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From: [e-mail]
Subject: [MV] FRIDA / ***1/2 (R)
Date: 01 Nov 2002 17:42:43 GMT

FRIDA / ***1/2 (R)

November 1, 2002

Frida Kahlo: Salma Hayek
Diego Rivera: Alfred Molina
Leon Trotsky: Geoffrey Rush
Tina Modotti: Ashley Judd
David Alfaro Siqueiros: Antonio     Banderas
Miramax Films presents a film directed by Julie Taymor. Written by Diane
Lake, Gregory Nava, Clancy Sigal and Anna Thomas. Based on the book Frida: A
Biography of Frida Kahlo by Hayden Herrera. Running time: 120 minutes. Rated
R (for sexuality/nudity and language).

MOVIES BY ROGER EBERT

Early in their marriage, Frida Kahlo tells Diego Rivera she expects him to
be "not faithful, but loyal." She holds herself to the same standard. Sexual
faithfulness is a bourgeois ideal that they reject as Marxist bohemians who
disdain the conventional. But passionate jealousy is not unknown to them,
and both have a double standard, permitting themselves freedoms they would
deny the other. During the course of "Frida," Kahlo has affairs with Leon
Trotsky and Josephine Baker (not a shabby dance card), and yet rages at
Diego for his infidelities.

Julie Taymor's biopic tells the story of an extraordinary life. Frida Kahlo
(Salma Hayek), born of a German Jewish father and a Mexican mother, grew up
in Mexico City at a time when it was a hotbed of exile and intrigue. As a
student, she goes to see the great muralist Diego Rivera at work, boldly
calls him "fat" and knows that he is the man for her.

Then she is almost mortally injured in a trolley crash that shatters her
back and pierces her body with a steel rod. She was never to be free of pain
again in her life and for long periods had to wear a body cast. Taymor shows
a bluebird flying from Frida's hand at the moment of the crash, and later
gold leaf falls on the cast: She uses the materials of magic realism to
suggest how Frida was able to overcome pain with art and imagination.

Rivera was already a legend when she met him. Played by Alfred Molina in a
great bearlike performance of male entitlement, he was equally gifted at
art, carnal excess and self-promotion. The first time Frida sleeps with him,
they are discovered by his wife, Lupe (Valeria Golino), who is enraged, of
course, but such is Diego's power over women that after Frida and Diego are
wed, Lupe brings them breakfast in bed ("This is his favorite. If you are
here to stay, you'd better learn how to make it.")

Frida's paintings often show herself, alone or with Diego, and reflect her
pain and her ecstasy. They are on a smaller scale than his famous murals,
and her art is overshadowed by his. His fame leads to an infamous incident,
when he is hired by Nelson Rockefeller (Edward Norton) to create a mural for
Rockefeller Center, and boldly includes Lenin among the figures he paints.
Rockefeller commands the mural to be hammered down from the wall, thus
making himself the goat in this episode forevermore.

The director, Julie Taymor, became famous for her production of "The Lion
King" on Broadway, with its extraordinary merging of actors and the animals
they portrayed. Her film "Titus" (1999) was a brilliant re-imaging of the
Shakespeare tragedy, showing a gift for great daring visual inventions.
Here, too, she breaks out of realism to suggest the fanciful colors of
Frida's imagination. But real life itself is bizarre in this marriage, where
the partners build houses side by side and connect them by a bridge between
the top floors.

Artists talk about the "zone," that mental state when the mind, the eye, the
hand and the imagination are all in the same place and they are able to lose
track of time and linear thought. Frida Kahlo seems to have painted in order
to seek the zone and escape pain: When she was at work, she didn't so much
put the pain onto the canvas as channel it away from conscious thought and
into the passion of her work. She needs to paint, not simply to "express
herself" but to live at all, and this is her closest bond with Rivera.

Biopics of artists are always difficult, because the connections between
life and art always seem too easy and facile. The best ones lead us back to
the work itself and inspire us to sympathize with its maker. "Frida" is
jammed with incident and anecdote--this was a life that ended at 46 and yet
made longer lives seem underfurnished. Taymor obviously struggled with the
material, as did her many writers; the screenwriters listed range from the
veteran Clancy Sigal to the team of Gregory Nava and Anna Thomas, and much
of the final draft was reportedly written by Norton. Sometimes we feel as if
the film careens from one colorful event to another without respite, but
sometimes it must have seemed to Frida Kahlo as if her life did, too.

The film opens in 1953, on the date of Frida's only one-woman show in
Mexico. Her doctor tells her she is too sick to attend it, but she has her
bed lifted into a flat-bed truck and carried to the gallery. This opening
gesture provides Taymor with the set-up for the movie's extraordinary
closing scenes, in which death itself is seen as another work of art.

Copyright ⌐ Chicago Sun-Times Inc.

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From: [e-mail]
Subject: [MV] THE MAN FROM ELYSIAN FIELDS / **** (R)
Date: 01 Nov 2002 17:42:49 GMT

THE MAN FROM ELYSIAN FIELDS / **** (R)

November 1, 2002

Byron Tiller: Andy Garcia
Luther Fox: Mick Jagger
Dena Tiller: Julianna Margulies
Andrea Allcott: Olivia Williams
Tobias Allcott: James Coburn
Jennifer Adler: Anjelica Huston
Greg: Michael Des Barres
Samuel Goldwyn Films and Fireworks Pictures present a film directed by
George Hickenlooper. Written by Phillip Jayson Lasker. Running time: 106
minutes. Rated R (for language and sexual content).

MOVIES BY ROGER EBERT

"Elysian Fields is an escort service. We tend to the wounds of lonely women
in need of emotional as well as spiritual solace."

"Only women?"

"Call me oldfashioned."

It's not just the reply, it's the way Mick Jagger delivers it. The way only
Mick Jagger could deliver it. There is a brave insouciance to it, and George
Hickenlooper's "The Man from Elysian Fields" finds that tone and holds it.
This is a rare comedy of manners, witty, wicked and worldly, and one of the
best movies of the year. It has seven principal characters, and every one of
them is seen sharply as an individual with faults, quirks and feelings.

With the craftsmanship of a sophisticated film from Hollywood's golden age,
with the care for dialogue and the attention to supporting characters that
have been misplaced by the star system, the movie is about what people want
and need, which are not always the same thing. It contains moments of tender
romance but is not deceived that love can solve anything.

Byron Tiller (Andy Garcia), the hero, is the author of a good first novel
and now has written a bad second one. He is afraid to tell his wife Dena
(Julianna Margulies) that his new novel has been rejected and that they
desperately need money. In a bar, he meets a man with the obscurely satanic
name Luther Fox (Jagger). Fox runs Elysian Fields, an escort service for
wealthy women. Byron agrees to take an assignment, and he finds himself with
the lovely Andrea Allcott (Olivia Williams). Why would she need to pay for
companionship? It is a form of loyalty to her husband, who is old and
diabetic, and who she loves. It would be cheating to go out with an
available man.

Her husband is Tobias Allcott (James Coburn), who has won Pulitzer Prizes
for his novels. He knows about his wife's arrangement, treats Byron in a
dry, civilized manner, and enlists the younger writer's help with his
current novel. Soon Byron is providing solace, of different kinds to be
sure, to both of the Allcotts. He's a little dazzled by their qualities. And
then there are two other characters, who add depth to the peculiar emotional
complexity of the escort business: Jennifer Adler (Anjelica Huston), who
pays for Luther Fox's services but doesn't want them for free; and Greg
(rock star Michael Des Barres), a successful escort who gives Byron helpful
tips on the clients.

The literate, sophisticated screenplay by Phillip Jayson Lasker understands
that what happens to one character affects how another one feels; there's an
emotional domino effect. By working for Elysian Fields, Byron supports his
family, but it loses his attention. By risking everything in telling
Jennifer that he loves her, Luther discovers his own self-deception. By
accepting Byron's help with his novel, Tobias loses stature in his own eyes.
Andrea fiercely tells Byron of the old man: "The only thing he has left is
his reputation, and when he dies I want him holding onto it." Yes, but she
saves it in public by destroying it in private. She isn't very sensitive
that way.

This is a grown-up movie, in its humor and in its wisdom about life. You
need to have lived a little to understand the complexities of Tobias
Allcott, who is played by James Coburn with a pitch-perfect balance between
sadness and sardonic wit. Listen to his timing and his word choices in the
scene where he opens his wife's bedroom door and finds Byron, not without
his permission, in his wife's bed. You can believe he is a great novelist.
The scene is an example of the dialogue's grace and irony. Another example:
"This business you're in," Byron asks Luther. "Does it ever make you
ashamed?" Luther replies: "No. Poverty does that."

Julianna Margulies, as Byron's wife, has what could have been the standard
role of the wronged woman, but the screenplay doesn't dismiss her with
pathos and sympathy. Dena stands up and fights, holds her ground, is
correctly unforgiving. Olivia Williams, as Andrea, has a hint of
selfishness: Her concern for Tobias' reputation is connected to the way it
reflects on her. There is a scene between Luther and Byron on the beach,
where the older man shares a lesson he has just learned; it makes exactly
the point it needs to make and stops. The movie is confident enough it
doesn't need to underline everything. It makes its point about the Michael
Des Barres character even more economically; for him, the song "Just a
Gigolo" is sad or jolly, depending on his mood.

Andy Garcia's performance took some courage, because his Byron is not a very
strong man. Not strong enough to tell his wife the novel didn't sell. Not
strong enough to resist the temptations of Elysian Fields, or the flattery
of Tobias' attention. By the time the ending comes around, we observe that
it is happy, but we also observe that the movie has earned it: Most movies
are too eager to wrap things up by providing forgiveness before it has been
deserved. Not this one.

Copyright ⌐ Chicago Sun-Times Inc.

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From: [e-mail]
Subject: [MV] THE SANTA CLAUSE 2 / *** (G)
Date: 01 Nov 2002 17:42:50 GMT

THE SANTA CLAUSE 2 / *** (G)

November 1, 2002

Scott/Santa:     Tim Allen
Carol Newman :    Elizabeth Mitchell
Charlie Calvin:     Eric Lloyd
Bernard:    David Krumholtz
Curtis:     Spencer Breslin
Laura Miller:     Wendy Crewson
Neil Miller:     Judge Reinhold

Walt Disney Pictures presents a film directed by Michael Lembeck. Written by
Don Rhymer, Ken Daurio, Ed Decter, Cinco Paul and John J. Strauss. Story by
Leo Benvenuti and Steve Rudnick. Running time: 95 minutes. Rated G.

MOVIES BY ROGER EBERT

"There ain't no sanity clause!"

-- Chico Marx

True, but there is a Santa Clause No. 2, which requires that Santa get
married, or else. This information is revealed at the North Pole at the
worst possible time, during the pre-Christmas manufacturing rush, when Air
Force listening planes hear what sounds like "tiny hammers" from beneath the
snow. The current occupant of the Santa suit is happy supervising his elves
and perfecting his chimney-craft, when he's informed of a loophole in his
contract: If he doesn't produce a Mrs. Claus in 28 days, he'll stop being
Santa and (I'm not real sure about this) the office may even entirely
disappear, casting the world's children into gloom.

Already, Santa is thinner, the red suit looks baggy and the white beard
seems to be shedding. The outlook is grim. We recognize Santa from "The
Santa Clause," the 1994 movie that explained how he got the job in the first
place. As you may (or very likely may not) recall, Scott Calvin (Tim Allen)
was a divorced man who, in attempting to join in the holiday spirit,
accidentally ... well, killed Santa Claus. And then found a card informing
him that now he was Santa Claus.

In the years that have passed, Scott's ex-wife, Laura (Wendy Crewson), and
her nice new husband, Neil (Judge Reinhold), have continued to raise Scott's
son, Charlie, but now the kid is involved in a high school graffiti prank
and the elves have to break the news to Santa: Charlie has switched lists,
from "nice" to "naughty." In a panic, Scott/Santa flies back home, to
counsel his son and perhaps find a wife, while the North Pole is put under
the command of a cloned Santa who soon uses toy soldiers to stage a military
coup and establish a dictatorship.

"The Santa Clause 2" is more of the same tinsel-draped malarkey that made
the original film into a big hit, but it's more engaging, assured and funny,
and I liked it more. The first movie seemed too desperately cheery; this one
has a nice acerbic undertone, even though there is indeed a romance in the
works for Santa and Principal Newman (Elizabeth Mitchell), whose experience
with corridor passes may come in handy if she has to supervise millions of
elves.

The movie is not a special effects extravaganza like "The Grinch," but in a
way that's a relief. It's more about charm and silliness than about great
hulking multimillion-dollar high-tech effects. The North Pole looks only a
little more elaborate than a department store window, the Clone Santa's
troops look like refugees from "The March of the Wooden Soldiers," and
Santa's mode of transportation is a reindeer named Comet who is not the
epitome of grace.

One new touch this time is the Board Meeting of Legendary Characters, which
Santa chairs, with members including the Sandman, the Tooth Fairy, Mother
Nature, the Easter Bunny, etc., many of them played by well-known actors I
will leave you to discover for yourself. I suppose it makes sense that all
of these characters would exist in the same universe, and when the Tooth
Fairy saves the day, it is through the film's profound understanding of the
rules of Tooth Fairydom.

I almost liked the original "Santa Clause" but wrote that "despite its
charms, the movie didn't push over the top into true inspiration." Now here
is "Santa Clause 2," which kind of does push over the top, especially with
the Clone Santa subplot, and is all-around a better film, although I believe
that any universe that includes the Tooth Fairy and the Sandman could easily
accommodate, and benefit from, Groucho Marx.

Copyright ⌐ Chicago Sun-Times Inc.

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From: [e-mail]
Subject: [MV] THE WEIGHT OF WATER / ** (R)
Date: 01 Nov 2002 17:42:51 GMT

THE WEIGHT OF WATER / ** (R)

November 1, 2002

Jean Janes: Catherine     McCormack
Maren Hontvedt: Sarah Polley
Thomas Janes: Sean Penn
Rich Janes: Josh Lucas
Adaline: Elizabeth Hurley
Lions Gate Films presents a film directed by Kathryn Bigelow. Written by
Alice Arlen and Christopher Kyle. Based on the novel by Anita Shreve.
Running time: 114 minutes. Rated R (for violence, sexuality/nudity and brief
language).

BY ROGER EBERT

"The Weight of Water" tells two stories of family jealousy, separated by
more than a century and heightened by lurid melodrama, bloody murder, incest
and storms at sea. While either one of the stories could make a plausible
thriller, the movie's structure undercuts them both.

Unlike "Possession" or "The French Lieutenant's Woman," in which modern and
historical stories are linked in an intriguing way, "The Weight of Water"
seems more like an exercise. We don't feel the connection, and every jump in
time is a distraction.

The older story is the more absorbing. In 1873, on an island off the coast
of New Hampshire, two Norwegian immigrant women are found murdered with an
ax. A hapless man named Wagner (Ciaran Hinds) is convicted of the crime
after a surviving eyewitness named Maren (Sarah Polley) testifies against
him.

By the end of the movie, we will have a deeper understanding of the
emotional undertow on the island, and we will know that Maren's love for her
brother Evan (Anders W. Berthelsen) is at the center of the intrigue.

Maren is married to John Hontvedt (Ulrich Thomsen) but does not love him;
her brother arrives on the island with his new bride Anethe (Vinessa Shaw),
and there is also her sister Karen (Katrin Cartlidge, whose performance is a
reminder of how much we lost when she died at such an early age).

The modern story takes place mostly on a luxury yacht chartered by two
brothers, Thomas and Rich Janes (Sean Penn and Josh Lucas). Thomas' wife,
Jean (Catherine McCormack), is a famous photographer who is working on a
book about the famous crime, which still inspires controversy and
revisionist theories. The others are along for the ride, including Rich's
girlfriend, Adaline (Elizabeth Hurley). We learn, by indirection, tones of
voice and body language, that the Penn character is jealous of his brother,
indifferent to his wife, interested in the girlfriend.

The screenplay, by Alice Arlen and Christopher Kyle, doesn't try to force
awkward parallels between the two stories, but they are there to be found:
hidden and forbidden passion, sibling jealousy, the possibility of violence.
The movie tells the two stories so separately, indeed, that each one acts as
a distraction from the other. The fact that there are nine major characters
and many lines of intrigue doesn't help; "Possession" and "The French
Lieutenant's Woman" only had to deal with parallels between a 19th century
couple and a 20th century couple.

Another problem is that psychological conflicts get upstaged by
old-fashioned melodrama. The storm at the end, which I will not describe in
detail, involves violence and action which would be right at home in a
seafaring thriller, but seems hauled into this material only to provide an
exciting action climax. It is not necessary to the material. And the
revelations in the historical story would have more depth and resonance if
we'd spent more time with the characters--if all of their scenes were not
essentially part of the set-up.

The movie was directed by Kathryn Bigelow, whose "Strange Days" (1995) was a
smart futuristic thriller, inexplicably overlooked by audiences. Her credits
also include the effective "K-19: The Widowmaker," the submarine thriller
from earlier this year. I like her work, but with "The Weight of Water" I
think her problems began with the very decision to tell these two stories
alternately. The actors are splendid, especially Sarah Polley and Sean Penn,
but we never feel confident that these two plots fit together, belong
together, or work together.

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From: [e-mail]
Subject: [MV] ROGER DODGER / *** (R)
Date: 01 Nov 2002 17:42:46 GMT

ROGER DODGER / *** (R)

November 1, 2002

Roger: Campbell Scott
Nick: Jesse Eisenberg
Joyce: Isabella Rossellini
Andrea: Elizabeth Berkley
Sophie: Jennifer Beals
Donovan: Ben Shenkman
Donna: Mina Badie
Chris: Chris Stack
Angus: Colin Fickes
Artisan Entertainment presents a film written and directed by Dylan Kidd.
Running time: 104 minutes. Rated R (for sexual content and language).

BY ROGER EBERT

Roger is an advertising executive who explains that his technique is to make
consumers feel miserable, so they can restore their happiness by buying the
sponsor's product. In his private life, Roger is the product, trying to make
women feel miserable about themselves and then offering himself as the cure.
Roger is an optimist who keeps on talking, just as if his approach works.

As "Roger Dodger" opens, Roger (Campbell Scott) has just been dumped by his
lover, Joyce (Isabella Rossellini), who is also his boss, and makes him feel
miserable with admirable economy of speech: "I am your boss. You work for
me. I have explained to you that I do not wish to see you socially any
longer. Find a way to deal with it." Roger can't quite believe her. Indeed,
he attends a party at her house that he has specifically not been invited
to. He's an optimist in the face of setbacks, a con man who has conned
himself.

Into his office and life one day walks his nephew Nick (Jesse Eisenberg),
who is 16. Roger isn't on speaking terms with Nick's mother, but Nick is
another matter, a young man who asks for guidance that Roger feels himself
uniquely equipped to provide. Nick knows little of women and wants advice,
and Roger starts with theory and then takes Nick nightclub-hopping so they
can work on the practice. During one incredibly lucky evening, they meet
Andrea and Sophie (Elizabeth Berkley and Jennifer Beals), who are intrigued
by Nick's innocence, charmed by his honesty, and delighted by his wit. The
kid's naivete acts like a mirror in which they can study their own
attitudes. Roger the coach finds himself on the sidelines.

The movie, written and directed by Dylan Kidd, depends on its dialogue, and
like a film by David Mamet or Neil LaBute has characters who use speech like
an instrument. The screenplay would be entertaining just to read, as so very
few are. Scott, who usually plays more conventional roles, emerges here as
acid and sardonic, with a Shavian turn to his observations, and although his
advice is not very useful, it is entertaining.

The problem of Nick's young age is one that several other movies, notably
"Tadpole," have negotiated lately. Apparently when it comes to the age of
consent for sex, in the movies young males don't count. If an innocent
16-year-old girl were taken to a nightclub by his aunt and set up with a
couple of 30-something guys, the MPAA would be outraged and Hollywood
terrified. But turn the tables and somehow the glint in Nick's eye takes
care of everything.

"Roger Dodger" effectively deflects criticism in this area by making Roger
the victim and the subject. While Nick is funny and earnest, and generates
many laughs, the movie is really about Roger--about his attempts to tutor
his nephew in a lifestyle that has left the older man lonely and single. The
film is not just a lot of one-liners but has a buried agenda, as the funny
early dialogue slides down into confusion and sadness. There is a lesson
here for Nick, but not the one Roger is teaching.

Copyright ⌐ Chicago Sun-Times Inc.

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From: [e-mail]
Subject: [MV] I SPY / ** (PG-13)
Date: 01 Nov 2002 17:42:44 GMT

I SPY / ** (PG-13)

November 1, 2002

Kelly Robinson: Eddie Murphy
Alexander Scott: Owen Wilson
Rachel: Famke Janssen
Gundars: Malcolm McDowell
Carlos: Gary Cole
Columbia Pictures presents a film directed by Betty Thomas. Written by
Marianne Wibberley, Cormac Wibberley, David Ronn and Jay Scherick. Running
time: 96 minutes. Rated PG-13 (for action violence, some sexual content and
language).

BY ROGER EBERT

The thing about old TV shows is, they have established brand names. People
have heard of them, and maybe enjoyed them once. So when Hollywood recycles
them into movies, they have instant name recognition, and if the casting is
plausible, audiences are intrigued. Some shows, like "Mission: Impossible,"
get the A-list treatment, but "I Spy" is more of a throwaway, an attempt (as
Variety might put it) to rake in quick coin during a hasty playoff.

Having written that, I turned to the Variety review to see if my hunch was
correct. I was close. Variety writes: "Snoops should sneak out of the B.O.
with a nifty opening sum, but expect steep dropoffs in the ensuing weeks..."
Yes. But it's a shame that Eddie Murphy and Owen Wilson should be wasted on
a ho-hum project like this. Why not either (1) save them for something worth
doing, or (2) have the nerve to remake "I Spy" into an offbeat, contemporary
project that slices and dices the old cliches?

Not a chance. This is a remake by the numbers, linking a halfwit plot to a
series of standup routines in which Wilson and Murphy show how funny they
could have been in a more ambitious movie. When they riff with each other,
there's an energy that makes us smile. When they slog through the plot, we
despair. Does anyone other than a Hollywood producer believe that in an
Eddie Murphy movie the audience cares about special effects, action
sequences and desperate struggles to save the world? That kind of material
is played out; it can brought briefly back to life in a James Bond movie or
an all-out thriller, but in a comedy, what we want to do is, we want to
laugh.

Murphy and Wilson play Kelly Robinson and Alexander Scott. Students of the
1960s TV series will note that the roles have switched their races; Murphy
is playing the Robert Culp character, and Wilson is in the Bill Cosby role.
This makes not the slightest difference, since nothing in this movie refers
to the TV series in a way that matters. There is a little color-coding going
on, I think, in the decision to change the Culp occupation (tennis player)
into a prize-fighter for Eddie Murphy to play, the filmmakers apparently not
having heard that there are black tennis stars.

The plot: Kelly Robinson (who always refers to himself as "Kelly Robinson")
is recruited by spy Alexander Scott. Robinson is about to fight a title bout
in Budapest, and an evildoer named Gundars (Malcolm McDowell) will be there.
Robinson will provide entre for Scott, who is trying to get back an
invisible spy plane, named the Switch Blade, which Gundars has stolen and
plans to use for, I dunno, world domination or something.

Murphy and Wilson are very funny men, and occasionally one of their lines
swims up from out of the murk of the screenplay and winks at us. I like
Wilson looking at his new spy gear and observing, "My stuff looks like you
could get it from Radio Shack in 1972." And later, in a briefing, they learn
that the Switch Blade is, "in the hands of the evil doers, a delivery system
for weapons of mass destruction." One of the signs that the White House
announced its anti-Saddam policy prematurely is when key catch phrases are
recycled in movie comedies and the invasion is still in the talking stage.
That's too much lead time.

The spy plane shimmers in and out of sight thanks to special effects, while
the loyalties of a beautiful spy named Rachel (Famke Janssen) also shimmer
in and out of sight, as does the Hispanic accent of the enigmatic spy Carlos
(Gary Cole). The movie comes to life when Murphy and Wilson are trading
one-liners, and then puts itself on hold for spy and action sequences of
stunning banality. Don't moviemakers know that action scenes without context
have got to be really, really good, or our eyes glaze over? We've seen it
all. We don't need one more boring fight on a rooftop with the future of the
world hanging in the balance. If the characters are interesting, the story
is involving, or the effects are really special, that's another story. "I
Spy," alas, is the same old story.

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From: [e-mail]
Subject: [MV] ALL OR NOTHING / **** (R)
Date: 01 Nov 2002 17:42:41 GMT

ALL OR NOTHING / **** (R)

November 1, 2002

Phil: Timothy Spall
Penny: Lesley Manville
Rachel: Alison Garland
Rory: James Corden
Maureen: Ruth Sheen
Donna: Helen Coker
United Artists presents a film written and directed by Mike Leigh. Running
time: 128 minutes. Rated R (for pervasive language and some sexuality).

MOVIES BY ROGER EBERT

Mike Leigh's "All or Nothing" looks behind three doors in a South London
public housing estate and finds loneliness, desperation and a stubborn
streak of spunky humor. His characters try to remember a time when they were
light-hearted and had hope. But there is little to cheer them now, except
for food and sleep, the telly, the pub on Saturday night and, for the young,
thoughtless sex to hurry them along into raising thankless kids of their
own.

Phil Bassett, played by the sad-faced and wounded Timothy Spall, is a
minicab driver who stares straight ahead as dramas unfold in his back seat.
His common-law wife, Penny (Lesley Manville), is a checkout clerk at the
Safeway. They have two fat, unattractive children: Rachel (Alison Garland),
who is a cleaner at an old-folks' home and buries herself in romance novels;
and Rory (James Cordon), who lurches from the table to the sofa, his eyes
hypnotically fixed on the television, his voice wavering between anger and
martyrdom.

Their flat is on an outside corridor of an anonymous housing project, but it
has a wooden door with a knocker--a reminder of when they had hopes for it
as a home. Now it's a place where they barely meet. Phil sleeps late, his
wife goes to work early, Rachel is in a world of her own and Rory vibrates
with hostility. For Penny, there is at least the companionship of neighbors
along the corridor; she hangs out with Carol (Marion Bailey) and Maureen
(Ruth Sheen), and they go to karaoke night at the pub. Maureen is a single
mom whose daughter Donna (Helen Coker) is abused by a boyfriend. Carol,
whose husband, Ron, also drives a minicab, is a drunk sliding off into
walking hallucinations.

This sounds grim and is grim, but it is not depressing because Leigh, who in
his earlier films might have found a few laughs at the expense of his
characters, clearly loves these people and cares for them. They are, we
realize, utterly without resources; they lack the skills to enjoy life and
are trapped on an economic treadmill. Phil has the makings of a philosopher,
and observes sadly that you work all day and sleep all night and then you
die. When a fellow driver complains of a car crash, Phil looks on the bright
side: "You might have driven around the corner and killed a little girl."

The film pays attention to the neighbors, but its main attention is on the
Bassetts, and one day something unforeseen happens--I will not reveal what
it is--and it acts as a catalyst to jolt them out of their depression and
lethargy. It is the kind of bad thing that good things come from. Watch
carefully how it happens, and who reacts to it, and how, and you will see
that Leigh has made all of the neighbors into characters whose troubles help
to define their response.

There are moments in "All or Nothing" of such acute observation that we nod
in understanding. Consider the way Maureen learns that Donna is pregnant,
and how she deals with the news (at first and then later), and how she
treats the boyfriend. Watch joy and beauty flash briefly in the pub when the
women are singing. And observe how Timothy Spall goes through an entire life
crisis while scarcely saying a word and tells us all we need to know with
his eyes.

There is a scene that establishes the Bassett family as well as any scene
possibly could. Phil needs to put together a sum of money, and he visits his
wife and children separately. He searches for a coin under Rory's sofa
cushion, but Rory finds it and piggishly snatches it. Rachel lends him money
as if money is the least of her worries. Penny tries to find out what he is
thinking. He keeps repeating that he will pay her back tomorrow. This is his
companion of 20 years and he treats her loan like one he would get in a pub.

Mike Leigh is now the leading British director--ironic, since after his
brilliant "Bleak Moments" (1971) he spent long years making TV films because
no one would finance his features. He and his actors improvise their scripts
during long periods of living as the characters. His subject is usually
working and middle-class life in Britain, although his jolly "Topsy-Turvy"
(1999) entered the backstage world of Gilbert and Sullivan. In "All or
Nothing," he returns to more familiar material, in one of his very best
films.

The closing scenes of the movie are just about perfect. Rory is the center
of attention, and notice when, and how, he suddenly speaks in the middle of
a conversation about him. When a director gets a laugh of recognition from
the audience, showing that it knows his characters and recognizes typical
behavior, he has done his job. These people are real as few movie characters
ever are. At the end, it looks as if they will be able to admit a little
sunshine into their lives and talk to each other a little more. We are
relieved.

Copyright ⌐ Chicago Sun-Times Inc.

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From: [e-mail]
Subject: [MV] SONGS FROM THE SECOND FLOOR / **** (Not rated)
Date: 01 Nov 2002 17:42:47 GMT

SONGS FROM THE SECOND FLOOR / **** (Not rated)

November 1, 2002

Kalle: Lars Nordh
Stefan: Stefan Larsson
Pelle: Torbjorn Fahlstrom
Lasse: Sten Andersson
Magician: Lucio Vucino
Mia: Hanna Eriksson
Tomas: Peter Roth
Uffe: Tommy Johansson
New Yorker Films presents a film written and directed by Roy Andersson.
Running time: 98 minutes. No MPAA rating. In Swedish with English subtitles.

MOVIES BY ROGER EBERT

In a sour, gray city, filled with pale drunken salarymen and parading
flagellants, everything goes wrong, pain is laughed at, businesses fail,
traffic seizes up and a girl is made into a human sacrifice to save a
corporation. Roy Andersson's "Songs From the Second Floor" is a collision at
the intersection of farce and tragedy--the apocalypse as a joke on us.

You have never seen a film like this before. You may not enjoy it but you
will not forget it. Andersson is a deadpan Swedish surrealist who has spent
the last 25 years making "the best TV commercials in the world" (Ingmar
Bergman) and now bites off the hand that fed him, chews it thoughtfully,
spits it out and tramples on it. His movie regards modern capitalist society
with the detached hilarity of a fanatic saint squatting on his pillar in the
desert.

I saw it at the 2000 Cannes Film Festival. Understandably, it did not
immediately find a distributor. Predictably, audiences did not flock to it.
When I screened it at my 2001 Overlooked Film Festival, there were times
when the audience laughed out loud, times when it squinted in dismay, times
when it watched in disbelief. When two of the actors came out onstage
afterward, it was somehow completely appropriate that one of them never said
a word.

I love this film because it is completely new, starting from a place no
other film has started from, proceeding implacably to demonstrate the logic
of its despair, arriving at a place of no hope. One rummages for the names
of artists to evoke: Bosch, Tati, Kafka, Beckett, Dali. It is "slapstick
Ingmar Bergman," says J. Hoberman in the Village Voice. Yes, and tragic
Groucho Marx.

