aliciadipesto

Maybe I'm off the mark here but I can't understand why this had had such a bad press. I've seen this film 3 times now and every time fall over laughing. It's imaginative, witty, warm, clever and refreshing. Some great actors too, surely they wouldn't have signed up to a turd of a movie - that speaks volumes for me. Sure the characters are a bit pantomime at times especially the brother of the main character but still, it's so well written such a crime is entirely forgivable.

I'm surprised too that in the 4 years we've been in recession there hasn't really been a lot of content has been released concerning the recession itself, and this also sets the film apart. Maybe I'm just a frustrated hippie. But this movie is funny as hell and the dialogue alone is cracking. A real feel-good way to while away a couple of hours and very entertaining.

What a wasted opportunity. That should have been a fantastic 2 part drama. But it so wasn't. I could have spent that 3 hours ironing. Or sleeping. Or staring deeply into my lovers eyes trying to find the words to... to.. to... OH FOR GOODNESS SAKE!

I never got around to reading the book and the trailer looked brilliant. After all that I have to give the post production house who made the trailer 11 out of 10 for editing and sound mixing as it really turned water into wine. What a shame the actual film didn't live up to its promise.

Can't knock the production, the production design, the CGI, any of that. The acting, well I guess they did as well as they could with what was probably only 5-10 pages of script and the rest was just mooning at each other, God it was boring. I wouldn't have minded it as much if the Redmayne and Poesy had any chemistry at all but there was none, it was like watching....well it was like watching 2 actors staring at each other for 3 hours. And that sex scene - even in 2012 post-watershed, I found the sight of oral sex barely moments after their first kiss a bit much. I have no doubt in 1910, Wraysford would have been on the receiving end of a belt round the head if he'd attempted that back then.

No wonder she went off and had a baby and he never knew about it; they barely spoke to each other for the whole show. You can't have a relationship based on smouldering looks. She left him, had a baby in secret and died and the whole time he just looked like he needed the bathroom and was trying to control himself. Yawn.

The timing was unfortunate - if it had been on after Celebrity Masterchef or something banal the UK population might have been more forgiving but being scheduled directly after the The Midwife, full of snappy dialogue, first class acting, brilliant production design, good pacing and dry humour, its faults were even more glaring.

Oh well, looks like Tim Bevan better get back to what he's best at, more Johnny English or some such nonsense.

In contrast to the comments Tresdodge's featured on these pages, I found Enduring Love compelling viewing. I saw it at the cinema and was blown away; subsequent viewings on DVD have continued to move me. While The Lawyer finds the lack of detail, background and explanation frustrating, it seemed to me a perfect study of miscommunication between adults, especially the well-educated, and a comment on the pretensions creative types have for apparent perceptiveness in others; Samantha Morton's character is the most prone to misread her partner's behaviour, and an up and coming artist, no less.

Surrounding Craig's scientifically-minded character are similarly well-read arty north Londoners all either completely oblivious to Joe's distress or the cause of it, preferring a rather British 'take no notice' view of Jed's stalking, which I found entirely believable. Jed's protestations of love in the Tate Modern was a classic example to me of the irony present throughout the film: a man declares his love in an art gallery, a hallowed place where fierce emotion is channelled into high art. But he is merely rendered a nuisance and shooed away. How very English! The film is remarkable for what it does not discuss openly; the lingering silences and awkward pauses as Joe's mind starts to unravel at dinner parties illustrate how ill-at-ease these Guardian-reading, latte-drinking middle classes are discussing unpleasant aspects of life in general. Which is a cliché but not altogether untrue. No, there isn't apparently an inquest, nor any police involvement, but it's not a documentary, it's a study of how people react the fallout of a violent event; it brings to mind Peter Weir's Fearless (1993), which examined the extent to which people withdraw when coping with severe stress. A rational mind such as Tresdodge's would perhaps enjoy Joe's sessions with a counsellor but the point is Joe's identity is fundamentally in crisis here; he is unable to explain Jed's attentions, nor Mr Logan's motivations for hanging onto the balloon, nor his perverse sense of guilt that he could somehow have stopped the whole thing from happening. What good is science in the face of such overwhelmingly human behaviour? To put Tresdodge's mind at rest, I read the book after seeing the film and didn't find much in the way of explanation there, either, except more elaboration on Joe's rigid belief there is a rational explanation for everything. Which would also explain the tension between Joe and Claire, who as an artist is presumably of the opposite view. On the surface, Claire has more in common with Jed's character; while obviously disturbed, Jed wholly embraces his emotions, regardless of how inappropriate they are.

