Reviews

I cannot understate how much I disliked this film. Ad-libbing in front of a camera while stoned for an hour and a half should and could be done so much better. The acting is poor, the cinematography is garbage and the plot is non-existent. The only somewhat entertaining portion of the movie is when Jack Nicholson's character shows up -- at least he has a personality and some interesting things to say -- but he has 15 minutes of screen time and then we're left with Fonda's mannequin impression and Hopper's annoying dirt-bag schtick for the remainder of the film. Even worse, if you eliminated all the scenes of the main characters riding motorcycles set to music the movie might be 1/2 an hour at best. I can't believe this was critically lauded AND nominated for 2 Oscars. My favourite part was the end scene -- both because the movie was over and because I very much wanted to do the same. Maybe I needed to be stoned immaculate to enjoy this.

Rio Lobo is easily one of the worst Westerns I've ever watched. Laughable dialogue and delivery from some of the worst actors I've ever seen (I can't single any one out because they are all sooooo bad); I wouldn't be surprised if every scene was comprised of the first take. The sets and cinematography are late 60's television quality at best, like you'd see in a corny episode of Star Trek or The Monkees. John Wayne emotes with all the passion of someone reading off the back of a cereal box (he never was a truly good actor) but Jack Elam is worth a few chuckles with his over-the-top crazy, old drunkard routine. That's worth one star. I'll give it another star for a couple nice landscape shots but that's being generous. Apparently this film is a "remake" of two other Howard Hawks/John Wayne pictures but for the life of me I can't imagine why. With the excitement of the revisionist and Spaghetti westerns already in full swing when Rio Lobo was released this film comes off as a lazy and embarrassing throw-back to the Westerns our grandpappies might have liked.

The Hammer horror films of the '50's - '70's hold a special place in the hearts of those who love the classic genre, but the reality is that they truly are outdone by the original Universal Pictures predecessors in every way.

With this version of The Mummy (1959) we are treated to a "re-imagining" of the story of the eerie, and macabre love story of an ancient Egyptian priest who will sacrifice everything for the forbidden woman of his desires, ultimately becoming the undead creature that is the (movie) Mummy. As it happens, it is a fairly mundane and hackneyed plot that has seen itself used many times before and since with one "monster" or another transposed in the lead villain role. This is the just first sign of a studio looking for a quick buck, in my opinion.

Where the film succeeds is in the wonderful sets and vibrant, Technicolor film process. Artifacts from ancient Egypt look real, the swamps dank and dreary, the interiors and costuming are wonderful with everything popping for the eye of the beholder. Unfortunately the same cannot be said for the main character's performance or physical image.

Christopher Lee's portrayal of the Mummy flat out stinks. It's nice to know that by the time he was making films with Lucas, Burton and Jackson he had attained that level of consummate and revered acting, but he certainly did not have it here. Putting aside the fact that he had several mishaps and accidents on the set of this film which "supposedly" impeded his performance I don't buy that that is what you are seeing in this film; he was hired for his menacing height and little else. His movements come off not only as awkward but laughable at times, his make-up leaves almost no room for emoting and even his eyes seem to emit little of the inner turmoil he is supposed to be going through. (Yes, he has to be somewhat stiff and undead but let's be honest here, really.) This is the director's fault; you shoot scenes until you have something believable, not just to get them "in the can". Peter Cushing gives his usual, reserved and genuine performance, but the Mummy's role itself is a mess.

The worst part of the whole thing is that the Mummy costume and make-up are just terrible. Whereas the make-up used on Boris Karloff in the original The Mummy (1932) still holds up even by today's standards for authenticity, ghoulishness and wonderment, Christopher Lee's character is given something that looks like a kid smeared a concoction of mud-pie and plaster over his head. The details are negated and lost in rudimentary form. The bandages that should have wrapped his body for 4000 years are quite obviously a dirt-covered body-suit all fitting comfortably into separate legs, torso and arm pieces ---- you can even see a zipper-seam in the back! Preposterous.

This version of The Mummy will remain a "classic" by default, whether for time-won nostalgia or the simple love of the title character amongst the pantheon of old-time movie monsters, in general. Having seen it though, I can't recommend it or re-watch it knowing there have been superior versions both before and since.

I think it really says something about your lack of ability as an actor (or your unrestrained ego, perhaps) when you allow yourself to star in a film where you are the lead character and yet everyone else is soooo much better than you in their roles. This, sadly, was my experience in watching Vin Diesel in RIDDICK.

The movie had great production values and very believable special effects, realistic CGI, the story was a bit basic but entertaining enough, and the actors surrounding Diesel give their best with what they given throughout (the stand-out being Matt Nable, as Johns, who was excellent even). Then there was Vin Diesel. For one, I had to put on the English subtitles just to understand what mush was coming out of his mouth (his narration is hideous, he actually says "nother" in place of "other" and the preceding word did not end in an "N"), he emotes throughout with virtually the same lack of expression one might order a pizza over the phone with, and quite frankly, his head just looks like a potato. I know that sounds mean and nit-picky but every time he came on screen I just couldn't stop thinking that he looks like someone glued a Mr. PotatoHead on a muscular body. It was hard to suspend your disbelief when you add it all up. I might have even been prone to forgiveness if he was a least laughable (like anything with Curtis "50 Cent" Jackson in it is), but it was just annoying.

