Reviews

To some extent, this is a fairly ordinary treatment of a story of injustice, with the usual montages and dramatic courtroom and prison scenes of the subgenre, Canadian style. It is raised above the average by some excellent performances (notably, Ian Tracey as Milgaard and Gabrielle Rose as his mother) and the power of the story itself. Tracey has to carry much of the emotional weight by himself. Those who would call this story "over-romantic" and "over-dramatized" should take note that Tracey evokes considerable sympathy for Milgaard while making no attempt to soften the edges of his personality, either his early less-than-upstanding behavior or his later serious dysfunction in prison.

Tracey fully deserved his Gemini and Leo grand slam. He best conveys Milgaard's decline through abuse and sheer boredom over 23 years via an increasingly dysfunctional interaction with a prison yard wall that culminates in ranting to himself while his mother tries to hug him. Rose's performance as Milgaard's staunchly supportive mother is very strong, but wouldn't work without Tracey's. Tracey manages to show how judging Milgaard's guilt based mainly on whether or not he was a nice kid back in '69 is as appalling now as it was then. That it was, in fact, criminal in this case.

Everyone involved in perpetuating this farce of injustice, from the court system that failed Milgaard and continues to duck investigation right down to the bullies who picked on his sister in school, should be thoroughly ashamed of themselves. One might, if one were very generous, accept the original conviction as too much reliance on coincidence (though the coerced and otherwise tainted testimony makes this a hard sell). But the best explanation that the authorities in Saskatchewan can come up with for dragging their feet on reexamining Milgaard's case, on releasing him, on clearing his name over a decade after DNA testing became available, on convicting Larry Fisher (the actual rapist killer of Gail Miller) and on holding a public inquiry into the whole mess, is that Milgaard would have got out much sooner if he had just admitted his nonexistent guilt. I'm sure that the women of Saskatchewan feel so much better knowing that a rapist and murderer can get out of prison early if he just says he's sorry, but an innocent man can stay locked up for 23 years for insisting he's innocent. It seems quite clear that had Milgaard died in prison, his name never would have been cleared, that the authorities would have even preferred such a result.

I'm also sure that the film dramatized and condensed events and all the rest, but the facts that are out there are already bad enough. The two detectives, for example, who interrogated Milgaard and failed to get the real killer, should have done some hard time, themselves. The film does a very good job of showing how one man's conviction not only wrecked his life, but also wrecked the lives of his family, the friends forced to testify against him, Gail Miller's life (which was cut short) and the lives of the women whom Larry Fisher continued to attack. Maybe Fisher's victims and their families should sue the justice system. They certainly have cause.

Anyone who thinks that CSI et al's "guilty until proved innocent" approach is an advancement in law enforcement should be force-fed this film. There is a reason why English law (on which both Canadian and American law are based) states "innocent until proved guilty" and "better that a hundred guilty men go free than that an innocent man should be punished". This film shows, graphically, why.

Following his domineering father's death, uptight yuppie Vaughn (Martin Cummins) buys the family cabin from his mother. One weekend, he invites his three childhood friends up to the cabin for his best friend, Bryan's (David Hewlett), birthday. The four boys have grown into troubled men. Vaughn is angry and abusive to his friends after being dumped by his girlfriend, Renee (a less than compelling Brandy Ledford). Copying his father, he tries to play alpha dog of his little pack. Birthday boy Bryan (David Hewlett) is a whiny alcoholic who cheats on both his wife and Vaughn. Jon (Greg Spottiswood), a talented (and gay) photographer, is desperate to win a rent-paying contract from Vaughn. Self-involved fitness instructor Steve (astonishingly buff James Thomas), is so deep in the closet that he's determined to wed his clingy girlfriend simply because his friends think she's hot. His subsequent fling with Jon, needless to say, complicates his life considerably.

Into this volatile toxic waste spill drives Trevor (Ian Tracey), Vaughn's colorful gambler brother, whom Steve has furtively invited up for the weekend. Trevor's attempts to rebuild burned bridges are complicated by Vaughn's self-righteous rage and denial about their abusive father and Trevor's suicidal desperation over a thirty-thousand-dollar gambling debt. None of this stops Trevor from effortlessly taking away the lead dog position from his baby brother and playing matchmaker/confidant to Jon and Steve, even as he becomes the lightning rod for the four younger men's anger and disappointment over their failed lives. Unbeknownst to the others, the ice-covered lake in front of the cabin where their father drowned himself seems to be calling Trevor home. Trevor's eventual breakdown under the pressure of being the designated scapegoat forces each of the others to face up to their own problems in a dramatic climax.

