selenedm999

It had been a long, long time since I watched Three's Company on TV, so when I found the first-season DVD in a bin for $5, I scooped it up. The first thing I noticed was how comfortingly familiar, yet dated the whole look of the show is. Yes, this was actually 1977, not 200- trying to look like 1977. No cell phones, no Internet, and $300 rent! In a nutshell, the show revolves around two women and a man in their early 20s, who are living together to cut down on expenses. When I was a kid, watching it on TV, it didn't feel as relate-able as it does now, having been there as most people are in their early 20s. Each show revolves around how to solve their basic problems, while trying to keep their landlord from finding out that they're all heterosexual, yet nothing is happening between them. Why the landlord would care is beyond me, however...

Much of the slapstick physical comedy holds up very well, and is a great homage to John Ritter's talent. Although there are probably more sophisticated styles, John Ritter's never-ending pratfalls and the entire cast's misunderstandings and double-entendres are still amusing after 30 years.

The one thing I never noticed before, but notice in a big way now, is that the Three's Company universe doesn't have a problem with its own conflicted morality. Everyone seems completely accepting of homosexuality, in Jack's cover-up and in the couple next door, yet heterosexual sex between consenting adults is a BIIIG no-no! It's a comforting thought, and I'm very curious how it went over in the gay community of the time.

Overall, watching Three's Company, and Jack, Janet, the blondes, and the others get up to their hijinks is satisfying and entertaining. Forget reality TV. Sitcoms were the reason we used to watch--what happened?

American History X is a brutal and moving portrayal of racism in late-20th century America. At first, it seems balanced and intelligent, which makes it all the more tragic. This leads a viewer to feel uncomfortable--on the surface, it seems to bring out questions of one's own views on racism, but on repeated viewings, I figured out why it left a bad taste in my mouth.

First the good: American History X is beautifully shot, with a grace that few movies achieve. Tony Kaye's background as a director and cinematographer is in music videos, but instead of quick edits and jarring effects to build tension, he uses light and textures, and often slows moments of impact so that even the most brutal scenes become a sort of ballet of forms.

In addition to powerful performances by the film's leads, Edward Norton and Edward Furlong, who are two of the best actors of the 1990s, the supporting cast brings depth and subtlety to even the smallest roles. Standouts include Stacy Keach as a White Supremacist leader, Beverly D'Angelo as a frustrated but loving single mother, and my favourite of the group, Elliott Gould as a Jewish high school history teacher, who acts as a catalyst for a couple of small, important moments in the action. Gould's performance is completely heartbreaking during one scene, where he says nothing for several minutes, but the sadness on his face says everything: "Where did everyone go wrong?"

This is the important question, and the film works hard to show the White Supremacists as a group of frustrated, angry kids who have been led to this point through the leader's exploitation. In fact, they're realistic enough that they reminded me of several of the guys I knew in high school, who were, like Derek Vinyard, so smart and informed about politics that you wondered what they could achieve if they used their powers for good. Through the narrative, we see Vinyard transform from an angry kid with something to prove into a complicated adult, who learns lessons about compassion and consequence, and tries to show them to his brother Daniel.

****SPOILERS BELOW***

Unfortunately, they should have left it at that. The film fails for two reasons. The first is that the death of a major character at the end of the film, for no good reason, to me says that the writer didn't know how to end the story, and I consider this a weakness. The movie seems to be saying that violence begets violence, however, violence is usually the end result of a set of circumstances. While the film tries hard to achieve a balance that shows all the characters, white and non-white, as being well rounded, with both positive and negative qualities, I think it fails most of its Young Black Male characters.

The second reason the film fails is that by having Danny die as the result of race-related gang violence, the message of the movie underscores what the "bad" White Supremacists have been saying all along: Blacks are the scourge of the community the White gangs are trying to protect, and violence is a way of life for "those people." That's the true tragedy. It's bad enough that gangs ARE a source of identity and culture, and that so many young men live such a violent existence, but American History X perpetuates the same tired stereotypes. Will Hollywood ever break free of this? Somehow I doubt it--if nothing else, it sells.

Whatever your views on racism, whatever side of that line you're on, American History X is still a gripping movie, despite its flaws. It will stay with you for a long, long time.

I'll tell you a tale of the summer of 1994. A friend and I attended a Canada Day concert in Barrie, and it was a who's who of the top Canadian bands of the age. We got there about 4am, waited in line most of the morning, and when the doors opened at 9am, we were among the first inside the gates. We then waited and waited in the hot sun, slowly broiling but we didn't care, because the headliners were among our favourites. At one point, early in the afternoon, I sat down and dozed off with my back to the barrier. I was awakened to my shock and dismay by a shrieking girl wearing a Rheostatics t-shirt. This is the reason I have hated the Rheostatics to this day. There's nothing reasonable, nor taste-determined, nor really anything except their fandom. Snotty of me, isn't it? So, I, in my hatred of the band, have denied myself the delight that is Whale Music.