If you like scary aliens, spaceships, mercenaries, tech and other-worldly adventures this movie might be right up your alley, those parts of RIDDICK were decent, even good. But if you expect great, or even good quality, believable acting from the main and (what should be) most important character in the film I'd suggest skipping this one with a vengeance.

If Mr. Potatohead and Star Trek had a baby, it would have been RIDDICK.

The beauty and point of a wonderful cartoon like Max & Ruby is that it's very simple, because it's actually made for kids!

My 2 year old son got me hooked on this show and I've really come to admire it for so many reasons. The stories on Max & Ruby are short and uncomplicated and essentially revolve around two chubby, little, talking white bunnies; older sister Ruby and younger brother Max. They live and play together and usually find themselves at odds over some everyday happening of one sort or another. It never gets ugly though. Sometimes Ruby wants things her way and Max is made to go along with that, and sometimes Max wants his interests to take precedence and Ruby gives in. There is never any yelling or fighting and never any cruel intent depicted. Max & Ruby figure things out together and make it work. A refreshing idea and great for kids to see. Both characters are sweet and comical in their own ways and equally hold the viewers attention with their pursuits.

The animation is unique and colourful. The characters have a very "book-lifted" look to them and their movements are kept minimal and uncluttered. Background elements often appear to be pictures of real objects (trees, rugs, etc.) which have been distorted or blurred slightly to render them somewhat 2-dimensional. I'm guessing it's a mix of hand-drawing and computer graphics employed here which works nicely. Neither overpowers the other but rather compliments excellently.

There is a definite silent film homage played through the composition of shots, especially the iris-in/ iris-out technique and the use of old-timey jazz music, which also helps to keep everything simple and straightforward. The "sets" and decor harken back to the late '40's and early '50's and add to that feeling of goodness and wholesome living that the show exudes.

I've never gotten the sense that the show was created to sell toys (although some of Max's are pretty cool, I must admit) or panders in any way to a level above the interest of children (there are no adult-intended references or in-jokes). This is a genuinely sweet, well-intentioned, fun and entertaining cartoon your kids will enjoy, and as luck might have it, you may too.

Like my son says, "Max funny!", and that's good enough for me.

Ok, with a title like HIDEOUS! you know right off-the-bat that the

filmmakers weren't out to win any Oscars with this offering.

Surprisingly though, what director Charles Band and his co-horts

at Full Moon Pictures do accomplish is a much better B-movie

than one might expect.



The plot is simple yet completely deranged: a "biological oddities

broker", Belinda Yost (Tracy May), and her two, wealthy, high-profile

collector clients, Napolean Lazar (Mel Johnson Jr.) and Dr. Lorca

(Michael Citriniti), square off against one another over a deformed

specimen found at a local sewer filtration plant. One has his half- naked, gorilla-mask wearing assistant Sheila (Jaqueline Lovell)

steal it while the other hires a P.I., Det. Kantor (Gerard O' Donnell)

to track it down. Everyone winds up in a strange, Transylvanian

castlesque mansion fighting one another until, lo-and-behold,

monsters come to life and all hell breaks loose!



Granted the story isn't great, or barely even good, but the film does

manage to shine in a few areas. The cinematography, despite

what is obviously constructed on a reduced budget, is top-notch.

The film is also well-directed, given the poor material with which it

contends. Well paced and shot. And some of the portrayals and

acting/actors are much better than what one might encounter in

similar features and situations; on one end, fine performances are

given by Lovell (who is very easy on the eyes, I might add), May and

O'Donnell (O'Donnell should be making "real" pictures), but then

we have to contend with over-indulgent, ham from Citriniti,

Johnson Jr. and Rhonda Griffin. It comes out even I suppose.



But the most disappointing aspect of HIDEOUS! by far has to be

the creature effects. They are just plain awful. The deformed

monstrosities look more like skinned Muppets, yet with 50 times

less articulation. They can barely move, mutter incessantly, run

around oozing goo and bring the possibilities of the picture down

quite considerably. And the "sex-scene" is too unbelievably stupid

to describe, but is a must-see! Yes, HIDEOUS! is meant to have a

comic undertone for certain, but chances are the viewer won't be

laughing "with" the makers of this ugly nugget.



5/10. This all could have been avoided if they'd used

Tupperware...

If Ebenezer Scrooge were real and living today, BAD SANTA is the

movie he would have made. Then again, by the end of "A

Christmas Carol" even Scrooge is redeemed and the story ends

happily; here you just get to walk home in the cold, less the cost of

your theatre admission.