The film opens ironically with a man in a tanning machine--ironic, because
all of the other characters will look like they've spent years in sunless
caves. It proceeds with a series of set-pieces in which the camera, rarely
moving, gazes impassively at scenes of absurdity and despair. A man is fired
and clings to the leg of his boss, who marches down a corridor dragging him
behind. A magician saws a volunteer in two. Yes. A man with the wrong accent
is attacked by a gang. A man burns down his own store and then assures
insurance inspectors it was arson, but as they talk we lose interest because
outside on the street a parade of flagellants marches past, whipping
themselves in time to their march.

There is the most slender of threads connecting the scenes--the arsonist is
a continuing character--but Andersson is not telling a conventional story.
He is planting his camera here and there in a city that has simply stopped
working, has broken down and is cannibalizing itself. It is a 20th century
city, but Andersson sees it as an appropriate backdrop for the plague or any
other medieval visitation. And its citizens have fallen back on ancient
fearful superstition to protect themselves.

Consider the scene where clerics and businessmen, all robed for their
offices, gather in a desolate landscape as a young woman walks the plank to
her death below. Perhaps the sacrifice of her life will placate the gods who
are angry with the corporation. We watch this scene and we are forced to
admit that corporations are capable of such behavior: That a tobacco
company, for example, expects its customers to walk the plank every day.

Is there no hope in this devastation? A man who corners the market in
crucifixes now bitterly tosses out his excess inventory. "I staked
everything on a loser," he complains. Does that make the movie
anti-Christian? No. It is not anti- anything. It is about the loss of hope,
about the breakdown of all systems of hope. Its characters are piggish,
ignorant, clueless salarymen who, without salaries, have no way to be men.
The movie argues that in an economic collapse our modern civilization would
fall from us and we would be left wandering our cities like the plague
victims of old, seeking relief in drunkenness, superstition, sacrifice, sex
and self-mockery.

Oh, but yes, the film is often very funny about this bleak view. I have
probably not convinced you of that. It's funny because it stands back and
films its scenes in long shot, the camera not moving, so that we can
distance ourselves from the action--and we remember the old rule from the
silent days: comedy in long shot, tragedy in closeup. Close shots cause us
to identify with the characters, to weep and fear along with them. Long
shots allow us to view them objectively, within their environment. "Songs
From the Second Floor" is a parade of fools marching blindly to their ruin,
and for the moment we are still spectators and have not been required to
join the march. The laughter inspired by the movie is sometimes at the
absurd, sometimes simply from relief.

Copyright ⌐ Chicago Sun-Times Inc.

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From: [e-mail]
Subject: [MV] I SPY / ** (PG-13)
Date: 02 Nov 2002 07:23:55 GMT

I SPY / ** (PG-13)

November 1, 2002

Kelly Robinson: Eddie Murphy
Alexander Scott: Owen Wilson
Rachel: Famke Janssen
Gundars: Malcolm McDowell
Carlos: Gary Cole
Columbia Pictures presents a film directed by Betty Thomas. Written by
Marianne Wibberley, Cormac Wibberley, David Ronn and Jay Scherick. Running
time: 96 minutes. Rated PG-13 (for action violence, some sexual content and
language).

BY ROGER EBERT

The thing about old TV shows is, they have established brand names. People
have heard of them, and maybe enjoyed them once. So when Hollywood recycles
them into movies, they have instant name recognition, and if the casting is
plausible, audiences are intrigued. Some shows, like "Mission: Impossible,"
get the A-list treatment, but "I Spy" is more of a throwaway, an attempt (as
Variety might put it) to rake in quick coin during a hasty playoff.

Having written that, I turned to the Variety review to see if my hunch was
correct. I was close. Variety writes: "Snoops should sneak out of the B.O.
with a nifty opening sum, but expect steep dropoffs in the ensuing weeks..."
Yes. But it's a shame that Eddie Murphy and Owen Wilson should be wasted on
a ho-hum project like this. Why not either (1) save them for something worth
doing, or (2) have the nerve to remake "I Spy" into an offbeat, contemporary
project that slices and dices the old cliches?

Not a chance. This is a remake by the numbers, linking a halfwit plot to a
series of standup routines in which Wilson and Murphy show how funny they
could have been in a more ambitious movie. When they riff with each other,
there's an energy that makes us smile. When they slog through the plot, we
despair. Does anyone other than a Hollywood producer believe that in an
Eddie Murphy movie the audience cares about special effects, action
sequences and desperate struggles to save the world? That kind of material
is played out; it can brought briefly back to life in a James Bond movie or
an all-out thriller, but in a comedy, what we want to do is, we want to
laugh.

Murphy and Wilson play Kelly Robinson and Alexander Scott. Students of the
1960s TV series will note that the roles have switched their races; Murphy
is playing the Robert Culp character, and Wilson is in the Bill Cosby role.
This makes not the slightest difference, since nothing in this movie refers
to the TV series in a way that matters. There is a little color-coding going
on, I think, in the decision to change the Culp occupation (tennis player)
into a prize-fighter for Eddie Murphy to play, the filmmakers apparently not
having heard that there are black tennis stars.

The plot: Kelly Robinson (who always refers to himself as "Kelly Robinson")
is recruited by spy Alexander Scott. Robinson is about to fight a title bout
in Budapest, and an evildoer named Gundars (Malcolm McDowell) will be there.
Robinson will provide entre for Scott, who is trying to get back an
invisible spy plane, named the Switch Blade, which Gundars has stolen and
plans to use for, I dunno, world domination or something.

Murphy and Wilson are very funny men, and occasionally one of their lines
swims up from out of the murk of the screenplay and winks at us. I like
Wilson looking at his new spy gear and observing, "My stuff looks like you
could get it from Radio Shack in 1972." And later, in a briefing, they learn
that the Switch Blade is, "in the hands of the evil doers, a delivery system
for weapons of mass destruction." One of the signs that the White House
announced its anti-Saddam policy prematurely is when key catch phrases are
recycled in movie comedies and the invasion is still in the talking stage.
That's too much lead time.

The spy plane shimmers in and out of sight thanks to special effects, while
the loyalties of a beautiful spy named Rachel (Famke Janssen) also shimmer
in and out of sight, as does the Hispanic accent of the enigmatic spy Carlos
(Gary Cole). The movie comes to life when Murphy and Wilson are trading
one-liners, and then puts itself on hold for spy and action sequences of
stunning banality. Don't moviemakers know that action scenes without context
have got to be really, really good, or our eyes glaze over? We've seen it
all. We don't need one more boring fight on a rooftop with the future of the
world hanging in the balance. If the characters are interesting, the story
is involving, or the effects are really special, that's another story. "I
Spy," alas, is the same old story.

Copyright ⌐ Chicago Sun-Times Inc.

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From: [e-mail]
Subject: [MV] I SPY / ** (PG-13)
Date: 02 Nov 2002 07:24:00 GMT

I SPY / ** (PG-13)

November 1, 2002

Kelly Robinson: Eddie Murphy
Alexander Scott: Owen Wilson
Rachel: Famke Janssen
Gundars: Malcolm McDowell
Carlos: Gary Cole
Columbia Pictures presents a film directed by Betty Thomas. Written by
Marianne Wibberley, Cormac Wibberley, David Ronn and Jay Scherick. Running
time: 96 minutes. Rated PG-13 (for action violence, some sexual content and
language).

BY ROGER EBERT

The thing about old TV shows is, they have established brand names. People
have heard of them, and maybe enjoyed them once. So when Hollywood recycles
them into movies, they have instant name recognition, and if the casting is
plausible, audiences are intrigued. Some shows, like "Mission: Impossible,"
get the A-list treatment, but "I Spy" is more of a throwaway, an attempt (as
Variety might put it) to rake in quick coin during a hasty playoff.

Having written that, I turned to the Variety review to see if my hunch was
correct. I was close. Variety writes: "Snoops should sneak out of the B.O.
with a nifty opening sum, but expect steep dropoffs in the ensuing weeks..."
Yes. But it's a shame that Eddie Murphy and Owen Wilson should be wasted on
a ho-hum project like this. Why not either (1) save them for something worth
doing, or (2) have the nerve to remake "I Spy" into an offbeat, contemporary
project that slices and dices the old cliches?

Not a chance. This is a remake by the numbers, linking a halfwit plot to a
series of standup routines in which Wilson and Murphy show how funny they
could have been in a more ambitious movie. When they riff with each other,
there's an energy that makes us smile. When they slog through the plot, we
despair. Does anyone other than a Hollywood producer believe that in an
Eddie Murphy movie the audience cares about special effects, action
sequences and desperate struggles to save the world? That kind of material
is played out; it can brought briefly back to life in a James Bond movie or
an all-out thriller, but in a comedy, what we want to do is, we want to
laugh.

Murphy and Wilson play Kelly Robinson and Alexander Scott. Students of the
1960s TV series will note that the roles have switched their races; Murphy
is playing the Robert Culp character, and Wilson is in the Bill Cosby role.
This makes not the slightest difference, since nothing in this movie refers
to the TV series in a way that matters. There is a little color-coding going
on, I think, in the decision to change the Culp occupation (tennis player)
into a prize-fighter for Eddie Murphy to play, the filmmakers apparently not
having heard that there are black tennis stars.

The plot: Kelly Robinson (who always refers to himself as "Kelly Robinson")
is recruited by spy Alexander Scott. Robinson is about to fight a title bout
in Budapest, and an evildoer named Gundars (Malcolm McDowell) will be there.
Robinson will provide entre for Scott, who is trying to get back an
invisible spy plane, named the Switch Blade, which Gundars has stolen and
plans to use for, I dunno, world domination or something.

Murphy and Wilson are very funny men, and occasionally one of their lines
swims up from out of the murk of the screenplay and winks at us. I like
Wilson looking at his new spy gear and observing, "My stuff looks like you
could get it from Radio Shack in 1972." And later, in a briefing, they learn
that the Switch Blade is, "in the hands of the evil doers, a delivery system
for weapons of mass destruction." One of the signs that the White House
announced its anti-Saddam policy prematurely is when key catch phrases are
recycled in movie comedies and the invasion is still in the talking stage.
That's too much lead time.

The spy plane shimmers in and out of sight thanks to special effects, while
the loyalties of a beautiful spy named Rachel (Famke Janssen) also shimmer
in and out of sight, as does the Hispanic accent of the enigmatic spy Carlos
(Gary Cole). The movie comes to life when Murphy and Wilson are trading
one-liners, and then puts itself on hold for spy and action sequences of
stunning banality. Don't moviemakers know that action scenes without context
have got to be really, really good, or our eyes glaze over? We've seen it
all. We don't need one more boring fight on a rooftop with the future of the
world hanging in the balance. If the characters are interesting, the story
is involving, or the effects are really special, that's another story. "I
Spy," alas, is the same old story.

Copyright ⌐ Chicago Sun-Times Inc.

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From: [e-mail]
Subject: [MV] ROGER DODGER / *** (R)
Date: 02 Nov 2002 07:24:02 GMT

ROGER DODGER / *** (R)

November 1, 2002

Roger: Campbell Scott
Nick: Jesse Eisenberg
Joyce: Isabella Rossellini
Andrea: Elizabeth Berkley
Sophie: Jennifer Beals
Donovan: Ben Shenkman
Donna: Mina Badie
Chris: Chris Stack
Angus: Colin Fickes
Artisan Entertainment presents a film written and directed by Dylan Kidd.
Running time: 104 minutes. Rated R (for sexual content and language).

BY ROGER EBERT

Roger is an advertising executive who explains that his technique is to make
consumers feel miserable, so they can restore their happiness by buying the
sponsor's product. In his private life, Roger is the product, trying to make
women feel miserable about themselves and then offering himself as the cure.
Roger is an optimist who keeps on talking, just as if his approach works.

As "Roger Dodger" opens, Roger (Campbell Scott) has just been dumped by his
lover, Joyce (Isabella Rossellini), who is also his boss, and makes him feel
miserable with admirable economy of speech: "I am your boss. You work for
me. I have explained to you that I do not wish to see you socially any
longer. Find a way to deal with it." Roger can't quite believe her. Indeed,
he attends a party at her house that he has specifically not been invited
to. He's an optimist in the face of setbacks, a con man who has conned
himself.

Into his office and life one day walks his nephew Nick (Jesse Eisenberg),
who is 16. Roger isn't on speaking terms with Nick's mother, but Nick is
another matter, a young man who asks for guidance that Roger feels himself
uniquely equipped to provide. Nick knows little of women and wants advice,
and Roger starts with theory and then takes Nick nightclub-hopping so they
can work on the practice. During one incredibly lucky evening, they meet
Andrea and Sophie (Elizabeth Berkley and Jennifer Beals), who are intrigued
by Nick's innocence, charmed by his honesty, and delighted by his wit. The
kid's naivete acts like a mirror in which they can study their own
attitudes. Roger the coach finds himself on the sidelines.

The movie, written and directed by Dylan Kidd, depends on its dialogue, and
like a film by David Mamet or Neil LaBute has characters who use speech like
an instrument. The screenplay would be entertaining just to read, as so very
few are. Scott, who usually plays more conventional roles, emerges here as
acid and sardonic, with a Shavian turn to his observations, and although his
advice is not very useful, it is entertaining.

The problem of Nick's young age is one that several other movies, notably
"Tadpole," have negotiated lately. Apparently when it comes to the age of
consent for sex, in the movies young males don't count. If an innocent
16-year-old girl were taken to a nightclub by his aunt and set up with a
couple of 30-something guys, the MPAA would be outraged and Hollywood
terrified. But turn the tables and somehow the glint in Nick's eye takes
care of everything.

"Roger Dodger" effectively deflects criticism in this area by making Roger
the victim and the subject. While Nick is funny and earnest, and generates
many laughs, the movie is really about Roger--about his attempts to tutor
his nephew in a lifestyle that has left the older man lonely and single. The
film is not just a lot of one-liners but has a buried agenda, as the funny
early dialogue slides down into confusion and sadness. There is a lesson
here for Nick, but not the one Roger is teaching.

Copyright ⌐ Chicago Sun-Times Inc.

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From: [e-mail]
Subject: [MV] ALL OR NOTHING / **** (R)
Date: 02 Nov 2002 07:23:57 GMT

ALL OR NOTHING / **** (R)

November 1, 2002

Phil: Timothy Spall
Penny: Lesley Manville
Rachel: Alison Garland
Rory: James Corden
Maureen: Ruth Sheen
Donna: Helen Coker
United Artists presents a film written and directed by Mike Leigh. Running
time: 128 minutes. Rated R (for pervasive language and some sexuality).

MOVIES BY ROGER EBERT

Mike Leigh's "All or Nothing" looks behind three doors in a South London
public housing estate and finds loneliness, desperation and a stubborn
streak of spunky humor. His characters try to remember a time when they were
light-hearted and had hope. But there is little to cheer them now, except
for food and sleep, the telly, the pub on Saturday night and, for the young,
thoughtless sex to hurry them along into raising thankless kids of their
own.

Phil Bassett, played by the sad-faced and wounded Timothy Spall, is a
minicab driver who stares straight ahead as dramas unfold in his back seat.
His common-law wife, Penny (Lesley Manville), is a checkout clerk at the
Safeway. They have two fat, unattractive children: Rachel (Alison Garland),
who is a cleaner at an old-folks' home and buries herself in romance novels;
and Rory (James Cordon), who lurches from the table to the sofa, his eyes
hypnotically fixed on the television, his voice wavering between anger and
martyrdom.

Their flat is on an outside corridor of an anonymous housing project, but it
has a wooden door with a knocker--a reminder of when they had hopes for it
as a home. Now it's a place where they barely meet. Phil sleeps late, his
wife goes to work early, Rachel is in a world of her own and Rory vibrates
with hostility. For Penny, there is at least the companionship of neighbors
along the corridor; she hangs out with Carol (Marion Bailey) and Maureen
(Ruth Sheen), and they go to karaoke night at the pub. Maureen is a single
mom whose daughter Donna (Helen Coker) is abused by a boyfriend. Carol,
whose husband, Ron, also drives a minicab, is a drunk sliding off into
walking hallucinations.

This sounds grim and is grim, but it is not depressing because Leigh, who in
his earlier films might have found a few laughs at the expense of his
characters, clearly loves these people and cares for them. They are, we
realize, utterly without resources; they lack the skills to enjoy life and
are trapped on an economic treadmill. Phil has the makings of a philosopher,
and observes sadly that you work all day and sleep all night and then you
die. When a fellow driver complains of a car crash, Phil looks on the bright
side: "You might have driven around the corner and killed a little girl."

The film pays attention to the neighbors, but its main attention is on the
Bassetts, and one day something unforeseen happens--I will not reveal what
it is--and it acts as a catalyst to jolt them out of their depression and
lethargy. It is the kind of bad thing that good things come from. Watch
carefully how it happens, and who reacts to it, and how, and you will see
that Leigh has made all of the neighbors into characters whose troubles help
to define their response.

There are moments in "All or Nothing" of such acute observation that we nod
in understanding. Consider the way Maureen learns that Donna is pregnant,
and how she deals with the news (at first and then later), and how she
treats the boyfriend. Watch joy and beauty flash briefly in the pub when the
women are singing. And observe how Timothy Spall goes through an entire life
crisis while scarcely saying a word and tells us all we need to know with
his eyes.

There is a scene that establishes the Bassett family as well as any scene
possibly could. Phil needs to put together a sum of money, and he visits his
wife and children separately. He searches for a coin under Rory's sofa
cushion, but Rory finds it and piggishly snatches it. Rachel lends him money
as if money is the least of her worries. Penny tries to find out what he is
thinking. He keeps repeating that he will pay her back tomorrow. This is his
companion of 20 years and he treats her loan like one he would get in a pub.

Mike Leigh is now the leading British director--ironic, since after his
brilliant "Bleak Moments" (1971) he spent long years making TV films because
no one would finance his features. He and his actors improvise their scripts
during long periods of living as the characters. His subject is usually
working and middle-class life in Britain, although his jolly "Topsy-Turvy"
(1999) entered the backstage world of Gilbert and Sullivan. In "All or
Nothing," he returns to more familiar material, in one of his very best
films.

The closing scenes of the movie are just about perfect. Rory is the center
of attention, and notice when, and how, he suddenly speaks in the middle of
a conversation about him. When a director gets a laugh of recognition from
the audience, showing that it knows his characters and recognizes typical
behavior, he has done his job. These people are real as few movie characters
ever are. At the end, it looks as if they will be able to admit a little
sunshine into their lives and talk to each other a little more. We are
relieved.

Copyright ⌐ Chicago Sun-Times Inc.

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From: [e-mail]
Subject: [MV] FRIDA / ***1/2 (R)
Date: 02 Nov 2002 07:23:54 GMT

FRIDA / ***1/2 (R)

November 1, 2002

Frida Kahlo: Salma Hayek
Diego Rivera: Alfred Molina
Leon Trotsky: Geoffrey Rush
Tina Modotti: Ashley Judd
David Alfaro Siqueiros: Antonio     Banderas
Miramax Films presents a film directed by Julie Taymor. Written by Diane
Lake, Gregory Nava, Clancy Sigal and Anna Thomas. Based on the book Frida: A
Biography of Frida Kahlo by Hayden Herrera. Running time: 120 minutes. Rated
R (for sexuality/nudity and language).

MOVIES BY ROGER EBERT

Early in their marriage, Frida Kahlo tells Diego Rivera she expects him to
be "not faithful, but loyal." She holds herself to the same standard. Sexual
faithfulness is a bourgeois ideal that they reject as Marxist bohemians who
disdain the conventional. But passionate jealousy is not unknown to them,
and both have a double standard, permitting themselves freedoms they would
deny the other. During the course of "Frida," Kahlo has affairs with Leon
Trotsky and Josephine Baker (not a shabby dance card), and yet rages at
Diego for his infidelities.

Julie Taymor's biopic tells the story of an extraordinary life. Frida Kahlo
(Salma Hayek), born of a German Jewish father and a Mexican mother, grew up
in Mexico City at a time when it was a hotbed of exile and intrigue. As a
student, she goes to see the great muralist Diego Rivera at work, boldly
calls him "fat" and knows that he is the man for her.

Then she is almost mortally injured in a trolley crash that shatters her
back and pierces her body with a steel rod. She was never to be free of pain
again in her life and for long periods had to wear a body cast. Taymor shows
a bluebird flying from Frida's hand at the moment of the crash, and later
gold leaf falls on the cast: She uses the materials of magic realism to
suggest how Frida was able to overcome pain with art and imagination.

Rivera was already a legend when she met him. Played by Alfred Molina in a
great bearlike performance of male entitlement, he was equally gifted at
art, carnal excess and self-promotion. The first time Frida sleeps with him,
they are discovered by his wife, Lupe (Valeria Golino), who is enraged, of
course, but such is Diego's power over women that after Frida and Diego are
wed, Lupe brings them breakfast in bed ("This is his favorite. If you are
here to stay, you'd better learn how to make it.")

Frida's paintings often show herself, alone or with Diego, and reflect her
pain and her ecstasy. They are on a smaller scale than his famous murals,
and her art is overshadowed by his. His fame leads to an infamous incident,
when he is hired by Nelson Rockefeller (Edward Norton) to create a mural for
Rockefeller Center, and boldly includes Lenin among the figures he paints.
Rockefeller commands the mural to be hammered down from the wall, thus
making himself the goat in this episode forevermore.

The director, Julie Taymor, became famous for her production of "The Lion
King" on Broadway, with its extraordinary merging of actors and the animals
they portrayed. Her film "Titus" (1999) was a brilliant re-imaging of the
Shakespeare tragedy, showing a gift for great daring visual inventions.
Here, too, she breaks out of realism to suggest the fanciful colors of
Frida's imagination. But real life itself is bizarre in this marriage, where
the partners build houses side by side and connect them by a bridge between
the top floors.

Artists talk about the "zone," that mental state when the mind, the eye, the
hand and the imagination are all in the same place and they are able to lose
track of time and linear thought. Frida Kahlo seems to have painted in order
to seek the zone and escape pain: When she was at work, she didn't so much
put the pain onto the canvas as channel it away from conscious thought and
into the passion of her work. She needs to paint, not simply to "express
herself" but to live at all, and this is her closest bond with Rivera.

Biopics of artists are always difficult, because the connections between
life and art always seem too easy and facile. The best ones lead us back to
the work itself and inspire us to sympathize with its maker. "Frida" is
jammed with incident and anecdote--this was a life that ended at 46 and yet
made longer lives seem underfurnished. Taymor obviously struggled with the
material, as did her many writers; the screenwriters listed range from the
veteran Clancy Sigal to the team of Gregory Nava and Anna Thomas, and much
of the final draft was reportedly written by Norton. Sometimes we feel as if
the film careens from one colorful event to another without respite, but
sometimes it must have seemed to Frida Kahlo as if her life did, too.

The film opens in 1953, on the date of Frida's only one-woman show in
Mexico. Her doctor tells her she is too sick to attend it, but she has her
bed lifted into a flat-bed truck and carried to the gallery. This opening
gesture provides Taymor with the set-up for the movie's extraordinary
closing scenes, in which death itself is seen as another work of art.

Copyright ⌐ Chicago Sun-Times Inc.

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From: [e-mail]
Subject: [MV] ALL OR NOTHING / **** (R)
Date: 02 Nov 2002 07:23:52 GMT

ALL OR NOTHING / **** (R)

November 1, 2002

Phil: Timothy Spall
Penny: Lesley Manville
Rachel: Alison Garland
Rory: James Corden
Maureen: Ruth Sheen
Donna: Helen Coker
United Artists presents a film written and directed by Mike Leigh. Running
time: 128 minutes. Rated R (for pervasive language and some sexuality).

MOVIES BY ROGER EBERT

Mike Leigh's "All or Nothing" looks behind three doors in a South London
public housing estate and finds loneliness, desperation and a stubborn
streak of spunky humor. His characters try to remember a time when they were
light-hearted and had hope. But there is little to cheer them now, except
for food and sleep, the telly, the pub on Saturday night and, for the young,
thoughtless sex to hurry them along into raising thankless kids of their
own.

Phil Bassett, played by the sad-faced and wounded Timothy Spall, is a
minicab driver who stares straight ahead as dramas unfold in his back seat.
His common-law wife, Penny (Lesley Manville), is a checkout clerk at the
Safeway. They have two fat, unattractive children: Rachel (Alison Garland),
who is a cleaner at an old-folks' home and buries herself in romance novels;
and Rory (James Cordon), who lurches from the table to the sofa, his eyes
hypnotically fixed on the television, his voice wavering between anger and
martyrdom.

Their flat is on an outside corridor of an anonymous housing project, but it
has a wooden door with a knocker--a reminder of when they had hopes for it
as a home. Now it's a place where they barely meet. Phil sleeps late, his
wife goes to work early, Rachel is in a world of her own and Rory vibrates
with hostility. For Penny, there is at least the companionship of neighbors
along the corridor; she hangs out with Carol (Marion Bailey) and Maureen
(Ruth Sheen), and they go to karaoke night at the pub. Maureen is a single
mom whose daughter Donna (Helen Coker) is abused by a boyfriend. Carol,
whose husband, Ron, also drives a minicab, is a drunk sliding off into
walking hallucinations.

This sounds grim and is grim, but it is not depressing because Leigh, who in
his earlier films might have found a few laughs at the expense of his
characters, clearly loves these people and cares for them. They are, we
realize, utterly without resources; they lack the skills to enjoy life and
are trapped on an economic treadmill. Phil has the makings of a philosopher,
and observes sadly that you work all day and sleep all night and then you
die. When a fellow driver complains of a car crash, Phil looks on the bright
side: "You might have driven around the corner and killed a little girl."

The film pays attention to the neighbors, but its main attention is on the
Bassetts, and one day something unforeseen happens--I will not reveal what
it is--and it acts as a catalyst to jolt them out of their depression and
lethargy. It is the kind of bad thing that good things come from. Watch
carefully how it happens, and who reacts to it, and how, and you will see
that Leigh has made all of the neighbors into characters whose troubles help
to define their response.

There are moments in "All or Nothing" of such acute observation that we nod
in understanding. Consider the way Maureen learns that Donna is pregnant,
and how she deals with the news (at first and then later), and how she
treats the boyfriend. Watch joy and beauty flash briefly in the pub when the
women are singing. And observe how Timothy Spall goes through an entire life
crisis while scarcely saying a word and tells us all we need to know with
his eyes.

There is a scene that establishes the Bassett family as well as any scene
possibly could. Phil needs to put together a sum of money, and he visits his
wife and children separately. He searches for a coin under Rory's sofa
cushion, but Rory finds it and piggishly snatches it. Rachel lends him money
as if money is the least of her worries. Penny tries to find out what he is
thinking. He keeps repeating that he will pay her back tomorrow. This is his
companion of 20 years and he treats her loan like one he would get in a pub.

Mike Leigh is now the leading British director--ironic, since after his
brilliant "Bleak Moments" (1971) he spent long years making TV films because
no one would finance his features. He and his actors improvise their scripts
during long periods of living as the characters. His subject is usually
working and middle-class life in Britain, although his jolly "Topsy-Turvy"
(1999) entered the backstage world of Gilbert and Sullivan. In "All or
Nothing," he returns to more familiar material, in one of his very best
films.

The closing scenes of the movie are just about perfect. Rory is the center
of attention, and notice when, and how, he suddenly speaks in the middle of
a conversation about him. When a director gets a laugh of recognition from
the audience, showing that it knows his characters and recognizes typical
behavior, he has done his job. These people are real as few movie characters
ever are. At the end, it looks as if they will be able to admit a little
sunshine into their lives and talk to each other a little more. We are
relieved.

Copyright ⌐ Chicago Sun-Times Inc.

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From: [e-mail]
Subject: [MV] FRIDA / ***1/2 (R)
Date: 02 Nov 2002 07:23:59 GMT

FRIDA / ***1/2 (R)

November 1, 2002

Frida Kahlo: Salma Hayek
Diego Rivera: Alfred Molina
Leon Trotsky: Geoffrey Rush
Tina Modotti: Ashley Judd
David Alfaro Siqueiros: Antonio     Banderas
Miramax Films presents a film directed by Julie Taymor. Written by Diane
Lake, Gregory Nava, Clancy Sigal and Anna Thomas. Based on the book Frida: A
Biography of Frida Kahlo by Hayden Herrera. Running time: 120 minutes. Rated
R (for sexuality/nudity and language).

MOVIES BY ROGER EBERT

Early in their marriage, Frida Kahlo tells Diego Rivera she expects him to
be "not faithful, but loyal." She holds herself to the same standard. Sexual
faithfulness is a bourgeois ideal that they reject as Marxist bohemians who
disdain the conventional. But passionate jealousy is not unknown to them,
and both have a double standard, permitting themselves freedoms they would
deny the other. During the course of "Frida," Kahlo has affairs with Leon
Trotsky and Josephine Baker (not a shabby dance card), and yet rages at
Diego for his infidelities.

Julie Taymor's biopic tells the story of an extraordinary life. Frida Kahlo
(Salma Hayek), born of a German Jewish father and a Mexican mother, grew up
in Mexico City at a time when it was a hotbed of exile and intrigue. As a
student, she goes to see the great muralist Diego Rivera at work, boldly
calls him "fat" and knows that he is the man for her.

Then she is almost mortally injured in a trolley crash that shatters her
back and pierces her body with a steel rod. She was never to be free of pain
again in her life and for long periods had to wear a body cast. Taymor shows
a bluebird flying from Frida's hand at the moment of the crash, and later
gold leaf falls on the cast: She uses the materials of magic realism to
suggest how Frida was able to overcome pain with art and imagination.

Rivera was already a legend when she met him. Played by Alfred Molina in a
great bearlike performance of male entitlement, he was equally gifted at
art, carnal excess and self-promotion. The first time Frida sleeps with him,
they are discovered by his wife, Lupe (Valeria Golino), who is enraged, of
course, but such is Diego's power over women that after Frida and Diego are
wed, Lupe brings them breakfast in bed ("This is his favorite. If you are
here to stay, you'd better learn how to make it.")

Frida's paintings often show herself, alone or with Diego, and reflect her
pain and her ecstasy. They are on a smaller scale than his famous murals,
and her art is overshadowed by his. His fame leads to an infamous incident,
when he is hired by Nelson Rockefeller (Edward Norton) to create a mural for
Rockefeller Center, and boldly includes Lenin among the figures he paints.
Rockefeller commands the mural to be hammered down from the wall, thus
making himself the goat in this episode forevermore.

The director, Julie Taymor, became famous for her production of "The Lion
King" on Broadway, with its extraordinary merging of actors and the animals
they portrayed. Her film "Titus" (1999) was a brilliant re-imaging of the
Shakespeare tragedy, showing a gift for great daring visual inventions.
Here, too, she breaks out of realism to suggest the fanciful colors of
Frida's imagination. But real life itself is bizarre in this marriage, where
the partners build houses side by side and connect them by a bridge between
the top floors.

Artists talk about the "zone," that mental state when the mind, the eye, the
hand and the imagination are all in the same place and they are able to lose
track of time and linear thought. Frida Kahlo seems to have painted in order
to seek the zone and escape pain: When she was at work, she didn't so much
put the pain onto the canvas as channel it away from conscious thought and
into the passion of her work. She needs to paint, not simply to "express
herself" but to live at all, and this is her closest bond with Rivera.

