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Reviews
Bo' Selecta! (2002)
Bad and invincible
This series is not for the faint hearted. And nor is it for those with a "refined" comedic palate. In short, it's definitely not for everyone.
But, for me, it is the funniest show on television. I simply adore the Michael Jackson caricature. To portray him as a foul-mouthed, jive-talkin' brother with his spangly glove, sweatband and Thriller outfit is nothing short of genius. Creator/actor Leigh Francis has MJ followed around by 'Martay' Bashir, is distinctly careless with the baby Blanket and puts a surreal twist on the obsessions of the real-life Wacko (i.e., the fantastic Petay Pan parachute jump). Like Ali G, MJ has quickly gone down in modern comedy folklore.
Craig David, another highlight, has bladder problems, carries around his peregrin falcon Kes and hails from Leeds. David Blaine is sex obsessed and uses his street magic only to fondle the ladies. Mel B (Jim Bowen in a wig) is fabulous, Britney Spears is a drunk and Christina Aguilera a Scouse whore. And all of these celebrities, and many more besides, are wearing ridiculous masks and oversized NHS specs. Totally bizarre yet, when on top form, utterly brilliant.
Having said that, the show is far from perfect. It can get repetitive (especially the now-tiresome Bear), can resort to the overly crude and there are some characters such as Marilyn Manson and Jonathan Ross ("wibble"???) who don't deserve the time of day. Even the host Avid fails to raise a smile on many occasions.
But it is highly quotable (although not always a good thing when a cult show goes mainstream), consistently funny and like nothing you've seen before, or will probably see again.
Sha'mone.
The Last Broadcast (1998)
I shall return, interfrastically.
Contains spoilers
Since the release of The Blair Witch Project in 1999, a less well-known shaky camera effort released the year before has had to endure countless comparisons with its more famous counterpart. One day perhaps reviews of The Last Broadcast will not make such a lazy comparison, but clearly that time has yet to arrive. On the surface, they are similar: an eclectic group of people go into secluded woodland and end up in peril with only a video montage left of their final few days. But whereas The Blair Witch Project provides you solely with the footage of the gang's descent into jeopardy, The Last Broadcast comes at the event from a different angle, that of retrospective and revisionist documentary.
First off, it has to be said that the events are totally fallacious. While to some this is blindingly obvious, I had gone into the film without this knowledge and had naively assumed that what I was watching was factual. I had no reason to doubt that what I was being told was true, given that I had never heard of the Fact or Fiction' murders of some seven years ago and that the style of the film seemed thoroughly convincing. Certainly the message at the outset about the cast not being actors had me fooled. So with that in mind, perhaps my review of the film will be slightly more generous than those filmgoers who took being duped rather badly.
The ostensible filmmaker David Leigh sets the scene, describing the murders of two cable TV show hosts, Steven Avkast and Locus Wheeler, plus production aide Rein Clackin. The only apparent suspect is Jim Suerd, a weirdo loner and computer geek who was recruited by the TV hosts as their guide into the paranormal for a live tele/web cast from the Pine Barrens of New Jersey. In a bid to arrest flagging viewing figures, the quartet head into the icy woodlands on the hunt for the legendary Jersey Devil to film the show. Suerd leads the way, taking the group three miles from the nearest access road. This homevideo footage is interlaced with a talking head documentary style as Leigh quizzes those who knew Suerd and those involved in the investigation into the case.
Things start going awry when Suerd reacts badly to a wisecrack from Clackin which is caught on camera and replayed throughout the film. It forms the basis for the prosecution's video evidence of a man capable of committing the homicides. When blood is found on his shirt and given the remote location, there are no other viable suspects. Suerd is handed two life terms but shortly after sentencing, he dies in prison in `mysterious circumstances' leaving the filmmaker without a crucial piece in the jigsaw. Nevertheless, Leigh, as narrator, sets about sowing seeds of doubt in the viewers mind as to Suerd's guilt in a thoroughly convincing manner. The evidence he puts forward suggests that what looked an open and shut case may not necessarily be so. But the turning point is the unexplained delivery of a box of videotape footage of the night the murders took place not seen by the jury. Now, having had much of the tape digitally restored, Leigh has crucial evidence that seems to suggest that the killer almost certainly was not Suerd. As the film progresses, the film restorer says that one frame could reveal the face of the guilty, proving once and for all the guilt or innocence of Suerd. It takes until five minutes from the end for the tape to be enhanced sufficiently to identify the murder. Needless to say, it's both shocking and wholly unexpected.