I never imagined that I'd find a movie so laden with profanities that

even I would actually be sick of hearing them, but BAD SANTA did

so. Coarse language, used right, can arguably even add to the

flow and characterization within a good film, I believe. Not this time.

And having loved everything the incredibly talented Coen brothers

have offered up previously (RAISING ARIZONA, BARTON FINK,

THE BIG LEBOWSKI) I was utterly shocked to see their names

associated with this utter piece of trash. Obviously they didn't

direct it, or have final say, or we might have actually had something

edgy AND entertaining to watch in this misguided holiday offering.



The problem does not lay in the, some might say, 'novel' idea; an

alcoholic and depressive, safe-cracking ex-con (Billy Bob

Thornton) and his sharp-tongued, African-American, midget side- kick (Tony Cox) disguising themselves as Shopping-Mall Santa

and Elf to get at the massive holiday store-vault holdings. Nor

does the problem arise from bad acting; Billy Bob, John Ritter,

Bernie Mac, and Tony Cox are all good and deliver fine

characterizations. The problem lives in the sloppy directing,

slipshod story and non-stop barrage of cursing and vile intentions

thrown into every scene. Billy Bob plays his character straight, but

is utterly repulsive, even when he's trying to be good, and he

becomes and remains impossible to love. (Sure it's funny to see

him yell at a fat, runny-nosed little kid the first half-dozen times, but

after 60+ minutes without letting up...) Bernie is funny, but

misused and seems thrown in at random points in the plot, and in

completely irrelevant scenes (obviously he's just there so he can

"do his thing" regardless of plot). The best character in the film is

the Mall manager, played by the late John Ritter, who's every scene

is hilarious due to his delivery, but sadly he has so few scenes.

Unfortunately, I suspect it's Ritter's much-loved reputation that will

draw more than half the audience to see his last picture, only to be

forced through the mire the rest of the film wallows in.



I don't expect every Christmas-themed movie to be all "bells and

angels", and knowing that BAD SANTA might actually punch a few

holes in that tradition was what drew into seeing it, but I DO expect

quality storytelling and filmmaking. Somewhere along the way

Zwigoff lost track of this project, or got carried away in it's

demeaning nature, and the results became insulting, juvenile and

unintelligible. BAD SANTA is a wasted opportunity for some great

comedic talent and a new holiday "classic", but much like your

Aunt Flora's Christmas fruitcake, chances are you won't feel right

after attempting to digest it.



5/10. Stinks like 4 month old Egg Nog!!!

With a title like NEW YORK EYE AND EAR CONTROL one might expect a finely crafted, well-honed piece of cinema, something given quite a bit of care and finesse, as that is what the word "control" implies where film and art meet most times. Instead, director (and I use that term as loosely as possible) Michael Snow has chosen to unleash upon the general viewer a banal reel of unembellished detritus under the somewhat protective umbrella of the 'Avant-Garde' film movement.

N Y E&E C is, simply put, one of the most boring, annoying and completely insulting films I've ever had the displeasure to watch. Improper exposures, lack of composition (both within the film frame and structurally), empty subject matter, run-on scene-takes, and a soul-strangling "freestyle" Jazz soundtrack (imagine bleating goats, whinnying horses and trumpeting elephants all thrown in a blender and set on "Mince") only begin to exemplify what this film pushed out on the audience like so much afterbirth. It became clear quickly that Snow really didn't have much of a plan going into the shooting or editing of the work, and throwing in his famous Walking Woman cut-outs seemed like a weak attempt to legitimize whatever artistic leanings the piece might be able to scrape by on. Once again, the Avant-Garde inherits another legacy of half-baked, infantile, self-satisfying palp.

My lack of interest soon slipped into depressive-level boredom, which was shunted over into sheer frustration and finally pure rage by the film's end, and by my observance of the audience surrounding me I'd say I was clearly in the majority with my dis- enjoyment of NEW YORK EYE AND EAR CONTROL. By the film's end I was very near to throwing my shoe at the screen in protest. (The only reason I deigned to made it through was because I had come to see the subsequent films in the program at that screening.)

1/10. One of the truly most horrible viewing experiences of my life; Utter garbage!

Without a doubt, Harmony Korine's GUMMO is one of the worst

movies I've ever seen......but also one of the most beautifully made,

and purposefully realized. It's like a car crash: twisted, ugly,

sickening in so many ways, yet utterly mesmerizing and

enveloping of the viewer's senses. And it shows that beauty exists

in the very simplest, mundane and awful of existences.



Imagine going home and hanging out with any of the guests after

a taping of The Jerry Springer Show and you know what you're in

for with this film. Racist, lethargic, uneducated, ugly, morally

corrupt, poverty-ensconced folk from a town that barely cares they

were hit by a tornado a few years previous, and doing nothing to

rebuild the lives they never had. Gut-wrenchingly real, and

unfortunate. But every individual presented in the course of the film

is so utterly entrancing in the way they look, to what they say and

do, to the way they build up and interact in a story so sparse it

reads as documentary, yet so surreal you pray it's complete fiction.

