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This might be the seventh time I've watched this movie, and it's become a loopable guilty pleasure of mine. With the end credits rolling, I'll go back to the beginning and watch Ghost of Mars all over again. There's something about it, the wide aspect ratio, the cinematography, the dissolves, or the understated soundtrack and pacing. I just can't get enough of this movie.

For starters, I'd be remiss not to mention the scene where Dos (played by Lobo Sebastian) being the chivalrous gentleman offers to help Akooshay with her can. "Hey, babe, let me do that for you," carefully applying his machete to the top of the can, proceeding to take a massive hit of Laffer before chopping his own thumb off and proudly presenting his bloody hand to Akooshay. That one scene is indicative of a filmmaker with an "I don't give a f-" attitude who has tapped the true spirit of renegade filmmaking. There's no apparent reason for having this scene in the movie, yet, for me, it automatically catapults Ghost of Mars into the canon of greatness. It's arguably the greatest scene in cinematic history and gets a laugh out of me every time I watch it.

Jason Statham, charismatic and charming as he is, does not steal the show and serves wonderfully as a disposable side character. I don't know why, but for some reason that really adds to the film. Just enough Statham to garnish the dish without being overpowering and obnoxious. He could have ruined the movie as lead character.

Another great scene features Natasha Henstridge tripping out on CLEAR, revealing the memories of an alien race. Masterfully done. I remember the first time watching that scene I was like, wow, that's pretty cool.

Gunfights and action sequences might have detracted from the movie, but upon closer inspection they're well done without being overwhelming. Oftentimes the noise of a gunfight or car chase makes me want to turn off a movie altogether. Overindulgence in gunfire is a headache waste of time, but you'll notice the guns here sound more like muffled firecrackers, pop, pop, amidst distorted metal guitar riffs, which manages to weave the tolerable action sequences into a greater whole.

When characters are beheaded by airborne saw it's like getting a power-up mushroom in Super Mario Bros. Campiness boosts up exponentially when major characters are offed by beheading or dismemberment resulting in a standing ovation from the crowd.

Seeing Natasha Henstridge in her prime is like watching a shooting star that will never pass again. Her recent films of the Hallmark channel fare are simply not the same. She's perfect in this movie, and the rest of the cast has great chemistry. Serious, yet serving the claustrophobia of a tightly knit squad moving from one bunker to the next, encountering one gruesome mess after another. The whole production is a rare treat that appears to have commanded a high budget with great set pieces and top notch acting.

The flashback within a flashback (within a flashback) is genius, concocted by John Carpenter the true creative mastermind. Where else can you see that much embedded storytelling? Also, the fact that Whitlock tells two conflicting stories leads me to believe her flashback with the balloon never really happened. Not sure, have to rewatch the film to confirm, but that aspect is mighty clever.

Anytime the Martian leader babbles his incomprehensible toddler speak, "Blaa-bah, daah, daah, daaaah," I get a hit of endorphins to the brain, pleasantly reminded that I'm watching my favorite John Carpenter movie, Ghost of Mars. "Blaa-bah, daah, daah, daaaah! Rawr-aaaaaah!"

Finally, the last scene with the chrome-plated guns tossed to each other "ready for war" style never fails to elicit the same reaction from me. "I want two more hours of this, I don't want it to end," and I'm comforted by the fact that others feel the same.

Your comrade in the foxhole,

Jimboduck.

Sometimes figuring out what makes a movie good is like reading the ingredients of a candy bar. If you read "nougat" on the wrapper of a candy bar, then you know you're getting NOUGAT! THE GRUDGE is like a candy bar. It is stylistically solid.

There were American-remakes of Ringu and Ringu2, the one that started the buzz over trans-Pacific horror. The first Ringu tasted like brittle seaweed. It broke into a million fragments like the T-1000 and there were seaweed shreds all over the place. Ringu2 didn't taste too bad, although it still left a strange, swampy aftertaste in my mouth.

THE GRUDGE is like a HEATH BAR -- with cat hair stuck in it. What would make me say such a thing? Well, if you look at the ingredients on the wrapper, THE GRUDGE was directed by Takashi Shimizu, the guy who did the original Japanese version. He threw in all those door creaks and angry black cats that tap you on the shoulder and say, "Hey, you're on the security camera!" You know how the saying goes, if it isn't broken, don't fix it. A Heath Bar works well as a Heath Bar.

On the inside of the Heath Bar is the brick and mortar that the director poured into it, and the milk-chocolate layer represents the Hollywood stars who give the package an enticing allure. I found it very pleasant to watch those actors and actresses. Hey, this movie isn't going to be a huge box office success, so let's have some fun with it. I'll pretend like I'm not who I am. "Yeah, we're famous actors, but we're also professionals who know when we make a good movie. We're going to come together and make this creepy Japanese horror thing work."

Watch it twice.

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With UNDERWORD: EVOLUTION in the rear-view mirror, I am hard pressed to say what it was about. A lot of bullets pierced a lot of things, ten minutes took place in medieval times, and Derek Jacobi made a speech on a boat. But that's all I can remember. At some point the memory of UNDERWORLD EVOLUTION gets tangled up with Francis Ford Coppola's Dracula. And somewhere Keanu Reeves has this big smile.

Selene and Michael Corbinus are the lone survivors from the first installment, I think. There were two warring clans of monsters in the first movie, but I think the war ended and they all went back to their day jobs. The two clandestine lovers are running from the law for who knows what reason, dodging bullets in one scene and trees in another. They eventually find a set of keys that have a thousand years history behind them. What do the keys open, and who's chasing them? My memory fails me here. Enter Marcus, flapping like an angry bat out of Coppola hell. He's doesn't like being woken up on a Monday. I don't blame him. Still, over the span of a thousand years he's learned to be quite a jerk, becoming what we modern day folk like to call a "homicidal maniac." You might remember him as the dessicated corpse opening his eyes at the end of the first Underworld.

Let's talk about the first installment. Here's my question. For those of you who liked the first Underworld from 2003, what was it you liked? Was it the sparkly clothes or was it the huge CGI rodents? Or maybe you got sucked into the blood feud and Alex Corbinus' delinquent family members. Whatever your answer may be, those elements aren't in the sequel. The sequel plays out more like an Indiana Jones installment, except you replace all the yellow sand with blue water.

So do you know the original story? Once upon a time, there was one brother bitten by bat, one by wolf, and a whole lot of actors from the Commonwealth started bickering amongst themselves. They were going to set up a welcome party for their friends, but it got derailed by a horde of disgruntled werewolves. A lot of monsters died, and a lot of blood mixing went on. But the human spirit prevailed (?)

We've seen where a sequel has matched the quality of the first and surpassed it. Terminator 2 no doubt made a greater impact than the first. The Matrix: Reloaded raised the bar in special effects production for movie makers out there. Aliens offered heavy machine guns to fight off a gruesome nightmare. These are all sequels that lived up to the legacy set by the predecessor, but what would I say about UNDERWORLD: EVOLUTION? I'd say let's redo it with a better story. Then the audience could get wrapped up in the elaborate chase scenes and care about the outcome. Yes, a better, in your face plot -- and why not throw in Wesley Snipes for good measure.