Biopics of artists are always difficult, because the connections between
life and art always seem too easy and facile. The best ones lead us back to
the work itself and inspire us to sympathize with its maker. "Frida" is
jammed with incident and anecdote--this was a life that ended at 46 and yet
made longer lives seem underfurnished. Taymor obviously struggled with the
material, as did her many writers; the screenwriters listed range from the
veteran Clancy Sigal to the team of Gregory Nava and Anna Thomas, and much
of the final draft was reportedly written by Norton. Sometimes we feel as if
the film careens from one colorful event to another without respite, but
sometimes it must have seemed to Frida Kahlo as if her life did, too.

The film opens in 1953, on the date of Frida's only one-woman show in
Mexico. Her doctor tells her she is too sick to attend it, but she has her
bed lifted into a flat-bed truck and carried to the gallery. This opening
gesture provides Taymor with the set-up for the movie's extraordinary
closing scenes, in which death itself is seen as another work of art.

Copyright ⌐ Chicago Sun-Times Inc.

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From: [e-mail]
Subject: [MV] SONGS FROM THE SECOND FLOOR / **** (Not rated)
Date: 02 Nov 2002 07:24:06 GMT

SONGS FROM THE SECOND FLOOR / **** (Not rated)

November 1, 2002

Kalle: Lars Nordh
Stefan: Stefan Larsson
Pelle: Torbjorn Fahlstrom
Lasse: Sten Andersson
Magician: Lucio Vucino
Mia: Hanna Eriksson
Tomas: Peter Roth
Uffe: Tommy Johansson
New Yorker Films presents a film written and directed by Roy Andersson.
Running time: 98 minutes. No MPAA rating. In Swedish with English subtitles.

MOVIES BY ROGER EBERT

In a sour, gray city, filled with pale drunken salarymen and parading
flagellants, everything goes wrong, pain is laughed at, businesses fail,
traffic seizes up and a girl is made into a human sacrifice to save a
corporation. Roy Andersson's "Songs From the Second Floor" is a collision at
the intersection of farce and tragedy--the apocalypse as a joke on us.

You have never seen a film like this before. You may not enjoy it but you
will not forget it. Andersson is a deadpan Swedish surrealist who has spent
the last 25 years making "the best TV commercials in the world" (Ingmar
Bergman) and now bites off the hand that fed him, chews it thoughtfully,
spits it out and tramples on it. His movie regards modern capitalist society
with the detached hilarity of a fanatic saint squatting on his pillar in the
desert.

I saw it at the 2000 Cannes Film Festival. Understandably, it did not
immediately find a distributor. Predictably, audiences did not flock to it.
When I screened it at my 2001 Overlooked Film Festival, there were times
when the audience laughed out loud, times when it squinted in dismay, times
when it watched in disbelief. When two of the actors came out onstage
afterward, it was somehow completely appropriate that one of them never said
a word.

I love this film because it is completely new, starting from a place no
other film has started from, proceeding implacably to demonstrate the logic
of its despair, arriving at a place of no hope. One rummages for the names
of artists to evoke: Bosch, Tati, Kafka, Beckett, Dali. It is "slapstick
Ingmar Bergman," says J. Hoberman in the Village Voice. Yes, and tragic
Groucho Marx.

The film opens ironically with a man in a tanning machine--ironic, because
all of the other characters will look like they've spent years in sunless
caves. It proceeds with a series of set-pieces in which the camera, rarely
moving, gazes impassively at scenes of absurdity and despair. A man is fired
and clings to the leg of his boss, who marches down a corridor dragging him
behind. A magician saws a volunteer in two. Yes. A man with the wrong accent
is attacked by a gang. A man burns down his own store and then assures
insurance inspectors it was arson, but as they talk we lose interest because
outside on the street a parade of flagellants marches past, whipping
themselves in time to their march.

There is the most slender of threads connecting the scenes--the arsonist is
a continuing character--but Andersson is not telling a conventional story.
He is planting his camera here and there in a city that has simply stopped
working, has broken down and is cannibalizing itself. It is a 20th century
city, but Andersson sees it as an appropriate backdrop for the plague or any
other medieval visitation. And its citizens have fallen back on ancient
fearful superstition to protect themselves.

Consider the scene where clerics and businessmen, all robed for their
offices, gather in a desolate landscape as a young woman walks the plank to
her death below. Perhaps the sacrifice of her life will placate the gods who
are angry with the corporation. We watch this scene and we are forced to
admit that corporations are capable of such behavior: That a tobacco
company, for example, expects its customers to walk the plank every day.

Is there no hope in this devastation? A man who corners the market in
crucifixes now bitterly tosses out his excess inventory. "I staked
everything on a loser," he complains. Does that make the movie
anti-Christian? No. It is not anti- anything. It is about the loss of hope,
about the breakdown of all systems of hope. Its characters are piggish,
ignorant, clueless salarymen who, without salaries, have no way to be men.
The movie argues that in an economic collapse our modern civilization would
fall from us and we would be left wandering our cities like the plague
victims of old, seeking relief in drunkenness, superstition, sacrifice, sex
and self-mockery.

Oh, but yes, the film is often very funny about this bleak view. I have
probably not convinced you of that. It's funny because it stands back and
films its scenes in long shot, the camera not moving, so that we can
distance ourselves from the action--and we remember the old rule from the
silent days: comedy in long shot, tragedy in closeup. Close shots cause us
to identify with the characters, to weep and fear along with them. Long
shots allow us to view them objectively, within their environment. "Songs
From the Second Floor" is a parade of fools marching blindly to their ruin,
and for the moment we are still spectators and have not been required to
join the march. The laughter inspired by the movie is sometimes at the
absurd, sometimes simply from relief.

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From: [e-mail]
Subject: [MV] THE MAN FROM ELYSIAN FIELDS / **** (R)
Date: 02 Nov 2002 07:24:08 GMT

THE MAN FROM ELYSIAN FIELDS / **** (R)

November 1, 2002

Byron Tiller: Andy Garcia
Luther Fox: Mick Jagger
Dena Tiller: Julianna Margulies
Andrea Allcott: Olivia Williams
Tobias Allcott: James Coburn
Jennifer Adler: Anjelica Huston
Greg: Michael Des Barres
Samuel Goldwyn Films and Fireworks Pictures present a film directed by
George Hickenlooper. Written by Phillip Jayson Lasker. Running time: 106
minutes. Rated R (for language and sexual content).

MOVIES BY ROGER EBERT

"Elysian Fields is an escort service. We tend to the wounds of lonely women
in need of emotional as well as spiritual solace."

"Only women?"

"Call me oldfashioned."

It's not just the reply, it's the way Mick Jagger delivers it. The way only
Mick Jagger could deliver it. There is a brave insouciance to it, and George
Hickenlooper's "The Man from Elysian Fields" finds that tone and holds it.
This is a rare comedy of manners, witty, wicked and worldly, and one of the
best movies of the year. It has seven principal characters, and every one of
them is seen sharply as an individual with faults, quirks and feelings.

With the craftsmanship of a sophisticated film from Hollywood's golden age,
with the care for dialogue and the attention to supporting characters that
have been misplaced by the star system, the movie is about what people want
and need, which are not always the same thing. It contains moments of tender
romance but is not deceived that love can solve anything.

Byron Tiller (Andy Garcia), the hero, is the author of a good first novel
and now has written a bad second one. He is afraid to tell his wife Dena
(Julianna Margulies) that his new novel has been rejected and that they
desperately need money. In a bar, he meets a man with the obscurely satanic
name Luther Fox (Jagger). Fox runs Elysian Fields, an escort service for
wealthy women. Byron agrees to take an assignment, and he finds himself with
the lovely Andrea Allcott (Olivia Williams). Why would she need to pay for
companionship? It is a form of loyalty to her husband, who is old and
diabetic, and who she loves. It would be cheating to go out with an
available man.

Her husband is Tobias Allcott (James Coburn), who has won Pulitzer Prizes
for his novels. He knows about his wife's arrangement, treats Byron in a
dry, civilized manner, and enlists the younger writer's help with his
current novel. Soon Byron is providing solace, of different kinds to be
sure, to both of the Allcotts. He's a little dazzled by their qualities. And
then there are two other characters, who add depth to the peculiar emotional
complexity of the escort business: Jennifer Adler (Anjelica Huston), who
pays for Luther Fox's services but doesn't want them for free; and Greg
(rock star Michael Des Barres), a successful escort who gives Byron helpful
tips on the clients.

The literate, sophisticated screenplay by Phillip Jayson Lasker understands
that what happens to one character affects how another one feels; there's an
emotional domino effect. By working for Elysian Fields, Byron supports his
family, but it loses his attention. By risking everything in telling
Jennifer that he loves her, Luther discovers his own self-deception. By
accepting Byron's help with his novel, Tobias loses stature in his own eyes.
Andrea fiercely tells Byron of the old man: "The only thing he has left is
his reputation, and when he dies I want him holding onto it." Yes, but she
saves it in public by destroying it in private. She isn't very sensitive
that way.

This is a grown-up movie, in its humor and in its wisdom about life. You
need to have lived a little to understand the complexities of Tobias
Allcott, who is played by James Coburn with a pitch-perfect balance between
sadness and sardonic wit. Listen to his timing and his word choices in the
scene where he opens his wife's bedroom door and finds Byron, not without
his permission, in his wife's bed. You can believe he is a great novelist.
The scene is an example of the dialogue's grace and irony. Another example:
"This business you're in," Byron asks Luther. "Does it ever make you
ashamed?" Luther replies: "No. Poverty does that."

Julianna Margulies, as Byron's wife, has what could have been the standard
role of the wronged woman, but the screenplay doesn't dismiss her with
pathos and sympathy. Dena stands up and fights, holds her ground, is
correctly unforgiving. Olivia Williams, as Andrea, has a hint of
selfishness: Her concern for Tobias' reputation is connected to the way it
reflects on her. There is a scene between Luther and Byron on the beach,
where the older man shares a lesson he has just learned; it makes exactly
the point it needs to make and stops. The movie is confident enough it
doesn't need to underline everything. It makes its point about the Michael
Des Barres character even more economically; for him, the song "Just a
Gigolo" is sad or jolly, depending on his mood.

Andy Garcia's performance took some courage, because his Byron is not a very
strong man. Not strong enough to tell his wife the novel didn't sell. Not
strong enough to resist the temptations of Elysian Fields, or the flattery
of Tobias' attention. By the time the ending comes around, we observe that
it is happy, but we also observe that the movie has earned it: Most movies
are too eager to wrap things up by providing forgiveness before it has been
deserved. Not this one.

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From: [e-mail]
Subject: [MV] THE SANTA CLAUSE 2 / *** (G)
Date: 02 Nov 2002 07:24:09 GMT

THE SANTA CLAUSE 2 / *** (G)

November 1, 2002

Scott/Santa:     Tim Allen
Carol Newman :    Elizabeth Mitchell
Charlie Calvin:     Eric Lloyd
Bernard:    David Krumholtz
Curtis:     Spencer Breslin
Laura Miller:     Wendy Crewson
Neil Miller:     Judge Reinhold

Walt Disney Pictures presents a film directed by Michael Lembeck. Written by
Don Rhymer, Ken Daurio, Ed Decter, Cinco Paul and John J. Strauss. Story by
Leo Benvenuti and Steve Rudnick. Running time: 95 minutes. Rated G.

MOVIES BY ROGER EBERT

"There ain't no sanity clause!"

-- Chico Marx

True, but there is a Santa Clause No. 2, which requires that Santa get
married, or else. This information is revealed at the North Pole at the
worst possible time, during the pre-Christmas manufacturing rush, when Air
Force listening planes hear what sounds like "tiny hammers" from beneath the
snow. The current occupant of the Santa suit is happy supervising his elves
and perfecting his chimney-craft, when he's informed of a loophole in his
contract: If he doesn't produce a Mrs. Claus in 28 days, he'll stop being
Santa and (I'm not real sure about this) the office may even entirely
disappear, casting the world's children into gloom.

Already, Santa is thinner, the red suit looks baggy and the white beard
seems to be shedding. The outlook is grim. We recognize Santa from "The
Santa Clause," the 1994 movie that explained how he got the job in the first
place. As you may (or very likely may not) recall, Scott Calvin (Tim Allen)
was a divorced man who, in attempting to join in the holiday spirit,
accidentally ... well, killed Santa Claus. And then found a card informing
him that now he was Santa Claus.

In the years that have passed, Scott's ex-wife, Laura (Wendy Crewson), and
her nice new husband, Neil (Judge Reinhold), have continued to raise Scott's
son, Charlie, but now the kid is involved in a high school graffiti prank
and the elves have to break the news to Santa: Charlie has switched lists,
from "nice" to "naughty." In a panic, Scott/Santa flies back home, to
counsel his son and perhaps find a wife, while the North Pole is put under
the command of a cloned Santa who soon uses toy soldiers to stage a military
coup and establish a dictatorship.

"The Santa Clause 2" is more of the same tinsel-draped malarkey that made
the original film into a big hit, but it's more engaging, assured and funny,
and I liked it more. The first movie seemed too desperately cheery; this one
has a nice acerbic undertone, even though there is indeed a romance in the
works for Santa and Principal Newman (Elizabeth Mitchell), whose experience
with corridor passes may come in handy if she has to supervise millions of
elves.

The movie is not a special effects extravaganza like "The Grinch," but in a
way that's a relief. It's more about charm and silliness than about great
hulking multimillion-dollar high-tech effects. The North Pole looks only a
little more elaborate than a department store window, the Clone Santa's
troops look like refugees from "The March of the Wooden Soldiers," and
Santa's mode of transportation is a reindeer named Comet who is not the
epitome of grace.

One new touch this time is the Board Meeting of Legendary Characters, which
Santa chairs, with members including the Sandman, the Tooth Fairy, Mother
Nature, the Easter Bunny, etc., many of them played by well-known actors I
will leave you to discover for yourself. I suppose it makes sense that all
of these characters would exist in the same universe, and when the Tooth
Fairy saves the day, it is through the film's profound understanding of the
rules of Tooth Fairydom.

I almost liked the original "Santa Clause" but wrote that "despite its
charms, the movie didn't push over the top into true inspiration." Now here
is "Santa Clause 2," which kind of does push over the top, especially with
the Clone Santa subplot, and is all-around a better film, although I believe
that any universe that includes the Tooth Fairy and the Sandman could easily
accommodate, and benefit from, Groucho Marx.

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From: [e-mail]
Subject: [MV] THE WEIGHT OF WATER / ** (R)
Date: 02 Nov 2002 07:24:11 GMT

THE WEIGHT OF WATER / ** (R)

November 1, 2002

Jean Janes: Catherine     McCormack
Maren Hontvedt: Sarah Polley
Thomas Janes: Sean Penn
Rich Janes: Josh Lucas
Adaline: Elizabeth Hurley
Lions Gate Films presents a film directed by Kathryn Bigelow. Written by
Alice Arlen and Christopher Kyle. Based on the novel by Anita Shreve.
Running time: 114 minutes. Rated R (for violence, sexuality/nudity and brief
language).

BY ROGER EBERT

"The Weight of Water" tells two stories of family jealousy, separated by
more than a century and heightened by lurid melodrama, bloody murder, incest
and storms at sea. While either one of the stories could make a plausible
thriller, the movie's structure undercuts them both.

Unlike "Possession" or "The French Lieutenant's Woman," in which modern and
historical stories are linked in an intriguing way, "The Weight of Water"
seems more like an exercise. We don't feel the connection, and every jump in
time is a distraction.

The older story is the more absorbing. In 1873, on an island off the coast
of New Hampshire, two Norwegian immigrant women are found murdered with an
ax. A hapless man named Wagner (Ciaran Hinds) is convicted of the crime
after a surviving eyewitness named Maren (Sarah Polley) testifies against
him.

By the end of the movie, we will have a deeper understanding of the
emotional undertow on the island, and we will know that Maren's love for her
brother Evan (Anders W. Berthelsen) is at the center of the intrigue.

Maren is married to John Hontvedt (Ulrich Thomsen) but does not love him;
her brother arrives on the island with his new bride Anethe (Vinessa Shaw),
and there is also her sister Karen (Katrin Cartlidge, whose performance is a
reminder of how much we lost when she died at such an early age).

The modern story takes place mostly on a luxury yacht chartered by two
brothers, Thomas and Rich Janes (Sean Penn and Josh Lucas). Thomas' wife,
Jean (Catherine McCormack), is a famous photographer who is working on a
book about the famous crime, which still inspires controversy and
revisionist theories. The others are along for the ride, including Rich's
girlfriend, Adaline (Elizabeth Hurley). We learn, by indirection, tones of
voice and body language, that the Penn character is jealous of his brother,
indifferent to his wife, interested in the girlfriend.

The screenplay, by Alice Arlen and Christopher Kyle, doesn't try to force
awkward parallels between the two stories, but they are there to be found:
hidden and forbidden passion, sibling jealousy, the possibility of violence.
The movie tells the two stories so separately, indeed, that each one acts as
a distraction from the other. The fact that there are nine major characters
and many lines of intrigue doesn't help; "Possession" and "The French
Lieutenant's Woman" only had to deal with parallels between a 19th century
couple and a 20th century couple.

Another problem is that psychological conflicts get upstaged by
old-fashioned melodrama. The storm at the end, which I will not describe in
detail, involves violence and action which would be right at home in a
seafaring thriller, but seems hauled into this material only to provide an
exciting action climax. It is not necessary to the material. And the
revelations in the historical story would have more depth and resonance if
we'd spent more time with the characters--if all of their scenes were not
essentially part of the set-up.

The movie was directed by Kathryn Bigelow, whose "Strange Days" (1995) was a
smart futuristic thriller, inexplicably overlooked by audiences. Her credits
also include the effective "K-19: The Widowmaker," the submarine thriller
from earlier this year. I like her work, but with "The Weight of Water" I
think her problems began with the very decision to tell these two stories
alternately. The actors are splendid, especially Sarah Polley and Sean Penn,
but we never feel confident that these two plots fit together, belong
together, or work together.

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From: [e-mail]
Subject: [MV] ALL THE QUEEN'S MEN / * (Not rated)
Date: 02 Nov 2002 07:24:13 GMT

ALL THE QUEEN'S MEN / * (Not rated)

October 25, 2002

Steven O'Rourke: Matt LeBlanc
Tony Parker: Eddie Izzard
Archie: James Cosmo
Romy: Nicolette Krebitz
Gen. Lansdorf: Udo Kier
Johnno: David Birkin
Col. Aitken: Edward Fox
Strand Releasing presents a film directed by Stefan Ruzowitzky. Written by
Digby Wolfe, Joseph Manduke and June Roberts. Running time: 105 minutes. In
German and English with English subtitles. No MPAA rating.

BY ROGER EBERT

"All the Queen's Men" is a perfectly good idea for a comedy, but it just
plain doesn't work. It's dead in the water. I can imagine it working well in
a different time, with a different cast, in black and white instead of
color--but I can't imagine it working like this.

The movie tells the story of the "Poof Platoon," a group of four Allied
soldiers parachuted into Berlin in drag to infiltrate the all-woman factory
where the Enigma machine is being manufactured. This story is said to be
based on fact. If it is, I am amazed that such promising material would
yield such pitiful results. To impersonate a woman and a German at the same
time would have been so difficult and dangerous that it's amazing how the
movie turns it into a goofy lark.

The film stars Matt LeBlanc from "Friends," who is criminally miscast as
Steven O'Rourke, a U.S. officer famous for never quite completing heroic
missions. He is teamed with a drag artist named Tony (Eddie Izzard), an
ancient major named Archie (James Cosmo) and a scholar named Johnno (David
Birkin). After brief lessons in hair, makeup, undergarments and espionage,
they're dropped into Berlin during an air raid and try to make contact with
a resistance leader.

This underground hero turns out to be the lovely and fragrant Romy
(Nicolette Krebitz), a librarian who for the convenience of the plot lives
in a loft under the roof of the library, so that (during one of many
unbelievable scenes) the spies are able to lift a skylight window in order
to eavesdrop on an interrogation.

The plot requires them to infiltrate the factory, steal an Enigma machine
and return to England with it. Anyone who has seen "Enigma," "U-571" or the
various TV documentaries about the Enigma machine will be aware that by the
time of this movie, the British already had possession of an Enigma machine,
but to follow that line of inquiry too far in this movie is not wise. The
movie has an answer to it, but it comes so late in the film that although it
makes sense technically, the damage has already been done.

The four misfit transvestites totter about Berlin looking like (very bad)
Andrews Sisters imitators, and O'Rourke falls in love with the librarian
Romy. How it becomes clear that he is not a woman is not nearly as
interesting as how anyone could possibly have thought he was a woman in the
first place. He plays a woman as if determined, in every scene, to signal to
the audience that he's absolutely straight and only kidding. His voice, with
its uncanny similarity to Sylvester Stallone's, doesn't help.

The action in the movie would be ludicrous anyway, but is even more peculiar
in a cross-dressing comedy. There's a long sequence in which Tony, the
Izzard character, does a marked-down Marlene Dietrich before a wildly
enthusiastic audience of Nazis. Surely they know he is, if not a spy, at
least a drag queen? I'm not so sure. I fear the movie makes it appear the
Nazis think he is a sexy woman, something that will come as surprise to
anyone who is familiar with Eddie Izzard, including Eddie Izzard.

Watching the movie, it occurred to me that Tony Curtis and Jack Lemmon were
not any more convincing as women in "Some Like It Hot." And yet we bought
them in that comedy, and it remains a classic. Why did they work, while the
Queen's Men manifestly do not? Apart from the inescapable difference in
actual talent, could it have anything to do with the use of color?

Black and white is better suited to many kinds of comedy, because it
underlines the dialogue and movement while diminishing the importance of
fashions and eliminating the emotional content of various colors. Billy
Wilder fought for b&w on "Some Like It Hot" because he thought his drag
queens would never be accepted by the audience in color, and he was right.

The casting is also a problem. Matt LeBlanc does not belong in this movie in
any role other than, possibly, that of a Nazi who believes Eddie Izzard is a
woman. He is all wrong for the lead, with no lightness, no humor, no
sympathy for his fellow spies and no comic timing. I can imagine this movie
as a b&w British comedy, circa 1960, with Peter Sellers, Kenneth
Williams, et al., but at this time, with this cast, this movie is hopeless.

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From: [e-mail]
Subject: [MV] AUTO FOCUS / **** (R)
Date: 02 Nov 2002 07:24:14 GMT

AUTO FOCUS / **** (R)

October 25, 2002

Bob Crane: Greg Kinnear
John Carpenter: Willem Dafoe
Patricia Crane: Maria Bello
Anne Crane: Rita Wilson
Lenny: Ron Leibman
Feldman: Bruce Solomon
Sony Pictures Classics presents a film directed by Paul Schrader. Written by
Michael Gerbosi. Based on the book The Murder of Bob Crane by Robert
Graysmith. Running time: 107 minutes. Rated R (for strong sexuality, nudity,
language, some drug use and violence).

BY ROGER EBERT

Eddie Cantor once told Bob Crane, "likability is 90 percent of the battle."
It seems to be 100 percent of Bob Crane's battle; there is nothing there
except likability--no values, no self-awareness, no judgment, no
perspective, not even an instinct for survival. Just likability, and the
need to be liked in a sexual way every single day. Paul Schrader's "Auto
Focus," based on Crane's life, is a deep portrait of a shallow man, lonely
and empty, going through the motions of having a good time.

The broad outlines of Crane's rise and fall are well known. How he was a Los
Angeles DJ who became a TV star after being cast in the lead of "Hogan's
Heroes," a comedy set in a Nazi prison camp. How his career tanked after the
show left the air. How he toured on the dinner theater circuit, destroyed
two marriages, and was so addicted to sex that his life was scandalous even
by Hollywood standards. How he was found bludgeoned to death in 1978 in a
Scottsdale, Ariz., motel room.

Crane is survived by four children, including sons from his first and second
marriages who differ in an almost biblical way, the older appearing in this
movie, the younger threatening a lawsuit against it, yet running a Web site
retailing his father's sex life. So strange was Crane's view of his
behavior, so disconnected from reality, that I almost imagine he would have
seen nothing wrong with his second son's sales of photos and videotapes of
his father having sex. "It's healthy," Crane argues in defense of his
promiscuity, although we're not sure if he really thinks that, or really
thinks anything.

The movie is a hypnotic portrait of this sad, compulsive life. The director,
Paul Schrader, is no stranger to stories about men trapped in sexual
miscalculation; he wrote "Taxi Driver" and wrote and directed "American
Gigolo." He sees Crane as an empty vessel, filled first with fame and then
with desire. Because he was on TV, he finds that women want to sleep with
him, and seems to oblige them almost out of good manners. There is no lust
or passion in this film, only mechanical courtship followed by desultory
sex. You can catch the women looking at him and asking themselves if there
is anybody at home. Even his wives are puzzled.

Greg Kinnear gives a creepy, brilliant performance as a man lacking in all
insight. He has the likability part down pat. There is a scene in a
nightclub where Crane asks the bartender to turn the TV to a rerun of
"Hogan's Heroes." When a woman realizes that Hogan himself is in the room,
notice how impeccable Kinnear's timing and manner are, as he fakes false
modesty and pretends to be flattered by her attention. Crane was not a
complex man, but that should not blind us to the subtlety and complexity of
Kinnear's performance.

Willem Dafoe is the co-star, as John Carpenter, a tech-head in the days when
Hollywood was just learning that television could be taped and replayed by
devices in the consumer price range. Carpenter hangs around sets flattering
the stars, lending them the newest Sony gadgets, wiring their cars for
stereo and their dressing rooms for instant replays. He is the very
embodiment of Mephistopheles, offering Crane exactly what he wants to be
offered.

The turning point in Crane's life comes on a night when Carpenter invites
him to a strip club. Crane is proud of his drumming, and Carpenter suggests
that the star could "sit in" with the house band. Soon Crane is sitting in
at strip clubs every night of the week, returning late or not at all to his
first wife Anne (Rita Wilson). Sensing something is wrong, he meets a priest
one morning for breakfast, but is somehow not interested when the priest
suggests he could "sit in" with a parish musical group.

Dafoe plays Carpenter as ingratiating, complimentary, sly, seductive and
enigmatically needy. Despite their denials, is there something homosexual in
their relationship? The two men become constant companions, apart from a
little tiff when Crane examines a video and notices Carpenter's hand in the
wrong place. "It's an orgy!" Carpenter explains, and soon the men are on the
prowl again. The video equipment has a curious relevance to their sexual
activities; do they have sex for its own sake, or to record it for later
editing and viewing? From its earliest days, home video has had an intimate
buried relationship with sex. If Tommy Lee and Pamela Anderson ever think to
ask themselves why they taped their wedding night, this movie might suggest
some answers.

The film is wall-to-wall with sex, but contains no eroticism. The women are
never really in focus. They drift in and out of range, as the two men hunt
through swinger's magazines, attend swapping parties, haunt strip clubs and
troll themselves like bait through bars. If there is a shadow on their
idyll, it is that Crane condescends to Carpenter, and does not understand
the other man's desperate need for recognition.

The film is pitch-perfect in its decor, music, clothes, cars, language and
values. It takes place during those heady years between the introduction of
the Pill and the specter of AIDS, when men shaped as adolescents by Playboy
in the 1950s now found some of their fantasies within reach. The movie
understands how celebrity can make women available--and how, for some men,
it is impossible to say no to an available woman. They are hard-wired, and
judgment has nothing to do with it. We can feel sorry for Bob Crane but in a
strange way, because he is so clueless, it is hard to blame him; we are
reminded of the old joke in which God tells Adam he has a brain and a penis,
but only enough blood to operate one of them at a time.

The movie's moral counterpoint is provided by Ron Leibman, as Lenny, Crane's
manager. He gets him the job on "Hogan's Heroes" and even, improbably, the
lead in a Disney film named "Superdad." But Crane is reckless in the way he
allows photographs and tapes of his sexual performances to float out of his
control. On the Disney set one day, Lenny visits to warn Crane about his
notorious behavior, but Crane can't hear him, can't listen. He drifts toward
his doom, unconscious, lost in a sexual fog.

Crane families in legal dispute over biopic

Bob Crane's two sons are on opposite sides in a legal dispute about the
biopic "Auto Focus." Robert David Crane, the son by the first marriage,
supports the movie, appears in it and is listed in the credits as "Bob Crane
Jr." Robert Scott Crane, from the second marriage, says it is filled with
inaccuracies, and has started a Web site to oppose it. The site somewhat
undermines its own position by offering for sale photographs and videos
taken by Crane of his sexual indiscretions.

"There is no such person as Bob Crane Jr.," says Lee Blackman, the Los
Angeles attorney representing the second wife, Patricia, and her son. "Both
sons had Robert as a first name, and different middle names. Bob Crane's own
middle name was Edward." In life, he told me, the older son is called Bobby,
and the younger, his client, is Scotty.

By taking money for his participation in the movie and billing himself Bob
Crane Jr., he said, Bobby has compromised himself. (In the movie, the older
son has a small role as a Christian TV interviewer.)

But what about his client Scotty's Web site, with the Crane sex tapes for
sale?

"He is trying to set the record straight. The Web site only came into
existence because of the film. For example, on Scotty's site you will find
the Scottsdale coroner's autopsy on Bob Crane, clearly indicating he never
had a penile implant, although the movie claims he did. You will see that
his movies were really just homemade comedies: He would edit the sex stuff
with cutaways to Jack Benny or Johnny Carson, and a musical soundtrack."

Other complaints by Blackman and his clients:

* "He was reconciled with Patricia, his second wife, at the time of his
death. The movie shows her drinking in the middle of the day, but she has an
allergic reaction to hard liquor."

* "DNA tests have proven Scotty is Bob Crane's son, despite implications in
the movie that he is not."

* "Bob Crane was not a dark monster. The night he was killed, he was editing
'Star Wars' for Scotty, to take out the violence."

* "He didn't meet John Carpenter [the Willem Dafoe character] until 1975.
The movie has him meeting him in 1965. It implies Bob needed Carpenter to
teach him all that technical stuff, but in fact Bob Crane was very
knowledgeable about home electronics, and was making home movies even in the
1950s."

"Legally," said Blackman, "you can defame the dead. This movie has massive
quantities of defamation. We're trying to work with the distributor, Sony,
to tweak the film in a couple of little places to make it more accurate.
When it's released, if it still contains actionable material, we'll
determine what to do."

Roger Ebert

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From: [e-mail]
Subject: [MV] BLOODY SUNDAY / ***1/2 (R)
Date: 02 Nov 2002 07:24:16 GMT

BLOODY SUNDAY / ***1/2 (R)

October 25, 2002

Ivan Cooper: James Nesbitt
Maj. Gen. Ford: Tim Pigott-Smith
Brigadier MacLellan: Nicholas Farrell
Chief Supt. Lagan: Gerard McSorley
Frances: Kathy Kiera Clarke
Kevin McCorry: Allan Gildea
Eamonn McCann: Gerard Crossan
Paramount Classics presents a film written and directed by Paul Greengrass.
Based on the book by Don Mullan. Running time: 110 minutes. Rated R (for
violence and language). Opening today at Webster Place and Evanston CineArts
6.

BY ROGER EBERT

Both sides agree that on Jan. 30, 1972, a civil rights march in Derry,
Northern Ireland, ended with a confrontation between some of the marchers
and British army paratroopers. At the end of the day, 13 marchers were dead
and 14 in the hospital, one of whom later died. No British soldiers were
killed. An official inquiry declared that the soldiers had returned the fire
of armed marchers. Some of the soldiers involved were later decorated by the
crown.