Desmond Howl had it all. It's hard to say what he's lost, since he lives in a fantastic mansion wedged between the ocean and the mountains (the BC region where the movie was shot is breathtaking). The life most of us dream of is dismantled by dreams, phantoms, and his own past, until the day a teenaged criminal breaks in...and, trite as it sounds, breaks him out.

Canadian cinema suffers from several problems. Generally, a lack of money, as well as an insufferable lack of asking for help (as if somehow the feature would cease to be Canadian) leads to lower production values than American or British films, and most people don't like to watch anything that sounds or looks like, well, not like an American film. Next, Canadian screenwriters often seem so caught up in being weird that they lose sight of how to tell a good story, and tell it well. Third, they seem to think that gratuitous nudity (often full-frontal) makes something artistic. I'm sure anyone who watches enough Canadian movies, especially late at night on the CBC, knows exactly what I'm talking about. It's almost like a "don't do this" handbook exists out there somewhere and Canadian film-makers threw it out a long time ago.

In the 90s and 00s, however, some films (such as Bruce McDonald's work and the brilliant C.R.A.Z.Y.) have broken this mold, and managed to maintain what makes them Canadian, while holding onto watchable production values and great stories. Whale Music is such a film, on the surface. Deeper than just its Canadian-isms, it's a deeply moving story of a man who's lost his grip, through grief and excess, who is redeemed by music then by love. And that redeems even the Rheostatics. :)

Just lately, I've been picking really nasty, exploitative revenge movies that pretend to be empowering to their female subjects, but the writers and directors still have to align the narrative into a male fantasy. It's a tricky boundary to walk, but .45 does it by introducing a whole cast of characters you just can't give a damn about, then wallowing in their pathetic lives. Overall, it's not really a bad film, but what makes the difference between a bad film and a good film is the compassion the audience feels for its characters, and unfortunately, Milla Jovovich's character is a manipulative slut. I was amused by her, saddened by her, then bored with her and finally just annoyed.

The plot is simple, although the director tells it out of order to try and make it more interesting. A woman is in a bad relationship with a petty thug, and rather than do the righteous thing and kill him herself, or the legal thing and have the cops deal with it, she finds a way to get her friends to take care of him for her. I didn't read the DVD cover closely, so I was expecting a heist/Bonnie&Clyde type movie, but what I got was a tale of a bunch of nasty, trashy people. They all kind of made me sick, but the worst was Milla's husband, a brutal criminal named Al. He's jealous and petty, but they have a lot of good sex, so this compels her to stick around. Finally, she has enough when he lays into her one night and accuses her of sleeping around (it's clear that she has, but no one deserves what she gets). He beats her badly, which I found unusually upsetting.

However, my sympathy didn't last long, when instead of pressing charges and having the animal locked up right away, she involves her friends in trying to frame him for murder. I don't care how many people someone screws at a time, but using their emotions and letting them think you're promising something is just wrong, and in the end I was left feeling that she was far worse than Al. I guess that was the point.

I feel that art is meant to entertain, to inspire, to challenge, and to make you feel like the characters have changed through the course of the narrative. I was disappointed.

Having "come of age" so to speak in the mid-1990s, I pine for the 1993-1998 period, for music, films, and (lack of) fashion. I know those days aren't coming back, but when I feel most "grown up," and the most like a loser, Spanking the Monkey is a film I'll return to watch again and again. Because no matter how unsuccessful I am, or what's expected of me that I'm failing, I could never be as big a loser as the lead character! Jeremy Davies plays Raymond Aibelli, a promising first-year university student pressured into giving up a prestigious internship to care for his mother during the summer. Mom is Alberta Watson, a woman who is very sexy but incredibly needy, and not just because she's got a broken leg. Raymond's dad is away on a business trip, and Raymond rattles around the house trying to maintain a sense of himself while being crushed under the pressure of his forceful family members. We laugh at him as he fumbles his way through brushing the dog's teeth, his awkward attempts at a relationship with a young neighbour, and we start to feel the tension stretch itself out as he takes care of his mother.

The director's commentary notes the "forced intimacy" of caring for an invalid, and I found that to be an apt description, as Raymond carries his mother to the washroom, helps her in and out of the shower, and smooths moisturizer on her legs. This turns into an awkward foreplay (eeyuw!), but the subject matter, while certainly a dark taboo and fantasy, replaces shock value with something much more subtle and complex. It's not a tale of incest so much as a complicated look at the way family interacts, and how the things an individual wants can get overlooked when having to look out for everyone else.

The most notable thing about the movie is the acting on the part of the leads. Jeremy Davies, still relatively inexperienced at the time of the movie, plays the angst and frustration of the situation with both sensitivity and a slow-burning tension. Alberta Watson, who could have been hammy or shrewish in the part, instead captures a full range of emotions from embarrassment to manipulation to a passive-aggressive anger directed at her son, for being the reason she had to sacrifice her own dreams.

As weird as your family is, be glad of them, and as badly off as you think you are, someone else has it worse.

Well...The Big Dumb Action movie sub-genre known as the Disaster Movie certainly has its share of expensive, implausible examples: The Day After Tomorrow, Armageddon, etc. The Core sits right alongside these movies and outdoes them in dumbness. While it wasn't horrible, and had moments of being a fun ride, The Core was far from great.