It's not: This is the "American Heartland" splayed open in full.



Ugliness aside (and the film is nothing if not ugly, both in visuals

and emotion), GUMMO is a brilliant piece of filmmaking regardless

of what most might say to the contrary. Korine has taken the same

inexplicable lack of moral grounding that was so precisely

captured in his writing on KIDS (1995) and brought it down to a

level of realism so believable that one cannot help but be

negatively effected in watching it (anyone with a conscience that

is). He seamlessly casts and directs performances out of

complete amateurs, alongside professional actors (Chloe

Sevigny, Max Perlich), so as it becomes almost impossible to

discern them from each other in the mix. Composing a stirring

melange of grimy yet richly colourful scenes; film, video and still

photo snippets; a tossed salad of death-metal, silence and folk

music; clear and intense cinematography, and doing so with such

succinctness as to seem as if we were living in that world

ourselves, praying to get out. If you are bored watching GUMMO it

is because Korine has made you bored, if you are grossed out by

GUMMO, disgusted, enraged, sickened, or perversely tickled

somehow it is certainly because the director knew how and what

to do to get you there. A considerable feat for any artist, let alone a

23 year old.



I wouldn't recommend this film to very many people I know, and at

times I wonder why I watch it again myself, but I am truly thankful it

exists. GUMMO slapped me in the face and made me see the

banality, desperation and repugnancy that some people choose or

are forced to live with, and yet also made me realize that some

beauty can be found even in that. One beautiful rose does not

make a whole garden, but life continues to abound despite it.



8/10. So far ahead of it's time we may never catch up.

PASSAGE THROUGH: A RITUAL is without a doubt one of, if not THE, most unique viewing experiences I've ever had in my life. Stan Brakhage's collaboration with composer Philip Corner is equal parts empty and satiating at the same time, and surely one of the most experimental films of Brakhage's entire career.

As the story goes, Corner was inspired to write a musical piece after seeing Brakhage's THE RIDDLE OF LUMEN (1974). Having heard the composition at some point afterwards, Brakhage was then inspired to collaborate on or create a film to accompany Corner's work. The result was PASSAGE THROUGH: A RITUAL (1990). Standing out first for it's use of sound (the majority of Stan Brakhage's films are silent), and then it's choice of imagery and the subsequent relation between the given image and sound, the filmmaker created one of the most perplexing and brave works of artistic cinema I've ever encountered. Here's why...

The soundtrack is full and extends for the entire 50 minutes the film unfolds on the screen, cascading out of itself with contrasts of the eerie and ethereal, the playful and bombastic, and with a truly engaging aural intimacy. But where the images are concerned we are given the sparsest glimpses of subject matter and instead are confronted by the pure void of a black screen for almost the entirety of the piece; of the 50 minute running time probably only 3-4 minutes in total contain actual visuals! The results are subject to personal viewer response, but are surely mixed at best. I found myself initially longing for the brief images, trying to anticipate when they might appear or if there was any relation with the flow of the soundtrack, but soon I was able to "let go" somewhat and sit in the darkness listening to a beautiful musical score, while snippets of visuals popped out of the lightless theatre. As a result, each seconds-long segment of imagery was like discovering a gem; rich, colourful, powerful and rewarding.

Over-all, I'm not sure PASSAGE THROUGH: A RITUAL really "works" as a moving visual experience, and it is not one I can readily recommend to everyone. For those seeking the visual experience it can be frustrating and/or empty to sit through blackened projection for sometimes even 10 minutes at a time; add to that Brakhage's usual reputation for arresting imagery, pacing and movement and one might feel ripped-off. Then there is factor of what appears to be randomness with which the images come through in relation to the sound elements; at any given moment the singularity of the musical composition might, and will be, interrupted by a flash of something that relates to a completely different set of sensory perceptors: the eyes, which for the most part seem so far removed from the equation with this particular offering. I can't pretend to know what affect Brakhage may have been aiming for, but I can say it was one of both unsettling and stirring viewing for me personally. A nice surprise but one I don't think I would re-experience again now that I've entertained it once. Regardless, I doubt many will ever "see" anything like it either before of after such is the complete singularity of the piece given the medium in use.

6/10. Not for everyone with an experimental film appreciation, but a truly experimental film.

Liberally based on true events surrounding a mid-80's F.B.I.

investigation and notorious apprehension attempt of a pair of

murderous, military-styled bank-robbers, IN THE LINE OF DUTY:

THE F.B.I. MURDERS (1988) is well-scripted, beautifully acted,

and superbly directed. The pacing and tension build up perfectly

as the two story-lines –– one involving the F.B.I. team diligently

working its way through the case, the other showing the harsh

criminal viewpoint –– mesh together with ever-tightening switch- ups until the dramatic and bloody climax. Nothing feels forced or

out of place, and nothing seems missing. Just solid story-telling

and top-notch drama from beginning to end.