The Last Broadcast cost a reported $900 to make. If that is the case, the filmmakers deserve fulsome praise. This is a clever, interesting and well-executed idea that convinces as both a horror flick and serious case study into a flawed criminal investigation. Bearing in mind that (perhaps foolishly) I had no idea of its dubious authenticity, I was totally engrossed as the story twisted and turned down paths I never expected it to go. It was a far more convincing proposition than The Blair Witch Project (which cost $22,000 to make) and to my mind a whole lot more frightening too. Perhaps this was because I knew the Blair Witch was a hoax when I watched it but believed the Fact or Fiction murders to be genuine. Regardless, it remains a creepy proposition. There are plot holes certainly. For instance, how did blood from all three that led the police to assume Suerd's guilt get onto his shirt if he was not the killer? And how was he online all night on his run-of-the-mill laptop out in the middle of the woods given that `the Innernet' (as the Americans love to pronounce it) was a relatively new phenomenon when the film was set? Some things just didn't add up in retrospect but it would be churlish to pick apart the film just for the sake of it. The acting on the whole was good (well they had this gullible viewer fooled anyway) and the film, while in no way of studio release quality, looked like it had a budget considerably higher than just under a grand. The twist at the end of the film surely ranks up with The Usual Suspects and Fight Club in the `I didn't see that one coming' stakes. Some have criticised the ending for letting the film down. I disagree but, as ever, it's a subjective thing. Make your own mind up.
What we're dealing with here is a complete lack of respect for convention. Not only was it exceptionally low budget, it was also the first film in US motion picture history to be released without having used any celluloid. It had been edited on a home computer and dispatched by satellite. Had I seen this film before The Blair Witch Project I would have been even more impressed with its unique approach. As it stands, the two films should stand apart from a horror genre that has been treading water for so long it must be in danger of drowning. Rather than bangs, gore and all-too-predictable panto-style shocks, the film creates its own eerie atmosphere and scary believability by relying on the environment and the actors to create a sense of unease and impending doom. It offers a new perspective and new techniques in going about putting the fear of God into you. And for that reason alone it comes highly recommended.
Back to the Future Part III (1990)
They didn't save the best trip for last
Back to the Future Part III is a difficult film for me to review. On the one hand, I am far from enamoured by it, but on the other it's the final act in the otherwise excellent time travel trilogy. First off, it must be stated that this entry is the weakest of the three. Many Future fans will disagree with me, citing Part II as the weak link. What they overlook is that Part II has no grand finale like Parts I and III and inevitably suffers because of it. Nothing is tied up, loose ends remain, questions go unanswered and confusion reigns so it requires the last chapter to put the world of Marty McFly to rights. But Part II offers greater all-round entertainment, its darker tone offset by some exhilarating action and futuristic special effects.
Part III is, to all intents and purposes, a love story with a formulaic Western theme. It is more like the 1985 original in style, with much of the film taking place in one setting, with only two bouts of time travel, culminating in a rousing finale. Unlike Part I, however, this film is lacking the extra ingredient to push it out of the pretty good and into the great. Robert Zemeckis' direction focuses this film on Doc for the first time and perhaps it is this shift in emphasis that left me somewhat disappointed. Interesting though Doc is, and pleasing as it is to see another side of him as he falls in love with school ma'am Clara, our hero throughout the series has been Marty. We have rooted from him from the very beginning and Doc's romance does not hold quite the same appeal. Consequently, I am not a fan of the introduction of the Clara character. It's difficult to explain but I felt like Marty does in that she is forever getting in the way, a barrier to his and Doc's preparations to return home. She is not a dislikable character but in a way I ended up resenting the amount of influence she is has over Doc and hence the storyline. Not enough goes on in the middle of the film when, with no relatives' lives to put right, Marty is a spare part for too long.
The pace is deliberately slower than Part II which was breathless throughout but the film meanders, only getting out of second gear when the time travel sequences are involved. That's not to say it's without its merits. Doc and Marty's friendship is explored in greater depth and to good effect. Marty's refusal to rise to the bait of another nefarious Hill Valley Tannen, Buford Mad Dog' this time, shows a belated maturity sticks and stones and all that. He later changes the course of his own destiny (the result of which was an unhappy and newly unemployed 47-year-old Marty in Part II), which demonstrated admirable character development. The denouement displays some of the inventiveness lacking throughout the rest of the movie as an exploding steam train propels the DeLorean towards 88mph. It's a gripping last half hour, the pace having been noticeably upped for the better as the time machine careers towards a ravine, with Doc choosing to save the meddlesome Clara over a return to the future with his mulletted protégé.
