Reviews

Mascara is one of those vanity projects which look and sound good on paper, a movie to be written and directed by a woman, starring three talented women which will explore the trials and tribulations of women...well you get my drift.

Anyway this is a story about three women and the lives they lead and how it affects their family and you know, this is pretty standard, paint by numbers kind of stuff which Ms. Kandell doesn't leave too much new interpretation for.

The most that can said about this venture is that it was shot well but the queasy obviousness of the handheld, 'let me be of the moment' shot compositions torpedoed this overwrought affair even before the credits rolled out.

The songs on the soundtrack had that god awful stench of leftover material that Eric Schaeffer, star, writer, and director Fall, (which Amanda De Cadanet was the lead in), decided to leave on the cutting room floor.

Am I stretching here? Probably but at least I'm admitting it and not pushing it on late night cable viewers in the form of this wispy enterprise.

Clifford Odets possibly only foray into courtroom drama is a most successful one as evidenced by The Story on Page One.

Anthony Franciosa, (many MST fans will remember him as being the star of the 80's ABC series The Finder of Lost Loves) stars at what first seems to be a similar character to Paul Newman's in The Verdict, a drunk, down on his luck, lawyer getting the case of his career that will either make or break him.

But Odets subverts our initial belief as the story actually focuses on the illicit love affair/murder, whose participants include the ever, great character actor Gig Young and Rita Hayworth, the Lady from Shanghai herself, only to deceptively lull the audience into the intimate details of the backstory, seeing how the bored wife could easily be enticed to look outside of her marriage for the love she sorely needs, and the emotionally scarred CPA who could provide that love.

At the 45 minute mark we get the whole sordid affair in triplicate and one wonders why Odets decided to relate the story in such in way but as the rest of the film plays out at the trial, we see he shrewdly grounded the defendants' sympathies in our hearts whereby every setback and revelation resonates as much for us as for the protagonists.

Coming out in the same year that the topical, yet ultimately sloppily made Anatomy of the Murder, The Story on Page One manages to trump the former just from sheer acting chutzpah and deliberate yet intelligent pacing.

Another facet I found fascinating was Odets use of natural, everyday faces to populate this meller. From the middle-aged insurance seller with his hearing aid, to Katherine Squire's craggy teeth, one sees this is a story that could possibly be culled from a newspaper, relating the plight of the ugly, common man and not some glamorpuss Hollywoodized actor playing him.

Emma Brody, ah the lovely, naive, sweet, inexperienced Emma Brody.

A new vice counsel assigned to the American embassy in England must deal with the culture shock of a new country while turning a corner in her life after she catches her fiance cheating on her. Why do we care about such minutia, I don't know. If someone can clue me in, please write.

Coming from Jersey Films I expected this TV offering to have a brain in its head but apparently someone thought that 'Felicity goes to London' would make a helluva show.

What could've been relevant and topical in this day and age, comes off as being hollow, effervescent (and I don't mean that in a good Schwepp's kind of way), and ultimately frustrating for not delivering on its interesting premise.

If not for, cute as a button, Arija Bareikis I wouldn't bother tuning i but then again I thought the human toothpick, Calista Flockhart, was cute too but I never got around to watching a single episode of Ally McBeal.

Lord help my weak ways.

A Sensible Obsession is a piece of Christian propaganda where a man on his death bed reminisces over the love of his life, a once prostitute who becomes a better woman through his all powerful love. The film wouldn't be all that bad if the acting was up to par, the writing tightened so that the wordiness wouldn't seem so obvious, and direction livened up a little.

As it is now, one can feel the fundamentalist fingers behind Mr. Jiha's efforts as he controls everything in this film from the cinematography to the score (one wonders if he had a hand in the craft services as well) without upsetting nary a conservative soul.

One wishes he had the nerve and make the film a comedy of manners ala Shallow Hal where the crudeness of one's person beliefs would give way to sweet, secular conclusion.

I remember reading the somewhat positive review of this film

about a year and a half ago in Variety and seeing Adam Goldberg's

name attached to it, who I hold a place in my critical heart for his

appearance in Richard Linklater's Dazed & Confused, I wanted to

see this film badly.

I wish I could dampen my enthusiasm a few notches in retrospect.

Scotch & Milk ultimately will remind many of the much better

Swingers, a film I still think was a better screenplay than film, but

even though Milk is more expressionistic and arty, this doesn't

mean its a better film in the long run.

