Reviews

If you came into this film wanting a gripping story, insightful information, or any plot line at all - you'll be disappointed. But if you love gorgeous terrain, over-cranked shots of mountain biking, and a driven sound track, this is the film for you.

I caught a screening of this outdoors on an HD projector - likely how it was meant to be seen. I noticed that the film was sponsored by bike company Shimano. This was a telling title card that should have warned me of the content to follow. A narrator poetically draws a metaphor about the river of life and the birth, growth, maturation, and death of a bicycle... but it's a strain to have any emotional connection to a spinning hunk of metal. The blooper reel for this movie must be to die far - literally.

Imagine a 47 minute commercial for a lifestyle obsession and you have this film. It's beautiful bike porn.

'Adapation.' The opening was brilliant and the first hour/hour-and-a-half was equally immersive. While I sat through the film, I was becoming increasingly convinced that I was going to own it someday. Being a screenwriter myself, I felt the SCRIPT was speaking to me directly and compelling ME to write BETTER scripts.

Then the film sold out. It knew it would sell out, it was aware that it would sell out, and it probably planned on selling out from the moment Kaufman began writing "Kaufman's" inner monologue. Man, this has to be a work of post-post-post modernism--a world in which *everything has been done* and scripts ABOUT how *everything has been done* have (ALSO) already *been done.*

In 'Adaptation,' we witness a film collapsing on itself. Just like '12 Monkeys' but with scathing self-awareness. Just like 'Get Shorty' but without cheer or a smug wittiness. With 'Adaptation,' we understand that there might be a film out there about orchids somewhere, but it's not this one. This one is about selling out.

I say 'selling out' because we have a film that does so only because the characters all do so. Donald sells out to Robert McKee's screenwriter "principles," Laroche sells out one thing at a time (fish, flowers, porn), Orlean realizes she has nothing worth selling at all, and Charlie sells out by writing the most pandering, backdoor finish to his movie as we witness it.

Lately I've really found myself enjoying films where nobody dies, nobody falls in love, and nothing too darn exciting happens at all. Charlie Kaufman probably likes those films, too--but realizes that "Charlie Kaufman" can't possibly write one of them. That's too bad, because his/"his" film started out so incredibly well.

Okay. So we have Tom Hanks saying, "I'm an actor. I grow my hair out really long for a role, I can cry on a beach in Normandy, and I can even put on a long face and shoot people at point blank with a revolver." Thanks, Tom. My roommate said he'd rather Mendes cast an unknown for the lead--but let's get realistic about that one (even when Soderbergh makes a "low budget film" he uses an A-list actress).

Moving beyond God's Gift to the Screen Actors Guild, we have a film with a strong first act and a satisfying--if not heavy-handed--third act. Of course, most films go awry in the crucial second act ('A Simple Plan' comes to mind). I would say that 'Road to Perdition' doesn't suffer in this area but it certainly doesn't shine.

While there is humanity to be found in Michael teaching his son to drive, the entire bank robbery montage (while beautifully compressed and effectively designed) hinges itself almost solely upon the scene in which Sullivan confronts Rooney about his son's deceit and dishonestly--a scene which falls flat when Newman says, "I know." Of course, so much ammunition has been built into this confrontation that it is bound to soar; it crashes nonetheless.

Jude Law was predictably good as usual, providing one of the most thrilling gunfight scenes I've seen in a quite awhile when blows holes in a steel crate. Though somewhat one-dimensional, the assassin/photographer character is compelling enough to be a worthy adversary for Sullivan. Notably missing is Jennifer Jason Leigh, who gets so little screen time it's a wonder the editors bothered billing her in the opening credits or casting such a great actress for the role to begin with.

I'm curious now. Does Sam Mendes hate the NRA that much? Not since 'All the Rage' have I seen a film that so overtly protests gun use and ownership. I believe "I never picked up a gun again" ranks up there with 'American History X's "racism is bad because you shouldn't hate people" for Most Insulting Final Reflection in Cinema. The same can be said of 'American Beauty's introspective final narration as well.