JY

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ICHI THE KILLER is Takashi Miike's version of mischievous fun on celluloid. What comes to mind is a scene where two delinquent boys are roasting a beetle with a magnifying glass. The two are giggling and snorting at the expense of the poor insect which is soon to go to insect heaven. Those two boys are Takashi Miike and Tadanobu Asano doing whatever they feel like with a flamboyant film they've entitled ICHI THE KILLER. The movie celebrates the sadistic little kid in all of us.

From the first twenty minutes or so, you might think that ICHI THE KILLER is your run-of-the-mill gangster flick. Oh my, that would be awfully boring. It's so much more! Plain wacky would be a good word to describe it. Characters pop in and out with no apparent association to one another. People get tortured and mutilated before we know who they are. Did the lady have a relationship with the gang lord? Who cares, since she makes such a lovely stain on the carpet!

Other words to describe the film are squeamish, bloody, and darkly humorous. Right when you think you've caught up with the story, it changes gear like a freak Tonka truck. One minute the lens may focus on a sophisticated crime scene, but the next minute it's catching a teardrop in a bowl of Ramen. While you may not find a single meaning for the whole story, you'll surely come away with a basket full of senseless images.

Let's suspend some poor Japanese fool from the ceiling with fishing line and pour boiling hot oil on his head.

The sneaky uncle figure takes off his coat to reveal a huge mass of muscles! He is Japan's champion body builder!

Open the door, and the wall is covered with blood and guts. Nobody says a word. Oh, did I mention that the guy over there has a twin brother? Oh well, it doesn't matter, since that twin just got killed.

And all through the audience you can hear the sound of people scratching their heads in confusion.

In closing, I'd like to comment on Ichi himself, the new breed of Japanese superhero. He's a seemingly normal young man who moonlights as a vigilante in a black rubber suit. His special move is a spasmodic razor-blade kick that can chop a person in half. He has anxiety attacks when speaking with other people. He fantasizes about women in twisted fairy tale scenarios.

Best of all, he plays Tekken under a blanket for a living. Now that is my kind of superhero! It's only a matter of time before the mushroom cloud breaks forth and Ichi wakes up in his perfectly tragic fantasy world.

In this world, his asthmatic gasp spells victory for the human race! It makes no difference -- he dishes out his own cocktail of justice to the evil gang lord or the little kid on the tricycle -- indifferently.

JY

Jimboduck-dot-com

Blue skinned zombies never more real! The countryside amok with dead people, and a motorcycle gang can rock our world!

In terror time, the citizens die and come back zombie. The only way to kill them is the head. Crawling with disease, who can you turn to? Where do you go? Bring back that rock n' roll sole?

Look no further my friends, because the satellite's gonna shine bright tonight.

WILD ZERO is a kick in the ass. It's made with real fruit juice, mainly from concentrate. Spinal Tap's has the 11+ for extra loudness! Gone, baby, gone. Let's blue-skinned zombie killing!

I'm not the most rockabilly punk on the planet, but on any given day I might gel up my hair real nice. I keep the dark sunglasses on my counter top, next to the root beer. Shuriken guitar picks The Guitar Wolf teeth !

JY

Jimboduck-dot-com

Some people out there may imagine the Japanese of Tokyo to be stoic and colorless like Vulcans. To some extent, that is how they really are. The buildings are gray, and if it's overcast, everything kind of blends together into a formalized drone. There is more paperwork added each day, another speech to sleep through, and the shuffle begins anew. Add the business formalities, and society can get very stiff over there.

That is one side of Japan.

SURVIVE STYLE 5 is the other side. Somewhere buried beneath the hard samurai exterior, the Japanese are the silliest, flashiest people on the face of the earth. Just watch the game shows on TV to see what I mean. It takes the slightest spark to transform a crowd of adults into a crowd of Pokemon monsters. Add this side of Japan, and every conversation at the workplace has a Comic Book BANG! POW! and HORRA!

The movie features five story lines (1) A hip to be square family of four (2) A girl that won't stay buried (3) An assassin on a hit job (4) A hypnotist (5) A traveling band of fools in a van. Here's a puzzle for you -- what is the common element that connects these 5 story lines? Beats me. Maybe it's the STYLE.

SURVIVE STYLE 5 is like a multi-colored salad falling to the kitchen floor in slow motion. Everyone stands agape as the orange leaves scatter like purple rain. Most memorable are the vivid colors and extreme silliness. Take for example the absurd scene where a typical nuclear family is rocking out in the car on their way to a hypnosis show. All four are bobbing their heads to punk rock and shouting American profanities in unison.

A cohesive story would have propelled this movie into greatness. But because it's so scatterbrained, it can safely be filed in the "two-hour music video" drawer. You might want to display it at the entrance to your home on special occasions -- like an Andy Warhol photograph. It can serve as a reminder of how absurd the world can get. "Yes, the world did have a story to tell once upon a time. It made absolutely no sense, but it had such a beautiful Christmas Tree!"

If SURVIVE STYLE 5 is your cup of tea, I recommend Taste of Tea, released in 2004 starring Tadanobu Asano.

JY

Jimboduck-dot-com

No, I have not read the book.

Here are foreign movies I easily recommend over MEMOIRS OF A GEISHA: Shall We Dance, Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon, Hero, House of Flying Daggers, Shanghai Triad. These movies are foreign language with subtitles.

Some American movies that I recommend over MEMOIRS: Last Samurai, Empire of the Sun, Schindler's List, Chicago.

With no momentum to speak of, the tortuously slow and boring MEMOIRS takes 45 minutes to get revved up and then idles in the hangar for another two hours. Sure, the sumo wrestling match was cool. Zhang's dance on the stage was cool. But apart from that, there was no rhythm, and without help from Rob Marshall, you're at the mercy of Yo-Yo Ma's yawn-inducing cello. I do acknowledge that MEMOIRS is a classic sob story, but Zhang Ziyi was not put on this earth to beg for our sympathy. She was put on this earth to kick ass.

Before you watch MEMOIRS be sure to check out Last Samurai, from the director of Glory, starring Ken Watanabe.

JY

Jimboduck-dot-com

I saw this Asian trilogy of terror a couple days ago with my buds, the Oscillator and Mr. VMU. The Oscillator was impressed by the Japanese one. Mr. VMU liked the Chinese one. My favorite was the Korean one. That makes three viewers, each liking a different segment of the trilogy. As a litmus test, it just goes to show that different people are always coming from different perspectives. Without a doubt, THREE EXTREMES will elicit three distinct reactions from your tripartite gut. What else would you expect from a trilogy where each short film comes from a different country?

First of all, I thoroughly enjoyed the juxtaposition of Chinese, Korean, and Japanese cultures, and I hope to see more in the future. What would I recommend for future CKJ trilogy releases? Horror might be the genre to stick with, maybe something set in medieval Asia, warlord style. Maybe something with Genghis Khan and Francis Ford Coppola vampires. But before I get carried away, I had better check whether THREE EXTREMES made money at the box office. I'm supposing that it did not.

Dumplings (6.0) Fruit Chan, director of Public Toilet

Both the Oscillator and Mr. VMU were impressed by the shock value in the first installment. I agree, some of the scenes strike the nerve like cold lightning, but I wanted more shock. There seemed to be a lot voodoo floating around, what with the cursed fetus and all, but it pretty much went over my head. I have to admit, I'm not up to speed on my Chinese voodoo. Unlike the latter two short films, Dumplings features select scenes taken from a longer full-length movie. I think watching the whole movie would fill in some of the holes where I was plain lost. What are these dumplings supposed to do? Why don't they work? Who are these people?