I really do think this film was made for the sole fact to see if the

camera worked. The film rambles from one improvisational set

piece to another, further strengthens the argument against

smoking and drinking, and really doesn't say much that Swingers

or even more to the point, Barbet Schroeder's Barfly, didn't say

better.

I caught this film recently on the Sundance channel and I do agree

with the American Cinematography writer's laudable comments

regarding Milk's look but even some trash manages to look pretty

that doesn't mean it's better. I hope Goldberg has a better film in

him in the years to come.

Julian Schnabel's second effort after his masterful Basquiat is another portrait of a fallen artist struck down in his prime but instead of the world of art, we journey into the realm of literature. Reinaldo Arenas is mostly unheard of in this country but this film's greatest asset will be to encourage people to seek out his work in order to, on some tangential level, gain access to the man. As with his earlier effort, Schnabel mixes his painterly past with the auspices of the biopic to create one of the most fascinating portraits of a writer put to film. I was privileged to see this film during the last New York Film Festival and this film although linear in telling, following Reinaldo from practically cradle to grave, we are presented with expressionistic episodes of his life as he becomes initiated to sex, finds his calling when he proves adept at writing, and his most important and ironically fatal decision to engage in homosexual liaisons at a time and place where the practice was looked down upon and ultimately his work and life suffered for it. Never demeaning or lurid, Reinaldo's life is looked upon with a untarnished and honest eye where his rich prose overcame his meager surroundings. A remarkable achievement on every level from the use of archival footage integrated into the narrative to the use of an up to the minute soundtrack (the beautiful Lou Reed/Laurie Anderson cello track `Rouge' during a Cuban club scene) in a period piece, Before Night Falls is one of the best films of the year.

Just got done watching this early 70's counter culture hit on cable and I must say, in a drollfully respectful way, it is a product of its time. Kowlaski, the lone, burned out, ex-racecar driver must deliver a Charger from Colorado to San Francisco in a few days. Once Kowalski accepts the assignment as it were, something crosses over in him and this job becomes a statement against everything he once believed in. Barry Newman in all his liberal, Jewish, and self serving pride rallies against authority, in all its irrational, bigoted, conservative, and racist forms. We see Kowalski become the cause celebre for many people who urge him on to victory with Cleavon Little's Super Soul DJ being the most ardent and vocal admirer. As the film comes to a crashing (sorry!) yet expected end (which really comes as no surprise since many of the films of the period ended on downbeat but reasonable denouements) Kowalski is heralded as a symbol whose independent spirit will never die.

Flipping through the cable channels, I came across the rotund visage of one Martin Villafana, dancing around a room in a stilted pirouette and not unlike rubbernecking at a traffic accident, I was compelled to watch. I later watched the film, The Planet of Junior Brown, in its entirety and I wished the rest of the film weren't so beholden in tone and mood to that initial scene I was exposed to. While I admittedly still look forward to read the novel on which this film is based, I have many problems with the piece of celluloid I have before me. Instead of grounding its many dreamlike moments with instances which harken to reality, we're given a film which feels like something remembered, forgotten, or indexed from someone's fevered yet bittersweet memories. Although I empathize with Junior's plight since I am a person with a weight problem, I really think some of the choices the director and scenarist made about this piano virtuoso ultimately betrayed what they were going for. What's left is a promising yet still empty afterschool special.

Whatever it Takes is another teenage comedy which takes place in I guess another of the top ten high schools in America where no one is ugly, no one seems to be lacking financially, and no one of discernible color or race plays a major part in the proceedings. In other words, an utopia for the new century. Even though Whatever it Takes may have been influenced on the surface by Rostand's long nosed romantic miscreant, it really falls in line with John Hughes' two fisted romantic romps of the 80's Pretty in Pink and Some Kind of Wonderful. All these films deal with the strained relationship between a pair of life long friends when an affair of the heart presents itself. Whatever's problems stem from the fact both leads who are supposedly intelligent can't see the forest for the trees. Sokoloff and West are very engaging and great to look at but to assume old friends will be become new lovers strains the tenets of logic. Love may be blind but does it necessarily have to be dumb as well, even in this day and age?

