Subject: [MV] MovieJuice! - ADVANCE - THE GREEN MILE - ShawHanks Redemption
Date: 04 Dec 1999 16:50:49 -0500 (EST)
THE GREEN MILE û ShawHanks Redemption
by Mark Ramsey
December 4, 1999
<a href="http://www.moviejuice.com/1999/greenmile.htm">Click here for the full review!</a>
http://www.moviejuice.com/1999/greenmile.htm
So Jason Priestly spins his wheels into a utility pole. "I was not drunk, I was trying to avoid a deer," said Jason, pointing to the antlers on an empty 12-pack of Moosehead. Despite Jason's repeated denials, good-humored LAPD officials flicked lighters igniting Jason's breath and creating such devastation, the Japanese media rushed from the briefing room screaming "Godzilla!"
The Green Mile is the movie that will take your mind off the coming Jodie Foster love yarn, Anna and the King, short for Anna and the King of Sure-Fire Box-Office Disappointments.
What is the "Green Mile"? It's that emerald-streaked final stretch between death row and the electric chair. Okay, it's really the Green 30-or-so-feet, but everything's bigger on the big screen.
This was the Steven King book published in several installments a few years back. No breaks in this movie, though. You could walk a Green Mile before this flick breaks a sweat. My advice: Bring a toothbrush and a blow-dryer.
The Green Mile is also a pseudonym for the box-office wake of that Cinematic Tsunami called "Tom Hanks." Hanks, who recently launched a website (www.iamnotjimmystewart.com), is a death row guard with jowls so spacious, Steven King sent a family of Maine Lobsters to vacation there during the shoot. Tom doesn't floss, he drops a line and reels 'em in!
Tom meets prisoner John Coffey - The Incredible Hulk after hormone replacement therapy and one anger management class too many. Docile John Coffey, meek as a mouse, is accused of murdering a couple kids and now must burn, baby, burn.
Speaking of a mouse, meet "Mr. Jingles!" He's a rodent who does tricks, just like Charlie Sheen, and he gets more screen time than Gary Sinise and more dialogue than Arnold Schwarzenegger.
This tale is so homespun Steven King must have crafted it with a knitting needle, like a pair of baby booties. Does admission come with a recipe for Toll House Cookies? Should I bring a pitchfork and some Osh-Kosh overalls to the screening? Any chance a blue-ribbon prize will go to that swine sitting on the aisle? Are Donny and Marie playing the fair this year?
You know the spirit of Mayberry is in the air when the audience finds tepid lines funny, like "I think this boy's cheese slid off his cracker." Ha ha.
Even the electric chair is called "Old Sparkly," which coincidentally is also the nickname for Jack Lemmon!
There's something magical about this John Coffey. John grabs Tom by the nuts and cures him of a wicked urinary infection, thus facilitating the most satisfying whiz Tom's had since he emptied Hoover Dam in A League of Their Own.
John takes in all the evil, digests it into computer animated pixels, and spits it out of his mouth where it curls around the room and dissolves back into scores of Silicon Graphics CPU's. There, all evil big-budget FX finally hides, waiting for Jan De Bont to summon the Dark Lord and cast one of his diabolical summertime spells.
The main man at the prison is James Cromwell. Have you noticed the trend? There's only one old-guy supporting actor in movies and it's always James Cromwell.
This movie is from Frank Darabont who also wrote The Shawshank Redemption. And though this movie is very good, it's no Shawshank. Then again, what is? Evidently, Frank is the designated driver for Steven King 30's Prison flicks.
John's miraculous healing power stands in stark contrast to death row and the brutal reality of the electric chair. You'll never think of capital punishment in quite the same way after seeing a shattering fry-gone-haywire: Blood and sparks and fire explode from a quaking figure bound in a revolting cacophony of torture. Yuck.
The magic in John literally infects others with life in the very place where life yields all hope to death. Man's goodness to man, man's evil to man. In high school English class they call that "irony." And it makes for a very memorable movie. Let's just hope your eyes are drier than Jason Priestly.
Steven King may be a cheeseball, but he spins one hell of a yarn.
Knitting needles and all.
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Years ago, I navigated past resolute Christian picketers to see a forgettable, "blasphemous" movie called Hail Mary. Unfortunately, one of the picketers had tossed a stink-bomb into the theater, making this the smelliest movie I'd ever seen.
Until now.
Bicentennial Man is the story of how a big star keeps his career alive by committing to blubbery and lifeless yet theoretically heartwarming fare every year right around the holidays.
Why is Robin Williams so fixated on feel-good fortune cookie cuisine? Will he be stuffing himself down chimneys on Christmas eve the way he stuffs endless gobs of shmaltz down our throats?
Setting: The future. Virtually all Blacks, Asians, and Hispanics have mysteriously disappeared, thus explaining the alarming rise in the popularity of Opera and Classical Music. Robots with the proper BMI/ASCAP clearance play "R-E-S-P-E-C-T" with one-button access. Chess has supplanted the Regis Philbin Millionnaire game as America's favorite pastime. In this version of the future, Public TV has obviously conquered the Earth.