The score and cinematography is as integral to the success of the film as the script, which I found perfectly satisfactory, although Tresdodge is right when he says the opening sequence of the ballooning accident is the best moment of the film. The tension begins right there, before the balloon has even appeared, as you can see a proposal is about to take place, and it never leaves the screen. This film is complex and uncomfortable to watch, but deeply satisfying; I get something new out of it every time. Even the title can be read in two ways - think about it.

Picture the scene; Dylan's early 80's career has stagnated. Prince has just released Purple Rain to a rapturous audience and critical acclaim. A die-hard fan gets the job of directing, and before you can say ego-massage, Hearts Of Fire is born.

Yes it's a terrible movie but I have deep affection for it; I spent my teenage years with my best friend mooning over Bob Dylan-as-a-young-man and this was always a treat when it appeared late at night on BBC2. Hearts Of Fire generated countless corny catchphrases we still use today, which says something surely. Come on, back me up here...

Briefly, the story goes: one-time rock star Billy Parker sweeps into town, chats up ambitious young waitress. Takes her to London. Enter up and coming heart throb James Colt to irritation of Parker and excitement of young girl. Girl and Colt get it together. Tug of love ensues. Young girl is mentored by old timer, young girl releases record of her own, a mild success. James Colt flakes. They all go their separate ways. Dylan is a loser in love but his integrity and dignity remain intact. The end.

What became of the actress Fiona Flanagan is anyone's guess, she wasn't that bad, quite pretty, a bit over-theatrical but she was probably trying to make up for Dylan's stupor throughout. Rupert Everett burst out of the closet some ten years later, and Bob Dylan never appeared as Billy Parker the ramblin' bluesman every again. Actually I'm not sure he appeared on the silver screen ever again after that - the man is better behind a mic, I think even he would agree.

To conclude? Hearts of Fire is the absolute guilty pleasure, watch it for the laughs, the tears, the hopes, the dreams; I for one will continue to scan the TV schedules in the hope of yet another cheesy viewing. Can you get it on DVD?

Time and time again my friends berate me for not seeing this film and yet consider me to be something of a 'movie buff'. So they duly sat me down on Saturday night with a curry and the director's cut for my entertainment and delight.

All I can say is, there's 3 hours of my life I'm never going to get back. Don't get me wrong; I'm a big fan of gangster movies, I've studied some of the early Cagney/Robinson films and seen most of the more important ones: Scarface, Casino, Goodfellas - I even stayed awake through Once Upon A Time In America. But The Godfather was agonising. Slow, meandering, overly-complicated, lacking punch - what it lashed out in bullets and horses heads, it certainly lacked in dynamite. Watching The Godfather is the cinematic equivalent of the Beach Boys' Pet Sounds; 30 years on it's impossible to see why on earth it was considered so ground-breakingly new and exciting. But by all accounts Coppolla was making a brave movie here, reintroducing a genre stuck in the 1920's and lavishing 168 minutes on the minutiae of one Mafia family.

And lavish it he does. The only thing I can say in its defence is that the production design was superb, it lacked for nothing, the overall look of the film was excellent. The budget must have been colossal. What a pity the plot and the dialogue didn't live up to its promise. With a cast so huge and impressive as well, it's twice as pitiful.

The legendary Marlon Brando couldn't fail to disappoint - the poor man's legend - in my opinion - far exceeded his talent. I understand the director begged Brando to come out of retirement for this, although I kind of wish he'd stayed there. His incessant mumbling, padded cheeks and all, peering out of dark corners and scratching his face just had me turning the volume way up high and becoming increasingly frustrated. Diane Keaton just played Diane Keaton/Annie Hall (her real name, trivia hounds)as usual, with an increasingly terrible haircut. She looked like she wasn't sure what she was doing in the movie any more than we did, she just looked like she wanted to go home. Her relationship with Pacino totally lacked chemistry and I found his return to her from Sicily as a widower highly unbelievable. Even Pacino's 'thunderbolt' relationship with Apollonia seemed contrived and wooden - I know he's meant to be a hard man but he remained so poker-faced throughout the movie I lost any feelings of sympathy for him.