Beyond this agreement, there is a disagreement so deep and bitter that 30
years later "Bloody Sunday" is still an open wound in the long, contested
history of the British in Northern Ireland. A new inquiry into the events of
the day was opened in 1998 and still continues today. Paul Greengrass' film
"Bloody Sunday," which shared the Golden Bear at the Berlin Film Festival
this year, is made in the form of a documentary. It covers about 24 hours,
starting on Saturday evening, and its central character is Ivan Cooper
(James Nesbitt), a civil rights leader in Derry. He was a Protestant MP from
the nationalist Social Democratic Labour Party. Most of the 10,000 marchers
on that Sunday would be Catholic; that a Protestant led them, and stood
beside such firebrands as Bernadette Devlin, indicates the division in the
north between those who stood in solidarity with their co-religionists, and
those of all faiths who simply wanted the British out of Northern Ireland.

Cooper is played by Nesbitt as a thoroughly admirable man, optimistic,
tireless, who walks fearlessly through dangerous streets and has a good word
for everyone. He knows the day's march has been banned by the British
government but expects no trouble because it will be peaceful and
non-violent. As Cooper hands out leaflets in the streets, Greengrass
intercuts preparations by the British army, which from the top down is
determined to make a strong stand against "hooliganism." More than two dozen
British soldiers have been killed by the Provisional IRA in recent months,
and this is a chance to crack down.

Greengrass also establishes a few other characters, including a young man
who kisses his girlfriend goodbye and promises his mother no harm will come
to him--always ominous signs in a movie. And we meet the Derry police chief
(Gerard McSorley), who is alarmed by the fierce resolve of the soldiers and
asks, not unreasonably, if it wouldn't be wiser to simply permit the march,
since it is obviously going to proceed anyway. Greengrass re-creates events
with stunning reality. (When he shows a movie marquee advertising "Sunday
Bloody Sunday," it's a small glitch because it seems like a calculated shot
in a movie that feels like cinema verite.) He is aided by the presence of
thousands of extras, who volunteered to be in the movie (some of them
marched on Bloody Sunday and are in a way playing themselves). Northern
Ireland is still a tinderbox where this film could not possibly be made;
streets in a poor area of Dublin were used.

Cooper and the other leaders are on the bed of a truck which leads the
column of marchers, and from their vantage point we can see that when the
march turns right, away from the army's position, some hot-headed marchers
turn left and begin to throw rocks at the soldiers. In the army's HQ, where
Maj. Gen. Ford (Tim Pigott-Smith) is in charge, an order is given to respond
firmly. Communications are confused, orders are distorted as they pass down
the chain of command, and soon rubber bullets and gas grenades are replaced
by the snap of real bullets.

Greengrass shows marchers trying to restrain a few of their fellows who are
armed. His film is clear, however, in its belief that the British fired
first and in cold blood, and he shows one wounded marcher being executed
with a bullet in the back. One of the marchers is apparently inspired by
Gerald Donaghey, whose case became famous. After being wounded, he was
searched twice, once by doctors, and then taken to an army area where he
died. Soldiers then found nail bombs in his pockets that had been
"overlooked" in two previous searches. For Greengrass, this is part of a
desperate attempt by the army to plant evidence and justify a massacre. Of
course, there are two sides to the story of Bloody Sunday, although the
score (Army 14, Marchers 0) is significant. The Greengrass view reflects
both the theories and the anger of the anti-British factions, and the army's
smugness after being cleared in the original investigation was only
inflammatory. "Bloody Sunday" is one view of what happened that day, a very
effective one. And as an act of filmmaking, it is superb: A sense of
immediate and present reality permeates every scene.

The official Web site of the current inquiry into Bloody Sunday may be found
at www.bloody-sunday-inquiry.org.uk. To read Thomas Kinsella's famous poem
about the 1972 event, "Butcher's Dozen," go to
www.usm.maine.edu/~mcgrath/poems/butchrs.htm.

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From: [e-mail]
Subject: [MV] COMEDIAN / ** (R)
Date: 02 Nov 2002 07:24:17 GMT

COMEDIAN / ** (R)

October 25, 2002

Featuring: Jerry Seinfeld, Orny Adams, Bill Cosby, Jay Leno, Chris Rock and
Garry Shandling
Miramax Films presents a documentary directed by Christian Charles. Running
time: 81 minutes. Rated R (for language).

BY ROGER EBERT

If it takes this much agony to be a stand-up comic, I don't think I could
survive a movie about a brain surgeon. "Comedian" follows Jerry Seinfeld and
other stand-ups as they appear onstage and then endlessly analyze, discuss,
rerun, regret, denounce, forgive and rewrite their material. To say they
sweat blood is to trivialize their suffering.

It looks to the audience as if stand-up comics walk out on a stage, are
funny, walk off, and spend the rest of the time hanging around the bar being
envied by wannabes. In fact, we discover, they agonize over "a minute,"
"five minutes," "10 minutes," on their way to nirvana: "I have an hour."
When Chris Rock tells Seinfeld that Bill Cosby does two hours and 20 minutes
without an intermission, and he does it twice in the same day, he becomes
very sad and thoughtful, like a karaoke star when Tony Bennett walks in.

Seinfeld can't believe his good fortune. He reached the top, with one of the
biggest hit TV shows of all time. And yet: "Here I am in Cleveland." After
retiring his old nightclub act with an HBO special, he starts from scratch
to devise a new act and take it on the road to comedy clubs, half of which
are called the Improv. He stands in front of the same brick walls, drinks
the same bottled water, handles the same microphones as kids on the way up.
Of course, he flies into town on a private jet that costs more than the
comedy club, but the movie doesn't rub this in.

Seinfeld is a great star, yet cannot coast. One night he gets stuck in the
middle of his act--he loses his train of thought--and stares baffled into
space. Blowing a single word can depress him. If it's still a battle for
Seinfeld, consider the case of Orny Adams, a rising comedian whom the film
uses as counterpoint. Adams shows Seinfeld a room full of boxes, drawers,
cabinets, file folders, stuffed with jokes. There are piles of material, and
yet he confides, "I feel like I sacrificed so much of my life. I'm 29 and I
have no job, no wife, no children." Seinfeld regards him as if wife,
children, home will all come in good time, but stand-up, now--stand-up is
life.

Orny Adams gets a gig on the David Letterman program, and we see him
backstage, vibrating with nervousness. The network guys have been over his
material and suggested some changes. Now he practices saying the word
"psoriasis." After the show, he makes a phone call to a friend to explain,
"I opened my first great network show with a joke I had never used before."
Well, not a completely new joke. He had to substitute the word "psoriasis"
for the word "lupus." But to a comedian who fine-tunes every syllable, that
made it a new joke and a fearsome challenge.

Seinfeld pays tribute to Robert Klein ("he was the guy we all looked up
to"). We listen to Klein remember when, after several appearances on "The
Tonight Show," he received the ultimate recognition: He was "called over by
Johnny." Seinfeld recalls that when he was 10 he memorized the comedy albums
of Bill Cosby. Now he visits Cosby backstage and expresses wonderment that
"a human life could last so long that I would be included in your life." Big
hug. Cosby is 65 and Seinfeld is 48, a 17-year-difference that is therefore
less amazing than that Shoshanna Lonstein's life could last so long that she
could meet Jerry when she was 18 and he was 39, but there you go.

"Comedian" was filmed over the course of a year by director Christian
Charles and producer Gary Streiner, who used two "store-bought" video
cameras and followed Seinfeld around. If that is all they did for a year,
then this was a waste of their time, since the footage, however interesting,
is the backstage variety that could easily be obtained in a week. There are
no deep revelations, no shocking moments of truth, and many, many
conversations in which Seinfeld and other comics discuss their acts with
discouragement and despair. The movie was produced by Seinfeld, and protects
him. The visuals tend toward the dim, the gray and the washed-out, and you
wish instead of spending a year with their store-boughts, they'd spent a
month and used the leftover to hire a cinematographer.

Why, you might wonder, would a man with untold millions in the bank go on a
tour of comedy clubs? What's in it for him if the people in Cleveland laugh?
Why, for that matter, does Jay Leno go to comedy clubs every single week,
even after having been called over by Johnny for the ultimate reward? Is it
because to walk out on the stage, to risk all, to depend on your nerve and
skill, and to possibly "die," is an addiction? Gamblers, they say, don't
want to win so much as they want to play. They like the action. They tend to
keep gambling until they have lost all their money. There may be a
connection between the two obsessions, although gamblers at least say they
are having fun, and stand-up comics, judging by this film, are miserable,
self-tortured beings, to whom success represents only a higher place to fall
from.

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From: [e-mail]
Subject: [MV] DAS EXPERIMENT / *** (Not rated)
Date: 02 Nov 2002 07:24:19 GMT

DAS EXPERIMENT / *** (Not rated)

October 25, 2002

Tarek Fahd, Number 77: Mortiz Bleibtreu
Berus: Justus von Dohnanyi
Steinhoff, Number 38: Christian Berkel
Schutte, Number 82: Oliver Stokowski
Joe, Number 69: Wotan Wilke Mohring
Number 53: Stephan Szasz
Number 40: Polat Dal
Number 21: Danny Richter
Number 15: Ralf Muller
Dora: Maren Eggert
Samuel Goldwyn Films presents a film directed by Oliver Hirschbiegel.
Written by Don Bohlinger, Christoph Darnstadt and Mario Giordano. Based on
the novel Black Box by Giordano. Running time: 114 minutes. No MPAA rating.
In German with English subtitles.

BY ROGER EBERT

Human behavior is determined to some degree by the uniforms we wear. An army
might march more easily in sweat pants, but it wouldn't have the same sense
of purpose. School uniforms enlist kids in the "student body." Catholic nuns
saw recruitment fall off when they modernized their habits. If you want to
figure out what someone thinks of himself, examine the uniform he is
wearing. Gene Siskel amused himself by looking at people on the street and
thinking: When they left home this morning, they thought they looked good in
that.

"Das Experiment," a new film from Germany, suggests that uniforms and the
roles they assign amplify underlying psychological tendencies. In the
experiment, 20 men are recruited to spend two weeks in a prison environment.
Eight are made into guards and given quasi-military uniforms. Twelve become
prisoners and wear nightshirts with numbers sewn on them. All 20 know they
are merely volunteers working for a $1,700 paycheck.

The movie is based on a novel, Black Box, by Mario Giordano. The novel was
probably inspired by the famous Stanford Prison Experiment of 1971, a
classic of role-playing. On that experiment's Web site, its director, Philip
G. Zimbardo, writes:

"How we went about testing these questions and what we found may astound
you. Our planned two-week investigation into the psychology of prison life
had to be ended prematurely after only six days because of what the
situation was doing to the college students who participated. In only a few
days, our guards became sadistic and our prisoners became depressed and
showed signs of extreme stress."

So there, I've given away the plot. Some critics of "Das Experiment"
question the fact that the guards become cruel so quickly, but the real-life
experiment bears that out. What is fascinating is how most of the members of
both groups tend to follow charismatic leaders. None of the other guards is
as sadistic as Berus (Justus von Dohnanyi) and none of the other prisoners
is as rebellious as Tarek Fahd (Mortiz Bleibtreu), who remembers, "My father
would say, 'Don't do this,' and I'd do it."

Perhaps uniforms turn us into packs, led by the top dog. There are a few
strays. One prisoner seems custom-made to be a victim, but another, a man
with military experience, holds back and tries to analyze the situation and
provide cool guidance. But he's more or less powerless because--well, the
guards are in charge. One of the guards has misgivings about what is
happening, but it takes a lot of nerve to defy the pack.

It would make perfect sense for the guards to say, "Look, we're all in this
together and we all want the $1,700 at the end of the two weeks. So let's
make it easy on ourselves." But at Stanford as in this movie (and in life),
that is not human nature. The outcome of the experiment is clear from the
setup. We would be astonished if the guards became humane.

What impressed me is how effective the movie was, even though the outcome is
a foregone conclusion. That's a tribute to the director, Oliver
Hirschbiegel, and the actors, who have been chosen with the same kind of
typecasting that perhaps occurs in life. The sadist looks mean. The rebel
looks like a trouble-maker. The military guy looks competent. The victim
looks submissive. We see them and read them. Is it the same in life?

By halfway through, I was surprised how involved I was, and I see that I
stopped taking notes at about that point--stopped thinking objectively and
began to identify. Of course I identified with the trouble-maker. But give
me a uniform and who knows what I would have done. The fact that the movie
is German inspires thoughts about the Holocaust: The Nazi command structure
needed only strong leaders at the top for Hitler to find, as one book called
them, willing executioners in the ranks. But is the syndrome limited to Nazi
Germany? This movie argues not.

Thinking of World War II, we're reminded not only of the Nazi uniforms,
which were fetishistic, but of the genial sloppiness of the average American
G.I., as unforgettably portrayed by the great Bill Mauldin. His Willie and
Joe, unshaven, their helmets askew, cigarettes dangling from their lips,
resented authority, but they won the war.

The Stanford Prison Experiment can be found on the Web at www.prisonexp.org.

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Subject: [MV] GHOST SHIP / ** (R)
Date: 02 Nov 2002 07:24:20 GMT

GHOST SHIP / ** (R)

October 25, 2002

Murphy: Gabriel Byrne
Epps: Julianna Margulies
Dodge: Ron Eldard
Ferriman: Desmond Harrington
Greer: Isaiah Washington
Santos: Alex Dimitriades
Munder: Karl Urban
Warner Bros. Pictures presents a film directed by Steve Beck. Written by
Mark Hanlon and John Pogue. Based on a story by Hanlon. Running time: 88
minutes. Rated R (for strong violence/gore, language and sexuality).

BY ROGER EBERT

"Ghost Ship" recycles all the usual haunted house material, but because it's
about a haunted ocean liner, it very nearly redeems itself. Yes, doors open
by themselves to reveal hanging corpses. Yes, there's a glimpse of a
character who shouldn't be there. Yes, there's a cigarette burning in an
ashtray that hasn't been used in 40 years. And yes, there's a struggle
between greed and prudence as the dangers pile up.

These are all usual elements in haunted house movies, but here they take
place aboard the deserted--or seemingly deserted--hulk of the Antonia Graza,
an Italian luxury liner that disappeared without a trace during a 1962
cruise to America and has now been discovered 40 years later, floating in
the Bering Strait. A salvage crew led by Gabriel Byrne and Julianna
Margulies sets out to capture this trophy, which could be worth a fortune.

Echoes from long-ago geography classes haunted me as I watched the film,
because the Bering Sea, of course, is in the North Pacific, and if the
Antonia Graza disappeared from the North Atlantic, it must have succeeded in
sailing unattended and unnoticed through the Panama Canal. Or perhaps it
rounded Cape Horn, or the Cape of Good Hope. Maybe its unlikely position is
like a warning that this ship no longer plays by the rules of the physical
universe.

The salvage crew is told about the ship by Ferriman (Desmond Harrington), a
weather spotter for the Royal Canadian Air Force. He got some photos of it,
and tips them off in return for a finder's fee. On board the salvage tug are
Murphy the skipper (Byrne), Epps the co-owner (Margulies), and crew members
Greer (Isaiah Washington), Dodge (Ron Eldard), Munder (Karl Urban) and
Santos (Alex Dimitriades). Under the time-honored code of horror movies,
they will disappear in horrible ways in inverse proportion to their
billing--although of course there's also the possibility they'll turn up
again.

The most absorbing passages in the film involve their exploration of the
deserted liner. The quality of the art direction and photography actually
evoke some of the same creepy, haunting majesty of those documentaries about
descents to the grave of the Titanic. There's more scariness because we know
how the original passengers and crew members died (that opening scene has a
grisly humor), and because the ship still seems haunted--not only by that
sad-eyed little girl, but perhaps by others.

The mystery eventually yields an explanation, if not a solution, and there
is the obligatory twist in the last shot, which encourages us to reinterpret
everything in diabolical terms and to think hard about the meanings of
certain names. But the appeal of "Ghost Ship" is all in the process, not in
the climax. I liked the vast old empty ballroom, the deserted corridors and
the sense of a party that ended long ago (the effect is of a nautical
version of Miss Havisham's sealed room). I knew that there would be
unexpected shocks, sudden noises and cadaverous materializations, but I have
long grown immune to such mechanical thrills (unless they are done well, of
course). I just dug the atmosphere.

Is the film worth seeing? Depends. It breaks no new ground as horror movies
go, but it does introduce an intriguing location, and it's well made
technically. It's better than you expect but not as good as you hope.

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Subject: [MV] NAQOYQATSI / *** (PG)
Date: 02 Nov 2002 07:24:21 GMT

NAQOYQATSI / *** (PG)

October 25, 2002

Miramax Films presents a documentary written and directed by Godfrey Reggio.
Running time: 89 minutes. Rated PG.(for violent and disturbing images, and
for brief nudity). Opening today at the Biograph Theatre.

BY ROGER EBERT

'N aqoyqatsi" is the final film in Godfrey Reggio's "qatsi" trilogy, a
series of impressionistic documentaries contrasting the nobility of nature
with the despoliation of mankind. The titles come from the Hopi Indian
language. "Koyaanisqatsi" (1983) translated as "life out of balance."
"Powaqqatsi" (1988) means "life in transition." And now comes "Naqoyqatsi,"
or "war as a way of life."

Like the others, "Naqoyqatsi" consists of images (450 of them, Reggio said
at the Telluride premiere). We see quick streams of briefly glimpsed
symbols, abstractions, digital code, trademarks, newsreels, found images,
abandoned buildings and cityscapes, and snippets of TV and photography. An
early image shows the Tower of Babel; the implication is that the confusion
of spoken tongues has been made worse by the addition of visual and digital
languages.

"Koyaanisqatsi," with its dramatic fast-forward style of hurtling images,
made a considerable impact at the time. Clouds raced up mountainsides,
traffic flowed like streams of light through city streets. The technique was
immediately ripped off by TV commercials, so that the film's novelty is no
longer obvious. Now that he has arrived at the third part of his trilogy,
indeed, Reggio's method looks familiar, and that is partly the fault of his
own success. Here, he uses speedup less and relies more on quickly cut
montages. It's a version of the technique used in Chuck Workman's films on
the Oscarcast, the ones that marry countless shots from the movies; Reggio
doctors his images with distortion, overlays, tints and other kinds of
digital alteration.

The thinking behind these films is deep but not profound. They're
ritualistic grief at what man has done to the planet. "The logical flaw," as
I pointed out in my review of "Powaqqatsi," is that "Reggio's images of
beauty are always found in a world entirely without man--without even the
Hopi Indians. Reggio seems to think that man himself is some kind of virus
infecting the planet--that we would enjoy the earth more, in other words, if
we weren't here."

Although "Naqoyqatsi" has been some 10 years in the making, it takes on an
especially somber coloration after 9/11. Images of marching troops,
missiles, bomb explosions and human misery are intercut with trademarks (the
Enron trademark flashes past), politicians and huddled masses, and we
understand that war is now our way of life. But hasn't war always been a
fact of life for mankind? We are led to the uncomfortable conclusion that to
bring peace to the planet, we should leave it.

This line of reasoning may, however, be missing the point. In reviewing all
three Reggio films, I have assumed he was telling us something with his
images, and that I could understand it and analyze it. That overlooks what
may be the key element of the films, the sound tracks by composer Philip
Glass (this time joined by Yo-Yo Ma, who also contributes a solo). Can it be
that these films are, in the very best sense of the word, music videos? The
movie is not simply "scored" by Glass; his music is a vital component of
every frame, fully equal with the visuals, and you can watch these films
again and again, just as you can listen to a favorite album.

Perhaps the solution is to stop analyzing the images altogether and set
ourselves free from them. Just as it is a heresy to paraphrase classical
music by discovering "stories" or "messages," perhaps "Naqoyqatsi" and its
brothers need to be experienced as background to our own streams of
consciousness--nudges to set us thinking about the same concerns that Reggio
has. I have problems with "Naqoyqatsi" as a film, but as a music video it's
rather remarkable.

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From: [e-mail]
Subject: [MV] PAID IN FULL / **1/2 (R)
Date: 02 Nov 2002 07:24:23 GMT

PAID IN FULL / **1/2 (R)

October 25, 2002

Ace: Wood Harris
Mitch: Mekhi Phifer
Rico: Cam'ron
Pip: Chi McBride
Lulu: Esai Morales
Dimension Films presents a film directed by Charles Stone III. Written by
Matthew Cirulnick and Thulani Davis, based on a screenplay by Azie Faison
Jr. and Austin Phillips. Running time: 93 minutes. Rated R (for violence,
pervasive language, some strong sexuality and drug content).

BY ROGER EBERT

"Paid in Full" tells the story of the rise and fall of a gifted young
businessman. His career might have taken place at Enron, as a talented
manager, staging a fake energy crisis to steal from California consumers.
But opportunity finds us where we live, and Ace lives in Harlem and lacks an
MBA, so he becomes a drug dealer. The skills involved are much the same as
at Enron: Lie to the customers, hide or fake the income, shuffle the books
and pay off powerful friends. It is useful, in viewing a movie like "Paid in
Full," to understand that it is about business, not drugs. Breaking the law
is simply an unfortunate side effect of wanting to make more money than can
be done legally.

Because many drug dealers and consumers are poor and powerless, laws come
down on them more ferociously than on the white-collar criminals whose
misdeeds are on a larger scale. Three strikes and you're out, while three
lucrative bankruptcies and you're barely up and running. "Paid in Full"
might have been fascinating if it had intercut between Ace's career and the
adventures of an Enron executive of about the same age. I guess in a way
that's what "Traffic" did.

"Paid in Full" takes place in the 1980s and is based on the true stories of
famous drug lords (Alpo, A.Z. and Rich Porter) during that era of expanding
crack addiction. Names are changed. Ace, based on A.Z. is played by Wood
Harris, is a deliveryman man for a dry cleaner named Pip (Chi McBride).
Moving on the streets all day, it is impossible for him to miss seeing the
good fortune of drug dealers, and he learns of the fortunes to be made by
delivering something other than pressed pants.

He tells his story himself, in a narration like the ones in "GoodFellas" or
"Casino," and in an early scene we see money that has become so meaningless
that small fortunes are bet on tossing crumpled paper at wastebaskets. When
another dealer (Kevin Carroll) goes off to the pen, Ace moves quickly to
grab his territory, and soon has so much money that his life demonstrates
one of the drawbacks of growing up in poverty: You lack the skills to spend
it fast enough. he prospers, learning from the more experienced Lulu (Esai
Morales). Then another young hotshot (Cam'ron) comes along, and Ace becomes
the veteran who's a target.

The movie is ambitious, has good energy and is well-acted, but tells a
familiar story in a familiar way. The parallels to Brian De Palma's
"Scarface" are underlined by scenes from that movie which are watched by the
characters in this one. The trajectory is well-known: poverty, success,
riches, and then death or jail. This plot describes countless lives, and is
so common because the laws against drugs do such a good job of supporting
the price and making the business so lucrative. The difference between drugs
and corporate swindles, obviously, is that with drugs the profits are real.

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From: [e-mail]
Subject: [MV] REAL WOMEN HAVE CURVES / ***1/2 (PG-13)
Date: 02 Nov 2002 07:24:24 GMT

REAL WOMEN HAVE CURVES / ***1/2 (PG-13)

October 25, 2002

Ana: America Ferrera
Carmen: Lupe Ontiveros
Estela: Ingrid Oliu
Mr. Guzman: George Lopez
Jimmy: Brian Sites
Pancha: Soledad St. Hilaire
HBO Films and Newmarket Films present a film directed by Patricia Cardoso.
Written by Josefina Lopez and George LaVoo. Running time: 93 minutes. Rated
PG-13 (for sexual content and some language).

BY ROGER EBERT

Ana's boyfriend, Jimmy, tells her, "You're not fat. You're beautiful." She
is both. "Real Women Have Curves" doesn't argue that Ana is beautiful on the
"inside," like the Gwyneth Paltrow character in "Shallow Hal," but that she
is beautiful inside and out--love handles, big boobs, round cheeks and all.
"Turn the lights on," she shyly tells Jimmy. "I want you to see me. See,
this is what I look like."

Ana has learned to accept herself. It is more than her mother can do. Carmen
(Lupe Ontiveros) is fat, too, and hates herself for it, and wants her
daughter to share her feelings. Ana is smart and could get a college
scholarship, but Carmen insists she go to work in a dress factory run by a
family member: It's her duty to the family, apparently, to sacrifice her
future. The fact that the dress factory is pleasant and friendly doesn't
change the reality that it's a dead end; you are at the wrong end of the
economy when you make dresses for $18 so that they can be sold for $600.

Ana is a Mexican American, played by America Ferrera, an 18-year-old in her
first movie role. Ferrera is a wonder: natural, unforced, sweet, passionate
and always real. Her battle with her mother is convincing in the movie
because the director, Patricia Cardoso, doesn't force it into shrill
melodrama but keeps it within the boundaries of a plausible family fight. It
is a tribute to the great Lupe Ontiveros that Carmen is able to suggest her
love for her daughter even when it is very hard to see.

There have been several movies recently about the second generation of
children of immigrants--Indian, Filipino, Chinese, Korean, Vietnamese--and
they follow broad outlines borrowed from life. The parents try to enforce
conditions of their homeland on the kids, who are becoming Americanized at
blinding speed. While Carmen is insisting on her daughter's virginity, Ana
is buying condoms. She insists in a view of her life that is not her
parents'. That includes college.

If this movie had been made 10 years ago, it might have been shrill,
insistent and dramatic--overplaying its hand. Cardoso and her writers,
Josefina Lopez and George LaVoo, are more relaxed, more able to feel
affection for all of the characters. Yes, her parents want Ana to work in
the dress shop of their older daughter, and yes, they fear losing
her--because they sense if she goes away to college she will return as a
different person. But the parents are not monsters, and we sense that their
love will prevail over their fears.

The film focuses on Ana at a crucial moment, right after high school, when
she has decided with a level head and clear eyes to come of age on her own
terms. Her parents would not approve of Jimmy, an Anglo, but Ana knows he is
a good boy and she feels tender toward him. She also knows he will not be
the last boy she dates; she is mature enough to understand herself and the
stormy weathers of teenage love. When they have sex, there is a sense in
which they are giving each other the gift of a sweet initiation, with
respect and tenderness, instead of losing their innocence roughly to
strangers in a way without love.

The film's portrait of the dressmaking factory is done with great good
humor. Yes, it is very hot there. Yes, the hours are long and the pay is
poor. But the women are happy to have jobs and paychecks, and because they
like one another there is a lot of laughter. That leads to one of the
sunniest, funniest, happiest scenes in a long time. On a hot day, Ana takes
off her blouse, and then so do the other women, giggling at their daring,
and the music swells up as their exuberance flows over. They are all plump,
but Ana, who has a healthy self-image, leads them in celebrating their
bodies.

I am so relieved that the MPAA rated this movie PG-13. So often they bar
those under 17 from the very movies they could benefit from the most. "Real
Women Have Curves" is enormously entertaining for moviegoers of any age (it
won the Audience Award at Sundance 2002). But for young women depressed
because they don't look like skinny models, this film is a breath of common
sense and fresh air. "Real Women Have Curves" is a reminder of how rarely
the women in the movies are real. After the almost excruciating attention
paid to the world-class beauties in a movie like "White Oleander" (a film in
which the more the women suffered the better they looked), how refreshing to
see America Ferrera light up the room with a smile from the heart.

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Subject: [MV] WAKING UP IN RENO / *1/2 (R)
Date: 02 Nov 2002 07:24:28 GMT

WAKING UP IN RENO / *1/2 (R)

October 25, 2002

Lonnie Earl: Billy Bob Thornton
Candy: Charlize Theron
Roy: Patrick Swayze
Darlene: Natasha Richardson
Russell Whitehead: Brent Briscoe
Boyd: Mark Fauser
Ronnie: Wayne Federman
Fred Bush: Chelcie Ross
Miramax Films presents a film directed by Jordan Brady. Written by Brent
Briscoe and Mark Fauser. Running time: 100 minutes. Rated R (for language
and some sexual content).

BY ROGER EBERT

"Waking Up in Reno" is another one of those road comedies where Southern
roots are supposed to make boring people seem colorful. If these characters
were from Minneapolis or Denver, no way anyone would make a film about them.
But because they're from Little Rock, Ark., and wear stuff made out of
snakeskin and carry their own cases of Pabst into the hotel room, they're
movie-worthy.

Well, they could be, if they had anything really at risk. But the movie is
way too gentle to back them into a corner. They're nice people whose
problems are all solved with sitcom dialogue, and the profoundly traditional
screenplay makes sure that love and family triumph in the end. Surprising,
that Billy Bob Thornton, Charlize Theron, Natasha Richardson and Patrick
Swayze would fall for this, but Swayze did make "Road House," so maybe it's
not so surprising in his case.

Thornton stars as Lonnie Earl, a Little Rock car dealer who appears in his
own commercials and cheats on his wife, Darlene (Richardson). He cheats with
Candy (Theron), the wife of his best friend, Roy (Swayze). Actually, they
only cheat twice, but if that's like only being a little bit pregnant, maybe
she is.

The two couples decide to pull a brand new SUV off of Lonnie Earl's lot and
take a trip to Reno, Nev., with stops along the way in Texas (where Lonnie
Earl wants to win a 72-ounce-steak-eating contest) and maybe at the Grand
Canyon. Others have their dreams, too; Darlene has always had a special
place in her heart for Tony Orlando, ever since she saw him on the Jerry
Lewis telethon. And that's the sort of dialogue detail that's supposed to
tip us off how down-home and lovable these people are: They like Tony
Orlando, they watch Jerry Lewis. We sense that director Jordan Brady and
writers Brent Briscoe and Mark Fauser don't like Tony Orlando and Jerry
Lewis as much as the characters do, but the movie's not mean enough to say
so, and so any comic point is lost.

That kind of disconnect happens all through the movie: The filmmakers create
satirical characters and then play them straight. We're actually expected to
sympathize with these caricatures, as Lonnie Earl barely survives the
72-ounce steak and they arrive in Reno for run-ins with the hotel bell boys
and the hooker in the bar.

Consider the scene where the helpful bellboy hauls their luggage into their
suite and then loiters suggestively for a tip. "Oh, I get it," says Lonnie
Earl. "You want your dollar." And he gives him one. The problem here is that
no real-life Little Rock car dealer would conceivably believe that the
correct tip for luggage for four people would be one dollar. Lonnie Earl
must be moderately wealthy, has traveled, has tipped before, is not entirely
clueless. But the movie short-changes his character to get an easy (and very
cheap) laugh.

The action in Reno mostly centers around Candy's attempts to get pregnant,
her monitoring of her ovular temperature, Roy's obligation to leap into
action at every prompt, and the revelation that ... well, without going into
details, let's say secrets are revealed that would more wisely have been
left concealed, and that Lonnie Earl, Roy, Candy and Darlene find themselves
in a situation that in the real world could lead to violence but here is
settled in about the same way that the Mertzes worked things out with Lucy
and Ricky.

Yes, the characters are pleasant. Yes, in some grudging way we are happy
that they're happy. No, we do not get teary-eyed with sentiment when the
movie evokes the Grand Canyon in an attempt to demonstrate that the problems
of four little people don't amount to a hill of beans. At the end of the
movie titled "Grand Canyon" (1991), I actually was emotionally touched as
the characters looked out over the awesome immensity. But then they were
real characters, and nothing in "Waking Up in Reno" ever inspired me to
think of its inhabitants as anything more than markers in a screenplay.