Robin's a robot, an "NDR-114 Domestic," a household bot-Friday, and a copyright infringement waiting-to-happen on "Twiki" from the old Buck Rogers TV series. "Bee-dee-bee-dee-bee-dee-'Mr. Happy'." Bee-dee-bee-dee-bee-dee-'CarpΘ-Diem'." Picture Mrs. Doubtfire with a titanium apron and hair the texture of William Shatner's.
This robot's metallic face is even tighter than old trampoline-cheeks herself, Ms. Joan Rivers, who rents her face out as the snare drum for the Goo Goo Dolls when she's not judging fashion faux pas on E!. Many a Gold-medal Olympic skater has trained on that face.
I love the way parts of Robin the Robot are see-through. Is this the i-Mac model? Thanks to his Duracell copper-top terminals, he can power the world's biggest smoke detector so feel free to yell "fire" in the theater, kids. It's Mr. "Don't See-3PO" to you and me.
Every time Robin moves, he whirs and hums and buzzes. It's as if the dishwasher had legs.
Strangely, Robot Robin has a smaller nose and a bigger ass than his real-life version. And if his big juvenile eyes were any more doe-like he'd need a puffy tail and a playmate named "Thumper."
Among other things, Bicentennial Man is a euthanasia comedy. Now that's something different! Who doesn't want to be unplugged by the end of this movie? Lots of folks grow old and die in this flick, and I'm not feeling too well myself.
Robot Robin yearns to be human, because humanity means he would possess the depth and richness that this movie utterly lacks. Is Robin the Robot a person or just a form of property? And if he's a form of property, can you get your money back under your state's lemon laws?
Can you?
This movie is a sunken hull encrusted with coral. How did Robin find this role? Did he have to enlist the assistance of famed underwater explorer Robert Ballard? Will we be seeing "The Search for Bicentennial Man" in an upcoming National Geographic Explorer special?
Gradually, Robin the Robot undergoes operations that make him resemble a slightly less-inhuman looking "Beverly Hills" Robin with an epic tan and impossibly chestnut-tinted hair. Beverly Robin's people will gladly get back to your people.
When Robin's human-wish is finally fulfilled and he grows old, he's a dead ringer for the great and powerful Wizard of Oz, making me wish for a hot-air balloon and a quick whisk off to Kansas.
Robin's surgeon is mad scientist Oliver Platt. Ollie's a wonderful actor, but if he gets any bigger, they'll have to install a public school system and a Coca-Cola bottling plant on his ass. Didn't Macy's float Ollie past Times Square on Thanksgiving? This guy's his own state, and thanks to this movie, a sorry state it is.
The heart here, along with the intelligence, is of a strictly artificial variety. Your head will pound before your heart does.
Bicentennial Man is crusty, dusty, and musty. Metal or flesh-and-bone, Robin's rusty.
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Amazing movie which can be thought of as a separate movie instead of just a sequel. Most sequels occur because people loved the characters in the first film and they want to see the characters again.
>>
*ahem* Would the Wachowski Bros. go along this line with Matrix 2 & 3? Certainly hope not... Do they already have a story set for the 2nd and 3rd installments? Would it be an expansion of the 1st or would it be something like James Bond & Superman (& Toy Story 2) whereby there are no continuity to the storyline?
Wonger
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<a href="http://www.moviejuice.com/1999/angelasashes.htm">Click here for the full review!</a>
http://www.moviejuice.com/1999/angelasashes.htm
I'm puzzled. A forthcoming flick called Topsy-Turvy claims it's about "Gilbert & Sullivan and so much more."
Could there possibly be enough more?
If it's Irish potatoes you want, you're in the right place with Angela's Ashes. For sexy tomatoes, stand by for Winona Ryder and Angelina Jolie in Girl Interrupted.
I knew I was in trouble when I was joined for the advance screening by an audience of Titanic survivors and their parents. Is Andy Griffith doing a large-print book signing? Are the wheelchairs racing today? 'Tis no feather in the cap of commercial blockbuster-hood, ya feck.
Angela's Ashes is, of course, based on the Pulitzer Prize winning book of the same name. And, as a movie, it's a really fine...book. Hey, to get into this flick, do I show my greenbacks or my college diploma? Do MENSA members get all the good seats?
Angela's Ashes - 'tis a movie 'bout growing up poor and hungry in Ireland. Though met'inks I'd prefer a movie 'bout growing up drunk and boisterous in Ireland with an innocent yet scantily clad starlet lass like, say, Charlize O'Theron.
Aye, 'tis a ponderous journey through an Irish Catholic upbringing that goes down slow as the foamy head on a pint of Guinness. Where's Tom O'Cruise when you need him? After two hours of Angela and her wee brood, I feel as if I've a stick up me arse, ya feck.
Get set for gobs and gobs of narration - it's poetry a-plenty, but a rather weak cinematic device, if ya ask me. What's with all this narration? Is this a movie or an audio-book?