The Dardenne brothers second treatise on the working class, coming on the heels of their similarly themed La Promesse, proves they are becoming the voice of the Belgian working class much the same way Ken Loach is the paragon of the social/realist movement in England. As in Promesse, we follow a young protagonist's attempts to find employment, in this case getting a job selling waffles (how Belgian!), while using her ingenuity to get by as well as being the defacto guardian to her alcoholic and loose mother. Eschewing unnecessary dialogue, the film is reduced to a series of looks, perceptions, and attitudes with Emilie Dequenne's firebrand portrayal of a determined jobless worker's plight is at once poignant, topical, and timeless.

Why does it always seem when one is trapped in a place which is off the map, it's usually where one was meant to be in the first place? That seems to be the argument posited by Conquest, a droll comedy about eccentrics living in a small town and the outsider who falls in with them. Tara Fitzgerald, from Sirens and Brassed Off fame, plays the traveler whose 'steed' breaks down and Lothaire Bluteau is the town's banker who becomes smitten with her when he knows she doesn't plan to stay long. Albeit the cracks and seams of this tried and true genre are evident here but the mixing up of genre staples such as the brothers who spend their time painting while in debt to the bank, the old biddies constantly making jelly salads and getting drunk while berry picking whenever they purchase new shoes, and the banker who yearns to leave but can't because for 1)the bus never seems to stop and 2)his family was ruined by the same bank he works for so he figures he can make a difference, all work well to give, at least to this bitter and jaundiced viewer, a chance to smile and await the obvious machinations to develop as we know they will. Not entirely original but entirely enjoyable.

This is a queer film to be released in this overly saturated sports country. In the US we have too much sports as it is, why anyone would want to inflict more sports on us for the sake of commerce is criminal! Anyway this film deals with soccer and a man who loves soccer who meets a woman who doesn't like soccer but when they hook and she gets pregnant she begins to like soccer and by the way did I mention this film is about soccer. I hate to be redundant and obviously facetious here but if you're not a soccer fan, which I'm not, I mean a soccer fan who wears the team's colors, whether it be uniforms or paint on one's face, which I'm not, then there really isn't much going for this film. Rudy, the Michael Anspaugh film from 1993, touched upon similar issues in its depiction of a youth whose life revolved around football but refreshingly there were elements of dreams lost, missed opportunities, and the ultimate value of perseverance woven into the film's overall theme but in Fever Pitch's case we are hammered, bombarded, and yes raped by this one fan's intense love of the game.

Coming on the heels of The Last Picture Show, this Larry McMurtry adaptation must've sounded like a sure thing with the likes of Beau Bridges, Anthony Perkins, and Blythe Danner before the cameras and the great Sidney Lumet behind but ultimately this film is a case of too much too soon. This story, which resembles last year's The Hi-Lo Country, could've been much more interesting in the hands of others. Bridges and Danner give their acting chops a good exercise but it's a case of bringing on newcomers before their time while Perkins is just miscast period. Even Lumet shows he's in unfamiliar territory by shooting the outdoor sequences in a flat, TV movie fashion while keeping the performances more in tune with the melodramatic films of yesteryear instead of being true to the times in which the film was made. Imagine what Sam Peckinpah or Martin Ritt could've done with the material. Neither being completely horrible or forgivably worthwhile, Lovin' Molly will remain an interesting footnote in the careers of all involved.

A lot of established critics have been giving this comic gem an unfair rap for being too laidback, easy going, simple, and whispy but this is probably one of the most shrewd, quiet and charming comedies to come out in a long time. Maybe because of the recent comic assault from films like American Pie and There's Something About Mary, people might be turned off by the measured deliveries and wry performances. The cast is uniformly fine most notably Jason Lee's unsatisfied billionaire, Alfre Woodard's knowing but lonely eatery owner, and Hope Davis' (will you marry me?!?) troubled but sweet headcase. Another volley of kudos should be mentioned towards Mumford's unifying theme of exceptance without question. Where else in recent cinematic memory have we had the likes of portly Pruitt Taylor Vince and the vivacious Mary McDonnell falling for each other while the Woodard/Lee angle thrives despite differences not only in race but in age too. Hopefully with the same fever audiences have been flocking to see counterprogramming fare like The Sixth Sense and The Blair Witch Project, perhaps they'll give Mumford a try and they'll thank themselves for it.

