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There is a dish in South East Asian countries called the 'rojak'; a mix of sliced greens, fried fritters, squid and eggs and topped with a thick peanut gravy. It doesn't sound particularly promising, looks much worse but locals justifiably pick their plates clean every time. This much can be said of Stephen Chow's erstwhile effort, the dodgy cornball humour of "Shaolin Soccer", and now, the chowster is back for another dose of shenanigans with "Kung Fu Hustle", already a huge hit in this region. Just like the 'rojak', Hong Kong cinema and movies like KungFu Hustle would never be mistaken for high art, with subtlety thrown further out the window than the protagonists are during the action sequences, and slapstick jarringly pitched at hysterical levels wedged in between dramatic sequences. There is a feeble plot about finding one's true self and being the "chosen one" as the denizens of a local town must fight against the powerful Axes gangsters, but one can't seriously discuss narrative possibilities when the lead in the film uses such gifts as the "hurricane power palm blow" (it's a kung fu move diametrically opposed to David Carradines "exploding palm" technique in Kill Bill; one strike and a 50 foot palm print appears on the side of buildings. You get the drift).

Stephen Chow is already a veteran in his native Hong Kong, where he first started out in collaboration with or in imitation of that other master of lowbrow humour, Wong Jing. One dimensional caricatures feature prominently in these movies, and Chow puts on the same deadpan expression and parochial cantonese drone in literally dozens of (best-selling) films. It is nice to see him maturing somewhat, just like Tom Hanks did; currently, Chow is already a reliable male lead in dramatic roles, not that his role in KungFu hustle would stretch any reasonably seasoned thespian.

It is interesting to note the role slapstick in Hong Kong films; it is similar to the recitativo in Italian opera, and the singing sequences in Bollywood films. They are interludes in the narrative designed to play to the audiences, which says a lot about audience tastes. Western viewers not familiar with Hong Kong cinema have generally been perplexed, but those of us in the know take it with a groan and quickly wait for the next kung fu sequence. There are, however, several laugh out loud slapstick sequences in Kung Fu Hustle that comes as a nice surprise (the surprise being that it was actually funny, and reasonably inoffensive).

The action choreography is first rate, the special effects are hugely imaginative, all in all the technical credits are above par for a Hong Kong film.

The references to the Matrix are courtesy of great wire-kung fu fights choreographed by the inestimable Yuen Wo Ping. But it is the less obvious references to Terry Gilliam's "the adventures of Baron Munchausen" that truly bring a chuckle. One of the characters is as fleet of feet as Berthold, while the ending is a nice touch: a small boy leads a girl by hand towards a movie theatre, and on the streets, a peddler sells a series of kung fu adventure comics to another urchin. As most young Asian boys will know, a kung fu comic promises fantastical adventures on the cheap, very much in the spirit of this often low brow but nonetheless exuberant movie. Just like the Baron on his horse at the end of "adventures", Chow seems to wink: It's silly but fun, hope you enjoyed the show! And yes, I did.

I caught a few episodes of Seinfeld over it's final two seasons run on public channel, and made it a point to catch a lot more of Jerry and friends during it's reruns. I found it very amusing on first viewings, but as time wore on, I began to like it more and more, and to eagerly borrow taped episodes from friends, and to hunt for re-runs on syndicated channels.

Of the two comedy TV series in the history of television, I would choose both Seinfeld and Monty Python as the cultural landmarks of the medium. In Seinfeld, there is not a trace of sentimentality and glib moralizing that plagues the American sitcom genre. Characters do not hug each other on Christmas, fall in love, wax on and on about family and friends, there is no faux-cathartic season ender so favoured by the writers of, say, "Friends".

Instead, we have the narcissistic Jerry, constantly mining the minutiae of everyday detail for every bit of situational comedy; we have the hyper-aggressive Elaine, whose strings of breakups with boyfriends are as impressive as her petty neuroses leading up to the breakups themselves; the ultimate schlub-loser George, who lies to every single woman he dates, sells faulty equipment to the handicapped and muscles off women and children when fleeing an apartment fire; and the impossibly inventive physical comedy of the entrepreneur cum schmooze Kramer.