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From: [e-mail]
Subject: [MV] THE TRUTH ABOUT CHARLIE / *** (PG-13)
Date: 02 Nov 2002 07:24:27 GMT

THE TRUTH ABOUT CHARLIE / *** (PG-13)

October 25, 2002

Regina Lambert: Thandie Newton
Joshua Peters: Mark Wahlberg
Mr. Bartholomew: Tim Robbins
Il-Sang Lee: Joong-Hoon Park
Universal Pictures presents a film directed by Jonathan Demme. Written by
Demme, Steve Schmidt, Peter Joshua and Jessica Bendinger. Running time: 104
minutes. Rated PG-13 (for some violence and sexual content/nudity).

BY ROGER EBERT

Regina Lambert has been married for three months. She returns to Paris to
find her apartment vandalized and her husband missing. A police official
produces her husband's passport--and another, and another. He had many looks
and many identities, and is missing in all of them. And now she seems
surrounded by unsavory people with a dangerous interest in finding his $6
million. They say she knows where it is. Thank goodness for good, kind
Joshua Peters, who turns up protectively whenever he's needed.

This story, right down to the names, will be familiar to lovers of
"Charade," Stanley Donen's 1963 film starring Audrey Hepburn and Cary Grant.
Now Jonathan Demme recycles it in "The Truth About Charlie," with Thandie
Newton and Mark Wahlberg in the starring roles. Wahlberg will never be
confused with Cary Grant but Newton, now ... Newton, with her fragile
beauty, her flawless complexion, her beautiful head perched atop that
extraordinary neck ... well, you can see how Demme thought of Hepburn when
he cast her.

"Charade" is considered in many quarters to be a masterpiece (no less than
the 168th best film of all time, according to the Internet Movie Database).
I saw it recently on the sparkling Criterion DVD, enjoyed it, remember it
fondly, but do not find it a desecration that Demme wanted to remake it.
There are some films that are ineffably themselves, like "The Third Man,"
and cannot possibly be remade. Others depend on plots so silly and
effervescent that they can be used over and over, as vehicles for new
generations of actors. "Charade" is in the latter category. If it is true
that there will never be another Audrey Hepburn, and it is, I submit it is
also true that there will never be another Thandie Newton.

I saw her first in "Flirting" (1991), made when she was 18. It was a glowing
masterpiece about adolescent love. She has been in 15 films since then, but
you may not remember her. She was the lost child in Demme's "Beloved"
(1998), looking like a ghost and not herself, and she played Sally Hemings,
Thomas Jefferson's slave and lover, in the unsuccessful "Jefferson in Paris"
(1995). I liked her in Bertolucci's "Besieged" (1998), although the film
didn't work and he photographed her with almost unseemly interest. She was
in the overlooked but very good "Gridlock'd" (1997), Tupac Shakur's last
film. If you have seen her at all, it may have been in "Mission: Impossible
II," opposite Tom Cruise.

She carries "The Truth About Charlie," as she must, because all of the other
characters revolve around her, sometimes literally. Wahlberg has top billing
but that must be a contractual thing; she is the center of the picture, and
the news is, she is a star. She has that presence and glow. The plot is
essentially a backdrop, as it was in "Charade," for Paris, suspense, romance
and star power,

I am not sure the plot matters enough to be kept a secret, but I will try
not to give away too much. Essentially, Charlie was a deceptive, two-timing
louse who made some unfortunate friends. Now that he has gone several
strange people emerge from the woodwork, some to threaten Regina, some, like
Mr. Bartholomew (Tim Robbins) to help and advise her. There is an Asian
named Il-Sang Lee (Joong-Hoon Park) and a femme fatale named Lola (Lisa Gay
Hamilton), and a police commandant (Christine Boisson) who appears to seek
only the truth. And there is the omnipresent, always helpful Joshua Peters
(Wahlberg), who was Peter Joshua in "Charade," but there you go.

These people all serve one function: To propel Regina past locations in
Paris, from the Champs Elysses to the flea market at Cligancourt, and to
accompany her through several costume changes and assorted dangers and
escapes. "The history of the cinema," said Jean-Luc Godard, "is of boys
photographing girls." There is more to it than that, but both "The Truth
About Charlie" and "Charade" prove that is enough.

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Subject: [MV] THE GREY ZONE / **** (R)
Date: 02 Nov 2002 07:24:26 GMT

THE GREY ZONE / **** (R)

October 25, 2002

Hoffman: David Arquette
Schlermer: Daniel Benzali
Abramowics: Steve Buscemi
Rosenthal: David Chandler
Dr. Nyiszli: Allan Corduner
Muhsfeldt: Harvey Keitel
Rosa: Natasha Lyonne
Dina: Mira Sorvino
Lions Gate Films presents a film written and directed by Tim Blake Nelson.
Running time: 108 minutes. Rated R (for strong Holocaust violence, nudity
and language).

BY ROGER EBERT

"How can you know what you'd really do to stay alive, until you're asked? I
know now that the answer for most of us is--anything."

So says a member of the Sonderkommandos, a group of Jews at the Auschwitz
II-Birkenau death camp, who sent their fellow Jews to die in the gas
chambers, and then disposed of the ashes afterward. For this duty they were
given clean sheets, extra food, cigarettes and an extra four months of life.
With the end of the war obviously drawing closer, four months might mean
survival. Would you refuse this opportunity? Would I?

Tim Blake Nelson's "The Grey Zone" considers moral choices within a closed
system that is wholly evil. If everyone in the death camp is destined to
die, is it the good man's duty to die on schedule, or is it his duty to
himself to grasp any straw? Since both choices seem certain to end in death,
is it more noble to refuse, or cooperate? Is hope itself a form of
resistance?

These are questions no truthful person can answer without having been there.
The film is inspired by the uprising of Oct. 7, 1944, when members of the
12th Sonder-kommando succeeded in blowing up two of the four crematoria at
the death camp; because the ovens were never replaced, lives were saved. But
other lives were lost as the Nazis used physical and mental torture to try
to find out how the prisoners got their hands on gunpowder and weapons.

I have seen a lot of films about the Holocaust, but I have never seen one so
immediate, unblinking and painful in its materials. "The Grey Zone" deals
with the daily details of the work gangs--who lied to prisoners, led them
into gas chambers, killed them, incinerated their bodies, and disposed of
the remains. All of the steps in this process are made perfectly clear in a
sequence, which begins with one victim accusing his Jewish guard of lying to
them all, and ends with the desperate sound of hands banging against the
inside of the steel doors. "Cargo," the workers called the bodies they dealt
with. "We have a lot of cargo today."

The film has been adapted by Nelson from his play, and is based on part on
the book Auschwitz: A Doctor's Eyewitness Account, by Miklos Nyiszli, a
Jewish doctor who cooperated on experiments with the notorious Dr. Josef
Mengele, and is portrayed in the film by Allan Corduner. Is it a fact of
human nature, that we are hard-wired to act for our own survival? That those
able to sacrifice themselves for an ethical ideal are extraordinary
exceptions to the rule? Consider a scene late in the film when Rosa and Dina
(Natasha Lyonne and Mira Sorvino), two women prisoners who worked in a
nearby munitions factory, are tortured to reveal the secret of the
gunpowder. When ordinary methods fail, they are lined up in front of their
fellow prisoners. The interrogator repeats his questions, and every time
they do not answer, his arm comes down and another prisoner is shot through
the head.

What is the right thing to do? Betray the secrets and those who
collaborated? Or allow still more prisoners to be murdered? And if all will
die eventually anyway, how does that affect the choice? Is it better to die
now, with a bullet to the brain, than after more weeks of dread? Or is any
life at all worth having?

The film stars David Arquette, Daniel Benzali, Steve Buscemi and David
Chandler as the leaders of the Sonderkommandos, and Harvey Keitel as
Muhsfeldt, an alcoholic Nazi officer in command of their unit. Although
these faces are familiar, the actors disappear into their roles. The Jewish
work force continues its grim task of exterminating fellow Jews, while
working on its secret plans for a revolt.

Then an extraordinary thing happens. In a gas chamber, a young girl (Kamelia
Grigorova) is found still alive. Arquette rescues her from a truck before
she can be taken to be burned, and now the Jews are faced with a subset of
their larger dilemma: Is this one life worth saving if the girl jeopardizes
the entire revolt? Perhaps not, but in a world where there seem to be no
choices, she presents one, and even Dr. Nyiszli, so beloved by Mengele,
helps to save the girl's life. It is as if this single life symbolizes all
the others.

In a sense, the murders committed by the Nazis were not as evil as the
twisted thought that went into them, and the mental anguish they caused for
the victims. Death occurs thoughtlessly in nature every day. But death with
sadistic forethought, death with a scenario forcing the victims into
impossible choices, and into the knowledge that those choices are
inescapable, is mercilessly evil. The Arquette character talks of one
victim: "I knew him. We were neighbors. In 20 minutes his whole family and
all of its future was gone from this earth." That victim's knowledge of his
loss was worse than death.

"The Grey Zone" is pitiless, bleak and despairing. There cannot be a happy
ending, except that the war eventually ended. That is no consolation for its
victims. It is a film about making choices that seem to make no difference,
about attempting to act with honor in a closed system where honor lies dead.
One can think: If nobody else knows, at least I will know. Yes, but then you
will be dead, and then who will know? And what did it get you? On the other
hand, to live with the knowledge that you behaved shamefully is another kind
of death--the death of the human need to regard ourselves with favor. "The
Grey Zone" refers to a world where everyone is covered with the gray ash of
the dead, and it has been like that for so long they do not even notice
anymore.

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From: [e-mail]
Subject: [MV] BELOW / **1/2 (R)
Date: 02 Nov 2002 07:24:31 GMT

BELOW / **1/2 (R)

October 18, 2002

Odell: Matt Davis
Brice: Bruce Greenwood
Claire: Olivia Williams
Loomis: Holt McCallany
Coors: Scott Foley
Weird Wally: Zach Galifianakis
Stumbo: Jason Flemyng
Dimension Films presents a film directed by David Twohy. Written by Twohy,
Lucas Sussman and Darren Aronofsky. Running time: 103 minutes. Rated R (for
language and some violence).

BY ROGER EBERT

Even before the woman is taken on board, the USS Tiger Shark is a submarine
in trouble. The captain has been lost overboard, or at least that's the
story, and tempers run high in the confined space. Then the sub rescues
three drifters in a life raft, one of them a woman, whose presence on board
is agreed by everyone to be bad luck on a sub, although her arrival does
result in the crew wearing cleaner underwear.

Now dangers increase. The sub is tracked by Germans, who drop depth bombs
and later come back to troll for it with giant grappling hooks. There is
fearful damage to the periscope and the control tower. An oil leak threatens
to betray the sub's position. Oxygen is running low, and hydrogen in the air
is a danger to the crew's safety and sanity. And perhaps there is a ghost on
board. The creepy sounds from outside the hull--of seaweed, whale songs and
bouncing depth bombs--increase apprehension.

Yes, a ghost. How else to explain why a record of Benny Goodman's "Sing,
Sing, Sing" seems to play itself at inopportune times--as when the Germans
are listening for the slightest sound from below? And when the late skipper
was a Goodman fan? Of course, there could be a saboteur on board, in
addition to, or perhaps instead of, the ghost.

"Below" is a movie where the story, like the sub, sometimes seems to be
running blind. In its best moments it can evoke fear, and it does a good job
of evoking the claustrophobic terror of a little World War II boat, but the
story line is so eager to supply frightening possibilities that sometimes we
feel jerked around. Isn't it possible for a submarine to be haunted without
turning it into a museum of horror film devices?

Of those devices, the most tiresome is the convention that surprises make
sounds. In most horror movies, including many less clever than "Below,"
there is a visual strategy in which a character is shown in relative closeup
(limiting our ability to see around him) and then startled by the unexpected
appearance of another character or other visual surprise. This moment is
invariably signaled on the soundtrack with a loud, alarming musical chord,
or perhaps by the sound of a knife being sharpened. But surprises don't make
sounds, and the cliche has become so tiresome that I submit a director might
be able to create a more frightening sequence by playing the unexpected
appearance in total silence.

There are a lot of surprise apparitions in "Below," and many times when we
expect them even when they don't arrive. Consider the effective sequence in
which four divers have to penetrate the ballast space between the inner and
outer hulls to search for the oil leak. Will they find a ghostly body, or
what?

The acting skipper of the ship is Brice (Bruce Greenwood). The absence of
the former skipper is a secret at first, and the explanations for his
disappearance are contradictory; even by the end of the movie, we are not
sure we have the correct story. Has he returned to haunt the boat? Oxygen
deprivation can encourage hallucinations.

The bad-luck woman on board, Claire (Olivia Williams), turns out to be a
nurse from a sunken hospital ship. Who sunk that ship with its big red
cross, and why? And what about the two survivors in the boat with her? What
are their stories? Although the arrival of a woman on board inspires some
heavy-handed scenes in which some men seem to be warming up for an assault,
that plot thread is quickly abandoned, and Claire begins to take a
surprisingly active role in the onboard discussions. Siding with her is
Odell (Matt Davis), maybe because he agrees, maybe because he likes her.
Brice's command of the ship may include decisions made with a hidden agenda.

The movie is skillfully made by David Twohy, whose "The Arrival" (1996) was
an uncommonly intelligent science fiction thriller about a hidden alien plot
against Earth. But his overpraised "Pitch Black" (2000), which launched Vin
Diesel, was weakened by the same faults as "Below." It had too many
obligatory startles, too many unclear possibilities and not enough
definition of the crucial players. But Twohy showed with "The Arrival" that
he is a gifted director. "Below" has ambitions to be better than average,
but doesn't pull itself together and insist on realizing them.

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From: [e-mail]
Subject: [MV] BOWLING FOR COLUMBINE / ***1/2 (R)
Date: 02 Nov 2002 07:24:32 GMT

BOWLING FOR COLUMBINE / ***1/2 (R)

October 18, 2002

Featuring Michael Moore, George W. Bush, Dick Clark, Charlton Heston,
Marilyn Manson, John Nichols, Chris Rock and Matt Stone.
United Artists presents a film written and directed by Michael Moore.
Running time: 120 minutes. Rated R (for some violent images and language).

BY ROGER EBERT

McHugh and I were sitting in O'Rourke's one day when a guy we knew came in
for a drink. The guy pulled back his coat and we could see he had a handgun
in his belt. "Why are you carrying a gun?" McHugh asked. "Because I live in
a dangerous neighborhood," the guy said. "It would be safer if you moved,"
said McHugh.

Michael Moore's "Bowling for Colum-bine," a documentary that is both
hilarious and sorrowful, is like a two-hour version of that anecdote. We
live in a nation of millions of handguns, but that isn't really what bothers
Moore. What bothers him is that we so frequently shoot them at one another.
Canada has a similar ratio of guns to citizens, but a 10th of the shooting
deaths. What makes us kill so many times more fellow citizens than is the
case in other developed nations?

Moore, the jolly populist rabble-rouser, explains that he's a former
sharpshooting instructor and a lifelong member of the National Rifle
Association. No doubt this is true, but Moore has moved on from his early
fondness for guns. In "Bowling for Columbine," however, he is not so sure of
the answers as in the popular "Roger & Me," a film in which he knew who
the bad guys were, and why. Here he asks questions he can't answer, such as
why we as a nation seem so afraid, so in need of the reassurance of guns.
Noting that we treasure urban legends designed to make us fearful of
strangers, Moore notices how TV news focuses on local violence ("If it
bleeds, it leads") and says that while the murder rate is down 20 percent in
America, TV coverage of violent crime is up 600 percent. Despite paranoia
that has all but sidetracked the childhood custom of trick or treat, Moore
points out that in fact no razor blades have ever been found in Halloween
apples.

Moore's thoughtfulness doesn't inhibit the sensational set-pieces he devises
to illustrate his concern. He returns several times to Columbine High
School, at one point showing horrifying security-camera footage of the
massacre. And Columbine inspires one of the great confrontations in a career
devoted to radical grandstanding. Moore introduces us to two of the students
wounded at Colum-bine, both still with bullets in their bodies. He explains
that all of the Columbine bullets were freely sold to the teenage killers by
Kmart, at 17 cents apiece. And then he takes the two victims to Kmart
headquarters to return the bullets for a refund.

This is brilliant theater and would seem to be unanswerable for the hapless
Kmart public relations spokespeople, who fidget and evade in front of
Moore's merciless camera. But then, on Moore's third visit to headquarters,
he is told that Kmart will agree to completely phase out the sale of
ammunition. "We've won," says Moore, not believing it. "This has never
happened before." For once, he's at a loss for words.

The movie is a mosaic of Moore confrontations and supplementary footage. One
moment that cuts to the core is from a standup routine by Chris Rock, who
suggests that our problem could be solved by simply increasing the price of
bullets--taxing them like cigarettes. Instead of 17 cents apiece, why not
$5,000? "At that price," he speculates, "you'd have a lot fewer innocent
bystanders being shot."

Moore buys a Map to the Stars' Homes to find where Charlton Heston lives,
rings the bell on his gate, and is invited back for an interview. But Heston
clearly knows nothing of Moore's track record, and his answers to Moore's
questions are borderline pathetic. Heston recently announced he has symptoms
associated with Alzheimer's disease, but there is no indication in this
footage that he is senile; it's simply that he cannot explain why he, as a
man living behind a gate in a protected neighborhood, with security patrols,
who has never felt himself threatened, needs a loaded gun in the house.
Heston is equally unhelpful when asked if he thinks it was a good idea for
him to speak at an NRA rally in Denver 10 days after Columbine. He seems to
think it was all a matter of scheduling.

"Bowling for Columbine" thinks we have way too many guns, don't need them,
and are shooting each other at an unreasonable rate. Moore cannot single out
a villain to blame for this fact, because it seems to emerge from a national
desire to be armed. ("If you're not armed, you're not responsible," a member
of the Michigan militia tells him.) At one point, he visits a bank that is
giving away guns to people who open new accounts. He asks a banker if it
isn't a little dangerous to have all these guns in a bank. Not at all. The
bank, Moore learns, is a licensed gun dealership.

Note: The movie is rated R, so that the Columbine killers would have been
protected from the "violent images," mostly of themselves. The MPAA
continues its policy of banning teenagers from those films they most need to
see. What utopian world do the flywheels of the ratings board think they are
protecting?

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From: [e-mail]
Subject: [MV] JUST A KISS / * (R)
Date: 02 Nov 2002 07:24:38 GMT

JUST A KISS / * (R)

October 18, 2002

Dag: Ron Eldard
Halley: Kyra Sedgwick
Peter: Patrick Breen
Paula: Marisa Tomei
Rebecca: Marley Shelton
Andre: Taye Diggs
Paramount Classics presents a film directed by Fisher Stevens. Written by
Patrick Breen. Running time: 89 minutes. Rated R (for strong sexual images
and language).

BY ROGER EBERT

If only it were clever, "Just a Kiss" would be too clever by half.

Here is a movie that was apparently made by working its way through a list
of styles, so that we have poignancy jostling against farce, thoughtful
dialogue elbowed aside by one-liners, and a visual style that incorporates
rotoscope animation for no apparent reason except, maybe, that it looks
neat.

"Just a Kiss," directed by the actor Fisher Stevens, begins with a kiss
between two people who should not be kissing and ends after those people,
and their significant others, and assorted insignificant others, undergo
sexual and emotional misunderstandings, survive plane crashes, end up in the
hospital or comatose, etc., while occasionally appearing to be animated like
the characters in "Waking Life."

Now "Waking Life" was an accomplished movie, in which Richard Linklater took
live-action footage of his characters and passed it through a software
program that kept their basic appearances and movements while allowing
artists to overlay an animated layer. It worked. It does not work in "Just a
Kiss," and I'm about to explain why.

In "Waking Life," all of the characters are animated. That is what they are,
and how we accept them, and whatever reality they have is conveyed visually
through the animation. But in "Just a Kiss," the characters are photographed
realistically, so that when they suddenly undergo "rotomation," their
reality is violently displaced and our attention is jerked up to the surface
of the movie. They exist now, not as characters but as animated displays who
used to be characters and may be characters again.

I can imagine a way in which this could work, in a "Roger Rabbit"-type movie
that moves in and out of the cartoon dimension. But it doesn't work here
because it is manifestly and distractingly only a stunt. And the whole
movie, in various ways, has the same problem: It's all surface, without an
entry point into whatever lurks beneath. The characters, dialogue, personal
styles and adventures are all mannerisms. The actors are merely carriers of
the director's contrivances.

Consider, for example, a sequence in which one character on an airplane uses
his cell phone to tell another that he loves her. His phone emits lethal
transmissions which cause the plane to crash. Everyone in first class lives;
everyone in tourist class dies. I smile as I write the words. This would be
a good scene in "Airplane!" What is it doing here, in a movie where we are
possibly expected to care about the characters' romances and infidelities?
To admit farce into a drama is to admit that the drama is farce.

But is it a drama? I haven't a clue. The movie seems to reinvent itself from
moment to moment, darting between styles like a squirrel with too many nuts.
There is one performance that works, sort of, and it is by Marisa Tomei, as
a bartender whose psychic gifts allow her to find meaning in the rings left
by cold beers. She is a crazy homicidal maniac, but, hey, at least that
means that nothing she does is out of character.

As for the other actors, they know Stevens from the indie films they've made
together, and were good sports to volunteer for this project. Ron Eldard,
Kyra Sedgwick, Patrick Breen (who wrote the screenplay), Marley Shelton,
Taye Diggs, Sarita Choudhury and Bruno Amato do what they can with
characters who are reinvented from minute to minute. And Zoe Caldwell, as a
choreographer who is the mother of the Shelton character, has moments of
stunningly effective acting that are so isolated from the rest of the movie
that they appear like the result of channel-surfing.

Note: Eldard's character is named "Dag." On the Internet Movie Database, he
is listed as "Dag Hammerskjold," but on the movie's official site he is only
"named after Dag Hammerskjold." Maybe it's supposed to be ironic that this
Dag survives a plane crash. Whatever. Of course, the movie misspells
Hammarskjold's name, so maybe this character is descended from a person who
was constantly having to explain how he was the Dag Hammerskjold who spelled
his name with an "e."

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From: [e-mail]
Subject: [MV] FORMULA 51 / * (R)
Date: 02 Nov 2002 07:24:34 GMT

FORMULA 51 / * (R)

October 18, 2002

Elmo McElroy: Samuel L. Jackson
Felix DeSouza: Robert Carlyle
Dakota Phillips: Emily Mortimer
The Lizard: Meat Loaf
Det. Virgil Kane: Sean Pertwee
Leopold Durant: Ricky Tomlinson
Iki: Rhys Ifans
Screen Gems presents a film directed by Ronny Yu. Written by Stel Pavlou.
Running time: 92 minutes. Rated R (for strong violence, language, drug
content and some sexuality).

BY ROGER EBERT

"Pulp Fiction" and "Trainspotting" were two of the most influential movies
of the last 10 years, but unfortunately their greatest influence has been on
ripoffs of each other--movies like "Formula 51," which is like a fourth-rate
"Pulp Fiction" with accents you can't understand. Here instead of the
descent into the filthiest toilet in Scotland we get a trip through the most
bilious intestinal tract in Liverpool; instead of a debate about Cheese
Royales we get a debate about the semantics of the word "bollocks"; the
F-word occupies 50 percent of all sentences, and in the opening scenes
Samuel L. Jackson wears another one of those Afro wigs.

Jackson plays Elmo McElroy, a reminder that only eight of the 74 movies with
characters named Elmo have been any good. In the prologue, he graduates from
college with a pharmaceutical degree, is busted for pot, loses his license,
and 30 years later is the world's most brilliant inventor of illegal drugs.

Now he has a product named "P.O.S. Formula 51," which he says is 51 times
stronger than crack, heroin, you name it. Instead of selling it to a
druglord named The Lizard (Meat Loaf), he stages a spectacular surprise for
Mr. Lizard and his friends, and flies to Liverpool, trailed by Dakota
Phillips (Emily Mortimer), a skilled hit woman hired by The Lizard to kill
him, or maybe keep him alive, depending on The Lizard's latest information.

In Liverpool we meet Felix DeSouza (Robert Carlyle), a reminder that only
six of the 200 movies with a character named Felix have been any good. (The
stats for "Dakota" are also discouraging, but this is a line of inquiry with
limited dividends.) Felix has been dispatched by the Liverpudlian drug king
Leopold Durant (Ricky Tomlinson), whose hemorrhoids require that a flunky
follow him around with an inner tube that makes whoopee-type whistles
whenever the screenplay requires.

The movie is not a comedy so much as a farce, grabbing desperately for funny
details wherever possible. The Jackson character, for example, wears a kilt
for most of the movie. My online correspondent Ian Waldron-Mantgani, a
critic who lives in Liverpool but doesn't give the home team a break, points
out that the movie closes with the words "No one ever found out why he wore
a kilt," and then explains why he wore the kilt. "You get the idea how much
thought went into this movie," Waldron-Mantgani writes, with admirable
restraint.

Many of the jokes involve Felix's fanatic support of the Liverpool football
club, and a final confrontation takes place in an executive box of the
stadium. Devices like this almost always play as a desperate attempt to
inject local color, especially when the movie shows almost nothing of the
game, so that Americans will not be baffled by what they call football.
There are lots of violent shoot-outs and explosions, a kinduva love affair
between Felix and Dakota, and an ending that crosses a red herring, a
McGuffin and a shaggy dog.

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From: [e-mail]
Subject: [MV] HEAVEN / *** (R)
Date: 02 Nov 2002 07:24:35 GMT

HEAVEN / *** (R)

October 18, 2002

Philippa: Cate Blanchett
Filippo: Giovanni Ribisi
Filippo's father: Remo Girone
Regina: Stefania Rocca
Miramax Films presents a film directed by Tom Tykwer. Written by Krzysztof
Kieslowski and Krzysztof Piesiewicz. Running time: 96 minutes. Rated R (for
a scene of sexuality). In English and Italian with English subtitles.

BY ROGER EBERT

There is a moment early in "Heaven" when the character played by Cate
Blanchett is told something she did not expect to hear. This news piles
grief upon unbearable grief, and she cries out in pain. She is a good woman
who is prepared to sacrifice her life against evil, but through a great
misfortune she has done evil herself.

Blanchett plays Philippa, a teacher of English in Turin, Italy. She has seen
drugs kill her husband and some of her students. Her complaints to the
police have been ignored. She knows the man behind the Turin drug traffic,
and one day she plants a bomb in his office. A cleaning lady removes it with
the trash and it explodes in an elevator, killing the cleaner plus a man and
his two children. Four innocent dead.

Philippa has lost her husband and her students, and stands ready to lose her
freedom. But the death of these four crushes her. We are reminded of
"Running on Empty," the 1988 Sidney Lumet film about anti-war radicals in
America who did not know there would be someone in the building they chose
to blow up. As she sits in police headquarters, undergoing a
cross-examination, unaware that one of the men in the room is himself
connected to the drug trade, she makes a conquest.

His name is Filippo (Giovanni Ribisi). He is a rookie cop, the son of a
veteran officer. When Philippa insists on testifying in her native tongue,
Filippo offers to act as her translator. This is after she heard the
horrifying news, and passed out, and grasped his hand as she came to, and he
fell in love with her.

After the 10 films of "The Decalogue" and the great trilogy "Blue," "White"
and "Red," the Polish director Krzysztof Kieslowski and his writing partner,
Krzysztof Piesiewicz, began writing a new trilogy: "Heaven," "Purgatory" and
"Hell." Kieslowski died in 1996 before the project could be filmed. Many
good screenplays have died with their authors, but occasionally a director
will step forward to rescue a colleague's work, as Steven Spielberg did with
Stanley Kubrick's "A.I." and now as Tom Tykwer has done with "Heaven."

This is, and isn't, the sort of project Tykwer is identified with. It is
more thoughtful, proceeds more deliberately, than the mercurial haste of
"Run Lola Run" and "The Princess and the Warrior." At the same time, it has
a belief in fateful meetings that occur as a side effect of violence or
chance, as both of those films do. And it contains the same sort of defiant
romanticism, in which a courageous woman tries to alter her fate by sheer
will power.

Philippa and Filippo have almost identical names for a reason, and later
when they shave their heads and dress alike, it is because they share a
common lifeline. It is not a case of merger so much as of Filippo being
assumed into Philippa. She is older, stronger, braver, and he invests the
capital of his life in her account. He betrays his uniform to do whatever he
can to help her escape.

After she agrees to his brilliant plan, she tells him: "Do you know why I
said I agree? I don't want to escape punishment. I want to kill him."
Him--the man behind the drugs. Whether she gets her wish is not the point.
What she focuses on is her original plan; if she can finally carry it out,
she will have made amends, however inadequately, for the innocents who died.

Kieslowski was fascinated by moral paradoxes, by good leading to evil and
back again. In "The Decalogue," a child's brilliance at the computer leads
to a drowning. A woman wants to know if her husband will die, because if he
will not, she will have her lover's baby aborted. A wife breaks it off with
her lover--but her husband tarnishes her decision by spying on it. To do
good is sometimes to cause evil. We can make plans, but we can't count on
the consequences.

The ending of "Heaven" is disappointing. It becomes just what it should not
be, the story of an escape. I wonder if Kieslowski and Piesiewicz ended
their version this way, in a fable of innocence regained. The tough ending
would have had Philippa and Filippo paying for their crimes. It would not
have been an unhappy ending for them; they are fully prepared to take the
consequences, and that is what's most admirable about them.

Still, many lesser films--almost all commercial films these days, in
fact--contrive happy endings. This one is poetic in its sadness, and
Blanchett's performance confirms her power once again. She never goes for an
effect here, never protects herself, just plays the character straight ahead
as a woman forced by grief and rage into a rash action, and then living with
the consequences. We require theology to get to the bottom of the story: It
is wrong to commit an immoral act in order to bring about a good outcome. No
matter how beneficial the result, it is still a sin. This is a good movie
that could have been great if it had ended in a form of penance.

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From: [e-mail]
Subject: [MV] WASABI / *1/2 (R)
Date: 02 Nov 2002 07:24:44 GMT

WASABI / *1/2 (R)

October 18, 2002

Hubert Fiorentini: Jean Reno
Yumi Yoshimido: Ryoko Hirosue
Momo: Michel Muller
Sofia: Carole Bouquet
Jean-Baptiste 1: Ludovic Berthillot
Jean-Baptiste 2: Yan Epstein
Van Eyck: Michel Scourneau
The Squale: Christian Sinniger
TriStar Pictures presents a film directed by Gerard Krawczyk. Written by Luc
Besson. Running time: 94 minutes. Rated R (for some violence). In French and
Japanese with English subtitles.

BY ROGER EBERT

Jean Reno has the weary eyes and unshaven mug of a French Peter Falk, and
some of the same sardonic humor, too. He sighs and smokes and slouches his
way through thrillers where he sadly kills those who would kill him, and
balefully regards women who want to make intimate demands on his time. In
good movies ("The Crimson Rivers") and bad ("Rollerball"), in the ambitious
(Antonioni's "Beyond the Clouds") and the avaricious ("Godzilla"), in
comedies ("Just Visiting") and thrillers ("Ronin"), he shares with Robert
Mitchum the unmistakable quality of having seen it all.