The plot is just about as ridiculous as it gets: the earth's core has stopped turning, and a crack team of "experts" has to (what else?) set off a nuclear warhead to start it up again. These include the Aryan (blond, built, square-jawed) academic played by Aaron Eckhardt, the SuperWoman navigator played by Hilary Swank (i.e. White American Alpha male and female), plus a French guy, an old guy, and a black guy. Who do you think is going to kick it? The team inside the Rocket to the Centre of the Earth plays out its inner tensions against the team on the surface, which includes the always awesome Alfre Woodard as a sort of Lt Uhura whose responsibility seems to be to talk to the team, Richard Jenkins as a by-the-books-need-to-know Military Overlord, and DJ Qualls as comic relief-cum-hacker. Even though the cast choices are great, unfortunately the characters have barely even enough character to be stereotypes, and their real purpose is to move around the movie magic of a planet falling in on itself.

So a giant penis, I mean rocket drill, hurtles in a large vagina, I mean tunnel, into the earth's core, which calls up all kinds of images about returning to the womb. They've made it out of some magical substance that gets better the more pressure you put onto it, cooled it with liquid nitrogen so it'll withstand the nine THOUSAND degree heat, and made its occupants into superheroes that can casually lift a series of warheads and move them into separate compartments for detonation. Not to mention the super-laser beam that will blow holes through rocks, allow the ship to glide through, and have the holes effortlessly close behind it. All of that is taken care of in the whole "willing suspension of disbelief" that's necessary to watch a movie like this, so I'll forgive it, because of the sheer joy of any disaster-movie. You watch it to watch the heroes get stressed out, and overcome it through the overwhelming force of their American spirit.

And boy, is this movie American. Not only do you have the clean-cut stone-chiseled action heroes win, but for some reason, the entire PLANET is screwed, and the Americans seem to be the only ones with the brains or powers of observation to even notice, let alone try to fix it! Never mind the other hundred or so "First World" countries that might possibly have scientific researchers or be looking at electromagnetic activity.

If you want depth or character or a believable plot, this isn't the movie for you. If you want a fun ride, good actors who must be doing this for money, and a vast imagination that compensates for its implausibility, enjoy. Myself, I couldn't help thinking of DJ Qualls' comment in the commentary for Hustle and Flow--he was proud they'd made H&F for less than $1 million, because he'd watch other movies and think "You spent $XXM on this?" Indeed.

***contains possible spoilers*** As a fan if "indie" cinema, and what they used to call guerrilla (sp?) film-making, I'm always very intrigued by movies that take next to nothing and make it into a lot. The way to do this is with a good cast, and a solid script, which Treed Murray has.

The plot is basic: an advertising executive gets chased by a group of teenaged criminals. He climbs a tree for safety, and spends the night there. The kids decide to stick around (rather than do the easy thing and leave with his briefcase), and what follows is a tense character study that ends in violence. The lesson here is the old cliché, "Be sure your sins will find you out." Although there's nothing altogether new on the character front (rich white guys, thick headed but loyal white trash guy, white trash chick, and a couple of badass black kids that are twice as smart but lack direction), the thrill of the movie is watching the characters interact. The writing mostly rings true, and the actors and filmmakers worked hard to avoid the worst of the predictables. At the end of it, you're not left feeling good about the characters' lives, and I found myself really thinking of them as people and wondering what would happen next.

The setting of the movie only barely distinguishes itself as Toronto. The one down side to the movie is that in trying to examine the race divide, which is just as clear in Canada only much subtler than in the U.S., it underscores its own racism. You know the rich white guys are going to be fine because hey, they're rich and white. The white trash dude will be fine because he's also white and male. The chick will be fine because she can always sell her a$$ or have a kid and go on welfare (in Ontario the stereotype is reduced to that--we take much better care of our poor here than in the States but it doesn't say much for women or the poor). But you have the feeling that the kids who are truly screwed are the black kids. Shark, who at least had his gang at the beginning, isn't left with much, and Carter's left with nothing at all. Although you know it's the truth, it's still an awkward one, because I think we escape to movies to watch the people we wish we were. It's uncomfortable when they fail.

Normally, my renting of Will Ferrell DVDs is reduced to one mood: stupid comedy. I assume, now I know wrongly, that Ferrell is pretty much a one-note performer, and most of his movies while occasionally extremely funny are also pretty ordinary.

I was pleased to be wrong with Stranger Than Fiction. Actually, I saw hints of it in Bewitched--somehow, with a good haircut and some designer clothes, they managed to make him (dare I say it?) almost sexy and a leading man. But StF really opened up a different side of Ferrell. In addition to the comedy of the situation, Ferrell brings life and depth to Harold Crick. If anyone ever told me that I'd cry seeing Will Ferrell cry, I'd have thought they were nuts.

I'm a fan of unusual narratives, and I particularly love anything "bookish," or literary, whatever that means. And much of what directs me to movies is my fascination with narrative, which Stranger than Fiction delivers with grace, warmth, and spirit.