Cut (8.0) Chan-Wook Park, director of Oldboy

The Korean installment features some lengthy sermons. The villain goes off ranting about the nature of society, so on and so forth, as the bound Byung-Hun Lee listens helplessly. I got kind of bored by the speeches myself, but after THREE EXTREMES was over, I realized that I liked Cut the best out of the three. It reminded me of the existential plays that Tom Stoppard used to write. The symmetrical film has four characters, two of which are bound and gagged. The weird, absurd situation produces a cozy environment where we can explore both the humor and terror behind psychosis. As Sartre said himself, hell is other people.

Box (7.0) Takashi Miike, director of Iishi the Killer, Audition, Visitor Q

I have a feeling that Miike is the main reason most people come to watch THREE EXTREMES. Besides, who really prefers Chinese or Korean movies over Japanese film anyway? Box is slow and quiet. That's all well and good, but during the whole installment I was waiting with breathless anticipation for needle-point shock. I'm sad to say that, there is no shock. Most of the terror comes from hidden uneasiness as opposed to in-your-face grotesqueness. I really wanted to see the bag monster from Audition. Thus "Box" gets a lot more interpretive than I had hoped for, and that means it gets boring. I am also not a fan of Atsuro Watabe, the male lead. His acting is annoying, and more often than not gets on my nerves more than the coat-hanger does.

JY

Jimboduck-dot-com

Right now I am listening to my favorite reggae song on my twelve speaker home theater system. Let me tell you, it is rocking the roof off! Can you hear it? Oh, man, it's dope. You hear the 3/4 beat blasting the roof off?

No, you probably can't.

What if I told you that the song and the stereo system are magically INAUDIBLE. You can't hear the song even though it's actually playing through the speakers. Wouldn't that make things overly confusing? My point is that I've never understood how a movie about invisibility could work, much less do well. I don't think the concept has much potential, and I've always felt this way since seeing clips of the old black and white Invisible Man make footprints in the snow. Do you remember Disney's Pete's Dragon (1977) and how the thugs were hoisted into the air by a supposed invisible dragon? The movie was a classic for many other reasons, but if the dragon had never become visible to the audience, it would have made kids cry out of disappointment.

I had always been suspicious of HOLLOW MAN for this reason specifically. I don't see how film can do invisibility justice. But after finding out that it was PAUL VERHOVEN'S Hollow Man, I quickly put it at the top of my to-see list.

Without a doubt the most memorable scenes of HOLLOW MAN take place within the first half hour. First, an invisible gorilla is strapped to the operating table, and is brought back to visibility by an injected serum. The way the invisible gorilla writhes and screams in pain is enough to make an impact by itself, but we are treated to a meticulous CGI rendering of its anatomy. The skeleton becomes visible, then its organs, and eventually its musculature. The process is repeated with Kevin Bacon on the operating table, and the transformation from visible to invisible man is astounding. The top-notch CGI coupled with the screaming and kicking make for a scene that can stand among the best of its genre.

But while these transformation sequences make quite an impression, the rest of the movie can pretty much be thrown away for two reasons:

(1) The movie gets claustrophobic in a bad way, since the rest of the movie takes place mainly in an underground lab. The Invisible Bacon whines about not being let outside, where he could exercise his new powers, and I commiserate with him. The movie would have done itself a big favor by including scenes in public places, a supermarket for example, where the invisible man could wreak havoc on innocent bystanders. Instead the drama is pushed forward underground entirely by the clashes between Bacon and the other five members of his scientific team. Limiting the action to an underground lab severely shrinks the scale of the movie and wastes whatever potential the invisible concept had to begin with.

PLUS

(2) Kevin Bacon's sudden jump from ambitious scientist to crazed madman needs more explanation. Josh Brolin tells Elizabeth Shue, "Kevin Bacon is a genius; he can go from A directly to D. I can't do that. I need the B and C." Hey, me too. I need the B and C, too. Why does the happy-go-lucky doctor turn into a homicidal maniac? I see why the movie needs to turn Bacon into a lunatic. After all, where else would you get the dead bodies? But aside from the pretext of cabin fever, we never see WHY Bacon goes nuts. The invisible man's insanity and subsequent irrational behavior rings hollow in the absence of character development.

If Verhoven had fleshed out (1) and (2), the movie would have been a lot better. Instead what you get is a shiny laboratory where the protagonist AND villain are non-existent. The suspense and drama are pushed forward by strange gripes among the characters that come out of nowhere. To make matters worse, the extra DVD features reveal how much work went behind creating the bulk of effects. The special effects team went to great lengths making the invisible Bacon appear in smoke, under a sprinkler, and underwater. If you ask me, it just looked like wisps of smoke and water. I can do that in my back yard! To achieve these effects, the crew had to paint Kevin Bacon either entirely black, fluorescent green, or dark blue with the matching contacts, all three of which were definitely cooler than the resulting invisibility. In my mind that stands as the biggest waste of time by a Hollywood production team I've ever seen.

But what else would you expect from a paradox like "See the Invisible Man!"

JY

Jimboduck-dot-com.

Is it possible to comment on Otomo's STEAMBOY without referring to the legendary Akira made 20 years ago? I believe the comparison to be essential. After all, many Anime fans will watch STEAMBOY while in the back of their minds making frame for frame comparisons to Akira. Still, however enticing it may be to bring Akira into the picture, I'll try to eke out a few sentences in an attempt to evaluate STEAMBOY on its own.

The artwork is amazing and hovers several notches above even the work of Miyazaki. But note here, it is meticulous artwork of 19th Century England and large, noisy iron steam engines. Why on earth would Otomo devote six plus years of his life animating antiques? The anathema puzzles me, and I can only interpret it to be some kind of religious derangement. An equivalent would be to agonize over animating every thread of flat burlap cloth. Why bother when you could be pouring your energy into something else? If you surveyed 1000 anime fans out there, asking the question "What would you most like to see animated?" I bet you would get the answer "Something unreal." I would go for dragons or futuristic babe-droids. Or futuristic babe droids riding dragons. The jarring combination of beautiful artwork wasted on a dull Victorian landscape led only to frustration. Akira aside, why oh why did Otomo choose steam engines?

(As a side note, listening to supposed 19th Century English people speak Japanese is like watching a Spaghetti Western that features cowboys in spacesuits. It only makes for more subconscious scratching of the head.)

Well okay, let's say you're a fan of the 19th Century artwork and you're able to hone in on the story. What you'll discover is that there is no story underneath all the pretty pictures. As each frame ticked by I was frequently asking myself, when will this story pick up? About halfway through I realized that a half-way decent plot was not going to happen.

The first third of the movie involves some thugs chasing Ray Steam around the provincial neighborhood for the precious steam-ball entrusted to him by his grandfather. Once the precocious chase scene is over and done with, we are led to the second third of the movie, a meandering tour of a hulking steam factory run by Ray's father, all the while being introduced to the implausible inter-familial strife between Ray, his father, and his grandfather. At the end of this tour we are thrown into a sudden war between father Steam and Robert Louis Stevenson which is where we abandon all hope of a worthwhile plot and things get truly ridiculous. Not only does this war burst out of nowhere with gratuitous noise, but it sinks the pointless story that had barely hobbled through the first sixty minutes. The last third of STEAMBOY is nothing more than a cacophony of explosions from giant iron machines that add nothing to the movie but smoldering junk.