"Wasabi" is not his worst movie, and is far from his best. It is a thriller
trapped inside a pop comedy set in Japan, and gives Reno a chirpy young
co-star who bounces around him like a puppy on visiting day at the drunk
tank. She plays his daughter, and he's supposed to like her, but sometimes
he looks like he hopes she will turn into an aspirin.

The movie begins in Paris, where Reno plays Hubert Fiorentini, a Dirty Harry
type who doesn't merely beat up suspects, but beats up people on the chance
that he may suspect them later. During a raid on a nightclub, he makes the
mistake of socking the police chief's son so hard the lad flies down a
flight of stairs and ends up in a full-body cast. Hubert is ordered to take
a vacation.

He shrugs, and thinks to look up an old girlfriend (Carole Bouquet), but
then his life takes a dramatic turn. He learns of the death in Japan of a
woman he loved years earlier. Arriving for her funeral, he finds that she
has left him a mysterious key, a daughter he knew nothing about, and $200
million stashed in the bank.

The daughter is named Yumi (Ryoko Hirosue). She is 19, has red hair, chooses
her wardrobe colors from the Pokemon palate, and bounces crazily through
scenes as if life is a music video and they're filming her right now.

The plot involves Yumi's plan to hire the Yakuza (Japanese Mafia) to get
revenge for her mother's death. If there is piece of fatherly advice that
Hubert the veteran cop could have shared with her, it is that no one related
to $200 million should do the least thing to attract the attention of the
Yakuza. The plot then unfolds in bewildering alternation between pop comedy
and action violence, with Hubert dancing in a video arcade one moment and
blasting the bad guys the next.

There is no artistic purpose for this movie. It is product. Luc Besson, who
wrote and produced it, has another movie out right now ("The Transporter")
and indeed has written, produced or announced 16 other movies since this one
was made in far-ago 2001. Reno does what he can in a thankless situation,
the film ricochets from humor to violence and back again, and Ryoko Hirosue
makes us wonder if she is always like that. If she is, I owe an apology to
the Powerpuff Girls. I didn't know they were based on real life.

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Subject: [MV] PUNCH-DRUNK LOVE / ***1/2 (R)
Date: 02 Nov 2002 07:24:40 GMT

PUNCH-DRUNK LOVE / ***1/2 (R)

October 18, 2002

Barry Egan: Adam Sandler
Lena Leonard: Emily Watson
Dean Trumbell: Philip Seymour Hoffman
Lance: Luis Guzman
Elizabeth: Mary Lynn Rajskub
Revolution Studios and New Line Cinema present a film written and directed
by Paul Thomas Anderson. Running time: 89 minutes. Rated R (for strong
language including a scene of sexual dialogue).

BY ROGER EBERT

There is a new Adam Sandler on view in "Punch-Drunk Love"--angry, sad,
desperate. In voice and mannerisms he is the same childlike, love-starved
Adam Sandler we've seen in a series of dim comedies, but this film, by
seeing him in a new light, encourages us to look again at those films. Given
a director and a screenplay that sees through the Sandler persona, that
understands it as the disguise of a suffering outsider, Sandler reveals
depths and tones we may have suspected but couldn't bring into focus.

The way to criticize a movie, Godard famously said, is to make another
movie. In that sense "Punch-Drunk Love" is film criticism. Paul Thomas
Anderson says he loves Sandler's comedies--they cheer him up on lonely
Saturday nights--but as the director of "Boogie Nights" and "Magnolia" he
must have been able to sense something missing in them, some unexpressed
need. The Sandler characters are almost oppressively nice, like needy
puppies, and yet they conceal a masked hostility to society, a
passive-aggressive need to go against the flow, a gift for offending others
while in the very process of being ingratiating.

In "Punch-Drunk Love," Sandler plays Barry Egan, an executive in a company
with a product line of novelty toiletries. Barry has seven sisters, who are
all on his case at every moment, and he desperately wishes they would stop
invading his privacy, ordering him around and putting him down. He tries at
a family gathering to be congenial and friendly, but we can see the tension
in his smiling lips and darting eyes, and suddenly he explodes, kicking out
the glass patio doors.

This is a pattern. He presents to the world a face of cheerful blandness,
and then erupts in terrifying displays of frustrated violence. He does not
even begin to understand himself. He seems always on guard, unsure,
obscurely threatened. His outbursts here help to explain the curiously
violent passages in his previous film, "Mr. Deeds," which was a remake of a
benign Frank Capra comedy. It's as if Sandler is Hannibal Lecter in a Jerry
Lewis body.

Most of Sandler's plots are based on predictable, production-line formulas,
and after "Punch-Drunk Love" I may begin seeing them as traps containing a
resentful captive. The quirky behavior may be a way of calling out for help.
In "Big Daddy," for example, the broad outlines are familiar, but not the
creepy way his character trains his adopted 5-year-old to be hostile. At one
point, ho, ho, they toss tree branches into the path of middle-aged in-line
skaters, causing some nasty falls. The hostility veiled as humor in the
typical Sandler comedy is revealed in "Punch-Drunk Love" as--hostility.

The film is exhilarating to watch because Sandler, liberated from the
constraints of formula, reveals unexpected depths as an actor. Watching this
film, you can imagine him in Dennis Hopper roles. He has darkness, obsession
and power. His world is hedged around with mystery and challenge. Consider
an opening scene, when he is at work hours before the others have arrived,
and sees a harmonium dumped in the street in front of his office. It is at
once the most innocent and ominous of objects; he runs from it and then
peeks around a corner to see if it is still there.

In the Paul Thomas Anderson universe, people meet through serendipity and
need, not because they are fulfilling their plot assignments. Barry meets
Lena Leonard (Emily Watson), a sweet executive with intently focused eyes,
who asks him to look after her broken-down car and later goes out on a
dinner date with him. They like each other right away. During the dinner he
gets up from his table, goes to the men's room and in a blind rage breaks
everything he can. "Your hand is bleeding," she gently observes, and after
they are thrown out of the restaurant, she carries on as if the evening is
still normal.

Barry is meanwhile enraged by an ongoing battle he is having with a Utah
phone-sex company. He called the number and was billed for the call, but he
was unable to talk easily with the woman at the other end, or even quite
conceive of what she wanted him to do. Then she pulled a scam using his
credit card number, and this leads to mutual threats and obscenities over
the phone, and to a visit from the porn company's "four blond brothers," who
want to intimidate him and extract cash.

Barry is frightened. He knows Lena is going on a business trip to Hawaii.
They definitely have chemistry. This would be an ideal time to get off the
mainland. He has discovered a loophole in a Healthy Choice promotion that
will allow him to earn countless American Airlines frequent flier miles at
very little cost. (This part of the story is based on fact.) It is typical
of an Anderson film that Barry, having hit on his mileage scheme, cannot use
his miles so quickly, and so simply buys a ticket to Honolulu and meets Lena
for a picture-postcard rendezvous on Waikiki Beach. Here and elsewhere,
Anderson bathes the screen in romantic colors and fills the soundtrack with
lush orchestrations.

I feel liberated in films where I have absolutely no idea what will happen
next. Lena and Barry are odd enough that anything could happen in their
relationship. A face-to-face meeting with the Utah porn king (Anderson
regular Philip Seymour Hoffman) and another meeting with the four blond
brothers are equally unpredictable. And always there is Barry's quick,
terrifying anger, a time bomb ticking away beneath every scene.

"Punch-Drunk Love" is above all a portrait of a personality type. Barry Egan
has been damaged, perhaps beyond repair, by what he sees as the depredations
of his domineering sisters. It drives him crazy when people nose into his
business. He cannot stand to be trifled with. His world is entered by
alarming omens and situations that baffle him. The character is vividly seen
and the film sympathizes with him in his extremity.

Paul Thomas Anderson has referred to "Punch-Drunk Love" as "an art house
Adam Sandler film." It may be the key to all of the Adam Sandler films, and
may liberate Sandler for a new direction in his work. He can't go on making
those moronic comedies forever, can he? Who would have guessed he had such
uncharted depths?

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From: [e-mail]
Subject: [MV] IN PRAISE OF LOVE / * (Not rated)
Date: 02 Nov 2002 07:24:37 GMT

IN PRAISE OF LOVE / * (Not rated)

October 18, 2002

Edgar: Bruno Putzulu
Elle: Cecile Camp
Grandfather: Jean Davy
Grandmother: Francoise Verny
Servant: Philippe Loyrette
Eglantine: Audrey Klebaner
Perceval: Jeremy Lippman
Manhattan Pictures Interna-tional presents a film written and directed by
Jean-Luc Godard. Running time: 98 minutes. No MPAA rating. In French with
English subtitles.

BY ROGER EBERT

What strange confusion besets Jean-Luc Godard? He stumbles through the
wreckage of this film like a baffled Lear, seeking to exercise power that is
no longer his. "In Praise of Love" plays like an attempt to reconstruct an
ideal film that might once have existed in his mind, but is there no more.

Yes, I praised the film in an article from the 2001 Cannes Film Festival,
but have now seen it again, and no longer agree with those words. Seeing
Godard's usual trademarks and preoccupations, I called it "a bittersweet
summation of one of the key careers in modern cinema," and so it is, but I
no longer think it is a successful one.

Godard was the colossus of the French New Wave. His films helped invent
modern cinema. They were bold, unconventional, convincing. To see
"Breathless," "My Life to Live" or "Weekend" is to be struck by a powerful
and original mind. In the late 1960s he entered his Maoist period, making a
group of films ("Wind from the East," "Vladimir and Rosa," "Pravda") that
were ideologically silly but still stylistically intriguing; those films (I
learn from Milos Stehlik of Facets Cinematheque, who has tried to find them)
have apparently been suppressed by their maker.

Then, after a near-fatal traffic accident, came the Godard who turned away
from the theatrical cinema and made impenetrable videos. In recent years
have come films both successful ("Hail, Mary") and not, and now a film like
"In Praise of Love," which in style and tone looks like he is trying to
return to his early films but has lost the way.

Perhaps at Cannes I was responding to memories of Godard's greatness. He has
always been fascinated with typography, with naming the sections of his
films and treating words like objects (he once had his Maoist heroes
barricade themselves behind a wall of Little Red Books). Here he repeatedly
uses intertitles, and while as a device it is good to see again, the actual
words, reflected on, have little connection to the scenes they separate.

He wants to remind us "In Praise of Love" is self-consciously a movie: He
uses not only the section titles, but offscreen interrogators, polemical
statements, narrative confusion, a split between the black and white of the
first half and the saturated video color of the second. What he lacks is a
port of entry for the viewer. Defenses of the film are tortured rhetorical
exercises in which critics assemble Godard's materials and try to paraphrase
them to make sense. Few ordinary audience members, however experienced, can
hope to emerge from this film with a coherent view of what Godard was
attempting.

If you agree with Noam Chomsky, you will have the feeling that you would
agree with this film if only you could understand it. Godard's
anti-Americanism is familiar by now, but has spun off into flywheel
territory. What are we to make of the long dialogue attempting to prove that
the United States of America is a country without a name? Yes, he is right
that there are both North and South Americas. Yes, Brazil has united states.
Yes, Mexico has states and is in North America. Therefore, we have no name.
This is the kind of tiresome language game schoolchildren play.

It is also painful to see him attack Hollywood as worthless and without
history, when (as Charles Taylor points out on Salon.com), Godard was one of
those who taught us about our film history; with his fellow New Wavers, he
resurrected film noir, named it, celebrated it, even gave its directors bit
parts in his films. Now that history (his as well as ours) has disappeared
from his mind.

His attacks on Steven Spielberg are painful and unfair. Some of the
fragments of his film involve a Spielberg company trying to buy the memories
of Holocaust survivors for a Hollywood film (it will star, we learn,
Juliette Binoche, who appeared in "Hail Mary" but has now apparently gone
over to the dark side). Elsewhere in the film he accuses Spielberg of having
made millions from "Schindler's List" while Mrs. Schindler lives in
Argentina in poverty. One muses: (1) Has Godard, having also used her, sent
her any money? (2) Has Godard or any other director living or dead done more
than Spielberg, with his Holocaust Project, to honor and preserve the
memories of the survivors? (3) Has Godard so lost the ability to go to the
movies that, having once loved the works of Samuel Fuller and Nicholas Ray,
he cannot view a Spielberg film except through a prism of anger?

Critics are often asked if they ever change their minds about a movie. I
hope we can grow and learn. I do not "review" films seen at festivals, but
"report" on them--because in the hothouse atmosphere of seeing three to five
films a day, most of them important, one cannot always step back and catch a
breath. At Cannes I saw the surface of "In Praise of Love," remembered
Godard's early work, and was cheered by the film. After a second viewing,
looking beneath the surface, I see so little there: It is all remembered
rote work, used to conceal old tricks, facile name-calling, the loss of
hope, and emptiness.

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From: [e-mail]
Subject: [MV] THE RING / ** (PG-13)
Date: 02 Nov 2002 07:24:43 GMT

THE RING / ** (PG-13)

October 18, 2002

Rachel Keller:    Naomi Watts
Noah:    Martin Henderson
Richard Morgan:     Brian Cox
Aidan:    David Dorfman
Ruth:     Lindsay Frost
Katie:      Amber Tamblyn
DreamWorks presents a film directed by Gore Verbinski. Written by Ehren
Kruger. Based on the novel by Koji Suzuki. Running time: 115 minutes. Rated
PG-13 (for thematic elements, disturbing images, language and some drug
references).

BY ROGER EBERT

Rarely has a more serious effort produced a less serious result than in "The
Ring," the kind of dread dark horror film where you better hope nobody in
the audience snickers, because the film teeters right on the edge of the
ridiculous.

Enormous craft has been put into the movie, which looks just great, but the
story goes beyond contrivance into the dizzy realms of the absurd. And
although there is no way for everything to be explained (and many events
lack any possible explanation), the movie's ending explains and explains and
explains, until finally you'd rather just give it a pass than sit through
one more tedious flashback.

The story involves a video that brings certain death. You look at it, the
phone rings, and you find out you have seven days to live. A prologue shows
some teenage victims of the dread curse, and then newspaper reporter Rachel
Keller (Naomi Watts) gets on the case, helped by eerie drawings by her young
son, Aidan (David Dorfman).

The story has been recycled from a popular Japanese thriller by Hideo
Nakata, which was held off the market in this country to clear the field for
this remake. Alas, the same idea was ripped off in August by "feardotcom,"
also a bad movie, but more plain fun than "The Ring," and with a climax that
used brilliant visual effects while this one drags on endlessly.

I dare not reveal too much of the story but will say that the video does
indeed bring death in a week, something we are reminded of as Rachel tries
to solve the case while titles tick off the days. A single mom, she enlists
Aidan's father, a video geek named Noah (Martin Henderson) to analyze the
deadly tape. He tags along for the adventure, which inevitably leads to
their learning to care for one another, I guess, although the movie is not
big on relationships. Her investigation leads her to a remote cottage on an
island and to the weird, hostile man (Brian Cox) who lives there. And then
the explanations start to pile up.

This is Naomi Watts' first move since "Mulholland Drive" and I was going to
complain that we essentially learn nothing about her character except that
she's a newspaper reporter--but then I remembered that in "Mulholland Drive"
we essentially learned nothing except that she was a small-town girl in
Hollywood, and by the end of the movie we weren't even sure we had learned
that. "Mulholland Drive," however, evoked juicy emotions and dimensions that
"The Ring" is lacking, and involved us in a puzzle that was intriguing
instead of simply tedious.

There are a couple of moments when we think "The Ring" is going to end, and
it doesn't. One is that old reliable where the heroine, soaking wet and
saved from death, says "I want to go home," and the hero cushions her head
on his shoulder. But no, there's more. Another is when Aidan says, "You
didn't let her out, did you?" That would have been a nice ironic closer, but
the movie spells out the entire backstory in merciless detail, until when
we're finally walking out of the theater, we're almost ashamed to find
ourselves wondering, hey, who was that on the phone?

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From: [e-mail]
Subject: [MV] BROWN SUGAR / ***
Date: 02 Nov 2002 07:24:47 GMT

BROWN SUGAR / ***

October 11, 2002

Dre: Taye Diggs
Sidney: Sanaa Lathan
Reese: Nicole Ari Parker
Kelby Dawson: Boris Kodjoe
Chris V: Mos Def
Francine: Queen Latifah
Fox Searchlight Pictures presents a film directed by Rick Famuyiwa. Written
by Michael Elliot and Famuyiwa. Running time: 109 minutes. Rated PG-13 (for
sexual content and language).

BY ROGER EBERT

She is the editor of an important music magazine. He produces hip-hop for a
major label. They've been best friends since childhood, but never more than
that, although they came close a few times. Now, as both approach 30, Dre
(Taye Diggs) feels his career has lost its way. And Sidney (Sanaa Lathan) is
working so hard she doesn't have time for romance: "You're turning into a
Terry McMillan character," her girlfriend Fran-cine warns her.

"Brown Sugar," which charts romantic passages in these lives, is a romantic
comedy, yes, but one with characters who think and talk about their goals,
and are working on hard decisions. For both Sidney and Dre, hip-hop music
symbolizes a kind of perfect adolescent innocence, a purity they're trying
to return to as more cynical adults.

The first question Sidney asks an interview subject is always, "How did you
fall in love with hip-hop?" For her, it was July 18, 1984, when she
discovered for the first time a form that combined music, rhythm,
performance and poetry. Dre, her best buddy even then, grew up to become an
important hip-hop producer, working for a label that compromised its
standards as it became more successful. Now he's faced with the prospect of
producing "Rin and Tin," one white, one black, who bill themselves as "The
Hip-Hop Dalmatians."

Dre gets engaged to the beautiful Reese (Nicole Ari Parker). Sidney can't
believe he'll marry her, but can't admit she loves him--although she comes
close on the night before their wedding. Francine (Queen Latifah) lectures
her to declare her love: "You'll get the buddy and the booty!" When Dre
quits his job rather than work with the Dalmatians, he turns instinctively
to Sidney for advice, and Reese begins to understand that she's sharing his
heart.

Sidney, meanwhile, interviews the hunky athlete Kelby Dawson (Boris Kodjoe),
and soon they're engaged. Is this the real thing, or a rebound? Dre still
needs her for encouragement, as he pursues a hip-hop taxi driver named Chris
V (Mos Def), who he believes has potential to return the form to its roots.
And Chris, articulate in his music but lacking confidence in his life,
doesn't have the nerve to ask out Francine.

"Brown Sugar," advertised as a hip-hop comedy, is more like a slice of black
professional life (there's not even an entire hip-hop song in the whole
movie). Directed and co-written by Rick Famuyiwa, the movie returns to a
world similar to his "The Wood" (1999), but the characters are deeper and
more complex.

Consider Reese, the Nicole Ari Parker character. In a less thoughtful movie,
she'd be the shallow, bitchy life-wrecker. Here, she is blameless and
basically reasonable: mad at Dre for quitting his job without talking it
over with her, jealous of Sidney because she (correctly) suspects Sidney and
Dre have always been in love but lied to themselves about it. That feeling
comes to a head at a gym where both women work out, in a sparring match that
gets a little too sincere.

There's a scene in "Brown Sugar" I never thought I'd see in a movie, where
after Reese and Dre have a "final" fight, and in a more conventional film
she would disappear forever from the screenplay, but here she returns to
suggest counseling and says they need to work harder at their marriage. How
many movie romances are that thoughtful about their characters?

"Brown Sugar" may be pitching itself to the wrong audience. The ads promise:
"The Rhythm ... the Beat ... the Love ... and You Don't Stop!" But it's not
a musical and although it's sometimes a comedy, it's observant about its
people. Francine is onto something. They're all Terry McMillan characters.

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From: [e-mail]
Subject: [MV] KWIK STOP / ***1/2 (Not rated)
Date: 02 Nov 2002 07:24:49 GMT

KWIK STOP / ***1/2 (Not rated)

October 11, 2002

Mike: Michael Gilio
Didi: Lara Phillips
Emil: Rich Komenich
Ruthie: Karin Anglin
Clerk: Kris Wolff
Dr. Milk: Eric Curtis Johnson
Sunny: Sunny Seigel
A film written and directed by Michael Gilio. Running time: 110 minutes. No
MPAA rating (intended for mature audiences). Opening today at Facets
Cinematheque.

BY ROGER EBERT

"Kwik Stop" starts out with a shoplifter and a teenager who sees him
stealing. She threatens to turn him over to the cops, but actually all she
wants is to escape from her life in a Chicago suburb. He explains he's going
to Los Angeles to become a movie actor. "Take me with you," she says. "Can I
kiss you?" he says.

At this point, maybe 10 minutes into the story, we think we know more or
less where the movie is going: It'll be a road picture. We are dead wrong.
"Kwik Stop," which never quite gets out of town, blindsides us with
unexpected humor and sadness, and is one of the unsung treasures of recent
independent filmmaking. It's playing at Facets, 1517 W. Fullerton.

The movie is the work of Michael Gilio, who wrote it, directed it and stars
in it as Mike, the guy who thinks he could be a movie star. Gilio in fact is
already an established actor; he played opposite Sidney Poitier in the TV
movie "To Sir with Love 2," and has appeared in four other films, but this
movie proves he's not only an actor but has a genuine filmmaking talent. In
the way it is developed, and seen, and especially in the way it ends, "Kwik
Stop" shows an imagination that flies far beyond the conventions it seems to
begin with.

Mike is a complicated guy. He dreams of going to Los Angeles and breaking
into the movies, yes--but perhaps the dream is more important than actually
doing it. He's like a lot of people who are stuck in the planning stage and
like it there. Didi (Lara Phillips) has no plans, but she has urgent desires
and is prepared to act on them. We learn all we need to know about her home
life in a shot taken from the curb, that watches her go inside to get some
stuff and come back out again, unconcerned that she is leaving town, she
thinks, forever.

Neither one is dumb. They talk about Henry Miller and Harvey Keitel, two
names that suggest you have advanced beyond life's training wheels. Gilio
finds a motel for them with its own disco ball hanging from the ceiling, and
as its twinkle disguises the shabbiness they make and pledge love, and then
the next morning Mike is gone. If this couple is going to make it through
the entire film, we realize, they are going to have to do it without using
the usual cliches.

They meet again. Never mind how. Mike takes Didi to a diner for a meal,
where a waitress named Ruthie (Karin Anglin) greets them with a strangely
skewed attitude. Watch the way Gilio introduces mystery into the scene and
then resolves it, getting humor out of both the mystery and the solution.
The diner scene suggests strangeness deep in Mike's character: He doesn't
need to go to Los Angeles since he stars in his own drama, and doubles back
to be sure he hasn't lost his audience.

Mike and Didi try to burgle a house. Didi is whammed by a homeowner's
baseball bat and ends up imprisoned in the Midwest School for Girls. Mike
has a plan to spring her, which involves Ruthie making what is, under the
circumstances, a truly selfless gesture (she explains she doesn't want to
"waste the time I put into you").

Just as Mike never gets out of town, just as the plot doubles back to pick
up first Didi and then Ruthie, so Emil (Rich Komenich), the homeowner with
the baseball bat, also is not abandoned. "Kwik Stop" is the opposite of the
picaresque journey in which colorful characters are encountered and then
left behind. It gathers them all up and takes them along.

The movie contains genuine surprises, some delightful (like the plan to
spring Didi from the home) and others involving loneliness, loss and
desperation. I cannot say much more without revealing developments that are
unexpected and yet deeply satisfying. Poignancy comes into the movie from an
unexpected source. Depths are revealed where we did not think to find them.
The ending is like the last paragraph of a short story, redefining
everything that went before.

"Kwik Stop," made on a low budget, has all the money it needs to accomplish
everything it wants to do. It has the freedom of serious fiction, which is
not chained to a story arc but follows its characters where they insist on
going. Gilio, Phillips, Komenich and Anglin create that kind of bemused
realism we discover in films that are not about plot but about what these
dreamy people are going to do next. On a weekend when $400 million in slick
mainstream productions are opening, this is the movie to seek out.

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Subject: [MV] THE RULES OF ATTRACTION / ** (R)
Date: 02 Nov 2002 07:24:52 GMT

THE RULES OF ATTRACTION / ** (R)

October 11, 2002

Sean: James Van Der Beek
Lauren: Shannyn Sossamon
Paul: Ian Somerhalder
Lara: Jessica Biel
Victor: Kip Pardue
Kelly: Kate Bosworth
Lions Gate Films presents a film written and directed by Roger Avary. Based
on the novel by Bret Easton Ellis. Running time: 104 minutes. Rated R (for
strong sexual content, drug use, language and violent images). Opening today
at local theaters.

BY ROGER EBERT

I did not like any of the characters in "The Rules of Attraction." I cringe
to write those words, because they imply a superficial approach to the film.
Surely there are films where I hated the characters and admired the work?
"In the Company of Men"? No, that gave me a victim to sympathize with. There
is no entry portal in "The Rules of Attraction," and I spent most of the
movie feeling depressed by the shallow, selfish, greedy characters. I wanted
to be at another party.

Leaving the movie, I reflected that my reaction was probably unfair. "The
Rules of Attraction" was based on a novel by Bret Easton Ellis, and while
life is too short to read one of his books while a single work of Conrad,
Faulkner or Bellow eludes me, I am familiar enough with his world (through
the movies) to know that he agrees his characters are shallow, selfish and
greedy, although perhaps he bears them a certain affection, not least
because they populate his books. So I went to see the movie a second time,
and emerged with a more evolved opinion: "The Rules of Attraction" is a
skillfully made movie about reprehensible people.

The writer-director is Roger Avary, who directed "Killing Zoe" and
co-authored Quentin Tarantino's "Pulp Fiction." (Whether he cast James Van
Der Beek as his lead because he looks more like Tarantino than any other
working actor, I cannot guess.) In all of his work, Avary is fond of free
movement up and down the timeline, and here he uses an ingenious approach to
tell the stories of three main characters who are involved in, I dunno, five
or six pairings. He begins with an "End of the World" party at Camden
College, the ultimate party school, follows a story thread, then rewinds and
follows another. He also uses fast-forward brilliantly to summarize a
European vacation in a few hilarious minutes.

The yo-yo timeline works because we know, or quickly learn, who the
characters are, but sometimes it's annoying, as when we follow one sex romp
up to a certain point and then return to it later for the denouement. This
style may at times reflect the confused state of mind of the characters, who
attend a college where no studying of any kind is ever glimpsed, where the
only faculty member in the movie is having an affair with an undergraduate,
and where the improbable weekend parties would put the orgies at Hef's pad
to shame.

The parties are a lapse of credibility. I cannot believe, for example, that
large numbers of co-eds would engage in topless lesbian breastplay at a
campus event, except in the inflamed imaginations of horny undergraduates.
But assuming that they would: Is it plausible that the horny undergraduates
wouldn't even look at them? Are today's undergraduate men so (choose one)
blase, Politically Correct or emasculated that, surrounded by the
enthusiastic foreplay of countless half-naked women, they would blandly
carry on their conversations?

This is not to imply that "The Rules of Attraction" is in any sense a campus
sex-romp comedy. There is comedy in it, but so burdened are the students by
their heavy loads of alcoholism, depression, drug addiction and bisexual
promiscuity that one yearns for them to be given respite by that cliche of
the 1960s, the gratuitous run through meadows and woods. These kids need
fresh air.

In the movie, James Van Der Beek plays drug dealer Sean Bateman, who
desperately wants to sleep with with chic, elusive Lauren (Shannyn
Sossamon). She once dated Paul (Ian Somerhalder), who is bisexual and who
wants to sleep with Sean, who is straight, but right now if Lauren had her
druthers she would bed Victor (Kip Pardue), who stars in the speed-up
European trip and once dated Paul. (The sexual orientations of most of the
major characters come down to: When they're not with the sex they love, they
love the sex they're with.) Many but not not all of these desired couplings
take place, there are distractions from still other willing characters, and
a sad suicide involving a character I will not divulge, except to say that
when we see how miserable she was in flashbacks to various earlier events,
we wonder why, on a campus where promiscuity is epidemic, she had the
misfortune to be a one-guy woman.

Avary weaves his stories with zest and wicked energy, and finds a visual
style that matches the emotional fragmentation. I have no complaints about
the acting, and especially liked the way Sossamon kept a kind of impertinent
distance from some of the excesses. But by the end, I felt a sad
indifference. These characters are not from life and do not form into a
useful fiction. Their excesses of sex and substance abuse are physically
unwise, financially unlikely and emotionally impossible. I do not censor
their behavior but lament the movie's fascination with it. They do not say
and perhaps do not think anything interesting. The two other Bret Easton
Ellis movies ("Less than Zero" and "American Psycho") offered characters who
were considerably more intriguing. We had questions about them; they aroused
our curiosity. The inhabitants of "The Rules of Attraction" are superficial
and transparent. We know people like that, and hope they will get better.

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Subject: [MV] SKINS / *** (R)
Date: 02 Nov 2002 07:24:41 GMT

SKINS / *** (R)

October 18, 2002

Mogie Yellow Lodge: Graham Greene
Rudy Yellow Lodge: Eric Schweig
Verdell Weasel Tail: Gary Farmer
Teen Mogie: Nathaniel Arcand
First Look Pictures presents a film directed by Chris Eyre. Written by
Jennifer D. Lyne. Based on the novel by Adrian C. Louis. Running time: 87
minutes. Rated R (for language and violence).

BY ROGER EBERT

"Skins" tells the story of two brothers, both Sioux, one a cop, one an
alcoholic "whose mind got short-circuited in Vietnam." They live on the Pine
Ridge reservation, in the shadow of Mount Rushmore and not far from the site
of the massacre at Wounded Knee. America's founding fathers were carved, the
film informs us, into a mountain that was sacred to the Sioux, and that
knowledge sets up a final scene of uncommon power.

The movie is almost brutal in its depiction of life at Pine Ridge, where
alcoholism is nine times the national average and life expectancy 50
percent. Director Chris Eyre, whose previous film was the much-loved "Smoke
Signals" (1998), has turned from comedy to tragedy and is unblinking in his
portrait of a community where poverty and despair are daily realities.

Rudy Yellow Lodge (Eric Schweig), the policeman, is well-liked in a job that
combines law enforcement with social work. His brother Mogie (Graham Greene)
is the town drunk, but his tirades against society reveal the eloquence of a
mind that still knows how to see injustice. Mogie and his buddy Verdell
Weasel Tail (Gary Farmer) sit in the sun on the town's main street, drinking
and providing a running commentary that sometimes cuts too close to the
truth.

Flashbacks show that both brothers were abused as children, by an alcoholic
father. Mogie probably began life with more going for him, but Vietnam and
drinking have flattened him, and it's his kid brother who wears the uniform
and draws the paycheck. Those facts are established fairly early, and we
think we can foresee the movie's general direction, when Eyre surprises us
with a revelation about Rudy: He is a vigilante.

A man is beaten to death in an abandoned house. Rudy discovers the two
shiftless kids who did it, disguises himself, and breaks their legs with a
baseball bat. Angered by white-owned businesses across the reservation
border that make big profits selling booze to the Indians on the day the
welfare checks arrive, he torches one of the businesses--only to find he has
endangered his brother's life in the process. His protest, direct and angry,
is as impotent as every other form of expression seems to be.

When "Skins" premiered at Sundance last January, Eyre was criticized by some
for painting a negative portrait of his community. Justin Lin, whose "Better
Luck Tomorrow" showed affluent Asian-American teenagers succeeding at a life
of crime, was also attacked for not taking a more positive point of view.
Recently the wonderful comedy "Barbershop" has been criticized because one
character does a comic riff aimed at African-American icons.