Upon returning to 1985, the DeLorean is destroyed by an oncoming freight locomotive, something which I was not altogether happy about. It was such a sad moment given that the time machine had been one of the central characters throughout the whole trilogy. Its destruction would be akin to that of the Millennium Falcon going down irreparably in Return of the Jedi not at all a fitting end for a fine piece of kit. And the final act where a married Doc returns with pearls of wisdom, two sons and a time travelling, flying steam train is preposterous and wholly unnecessary. Sure, let us know what happens to him but one senses that by having the train take to the skies a la the DeLorean at the end of Part I, Zemeckis was attempting to add a symmetry to the trilogy that was not needed, or at least not in that manner. It was a silly ending and the whole "the future is unwritten" and "it's what ever you make of it" flies in the face of the first 40 minutes of Part II which was all about altering future history'. What exactly was the point of them doing something about Marty's kids when the future, according to Doc, remains a mystery?
Nevertheless, the trilogy had to be rounded off somehow and it wasn't the worst ending the filmmakers could have conceived. It does, however, leave a slightly bad taste in the mouth which is a great shame considering what, in the previous two films, had gone before. Back to the Future Part III as a stand alone film might well have cut the mustard. The love element and the old West feelgood factor might be enough to win over those after a pleasant afternoon's viewing. Throw in the spectacular ending and you've not got a bad film at all. But it suffers by comparison to the high standard of what has gone before, not least the exemplary Part I. Back to the Future is among the best films of all time so following it was never going to be easy. Part II was sufficiently bright, breezy and imaginative to keep fans of the first film happy, without ever hitting the heights of the original. Part III though has neither the happy-go-lucky charm of the first film nor the high-octane thrills and spills of its sequel. For fans of the trilogy, it is a solid enough way to wave goodbye to Doc and Marty. It has the in-jokes, the music and the blink-and-you'll-miss-them touches that let you know you're watching a Back to the Future film. But it's by far the worst of the bunch and that I'm afraid will be its damning legacy.
Signs (2002)
The signs point to a terrible film
Contains spoilers
When The Sixth Sense was released three years ago, the previously unheralded M. Night Shyamalan found himself with one hell of a hit on his hands. I watched it with the hype in mind and didn't particularly enjoy it. Yes, the plot twist was good but the rest of the film meandered without aim. Shyamalan's follow-up Unbreakable was given a harder time by critics and audiences alike. I liked it, certainly more than The Sixth Sense, but it was not a film that lingered long in the memory. It was one of those films that you didn't really need to see in the cinema, which is damning it with faint praise but there you go. So it was with some trepidation, and as I was to discover, foolhardiness, that I paid my money to see Signs. I had been warned off it but there was nothing else to see and two hours to kill.
I'll get to the point: this film was about as lame as it gets. It was in essence more of the same slop from Shyamalan. One could argue that it's his individualism, a trademark style that permeates all his films. I would argue it is plain laziness. If Shyamalan is trying to make as much money as possible with as little effort, then this film embodies that attitude. Each of his films has a premise that is initially a good one - in Signs it is the ever-intriguing argument of fate versus coincidence. However, Shyamalan fails to flesh out this concept beyond a hushed conversation between Gibson and Phoenix. It is a total waste of a good idea, certainly on a film that quickly falls into the usual 'aliens are coming' trap. I might have been more prepared to accept such a tired old routine if the aliens had done something other than bang a few doors and create immaculate crop circles. How is the audience supposed to buy into the supposed fear of the characters when the intergalactic enemy makes little more nuisance than a bored teenager? The aliens weakness is water, exactly the same as that of Bruce Willis' character in Unbreakable. Shyamalan is recycling his own ideas! Give me strength. And his insistence on putting religion at the heart of his work irks me greatly - the motto of 'keep the faith and everything will be alright' is mawkish, indolent and unrealistic.