Over and over again, week in and week out, the quartet discuss trivialities with unbridled zeal, as the non-descript narrative pings from one mundane setting to another. Seldom has such wit been generated by such gargantually pointless human endeavours. That is where the brilliance of Seinfeld lies, in the ability to go to the most bizarre ends to fulfill the potential of a less than hopeful comedic premise; and the endless, pointlessly smug and nihilistic banter that almost invariably escalates into some of TV's classic lines, such as when George shouts triumphantly after winning an argument that "there is no bigger loser than me!".

Surely, we won't find something like this again, for many more years to come.

What a heartwarming little movie this is, with its little grace notes of humanity embellishing what is, in essence, a simple tale of love lost and found. A bereaved young woman pens a whimsical letter to his dead lover at his old hometown across Japan, and is surprised to learn that the letter has been routed to his exact namesake, another young lady, who also happens to be his former classmate during his younger days. A delicate actress called Miho Nakayama is cast in the double role of fiancé and ex-schoolmate of the deceased. Comparisons to Kieslowkski or Lynch may spring immediately to mind. However, "Love Letter" is nothing like an intensive meditation on fate and serendipity. Instead, it is a bittersweet tale of discovery, both of oneself and also of the ones you love, and ultimately closure. There are some great moments in this film that resonate with feeling, like when an old man must carry a very sick grand-daughter to the hospital in a driving snow-storm. An assured script and direction, beautiful wide screen cinematography and a pretty score all add to the atmosphere. The film eventually bursts into unabashed expression, in an unforgettable final scene. Just lovely!

(major, major spoiler below! Don't read if you haven't seen the film).

In certain comments, people have either criticized as being unrealistic or concluded that the casting of M. Nakayama as both female protagonists as being a logistic or financial decision. I think that misses an important point. What this presumably odd piece of casting was meant to show was that the deceased actually ended up marrying (or got engaged to) a woman who looks quite similar to his childhood love. This happens in life, that is, we do tend to choose people who look similar. So the casting choice was a bit of a stroke of genius, especially in light of the revelatory final scene (and what a scene that is!). Very nice touch.

The Matrix Revolutions is a movie that suffers due to a colossal miscalculation on the part of the Wachowski brothers. Neo, the messiah avatar of Zion, continues his quest to fulfill his destiny and make peace with the Machines who have conquered the world. As we recall, virtually the whole of humanity have been jacked in to a virtual world called the Matrix. The first Matrix shows us how Neo escaped this world, only to return as a potential Saviour of humanity. The Matrix Reloaded showed the extent of Neo's apotheosis, culminating in a cliff hanger ending with Neo's powers seemingly to extend to the waking world. In the finale, Neo must travel to Machine city to make peace with the Machines and take on his arch-nemesis, the rogue Agent Smith, in a final showdown to determine the fate of both man and machine.

In the first Matrix, there is a spectacular escape and showdown with Agent Smith in the Matrix world. In Matrix Reloaded, there is a spectacular freeway chase with multiple levels of action in perfect counterpoint with each other, a superbly choreograph frenzy of incredible special effects. The action sequences in the Matrix world is what gives the franchise it's staying power.

In the final episode, the Wachowskis make a dire miscalculation. They misappropriate an inordinate amount of screen time for the battle of Zion. This takes place somewhere in the middle of the film, a long, exhausting sequence that shows the metal octopi of the machine army streaming into Zion and the humans blasting them out of the sky with their machine guns. Neo, Trinity, Morpheus, Agent Smith, the Oracle, in essence all the characters that we have made a connection with throughout the preceding three hundred or so minutes of the first and second films, are nowhere to be found. Instead, we are suddenly asked to care about a bunch of second string characters in Zion – General whatsisname, the boy who he, the Zion leaders whatchamacalit. This posits a situation that is diametrically opposed to what Hitchcock does quite often, a reverse- Macguffin. What's in the briefcase? It's not important, what is important is the connection the object has for the main characters. Here the Macguffin takes a life of its own, like a lurching, CGI created mutant. The metal octopi stream, scream and shred, the Zionists grimace, shout platitudes and shoot stuff up. This goes on and on for forty five minutes. This colossal miscalculation throws the whole film out of balance, and as a result, the movie never really recovers. Not even when the movie eventually snaps back into focus as soon as we rejoin Neo's final journey to machine city.