It's largely the casting which plays such a huge role in determining

the quality of this picture, in my opinion. With screen veterans

Ronny Cox, as senior agent Ben "The Grinch" Grogan, and David

Soul, as the sadistically deadly robber Michael Lee Platt, you have

both sides of a very truthful and convincing acting team

represented. Add to that Bruce Greenwood, as the rookie agent,

his ex-"Knot's Landing" compatriot Doug Sheehan, as another

hard-driven and concerned field-agent, and a plethora of other

lesser-known but equally skilled actors and you have a solid cast.

But the most notable and electrifying performance turned in is in

the surprisingly cold and delivered performance by Michael Gross,

as fellow killer William Russell Matix. Here Gross completely

sheds the compassionate, intelligent and endearing character

traits so well-portrayed with his much-loved character Steven

Keaton on the TV series "Family Ties", and gives a completely

inner-defined and chilling turn as a contradictory bible-thumping/

womanizing, murderer and bank-robbing degenerate. Shocking

and terribly engaging all in one. The film pulls few punches with

regards to violence throughout –– the final "take-down" scene is

surely one of the most graphic and bloody ever shot for

mainstream audiences, even by today's standards I'd wager ––

but it never comes across as exploitive. The story is always the

main focus of the film and for THAT reason it succeeds; it's simply

a good, engaging story that needed to be told.



I first saw this made-for-TV movie on it's original network television

airing and was extremely impressed. Now, 15 years later, I still

hold it in high regard (with only the cars and the synth-driven

soundtrack music really adding any dating to the picture at all).

Unfortunately, IN THE LINE OF DUTY: THE F.B.I. MURDERS, has

long since been out-of-print on VHS, and rarely turns up on TV. For

those lucky enough to come across it I whole-heartedly

recommend it.



7/10. A made-for-TV movie that succeeds in being more!

CRACK GLASS EULOGY is not a film that one might immediately take to liking; it's slow, dark, and purveys an ominous feeling through both the subdued imagery and sparse musical soundtrack. But it also grows on the viewer with repeated screenings and in that is something unique and worthwhile.

Shot in mostly pallid blues and greys, underexposed, with frequent fades and slow lap-dissolves the film takes on a "lurking" feeling, as if the viewer (through the vision unfolding on the screen) were drifting half-asleep through a cold, dark city devoid of sunlight. It doesn't feel good. Added to this is a stark musical composition by Rick Corrigan that is reminiscent of un-metered water-drops -- if water-drops sounded like light computer blips and flutes. Together, the whole piece becomes something that is initially off- putting and yet compelling enough to warrant further examination at the same time. It sinks into one's mind like a recurring bad memory of something lost or of the process of dispersing. Full with it's own emptiness.

I have really come to like this Brakhage film for it's subtlety and languid pacing, both on it's own and in consideration of his often more frenetically paced works. CRACK GLASS EULOGY is a duller gem that might be overlooked, but still as precious and valuable as any other that would be taken to right away. 8/10.

David Mamet's STATE & MAIN is very, very disappointing. Touting a top-notch cast and a possibility-laden plot it ultimately fails to achieve much with either. Between utter bewilderment with where this tangled storyline was going, and simply not caring where the mangled storyline was going, it became hard not to just reach for the remote and end the pain of chronic-yawning that set in during my viewing.

For a film boasting what one would assume could be a mesmerizing ensemble cast, including such previously great actors as William H. Macy, Philip Seymour Hoffman, Charles Durning, Julia Stiles, Sarah Jessica Parker and (the sometimes good) Alec Baldwin, it was incredibly disconcerting to see most of the actors either sleepwalk or ham-fist their way through their roles. The dialogue all sounded like it was written for a grade 10 high-school play and delivered with as much believability. I'd not be surprised to learn that either cue-cards or single takes were used in all scenes it became so unintentionally farcical. All that was missing was the "ba-dump-bump" drum-beat following the blatant punch-lines. Still, Philip Seymour Hoffman actually manages to be good while his comrades sink into the mire. And I can only assume that Rebecca Pidgeon's part was secured solely by sleeping with the director (her hubby) because she is simply GAWD-AWFUL throughout the film! Bottom line: the result is that I didn't care about the characters, the forced plights of the characters, the fictional film production company, the town, or the film "The Old Mill" or STATE & MAIN itself.

Mamet is a long way from the sharp, taut and biting scriptwork he delivered with GLENGARRY GLENROSS, but not far enough from the lackadaisical directing of THE SPANISH PRISONER or HEIST. It's sad to see and worse to sit through.

5/10. If only the whole town had burned down with the Old Mill...

Another one of Stan Brakhage's many mesmerizing hand-painted short films, BLACK ICE draws the viewer down into a cacophony of both beauty and horror.