Stranger than Fiction is the story of Harold Crick (Will Ferrell), an ordinary man leading a very lonely life. He's an IRS agent, and fills his days with numbers and order. When he meets a baker, played by the always-adorable Maggie Gyllenhaal, things start to look better for him. But there's a problem: he thinks he's going crazy, because he's hearing a voice, narrating his every move. "Accurately. And with a better vocabulary," he notes to a psychiatrist. As it turns out, he is the main character in a novel by Karen Eiffel (Emma Thompson), a British writer who writes beautiful tragedies, but has run into writer's block.

It's a fine, brainy, sweet piece for any actor, but what surprised me is that Ferrell actually CAN act. Who knew? What makes the movie so likable is the relationships between its central characters, particularly Ferrell with Dustin Hoffmann (a literary professor trying to solve the mystery of who's writing Harold's life), the artsy-cynical Thompson with Queen Latifah (an assistant hired to help the author make her deadline), and Ferrell's scenes with his newfound love, Ana. One heart-melting moment was Ferrell's serenade, after having learned just one song. I also enjoyed Hoffman's witty, understated performance, particularly the scene where he breaks the bad news: for the book to be a success, Harold will have to die. Rounding out the stellar cast are some funny cameos from Kristin Chenoweth as a BookTV interviewer (check the DVD extras), and Linda Hunt and Tom Hulce as a pair of befuddled psychiatrists.

On the down side, I found myself comparing the writing to Charlie Kaufman, which is inevitable. Unfortunately, StF is not quite up to the standards set by either Adaptation or Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. As long as you try to forget you ever saw a Kaufman film, Stranger than Fiction sets a high standard--hopefully, we'll get to see more of this Will Ferrell in the midst of the Anchormans and Talladega Nights.

As a fan of both Christian Bale and Training Day (also written and directed by David Ayers), I picked up this DVD on a whim, without knowing anything about it. Although the Training Day comparisons are inevitable, HT is an entertaining and thought-provoking ride, alternately frustrating, brutal, and surprisingly moving.

Harsh Times follows a few days in the lives of two men, Jim (played by Bale) and his best friend, Mike, played by Fred Rodriguez. Jim is a white guy who grew up in LA's (Latino) "hood" and has now returned after a six-year stint in the US Army, and Mike is his life-long "homie." Both are directionless, and spend their days looking for work and getting wasted. Like Training Day, the story mostly revolves around two guys driving around in a car, and LA is as much a character in the story as Jim or Mike. Ayers himself, on the commentary, describes HT as "a love letter to LA," which of course makes us question the relationship.

Bale's acting is seamless, as the story examines the roles that men play: Jim's deference and attention to detail as "super-recruit" for a job with a federal security company, his cruel and almost-robotic violent outbursts, his swagger and machismo with his friends, and his love and tenderness for his girlfriend in her Mexican home, the only place he's at peace. Rodriguez provides an excellent foil as the best friend who's been everything to Jim, a home, a family, an ally, and a rival, with both men alternately encouraging and questioning each other's actions. The main difference is that Mike, while immature (which is destructive to his relationship with Sylvia, a former homegirl-turned-lawyer who's outgrown Mike), is not a bad man. His relationship with Sylvia, played by Eva Longoria, is what raises him to a place he might not have gotten to on his own. Just a side note, the post-feminist academic in me wonders why Sylvia sticks around ("A woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle," stated by uberfeminist Gloria Steinem, also Bale's stepmother). Many of the women in the film are portrayed as these virtuous, forward-thinking academic types, who seem to choose to stick with shady gang-bangers for no reason other than they've been together a long time. Don't they meet any nice boys at school? I'll have to trust that to Ayers' writing logic, since it's never answered in the film. Their relationship also provides the standard action-movie formula that it's the love of a good woman that's the honour and glory of a man. *yawn* While I was a bit disgruntled with the lack of depth the female roles had, I was pleased with the casting choices of sexy, curvy Latina women--not a stick figure, a facelift, or a pair of implants in sight. You almost forget it's LA!

Jim, by contrast, has a dark side that was released in the Army, which he's subsequently unable to fully control. Bale draws on his own darkness, played so well in both The Prestige and American Psycho. As events unfold, Jim's choices lead to a series of exponentially more violent and troubling actions, and ultimately a tragic but somehow unsurprising conclusion.

In the commentary, Ayers notes that even in film, actions have consequences. And the actions and consequences in the film have an unnerving way of making the viewer wonder what they'd do differently, or what really makes us better than them. From the start, you feel that these guys are doomed, and you're helpless to do anything but watch the events play out. Although Bale's performance and Ayers' writing create both sympathy and irritation with the characters, Harsh Times is neither smug nor heavy-handed, as it might be if handled differently. While violence as a social problem can be easily written off as an economic and racial divide, this changes when viewed in the context of the lives of real people, which the characters in Harsh Times nearly are. The movie is a brutal but cautiously loving portrayal of a man gone wrong, and ultimately, it's his ordinariness that makes it compellingly, uncomfortably real. Harsh, indeed.