The best part I felt was played by James Caan, whose character was labelled as 'hot tempered' by his father (is that what it takes to be interesting within the Corleone family?!) so of course he met a predictably sticky end like a lot of the better characters. I found a lot of the meandering plot very predictable - to the extent where I was annoying my die-hard fans who put on the show for me, but I couldn't help it: "Something tells me Apollonia isn't going to get out of that car" etc. The plot didn't really go anywhere, it just seemed to be setting itself up for that sequel; every 20 minutes or so Brando/Pacino were inviting people to take advantage of 'an offer they couldn't refuse'. It was laughable.

Other than Caan's, none of the characters were the slightest bit appealing; the outrageous behaviour of Tommy in Scorsese's Goodfellas, for example, is counterbalanced by his likable personality: you're laughing in spite of yourself. Pacino's protagonist in Scarface is the same - snorting copious amounts of cocaine and waving a gun around - you still care about the guy, however monstrous he's become. But Pacino in The Godfather was just a cartoon bad-ass, like the rest of them, identikit baddies with no depth whatsoever, no remorse, no weakness, no humanity, no growth. When Brando stumbles to his death among the tomato plants in play with his grandson I take that to mean that Coppolla was showing us Vito had a heart but really, it was too little too late.

Coppolla may well have been brave in 1972 to reintroduce a decidedly unfashionable genre on a conservative audience, and for the time it might have been a breath of fresh air, but the glamour and pace of subsequent, better, gangster fare puts The Godfather in the shade, however responsible the film may be for the genre's future output.

War of the Worlds does exactly what it says on the tin and it does not disappoint. Expecting a summer blockbuster aimed at kids and therefore not expecting to be particularly impressed, I found myself surprised and absolutely riveted, with a pounding heart for most of the movie. The effects are phenomenal, worth discussion at length in themselves. I am looking foreword to the DVD bonus material for some explanation. There are no clever but clichéd aerial shots, zooms or views from the tripod's perspective; the storytelling is done from the viewpoint of Cruise's character only and this makes it compelling, utterly absorbing and very real as a result.

In an age where natural disasters, heart-stopping news stories and eyewitness accounts of appalling tragedy are unfortunately becoming more and more commonplace, Spielberg harnesses the power of the personal to great effect. We see only the desperate run for the protagonist's life throughout the first two thirds of the movie, without any silly Bruce Willis heroics. This is neatly backed up by Cruise's reliably strong and underplayed acting as Joe Average, plonked in a workaday domestic situation, failing miserably at restoring a broken relationship with his resentful children.

Like AI - Artificial Intelligence, E.T. Close Encounters and even Jaws, Spielberg has always lavished attention on the scene-setting, making the squabbles between siblings, corny jokes, flawed parenting and suppressed emotion compelling viewing in itself. This, contrasted with the extraordinary, whether it's sharks, aliens or robots make the subsequent action all the more powerful.

As a result you can see evidence of all these previous successes reflected in War Of The Worlds, along with some hefty borrowing from M Night Shayalman's Signs, Falling Down and his own work as producer in Twister. Nevertheless, you can justifiably add here that Spielberg was at the forefront of all these and where does the pastiche begin and end with a genre such as this? Probably with Spielberg himself.

Thank God Spielberg was first tackling such a project and Michael Bay or Jerry Bruckheimer didn't get a look in - mercifully and very tastefully, considering the naturally high body count in a film of this nature, the audience is spared flying body parts and dying people gasping their last. While hapless citizens are exterminated over and over these are almost wholly filmed in the distance. Again in these troubled times there is no need to glorify this kind of gratuitous gore: we see enough of it on TV. While this may have been made to gain the 12A certificate the UK and the equivalent domestically, it also makes much more palatable viewing and reflects the intelligence and sensitivity of the director.