Now add the double whammy that Akira was both thematically and artistically right on the money, and you are left shaking your head for two meaningless hours of noise. What was Otomo thinking, no doubt in the grips of madness? Why did he trade in Neo-Tokyo for a English steam kettle whose only purpose was to blow up in our faces? I recently saw an excellent documentary on the life of Akira Kurosawa and am hoping that a similar one will be done on Otomo in my lifetime. It may explain what freak forces of nature made him produce this noisy and pointless monstrosity.

In regards to STEAMBOY's top-heavy international appeal, you can chalk up the over qualified English dubbing of this movie to Hollywood's Johnny-come-lately response to hype over substance. The next time you see Anna Paquin, Patrick Stewart, and company hauling this dismal iron wreckage out of the sea, tell them to do history a favor and let go of the ropes.

JY

Jimboduck-dot-com

Taking heed of the advice of my good friend and IMDb correspondent "The Oscillator," I searched out a DVD copy of THE MACHINIST and was rapt in suspense from beginning to end.

Christian Bale plays an emaciated Trevor Reznik who after a year of insomnia starts to lose his mind. As with any well done film about insanity, THE MACHINIST casts a nightmarish cloud of confusion over what is real and what is hallucination. No one knows what's going on, and it appears that the key to the puzzle rest deep on the oceanic floor of Reznik's subconscious.

Brad Anderson, poised to direct a 2006 remake of Romero's The Crazies, does a nice job of stringing together quiet, eerie scenes that culminate in periodic epileptic fits of psychosis. Wasting away in his delusional world of half-sleep, Reznik causes a horrific accident at the machine shop. All of his coworkers, including his nasty boss are conspiring against him, or so he thinks. Slowly Reznik gets the feeling that the conspiracy against him is deeper than it appears and that some of his coworkers don't really exist. To make things worse, someone is sticking random sticky-notes on his refrigerator.

One glaring point of distraction, though, was that I was constantly asking myself, God, how did Christian Bale lose so much weight for the part? For those who don't know Bale, you might think man, that guy's skinny. But for the millions of Christian Bale fans out there, simply seeing his face in THE MACHINIST might conjure up a myriad of irrelevant questions from "How much does he resemble that British kid in Empire of the Sun?" to "How in the world did he wind up in that awful Batman Project?" Sorting through different images of Bale in your head, from stick figure to schoolboy to bat, could be called entertainment. For me it gets kind of distracting.

Fortunately for the audience the macabre storyline remains tangled and dizzyingly suspenseful right up to the last five minutes where everything is unraveled and the mystery is explained. As always in this genre the bulk of the entertainment behind THE MACHINIST lies not in the final five minute ennui but in the preceding 90 minute cloud of schizophrenic psychosis. For another movie that has the same effect, I highly recommend Angel Heart (1987) with Mickey Rourke and Robert Deniro.

One final note, the score was excellent. It had a classic feel to it that made me think of Hitchcock's PSYCHO. An appropriate score (or an appropriate absence of one) is more than half the battle in any film, and the score behind THE MACHINIST proves that some Hollywood formulas for suspense never get old.

JY

Jimboduck-dot-com

Brand names sure can sell a product quick. Just slap the "Ghost in the Shell" label on anything and it'll probably sell like hotcakes. GITS trading cards, GITS lunch boxes, GITS cologne.

And of course, any wise prophet of the industry would tell you that the "Ghost in the Shell" brand name would sell its own sequel instantly. I mean, how could anyone miss seeing the sequel to the critically acclaimed Ghost in the Shell?

Yup, I was sold instantly, and as I popped the DVD in, I took a deep breath and calmed myself down.

The opening of Innocence, Ghost in the Shell 2, features an enhanced CGI rendition of the girl android getting assembled underwater. It's just like the opening of part 1 and is backed by another haunting choir & Koto drum score. Those first five minutes seem to say, hey, you're in for one heck of a ride!

Make room for disappointment because the other 95 percent of the movie is pretty dull. Sure, Innocence has some spotty moments of well done animation, but the story isn't so good. A virus has infected a cartload of pleasure-droids making them homicidal. Special agent Batou, a tough as nails android, and his squeamish human partner investigate the situation and find that it leads from one bad guy to another. After overcoming some flimsy obstacles, Batou makes his way to the last stage and beats the boss, all the while listening to his partner groan about the burdens of human life. That's really all there is to the story.

The same kind of story and growing pains partner situation can be found in the Lethal Weapon series. Don't get me wrong, I'm a fan of Lethal Weapon. That's because they flesh out the generic storyline with witty humor that's fun for the family. Innocence fleshes out its generic video game kill-the-boss story with long drawn out scenes where nothing really happens. The original GITS breathed with life because it introduced us to a world inhabited by trash men who didn't know they were robots and a villain who lived in the Internet. It asked the big cognitive science questions with style. By the time we get to Innocence, all the characters are moaning and groaning in the rain. Horray.

While "Ghost in the Shell" was appropriately named for the subject matter it dealt with, I'm still at a loss why the sequel was called Innocence. Was it because of the piles of dead Yakuza members? I would have called it "Cut out my good parts and compress me into 15 minutes."

JY

Jimboduck-dot-com

You know that feeling you get when you're watching America's Funniest Home Videos and the oblivious son hits his hapless father in the crotch with an aluminum bat? It gets a quick reaction, like, ooh, I feel your pain man. FINAL DESTINATION 2 is a 90 minute or so string of those painful shots, as each character one by one meets an unfortunate death by household appliance. Bodies are slammed by trucks, heads are impaled, and limbs fly through the air. When one of the characters dies when her car's airbag explodes out of nowhere, I blurted "Yeah! Wow, did they do that??? Yeah, they DID do that. Right on!" Although the film has a very serious atmosphere about it, what with the creepy score and people sincerely freaking out and everything, it still retains a campy humor about it buried beneath its high-budget exterior. Many movies would shy away from smashing up plastic ketchup-filled dummies, opting instead to avoid the gore. Not FINAL DESTINATION 2! This movie is an honest approach to movie-making, hearkening back to the day when you got together with friends and said, "Okay, in this scene we cut to the dummy falling off the building, it's run over by a Mack truck, and it splatters chunks of blood all over that Oldsmobile over there." As for the premise behind FINAL DESTINATION 2, how do I put it into words? A.J. Cook has premonitions that people died in a nasty pileup on the highway. Thing is, this never happened. And ... she continues to have premonitions that those same people will die in due time. Those people eventually die. Did I get that right? The universal law of nature is that, well, Death sometimes misses its mark and has to fix its mistakes (which usually involves electrical equipment getting wet and other freak accidents of home improvement). If this all sounds convoluted, watch the movie. You'll see what I mean. The premise of FINAL DESTINATION 2, as much potential as it might have, doesn't make much sense and is pretty hokey, but if you medicate your inquisitive mind with heavy sedatives, you'll be able to look past the flimsy premise and enjoy the movie. I'm definitely looking forward to a Final Destination 3.