This aside, 'Road to Perdition' reaffirms Conrad Hall as one of the greatest living cinematographers. He can shoot interiors, exteriors, rain, snow, day, night, faces, shadows, landscapes, buildings, and just about everything in between. Muting the rain-drenched Tommy gun shootout was a good choice; it further compliments an incredibly visual landscape.

I may see this film again sometime, but if I do it will be only to discuss key to fill ratio, film stock, motivated lighting sources, and shooting in adverse weather conditions.

Last night I saw the newer version of 'Lolita' and decided that Adrian Lyne is one of our great modern directors. Yes, 'Flashdance,' 'Indecent Proposal,' and 'Fatal Attraction' left me writhing in my seat at times, but '9 1/2 Weeks' (Mickey Rourke is just awesome) redeemed them. Of course, 'Jacob's Ladder' is one of the most visually horrific films to appear in the past fifty years, but it was truly this searing version of Nabakov's masterpiece that put Lyne over the top for me.

Jeremy Irons is one of those rare actors who, like Brando or Dafoe, enter each moment with complete commitment and sincerity (Freddie Prinze, Jr. following close behind...). I admire Irons' work so much, from the chilling 'Dead Ringers' to the unforgettably painful 'Damage.' Much like Michael Douglas, Irons places himself in roles that demand humiliation, suffering, and total loss of dignity at times. Unlike Douglas, however, Irons effortlessly works through these moments with a gaunt and quixotic expression that eternally haunts.

No, we're not discussing Melanie Griffith. Her voice is painful to listen to--and it reminds me of the one thing I dislike about 'Chasing Amy:' Joey Lauren Adams' voice. Urgh. Griffith and Holly Hunter should do the world a collective favor and work strictly on silent films...

Dominique Swain is as a rare a find as Sue Lyon was for Kubrick's version. It's actually quite sad that Swain has yet to produce a respectable performance since because her naturalistic approach and obvious improvisational talent shines throughout the film.

Overall, of course, it is Lyne's unrelenting attention to detail that wins over in 'Lolita.' Every moment is filled with carefully observed details: the enigmatic touch of a foot or hand, the quick cut away to a glance or grin, the curious distractions that intensify certain emotions (flickering lights, barking dogs, a strand of saliva dangling from Lolita's retainer).

I can only begin to imagine how keenly his eye captures the world. Lyne himself admitted to drawing from his own marital spats for 'Indecent Proposal;' specifically the moment with the yellow rubber gloves and the suds of the sink. In 'Jacob's Ladder,' he created the violently contorting heads from a painting his once saw of a man in agony. In fact, we could almost taste the foods Rourke was playfully feeding to Basinger in '9 1/2 Weeks.'

But back to 'Lolita.' I was innumerably glad that Lyne approached Humbert not as some intellectual pervert to be laughed at with each successive bumble. In fact, the inclusion of the expository action (Humbert in his youth madly in love with a nymphet that dies three months into their affair) paints an entirely different portrait than the doomed cyclical beginnings of Kubrick's version (Humbert entering Quilty's barren mansion with a loaded gun). Lyne places the focus directly on Humbert and his obsession with the nymphet rather than the RAMIFICATIONS of such an obsession. This is a crucial--if not highly controversial--directorial choice (Lyne recalls the fear surrounding the production during the unfolding of the Jon Benet melodrama).

I have seen the film twice now and explored the DVD's ample supply of extras. This certainly isn't the easily disposable kind of entertainment that Hollywood prides itself on; 'Lolita' loomed over me both ways of a four-hour bus ride. I wish to place it among my favorite films dealing with love: 'Chasing Amy,' 'Leaving Las Vegas,' 'The Piano.' In time I think I will be able to further sort my feelings about this film, but for now it is sufficient to say that I have been scarred.