How many more times can filmmakers expect the public to believe that the alien on screen is not just a tall guy in a green jumpsuit? The scene where you are given your first glimpse of the invaders in a South American home movie is laughable. When are we going to see some imagination used in cinematic close encounters? Are they all going to have heads, legs and arms? A dodgy extra-terrestrial might have been passable if the story was any good. It's not. For a film knocking on for two hours long, absolutely nothing happens. Instead you get the usual 'deep' Shyamalan dialogue, which is in fact pretentious bullshit, trying to mask the absence of plot. His direction is based upon building an eerie atmosphere but if there's nothing going on within that, the viewer is left with nothing to get their teeth in. The film drags its feet so often that I'm surprised it didn't trip over and fall out of the projector. Gibson fails to convince as a man of the cloth (he's too gnarled for that s**t), Phoenix's Merrill is an intense weirdo with some bizarre, apropos of nothing lines and the two kids are plain irritating (they hired a Culkin for Christ's sake).
By the time the alien that visits the family farm is killed off - in a manner so damn corny it challenges belief - I was looking forward to doing something other than watch this sorry mess. It cost a reported $70m to make which is arguably the biggest shock of the whole movie. I shall never see another M. Night Shyamalan film as long as I live. He is being spoken of as the next Steven Speilberg (from whom he borrowed a couple of suspense-evoking techniques for this film) but such a suggestion couldn't be wider of the mark. Spielberg can enchant, enthral but above all entertain. When Shyamalan learns to do any of these, somebody let me know. He is, however, a fine con artist, capable of extracting millions of pounds from the public in return for absolutely nothing. If you cannot see through this wafer thin film then you deserve to be visited by a tall man in a green costume in the middle of the night. Just have a baseball bat or a glass of water handy...
National Lampoon's Vacation (1983)
The moose says you're closed, I say you're open
Contains spoilers
Without doubt one of the funniest movies of the 1980s, National Lampoon's Vacation sees Chevy Chase at his finest. The premise is simple: food additive genius Clark W. Griswold (Chase) plans a family holiday, a 2500 mile trip across country from his Chicago suburb to Walley World, California. Acting on his mantra that `getting there is half the fun!' Clark decides against flying so that he can spend more time with his kids. The movie opens with him trading in his old car for the luxurious Wagon Queen Family Truckster. To the chagrin of his son Rusty (Anthony Michael Hall), it's not the car they ordered but Clark is somehow convinced by the salesman (Eugene Levy in an amusing cameo) to take it. And so begins the unravelling of Clark's meticulous plans.
First off, the Truckster is vandalised when a wrong turn sees the Griswolds lost in an unsavoury St. Louis neighbourhood. We meet the trailer trash cousins of his wife Ellen (the sexy Beverly d'Angelo) in Kansas, with the hilarious simpleton Eddie (Randy Quaid) providing some of the film's most memorable moments. At Eddie's shack, Clark is informed that he must take the deviously decrepit Aunt Edna to Phoenix, a task he does not relish. After Clark kills her accidentally kills her dog, Edna dies en route, leaving Griswold Sr. with no option but to tie the corpse to the Truckster's roof-rack. Visits to Dodge City, the Grand Canyon and a hellish breakdown in the desert leave Clark, minus credit cards, cash and contraception, slipping deeper into comical insanity as the trip becomes one long nightmare.
His only escape is his obsession with the girl in the red Ferrari (Christie Brinkley) who seems to be everywhere he turns. Clark's attempts to win the girl over almost wreck his marriage as he tries to convince her that he's travelling across country with his brother's family incognito on an annual nationwide inspection of his motel chain. It's classic Chase - which to some is an oxymoron - with his quick, deadpan delivery offset by hilarious bumbling slapstick. Fixated with schedules and dull tourist spots, Clark rambles throughout the movie as the know-all father who likes the sound of his own voice. To top it all off, when the exhausted but still excited Griswolds reach California days behind schedule and thousands over budget, they discover that Walley World is closed for repairs. Clark's reaction is semi-controlled hysteria and provides a fitting end to a hilarious film.
With Chase, writer John Hughes and director Harold Ramis all on song, National Lampoon's Vacation is a riot. Chase went on to become Fletch, which some believe is his best role. I would disagree. While he is brilliant as the wisecracking Fletch, Chase was born to play Clark Griswold, a buffoon with the best intentions but the worst luck. His kids Rusty and Audrey (Dana Barron) are brattish and quarrelsome, while Ellen tries to maintain a semblance of calm amid the chaos. Cameos from Brian Doyle-Murray, Eddie Bracken and John Candy add to the fun. Vacation has spawned three sequels, with only 1989's Christmas effort coming anywhere near the hilarity of the first film. As with most films and their sequels, the original is the best.
