Reviews

Cheapo production. This is supposed to be the 1920s, but there is no attempt to use costumes or hair styles of that era. The men all wear 1950s hats. Robert Blake plays tough as the juvenile gang leader. Barry Sullivan walks through his part as the detective as though he wanted to be somewhere else. His wife,of course, wants him to quit. The gang looks like a Central Casting call for B-list juveniles. As clean and nice looking a bunch of hoodlums as can be imagined. If they could dance they would be ready for West Side Story. The sets are unadorned and look like they were assembled in somebody's garage. There is a lot of unconvincing gunplay and actors falling to the floor, but no blood.

Pro football in 1925--a really nice premise that was fumbled short of the goal line. Actor George Clooney was believable and occasionally funny as the aging star of the Duluth Bulldogs. Director George Clooney spent too much time on his stars and not enough developing the supporting players, some of whom could have been really interesting. Renee Zellwegger, never one of Hollywood's great beauties, was less so in this one. Something seems to be wrong with her face, preventing her from smiling. Too much Botox? It is embarrassing to note that Clooney is prettier. The big game that provided the finish was just confusing where it should have been satisfying. A couple of slapstick bits did not work at all. This tries to be either a sports movie or a romantic comedy, and succeeds at neither.

Here is another critics' darling that will send Joe Moviegoer, me, back to television. First, there is no story here. Everything at the end, if you can call it that, is the same as it was at the beginning. Nobody has changed, no lessons are learned, no goals achieved, no plans foiled. Bill Murray appears to play the whole thing in a catatonic state. He is usually sitting down, and his woebegone expression never changes. We are supposed to believe that this shlump was in his day a Don Juan. Also that a hot babe half his age or less was a main squeeze until she shows the good sense to move out. The premise is not bad--A swinging bachelor hears he has a son from a 20-year-old affair, and sets out to find which of his girlfriends at the time is the mother. The execution, however, is deadly, thanks mainly to Murray, or possibly Jim Jarmusch's artsy direction. There is no likable character here, except neighbor Jeffrey Wright. And at the ending, which couldn't pass Screen writing 101, the only comment is, "What's the point?"

The first half of this is laugh-aloud funny. Assuming you have seen the originals, the spoofs of these beloved fictional detectives are a joy. Peter Falk deservedly gets most screen time as a Bogart-like Sam Spade type. David Niven and Maggie Smith are never without a cocktail as the urbane Dick and Dora Charleston. Peter Sellers' costuming is a bit over the top, and not Chanlike at all, but Sellers cannot help but be funny in any part he plays. James Coco hams up the Poirot character, apparently unsure whether he is French or Belgian. Elsa Lanchester could have been left out of the cast with small loss. Truman Capote is embarrassing in a part that calls for Vincent Price. The second half of the movie where they all do their "detecting" and "solve" the murder falls down badly.

You have to cut them some slack since this was filmed at the height of World War II Lee Bowman as leading man was no Gable. He was not even a John Payne. But he was available. The plot is non-existent and the English accents (This is supposed to be London) are laughable. Rita Hayworth looks great, dances acceptably, and has a nice dubbed singing voice. Janet Blair twinkles, and that's about it. Boy dancer Marc Platt was on a rocket to obscurity.

The sets appear to be thrown together from available surplus material. If there was a memorable song in this musical, I can't remember it. Most of the people involved, with the possible exception of young Platt, went on to better things.

Some segments are fun, notably Hugh Grant as Prime Minister, the innocent porno actors, and the old rocker story. The movie lurches to a stop every time the unbelievably cherubic and hyper intelligent kid comes on screen. It tried a little too hard to be casual about the black-white romantic combinations.

Thirty minutes could be cut with only improvement to the movie. Sam Elliot is wasted in a thankless part that any day player could handle. The usual Hollywood anti-military whining helped nothing. The CGI effects have all been seen before. And what's up with the gratuitous split screen? No surprise here that the flick dropped 70 percent B.O. receipts in its second weekend.

Tom Cruise does what Stallone, Willis, Gibson, and any number of action stars have done before. No better, no worse, just the same. John Woo's fixation with slow-motion gets tiresome enough in the action scenes, but he even has people walking in slow motion. At least they found a babe shorter than Cruise.

Robin Williams at his most sensitive (read cloying). New-Agey mystic story opens with Cute Meet, follows adorable couple through death into the afterworld. Two charmless children do not help. Nobody here worth caring about, except the dog and, possibly, Cuba Gooding Jr. The digital effects are marvelous, but not worth $7.50, or whatever they're getting for a ticket where you live.

Couldn't somebody sit on John Malkovich to tone down his way-over-the-top bad guy portrayal? And what's up with that Boris Badanov accent?

Reviews all called Worm a likeable character. After ten minutes he was as likeable as a case of herpes. Matt Damon was OK, despite being a tad young to be an ace poker player. As for Gretchen Mol, haven't I seen this character a hundred or so times. "Leave the force...Hang up your guns...Don't fight anymore...Stop gambling..." and so on ad infinitum

This Roger Corman cheapo plays fast and loose with the story of one of our better known bank robbers of the 1930s. Cameo appearances by Al Capone and John Dillinger are hardly convincing. And if we are to believe this, Nelson killed more people than Attilla the Hun. A reading of contemporary news reports makes it no better than three.