Inspired by a bad fall on a patch of black ice (that ultimately resulted in Brakhage's need for eye surgery), the filmmaker gives us something of a dreamlike descent through the fear and refractions of closed-eye vision regarding such an event. With one layer of rapidly cascading shards of colour and a second layer of similar abstract pieces slowly zooming, scuttling and dissolving towards the viewer out of the dark void of utter blackness, it does not become hard to feel as if one is almost being sucked down to some terrible peril as well. The wonderful use of counter-pacing between the layers -- which must be largely credited to collaborator and optical printer Sam Bush, also -- and the more abundant use of deep black space to sharpen the bursts of rich colour are what really helps define BLACK ICE as an exquisite experimental piece, even amongst the wealth of Brakhage's other painted-light pieces. The result is both a stunning visual and metaphysical achievement of depth on screen. And beautifully urgent, as well.

8/10. A concisely contrived "accident" of colour and lost light.

What can someone say that about a 9 second film that doesn't

sound pretentious, and ultimately take longer to read that viewing

the film itself? Nothing, but I'll spill it anyway...



EYE MYTH (1967) is worth seeing, several times if possible.

Utilizing a piece of pre-photographed celluloid Brakhage then

proceeded to paint over and etch into the images (only a seated

man is briefly discernable) to achieve a roiling miasma of visceral

colours and fractured shades. It's short and sweet and

surprisingly effective. More important probably was the fact that it

was, for Brakhage, a stepping-stone towards achieving a

"mastery" over purely visual mythos with his films, a "confidence- booster" that would lead to the incredible hand-painted

masterpieces of the following decades. {I'd highly recommend

purchasing the "by Brakhage: an anthology" DVD for a chance to

see this film manually on a slower speed, and thereby catch the

richness of the images and colour-washed movements all the

clearer.}



7/10. You'll be surprised what tricks the eyes play on the mind with

this one.

The story of Stan Brakhage's CHINESE SERIES is both a somewhat sad and yet an incredibly beautiful one. After having retired from teaching and moving to Vancouver, Canada, Brakhage began work on a "dream-project" of sorts, a series of film's to be made completely by scratching into the film emulsion, as he had successfully done so many times previous with eloquent and visually captivating results; this was to be the CHINESE SERIES. But the filmmaker was taken once again by his battle with debilitatingly-painful terminal cancer and, as such, was unable to complete the film by the time of his death. As a final wish he asked his wife to release whatever he had as that fore-titled film.

Whether Stan chose the following method in pre-illness, or he adapted to continue making the film given that he was side-lined as to his normal techniques, the remarkable thing is that he created the entire film by wetting the emulsion of black 35mm film with his own saliva, and scratching out "images" with his fingernails! Pure dedication. And with remarkable results. CHINESE SERIES recalls Len Lye's final film, PARTICLES IN SPACE, in both it's starkness and yet wonderful interplay of light and dark (white light through black surround) and the pacing and movement of filmmakers' who knew the pulse of the medium like their own heartbeats. Whereas previous scratched-on-film work by Brakhage was beautifully crafted and reworked through optical printing to achieve arresting beauty, with this film we are given a "bare-bones" approach; just abstract jabs, jolts, sparks and tears of white following each other out of the darkness of blackened celluloid. Free and easily delivered, given over as naturally as the maker intended. Probably the most remarkable aspect for me upon viewing CHINESE SERIES is that this is not a digressive work, as one might assume given the circumstances of it's creation. It is subtler but really just as fully realized as many of Brakhage's other similar pieces early on. I would not suggest that Stan Brakhage was desperate in the sense of agony or striving for legacy with this film, but desperate to put all that he was as a human being and a filmmaker literally "into" the medium. That goes beyond passion. 7/10. Visceral and fulfilling; a self-made tribute done right.

Whether a given viewer likes or dislikes James Whitney's film LAPIS, it would be unimaginable that anyone can argue against the incredible achievement this experimentally animated piece presents.

After having worked with his brother John on several notable and award-winning abstractionist-film pieces, the two split, and James set out to continue with film while his brother began to steer towards early computer animation. With a deep interest in spiritual studies and concerns, as well as Quantum Physics, Whitney proceeded to incorporate both in LAPIS, utilizing one of the first converted analogue computers (donated by his brother) in conjunction with images of thousands of precise points of light that would form the outlines of a mandala, a Tibetan Buddhist spiritual meditation aid. At three years in the making the result is an incredibly intricate and complex film where the constantly spiraling and pulsating circular forms of the mandala rotate around a central core accompanied by a beautiful piece of classical East Indian music. LAPIS becomes not only visually encompassing to take in, but in the best viewing situations (and mind-frame) a very emotionally serene experience. This is one of those films that has you asking yourself, "How on Earth did he do that?!", or at the very least just muttering, "Wow..." The only problem I can find with the picture over-all is that it may be so calming as to put a viewer to sleep with it's hypnotic pacing.

8/10. A masterpiece of the eye and the mind, or the mind's eye.