Incorrect pronunciation: "Them Dagon gofers gotten into my garden again!"

Correct pronunciation: "My word, where has the Dagon (day gone)?"

The first time I saw the name "HP Lovecraft" on the cover-box of DAGON, I thought to myself, cool, a movie from the guy who drew the concept art for Aliens! Not till midway through the movie did the bubble float to the surface of my brain, whereupon I exclaimed, "Wait a minute, it wasn't Lovecraft. The guy who did the art for Aliens was HG Giger, not HP Lovecraft!" Oops.

DAGON, though, did prove to be mildly entertaining, regardless of which HP or HG it turned out to be. (And you know, it probably doesn't matter, since both come from a similarly twisted state of mind.)

The movie opens with an effectively suspenseful shipwreck scene where two couples off the coast of Spain get caught in a sudden storm and hit a rock. As one of them gets injured on the lower deck, one couple sails to shore in an inflatable raft.

Once on shore, the main lead Ezra Godden is directed to a local hotel where everything is really dirty, I mean REALLY dirty. Looking out the window, he notices that the townsfolk have gathered outside grunting for his blood. You see, the townsfolk signed a pact with supernatural forces and are slowly growing gills and fins in preparation to return to the sea. Also, for some reason, signing such a pact makes them really hungry and hostile, too. These fish-people start chasing Godden out of the hotel and around the village in the rain. (As you can tell tourism was not high on the revenue list.)

The campy style in which the shipwreck and chase scenes were shot reminded me of EVIL DEAD, what with all the well placed close-ups and quick cuts.

These two opening scenes, about thirty minutes all together, establishes a solid beginning for DAGON, but the rest of the movie is downhill from there in my opinion. That's not too bad, considering the movie runs 90 minutes, resulting in the opening third of the movie being juicy nougat with the remaining two thirds being a stale wafer-like biscuit.

My biggest complaint about this movie is that the creepy townsfolk are hidden under too much darkness and hooded clothing. Although you hear a lot of constipated surround sound grunting on the audio track, you only see a crowd of hooded people in robes. Skateboard culture meets Cocoon. There are very few fangs or tentacles to be spoken of. That's a shame since Stuart Gordon has proved as a director that he can go over the top with visual gore and rubber in his mid-80's classics Re-animator and From Beyond, two great films I would recommend over DAGON for freakish audacity.

JY

Jimboduck-dot-com

This movie was absolutely terrible. The bottom line is that two hours of a deliberately serious score backing forced close-ups of grim faces is mind-numbingly boring and approaches being torture when you pay 1800 yen for a movie ticket and are strapped into a theater seat with obligations to not walk out on your friends.

As KINGDOM OF HEAVEN ticked slowly from second to second, I grew increasingly confused. What's happening in this movie? Orlando Bloom is here, now he's there, now he's on his way elsewhere. Am I supposed to care? I don't know why, but I couldn't' bring myself to being least bit interested in the plot at all. It's as if the movie were intentionally made to be boring. So I sat back in my chair, closed my eyes, and prayed to God that KINGDOM OF HEAVEN would miraculously shift gears and transform into a movie that didn't suck bad.

Such divine salvation failed to appear, and I was left forsaken,eyes-closed in my theater seat trying to block out the drone of this movie's script, praying to a heaven I did not know.

Imagine with me if you can a heavily orchestrated score, something that with strings and brass says "Things are very serious now. I need to make a big decision, and everything is so … serious." Now imagine the face of your favorite middle-aged European, say Liam Neeson, looking off-screen and taking a deep sigh, then another for that extra-drama effect. Then he says something distinctly royal, like "Let it written let it be done," turns around with Jedi robe flowing, and walks out of the room.

While this type of scene is effective at times, you can't loop it repeatedly for two, three hours, can you? That's what I thought, but that's exactly what Ridley Scott dishes out in KINGDOM OF HEAVEN. There's too much music, too many minutes wasted on serious faces, and too much chivalry.

Even Jeremy Irons leaves this movie about two-thirds way through. He pleads with Orlando Bloom, "Don't waste any more time, lad. It's a lost cause. If I were you, I'd round up your troops and high foot it out of the kingdom of heaven." I urge you all to follow Irons' lead, except do it early on before suffering another minute of this God forsaken mess.

JY

Jimboduck-dot-com

This Academy Award Winning Best Picture of 1998 contains the grittiest, most graphic war scenes I've ever seen on film. On top of that, the film quality is pristine and the high-speed equipment used to shoot the movie is nothing short of groundbreaking in the war genre. That being the case, does the artistic quality of SAVING PRIVATE RYAN automatically overshadow/surpass the other movies of 1998 like American History X or Run Lola Run for example? Perhaps so.

Still, as I attribute the entire 8 stars to artistic merit, the last two gaping empty stars must be addressed. The premise that the movie is based upon, namely the mission of bringing back one soldier to his mother mandated by the war department, is simply something I cannot swallow. What's the word I want to use to describe how I feel about the impetus for the movie? It's not cheesy, nor is it saccharine. I feel as if it's an insult to my intelligence. Let me spell this out word for word...

First of all, I simply don't understand why history has been racked with so many wars. I'm not rabidly anti-war per Se. I just want to understand why the people of one nation collectively want to kill the people of another nation. IMDb is not the place to discuss such issues at length, so let's assume for now that wars are fought for any of a million reasons: defense, propagation of freedom, power, resources, territory, maybe the utter lack of something better to do.

Now here is my gripe with SAVING PRIVATE RYAN, which otherwise is a masterpiece. If the war department is focusing all of its energy and machinery on the above mentioned war objectives, is it plausible for them to really care about one kid or his mother? I am curious how the parents of American soldiers killed in Iraq feel when they watch this movie. I just cannot for one second believe that the American defense department would go to such lengths for any single individual.

Rather than swallow this implausible premise hook line and sinker, I would more enjoy a film that exposes the real modus operandi behind bloodthirsty war machinery. Platoon or Apocalypse Now are considered classics, and rightly so given the grimy mood each depicts. But despite is technologically phenomenal production, SAVING PRIVATE RYAN is too heavy with the flag-waving patriotic Dreamworks score and tells a story you'd only find off the shelves of Disney Corporation -- one that is sugar-coated at the core and just plain fantasy.

JY

jimboduck-dot-com

** Beware, this review contains a spoiler, so if you want to get the most out of this movie, please stop reading here **

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Do you remember when Johnny Cash did a cover of Trent Reznor's "Hurt"? That was quite something, don't you think? How often do the legends pay homage to the younger legends? Aside from Johnny Cash, I can't think of any other instance when the old pays homage to the younger generation. This is probably due to the fact that the cynical older generation believes that the world is going down the tubes. And who can argue? The hole in the ozone layer isn't getting any smaller last time I checked.

With all that said, let's imagine Martin Scorsese paying homage to Spike Lee. That would be as noble as Johnny Cash's gesture of thanks to Mr. Reznor. Just a thought, albeit a long-winded one.

Instead with 25th HOUR, we're back to the ordinary world of giving thanks to our forefathers. Spike Lee's woozy first-person club shots are an explicit allusion to Scorsese's Mean Streets, and once again we have yet another Scorsese redemption story, this time set against post-911 New York City. As such, I believe that Spike wants us to stand back and observe the state of the union and how we can save our souls and rise above it all. I think Scorsese could relate to that.