The characters (with one crucial exception) don't get enough time to establish their depth before the final scene, though the actors were clearly game for what looked like a very rough shoot (particularly for Tracey and Cummins). Cummins shows Vaughn's pain and confusion well with minimal dialogue when Vaughn finally confronts his demons in the shape of his father's antler-decked throne. Unfortunately, the script forces him to either pout or yell for most of the movie, aside from one embarrassing and self-flagellating scene with his ex and the strong conclusion. Similarly, Thomas gets no chance to establish Steve's reasons for the homophobia and self-hatred that make him reject potential soulmate Jon until the last scene. Nor do we ever find out why he is so protective of Trevor, despite Trevor's sardonic insistence on taking Jon's side. And Hewlett gives Bryan no depth whatsoever. But then, I've never got the attraction of Hewlett. His fans may feel differently. There's certainly a lot of him in this, but I felt Bryan was the only character who didn't grow at all.

Spottiswood fares better. In the wake of Steve's rejection, Jon struggles to get the others to accept his sexual orientation (not to mention his unconventional occupation) and vents to the sympathetic Trevor. Spottiswood does a good job of showing Jon as sensitive, but not weak. He more than holds his own in the hockey game that Trevor organizes and confronts Vaughn, Steve and Bryan at one point about their latent homophobia. He's outnumbered, but he's no wuss.

Finally, Tracey shines as Trevor. His complex, subversive performance powers the story to its dark conclusion, raising uncomfortable questions about how we blame child abuse victims for their scars while letting their abusers off the hook, especially if both are men. Tracey establishes Trevor as a solitary, troubled soul, burdened by his family-designated role as the Bad Seed. Trevor has fielded free-floating blame from his abusive environment all of his life. It reaches lethal levels at the end when he finally confronts his brother about their failed relationship, a loaded gun to his own head. He chain-smokes his way through the organizing of a string of good deeds for the others--ice-fishing on the lake, creating a hockey rink for the men to play on, engineering a poker game, starting up the hot tub that his brother begrudges his buddies and retrieving and setting up a projector for a bunch of home movies from the group's childhood. Yet, each creative act demands a blood sacrifice--while Jon and Steve have their passionate fling in the other room, Trevor matter-of-factly burns himself with a cigarette. Later, while fishing, he cuts himself with a fishhook. This latter act seems, by some disturbed logic, to spark his idea for the hockey rink. The very things he uses for comfort become instruments of punishment to appease and quiet the voice in his head that brands him a failure.

The film's clear plot line wraps up in a moving, yet mainly unresolved, ending. There are some strong metaphors and themes--the ice and snow, obviously, and the cold and deadly lake outside. The deer that Vaughn shoots appears to represent both his brother and himself. His guilty attempt to hide his deed is the first true crack in his angry facade. The use of nudity also shows the various ways the characters hide (and are forced to reveal) their secrets. The music does a nice job of setting the mood, particularly at the end. Also, both Jon and Trevor are presented as creative, intelligent, educated men who, ironically, fare a lot better in the wild than they do in civilization. The contrast between brutish, Yuppified civilization and creative, zen-like wilderness is subtle but pervasive. Nor is the latter approach presented as unambiguously healthy in a world that rewards working in a box over living a free life. The film tries to show the effects of the characters' actions on each other, not preach. No, it's not a perfect movie, but ultimately, it's a satisfying one, leaving plenty to think about after the final credits.

This little noir thriller from Vancouver plays out a destructive friendship between a depressed housewife and her childhood friend to an ugly conclusion. Laurel (Helene Joy) and her husband Michael (Ian Tracey) live in Desolation Sound on the coast of British Columbia with their daughter, Margaret (Emily Hirst). The movie doesn't waste time establishing them as a very unhappy family. The first scene shows Laurel and Michael rescuing Margaret from sleepwalking on the roof. The girl also steals things. Then, there's the girl's playmate, a really weird French-Canadian ex-con named Benny (Lothaire Bluteau, who is very good in a perfunctory supporting role). Benny lives in a trailer behind the house and makes creepy puppets with real hair. Yup, everybody has issues in this one. Soon after, Michael, a wildlife photographer, gets an assignment in the Aleutians which could solve the family's financial problems for quite some time. He takes it, despite Laurel clearly being unhappy about his always being on the road and the kid being miserable about his leaving again.