**possible spoilers contained** Terminator 3 was roundly slammed by critics and fans alike, but having waited 12 years for it, I was prepared to enjoy it no matter what, and was actually pleased with the results.

It's been 10 years since the events of Terminator 2 and John Connor has managed to avoid any traceable records, living "off the grid." When the new Terminator, a femme fatale played by Kristanna Loken arrives and kills off some of his schoolmates, it's up to JC (get it?) to save humanity, with the help of Good-Guy Terminator Arnie, and Claire Danes as former girlfriend/future wife. Violent Oedipal imagery abounds, when we find out the empty "womb"/tomb of his mother, MIA Sarah Connor (Linda Hamilton), contains some heavy artillery. The film, which is basically a chase movie like the first two, ends on a down note. Where T-1 and T-2 were hopeful about the fate of humans, the final installment lets us know that we'll all be responsible for our destruction.

While not nearly up to the standards of special effects and intelligent narrative set by the first two movies, T-3 was a cut above most bonehead action flicks, and it still manages to make the audience think. It certainly missed both James Cameron and Linda Hamilton (whose ignoble death was not befitting the mother/Amazon we loved from T-2: "There are 206 bones in the human body. That was one."). I'll continue to love the series, because it's compelling and smart without losing the action, and I look forward to the next one. I'll bet Arnie won't be required, since digital imagery has come a long way. We'll see.

I saw this movie well before the Oscars were announced, and I remember thinking Charlize Theron's nomination (and subsequent win) was well deserved. While I was watching the movie, I found myself startled into tears more than once. I can't say I felt sorry for Aileen Wuornos, exactly, but having met and sympathized with real life prostitutes, I found the portrayal of a life gone wrong very sad and moving.

The story is the "true" story of Aileen Wuornos, often called America's first female "serial killer," which if you know your jargon is a misnomer. She was technically a spree killer, but that doesn't matter--she killed a number of men for profit (money and cars, according to the movie) in a relatively short period, and was put to death shortly before the movie was made (2000, I think).

Charlize Theron's performance was bang-on accurate, not in how she looked (people made much of the prosthetics and weight gain), but in the aggressive, desperate quality of Wuornos' character. If you watch the old news clips, or the documentary Aileen, you can see how jittery and furious she was. Not only did she commit violent crimes, but she managed to justify them to herself. The character is sympathetic without making you feel like she's gotten away with something, and I find this an interesting theme in movies where women commit violence. Unlike the action heroes in say, Schwarzenegger or Stallone movies, where bodies pile up and no one has to answer for them, Theron's character in Monster shows the horrifying results of being both a victim and a perpetrator of extreme violence. While one sometimes leads to the other, it's never alright, no matter how bad you may feel for the people on-screen, or the lives they've led that brought them there.

The one downside to the movie that made me feel sad and uncomfortable was the Hollywood Beauty Myth. At the heart of most love stories, which Monster ultimately is, is the idea of a genuine love that motivates and elevates its hero to be something better than he could have been. Unfortunately, it only seems to be the beautiful people who can find this kind of love. If you're ugly, the movie insinuates, all you're allowed is something sick and desperate, and you have to take it where you can get it.

I waited a long time to see this movie, because I'm not much for sentiment, in fact I can pretty much do without it. If I were to list my favourite movies for you, you wouldn't find a "real" romance in the bunch (Pulp Fiction, What's Eating Gilbert Grape, Taxi Driver, etc.). However, what draws most movie buffs, and I'm no exception, is a deep love of narrative, interesting characters, and masterful writing. The Notebook delivers all of these, and much more.

The Notebook is the simple story of two lovers (Ryan Gosling and Rachel McAdam) who meet in the late 1930s (the actual year isn't given), then break up, and meet again seven years later. It's offset by the narrative structure of a man reading to a woman with senile dementia (played by James Garner and Gena Rowlands). Although the star-crossed lovers are sympathetic because they're young and beautiful, I found it was the older couple who really drove the story. Even now, with so many big-name actors reaching their "Golden Years," it's still rare to see actors who look their age, acting age-appropriate parts. While second to the younger couple, Garner and Rowlands turn in two of the loveliest performances I've seen in years--tender and compelling, and over-the-top sentimental, yet still sadly, wonderfully human.

Be sure to keep a big box of tissues handy for this one, but it's well worth it.

I consider myself leftish liberal-humanist, so I suppose as a white middle-class university-educated person I'm probably the last person who could understand or ever be a victim of racism. Having said that, I'm always uncomfortable, usually in a good way, with movies that I find to be racist. The Skeleton Key is no exception.

First off, I understand the movie portrayed the actions of people in a specific time and place, and that the bad guys were simply bad guys, no matter what the colour of their skin. Likewise, the actions were meant to be specific to the culture it was portraying, that of Southern Creole/black "hoodoo," whatever you want to call it, and that was something that came from Africa and combined a mix of witchcraft, voodoo religion, and general superstition--"local colour," as Peter Sarsgaard's character points out in one scene. I understand the ritual and portrayal of that part of the New Orleans culture was a narrative tool, and an interesting one, but it's not what I found racist about this movie.