But let's say you're not feeling so heady tonight, and you just want to kick back and numb your senses with a lot of action and music and stuff. If that's the case I wouldn't quite recommend 25th HOUR. There's really no action or grit, and most of the film relies heavily on one-to-one dialog (not to mention the incessant references to anal rape in prison), against the uneventful backdrop of a bar or living room. If you want to see Edward Norton shine, watch American X instead. His role in 25th HOUR could really be played by anyone. Instead the bright spots of 25th HOUR are without a doubt Barry Pepper and Philip S. Hoffman, who give enough personality to spread over both hours of the movie. And what are we to say about Spike Lee? There's a little non-linear play with the time-line of the story, but that's really it.

Now the spoiler ...

The aforementioned stuff would leave this movie at a very low 7, but the ending is a class act, and here is how Spike gives his own twist to the Scorsese redemption story. It's hinted that Norton never goes to jail and instead runs west from the law. Regardless of whether his character actually does this or only imagines it, it's a liberating message -- Despite the overly complicated laws and customs that bind modern life, man is and will always be free to roam. What do rules and obligations mean to a man who has two feet and a little change in his pocket? "You can do it, too. Forget about the house in the suburbs and making it to work on time. Pack your bags, buy a bus ticket, and start all over again."

I like that.

JY

Jimboduck-dot-com

If you're a fan of SMAP's TV shows, then you're probably familiar with Kattori Shingo's unique humor. He leaps in front of little kids with a huge smile squeaking "NIN NIN" and quickly shifts his eyes to the side realizing that his pants are down. He is certainly one of the most talented comedians of his generation and will no doubt continue to give quality performances in the future.

He does not disappoint in NIN-NIN, a film based on an old anime broadcast on Japanese television 30 years ago. Shingo is perfect for the role and got me genuinely laughing during several scenes, but I had the feeling that he was holding back a little. On TV, he is ultra silly, like a kid bouncing off the walls, but I'm guessing that strict direction, tight schedules, and an unimaginative script from Toei Pictures must have wilted his normally vibrant silliness. Nonetheless, with Shingo in your cast, you're guaranteed a bellyful of laughs. When the legendary red-cheeked ninja is introduced, the kid in you is full of excitement that will carry you at least half-way through the movie.

The second half of NIN-NIN turns mediocre like a fading cherry blossom with no stamina, and towards the end it gets pretty stupid. I'm attributing this wilting second half to a production team with no stamina, but I could be wrong.

There's also a lot of unnecessary and misplaced additions to NIN-NIN. While there are pleasant hazily filtered daylight shots featuring the beautiful Rena Tanaka and obligatory hazily-echoed flash back scenes with the cardboard-stiff spectacled-kid squawking "thank you NIN-NIN", they could easily be saved for a more serious drama. This is Shingo's NIN-NIN, after all, and we pay to see goofy, silly comedy, not teary-eyed shampoo commercials.

Finally, the villain is terrible. At first we might think that the mysterious black ninja is some kind of Neon-Tokyo punk, but he turns out to be some pudgy 50 year old enka singer in a cheap plastic trench coat. He's the type of guy you'd find in a Japanese bar drinking sake with his salary man buddies laughing really loud about stupid stuff. His little speech at the end is like a contrived oratory to the Japanese Diet, and Shingo must have been like, "Hey, man, this is a silly ninja comedy for crying out loud, not an ovation to Japanese film or its board of directors. Jeez, someone skip to the credits quick!"

Okay, enough enka bashing for now. NIN-NIN is a decent movie, but such a nicely set-up concept deserves a production team that is more together and dedicated. While it has the potential to be molten-rock silly, it instead wanders into irrelevant territory and finally fizzles like the post-bubble Japanese economy. If you want to see a comic book remake done well, search for Cutey Honey (2004), which is full on comic book pulp-style, with all the costumes, special effects, and cult-inspired quick-cut editing that NIN-NIN fails to deliver.

JY

So I'm watching the BUTTERFLY EFFECT with eyes peeled to Ashton Cutcher's mom. Where have I seen her before? Ten minutes later, it hit's me like a time-warped flashback, and I'm sitting on my couch back in Massachusetts watching Magnolia again. Yeah Cutcher's worried to death mom, Melora Walters, was also that strung out coke-head girl in Magnolia! But how did she end up in a movie with Ashton Cutcher? Before my question is answered, the flashback ends and unfortunately I'm back in my Japanese apartment watching THE BUTTERFLY EFFECT. Wait, I want to finish Magnolia! I have to go back!

I selected this movie without knowing what it was about. That is undoubtedly the best way to watch any movie, whereupon surprises flow like the salmon of Capastrano. But because of struck-over-the-head obvious hints, I soon deciphered the concept behind this Luke-warm sci-fi Oldsmobile. "Your father thought he could ... could ..." Yeah, mom, I thought, just say it and get it over with. He thought he could change the past! Walters was definitely more convincing in Magnolia. What happened? Could I go back in time and tell her not to do this movie?

OK, I'm a big fan of sci-fi time travel movies, because they touch upon that most guttural of human emotions – regret. What would you give to go back and change the past? If you had that second chance, your life might turn out to be totally different, like the alphabet might have a new letter or worse, former president Richard Nixon might not have been elected. Think about that one.

The tradition of altering the course of history jumped onto film with It's a Wonderful Life, skipped from body to body in Quantum Leap, and actually had a scientific basis in several episodes of Star Trek: Generations. I raise a toast to those works of art.

Thus THE BUTTERFLY EFFECT automatically gets a better-than-average rating in my book at the get-go for having the guts to take on the rich concept of time travel. But even though the chick-flick in sci-fi clothing starts off with a lot of potential, several production and writing shortcomings drag THE BUTTERFLY EFFECT back down to mediocrity.

First of all, the story seems to have been written by a sixth-grader. Is Ashton Chritchner really traveling back in time, or is he just wandering around the corridors of his confused and twisted psyche? It's a mystery, which is okay, but if I were to portray this mystery on film, I'd try a smarter approach. Sure, Ashton Cutcher's fan-base might have yet to reach puberty, but every dog sniffs out a questionable screenplay. There are too many loopholes and contradictions. Are we to swallow the idea that Cutcher's brain is a time-machine, or worse yet that he doesn't want to change real world problems like South Africa or the former Bush Administration? My throat is not deep enough for hook line and sinker, I'm sorry.

The scenes where he goes back to his childhood body and bosses Eric Stoltz around is laughable. Maybe Eric Stoltz's feelings really are that easy to manipulate. Or maybe the scriptwriter ran out of clever ideas to fuel this groundless time travel movie and was desperate to get the script in on time. Instead of time-travel, the crew should have focused on the concept of a 26-year old trapped in a ten-year-old's body. You know, something akin to Travolta's Look Who's Talking. That's something worth exploring.

Another questionable aspect of the production behind THE BUTTERFLY EFFECT is slapdash and thinly transparent speed. Too few actors and too few props are spread over too many time leaps, which amounts to something like a high school skit more than anything else. Where the movie starts to get creepy with nicely orchestrated music, it stops halfway. I would say, up the creepiness behind the insidious molestation theme, tone down the obvious references to fraternity life, and come up with a scientific basis for the time travel. That would automatically bump the movie up a point or two, even though it might confuse some of Ashton Cutcher's most die-hard fans.