Before he goes, Laurel's best friend, Elizabeth (Jennifer Beals), shows up unexpectedly. Her father has just died and she's fishing for sympathy. She is also an emotional pyromaniac. The film never comes out and says what her problems are, but words like "sociopath" and "borderline personality disorder" seem to float around her like the haze from the cigarettes that she smokes. Nor does she bring out the best in Laurel, who is already running around playing a distorted version of Supermom with a fixed, skeletal grin on her face. Elizabeth makes snarky comments to all and sundry, which Laurel cheerily waves off. Meanwhile, it's clear to the viewer (though not yet to Laurel) that Elizabeth has either seduced Michael already or is working on it really hard.

Michael leaves. Laurel and Elizabeth go out to a bar where Elizabeth gets drunk and confesses to being an alcoholic (as if this weren't already obvious). She also confesses to having slept with Michael. Laurel doesn't take this well, getting up and smacking Elizabeth twice in the face before storming out with Margaret. Later that night, Elizabeth comes home, ingratiates herself back inside the house and then goes up onto the roof...and it all goes pear-shaped after that. Especially once Michael gets back early from his assignment.

The script and direction are cold and clinical, which suits the two main characters and their problems. For a loving mom and smoldering slut, Laurel and Elizabeth are icy to the core. The beautiful, dark BC coastal scenery and some of the background music (particular RedSuedeRed's "Unlike You" during Laurel's scenes of artistic excess) contribute to a general feeling that the characters are drowning in cold water. The acting is good overall, especially Tracey as the husband and Hirst as the little girl. The scenes between father and daughter give the film its only real warmth.

Canadian films often take tired situations and turn them upside down. People don't do what you think they will and things don't turn out the way you expect. This one is a good example and is well worth a look.

I liked the first three episodes, even though I thought that some of the criticisms of the book on the Amazon.uk site were valid--that Mercurio is overly bitter about his experiences, that the book works best for non-medics who don't have a clue what life in a hospital is really like and that Mercurio's descriptions of how and why senior doctors make the decisions that they do are less than realistic because he never went further than being a junior doctor. And then there's the sex, which seemed especially unlikely considering how much energy you *don't* have in that kind of job. I suspect that reflected more something that Mercurio wished he had done back in his own career than what he actually did. I also felt that, while Mercurio was trying to show a different view of doctors, he in fact reinforced the idea that doctors are somehow separate beings making awful, terrible decisions so that everyone else doesn't have to--including, apparently, nurses, medical technicians, paramedics or any other medical professionals. In reality, the latter groups have far more actual contact with patients than doctors ever do. The show reminded me of a medical version of F. Scott Fitzgerald's famous exchange with Ernest Hemingway about rich people: "Doctors aren't like us, you know." "Yes, they have more money."

But what really made the show jump the shark for me was when they sectioned the female anaesthesiologist on a psych ward for blowing the whistle on a surgeon. I suppose it was inevitable that a strain of misogyny would show up in this series, considering that it's written by a man about a Maternity ward. Until very recently, male obstetricians and gynaecologists have had such an appalling record for woman- hating that women usually prefer another woman for a GYN, even if she treats them as badly as the female junior doctor does in "Bodies". However, the sectioning was a bit much. You can't just do that, not even for the usual 30 days. If you could, the NHS would not be wrestling with the bad publicity of having seen several dangerously mentally ill people engage in random murders over the past few years--at least one of them after walking off a closed ward with no resistance from medical staff. Staff are not even allowed to use mechanical restraints on out-of-control psych patients in the UK. So, the author's assumption that you could just lock up a respected MD for reporting a colleague is, at best, obsolete and at worst, laughable.

I couldn't figure out at first how a film that got so trashed by some critics could win so many awards. Now that I've seen it, it's fairly obvious--this flick has been mis- marketed like you would not believe. First of all, this ain't no comedy, not even a black comedy; it's a family drama. Sure, it has some laugh-out-loud moments, but the general storyline is dead serious--literally. By the time I got to Ian Tracey's monologue toward the end, I wasn't laughing at all, and the film was still good. Second, Sam West as Rupert may be top-billed and the story may be called "Rupert's Land", but the protagonist is actually his brother, Dale (Tracey's character). The movie begins with him and ends with him. It shows his life and his attempts to change it, not Rupert's. Most importantly, he's the only character who really changes and it's his half-baked idea of dragging his brother off on a road trip to their unlamented father's funeral that kicks the plot into motion. Dale doesn't have a clue what he's looking for. He just knows it doesn't involve turning into his father.