I feel that it was racist--and, for that matter, ageist--because we're made to be sympathetic to the skinny blonde pretty twenty-something and her white upwardly-mobile male companion, played by Kate Hudson and Peter Sarsgaard respectively, while none of the other characters were fleshed out in any way. The black actors and the elderly actors were stuck with stereotypes (creepy old woman, useless old man, grave and mysterious middle-aged black lady, funky corn-rowed best friend, etc.) and precious little to work with in the way of depth of character. This is really a shame, since the entire premise of the movie is rooted in a very rich culture. I'd be interested in seeing what a Black Creole writer and director might do with the story. It might be a lot more interesting.

Having said this, the horror buff in me quite enjoyed it. While not exactly new or original, The Skeleton Key pays homage to a number of genres and memes--the haunted house, old-school Southern Gothic, the aforementioned creepy old lady, youth over wisdom and the latter's loathing/revenge on same, and unabashedly celebrates all of them. Genre's not dead, and the best of the new breed of horror directors knows this. The end result is that the Skeleton Key is creepy and entertaining, yet comfortingly familiar.

I like Annie Proulx. I like Larry McMurtry (try The Last Picture Show). I like Ang Lee. I like Jake Gyllenhaal.

So why didn't this movie live up to the sum of its parts? On the plus side, it was well-acted, and beautifully shot. I would have been happy with a docudrama about sheep ranchers, really, because I found the animals MUCH more interesting than their human counterparts.

On the down side...Honestly, if Jake had been a woman, the movie would have been boring and formulaic. And these aren't people I care about in real life, so I doubly don't care to watch them in a movie. Plus, they didn't age in the fifteen or twenty year span of the film, which undermined its credibility.

Now, if anyone reads this, I know I'll be flamed as a homophobe, but my love of "gay-themed" movies is what sent me to see it in the first place, expecting a great deal more than I got. If you want good "gay"-ness, try Torch Song Trilogy or Hedwig and the Angry Inch, which are about compelling people and their relationships.

I find that the picture on the DVD cover/poster pretty much says it all: a "red riding hood" type (little girl being chased by wolves) in the middle of a bear trap.

I used to work for lawyers, and there's something called a "bear trap" law in Canada. It's called that because it's difficult to understand and even more difficult to legislate, and there's no real way out of it.

Hence the reason the bear trap is a great visual metaphor: you're caught in a very painful situation, and the only way out is to chew off your leg. Hm...

It's hard to explain what this movie is about without giving away the plot, so here goes: a teenage girl picks up a 32-year-old photographer, then accuses him of both paedophilia and the murder of a local missing girl. Instead of calling the cops on his ass, she ties him to a table under threat of castration. THEN things get really nasty...

I thought the movie was great. The friend I was watching it with hated it and didn't think it was possible. Note--I learned about castration on the Body Modification Extreme website; if I know how it's done, why wouldn't she? I've frequently had the discussion about "the punishment for sex crimes/paedophilia/rape should be violence/castration/etc." I don't agree, personally, but I understand the place of anger and victimization that argument comes from, and I thought the lead character was plausibly portrayed. She has a child's sense of immediate vengeance, without thought of the consequences, and an adult's access to every excess imaginable. Scary stuff.

It's a movie that's meant to make you uncomfortable. It's shot without much music, and it draws you in with beautiful images, solid acting, and an excellent script. And the best thing about the movie is you don't know who to sympathize with--if you sympathize with her, you're as psychotic as she is. If you sympathize with him, you're on the side of what most people consider the lowest form of human life, someone who preys on children. However, he IS oddly sympathetic, partly because it's never really proved, but also because one thing we're supposed to learn as adults is compassion for ALL living things. Also scary stuff.

Considerably better than your average "rape revenge" fantasy, MUCH better than your average slasher movie, and not for the faint of heart.

OK, I'm sorry, but if he was a real vampire, according to vampire lore, he would never show up on film! Now that I have that gripe out of my system, Shadow of the Vampire is an unusual little flick that fantasizes about the making of 1922's Nosferatu. John Malkovich is great at histrionics, and the panic and pressure of the aaahh-tist is portrayed well, and with evil glee. Not only is it a fun view of a movie about making a movie, and the stereotypes of the character actor, the diva, the playboy, and the tyrant director, it's also a nicely creepy little horror-comedy period movie. It wouldn't win any Oscars, it's not a massive marketing job, just some solid performances by some underrated actors who are obviously having a great time playing unusual characters.

I read so many bad reviews of this movie that I waited until it was on the dollar shelf, and I honestly can't see what all the fuss is about. It's no worse than Superman or, holiest of holies, Spiderman, in terms of acting and writing.

Yes, it's campy, but Halley Berry is on record saying she played it that way, because, I shouldn't even have to point this out IT'S A COMIC BOOK CHARACTER.

The visual effects are pretty slick, as is the urban/R&B soundtrack (granted, I have no idea what counts as "good" or "bad" in that particular aesthetic). Halle Berry and Benjamin Bratt are obviously having lots of flirtatious fun, and Sharon Stone chews up the scenery as an evil beauty supply spokesmodel-turned-villain.