JY

Jimboduck dot com

Three O' Clock High Suburban High School Masterpiece - 10 (classic)

At age thirteen, I was beginning to question my place in the flux of society. Did I belong to that group or that group? Little did I know that I was to hit puberty soon, whereupon a new cocktail of hormones would knock my brain out of childhood and into the world of minimum wages, TV, and weapons of mass destruction.

No other movie I can think of captures that sense of stark naked individuality as poignantly as THREE O'CLOCK HIGH. This brilliant film features a hero and a villain, both of whom are loners. The hero, played by Casey Siemaszko, is a born loser, the one who realizes that his fly is open during public speaking class and faces the laughter of all the normal kids. The villain, a young and fresh Richard Tyson, who was born to play this role, is the psychotic biker thug who never says a word and never allows anyone to touch him. The two loners have an unlucky encounter one morning, and as Jerry Mitchell apologizes he accidentally touches Buddy Revell's jacket. That's where the shat goes down, and soon the whole school is abuzz with the latest news: fight at three o' clock. Buddy Revell vs. Jerry Mitchell.

THREE O' CLOCK HIGH is directed and edited with supreme wit. Every second of the day is stretched to darkly humorous extremes. Each tick of the clock brings the audience closer to doom and a zoom closer into Jerry's sweaty forehead. Anyone who's set foot in an American school will be up in stitches suffering from that kind of uncontrollable laughter that bubbles up from the sternum. As he over-interprets the things he sees around him, Jerry Mitchell's fear reaches out through the screen and tickles your stomach. No other pathetic loser role has been played as well ever or since in my opinion.

I don't think that any of the cast & crew of this classic film have had the industry standard "illustrious" career, but who cares? They all came together in 1987 to make a movie that changed the course of my life. Stephen Spielberg was involved in THREE 'O CLOCK HIGH's production, but I don't know exactly where. Anne Ryan did a stellar job as Jerry's proto-goth girlfriend. Who knows what she's doing now? By now the children of 1987 are all grown up and running the rat race in a gerbil wheel.

THREE O' CLOCK HIGH will resurface all of the high school emotions that you want to forget. Do you remember wetting your pants, the puppy dog love, or being abandoned by your close friends? One thing is for sure. Watching this movie will evoke those emotions, including the deepest of thrills - overcoming the odds and getting that half-assed paper in on time.

Jimboduck.

Six years ago, I took a film class in college taught by P. Admas Sitney, probably the most cynical and critical man I've ever met in my life. At that time I was watching a lot of anime, and after watching NINJA SCROLL on videocassette, I arranged an appointment with Professor Sitney one sunny afternoon to see what he'd have to say about it.

Have you ever watched anime, I asked him. Since he hadn't I lent him my copy of NINJA SCROLL and spent one week wondering to myself whether he'd watch it or not. The following week, he handed me back the video and said, "It's garbage." I was stunned, but he gave me one reason why he thought it was no good. Hollywood, he said, has abandoned the idea of hard eye-straining work. CGI has taken over since the days of Steamboat Willie, and the idea is more money and technology to save on blood sweat and tears. "That is one of the many problems with modern animation and it is specifically the problem with the video you hold in your hands." I was so disappointed that I didn't bother to ask him to comment on Japanese culture (although he did screen RASHOMON in his class), and I was depressed for all of two hours before I found something other to do than sulk on a sunny afternoon.

Six years later, I cannot agree with Sitney more. 99 out of 100 anime's in the Japanese market are shot at a choppy 1.0 frames per second and give you a strobe light headache. As for popular animation in Japan, you'll find nothing but Pixar dotting the shelves of your local Tsutaya or Geo video stores. Even the big-name anime's will only get five cover boxes at the most, which all lie in the shadow of hundreds upon hundreds of NEMOS.

NINJA SCROLL is very good, and you know, Sitney probably remembers our little visit and parts of the movie. Maybe. The movie features plenty of graphic violence, ninja spirit, and an mediocre storyline. Probably the best part about the movie is its Big Trouble in Little China style team of demons, each one with a quirky power like turning into an army of monkey heads or something. That's the good part. The bad part is that 70 percent of it is very stilted and jilted animation which is too much for an 80 minute production. That being said, please watch NINJA SCROLL and get back to me which you like better, conventional Disney CGI or 0.01 fps hand drawn strobe light. (Plus, you should wait for the full moon to pass, because you never know.)

JY

jimboduck-dot-com

When I first grabbed the cover box for AKIRA off the shelves of my local video store, I had never heard the word "manga," (Japanese comic book) nor "anime" (Japanimation) for that matter. Back then I would have given that movie a 9 (excellent), since it was like nothing I had ever seen before, was true graphic violence, but was still a bit too long and too hard to understand. Ten years later, having watched a slew of other anime productions, I would have given this movie an 8 (very good) from memory had I not seen it again yesterday. After seeing AKIRA for the first time in the original Japanese language, I have come to fully appreciate its cultural and artistic merit.

Ten years ago, I watched the English dubbed AKIRA and understood absolutely no Japanese. Ignorance of the language made for funny jokes with my brother ("Just as my bullet was reaching the red line! You think you're so tough") but added nothing to the movie. Ten years later I understand both the language and the country, thanks in part to AKIRA, and I have finally realized that Katsuhiro Otomo had created a classic. While critics may know the director Kurosawa, it may take another 10 years for the name Otomo to make its way to the forefront of American cinematic consciousness.

From here on out, I have nothing but praise for this historical milestone. No other hand-drawn movie I have ever seen is done as meticulously. The pillar lined coliseum comes to mind. It's apparent on first viewing that an immense amount of effort was put into the hand-drawn animation. It seems as if every detail within the frame is in motion. This stands out in the ANIME industry, where so many directors don't bother with effort and instead choose to have a still frame frozen over five seconds. In my mind AKIRA's animation is peerless on an international scale.

Second, the Neo Tokyo depicted in AKIRA is definitely the one that should exist today. Nightlife is dark and violent. Fundamentalist Buddhist sects roam the streets chanting dogma and searching for answers. And most importantly, the medicated punk teenagers speak a crooked, thuggish Japanese slang that I haven't heard in any movie of recent memory. 1988 was Japan's heyday, what with the bubble economy and all, but since then the artistic vision of Otomo's AKIRA seems to have gotten stuck in an economic recession. I feel as if modern Tokyo and its Anime has diverged quite a bit from the Neo-Tokyo depicted in AKIRA.

My final comment is DO NOT rent the English dubbed version, as I did long ago. If by chance you've developed a familiarity with Japan's language and culture, AKIRA makes so much more sense, as it was animated for the Japanese language. The poor English dub job does nothing but distract BIG TIME. As Japan's economically exuberant and excessive 80's heyday fades further into the past, AKIRA will prove to be a relic of a cult imagination that may be fading as well. To watch it in English would be sacrilegious.

In homage to this classic, I've titled my homepage AKIRA-TETSUO, which is named after that demonic anger and guilt you feel when you fail -- the emotion that you can harness to wreak atomic havoc upon this green planet earth. No happy ending with this cataclysmic movie.