Here's just a sample:
"We're poor. Did I tell yeh we're poor? So poor we ate our entertainment center for fiber. So poor we had to pedal a bike to power the big-screen TV, much like 'dem castaways on O'Gilligan's Isle. Poorer 'den all 'dose shows 'dey put between Friends and Frasier. So poor, every entry in our Palm Pilot says 'Find Food.' Did I tell yeh we're poor?"
When St. Patrick drove out the snakes, did he have to leave the turkeys? Where are the green clovers and blue diamonds in these lucky charms?
Then again, all is not lost.
You've got a sweeping, luxurious, achingly beautiful score by tunesmith John Williams. You've got immensely appealing leads in Bond-alum Robert Carlyle and human Oscar Nomination homing beacon Emily Watson.
Emily, what's going on? You keep turning out top-notch performances yet enjoy almost total obscurity anyway. Met'inks if fame's the goal, Watson needs an M.D. and a gig with a sleuth named Holmes.
If a weak stomach, yeh have, then beware: There are five - count 'em, five - vomitorius episodes in this flick, one for each finger down Lara Flynn Boyle's throat. Now five hurls may be just another day for Courtney Cox, but for you and me, that's Spew-tasia 2000! Just do this math:
(Chunk Tally) (Movie Time)
"Me Irish Stew looks da same before and after!" :15
"Some feck slipped me a wee mickey" :20
"Me hurl recapitulates a black & tan" :45
"Eating disorder, me arse, ya hooligan!" 1:40
"Oh Jeeesus, Where's da potatoes in dese Lucky Charms?" 1:45
Like a good potato, Angela's Ashes is heavy on the starch and light on the protein.
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MOVIEJUICE ôHATE E-MAIL OF THE WEEKö
-----Original Message-----
Sent: Friday, December 10, 1999 12:38 AM
I have not seen this film and do not yet know if I am going to, so I am
as yet unqualified to comment on it's quality, but I did read your
review in hopes gaining some insight to the film that would help me
decide whether or not to see it. I found no such insight, merely a
vitriolic, bile-spewing bitch session that contained no valid criticisms
of the film in question, constructive, destructive, or otherwise. You
simply strung together a series hateful personal attacks, some not even
directed at people involved with the film. What was the purpose of that
diatribe about Joan Rivers? I deduced from your writing, for example,
that you did not care for Oliver Platt's performance, although you
offered up no actual analysis of it. You simply accosted your readers
with a series of snide, malicious remarks that were both unjustified and
unprovoked. You didn't review this film, you used it for target
practice, and in the process you have done your readers a disservice. A
reviewer has an ethical obligation to view a film with an open mind,
then present his readers with an insightful, balanced critique of the
actual contents of the film. You, instead, went into this film
pre-disposed to hate it, then used your column not to offer up a review,
but merely to vent your spleen. Shame on you!
MY REPLY:
Sir,
For goodness sake, this ainÆt the New Yorker! I donÆt do cartoons!
Why are you letting a troupe of arrogant, self-indulgent, egotistical movie director wannabes called ôcriticsö influence your cinematic decisions? Take the power back, my man. Use word-of-mouth like the rest of us do, and the word out of my mouth on Bicentennial Man is ôpatheticö! Be a man and decide for yourself!!
You want analysis? This ainÆt the Isreali Peace Talks, itÆs a movie! In its ideal state, itÆs designed to entertain, enrich, and û occasionally û inspire. Unfortunately, Robin Williams too often confuses ôinspiredö with ôinsipid.ö
You accuse me of hateful personal attacks? You mean like the ones Chris Rock peppers into every HBO show and the MTV Music Awards to great acclaim? The ones filling late night monologues to the brim every weeknight? You mean ones like that? Fact is, I go out of my way not to cross the line between cleverly satirical and mean unfunny. Mean isnÆt funny, but satire is about cleverly exposing truth.
If you truly believe my remarks about much of HollywoodÆs output are unprovoked, I would urge you to rent the video of Wild Wild West and decide for yourself.
I was not predisposed to hate this or any other film. At its best, film is a magical medium that can uniquely captivate and move us. Bicentennial Man moved me û to the exit.
Thanks for your note, though. You should probably stick with the New Yorker. YouÆre trying to get your news from David Letterman.
MRR
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DONÆT FORGET TO VISIT MOVIEJUICE.COM!
Hey, kids, don't forget to visit the MovieJuice! Site at http://www.moviejuice.com. The pictures are half the fun (and sometimes more than half the laughs)!
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TO UNSUBSCRIBE FROM THIS LIST:
DO NOT REPLY TO THIS EMAIL! Just go to http://www.moviejuice.com and follow the directions at the bottom of the left hand side. It's very easy. NOTE: YOUR NAME CANNOT BE REMOVED FROM THE LIST UNLESS YOU UNSUBSCRIBE USING THE EMAIL ADDRESS YOU REGISTERED WITH). And don't write me lots of mean-spirited crap. I won't read it.
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