Tolka's advice: Some films succeed in hurting; just be prepared.

Blending musical poetry with epic spectacle, "1942: A Love Story" stands as a definitive work of Indian filmmaking. As the film follows a pair of lovers through the Indian uprising against imperialist Britain, traditional Indian song is used to juxtapose the harsh realities of an oppressed people. Though the film is grand in size, the fact that a small core of characters inhabits the plot makes for an easily understood picture, even while reading subtitles as I did.

"1942" celebrates the people of India and their struggle for independence. When compared to traditional American films dealing with political revolt, this film wins over in heart. When compared to traditional American musicals of the 1950s and 60s, "1942" displays a deeper social conscience and a more solid grasp on narrative storytelling. Above all, "1942" provides entertainment with a rich cultural tapestry.

It's no accident that posters of Natural Born Killers and Reservoir Dogs decorate the walls of the video rental store. It's no accident that Gary Sinise looked strikingly similar to Bill Gates. It's no accident that Jeff Daniels complains about how much he hated a certain film. ("The plot was ridiculous. Get this: two thieves-- Hunnybunny and Pumpkin, a hitman eating a Hawaiian Burger while he's about to kill people, --I didn't buy it" he mutters.) ...and it's certainly no accident that the opening titles closely resemble those of another socially satiric commentary: Dr. Strangelove.

In a world hyper-saturated with media and mass mayhem, it's certainly no accident that a film like It's the Rage would hit the film scene with a piercing look at America's obsession with the second amendment. Without any regard for 'realism'-- the video clerk replies to Jeff Daniels' criticism with: "It's a movie, it doesn't have to make sense, I found that out"-- ITR follows a group of people through their control-obsessed lives as they single-handedly use and abuse each other. The handgun is the most common link, but there are others. Money, fidelity, television, theft, and isolation also fill the otherwise vacant lives of our nine characters.

The box looks like Magnolia, but what's inside is a very clear and scathing attack on Americans and their firearm addiction. Made in Canada by a first-time director, (and very skillfully at that) it's most directly a shoot-first-and-ask-questions-later look at Wayne LaPeirre and his legacy of legal weapons.

Tolka's advice: watch this one with your favorite die hard Republican friend, but do wear a bullet-proof-vest for the heated discussion to follow.

We as a society no longer have crusades, inquisitions, or rampaging melees of combat. So, instead, we go postal.

Postal Worker is interesting in that the entire mailing agency is portrayed as a simmering pot of twisted individuals. We get the notion that one such worker- Oren- is demented, but soon realize that the entire institution is a madhouse. Some would call the film an irresponsible carnography, but skillful subplotting and flashbacks weave a much more intricate-- and ultimately unnerving- tale of mayhem.

Over-the-top special effects are dominant-- and for good reason. The film takes us on an almost cartoon-like look at an admittedly morbidly fascinating topic. In some ways, it's like an indie version of Natural Born Killers but with an atmosphere that hits disturbingly closer to home.

Tolka's recommendation: Don't watch this one with a humanitarian/Spielberg/"Life is Beautiful" disposition. Instead, simply view it as a comical satire depicting America as a slaughtering madhouse.

Terrance Malick won the filmmaker's achievement award at the Taos Talking Pictures Film Festival in April of 2000. His third film, 'The Thin Red Line', was vigorously discussed-and inevitably compared- to Spielberg's 'Saving Private Ryan'. Malick was robbed on Oscar night. Contentions fall where they may, that matters little. (Scorsese and Kubrick were never favored at the Academy either.)

The existential philosophy presented in 'Line' places it far above the likes of 'Ryan'. Think of Spielberg's war film as pyrite, and Malick's as a cultured pearl. Therefore, I will not devote another word to comparing that hack (Reese's Pieces, anyone?) to a traveled thinker like Malick.