Spider-Man (2002)
Caught like a fly in the web of hype
Contains spoilers
Having waited what seems an eternity for Spider-Man to reach the big screen, Sam Raimi's adaptation of the Marvel comic book hero is a lot of fun. It also looks good, has an interesting cast, follows Stan Lee's original story with admirable faithfulness and has the obligatory summer blockbuster bells and whistles. So why have I left the cinema both the times I have seen it with a slight sense of anti-climax? Don't get me wrong, I liked the film but it failed to meet my sky-high expectations.
Raimi's Spider-Man is more like Richard Donner's Superman than Tim Burton's Batman, in its bright and breezy approach. However, the dilemmas of Peter Parker, played to a tee by Tobey Maguire, are captured well by Raimi. It takes the death of his uncle to realise that he can do more than make money out of his alter ego and the viewer sympathises with Parker's plight. Although `with great power comes great responsibility', he laments that the choices he makes always seem to hurt those he holds dearest. His ultimate duty to the spider inside means that he has to push away the girl he has always loved, Mary Jane Watson (ably carried off by Kirstin Dunst). In this sense Raimi successfully makes the viewer understand all aspects of being a superhero.
Although the story of Parker's ephiphany is told with care by Raimi, an avowed fan of the comics, the plot is traditional comic book adaptation fare: oddball loner discovers superpowers, suffers personal injustice, decides to fight crime, encounters maniacal bad guy, wins the day in grand finale. Perhaps I was expecting too much of Raimi's film - it is after all only based on a comic book. But I wanted a little more than I got. Nevertheless, the special effects are very good, in spite of my worst fears. I had been expecting dodgy, cartoonish CGI but, for the most part, Spider-Man convincingly spins his way through a pre-11 September Manhattan. The film's delayed production has meant that advances in digital technology have given the 'Human Spider' a fluency of movement that was impossible to pull off only 5 years ago. His web slinging and wall crawling are spot on throughout, with some excellent swooping camera work giving the impression of being right there with him. The overhead scenes where Parker is leaping from rooftop to rooftop are the only ones where the special effects look amateurish.
J.K Simmons steals the show in his brief role as the hilariously irascible Daily Bugle editor J. Jonah Jameson. Cliff Robertson and Rosemary Harris push the necessary buttons as Ben and May. Willem Dafoe as 'da foe' (boom boom) is larger than life for the film's duration. He is a well cast Norman Osborn/Green Goblin and is a worthy, menacing adversary for Spider-Man's first outing. And, with an ending that screams `sequel', you can be sure that the web-head will be back. It remains to be seen whether Spider-Man falls into the trap of other comic book franchises, such as Batman, which quickly headed south in terms of quality as the sequels racked up.
Sam Raimi has spun a good yarn and as an example of its genre it comes recommended. But it only really does what it says on the tin.
Straw Dogs (1971)
Make your own mind up
Contains spoliers
I sat down to watch Straw Dogs on an imported American DVD in the knowledge that it contained a controversial rape scene. Apparently, British censors will not allow a home video/DVD release unless the infamous scene is altered. The scene itself is disconcerting but by today's liberal standards I'm not sure that it qualifies as shocking any more. It is, in any case, arguable that Amy (Susan George) is raped, given that it verges on the consensual. It is this ambivalence, however, that gives the scene its impact. Should she be enjoying this? Should I be disgusted? The second sexual act, moments later, is unambiguous. But given that the film is psychologically unnerving throughout, the second (or first, depending on your point of view) rape is less effective filmmaking.
In having his lead character David (Dustin Hoffman) leave America for a quieter life in rural England, Peckinpah shrewdly sets the scene for a confrontation between David's expectations and brutal reality. The village in which he lives has a sinister tranquillity, reminiscent of the early scenes in An American Werewolf in London. The first hour is slow but not gratuitously so. The increase in tension between Hoffman and the hired builders, who do their utmost to undermine him, is palpable. Until the bloody denouement, though, David maintains his calm. Peckinpah's exploration of the limits of man's tolerance is undertaken in an intriguingly aggressive style. The viewer is left with much to ponder about the choices David makes in the face of emotional and physical conflict. The film's climax is unflinching, and in the context of envelope-pushing early '70s filmmaking, it has undeniable impact on the viewer, even 30 years on.
Hoffman gives a good performance in his predominantly-understated role while Susan George, to the consternation of feminists everywhere, excels as his harrowed yet confused wife. Straw Dogs will never have universal appeal or acclaim but I believe that it deserves to be bracketed with A Clockwork Orange, not just for their shared censure, but also for its brave handling of subjects that remain controversial to this day.