The real surprise, that I only half-expected because some friends saw it first and mentioned it, was the underlying feminist subtext. The movie smartly examines the sources of a woman's power, namely beauty and sexuality, and all the consumptive elements (fashion, magazines, skin products) that are the offshoots of same. It was surprisingly brutal in its honesty that these are the sources of a woman's insecurity: are you a nice face and good body, or do you get taken seriously as an artist, and Berry is certainly the perfect spokesmodel for this dilemma. And, as Sharon Stone is rapidly finding out on screen and off, what happens when you get too old to be considered anymore? Overall, a fun ride for the comic book fans and a surprisingly thoughtful, if subtle, underplay. Double bonus points for the mini-doc about the evolution of Catwoman, hosted by Eartha Kit. *purrr*

If you like country music and corny jokes, this movie's a must-see. What makes it most interesting, though, is Altman's overlapping cast approach, which has long been his trademark. Where other films that use the technique may make you nervous (ex., Nashville), this one seems to capture the cast when they're not acting at all, offering a movie that feels more like a family gathering.

The scene that endeared me the most is the "donut-stealing" anecdote told by Lily Tomlin and Meryl Streep, in that alarming Minnesota accent. But mostly, I found the movie had a weird Muppets Show feel to it, and it made it a bit disarming to watch.

Charming performances, surprising musical bits, and a great cast make up for the lack of plot, proving that movies don't have to solely revolve around narrative to be enjoyable. Watch out for the heavy-handed "angel," and you'll be fine.

Second only to Tarantino, this is one of the best "heist" movies I've ever seen. Forget Clooney's Oceans crew, who are all about "nudge nudge wink wink we're celebrities," and tune in to a movie where you don't know who's who or what's what until the end.

Granted, I'm a big fan of Denzel Washington, and it's rare that he makes a misstep, but I'm always torn about Spike Lee. While Lee is inarguably a good filmmaker, his characters are often deliberately unlikeable, which makes an otherwise good movie uncomfortable to watch. While this movie's characters are generally unlikeable, the plot twists and turns more than make up for it. Clive Owen is slick and slimy as the main thief, and Jody Foster in an unusually glam role somehow manages to channel Helen Hunt. Foster is one of the best actresses working today, and has never been a glamourpuss, so to see her flip her ponytail and stalk around on four-inch pumps is surreal. The funniest moment was Clive Owen's interaction with the lone child, who shows him a violent video game, then tells Owen he'd get mad points for robbing the bank. Owen's response "Eat your lunch, then I'm going to have a talk with your father about this game." A movie buff's dream, Inside Man is slick, action-packed, and keeps you guessing. Sit back and enjoy the ride.

Although it's a bit short on plot and depth of character, Silent Hill is a gorgeously filmed bit of horror candy, a cut above your usual slasher/creepy-guy-in the woods movies.

To be fair, it's a movie based on a video game, so I wasn't expecting much, and I was pleasantly surprised at how compelling the visuals really are. Not being a fan of the video game, I wondered why the director didn't flesh out the characters more, because there's plenty to work with, but the visual sensibility of the film more than makes up for this flaw.

Most of what makes horror work is the way it compels us, and this movie redeemed its lack of character depth with its questions of what's driving the characters: love, and a real examination of what faith is. The main character's love for her daughter drives her through hell and back, and her faith saves her without being heavy-handed. Although the villains call themselves faithful, their faith is self-centred, controlling, and destructive. My favourite line in the movie: "God isn't here." Recommended for a pleasantly scary ride, if you're a horror fan.

There were three movies released within a six-month or so period, The Jacket, The Machinist, and Stay. Each deals with similar themes, each is a trip through the protagonist's mind, and each may or may not be what's really happening. Each has varying degrees of success in its resolution through narrative, but Jacob's Ladder is still the top of this particular genre.

However, if you don't see Jacob's Ladder first, The Jacket is a compelling and unusual little film about a Gulf War vet who is sentenced to a mental hospital and subjected to highly unusual experimental treatment, namely being pumped full of drugs and locked into a morgue drawer. Adrien Brody's acting is top-notch as always, and Keira Knightley is the real surprise as a down-and-out waitress.

The film buff in me that wants to read more into it than is really happening says that this movie is really a Jungian attempt for the protagonist (Jack-Jacket) to reunite with his inner child. (Young Jackie, note the diminutive). Through this, he resolves his issues with an absentee mother (Jean), and becomes a whole person through the reunification of his anima and animus (Grown-up Jackie and Future Jack, respectively, if I'm remembering my Jung correctly, female and male parts of his personality).

In this way, the doctor's experiment was a success, even though it had to kill him to do it.

But then again, you could say the real moral of the movie is Don't Smoke.

A mediocre re-telling of Oscar Wilde's classic Dorian Gray tale, the only thing about it worth watching is Malcolm McDowell.

In his typical baddie role, McDowell is gleefully diabolical and makes even the most ridiculous plot turns almost believable.