In all three cases, the critics are dead wrong, because they would limit the
artists in their community to impotent feel-good messages instead of
applauding their freedom of expression. In all three cases, the critics are
also tone-deaf, because they cannot distinguish what the movies depict from
how they depict it. That is particularly true with some of the critics of
"Barbershop," who say they have not seen the film. If they did, the
audience's joyous laughter might help them understand the context of the
controversial dialogue, and the way in which it is answered.

"Skins" is a portrait of a community almost without resources to save
itself. We know from "Smoke Signals" that Eyre also sees another side to his
people, but the anger and stark reality he uses here are potent weapons. The
movie is not about a crime plot, not about whether Rudy gets caught, not
about how things work out. It is about regret. Graham Greene achieves the
difficult task of giving a touching performance even though his character is
usually drunk, and it is the regret he expresses, to his son and to his
brother, that carries the movie's burden of sadness. To see this movie is to
understand why the faces on Mount Rushmore are so painful and galling to the
first Americans. The movie's final image is haunting.

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From: [e-mail]
Subject: [MV] KNOCKAROUND GUYS / *** (R)
Date: 02 Nov 2002 07:24:48 GMT

KNOCKAROUND GUYS / *** (R)

October 11, 2002

Matty Demaret: Barry Pepper
Taylor Reese: Vin Diesel
Johnny Marbles: Seth Green
Chris Scarpa: Andrew Davoli
Benny Chains: Dennis Hopper
Teddy Deserve: John Malkovich
New Line Cinema presents a film written and directed by Brian Koppelman and
David Levien. Running time: 93 minutes. Rated R (for violence, language and
some drug use).

BY ROGER EBERT

When Matty Demaret is 12, he fails a test. His uncle gives him a gun and
asks him to shoot a squealer. Matty just can't do it. "That's all right,"
his uncle says. "You're just not cut out for it." Matty grows into a young
man determined to make a place for himself in the mob, and hangs around with
other young heirs to a shrinking empire. Their fathers sat around counting
money, but they're expected to work the noon and evening shifts at the
family restaurant.

Matty (Barry Pepper) wants a chance to prove himself. He begs his dad, Benny
Chains (Dennis Hopper), for a job and finally gets one--picking up some
money in Spokane. His friend Johnny Marbles (Seth Green) owns a private
plane, and Matty asks him to fly the money back east. In the small town of
Wibaux, Mont., Johnny Marbles gets rattled by cops in the airport, drops the
bag in a luggage zone and loses it. This is not good.

"Knockaround Guys" is inspired by the same impulse as "The Sopranos." It
considers gangsters in the modern age, beset by progress, unsure of their
roles, undermined by psychobabble. "Used to be there was a way to do things
and things got done," Matty's Uncle Teddy (John Malkovich) complains. "Now
everybody's feelings are involved."

The heart of the movie takes place in Wibaux, a town ruled by a tall,
taciturn, ominous sheriff, played by that unmistakable actor Tom Noonan.
Matty flies out to Montana with backup: his friends Taylor (Vin Diesel) and
Scarpa (Andrew Davoli). They stick out like sore thumbs in the little town.
"Looks like they're multiplying," the sheriff observes to his deputy. He
assumes they're involved with drugs, doesn't much care "as long as they move
on through," but is very interested in the possibility of money.

The movie crosses two formulas--Fish Out of Water and Coming of Age--fairly
effectively. Because it isn't wall-to-wall action but actually bothers to
develop its characters and take an interest in them, it was not at first
considered commercial by its distributor, New Line, and languished on the
shelf for two years until the growing stardom of Diesel ("XXX") and Pepper
("We Were Soldiers") made it marketable. It's more than that--it's
interesting in the way it shows these guys stuck between generations. And it
makes good use of Diesel, who as he develops into an action superstar may
not get roles this juicy for a while. He's a tough guy, yes, a street
fighter, but conflicted and with a kind of wise sadness about human nature.

The movie's basic question, I suppose, is whether the rising generation of
mobsters is so self-conscious it will never gain the confidence of its
ancestors. If it's true that the mob in the 1930s learned how to talk by
studying Warner Bros. crime pictures, it's equally true that "The Sopranos"
and all the other post-Scorsese "GoodFellas" stories bring in an element of
psychological complexity that only confuses an occupation that used to have
a brutal simplicity. "Knockaround Guys" opens with Matty being turned down
for a job because of his infamous last name. It ends with him not living up
to it. "To the regular people, we're nothing but goombas," Matty complains.
"But to our fathers, we're nothing but hound boys."

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From: [e-mail]
Subject: [MV] THE TRANSPORTER / **1/2 (PG-13)
Date: 02 Nov 2002 07:24:54 GMT

THE TRANSPORTER / **1/2 (PG-13)

October 11, 2002

Frank Martin: Jason Statham
Lai: Qi Shu
Tarconi: Francois Berleand
Wall Street: Matt Schulze
Mr. Kwai: Ric Young
Twentieth Century Fox presents a film directed by Corey Yuen. Written by Luc
Besson and Robert Mark Kamen. Running time: 92 minutes. Rated PG-13 (for
violent sequences and some sensuality).

BY ROGER EBERT

The marriage of James Bond and Hong Kong continues in "The Transporter," a
movie that combines Bond's luxurious European locations and love of deadly
toys with all the tricks of martial arts movies. The movie stars Jason
Statham (who has pumped a lot of iron since "Lock, Stock and Two Smoking
Barrels") as Frank Martin, a k a the Transporter, who will transport
anything at a price. His three unbreakable rules: never change the deal, no
names, and never look in the package.

Unlike Bond, Martin is amoral and works only for the money. We gather he
lost any shreds of patriotism while serving in the British Special Forces,
and now hires out his skills to support a lifestyle that includes an
oceanside villa on the French Riviera that would retail at $30 million,
minimum.

In an opening sequence that promises more than the movie is able to deliver,
Martin pilots his BMW for the getaway of a gang of bank robbers. Four of
them pile into the car. The deal said there would be three. "The deal never
changes," Martin says, as alarms ring and police sirens grow nearer. The
robbers scream for him to drive away. He shoots the fourth man. Now the deal
can proceed.

And it does, in a chase sequence that is sensationally good, but then aren't
all movie chase scenes sensationally good these days? There have been so
many virtuoso chase sequences lately that we grow jaded, but this one, with
the car bouncing down steps, squeezing through narrow lanes and speeding
backward on expressways, is up there with recent French chases like "Ronin"
and "The Bourne Identity."

The movie combines the skills and trademarks of its director, Corey Yuen,
and its writer-producer, Luc Besson. The Hong Kong-based specialist in
martial arts movies has 43 titles to his credit, many of them starring Jet
Li and Qi Shu. This is his English-language debut. Besson, now one of the
world's top action producers (he has announced nine films for 2003 and also
has "Wasabi" in current release), likes partnerships between action heroes
and younger, apparently more vulnerable women. Those elements were central
in his direction of "La Femme Nikita," "The Professional" and "The Fifth
Element." Now he provides Frank Martin with a young woman through the
violation of Rule No. 3: Martin looks in the bag.

He has been given a large duffel bag to transport. It squirms. It contains a
beautiful young Chinese woman named Lai (Qi Shu, who at age 26 has appeared
in 41 movies, mostly erotic or martial arts). He cuts a little hole in the
bag so she can sip an orange juice, and before he remembers to consult his
rules again he has brought her home to his villa and is embroiled in a plot
involving gangsters from Nice and human slave cargoes from China.

The movie is by this point, alas, on autopilot. Statham's character, who had
a grim fascination when he was enforcing the rules, turns into just another
action hero when he starts breaking them. I actually thought, during the
opening scenes, that "The Transporter" was going to rise above the genre,
was going to be a study of violent psychology, like "La Femme Nikita." No
luck.

Too much action brings the movie to a dead standstill. Why don't directors
understand that? Why don't they know that wall-to-wall action makes a movie
less interesting--less like drama, more like a repetitive video game? Stunt
action sequences are difficult, but apparently not as difficult as good
dialogue. Unless you're an early teens special effects zombie, movies get
more interesting when the characters are given humanity and dimension.

Frank Martin is an intriguing man in the opening scenes, and we think maybe
we'll learn something about his harsh code and lonely profession. But no: We
get car leaps from bridges onto auto transporters. Parachute drops onto the
tops of moving trucks. Grenades, rocket launchers, machine guns (at one
point a friendly inspector asks Martin to explain 50,000 spent rounds of
ammo). There is of course an underwater adventure, tribute to Besson's early
life as the child of scuba-diving instructors. At one point, Martin tells
Lai, "It's quiet. Too quiet." It wasn't nearly quiet enough.

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Subject: [MV] ABANDON / **1/2 (PG-13)
Date: 02 Nov 2002 07:24:30 GMT

ABANDON / **1/2 (PG-13)

October 18, 2002

Catherine Burke: Katie Holmes
Det. Wade Handler: Benjamin     Bratt
Embry Langan: Charlie Hunnam
Mousy Julie: Melanie Lynskey
Samantha: Zooey Deschanel
Paramount Pictures presents a film written and directed by Stephen Gaghan.
Running time: 93 minutes. Rated PG-13 (for drug and alcohol content,
sexuality, some violence and language).

BY ROGER EBERT

"Abandon" is a moody, effective thriller for about 80 percent of the way,
and then our hands close on air. If you walk out before the ending, you'll
think it's better than it is. Or maybe I'm being unfair: Maybe a rational
ending with a reasonable explanation would have seemed boring. Maybe this is
the ending the movie needed, but it seems so arbitrary as it materializes
out of thin air.

Or maybe I'm still being unfair. Maybe it doesn't come from thin air.
Students of Ebert's Bigger Little Movie Glossary will be familiar with the
Law of Economy of Characters, which states that no movie introduces a
character unnecessarily, so that the apparently superfluous character is the
one to keep an eye on. That rule doesn't precisely apply here, but it's
relevant in a reverse sort of way. Think of the Purloined Letter.

Enough of this. The movie finally did not satisfy me, and so I cannot
recommend it, but there is a lot to praise, beginning with Katie Holmes'
performance as Catherine Burke, a smart and articulate student who is on the
fast track to a corporate boardroom. She's a student at an unnamed
university (McGill in Montreal provided the locations), has just aced an
interview with a big firm, studies hard, doesn't date. Her ex-boyfriend
Embry Langan (Charlie Hunnam) vanished mysteriously two years ago, but then
he was the kind of weirdo genius who was always pulling stunts like that.

The key question: Did Embry disappear himself, or was he disappeared? Det.
Wade Handler (Benjamin Bratt) is on the case, and although Catherine at
first cuts him off, she starts to like the guy. Meanwhile, in what is not as
much of a spoiler as it might appear, Embry reappears on campus, and starts
stalking Catherine. That's all of the plot you'll get from me. I want to
talk about casting, dialogue and the film's general intelligence. This is a
movie that convincingly portrays the way students talk, think, get wasted,
philosophize and hang around on a college campus. I emphasize that because
when "The Rules of Attraction" opened a week ago, I questioned its scenes in
which topless lesbians were ignored by male students at campus parties. I
have here a letter from Joseph Gallo of Auburn, Ala., who says such a sight
is not uncommon on his campus. Uh, huh.

The students in "Abandon" talk smart. Especially Catherine. Watch the way
Katie Holmes handles that interview with the high-powered corporate
recruiters. It could be used as a training film. Watch her body language and
word choices when she rejects an advance from her counselor. Notice the
scene where a friend invites her to attend an "anti-globalization rally." In
an ordinary movie, a line like that would be boilerplate, designed to move
the plot to its next event. In this movie, Catherine responds. She has an
opinion about anti-globalization. Astonishing.

The movie was written and directed by Stephen Gaghan, who won an Oscar for
the "Traffic" screenplay and is making his directorial debut. Gaghan has
written such convincing characters, including the snotty know-it-all played
by Melanie Lynskey and the best friends played by Zooey Deschanel and
Gabrielle Union, that it's kind of a shame this is a thriller. A real campus
movie, about fears and ambitions, could have been made from this material.
Deschanel's drunk scene with the cop is an example of material that is
spot-on.

But the movie is a thriller, and so we must watch as the human elements and
the intelligence, which have absorbed and entertained us, are ground up in
the requirements of the Shocking Climax. Too bad. Here is a movie that never
steps wrong until the final scenes, and then, having answered all of our
questions up until then, closes with questions even it, I suspect, cannot
answer.

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Subject: [MV] TUCK EVERLASTING / ** (PG)
Date: 02 Nov 2002 07:24:55 GMT

TUCK EVERLASTING / ** (PG)

October 11, 2002

Winnie Foster: Alexis Bledel
Angus Tuck: William Hurt
Mae Tuck: Sissy Spacek
Jesse Tuck: Jonathan Jackson
Miles Tuck: Scott Bairstow
Man in the Yellow Suit: Ben Kingsley
Mother Foster: Amy Irving
Robert Foster: Victor Garber
Walt Disney Pictures presents a film directed by Jay Russell. Written by
Jeffrey Lieber and James V. Hart. Based on the book by Natalie Babbitt.
Running time: 90 minutes. Rated PG.(for some violence).

BY ROGER EBERT

"Tuck Everlasting" is based on a novel well known to middle school students
but not to me, about a romance between two teenagers, one of whom is 104. It
contains a lesson: "Do not fear death--but rather the unlived life." Wise
indeed. But wiser still was Socrates, who said, "The unexamined life is not
worth living." The immortals in "Tuck Everlasting" have not examined their
endless lives, and the teenage mortal scarcely has a thought in her pretty
little head.

The movie, shot in rural Maryland (Blair Witch country), tells of a young
woman named Winnie Foster (Alexis Bledel) who feels stifled by strict family
rules. Her mother (Amy Irving) frowns disapprovingly on just about anything,
but is especially certain that Winnie should never talk to strangers or walk
alone in the woods. One day, Winnie up and walks in the woods, and meets a
young man named Jesse (Jonathan Jackson). He warns her against drinking from
a spring at the foot of a big old tree, and then his older brother Miles
(Scott Bairstow) grabs her and brings her back to their forest cottage on
horseback.

These are the Tucks. Mae and Angus, Mom and Dad, are played by Sissy Spacek
and William Hurt. Years ago, they drank from the spring and have become
immortal. "The spring stops you right where you are," Winnie is told, and
that's why Jesse has been 17 for all these years. Although this is not
explained, it must stop your mental as well as your physical aging, because
at 104, Jesse is not yet desperately bored by being 17. Earlier, Angus Tuck
had spied a stranger in a yellow coat skulking about, and warned the family:
"Any strangers in the woods--getting too close--you know what to do. No
exceptions." So it appears Winnie must die to protect the secret of the
Tucks and their spring. But first Mae Tuck wants to give the poor girl a
square meal, and as it becomes clear that Winnie and Jesse are soft on one
another, the mean Miles teases: "Don't you wish he'd told you before he
kissed you?" (His own mother says Miles is "warm as barbed wire.")

The movie has been handsomely mounted by Jay Russell, whose previous film
was "My Dog Skip" (2000), a classic about childhood that was entirely
lacking the feather-brained sentimentality of "Tuck Everlasting." The new
movie is slow, quiet, sweet and maddening in the way it avoids obvious
questions: Such as, if one sip from the spring grants immortality, why do
the Tucks remain for a century in their cottage in the woods? I know what
I'd do: Spend 10 years apiece in the world's most interesting places. And
don't tell me they're afraid city folk will notice how old they are, since
the boys live in town and Mae visits them every 10 years.

The movie oozes with that kind of self-conscious piety that sometimes comes
with the territory when award-winning young people's books are filmed
("Harry Potter" is an exception). The characters seem to lack ordinary human
instincts and behave according to their archetypal requirements. How else to
consider the Man in the Yellow Suit (Ben Kingsley), who, if he had given the
matter a moment's thought, would know he could stalk the Tucks more
successfully with a brown suit? Winnie's father (Victor Garber) is a rather
distant man, as befits the form for this genre, in which the women are
plucky and the men are either sinister or inessential, unless they are cute
teenage boys, of course.

The movie is too impressed with its own solemn insights to work up much
entertainment value; is too much fable to be convincing as life; is awkward
in the way it tries to convince us Winnie's in danger when we're pretty sure
she's not. Even its lesson is questionable. Is it better to live fully for a
finite time than to be stuck in eternity? The injunction to live life fully
need not come with a time limit. That's why the outcome of the romance is so
unsatisfactory. I dare not reveal what happens, except to say that it need
not happen, that the explanation for it is logically porous, and that many a
young girl has sacrificed more for her love. Besides, just because you're 17
forever doesn't mean life loses all delight. You can get rid of that horse
and carriage and buy a motorcycle.

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Subject: [MV] SWEPT AWAY / * (R)
Date: 02 Nov 2002 07:24:51 GMT

SWEPT AWAY / * (R)

October 11, 2002

Amber: Madonna
Giuseppe: Adriano Giannini
Debi: Elizabeth Banks
Burly Captain: Patrizio Rispo
Marina: Jeanne Tripplehorn
Screen Gems presents a film written and directed by Guy Ritchie. Running
time: 98 minutes. Rated R (for language and some sexuality/nudity).

BY ROGER EBERT

"Swept Away" is a deserted island movie during which I desperately wished
the characters had chosen one movie to take along if they were stranded on a
deserted island, and were showing it to us instead of this one.

The movie is a relatively faithful remake of an incomparably superior 1974
movie with the lovely title, "Swept Away by an Unusual Destiny in the Blue
Sea of August." The new "Swept Away" knows the words but not the music. It
strands two unattractive characters, one bitchy, one moronic, on an island
where neither they, nor we, have anyone else to look at or listen to. It's
harder for them than it is for us, because they have to go through the
motions of an erotic attraction that seems to have become an impossibility
the moment the roles were cast.

Madonna stars as Amber, the spoiled rich wife of a patient and
long-suffering millionaire. They join two other couples in a cruise on a
private yacht from Greece to Italy. The other five passengers recede into
unwritten, even unthought-about roles, while Amber picks on Giuseppe
(Adriano Giannini), the bearded deckhand. She has decided he is stupid and
rude, and insults him mercilessly. So it was in the earlier film, but in
this version Amber carries her behavior beyond all reason, until even the
rudest and bitchiest rich woman imaginable would have called it a day.

Amber orders Giuseppe to take her out in the dinghy. He demurs: It looks
like a storm. She insists. They run out of gas and begin to drift. She
insults him some more, and when he succeeds after great effort in catching a
fish for them to eat, she throws it overboard. Later she succeeds in putting
a hole in the dinghy during a struggle for the flare gun. They drift at sea
until they wash up on a deserted island, where the tables are turned and now
it is Giuseppe who has the upper hand. Her husband's wealth is now no longer
a factor, but his survival skills are priceless.

All of this is similar to the 1974 movie, even the business of the fish
thrown overboard. What is utterly missing is any juice or life in the
characters. Giancarlo Giannini and Mariangela Melato became stars on the
basis of the original "Swept Away," which was written and directed by Lina
Wertmuller, one of the most successful Italian directors of the 1970s. She
was a leftist but not a feminist, and aroused some controversy with a story
where it turned out the rich woman liked being ordered around and slapped a
little--liked it so much she encouraged the sailor to experiment with
practices he could not even pronounce.

This new "Swept Away" is more sentimental, I'm afraid, and the two castaways
fall into a more conventional form of love. I didn't believe it for a
moment. They have nothing in common, but worse still, neither one has any
conversation. They don't say a single interesting thing. That they have sex
because they are stranded on the island I can believe. That they are not
sleeping in separate caves by the time they are rescued I do not.

The problem with the Madonna character is that she starts out so hateful
that she can never really turn it around. We dislike her intensely and
thoroughly, and when she gets to the island we don't believe she had learned
a lesson, or turned nice--we believe she is behaving with this man as she
does with all men, in the way best designed to get her what she wants. As
for the sailor, does he really love her, as he says in that demeaning and
pitiful speech toward the end of the film? What is there to love? They
shared some interesting times together, but their minds never met.

The ending is particularly unsatisfactory, depending as it does on contrived
irony that avoids all of the emotional issues on the table. If I have come
this far with these two drips, and sailed with them, and been shipwrecked
with them, and listened to their tiresome conversations, I demand that they
arrive at some conclusion more rewarding than a misunderstanding based upon
a misdelivered letter. This story was about something when Wertmuller
directed it, but now it's not about anything at all. It's lost the politics
and the social observation and become just another situation romance about a
couple of saps stuck in an inarticulate screenplay.

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From: [e-mail]
Subject: [MV] THE TUXEDO / *1/2 (PG-13)
Date: 02 Nov 2002 07:25:07 GMT

THE TUXEDO / *1/2 (PG-13)

September 27, 2002

Jimmy Tong: Jackie Chan
Del Blaine: Jennifer Love     Hewitt
Clark Devlin: Jason Isaacs
Banning: Ritchie Coster
Steena: Debi Mazar
DreamWorks Pictures presents a film directed by Kevin Donovan. Written by
Michael J. Wilson and Michael Leeson. Running time: 99 minutes. Rated PG-13
(for action violence, sexual content and language).

BY ROGER EBERT

There is an ancient tradition in action movies that the first scene is a
self-contained shocker with no relevance to the rest of the plot. James Bond
parachutes from a mountainside, Clint Eastwood disarms a robber, etc. Jackie
Chan's "The Tuxedo" opens with a deer urinating in a mountain stream. The
deer, the urine and the stream have nothing to do with the rest of the film.

The movie's plot does involve water. The bad guy wants to add an ingredient
to the world's water supply that will cause victims to dehydrate and die. To
save themselves, they will have to buy the villain's pure water. Since his
opening gambit is to sabotage, I repeat, the world's water supply, he will
dehydrate everyone except those already drinking only bottled water, and so
will inherit a planet of health nuts, which is just as well, since all the
fish and animals and birds will dehydrate, too, and everyone will have to
live on PowerBars.

I have been waiting for a dehydrating villain for some time. My wife is of
the opinion that I do not drink enough water. She believes the proper amount
is a minimum of eight glasses a day. She often regards me balefully and
says, "You're not getting enough water." In hot climates her concern
escalates. In Hawaii last summer she had the grandchildren so worked up they
ran into the bedroom every morning to see if Grandpa Roger had turned to
dust.

The movie's villain, whose name is Banning (Ritchie Coster), has a novel
scheme for distributing the formula, or virus, or secret ingredient, or
whatever it is, that will make water into a dehydrating agent. He plans to
use water striders, those insects that can skate across the surface of a
pond. In his secret laboratory he keeps his ultimate weapon, a powerful
water strider queen.

Do water striders have queens, like bees and ants do? For an authoritative
answer I turned to Dr. May Berenbaum, head of the Department of Entomology
at the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign, and founder of the Insect
Fear Film Festival, held every year at the Great University.

She writes: "Water striders are true bugs (i.e., insects with
piercing/sucking mouthparts) that run or skate on the surface of bodies of
water, feeding on the insects that fall onto the water surface. There are
about 500 species of gerrids in the world and, as far as I know, not a
single one of those 500 species is eusocial (i.e., has a complex social
structure with reproductive division of labor and cooperative brood care). I
don't even know of an example of maternal care in the whole group. In short,
the answer to your question is an emphatic 'no!' I can't wait to see this
film. It definitely sounds like a candidate for a future Insect Fear Film
Festival!"

More crushing evidence: Dr. Bruce P. Smith, expert entomologist at Ithaca
College, writes me, "There is no known species of water striders that has
queens. The most closely related insects that do are some colonial aphid
speciies, and the most familiar (and much more distant rleatives) are the
ants, bees, wasps and termites." He adds helpfully, "One mammal does have
queens: the naked mole rats of Africa." Revealing himself as a student of
insect films, he continues, "If my memory is correct, 'Arachnophobia' has a
king spider, but no queen--totally absurd!"

So there you have it. Professors Smith and Berenbaum have spoken. The evil
Banning has spent untold millions on his secret plans for world domination,
and thinks he possesses a water strider queen when he only has a lucky
regular water strider living the life of Riley.

But back to "The Tuxedo." Jackie Chan plays a taxi driver named Jimmy Tong,
who is hired by Debi Mazar to be the chauffeur for Clark Devlin (Jason
Isaacs), a multimillionaire secret agent whose $2 million tuxedo turns him
into a fighting machine (also a dancer, kung-fu expert, etc). After Devlin
is injured by a skateboard bomb, Jackie puts on the suit and soon partners
with agent Del Blaine (Jennifer Love Hewitt), who realizes he has a strange
accent for a man named Clark Devlin, but nevertheless joins him in battle
against Banning.

The movie is silly beyond comprehension, and even if it weren't silly, it
would still be beyond comprehension. It does have its moments, as when the
tuxedo inadvertently cold-cocks James Brown, the Godfather of Soul, and
Jackie Chan has to go onstage in place of the Hardest Working Man in Show
Business. He's very funny as James Brown, although not as funny as James
Brown is.

There's something engaging about Jackie Chan. Even in a bad movie, I like
him, because what you see is so obviously what you get. This time he goes
light on the stunts, at least the stunts he obviously does himself, so that
during the closing credits, there are lots of flubbed lines and times when
the actors break out laughing, but none of those spellbinding shots in which
he misses the bridge, falls off the scaffold, etc. And some of the shots are
computer-generated, which is kind of cheating isn't it, with Jackie Chan?
Luckily, special effects are not frowned upon at the Insect Fear Film
Festival.

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From: [e-mail]
Subject: [MV] IGBY GOES DOWN / ***1/2 (R)
Date: 02 Nov 2002 07:25:12 GMT

IGBY GOES DOWN / ***1/2 (R)

September 20, 2002

Jason 'Igby' Slocumb Jr.: Kieran Culkin
Mimi Slocumb: Susan Sarandon
Oliver Slocumb: Ryan Phillippe
Jason Slocumb: Bill Pullman
D.H. Baines: Jeff Goldblum
Sookie Sapperstein: Claire Danes
Rachel: Amanda Peet
MGM presents a film written and directed by Burr Steers. Running time: 97
minutes. Rated R (for language, sexuality and drug content). Opening today
at local theaters.

BY ROGER EBERT

Holden Caulfield formed the mold and Jason "Igby" Slocumb Jr. fits it
perfectly, in "Igby Goes Down," an inspired example of the story in which
the adolescent hero discovers that the world sucks, people are phonies, and
sex is a consolation. Because the genre is well established, what makes the
movie fresh is smart writing, skewed characters, and the title performance
by Kieran Culkin, who captures just the right note as an advantaged rich boy
who has been raised in discontent.

Igby is the child of a malevolently malfunctioning family. His mother, Mimi
(Susan Sarandon), is a tart, critical, perfectionist mandarin ("I call her
Mimi because Heinous One is a bit cumbersome"). His father, Jason (Bill
Pullman), went through meltdown and is in a mental hospital, staring into
space. His stepfather, D. H. Baines (Jeff Goldblum), is a slick operator who
converts both lofts and the young girls he installs in them. His brother,
Oliver (Ryan Phillippe), is a supercilious Columbia student who regards Igby
as a species of bug. Igby, like Citizen Kane before him, has been thrown out
of all the best schools, and early in the movie he escapes from a military
school and hides out in New York City.

Of course, a boy with his advantages is fortunate even in hideouts. He has
an understanding meeting with his stepfather, finds shelter in one of his
lofts, and soon is on very good terms with Rachel (Amanda Peet), his
father's mistress, who is an artist in every respect, except producing
anything that can be considered art. Through Rachel he meets Sookie
Sapperstein (Claire Danes), a Bennington student who likes him because he
makes her laugh. Among the lessons every young man should learn is this one:
All women who like you because you make them laugh sooner or later stop
laughing, and then why do they like you?

The movie has a fairly convoluted plot, involving who is sleeping with whom,
and why, and who finds out about it, and what happens then. There is also
the problem of the older brother, who does not make women laugh, which may
be his strong point. The Goldblum character is especially intriguing, as a
charmer with unlimited personal style and a hidden vicious streak.

Movies like this depend above all on the texture of the performances, and it
is easy to imagine "Igby Goes Down" as a sitcom in which the characters
don't quite seem to understand the witty things they're saying. All of the
actors here have flair and presence, and get the joke, and because they all
affect a kind of neo-Wildean irony toward everything, they belong in the
same world. It is refreshing to hear Igby refer to his "Razor's Edge
experience" without the movie feeling it is necessary to have him explain
what he is talking about.

The Culkins are approaching brand-name status, but the thing is, the kids
can act. Kieran emerges here as an accomplished, secure comic actor with
poise and timing, and there is still another younger brother, Rory, who
appears as a younger Igby. Kieran's role is not an easy one. He is not
simply a rebellious, misfit teenager with a con man's verbal skills, but
also a wounded survivor of a family that has left him emotionally scarred.
One of the movie's touching scenes has him visiting his father in the mental
hospital, where his father's total incomprehension suggests a scary message:
I don't understand my family or anything else, and I've given up thinking
about it.

Sarandon, as Mimi the Heinous One, treats her boys as if they're straight
men in the ongoing sitcom of her life. That there are tragic secrets
involved, which I will not reveal, makes her all the more frightening: Is
nothing entirely sincere with this woman? Goldblum's sense of possession is
the scariest thing about him, since Igby finds out it's bad to be considered
his property and worse not to be. And Phillippe is pitch-perfect as the
affected college student, whose elevated style and mannered speech seem
designed to hide the same wounds that Igby bears.

There is a lot of sex in the movie, but it is sane sex, which is to say sex
performed by people who seem to have heard of sex and even experienced it
before the present moment. Sex is seen here as part of the process of life,
rather than as the subject of a heightened scene of cinematic
mountain-climbing. Everyone except Igby is fairly casual about it, which is
kind of sad, and among the things Igby has been deprived of in life, one is
an early romance with a sincere girl of about the same age who takes him
seriously. Perhaps the sad inherited family trait among the Slocumbs is
premature sophistication.

The movie was written and directed by Burr Steers (who acted in "Pulp
Fiction" and "The Last Days of Disco," among others). It is an astonishing
filmmaking debut, balancing so many different notes and story elements. What
Steers has not lost sight of, in all the emotional chaos, is heart. The film
opens and closes on different kinds of pain, and by the end Igby has
discovered truths that Holden Caulfield, we feel, could not have handled.

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From: [e-mail]
Subject: [MV] 8 WOMEN / *** (R)
Date: 02 Nov 2002 07:25:01 GMT

8 WOMEN / *** (R)

September 27, 2002

Mamy: Danielle Darrieux
Gaby: Catherine Deneuve
Augustine: Isabelle Huppert
Suzon: Virginie Ledoyen
Catherine: Ludivine Sagnier
Pierrette: Fanny Ardant
Louise: Emmanuelle Beart
Madame Chanel: Firmine Richard
Focus Features presents a film written and directed by Francois Ozon.
Adapted from the play by Robert Thomas. Running time: 113 minutes. Rated R
(for some sexual content). In French with English subtitles. Opening today
at Pipers Alley, Evanston CineArts 6 and Landmark Renaissance.

BY ROGER EBERT

Here it is at last, the first Agatha Christie musical. Eight women are
isolated in a snowbound cottage, there is a corpse with a knife in his back,
all of the women are potential suspects, plus eight song and dance numbers.
The cast is a roll call of French legends. In alphabetical order: Fanny
Ardant, Emmanuelle Beart, Danielle Darrieux, Catherine Deneuve, Isabelle
Huppert, Virginie Ledoyen, Firmine Richard and Ludivine Sagnier.