Along with the seemingly overheated title released this year The School of Flesh, Romance stands out as another dud that will not quicken your heart nor stimulate your mind. Talk about a misnomer, not having any semblance of a romance is bad enough but to hear the pretentious, cold, calculating, diatribes from Caroline Trousselard (a scary ringer for Celine Dion) about sex and man may want men to swear off women forever. The problem with this film isn't its feminist slant nor its treatment of men as sexual carnivores but its constant bombardment of style over substance. Apart from sex being depicted in a real and penetrating (sorry!) fashion, this film gives one the impression of tires stuck in mud. Movement but not really. Finally for a film which is equal parts Whore (the Ken Russell film) and Under the Skin (Samantha Morton starred in this one) it doesn't really relate anything new about the sexual politics between men and women and all the brazen sex scenes can't hide that.

I couldn't agree more with the previous commentary from my fellow IMDBer from LA. I kept thinking what a bad dub job on Flanery's singing and why is Dominique Swain in this movie, and what the hell is Tara Reid (the up and coming actress seen in The Big Lebowski and American Pie) doing in this muddled mess too? I know actors aren't the most reliable meter for good scripts but this Girl really did feel of a piece. A lot of loose threads and plot offshoots which probably be better utilized in an anthology series then in this film. Dominique Swain is the best and only thing going for this film so much so I wish she would've taken a seat in a dark room and related the entire series of events depicted to us ala Spalding Gray. I would've been happily satisfied with that alone.

I wonder if in this day and age people will always assume the cinematic equivalent of twenty-somethings as being individuals who are confused, stagnant, and searching. By the work of the trio of writers (yes I said trio) and pair of directors (if it didn't work for Casino Royale, why would you need more than one director) the answer is yes, twenty-something's lack of motivation and focus should be considered a national crisis and the CDC should intervene. Why would anyone want to spend time with a triumvirate of hedonistic, arrogant, narcissistic whiners is beyond me. No discernible plot is seen here and the mood among our leads keeps shifting as much as the locations we see them travail through. Maybe if the director(s) and writer(s) remembered a masterpiece like Sex, Lies, & Videotape they would learn the concept of subtlety, nuance, meaning, and true pathos. The fluff they concocted is insulting to a former twenty-something like myself. If they couldn't do something remotely original on the eternal theme of 'individuals lost in a mass of individuals' why not make a film where everyone knows what they want and know where they're going. It may not be a good film but infinitely more promising then the one on view.

I felt this film was going to mine the same idiotic and dated material which Porky's covered nearly twenty years ago but I was pleasantly surprised it didn't. What I found was a humorous and adolescent romp through the trials which four males on the cusp of manhood have to travail. While many critics have unjustly compared American Pie's gross out factor to last year's There's Something About Mary, a film which rests squarely in the surreal and twisted category, Pie makes a good and solid argument that the fumblings of sexual awareness among teens is at once hideously awkward (parents discovering their son's masturbatory predilections) and uniquely mature (a girl realizing her suitor may not be what he seems). Some may carp that the ending satisfies all concerned just to tie up some loose ends but I think it really is a case of 'to the victors go the spoils.' Not everyone wins, not everyone loses, but hopefully everyone learned.

Don't you wish that when similarly themed films come out at the same time that there would at least be a glimmer of reason why each film was made? Coming out on the heels of The Matrix and Existenz and even last year's Dark City, The 13th Floor feels so hideously familiar you wish the project would've been halted in the verbal stage. Trying to take a modern noirish slant on the virtual reality genre, Floor manages to impart loads of production design but minimal amounts of plot, character, and what usually is rampant through these kind of films, wonder. Craig Beirko, the excellent villain from The Long Kiss Goodnight, is squandered along with the luminous Gretchen Mol, and the ever reliable Dennis Haysbert, Armin Mueller-Stahl, and Vincent D'Onofrio. Invariably Roland Emmerich having his name attached to this project might be a detriment after last year's Godzilla debacle. Ironically Haysbert starred in a film called Suture a few years back which also dealt with 'virtual' reality but unlike this film, Suture was intelligent, noirish, and had probably a tenth of the budget. Catch that film instead of this one.

Don't you hate it when you see the credit list at the head of a film and you're practically pinching yourself because you think you're in for a treat but the sad truth is you're not. Man, I hate that. This mess of a film (which I wondered why it wasn't released theatrically until I actually saw it and then got my answer) had potential; great cast, great concept, but miserably poor execution. Jude Law plays the lovelorn hero in this tale who's convinced the object of his affection, played by the luminous Gretchen Mol (baby change those curls already!), will somehow complete his romantic and wandering existence. As we see this melodrama play out, the film's shortcomings are evident. Unlikable secondary characters appear and disappear for no reason (Martha Plimpton is gone for about 45 minutes, why!), comic timing is nowhere to be seen, and the film's uneveness sags like a belly over a tight belt. What this film needed was intense restructuring so that the point of this story could come into focus but alas as handled by the inept Charlie Peters (thanks to IMDB I read your credits) I found myself fast forwarding the film to alleviate the pain. Man, I hate that.

