance a wild, unrestrained energy while being completely vulnerable at the same time.

This is no MOW or half-baked tv movie...it's an epic biography that only tv has the time to tell.

Donnie Darko is just the type of film that flies in the face of people who say such things like "That type of movie could never be made now." Controversial, if for no other reason than it's timing, Donnie Darko defies moviemaking reason. It's complicated, dark and by no means leaves you feeling any more comforted by the end.

I think the beauty of this film is compounded by the fact that it's arrival was completely unheralded and so, therefore, I will be brief without thrashing out too much that might be considered 'hype' or a 'spoiler'. Director Kelly has sculpted this film with the same suburban veneer and buried menace that Lynch had in BLUE VELVET. Consider it this year's AMERICAN BEAUTY if the indie world dug it a few feet deeper and scraped all the shine off it.

This film will haunt you...it's managed to be frightening, dramatic, but, seemingly more importantly, able to channel a sense of dis-ease and loneliness that has been hard to identify on film. You are at once sympathetic and adoring of the protagonist and, yet, find yourself completely afraid of what he might do next.

Once again, in the wake of so many recent tragedies and the given anxiety of the culture, one wonders how this gem snuck through

The primary problem of The Castle is it's core theme which asks you to believe that an entire population of military prisoners are just a bunch of good guys who need to be treated right in order to be loyal, effective and, aw heck, loveable. But also at this films core is the notion that the man to give them this treatment is Robert Redford. While no slacker in the charisma department, The Sundance Kid seems a bit too light for us to take the credibility leap needed to believe this a general who survived torture and multiple wars to end up here.

The prisoners are a stock cast of types who get a brief definition but not enough so you are to either dislike them for any reason, or to their fault, truly get emotionally invested as well. Rod Lurie seems to have built his story on unstable ground in that his protagonists aren't all that compelling or driven (Redford's general wants to get out to spend time with his grandson and daughter and yet during the one scene with Robin Wright-Penn, Redford chooses glib responses and smart-aleck one-liners to avoid getting into any kind of honesty that Wright-Penn simply exudes. While it may be a choice for the general to defend himself emotionally, one must have a glimpse to see that this relationship is whats driving him throughout. Otherwise the scenes in which he pockets and holds his grandsons' photo have no depth and his motivation throughout lacks conviction). On top of this, Lurie hedges his bets and portrays Gandolfini and his prison cronies as, well, not all that bad.

In the end one is left with an unrooted storyline about a prison uprising where you are never sure if you are truly on board for why it's happening. While Lurie has certainly shot the film well and it's stocked with great actors (the underused Mark Ruffalo and the always great Delroy Lindo) it never really gets off the ground. One can't keep you an arms length from the complexity of it's characters and then ask you to truly care about them when it most counts.

It is truly a waste that when you mention Waking the Dead to most anyone they immediately assume you are talking about that "Nic Cage film that Scorcese made about the ambulance..." because, for whatever reason, this film was passed over by the critics, viewers and most poignantly, the academy.

This film haunted me long after I first time I viewed it. It's one of those movies that will score a mark in your emotional memory and haunt you long after viewing. Connelly and Crudup do the difficult battle of playing idealists without making them sanctimonious or bland. They are flawed, driven and brilliantly in love. Keith Gordon, the director, has the patience to unfold his story with a steady hand and uses the cutting back from past and present to mine deeper into the emotion of Crudup's woe.

I don't think I've seen a film capture the true hardship and pain associated with the conflict of love versus ideals. Crudup has a monologue in the film that transcends, spirals and eventually dissipates that is as hypnotic and naked a moment as I've seen onscreen. It's amazing in a year that Crudup was in Jesus' Son, Almost Famous along with Connelly who chalked up Requiem for a Dream and Pollock that neither of these actors were even mentioned, or thought of, around academy nomination time. All the actors supporting these two are heavyweights...Hal Holbrook, Ed Harris, Janet McTeer and Paul Hipp. Theres a reason these esteemed people signed on for this gripping chamber piece. It's an emotionally stunning film about ideals and the true personal cost of living for them.

It's a bad sign at the top of a movie when the filmaker feels he has to describe each character before they are introduced to make you 'get it' when they arrive. While I don't expect more than random drivel for a script when going to anything titled 'Corky Romano' one would expect these random chimps to type at least something of worth accidentally. Chris Kattan has no lines to work with and yet manages to dance about this film and have fun despite being surrounded by actors who were obviously not only asleep during his coverage but their own as well. It just seems that with actors like Peter Falk, Peter Berg and Chris Penn that just letting them make something up on the spot would have been more preferable. Instead, we are left with punchlines like "shut up", "you suck" and the always reliable gay innuendos. Classic. Kattan has a face that if it isn't doing something you are certainly captivated wondering what it is going to do as well as a gift for physical comedy. Corky/ Kattan are at least a beacon in this drudge until the film starts to tie up plot points and attempts (for whatever reason)to make Corky a hero. From that point even Kattan becomes a bore and you start pondering what 80's song they will try and pawn off in the credits to trick you into thinking you had fun.