JY

Jimboduck-dot-com

I was surprised by Last Samurai, hugely disappointed by Collateral, but was still in the video stores looking for more Tom Cruise. What's wrong with me? Have I turned into a fanatical Tom Cruise stalker in the past few months? Well, the last time I checked I have yet to start dotting my I's with hearts, so I should be in the clear. No, rather I think that since the days of Cocktail and Days of Thunder, Tom Cruise has chosen better and better work for himself with each project he commits to. Ever since Magnolia my respect for this internationally renowned mega-star has consistently increased movie by movie, although the overall quality of the movie sans Cruise still remains a crap-shoot. Take, for example, the OPEN YOUR EYES Americanized remake, VANILLA SKY.

I started watching VANILLA SKY with my girlfriend, and about thirty minutes into the movie I started looking at my watch wishing it to be over. The Cruise, Cruz, Diaz, Lee love quadrangle starts of ordinary as hell, and I was mumbling to myself, oh great, another plastic family feud flick. Why didn't I just watch Friends instead, saving myself from this boredom.

At the thirty minute mark, Cameron Diaz snaps like a flaky twig and drives Cruise and herself off a bridge. In sixty seconds the Friends-fest turns into a psychotic nightmare, and from there on out, VANILLA SKY runs its course as deranged as a Cronenberg film to the end in this grotesquely beautiful film.

Anyone who's ever felt confined knows what it's like to hear things that aren't there, to believe in conspiracies, and to have waking life haunted by self-generated fiction. Cruise starts to lose his mind, no longer sure whether Cruz is Diaz or whether Cruise ever knew Cruz to begin with. VANILLA SKY portrays the insanity with simple and editing, paying homage to Bergman's Persona. My girlfriend and I took a cigarette break two-thirds into the movie, and she admitted that she was beginning to feel a little crazy herself. It's okay, don't worry. Sometimes these movies get to you.

I've been trying to figure out why it isn't as popular as other Cruise movies, and I'm beginning to think that Cameron Crowe probably intended to fool the movie-going public around the world. Please imagine with me the following scenario. Nothing sexy is playing over the weekend, so you bring your family to VANILLA SKY since it has Cameron Diaz and since it might be like the Mask that your family loved so much. After going through psychotic hell and back, you storm out of the theaters saying, honestly, I don't know what's happening to America these days, but I'm going to write the mayor about this god forsaken vanilla trash. It's those crazy communist bastards in Hollywood destroying this country, you know. Our taxes used to go to decent, American Tom Cruise movies that make you feel good and sure of yourself. Now all you got is What, honey? Crazy? No, I'm not crazy, you're the one with the hippie parents! C'Mon kids, get into the freaking car! I'm cold.

I can't comment on OPEN YOUR EYES since I haven't seen it.

You know, the next Cruise movie should be a martial arts flick with Keanu Reeves Hong Kong style. I think that would be cool.

I cannot remember which girlfriend.

JY

Jimboduck-dot-com

I saw the trailer for THE MONKEY KING on videocassette three years ago and have been meaning to rent this movie ever since. Though the first ten minutes reveal an interesting concept, the next thirty minutes or so are terrible, at which point you are free to hit the stop button. I was planning to write about the TV-Esq low quality production of this movie, but once realizing that this was originally for TV, I thought of something else to talk about. No, even if I found this "film" on TV, I would definitely not tune in for another episode.

After watching the trailer, which is of course all in voice-over narration, I had assumed that THE MONKEY KING was an extravagant high-wire Hong Kong circus act. Popping in the DVD, I was hoping to see extravagantly costumed characters flying through the air and doing wild martial arts. "Maybe it's like an extremely silly Once Upon a Time in China," I thought, "where the Monkey King spits streams of blood and the pig man makes a million golden rings appear out of nowhere!"

I was heartbroken when the Monkey King, played by Russel Wong, appears on screen and speaks perfect taxi-driver English. Nope, the whole movie is in English, there's not a trace of any Asian language or authentic culture, and obviously no one from the Hong Kong movie industry was involved in this production. It's more a parody of Asian folklore than anything else, and all the props are made of cardboard. The martial arts and dialog are both ridiculous (there are more moves and more coherent dialog in a Jane Fonda aerobics video), and I couldn't help from cutting THE MONKEY KING halfway short. It was unbearable.

I think the movie was originally aiming at a Neverending Story type fantasy, where all the Chinese stuff would add "extra value" to the fantasy -- kind of like a paper umbrella or a fortune cookie. The production for this movie is at the same abysmal level as those bleak British dramas broadcast on PBS. The MONKEY KING's sets, special effects, costumes, and dialog would make for a very nice Sunday flea market but definitely not a two hour production. Instead of watching THE MONKEY KING, I highly recommend searching for a four hour made-for-TV Alice in Wonderland which featured Sammy Davis Junior as the Catepillar and Scott Baio as a cat, as well as a myriad other 80's TV stars. That was cheap production, but it was cheap production done well with care. I don't know if it's on DVD, but I highly recommend that if you're looking for fantasy with lots of color.

Oh, and if you're looking for cool martial arts, you're better off visiting your local day care center when the kids miss nap-time.

Avoid the MONKEY KING at all costs. It really shouldn't be commercially available and is only a sneaky, albeit clever, ploy to lure video rental customers who are into the Hong Kong high-wire genre.

JY

Jimboduck-dot-com

The cover box to NIGHT FLIER is scary, which is why I never picked it off the shelves. I figured that the movie inside was another Leprechaun or Ghoulies, and it's rare indeed that I choose to go with that kind of cheap-oh horror production. But wait, as it turns out, this movie is STEPHEN KING's NIGHT FLIER, so I slap my forehead and moan, "Man the cover box fools me once again. Of course, I'll pay money for Stephen King any day of the week." Returning home, turning down the lights, and burying myself underneath a pile of pink stuffed animals, I prepped myself for an old fashioned horror treat. And lo and behold, that's what I got. I'd say that Stephen King has a stellar track record when allowing his novels to be transformed into low budget cinematic nightmares. (See It, Langoliers, and the Stand if you have time to kill.)

The movie had a nice grainy texture to it. This might be because of the second-rate cameras that the production team used, the late film-to-DVD transfer, or because of my aging eyes. Whatever the reason for the graininess, it was perfect, since NIGHT FLIER's cast, dialog, and locations hearken back to late 80's television, even though this movie was released in 1997. The main lead, Miguel Ferrer, does a great job at being a total dick, and it's good to see him rise again since his phenomenal playboy role in Robocop ever so long ago. The female lead is really nice, too. Her name is Julie Entwisle, and it seems as if nowadays companies don't cast starry-eyed brunettes as much as they did twenty years ago. Oh well, box office loss and video rental gain I guess.

Finally, I was so pleased to see that NIGHT FLIER did vampires justice! You know, yellow contacts, saw-toothed dentures in rotting gums, that type of thing. This movie stands as another testimonial that a handful of putty and a pair of fangs from a convenience store is way more convincing than slapdash CGI. The only bad thing about this movie is that it's entirely driven by suspense. The audience is constantly wondering, what does the vampire look like? Where did it come from, etc, etc. All we have is Ferrer's gruff two-hour monologue on his VOR recorder speculating on the answer to these questions. But be patient my blood-thirsty friends, because the NIGHT FLIER's ending bursts that tension with fruit-flavored satisfaction! Juicy Fruit Style.

JY

Jimboduck-dot-com