The rest of the action, while pretty enough to look at, is flawed and boring at best. I rented this on the dollar shelf, and I rented it for McDowell. I got what I paid for.

Interestingly, IMDb doesn't allow me to post less than 10 lines of text, so I'm not going to have enough to say about its cheesy acting, rehashed-into-pulp mush of a very thin plot, bad dialogue, wooden character interactions, and all-around TV-movie feel. It's the kind of movie you watch when there's absolutely nothing else to do.

My advice? Vacuum instead.

I once read a description, it might even be of New Orleans, but I think it applied to many places in the South.

This description said that New Orleans is a place of "genteel ruin," and I think that phrase beautifully describes the entire feel of this movie. The movie is a simple story of family, but it revolves around people who had dreams and successes once, and whose lives are going to seed. It's sad, but tragically lovely to watch, and it's genuinely great when they redeem themselves in the end.

Scarlett Johansson is her usual luminescent self as a young girl trying to deal with her mother's legacy and find her own way, but the true joy of the film is the relationship between John Travolta and the other main actor (I apologize for forgetting his name). They speak to each other in quotes, and challenge each other's knowledge of literature, which is brave to do in a film. And although we don't like to watch our sex symbols get old, Travolta does a great job as a man whose best years are waaayyyy behind him, but he still manages a sort of seedy grace.

Rounded out with a charming supporting cast and a beautiful sense of New Orleans (and the heat) almost as a character itself, A Love Song For Bobby Long is about as close to perfect as movies can be.

I'm a horror fan from way back, and am always looking for interesting twists on the genre. There's really only so much you can do with blood and guts and creepy guys in the woods, so the audience gets bored quickly. I doubt the slasher genre will ever really go away, because people who've been long-term fans grow up and start making their own movies, but they're conscious that there's a blase fan base and a long history preceding them.

So we get movies like this one. I think it probably made more sense in the writer/director's head, although you catch on pretty quickly through its (unfortunately) fairly standard suspense setups and "No, it was Jason's MOTHER" type twists. Even the twists are getting predictable.

---------spoiler below----------- ---------stop reading if you don't want a spoiler--------------------

What was interesting about this movie was the idea not that the dead are getting up and looking for justice, but the idea of who's responsible for the deaths in the first place, since the main targets are people in authority. It examines an interesting question of who's really responsible for a tragedy, which is why I liked it, outside of the usual gore and guts movies. And the end was cool. :)

**contains possible spoilers and a comparison to the original**

I rented the original Dark Water because it looked interesting, and because it was by (sp?) Hideo Nakata, who did the original Ringu. I haven't seen Ringu yet because the American remake of the Ring scared the crap out of me. I couldn't walk into a dark room alone for a week after that movie! Dark Water (Japanese) was a very different kind of movie, and I remember being struck by the underlying sadness of it, because a child that young is too cute to really be menacing, even in her Swamp Thing incarnation at the end. As a horror movie, I think the Japanese version lost something in the translation, too, since the version I was watching was dubbed, and the dubbing was absolutely awful.

The tragedy of the original was how sad it was that a child that young can drown so close to her own home and no one's around to care, and the makers of the American version realized this. As a result, Dark Water isn't a horror movie by anyone's standards. Although it contains classic suspense elements along the lines of Rosemary's Baby and the Shining, like the other two, it's a film, not a scary movie.

First off, it's beautifully acted. Jennifer Connelly, in addition to being one of the most stunningly gorgeous women on the planet, is a mesmerizing actress and brings depth and subtlety to even her most hysterical moments. The superb cast, which includes a wonderfully creepy Pete Postlethwaite as a suspect Eastern European caretaker, Tim Roth as a shady lawyer, and John C. Reilly as an indifferent property manager, takes potentially stock characters and fleshes them out. You expect them to be predictable, but they amaze you with how human and sad they all are. For example, the scene where Tim Roth is telling Connelly over the phone that he can't talk because he's just about to take his family to a movie, then he walks in alone, is heartbreaking.

I was looking forward to this remake because what struck me about both the story of the Ring and the Japanese version of Dark Water was the underlying theme of the destruction of the family unit. What the Japanese movies seem to be saying, since there's a single mother protecting her child at the centre of both stories, is that if a woman has to raise a child on her own, the child will be abandoned and bad things can come in. Both films feature obvious womb/mother imagery (the well and the water tower specifically) with water (emotion, mothering, the Primal Source, etc.) at the centre. But in both cases, water isn't a life source, it's a destroyer, and the wombs aren't life-giving, they're barren, empty, death-giving wombs. (Just a side note, it's not like the women would have been better off with a man in these movies, because the male characters were all such morons!) The American version of Dark Water didn't leave me with the same sense that the author's agenda was about restoring the family unit, but with a feeling of sadness for all the characters. They're abandoned as children so they become isolated adults, and it made me both curious about the supporting characters' stories and concerned for the future of the child. It was both hopeful and tragic, and it's rare that movies inspire compassion for a constructed world where what you see on screen isn't something that could ever be realistic or relate-able. This movie makes you believe in it, and that makes it not just a step, but a huge flying leap above other "horror" movies.