Finally a word about that ending. Yes it's weak, yes Cruise does take on a bit of Bruce "Welcome to the party pal" Willis's characteristics (the book had a completely different and violent ending as it's set in a village in southeast England at the end of the c19th) and everyone - in a comfortable suburb of Boston at least - lives happily ever after. It doesn't sit particularly well after the shocking pace of the previous 90 minutes, and it was greeted with a few groans in the cinema where I saw it.

But let's put this in context: as long as we have conservative, probably Republican, white American men at the helm of the the studios involved in financing movies and more than enough evidence that happy endings put bums on seats, I don't see things changing in my lifetime. It's disappointing but that's life. I was just glad to get home to my own humdrum domestic situation and put the kettle on, happy not to have bloodsucking monsters tearing down my door.

A lot of the US-based comments on this site seem to have ignored the basic premise of all of Trey Parker's prolific output - this is SATIRE -(the dictionary definition of which is "a literary or visual work in which human vice or folly is attacked through irony, derision or wit") so really, I would doubt the point of sitting through the 100 odd minutes of this cinematic feast if you don't understand what's being attempted here. How can anyone take a film featuring a "Team America - World Police" which consists of a clairvoyant, an actor, a psychologist and a college football hero seriously? What use is satire to an audience devoid of any sense of irony (not Alanis Morissette's version)?

Not being a huge fan of Thunderbirds I initially groaned, but the production design is so meticulous and the characterisation so thorough that after a while you forget that these are puppets. Partly because the gags never stop from the moment the opening credits roll and partly because you are watching with awe at the attention to detail in every single scene. The shooting and editing of this must have been incredibly laborious - I thought Nick Park's team had a bad time until I saw this.

I gather some of the jokes are repeated from earlier South Park episodes but as someone else points out - so what - the jokes in today's insane political climate are more resonant than ever, and rarely offensive as they are so inane: "If my plan works, it'll be like 9/11 times 1000." "You mean -?" "Yes....911,000."

Parker also lampoons a glut of liberal left-wing actors from Alec Baldwin to Susan Sarandon (all voiced by the man himself) and violently rejoices in allowing none of them to escape his right-wing-satirical wrath - Matt Damon has a particularly hard time - how refreshing that to see right-on do-gooders sent up as well as the bad guys; I would be interested to see how the actors themselves react, whether they will be flattered to have featured at all or outraged that their good work and image has been attacked. Do I care? Not really.

Certainly in the UK this film will romp home at the box office and keep trainspottery fans of South Park swapping so many delightfully silly gags for months to come. Hooray for bringing an outmoded form of animation back to life again too, and breaking censorship bans with the most explicit sex scene in the last 10 years. Above all, it's heartening to see so much excellent creativity coming out of the stifling American political atmosphere - keep it coming.

Seabiscuit is based on a true story - always a dubious start since you never really know where fact stops and fiction takes over. This is a NICE film really, NICE in all sorts of ways; cinematically it's pleasing on the eye, the attention to detail is gratifying, the acting is fair, the story has a NICE happy ending. NICE, innocent, good clean family fun.

I think that's what did it for me really. The characters played by Jeff Bridges, Elizabeth Banks, Chris Cooper and Tobey McGuire are all so benevolent and kind to each other it's really not that believable, considering the knocks some of them have had on the way up and how different their backgrounds have been.

The story revolves around the impulsive investment by millionaire car manufacturer Charles Howard (Bridges) of a very ruined and battle-scarred young racehorse and his bid to make the horse a star. Cue Tobey McGuire, equally ruined and battle-scarred as budding jockey desperate to prove himself, just like the horse, funnily enough. Uncanny.

The story is set against the backdrop of the Wall Street Crash of 1929 and the subsequent Depression, which is admittedly beautifully illustrated with grainy monochrome photographs of soup kitchens, the American migration west, the Dustbowl phenomenon, desperate-looking 'Hoovervilles' and a sensitive voiceover. As a history lesson it's impeccable, but the over-emphasized metaphor of Seabiscuit representing the American people struggling to the top in the face of overwhelming odds is clunky in the extreme, it's just so naff. Maybe that's how Seabiscuit's fortune was viewed at the time but we are a much more cynical audience 70 years later and a more subtle approach would have won more people over.