I'm not really sure why I've repeatedly given Kenneth Anger's films a chance, considering how I've loathed the experience of viewing every single one of them, but seeing INVOCATION OF MY DEMON BROTHER tonight was officially my last attempt.

Basically, with this film Anger shot a bunch of disjointed scenes that he could loosely tie together with some high-school-level occult imagery, and tacked on a long, droning soundtrack which I assume was meant to mesmerize us into a submission of the "possessed". Not even a good try. Wigged-out hippies smoking pot from a ceramic skull, some twitchy-eyed albino kid, a couple nude guys on a couch, tacky use of a kaleidoscopic filter, bad superimposed tattoos, a couple shots of The Rolling Stones in concert, and some loser performing dollar-store occult rituals all flip back and forth on the screen without much use of engaging pacing or interplay. Even Satanic butt-kisser Anton Le Vey turns up dressed like a reject from an lost episode of Batman, circa 1966.

So typical, non-engaging, amateurish and lacking real passion or discipline it's maddening. Then again, maybe I needed to be right stoned out of my mind to get the "deep and hidden meanings, man". Yeah, right.

How Anger ever posited himself amongst the leading American avant-garde filmmakers of his generation, and still retains a level of reverence when he created "esoteric" palp like INVOCATION is truly frustrating and stupefying to say the least. It is rare that I can say I genuinely hated a film, or the experience of having viewed it, but in this case I really feel I need to warn others to avoid this film at all costs.

1/10. A shameful and putrid waste of time and celluloid.

SPIRITUAL CONSTRUCTIONS is a pure delight to watch. Whimsical and yet somewhat deranged silhouettes of anamorphic men twist and transform themselves in a world where nothing moves or acts as one should, would or could expect.

One of Oskar Fischinger's earliest films, Seelische Konstruktionen (as it is known in German), clearly points the way to the masterpieces of musically-blended experimental animation he would conceive in the decades to come. The sense of masterful timing and rhythm, the easy and natural -- though patently Fischinger-esque -- character traits of the subjects, and the smooth precision of both line and movement are all present already. Unique is the black-silhouetted, semi-cartoon characters (not nearly as rigidly self-contained as Lotte Reiniger's cut-out forms) which seem to adhere to no physical limitations whatsoever. Morphing into shapes, structures, objects, patterns, and even one another, as though they were made of pure mercury and set to music. As for the "story", it's rather non-sensical, and certainly silly, but also has a slightly dark and devious tinge to it as well; men becoming monsters, uncontrollable shape-shifting and the constant, almost desperate movement. And all is beautifully married to a piece of frolicking classical music, so trademark Fischinger as well. Much less abstract than most of his later work, but so rewarding to watch for it's differences and playful unfolding.

9/10. Made me smile, both on the inside and out!

I had heard a lot of good, sometimes even great things about

GHOST WORLD before I finally got the chance to see it tonight. As

it turns out, I was very disappointed in the end.



It's not that the acting or filmmaking are bad, in fact the beautiful

Thora Birch, as the strangely kitsch and geek-addicted Enid, and

Steve Buscemi, as the kitsch-collecting geek Seymour, were very

good. But the film was uncomfortably vacant of any kind of energy

beyond the mundane existence of a bunch of semi-quirky

characters with no inner-energy or real engagement (for the

viewer). It was as if the director, Terry Zwigoff, raided the props,

costuming, and acting departments of some old John Waters

picture, and dropped them into a vapid little plot devoid of all the

real quirkiness and off-colour charm that Waters always manages

to squeeze out of his pictures. And given Zwigoff's CRUMB was an

exercise in "uber-quirky", it really doesn't seem to add up.



Unfortunately, me and my sister found ourselves yawning

throughout and not really caring about any of the characters or

where they were heading in this languid little journey. The few

laughs in the movie came from Dave Sheridan as the mullet- sporting, nunchuk-wielding Doug, and sadly he has very little

screen time. The only other real selling point was the truly diverse

and eclectic soundtrack which would be worth picking up rather

than the actual DVD, in my opinion (I'll actually raise my rating one

point for the music alone).



6/10. Disappointing, and sadly, disappointing.

Ok, THE ORDER isn't as bad as my one line summary might lead

one to believe, but it does come through as less succinct and

engaging as I'd hoped for.



Heath Ledger is fairly good as Alex Bernier, one of the last priests

of a sub-order of the Catholic Church known as the Carolingians.

He and his priest buddy Thomas (Mark Addy) are the two

remaining members and are drawn together once again to

investigate the suspicious death of their old, ex-communicated

mentor, Dominic, in the dark streets and basements of Rome. Oh,

they also fight ghost children, go against the dark forces of The

Black Pope, take on the super-natural Sin-Eater, and slip in a little

nookie on the side when time permits as well.