Fade in on men wandering in the depths of the Japanese jungle, trembling, armed, ready. Cut to a bird, watching over the men. There's a war going on all right, and it's much bigger than Guadocanal. Malick underscores man's purpose and place in life, showing war as an evil deviation from nature that "poisons the soul." Malick's work here, a meditative study on man's essence to wage war on opposition, reverberates to truly great directors of the past. Such films as Kurosawa's 'Throne of Blood' or Coppola's 'Apocalypse Now' lend their contemplative breath to this film. Beneath the layers of bloodshed and gun smoke rests a callous and withdrawn observation on humanity-- almost as if this film was made by an extraterrestrial documentarian.

It is this level of callous thought and impersonal narrative that defines this film and defies the rigid company it is placed with. Unlike any war film before it- with the possible exception of 'Apocalypse Now', 'Line' delivers a stunning journey into the collective spirit of the human race. Profound cinematography, brilliant and truthful acting, and a broad palette of emotional paint weave a tapestry of storytelling that should be studied for decades to come.

Tolka's Bottom Line: Take a really deep breath, hit 'play', and don't look away until you've redefined your understanding of spiritual conflict.

It's a youth film. My parents didn't get it. They accused it of suggesting violence as a solution to life problems. What can you say? The movie speaks to the generic generation, my generation. Like Durden says, "we are a transitional generation, no cause or purpose." How can the muffed old bags at the Academy possibly understand? No one saw it in theaters anyway. No one, I say, except Fincher enthusiasts.

Somehow, Fight Club had been hiding inside me for years, waiting to get out. I bought the soundtrack and listened to the last track, which is a mix of Tyler's more colorful advice. That summed it up. "This is your life, and it's ending on minute at a time." I'm a carpe-diem athiest myself, and the notion that being a god for ten minutes in an arena beats out a lifetime of selling pens really resonated. One can help but feel completely and totally numbed after the Fight Club is over.

Yes, technically outstanding, artistically superior. I'd liken it to the Clockwork Orange of my time: misunderstood, undergrossed, overlooked. It's full of star power, and both Norton and Pitt turn out career-shining performances, but the deeper secret to success is the fact that the film reminds you you're watching it. The use of Tyler's random appearances early in the film are brilliant, the time flashes, the freezes, the framed narration, and especially the concept of film being rattled and offcenter create a subversive atmosphere that directly attacks the audience.

The success of Fight Club relies on it's confrontational style. The raw and truthful gore, the in-your-face cinematography, the brash and outright message. (the things you own end up owning you)

A testament of the counterculture to come, Fincher weaves one of the most poigniant stories ever to cross American film. It doesn't touch you, it doesn't warm you, it grabs you and beats your face in, all the while selling you your own fat ass back.

Tolka's advice: evacuate the parental units, then proceed to induct your membership into the last club you'll ever need.

Somehow, I knew what this film was going to be just by looking at the box. Perhaps it wasn't what I knew, but what I hoped, and despite Joel Schumaker's nearly unforgivable slop-jobs in the latest Batman movies, I got exactly what I hoped from this film.

Every scene with Foster is just the way I'd do it if I were falling down: the logic, the coolness, the rational and intentional violence. At one point I asked myself why I found this morbidly funny and entertaining, especially the Whammyburger locale. But with each scene, Foster proclaims that he 'just wants to go home' and the audience can identify with the simplicity of his objective.

Most every sequence in this film starts with a long, mastershot of the city, coupled with brooding music. As one begins to pick Foster out of the crowd, the impression would almost be that what is shown is nothing more than an urban battleground, one soldier fighting a war against his world.

Which brings me to my point: 'Falling Down' isn't a drama, isn't a comedy, isn't action, it's a war film. It's plain and simple-- Foster is waging war. this film is like the Saving Private Ryan of the urban decay genre. The writing and performance aspects are solid gold, not a hollow moment is to be found in Michael Douglas. The plot is a perfect Journey archtype, much like Apocalypse Now. Every scene has new people and new situations, yet all lead to the same theme of civilization desecration.