William H Macy's cameo role as eccentric racing radio jock complete with in-house sound effects (coconut shells, gongs, xylophone etc) is highly entertaining and is the film's saving grace during its more schmaltzy moments. He steals the show.

The other key point is that horseracing, however you look at it, is far from a mainstream sport and as a topic for a film it will have limited appeal. The characters come from a variety of hard-bitten backgrounds - Tom Smith (Cooper)for example, a mustang breaker from the wild west, monosyllabic, living rough, who has a remarkable affinity with horses. Red Pollard (McGuire), prodigious rider abandoned as a child by his destitute parents - whom we fully expect to see cheering him on at some point in the future, but they never appear again. Then there's Charles Howard - automobile tycoon - loses his son in a car accident; what a fascinating start, but all we see is his wife leaving and a remarriage to a beauitiful young girl. Even their wedding day is literally one scene lasting a few seconds. The film is crying out for more character development, and they have so much to offer. The camera spends more time gazing into the vacant eyes of the horse than it ever does examining the enormous potential of the characters around it, which is a shame and this will be a huge disappointment to anyone who isn't a horse nut.

However, the action around the race track is filmed brilliantly, and the sound excellent. It's exciting to watch even if you'd be happier watching championship darts over horseracing, and makes the most of one of the world's duller sports. There are some tense, rather laboured moments but after the first 20 minutes we all know we'll sleep soundly after these credits have rolled, they aren't really too bothersome.

Yes it's a true story, but not many people know about it, so did it have to be so predictable? But then the film is American owned, directed, funded and produced so no loose threads here, no interpreting the ending over coffee and cake afterwards, no moments of doubt or uncertainty; it romps home to the finish line with everyone a winner, the economy restored, the future secure, the skies blue, the sun shining, cheers from the ecstatic grandstand and, like countless other feelgood movies, the narrator pressing home the tired old chestnut of believing in oneself. How very NICE.

Sam Mendes' second film has his welcome hallmarks all over it, and is as absorbing as American Beauty as a result. Courageously and painstakingly adapted, beautifully filmed,thoughtfully cast,impeccably acted, this film is pure class, resting comfortably in the film noir genre that spawned Dial M For Murder, The Big Sleep and Vertigo. If only more directors/producers were brave enough to tackle period pieces like this so honestly.

You sense in Mendes' work that there's little in the way of directorial ego at large here; the focus is entirely on the story and the best way to tell it. Leave the CGI and fancy pyrotechcnics to the likes of Cameron and Bruckheimer; this is a simple, almost naive tale about fear and love and the loss of a person's identity to a darker, more powerful force. Tom Hanks' Michael Sullivan is initially something of an engima, refusing to allow the merest chink of familial affection to break through the armour of self-preservation necessary in the more grisly aspects of his job as a hit-man for a small town Irish mob. His development as a father to his bereft, bewildered son is delicately acted and touching; his growing devotion (and surprise at his own behaviour) for his son at total odds with his obsession with revenge.

My only criticism is the slow start, but this is crucial to juxtapose the quickening of pace as the tragic pair are forced to go on the run - from a stiflingly Victorian, predictable family life to those of fugitives - this pace seems laboured but it's well worth the wait once the story gets going. Also at times the young actor playing Michael Sullivan Jr. is a touch wooden and his reactions not entirely believable, but this isn't something worth worrying about, it certainly didn't ruin my enjoyment of the movie.

The late Conrad Hill's cinematography makes the action an absolute joy to watch. There are key scenes filmed precisely as an affectionate nod to Mendes'and Hill's American Beauty, as well as others, such as the scene outside in the rainy street at night, where seven or so gangsters are murdered, that is simply breathtaking. Visually the film is that impressive that you could still be absorbed with the sound down.

Paul Newman's characteristic old-school grace on celluloid, combined with his remarkable interpretation of Rooney as both the benevolent, kindly uncle/ruthlessly violent gangland boss, only adds to the complexity of feelings aroused in the viewer. You can only imagine the rage Sullivan feels at his betrayal after so many years of loyalty to the 'firm' and yet, as the ultimate wiseguy Henry Hill says in Scorcese's Goodfellas: "Your killers come with smiles" - Sullivan realises far too late he has no friends left, that everyone is dispensable. His one wish to spare his son the same tragic fate is granted, however bloodily, and this leaves the viewer with a sense of hope at the end.