I sat down to watch Revolutions again yesterday evening on DVD. I skipped the whole battle of Zion, relying only on memory for the general details of how the war went. Suddenly, the movie seemed much better. The narrative arc was taut and sure. The fight choreography at the S&M club weapons room had an electric charge. The sacrifices of the characters were felt more deeply. The fight with Bane-Smith in the Lagos felt more urgent. I began to appreciate the wonders of the machine city – a luminescent play of lights, the ghostly apparition of the machine leader made up of thousands of shifting flying machines. Everything felt improved - the excitement of the Lagos' flight into a cloud of metal octopi, the one moment of sunshine as our heroes burst through the black cloud cover shrouding the planet, the spectacular showdown between Neo and Smith. The pulpy references to a Christ figure and the new world where the Oracle and Sati sit and watch a sunrise at the conclusion gain in poignancy and resonance. When will filmmakers with a bigger budget ever realize, less is often more.

This handsomely mounted period epic set during the 16th century Malaccan empire is Malaysia's most expensive film at US$5M. The princess of Majapahit, Retno Dumillah, exiles herself to the Malaccan peak of Mount Ophir to entreat the company of her lover, the Malaccan warrior Hang Tuah. This is in open defiance of her brother, Gusti Adipati, the ruler of Majapahit, who had intended to marry her to a prince of the rival Demak empire. Adipati then decides to forge an alliance with the Malaccan sultanate instead by offering his sister as bride to the reigning Sultan, Mahmud. Hang Tuah's allegiance to duty is legendary. He slew his best friend, Hang Jebat, many years prior on the Sultan Mansor's orders. However, the Sultan Mahmud, a preening and decadent ruler, is a pale shadow of the glorious lineage of Malaccan royalty. Should Hang Tuah banish forever his love in favor of a vainglorious tyrant?

Production values are excellent in general. Picture overall has a glossy, polished sheen. Some inexperience in photography is evident – an intruding palm frond at the edges of the frame, actors half cut off at the sides, shot suddenly partially blocked by the back of an actor in front of the camera (!). The period milieu and mise-en-scene are gorgeous, the palace rituals and traditional malay / javanese speech appear authentic. Nice background research there. The music is excellent with a nice mix of western strings and Malay traditional instruments like the sruling during the love scenes and rebana in the palace scenes.

The acting is uniformly above par across the board, especially M. Nasir as the legendary warrior, Hang Tuah. Malaysian actors are some of the finest in this region and Nasir carries a screen presence that conveys the nobility of this most famous of perwira melayu. It is also nice to see Rahim Razali, a household screen personality, in an amiable performance as the Tok Bendahara. Tiara Jacquelina as the titular princess is adequately winsome. The script, however, does not allow her to show why she was such a sought after woman. Sofia Jane appears more assured as the Sultan's wife. Adlin Ramlee's alternately cocky, languid and foppish portrayal of Sultan Mahmud takes some getting used to, but in retrospect, it seems about right. Both the princess and the sultan get a chance to shine with a neat verbal confrontation near the end. The standout is Christine Hakim who, quite frankly, is a class act. Alex Komang is a washout in a poorly written role as the Majapahit prince, consisting exclusively of sneers and scowls.

The story overall could do with a lot more dramatic urgency. Many sequences look thrown in to appease the multiplex crowd, inserted without attention to the overall arc of the story. An earlier sequence of Hang Tuah taking on a posse of 'lanun darat' is very well done. However, there is a gratuitous action sequence which comes in so far off leftfield, involving some silly 70s- style kungfu fighting, that threatens to derail the entire film. This is the sort of action sequence where a fighter slashes his dagger in the air and ten fireballs erupt around him from the ground. Although this was meant as a 'battle of the mind', the overall effect is laughably cheesy. Worse, the whole sequence is arbitrarily inserted at a most inappropriate part of the narrative – there is no buildup and aftermath. Likewise, CGI superimposition of the 'seven requests of the princess', floating across the screen like a ticker tape, is ungainly.