Now the acting is fine for the most part. The exceptions being;

Shannyn Sossamon, as Alex's love interest Mara, didn't really fit

the role and seemed to be walking through the part, and Benno

Furmann as William Eden, who really seemed to be all over the

place with regards to his accent and just way too suave (acting, not

character) for my liking. Everyone else was fine, with Peter Weller

turning in a fine performance (that I can't elaborate on without

spoiling the plot).



The cinematography and settings were really nice and probably

the most compelling aspect of the film overall; just watching dust

float around was beautiful. The CGI effects were very realistic and

well used. The story was somewhat lacking though, never really

drawing this viewer into full engagement, and the love-interest

angle seemed completely forced both with regards to plot

advancement and chemistry between the two leads.



I never found myself disgusted or guffawing during the film though,

and was able to watch it comfortably through to the end. All it

needed was a little tightening up between the script and direction

and maybe it would have had that extra "punch", that desperation,

that STIGMATA or THE EXORCIST can claim. THE ORDER is a

"renter" at best. 7/10.

I'm not sure what Brakhage was trying to get at, if anything, with this very short exercise but it definitely was not one of his best efforts, in my opinion.

Basically the viewer is taken through a series of shots of an elevator door as it is being approached by the camera/filmmaker. With each shot the focal length and/or focus are slightly different, and perhaps the length of the take itself. That's it. For a man that redefined the experimental film world (and arguably the medium itself) DOOR seems noticeably underachieved, almost more of a test film than an actual work of art. Chances are, Stan had something far deeper behind the vision that I just didn't catch.

4/10. Locked out from meaning and beauty.

BLACK SHEEP is a horrible. Plain and simple. Someone OK'ed

this picture to be made, someone made it and a whole lotta

people got paid to run 87 minutes (not counting all the outtakes

and fudged shots) of VALUABLE film through an expensive bunch

of cameras that all could have been used to film something truly

worthwhile -------------- like, say, dust settling on a pile of dung!



The key ingredient to comedy –– besides actually having

something funny to say or show –– is timing. Whenever you see a

bad comedy, or even a good one that could have been great, 9

times out of 10 it is the comic timing that fails. BLACK SHEEP was

invariably made in a dimension where time didn't exist. And if you

truly boiled down all of the funny lines and situations –– all of

which belong solely to Chris Farley's character –– at best you'd

have 4 solid minutes of chuckles. Sure, his hair looks funny, and

he sounds funny, and moves funny, but then attempt to glue on a

banal plot about him trying to help his older, smarter brother (Tim

Matheson) become Governor while the current Governor (Christine

Ebersole) is playing dirty-pool with her campaign opponent, and

all the shenanigans that shouldn't and wouldn't surround that

storyline, and you've got one hell of a rotting mess. Farley, as Mike

Donnelly, goes off like the Tasmanian Devil every 5 minutes (most

often for no discernable reason) and his tag-along buddy and

babysitter Steve Dodds (David Spade) could have been replaced

with a cardboard box and no one would have noticed. No one else

in that cast is worth mentioning, except Gary Busey, who plays a

crazed ex-veteran with remarkably huge, super-white teeth (which

unfortunately belong to him in real life. *shiver*). I actually caught

myself thinking, "What a horrible waste of celluloid" several times

during this. I can only assume that there were some incredible

drugs being taken by everyone on set that led them to hallucinate

that they were all comedic and cinematic geniuses. Even as bad

as TOMMY BOY was, this one makes it look like CITIZEN KANE in

comparison.



But the truth is I have no one to blame for this horrid viewing

experience but myself; I chose to sit through it in its entirety rather

than get up or switch channels to station only transmitting static.

Of course, I didn't want to disturb my cat sleeping so peacefully in

my lap (no doubt rendered comatose by the movie). So I blame

my cat. BAD CAT! BAD!!!



3/10. I am ashamed and want to be left alone now.

In keeping with a major theme in the 50+ years he made films, in STAN'S WINDOW once again Brakhage returns to the light and the self of which so much of his cinema is concerned; not selfishly,but in the spirit of the giving from his "vision" to the universal eye of the audience.

STAN'S WINDOW (2003) was created as a sort of companion- piece to MARILYN'S WINDOW (1988), a film he made for and of his wife (in lieu of an actual portrait-film). Painfully and terminally ill with cancer and house-bound, Brakhage recorded the few pleasures and otherwise minuscule offerings his sheltered world offered him at the time: light streaming across a kitchen counter- top, the partial view of the hallway from his bed, natural light from his window falling on window sills, doors and books about his room, a brief glimpse of his face staring back at the camera from his pillow, and the shifting shades of night and sleep. Yet he does so with a love and concern in the image-taking as to raise these visions above the everyday and make them needed, for both he and the viewer. STAN'S WINDOW becomes all the more poignant in it's subtle pacing and tone, somewhat more shaky camera handling, and the knowledge that it was his last truly completed work (which Brakhage himself never got to view properly). It becomes a testament to a man who loved filmmaking so much that he felt he must continue even through to his passing.

7/10. A motion picture giving & taking film.