I would recommend this film to anyone; it's been hammered by the critics but ignore them; this is a masterpiece of cinema. You will not be disappointed.

This film is dividing opinion. There are those who will embrace it, greeting Neo and Trinity like old friends, throwing themselves geekily and wholeheartedly into the next exhilarating adventure, sharing the thrill of the continuity error in chatrooms everywhere, and there are those who will stumble out of the cinema, blinkingly into the sunshine, wondering what just happened.

I tried to like it, honest I did. I would normally elaborate on the plot at this point, give you a rough outline of the story, but it was just so complicated that I really can't begin to tell you anything of any substance. It's a glossy good against evil flick really, with some hi-tech philosophy thrown in for good measure, but I can't provide much detail I'm afraid. My impressions of the first Matrix weren't that original; I was similarly blown away by the special effects but I had to be reminded of the story on the way into the cinema, which isn't a the best way to see a sequel, never mind review it. But that's the point - if the film contained anything worth remembering other than the effects, I wouldn't need a reminder.

However, it's the effects you come to see, and I would recommend seeing them on celluloid with the requisite surround-sound to reap the full benefits of the latest developments in CGI. There are whole sequences where the actors are not just flinging themselves around in front of a blue-screen, they aren't even there - Keanu takes on hundreds of smarmy Hugo Weavings single-handedly but barely breaks a sweat - even his facial expressions have been painstakingly computer generated. The film-makers were keen to offer the audience more than just a load of bullet-time sequences that made the first movie famous, apparently. This is a refreshing change from the increasingly lazy use of CGI to provide backgrounds of thousands of people marching, fighting, dying etc. as we've seen and yawned at in The Mummy Returns and Starship Troopers as earlier examples, and even the latest Lord of the Rings relied heavily on this kind of technique.

The freeway scene is a CGI masterpiece from beginning to nail-biting, climactic end and even though by now I was hopelessly confused, I was on the edge of my seat willing the enigmatic Fishburne to rescue the humble keymaker - from what, though? I couldn't tell you.

The film suffers from an over-complicated plot, laboriously explained in unnecessary depth by a number of predictably bizarre characters. Once I'd been nudged awake, I learned that one of these actors had actually died before the sequel could be made, so clearly the film makers have gone to enormous lengths to create her image with the aid of a computer and a lot of old footage. I'd almost have appreciated a small footnote at ths point in the movie explaining this as it would have made it worth watching.

The Matrix Reloaded is ultimately a lavish creation of form over function, and no matter how impressive the effects are, and they are jaw-droppingly, breathtakingly awesome at times, there is little of the kind of magic other sci-fi classics such as Star Wars that makes you care about what happens to the characters. The relationship between the expressionless, comatose Neo and the taut, fraught, angular Trinity is intended to be passionate but the acting is so wooden and contrived that it's just not very credible. I ended up watching her frown lines grow deeper as the film wore on, not worrying particularly whether their love would survive. But who cares? The effects will keep you going.

Nobody goes to see an Adam Sandler movie for spiritual enrichment or intellectual stimulation - let's get that out of the way first. Once you accept you've paid your money to be mildly entertained in a lighthearted, slapstick manner, strap in and enjoy the ride.

I keep hearing Sandler is a major Hollywood player these days with an equal footing as producer as he is actor (he has produced a considerable amount with fellow actor Rob Schneider - the similarly inane but funny - mostly in spite of yourself - Hot Chick being the most recent example, in which he has a cameo role and indeed, Schneider helps Sandler out in Mr Deeds) so it's hard to prove that Sandler is now typecast as a lovable fool, because it's fairly likely he chose the part himself, possibly aware that Hamlet might be a little out of his league. Sandler need only check his bank balance to see that the lovable fool is certainly a lucrative one, having made an absolute mint playing countless other characters blessed with naive charm and a heart of gold.