Elsewhere, instead of character driven scenes, we get actors who pose and pose while mouthing purple prose. Many issues are unfocused as a result. Why and how did Hang Tuah and Dumillah fall in love? There are nice scenes of the couple riding horseback, doing an intricate courtship dance, at a lake. They look pretty, like postcards of two people in love, but the scenes lack actual resonance. At one point, Hang Tuah shows the princess his big Keris; she stares in awe at it. Unfortunately, no character driven dialog. The crucial scene where Hang Tuah meets his beloved atop Mount Ophir starts off nicely: like a breathless teenager hopelessly late for a date, he blurts: 'Dah tunggu lama ke?' ('Been waiting long?'). However, this is proceeded by endless swooping, panning and swirling of the camera around the actors including editing that I believe violate the 180 degree rule. All that 'technique' is frankly distracting. What's wrong with action-reaction, medium two shots and close-ups anyway? There are more than several shots where the emphasis was more on a sunset or a waterfall than the characters themselves. Anyway, the lovers go at it with dialog cribbed from a Harlequin romance.

Whither the inner conflict of the noble warrior between love and duty? We do get a solitary soliloquy of sorts: Hang Tuah talking to his reflection in a puddle of water like a refugee from an Ingmar Bergman film, and that's it. Why the great animosity between Hang Tuah and the Java prince? The film offers absolutely no exposition there.

Being a prestige film, direction is serious and high minded. However, this is largely betrayed by a dearth of psychological depth and dramatic weight. A certain lack of joie-de-vivre permeates the film, making one wish that the late great P. Ramlee could lend his charismatic presence to the whole proceedings.

The film ends poetically with Hang Tuah rushing up Mount Ophir in a sequence of solemn and hushed silence, in a moment of cathartic realization and sadness. The broad strokes for a grand tragedy are all there, but the interlocking narrative is unfocused. It's like hearing bits and pieces of a symphony from a distance. It's a shame: the money saved from that silly bit of aerial kungfu fighting could have gone towards additional scenes between the two main characters – the final sequence could have had much more impact.

Father Merrin, the Exorcist, is a priest who has lost his faith in God in this prequel to Friedkin's horror classic. While on a mercenary mission to retrieve an ancient artifact on an archaeological site in Africa, he meets his arch enemy, the demon Pazuzu, for the first time. Before you can say 'projectile vomiting', evil is unleashed in an escalating frenzy of blood, gore, out of place CGI and thunderous music. Eventually, this leads to a final epileptic showdown between the-priest-with-no-faith and Satan himself!

The emotional high point of the movie has Merrin regaining his faith and making like Clint Eastwood in 'a Fistful of Dollars'. He picks up his cross and holy water again while angelic choral music is playing on the soundtrack. M. Night Shyamalan's 'Signs', this ain't.

Actually, we should all give thanks as director Renny Harlin has shown tremendous restraint in not rolling out wire stunt work and bullet time photography as Merrin and Pazuzu –almost- go at it in the air like Neo and Agent Smith in 'Matrix Revolutions'. Guess he ran out of cash. Still in 'Mindhunters' mode, Harlin gleefully parades every trick in his book: from pulverized human remains to a massive gun fight. I wanted to say 'you have to see it to believe it', but I guess that's not very good advice.

Stellan Skarsgard, a very good actor, can do little to save his dignity in this sometimes hilarious monster-horror-western mess. Then again, he was in King Arthur. Maybe he should get a new agent. 'That's (I am) _Father_ Merrin', he intones as he walks away purposefully towards a blue screen projection of the Vatican in the closing sequences. Don't stop him, he's got a license to exorcise.

This was a pretty awful movie.