I could wish that Sam West had played Rupert with a bit more depth. One critic claimed that he was the only normal character in the movie. Hardly. Rupert is supposed to be the bastard son of a Canadian fisherman and a working-class Englishwoman, but West plays him as a stereotypical upper-class twit. If Rupert really were a self-made man, it would show sometimes; the mask would slip. It never does. This is disappointing. Toward the end, I was as sick of his whinging as the quietly competent Dale was and I wanted to slap him just as hard.

Compared to West's assay at "Carry On Up Canada", Tracey's ultra-low-key style works much better. He doesn't play Dale; he inhabits his life. Some very funny moments involving Dale just can't be described. It's not what he says; it's the way he says it, and the evil little smile he gets. Gabrielle Miller does an equally fine turn in a lesser role as Dale's pregnant girlfriend, Shelley. Like Dale, Shelley starts out looking like a familiar, and obnoxious, stereotype, but quickly develops into someone sympathetic and real. George Wendt as Bloat, the father's best bud, comes across as a caricature until a creepy part near the end where he changes from affable to abusive then back to affable again in just a few seconds without even seeming to notice. You immediately get a sense of what Dale has been fighting against his whole life, and why he would think Rupert was the lucky brother. Rupert is the one that got away.

Man, is this tough to get. It had a limited video release when it first came out but it was sheer coincidence I stumbled across a copy. I'm glad I did. No, it's not perfect. So, what? It's an independent film. They're experimental by definition, which always makes them a bit rough. This one is still fine, though. Tracey, in particular, thoroughly deserved his Leo and his performance makes the film worth watching just for that alone.

As Da Vinci's Inquest barnstorms through its seventh season, it just keeps getting better and more complex. It was already high quality in season one. Now, it's very likely the best TV show out there right now. The writing, acting and characterisation are brilliant, growing increasingly naturalistic over the years. Usually, you can see in a show where the actors are propping up bad writing, and vice versa. Here, the two are practically seamless. And the direction has only got better over the years, as fancy, distracting camera angles and cues have made way for plainer, darker, noirish cinematography. Even the letterbox format post-season three is remarkably effective.

DVI isn't as overtly violent or graphic as U.S. police procedurals. It doesn't do on screen reconstructions like CSI. Since season one, there's been little or no on screen sex. Yet, the world DVI portrays is harsher than any U.S. TV show (or possibly even a Brit TV show) would allow, while remaining one of the most compassionate entries in the genre. If there's a dead body in the story, you're going to see a dead body. If a hooker or a rent boy is working the streets, you'll see that, too. But you won't see it hyped, glamorized or otherwise jazzed up for Joe Q. Public. What you see is what you get.

Story lines can go on for years, meandering on and offscreen. Characters drink a whole lot of coffee in this show. Cases may or may not get solved, at about the same rate as in real life. Which is to say, not all that often. This could get frustrating, if DVI were not such a character-oriented show. One of the most compelling story lines on at the moment, for example, shows one homicide detective's long, dark night of the soul as he battles PTSD and psychotic depression. Another shows, with zero sentimentality, a young junkie hooker with more brass than brains playing two cops against each other as one tries to take the other one down for murder and corruption. Still another began last season with the title character, Dominic Da Vinci, running for police chief. This season, it's morphing into a 21st century version of a '70s dystopic conspiracy thriller, as Da Vinci finds himself and his friends increasingly harried by shadowy enemies.

You find yourself rooting for the good guys even though they're usually more screwed up than the bad guys. Da Vinci, himself, is a not-so-recovering alcoholic Vancouver city coroner with a big mouth. Nick Campbell inhabits the role so well that he effortlessly charms the audience into Da Vinci's manic daily routine. It's not hard to see why Da Vinci can be such a git and a player at times, yet have so many friends. He has some truly hilarious interactions with his secretary, Helen (the wonderful Sarah Strange), and colleagues/opponents like Zack, the irascible traffic cop, and Carmine, the uniformed officer who repeats everything everybody else says. In recent interviews, Campbell has hinted that Da Vinci may be heading for the mayor's office. That should be a fun ride.