Tolka's advice: Pause after each scene with D-Fens and ask yourself, "can you blame him?".

From the opening scene to the closing finale, Trainspotting is a rhythmic treat unlike any other. It hits hard and frequent, moving at a fever pitch and brandishing awesome overseas music most US viewers would have never heard otherwise. (buy the soundtrack!)

The theme, the pacing, the characters, they all lend themselves to a teen generation. --and that's good. While most anti-drug movies (shall I daresay 'New Jack City'?) just spend two hours showing anything and everything horrific about substance abuse, Trainspotting shows every aspect of the drug scene: The flood and flush of money, the highs and lows of addiction, the social fabric woven by heroin junkies; after seeing this movie I had little interest in heroin whatsoever, because this film showed me EVERYTHING I needed to know. Rather than using scare tactics, Trainspotting using clever plot execution and some very creative effects. (ever been to the 'worst toilet in Scotland?')

Aside from the theme, the movie is filling with brilliant performances. Aside from the obvious Ewan McGregor, (this is really his breakthrough film) Robert Carlyle (The Full Monty) plays an astoundingly violent alcoholic Begbie without remorse. Though not really about growing up, the film does touch on the subject, and one can't help but walk away thinking that Renton is just like you, what with the job, the car, the big f*cking television, the washing machines...

Tolka's advice: Crank up your stereo and hold on tight!

Okay, this movie, or moreover, this art project, was imaginative and disturbing. The stop-motion was remarkable and the techno score kept hitting hard as the film progresses into total chaos. Never before, nor ever again, shall I see a woman killed by a man's phallace! The director was clearly opposed to progressing human technology, as the movie seems to suggest that technology assimilates its users.

This is by no means heartwarming, or even logical, but Tetsuo DOES deliver in brutal cinematography and eclectic pacing. I would only recommend it to those interested in either: 1)Japanese independent film, or 2) junkies of the live animation cult.

Tolka's advice: trust your senses, if the first ten minutes are too much to stand, turn it off; but if not, enjoy the ride!

Soon after The Matrix came out, many of my film buddies were raving about another in the sci-fi genre, eXistenZ. I got around to watching it, and was pleasantly surprized.

At times the movie was boggling, and I was left to second-guess at the character's status amidst the chaos of the plot. Fortunately, Cronenberg was amazingly graceful at giving away just enough to keep the story going, but less than to reveal was is really going on at any given time.

Yes, the movie has some in-your-face gore that's less than big-budget studio quality in terms of believability, but looking past that much, the movie has few flaws.

As it stands, it's no Matrix. It lives on a smaller scale, which is by no means automatically bad. Unlike Matrix, however, this is not truly an Action film, I'd say it's almost more like a Mystery than anything else. The movie was made on a less than infinite budget, that much is obvious, but it focused enough on the performances of its lead actor and actress to outshine any glaring flaws.

Tolka's advice: see it, and reserve a half-hour period afterwards to simply contemplate the movie's suggestion of our so-called reality.

Geez, too bad this movie was made before the OK city bombing and the Columbine High massacre! Honestly, it seemed prophetic to see this film AFTER events even more chilling than the Bobbit and Menendez clips shown during the end credits.

What this horrific masterpiece of a film does best is suggest the violence of human nature, best illustrated by the depiction of animals killing in scenes alongside Mickey and Malory. Another key to catching this is revealed in the scene with Mickey and Wayne Gayle, a hypnotic interview with a true psychopath driven by a ratings-hungry TV nut.

A witty no-holds-barred satire of American culture, this film goes where few others have dared, and I have great respect for Oliver Stone. Too bad that after this film he will never be popular with the local PTA's of America... Oh well, they're awfully hard to please anyway!

Tolka's advice: this movie could be Biblical, it could be existential, but it is most definately powerful.