The story - we all know it's a remake of the classic depression-era propaganda film starring Gary Cooper, designed to lift spirits and foster a sense of community - centres around a picturesque New England town and its perenially-cheerful, smalltown inhabitants, chiefly Longfellow Deeds (Sandler), who inherits a fortune from an uncle he never knew, finds himself at the helm of a media empire and heads to the Big Apple to find out more. Here Winona Ryder steps in as the ambitious TV reporter determined to get her big scoop and dupes the affable Deeds into falling in love with her. All the time she's wearing a wire and a hidden camera to enable their courtship and his antics, sometimes drunken, sometimes heroic, to be broadcast on the evening news. Typically Deeds is the last to know and is appalled when he makes the connection. By which time Ryder's character has fallen in love herself, resigned from her job and is begging for a second chance.

Deeds' only flaw is a short fuse and this is at odds with his generous spirit, who at times could be George Bailey, James Stewart's kindly smalltown character in Capra's It's a Wonderful Life (1946), but this spices things up a little and allows the suspension of disbelief to continue a little longer. The number of disrespectful, foulmouthed city folk he takes out is entertaining, while not always convincing, but then times have changed and these days your average bloke doesn't think of taking a swing at a man for swearing in front of a lady (more's the pity I say).

While you could aim criticism at this and jeer at the corny lines and simplistic moral at the film's end, there is something to be cherished here. The moral of course being that money is less important than being true to yourself, and while you're at it, be nice to your neighbour. As Mother Teresa once said, kindly words are heard once but their echoes are heard for ever - Deeds' character and his deeds (pun definitely intended) themselves are echoes of another, lamentably more innocent time and it's uplifting to see this spirit so laboured in the film's remake. It's also refreshing to see this bravely recreated by the producers, who have not shied away from dealing with the film's essence in these cynical times.

It's not all sentimental Queen of Hearts stuff though. There are some hilarious, laugh-out-loud moments that counter the film's message perfectly - the helicopter ride to Manhattan where the crew and Deeds are singing 'A Space Oddity' complete with air-guitar springs to mind here - and there is the usual dose of slapstick you'd expect from a Sandler picture. The 7 flying cats rescued from a burning building by our hero is particularly memorable and as I say, I was laughing in spite of myself.

This humour compliments the film's slushy message and prevents any actual retching in the theatre - leaving the cinemagoer shuffling out content, with a smile on his face - definitely a feelgood movie. I just hope Sandler doesn't attempt It's A Wonderful Life next, I don't think the world's quite ready yet.

SPOILER ALERT The kindest thing I can say about this film is it's trying hard to be many things on many levels. At least it's trying - very, at times, as I found out by the end.

The story starts with an overturned car on a bridge and the dying passengers groaning in agony. The paramedics on the scene turn out to be imposters more concerned with removing the bodies altogether but vanish quickly when the real emergency services arrive - a compelling start.

We turn to a mother (Madeleine Stowe) driving her teenage daughter home one night; they witness the carnage by the roadside and are waved along by police. Their relationship is tense and uneasy, culminating in a bitter argument in a truck stop and the girl flounces off in a huff. Minutes later the distraught mother sees her daughter climbing into a winnebago driven by the spooky couple seen hanging around at the earlier car crash - and so begins the cat and mouse hunt for the return of the ungrateful wench back to Stowe.

The idea in principle is excellent, the cinematography stylish, the editing intelligent, the soundtrack appropriately moody and atmospheric, the acting accomplished most of the time. It's just a shame the plot disintegrates an hour into the picture; the audience were sniggering by the end as the seemingly invincible Stowe single-handedly takes on a chemical plant, a cult of complete loonies and a variety of incendiary devices without a second thought. Her transformation from a pill-popping, overwrought nag of a mother to Lara Croft is laughable, especially since she suffers a serious car accident in the middle of all this, only to walk away with a blob of stage makeup at her temple, and a renewed commitment to retrieve her kid from the moonies.

Towards the end the subtext also questions the morality of abortion, which is for a start completely at odds with the amoral lifestyle of the character posing the question, but moreover a weird position to take in a self-consciously arty film like this, where the pro-life/freedom of choice issue is utterly irrelevant. A nihilistic film like this has no point anyway, so why ruin the climax with unconvincing pro-life rhetoric?