I'm not normally into political thrillers, but I'll buy that ticket. Second-billed Ian Tracey plays Da Vinci's main police ally, Mick Leary. Leary, a smart, quiet, ultra-competent homicide detective with a temper like Mt. St. Helens and a head full of hallucinogenic Catholic guilt, redefines the term "loose cannon". Ever since a police-shooting-gone-bad nearly three seasons ago, Leary hears voices and sees dead people on the streets of Vancouver. Yet this guy still carries a badge and a gun. It's anybody's guess what he'll do next or what his superiors will do once they twig to his problems. His solution was to give away his possessions and go live on the beach in his truck. Tracey plays Leary deadpan funny, but with a subtle wrongness these days that could explode into violence at the worst possible moment. If he doesn't get a Gemini for this storyline, it'll be a sin.

Veteran Donnely Rhodes plays Leary's ex-partner, Leo Shannon, a cop who's "seen it all and done most of it". Shannon is being pushed into early retirement while trying to care for his Alzheimer's-suffering wife. He's also as big a player as Da Vinci, down in the blue trenches. Throwing in his vote for Da Vinci last season might have been a mistake he'll live to regret.

The superlative Venus Terzo plays Angela Kosmo, Leary's obsessive, maverick current partner, who once spent three years solving, mostly by herself, a fictional parallel to the real-life mystery of Vancouver's missing prostitutes. A cool-headed lioness who hunts where angels fear to tread, Kosmo's been doggedly tracking Brian Curtis (Colin Cunningham), a dirty Vice cop with a nasty habit of offing his informants, for the past two years. Caught between them is amoral teenage hooker, Sue, played with no wrong notes at all by Emily Perkins from Ginger Snaps. Perkins and Cunningham are both great in their roles, but they do the shallowness of their characters almost too well. It's a relief to get back to the depths of the good guys, screwed up as they are.

And the good guys are easy enough to spot. They have compassion, loyalty and courage. That's probably the best thing about this show. The good guys are as unpredictable as the bad guys, and probably more flawed. But even when it all gets ugly, they keep throwing themselves into the fray. They never stop trying to do the right thing, even when they don't have a clue what that is.

By God, it's a crusade. Maybe that's why DVI is such a great story.

It's a hero's journey for the 21st century. In this dirty world, that's no bad thing.

Between depressing police procedurals like "A Mind to Kill" and cultic crap like this, it's a wonder anyone has any respect for the Welsh, let alone any interest in visiting or living in Wales. Myself, based on just the above, I'd leave skidmarks in the opposite direction from Cardiff.

Craig Fairbrass is no more convincing here as the journalist protag on the trail of a big story than he was as a love rat on Eastenders. Not that that matters much since a dyslexic Howler monkey could come up with a better script. We are asked to swallow, for example [hack, cough, spit], the idea that some Celtic cult that's a mix of pagan ritual, pseudo-freemasonry and virulent Welsh nationalism could get away with practicing human sacrifice in a large industrial town in Wales. Yeah, I'm sure Downing Street would *never* twig to that little regional conspiracy. Also, I never thought I'd say this, since I normally find horror movie sex scenes at least highly amusing, but there is a truly tedious amount of bonking. This very unfortunately has everything to do with the "shock climax" (if you'll pardon the pun). I could live with the downer ending if it had a point, but it doesn't. It's just nihilism for the sake of it--rather like the soundtrack, really. Not to mention an unhealthy dose of anti-Welsh stereotypes that makes it look like they could really use some chlorine in the gene pool down there in Wales.

For a good downer movie about Celtic cults, do yourself an enormous favour and rent The Wicker Man instead. That one at least makes you think about who the good guys and bad guys are- -and the ending (which this one tried dismally to rip off) is much, much better.

I remember seeing this about twenty years ago in the basement of a public library, if you can believe it. It was part of some local film festival. I guess it must have just come out. I also remember watching some flick from the same festival that consisted of a woman's self-made porn flick hacked up, dipped in acid, burned, etc. And then she strung together all of the surviving strips and that was her film. Don't recall the name of that one; it was pretty forgettable aside from the porn and filmstrip-hacking aspect. This movie is not forgettable, thought it is really, really strange. Set in the near future, it centers around a young, black, lesbian blue collar activist who goes off to Libya, meets with some socialist sisters, comes back with her political conscience raised even higher, gets arrested on some spurious minor charge and dies mysteriously in jail. Her death sparks a women's revolution that turns the city (don't recall if they named it) upside down. There's a squad of whistle-blowing women on bicycles who hunt down rapists and scare them off their victims. There's a funky black woman DJ who narrates the action like a sports announcer as things heat up. This film is really, really bizarre. And yet, it's a whole lot of fun. This is what science fiction really should be about--not laser pistols, and ridiculously expensive special effects, but stories that pick you up, turn you upside down and give you are good, hard shake.