If Francois Truffaut were still alive today I think Metroland would easily fit into his oeuvre. A film about a person taking stock of himself at the crossroads, Metroland introduces us to a suburban utopia where people go to work everyday, take their kids to school, and wash their cars on the weekend. Christian Bale seems to accept this life until an old friend rings him up wanting to revisit the old times. Throughout the film we see what Bale's character could've been and how much happier he thought he was. Metroland's assertion is to accept life for what it is and not what it is not. Not everyone's cup of tea as evidenced by Bale's boyhood chum but being the film's setting takes place during the late seventies in England right before the rise of Thatcherism may be a subtle stab at what the middle class of the film will come to accept. Conformity over confrontation may ultimately be Metroland's theme no matter how much it hurts us to admit it.

Another notch in Sidney Poitier's belt came from this gem from 1965. People nowadays remark on how well liked and decent Tom Hanks fares in his movies of late but Sidney Poitier was doing it strong during the sixties. With films like The Slender Thread, To Sir With Love, In the Heat of the Night, and Guess Who's Coming to Dinner, I don't think anyone could dispute that Mr. Poitier was the epitome of decency. This film basked in that aspect as Poitier befriends a blind, poor white girl, marvelously played by the late Elizabeth Hartman, and shows her there's more to her life than being at the servitude of others. You can see in every nuance and inflection that Poitier's character is being completely understanding and mindful of Hartman's plight but instead of feeding her dribble that they both can change the world if they remain together he takes the more noble worldview of allowing her to better herself before making any kind of commitment. Never preachy or pandering, A Patch of Blue serves up the kind of 'tolerance' a world like ours so desperately needs.

Double Tap was a film relegated to HBO's cheesy Friday night premieres and that's a shame because it deserved so much more. It stars Heather Locklear (!), no I did not stutter, as a FBI agent involved in a sting operation who gets caught in the middle of a hitman's grocery list, seemingly he's taking down all the drug dealers in town. Along for the ride is Kevin Gage and Mykelti Williamson from Heat and the great Peter Greene. What distinguishes this effort is its terse dialogue, vivid characterizations, and stylish camera moves (loved the score by Moby). Double Tap should be held as a model for what a B movie low on cash but high on content can do. And Premiere magazine liked Montana, ha! This is the real deal folks.

I was reminded of a deflating souffle as I watched this film. All the ingredients were in place but something caused the concoction to wilt. Ione Skye (Say Anything) plays the lead who's fixated upon the musings of famous others and her lack of sleep. Into her life comes MacKenzie Astin (The Last Days of Disco), another lover of quotes, who happens to get a job in the cafe her uncle owns. A romance develops but complications ensue when Astin is revealed to have a girlfriend. Never fear all turns out well in the end and that's the point, we're never given any indication this relationship will be deterred from happening. The writing is concise and knowledgeable which is a fault because our leads end up being too perfect. San Francisco is the locale here, but we almost never see any exteriors giving the film a stilted and claustrophobic sheen. Could the background music be played any louder and constant? If I heard one more bombastic note I feared the insomnia of the title was going to spill over onto me. All in all a good effort but one which needed a hint more realism and doubt then the 'ideal' union we're given here.

How this one got lost in the cinematic cracks is beyond me. I'm totally loving Carla Gugino these days ever since Snake Eyes but when I saw Saffron Burrows and Sherilyn Fenn in the credits also, I just had to sit and watch. To think I was going to see Logan's Run. I could not get enough of this film. Great writing, subtle direction, and an assurance I haven't seen since Soderberg's Sex, Lies & Videotape. The actresses are great but the actors aren't shabby either. Matthew Letscher has impeccable comic timing. Bruce Davison is so warm and giving in his perf. And Jon Tenney, he's not just Teri Hatcher's beau in my eyes any more. Watch for his scene where he melts a coed into his arms only to be driven to tears by Saffron Burrows a few minutes later. I can't wait for Mr. Feldman's next feature.