The cult's enigmatic leader possesses an eery knowledge of Stowe's past which again is inexplicable and comes too late in the film to be examined properly - more of this might have saved the film's failing integrity. By the time he gets around to condemning her for her attempted termination (at the same time as cutting his own tongue with a razor blade and opening the boot of a car to reveal the poor girl's dead father lying there - you see my point) the film's nearly over and there's no opportunity to delve further. I'm being too kind; at this point the movie had decended into total farce and I'd lost my concentration anyway.

The nauseating happy-ever-after ending reminded me of so many Stephen King novels where the author has set the scene so brilliantly he ties himself up in complete knots and the resulting ending's a huge disappointment.

What a pity a film with so many strengths and so much potential fell at the first hurdle.

For those who claim to enjoy rap but know little about it, or are attracted to the raw and sexy image of hip hop, or who fancied a bit of that Eminem as he clowns around in his videos, then this film is not for you. This is no glossy, airbrushed Hollywood interpretation of life on the streets of Detroit. The characters are as gritty as picture is grainy. Whether this stands up as a testimony to Marshall Mather's early years is immaterial - it can certainly be viewed as such given what we know about the rapper's tough upbringing - but this is a movie and ultimately is about entertainment. Authenticity is irrelevant.

And entertaining it certainly is. If only for a glimpse into the hip hop scene in a deprived area of the Midwest from the comfort of your multiplex. The tired theme of a young man struggling to make his mark, overcoming all odds, from rags to riches, is typical of this kind of biopic and offers no surprises, but what is surprising is the relative lack of musical offerings from Eminem himself. I found myself willing the man to speak up from the beginning and itching to hear catchy tunes in the soundtrack throughout, but we only really get rewarded at the film's climactic last scene. It's worth the wait but the film could have packed in more music. Eminem fans will be disappointed.

The examination of the Detroit hip hop scene is fascinating and filmed to appear intimidating; the Shelter, the venue where the weekly duels between sparring rappers are performed to an alternately scornful and delighted audience is deliberately squalid and designed to shock. But the effect is immediate and the atmosphere electric. The contrast between these conditions and the tender affection the various characters display for each other seems designed that way, touching though it is, as if the director is asking you to believe that all these guys really have hearts of gold, they just look terrifying. Or you could say the intention is that despite the hardship, friendship has blossomed.

While the male characters in general are likeable enough, the characterisation is rather ham-fisted and cliched. 'Future', the Shelter's MC and all-round geezer has OB1 Kenobe written all over him, and it's hard not to think of C-3PO and R2D2 with regards to the other two 'homies' - a classic Greek chorus consisting of the grotesquely overweight, the brainbox with a social conscience and the in-bred trailer park boy who's picked on by everyone and inevitably protected by our hero. Next to this dysfunctional lot Eminem seems enviably well-balanced and normal, which may be intentional but it's not entirely believable, given his troubling domestic circumstances. Where is his alcohol/gambling problem, his violent outbursts, his criminal record? Saved by rap, it would seem. While vicious gangs are roaming the streets looking for his ass, he's tucked up at home writing songs - our very own Brian Wilson of the trailer park. A bit trite really.

The female characters however, are so beyond liking there's a strong case for accusing the director of sexism in this movie. There are only 3 women characters of any significance and all seem incapable of functioning without the approval and attention of our protagonist, which is irritating anyway, and they are all portrayed as complete slappers, every one of them - particularly Rabbit's mother(played by Kim Basinger)- using sex as a way of elevating themselves from their various pitiful circumstances. The only one who takes the men on at their own game appears briefly during a scene at Rabbit's workplace, rapping to an audience over a coffee break and generally 'dissing' a male workmate for a laugh. This is not an isolated incident however; it merely serves as a vehicle for Eminem's character, Rabbit, to get some practice in front of an audience, defend the woman who is being slated by her opponent verbally, and emerge triumphant, ready to take on the big boys at the Shelter that Friday night.

Ultimately this is a pretty formulaic piece of work with some very entertaining and funny moments. If this was set in a middle class suburban environment the film would divebomb and surely have nothing to offer the most forgiving of audiences; what saves it is its relatively original and occasionally disturbing setting. Oh and Eminem's pecs.