From the opening shot, the film cheerfully lets us know it's a spoof of
overproduced Hollywood musicals. We pan past tree branches impossibly laden
with picturesque snow and find a charming cottage where guests are just
arriving. Eight women have gathered to celebrate Christmas with Marcel, who
is the husband of Gaby (Deneuve), the son-in-law of Mamy (Darrieux), the
brother-in-law of Aunt Augustine (Huppert), the father of Catherine
(Sagnier) and Suzon (Ledoyen), the employer of the domestic servants Madame
Chanel (Richard) and Louise (Beart), and the brother of the late-arriving
Pierrette (Ardant).

"Monsieur died in his bed with a knife in his back," the assembled company
is informed. And (significant detail required in all isolated rural murders)
"the dogs didn't bark all night." The women absorb this news while dressed
in stunning designer fashions (even the maids look chic) and deployed around
a large, sunny room that looks like nothing so much as a stage set--even to
the detail that all the furniture is behind the actresses most of the time.
Only a couple of brief excursions upstairs prevent the movie from taking
place entirely on this one bright set, where nothing looks used or lived
with.

The artificiality is so jolly that we're not surprised when the first song
begins, because "8 Women" is in no sense serious about murder, its plot, or
anything else. It's an elaborate excuse to have fun with its cast, and we
realize we've been waiting a long time for Catherine Deneuve to come right
out and say of Isabelle Huppert: "I'm beautiful and rich. She's ugly and
poor." I had also just about given up hope of ever seeing Deneuve and Fanny
Ardant rolling around on the floor pulling each other's hair.

In a cast where everybody has fun, Huppert has the most, as Augustine. She
and her mother (Darrieux) have been living rent-free in Marcel's cottage
with her sister (Deneuve), but that has not inspired Augustine to compromise
in her fierce resentment and spinsterish isolation. She stalks around the
set like Whistler's mother, frowning from behind her horn-rims and making
disapproval into a lifestyle.

The other characters quickly fall into approved Agatha Christie patterns.
Young Suzon appoints herself Sherlock Holmes, or perhaps in this case
Hercule Poirot, and begins sniffing out the clues. The sexy Louise is
established as the late Marcel's mistress. Madame Chanel, from French
Africa, has been with the family for years and lives out back in the guest
cottage, where, as it develops, she often plays cards with Pierrette. And
Pierrette herself, who arrives late with the kind of entrance that only the
tall, dark and forcible Ardant could pull off, has secrets which are as
amazing as they are inevitable.

I dare not reveal a shred of the plot. And the movie is all plot--that, and
stylish behavior, and barbed wit, and those musical numbers. Watching "8
Women," you have a silly grin half of the time. Astonishing, that Francois
Ozon, who directed this, also made "Under the Sand" (2001), that melancholy
record of a wife (Charlotte Rampling) whose husband disappears, apparently
drowned, and who refuses to deal with the fact that he is dead.

Movies like "8 Women" are essentially made for movie-lovers. You have to
have seen overdecorated studio musicals, and you have to know who Darrieux
and Deneuve and Beart and Huppert and Ardant are, to get the full flavor. It
also helps if you have seen Agatha Christie's "The Mousetrap," now in the
50th year of its London run, with its cast still trapped with the corpse in
the isolated cottage. "Do not give away the secret!" the program notes
exhort. And here, too. Not that the secret is anything more than one more
twist of the plot's pepper mill.

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From: [e-mail]
Subject: [MV] THE FOUR FEATHERS / ** (PG-13)
Date: 02 Nov 2002 07:25:18 GMT

THE FOUR FEATHERS / ** (PG-13)

September 20, 2002

Harry Faversham: Heath Ledger
Lt. Jack Durrance: Wes Bentley
Ethne Eustace: Kate Hudson
Abou Fatma: Djimon Hounsou
Trench: Michael Sheen
Paramount Pictures presents a film directed by Shekhar Kapur. Written by
Michael Schiffer and Hossein Amini. Based on the novel by A.E.W. Mason.
Running time: 127 minutes. Rated PG-13 (for intense battle sequences,
disturbing images, violence and some sensuality).

BY ROGER EBERT

Looking ahead to the Toronto Film Festival, I foolishly wrote that I was
looking forward to Shekhar Kapur's "The Four Feathers" because I was
"intrigued by the notion that a story of British colonialism has now been
retold by an Indian director. We await the revisionist 'Gunga Din.' "
Foolish, because the film is not revisionist at all, but a skilled update of
the same imperialist swashbuckler that's been made into six earlier films
and a TV movie (the classic is the 1939 version, with Ralph Richardson and
C. Aubrey Smith). I do not require Kapur to be a revisionist
anti-imperialist; it's just that I don't expect a director born in India to
be quite so fond of the British Empire. To be sure, his previous film was
the wonderful "Elizabeth" (1998), about Elizabeth I, so perhaps he's an
Anglophile. So am I. It's permitted.

"The Four Feathers" tells the story of Harry Faversham (Heath Ledger), a
young British soldier, circa 1875, whose father is a general and who finds
himself in the army without having much say in the matter. He is engaged to
the comely Ethne Eustace (Kate Hudson), and when his regiment is ordered to
the Sudan he cannot bear to part from her and resigns his commission. He
acts primarily out of love, but of course his comrades consider the timing,
conclude he is a coward and send him three white feathers--the sign of
cowardice. A fourth is added by the patriotic Ethne.

Disowned by his father, renounced by his fiancee, disgraced in society,
Harry must regain his good name. He ships out to the Sudan on his own,
disguises himself as an Arab, and lives anyhow in the desert, shadowing his
former regiment and doing undercover work on their behalf. He is much helped
by the noble Abou Fatma (Djimon Hounsou, from "Amistad"), a desert prince
who selflessly devotes himself to helping and protecting the Englishman, for
reasons I could never quite understand.

The picture is handsomely mounted (the cinematographer is the Oscar winner
Robert Richardson). Red British uniforms contrast with the sand of the
desert, and Oriental details make many frames look like a painting by David
Roberts. Epic battle scenes, including one where the British form a square
and gun down waves of horsemen, are well-staged and thrilling. And Harry is
a dashing hero, if we can distract ourselves from the complete impossibility
of his actions; any man naive enough to think he could resign his commission
on the eve of battle and not be considered a coward is certainly foolish
enough to become a free-lance desert commando--a dry run for T.E. Lawrence.

A newly restored print of "Lawrence of Arabia," as it happens, is opening on
the same day as "The Four Feathers" in many cities, and this is bad luck for
the new picture. If you want to see drama in the desert, you're best off
with the real thing. The problem with "The Four Feathers" is that the
characters are so feckless, the coincidences so blatant and the movie so
innocent of any doubts about the White Man's Burden that Kipling could have
written it--although if he had, there would have been deeper psychology and
better roles for the locals.

Wes Bentley, from "American Beauty," co-stars as Harry's best friend, Lt.
Jack Durrance. He and Hudson are Americans; Ledger is Australian; obviously,
no British actors existed who could fill these roles. Non-British actors are
often skilled at British accents, but the younger ones usually don't have
the right moves or body language. There is an American/Australian manner of
informality, casual demeanor, even slouching, that a certain kind of British
actor can never be caught committing; British society, it is said, is a
stage on which everyone is always playing a role, but Ledger, Hudson and
Bentley seem to be playing dress-up.

I also have problems with the faithful Abou Fatma. Why do the dark-skinned
natives always get to be the best buddy, never the hero? Why would a callow,
badly trained, unequipped English boy be able to walk into the desert and
command the services of a skilled desert warrior as his sidekick? What's in
it for Abou? Movies like this are big on those solemn exchanges of
significant looks during which deep truths remain unspoken, primarily
because there is no way on earth they can be spoken without the cast and
audience joining in uncontrolled laughter.

But I must not dismiss the qualities of the movie. It looks good, it moves
quickly and it is often a jolly good time. As mindless swashbuckling in a
well-designed production, it can't be faulted. The less you know about the
British Empire and human nature, the more you will like it, but then that
can be said of so many movies.

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From: [e-mail]
Subject: [MV] SECRETARY / *** (R)
Date: 02 Nov 2002 07:25:04 GMT

SECRETARY / *** (R)

September 27, 2002

Mr. Grey: James Spader
Lee Holloway: Maggie Gyllenhaal
Peter: Jeremy Davies
Joan Holloway: Lesley Ann Warren
Burt Holloway: Stephen McHattie
Dr. Twardon: Patrick Bauchau
Lions Gate Films presents a film directed by Steven Shainberg. Written by
Erin Cressida Wilson. Based on the story by Mary Gaitskill. Running time:
104 minutes. Rated R (for strong sexuality, some nudity, depiction of
behavioral disorders and language). Opening today at Evanston CineArts 6,
Esquire, Pipers Alley and Landmark Renaissance.

BY ROGER EBERT

"Secretary" approaches the tricky subject of sadomasochism with a stealthy
tread, avoiding the dangers of making it either too offensive, or too funny.
Because S/M involves postures that are absorbing for the participants but
absurd to the onlooker, we tend to giggle at the wrong times. Here is a film
where we giggle at the right times. The director, Steven Shainberg, has
succeeded by focusing intently on his characters, making them quirky
individuals rather than figures of fun.

The movie, to begin with, is well cast. There may be better actors than
James Spader and Maggie Gyllenhaal, but for this material, I cannot think
who they are. About Spader there always seems to be some unarticulated
secret hovering, and Gyllenhaal avoids numerous opportunities to make her
character seem pathetic, and makes her seem plucky instead--intent on
establishing herself and making herself necessary.

Spader plays Mr. Grey, a lawyer whose office looks like the result of
intense conversations with an interior designer who has seen too many
Michael Douglas movies. Mr. Grey has such bad luck with secretaries that he
has an illuminated help-wanted sign out front he can light up, like the
"Vacancy" sign at a motel. Gyllenhaal plays Lee Holloway, who has the
illness of self-mutilation and comes from a neurotic family. Released from
treatment, Lee takes typing classes, goes looking for work and has an
interview with Mr. Grey. Something unspoken passes between them and they
know they are thinking about the same thing.

Lee is submissive. Spader is dominant and obsessive (he has a fetish for
lining up red markers in his desk drawer). He demands perfection, she falls
short of the mark, he punishes her, and this becomes a workable
relationship. When he loses interest for a time and stops correcting her
mistakes, she grows disconsolate; when he sharply calls her back into her
office, she is delighted.

The movie does not argue that S/M is good for you, but has a more complex
dynamic. By absorbing so much of Mr. Grey's time and attention, Lee, who has
abysmal self-esteem, feels that attention is being paid to her. Mr. Grey
notices her. He thinks about her. He devises new games for them. He never
threatens serious hurt or harm, but instead tends toward role-playing and
ritual. What they discover is that, in the long run, S/M is more fun (and
less trouble) for the "M" than for the "S." "We can't go on like this 24
hours a day," Mr. Grey complains at one point. Lee doesn't see why not.

Jeremy Davies plays Peter, the other key role, sincere to the point of being
inarticulate, who for a time dates Lee. Mr. Grey looks on jealously as they
do their laundry together, and is faced with the possibility that he might
lose his agreeable secretary. That would be the final straw, since we sense
that Mr. Grey is in much worse shape than Lee was ever in. His
obsessive-compulsive behavior is driving him nuts, not to mention his
clients. Stories about S/M often have an ironic happy ending, but this one,
based on a short story by Mary Gaitskill, seems sincere enough: They've
found a relationships that works. For them.

The movie's humor comes through the close observation of behavior. It allows
us to understand what has happened without specifying it. The lawyer and
secretary have subtle little signals by which they step out of their roles
and sort of wink, so they both know that they both know what they're doing.
Their behavior, which is intended to signify hostility, eventually grows
into a deeper recognition of each other's natures and needs. That of course
leads to affection, which can be tricky, but not for them, because both
suspect there is no one else they're ever likely to meet who will understand
them quite so completely.

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From: [e-mail]
Subject: [MV] MOONLIGHT MILE / **** (PG-13)
Date: 02 Nov 2002 07:25:02 GMT

MOONLIGHT MILE / **** (PG-13)

September 27, 2002

Joe Nast Jake Gyllenhaal
Ben Floss: Dustin Hoffman
JoJo Floss: Susan Sarandon
Mona Camp: Holly Hunter
Bertie Knox: Ellen Pompeo
Mike Mulcahey: Dabney Coleman
Stan Michaels: Allan Corduner
Ty: Richard T. Jones
Touchstone Pictures and Hyde Park Entertainment present a film written and
directed by Brad Silberling. Running time: 112 minutes. Rated PG-13 (for
some sensuality and brief strong language). Opening today at Pipers Alley,
Northbrook Court and Yorktown.

BY ROGER EBERT

After the funeral is over and the mourners have come back to the house for
coffee and cake and have all gone home, the parents and the boyfriend of
Diana, the dead girl, sit by themselves. Her mother criticizes how one
friend expressed her sympathy. And the father asks, what could she say? "Put
yourself in their shoes."

That little scene provides a key to Brad Silberling's "Moonlight Mile." What
do you say when someone dies--someone you cared for? What are the right
words? And what's the right thing to do? Death is the ultimate rebuke to
good manners. The movie, which makes an unusually intense effort to deal
with the process of grief and renewal, is inspired by a loss in Silberling's
own life. The TV actress Rebecca Schaeffer, his girlfriend at the time, was
killed in 1989 by a fan. Silberling has grown very close to her parents in
the years since then, he told me, and more than a decade later he has tried
to use the experience as the starting point for a film.

"Moonlight Mile," which takes place in 1973, opens in an elliptical way. At
first only quiet clues in the dialogue allow us to understand that someone
has died. We meet Joe Nast (Jake Gyllenhaal), the fiance of the dead girl,
and her parents Ben and JoJo Floss (Dustin Hoffman and Susan Sarandon). They
talk not in a sentimental way, but in that strange, detached tone we use
when grief is too painful to express and yet something must be said.

After the funeral and the home visitation, the film follows what in a lesser
film would be called the "healing process." "Moonlight Mile" is too quirky
and observant to be described in psychobabble. Joe stays stuck in the Floss
house, living in an upstairs bedroom, his plans on hold. Ben, who has lost a
daughter, now in a confused way hopes to gain a son, and encourages Joe to
join him in his business as a real estate developer. JoJo, protected by
intelligence and wit, looks closely and suspects a secret Joe is keeping,
which leaves him stranded between the past and future.

Gyllenhaal, who in person is a jokester, in the movies almost always plays
characters who are withdrawn and morose. Remember him in "Donnie Darko,"
"The Good Girl" and "Lovely & Amazing." Here, too, he is a young man
with troubled thoughts. At the post office, and again at a bar where she has
a night job, he meets Bertie Knox (Ellen Pompeo), who sees inside when
others only look at the surface. They begin to talk. She has a loss, too:
Her boyfriend has been missing in action in Vietnam for three years. While
it is possible that they will mend each other's hearts by falling in love,
the movie doesn't simple-mindedly pursue that plot path, but meanders among
the thoughts of the living.

Silberling's screenplay pays full attention to all of the characters. Ben
and JoJo are not simply a backdrop to a romance involving Joe and Bertie.
The movie provides key scenes for all of the characters, in conversation and
in monologue, so that it is not only about Joe's grieving process but about
all four, who have lost different things in different ways.

Anyone regarding the Hoffman character will note that his name is Benjamin
and remember Hoffman's most famous character, in "The Graduate." But Joe is
the Benjamin of this film, and Hoffman's older man has more in common with
another of his famous roles: Willy Loman, the hero of "Death of a Salesman."
Ben occupies a low-rent storefront office on Main Street in Cape Anne,
Mass., but dreams of putting together a group of properties and bringing in
a superstore like Kmart. This will be his big killing, the deal that caps
his career, even though we can see in the eyes of the local rich man (Dabney
Coleman) that Ben is too small to land this fish. Ben's desire to share his
dream with his surrogate son, Joe, also has echoes from the Arthur Miller
tragedy.

Sarandon's JoJo is tart, with a verbal wit to protect her and a jaundiced
view of her husband's prospects. The deepest conversation JoJo has with Joe
("Isn't it funny, that we have the same name?") is about as well done as
such a scene can be. She intuits that Joe is dealing not only with the loss
of Diana's life but with the loss of something else.

Pompeo, a newcomer, plays Bertie with a kind of scary charisma that cannot
be written, only felt. She knows she is attractive to Joe. She knows she
likes him. She knows she is faithful to her old boyfriend. She is frightened
by her own power to attract, especially since she wants to attract even
while she tells herself she doesn't. She is so vulnerable in this movie, so
sweet as she senses Joe's pain and wants to help him.

Holly Hunter is the fifth major player, as the lawyer who is handling the
case against Diana's killer. She embodies the wisdom of the law, which
knows, as laymen do not, that it moves with its own logic regardless of the
feelings of those in the courtroom. She offers practical advice, and then
you can see in her eyes that she wishes she could offer emotional advice
instead.

"Moonlight Mile" gives itself the freedom to feel contradictory things. It
is sentimental but feels free to offend, is analytical and then surrenders
to the illogic of its characters, is about grief and yet permits laughter.
Everyone who has grieved for a loved one will recognize the moment, some
days after the death, when an irreverent remark will release the surprise of
laughter. Sometimes we laugh, that we may not cry. Not many movies know that
truth. "Moonlight Mile" is based on it.

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Subject: [MV] BARBERSHOP / *** (PG-13)
Date: 02 Nov 2002 07:25:19 GMT

BARBERSHOP / *** (PG-13)

September 13, 2002

Calvin: Ice Cube
Eddie: Cedric the Entertainer
Dinka: Leonard Earl Howze
Isaac: Troy Garity
Terri: Eve
Jimmy: Sean Patrick Thomas
MGM Pictures presents a film directed by Tim Story. Written by Mark Brown,
Don D. Scott and Marshall Todd. Running time: 102 minutes. Rated PG-13 (for
language, sexual content and brief drug references).

MOVIES BY ROGER EBERT

I've become embroiled in a controversy recently about whether women engage
in audible and detailed discussions of their sexual activities while sitting
in beauty salons. Doesn't happen, say some of my correspondents, while a
woman from Texas says it happens there all the time--although being from
Michigan, she naturally doesn't join in. I got started on this subject while
reviewing a movie named "Never Again," where there's a scene of sex talk in
a salon that's enough to make your hair curl.

My hunch is that most women don't talk that way in most salons. Do I know?
No, because I've never been in a beauty salon. But now comes "Barbershop" to
argue the question from the male side. The movie takes place during one long
day in a barbershop on Chicago's South Side, where seven barbers (six men,
one woman; six blacks, one white) man the chairs. Judging by this film, the
conversation ranges far beyond sex, but is not above spirited discussions of
booty: who has it, who needs it, who wants it. But sex as a general topic
would be far too limiting for this crowd, and the movie plays like a talk
show where everyone is the host.

The barbershop is owned by Calvin (Ice Cube), who inherited it from his
father. It scrapes by but doesn't feed his hunger for bigger things--like a
recording studio, for example (he dreams of platinum records issuing from
his basement). One day, heedlessly, he sells the shop for $20,000 to Lester
the Loan Shark (Keith David), who promises the word "barbershop" will be
permanently on the store, but privately has in mind a gentleman's club by
the same name.

The barbers and regular customers are devastated by this news. The shop
provides more than employment or service for them; it is community, forum,
friendship, camaraderie, continuity. Realizing his error, Calvin tries to
buy back the shop, but finds the price is now $40,000. So it appears this
will be the last day that the little shop acts as a stage for all the
regulars.

The barbers are perhaps too many to be supported by such a shop, but they
provide a nice cross section: In addition to Calvin, there's old Eddie
(Cedric the Entertainer), who never seems to have a customer but is
installed as chief pontificator; Jimmy (Sean Patrick Thomas), a college
student who tries to impress everyone with his knowledge (are scallops a
mollusk?); Terri (Eve), who knows somebody has been drinking her apple juice
from the refrigerator in the back room; Ricky (Michael Ealy), who has two
strikes against him and will get life for a third; Dinka (Leonard Earl
Howze), from Nigeria, who likes Terri but is too rotund for her tastes, and
Isaac (Troy Garity), the token white barber, who explains that, inside, he's
blacker than some of the others.

A parallel plot involves JD (Anthony Anderson) and Billy (Lahmard Tate), who
stage a spectacularly incompetent theft of an ATM machine that has been
recently installed in the Indian grocery on the corner. Since they
"borrowed" Ricky's van for this job, if they get caught he goes up for life.
The unending conversation in the shop is intercut with JD and Billy
wrestling with the ATM machine, which at one point they even attempt to
check in with at a motel.

If nothing significant gets settled in the rambling barbershop
conversations, at least many issues are aired, and by the end, in classic
sitcom fashion, all problems have been solved. The talk is lively but goes
into overdrive when Eddie is onstage; Cedric the Entertainer has the
confidence, the style and the volume to turn any group into an audience, and
he has a rap about Rosa Parks, Rodney King and O.J. Simpson that brought
down the house at the screening I attended.

The film is ungainly in construction but graceful in delivery. I could have
done without both of the subplots--the loan shark and the ATM thieves--and
simply sat there in Calvin's Barbershop for the entire running time,
listening to these guys talk. There is a kind of music to their
conversations, now a lullaby, now a march, now a requiem, now hip-hop, and
they play with one another like members of an orchestra. The movie's so good
to listen to, it would even work as an audio book.

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Subject: [MV] WHITE OLEANDER / **1/2 (PG-13)
Date: 02 Nov 2002 07:24:56 GMT

WHITE OLEANDER / **1/2 (PG-13)

October 11, 2002

Astrid Magnussen: Alison Lohman
Starr: Robin Wright Penn
Ingrid Magnussen: Michelle Pfeiffer
Claire Richards: Renee Zellweger
Rena Grushenka: Svetlana Efremova
Warner Bros. Pictures presents a film directed by Peter Kosminsky. Written
by Mary Agnes Donoghue. Based on the novel by Janet Fitch. Running time: 110
minutes. Rated PG-13 (for mature thematic elements concerning dysfunctional
relationships, drug content, language, sexuality and violence). Opening
today at local theaters.

BY ROGER EBERT

"White Oleander" tells a sad story of crime and foster homes, and makes it
look like the movie version. The film takes the materials of human tragedy
and dresses them in lovely costumes, Southern California locations and star
power. Almost makes it look like fun. The movie's poster shows four women's
faces side by side, all blindingly blond: Alison Lohman, Michelle Pfeiffer,
Robin Wright Penn and Renee Zellweger. We suspect there could be another,
parallel story of the same events, in which the characters look unhinged and
desperate and brunet.

The story is determined to be colorful and melodramatic, like a soap opera
where the characters suffer in ways that look intriguing. When you are a
teenage girl and your mother is jailed for murder and you are shipped to a
series of foster homes, isn't it a little unlikely that each home would play
like an entertaining episode of a miniseries? First you get a sexy foster
mom who was "an alcoholic, a cokehead and dancing topless--and then I was
saved by Jesus," although she still dresses like an off-duty stripper. Then
you get an actress who lives in a sun-drenched beach house in Malibu and
becomes her best friend. Then you get a Russian capitalist who dresses like
a gypsy, uses her foster kids as dumpster-divers, and runs a stall at the
Venice Beach flea market. Aren't there any foster mothers who are old,
tired, a little mean and doing it for the money?

The performances are often touching and deserve a better screenplay. I don't
hold the beauty of the actresses against them, but I wish the movie had not
been so pleased with the way the sunlight comes streaming through their long
blond hair and falls on their flawless skin and little white summer dresses.

The movie is narrated by Astrid Magnussen, played by Lohman in several
different years and weathers of her life. It's an awesome performance but
would benefit from depth and darkness that the movie shies away from. (The
movie is all too appropriately rated PG-13; I suspect full justice cannot be
done to this material short of an R.) Astrid is the daughter of Ingrid
(Pfeiffer), an artist and free spirit who sits on the roof so the desert
winds can find her. "No one had ever seen anyone more beautiful than my
mother," Astrid tells us, but there are ominous hints that Ingrid is not an
ideal mother, as when she skips Parents Night because "what can they tell me
about you that I don't already know?"

Ingrid doesn't date. Doesn't need men. Then makes the mistake of letting
Barry (Billy Connolly) into her life (although so fleeting is his role he is
barely allowed into the movie). She kills him, observing to her daughter,
"He made love to me and then said I had to leave because he had a date."
When you hardly know someone and that's how he treats you, he's not worth
serving 35 years to life.

Astrid then moves on to the series of foster homes, each one so colorful it
could be like the adventure of a Dickens character; the Russian is
unmistakably a descendent of Fagin, and surely only in a Hollywood fantasy
could any of these women qualify as foster mothers. Starr, the former
stripper, seems less like a person than a caricature, although the director,
Peter Kosminsky, has a good eye for detail and shows how her family takes a
jaundiced view of her born-again grandstanding. What happens to bring this
foster experience to an end I will not reveal, except to say that I didn't
for a moment believe it; it involves behavior of a sort the movie seems
obligated to supply but never refers to again.

Astrid's best foster experience is with Claire (Zellweger), whose
performance is the most convincing in the movie. She plays a onetime horror
star, married to a director who is usually absent, and we believe the scenes
she has with Astrid because they come from need and honesty.

They also inspire the best scenes between Astrid and her mother; Pfeiffer
finds just the right note between jealousy and perception when, on visiting
day at the prison, she observes, "You dress like her now." Later she tells
her daughter, "I'd like to meet her." "Why?" "Because you don't want me to."
And later: "How can you stand to live with poor Claire? I would rather see
you in the worst kind of foster home than to live with that woman." The
scenes involving Claire most clearly inspire Astrid's developing ideas about
her mother.

The third foster experience, with Svetlana Efremova playing the Russian
jumble-sale woman, offers a glimpse of the economy's underbelly but is too
choppy and perfunctory to engage us: It feels like it was filmed to add
color and then chopped to reduce the running time. Its only influence on
Astrid is to change her wardrobe and hair color, in what feels more like a
stunt than a character development.

Pfeiffer's role is the most difficult in the movie because she has to
compress her revelations and emotions into the brief visits of her
increasingly dubious daughter. Astrid, who once idealized her mother, now
blames her for the loss of happiness with Claire. But even the movie's big
emotional payoff at the end loses something because, after all, Ingrid did
murder Barry, and so what is presented as a sacrifice on behalf of her
daughter could also be described as simply doing the right thing.

"White Oleander" is based on a novel by Janet Fitch, recommended by Oprah's
Book Club, unread by me. I gather it includes still more colorful foster
home episodes. Amy Aquino plays Miss Martinez, the social worker who drives
Astrid from one foster adventure to the next. She feels like this movie's
version of Michael Anthony, the man who introduced each episode of "The
Millionaire." You can imagine her on the TV series, shipping the heroine to
a different foster home every week.

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From: [e-mail]
Subject: [MV] BALLISTIC: ECKS VS. SEVER / 1/2* (R)
Date: 02 Nov 2002 07:25:11 GMT

BALLISTIC: ECKS VS. SEVER / 1/2* (R)

September 20, 2002

Jeremiah Ecks: Antonio     Banderas
Sever: Lucy Liu
Gant/Clark: Gregg Henry
Vinn/Rayne: Talisa Soto
Zane: Roger R. Cross
Ross: Ray Park
Warner Bros. Pictures presents a film directed by Kaos. Written by Alan
McElroy. Running time: 91 minutes. Rated R (for strong violence).

BY ROGER EBERT

There is nothing wrong with the title "Ballistic: Ecks vs. Sever" that
renaming it "Ballistic" would not have solved. Strange that they would
choose such an ungainly title when, in fact, the movie is not about Ecks
versus Sever but about Ecks and Sever working together against a common
enemy--although Ecks, Sever and the audience take a long time to figure that
out.

The movie is a chaotic mess, overloaded with special effects and explosions,
light on continuity, sanity and coherence. So short is its memory span that
although Sever kills, I dunno, maybe 40 Vancouver police officers in an
opening battle, by the end, when someone says, "She's a killer," Ecks
replies, "She's a mother."

The movie stars Lucy Liu as Sever, a former agent for the Defense
Intelligence Agency, which according to www.dia.mil/ is a branch of the
United States Government. Antonio Banderas is Ecks, a former ace FBI agent
who is coaxed back into service. Sever has lost her child in an attack and
Ecks believes he has lost his wife, so they have something in common, you
see, even though ...

But I'll not reveal that plot secret, and will discuss the curious fact that
both of these U.S. agencies wage what amounts to warfare in Vancouver, which
is actually in a nation named Canada, which has agencies and bureaus of its
own and takes a dim view of machineguns, rocket launchers, plastic
explosives and the other weapons the American agents and their enemies use
to litter the streets of the city with the dead.

Both Sever and Ecks, once they discover this, have the same enemy in common:
Gant (Gregg Henry), a DIA agent who is married to Talisa Sota and raising
her child, although Sever kidnaps the child, who is in fact ... but never
mind, I want to discuss Gant's secret weapon. He has obtained a miniaturized
robot so small it can float in the bloodstream and cause strokes and heart
attacks.

At one point in the movie, a man who will remain nameless is injected with
one of these devices by a dart gun, and it kills him. All very well, but
consider for a moment the problem of cost overruns in these times of
economic uncertainty. A miniaturized assassination robot small enough to
slip through the bloodstream would cost how much? Millions? And it is
delivered by dart? How's this for an idea: use a poison dart, and spend the
surplus on school lunches.

"Ballistic: Ecks vs. Sever" is an ungainly mess, submerged in mayhem,
occasionally surfacing for cliches. When the FBI goes looking for Ecks, for
example, they find him sitting morosely on a bar stool, drinking and
smoking. That is of course always where sad former agents are found, but the
strange thing is, after years of drinking, he is still in great shape, has
all his karate moves, and goes directly into violent action without even a
tiny tremor of the DTs.

The movie ends in a stock movie location I thought had been retired: A Steam
and Flame Factory, where the combatants stalk each other on catwalks and
from behind steel pillars, while the otherwise deserted factory supplies
vast quantities of flame and steam.

Vancouver itself, for that matter, is mostly deserted, and no wonder, if
word has gotten around that two U.S. agencies and a freelance killer are
holding war games. "Ballistic: Ecks vs. Sever" was directed by Wych
Kaosayananda of Thailand, whose pseudonym, you may not be surprised to
learn, is Kaos.

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Subject: [MV] SWEET HOME ALABAMA / *** (PG-13)
Date: 02 Nov 2002 07:25:05 GMT

SWEET HOME ALABAMA / *** (PG-13)

September 27, 2002

Melanie: Reese Witherspoon
Jake: Josh Lucas
Andrew: Patrick Dempsey
Earl: Fred Ward
Pearl: Mary Kay Place
Stella Kay: Jean Smart
Kate: Candice Bergen
Touchstone Pictures presents a film directed by Andy Tennant. Written by C.
Jay Cox. Running time: 102 minutes. Rated PG-13 (for some language and
sexual references).

BY ROGER EBERT

Among the pieties that Hollywood preaches but does not believe is the notion
that small towns are preferable to big cities. Film after film rehearses
this belief: Big cities are repositories of greed, alienation and hypocrisy,
while in a small town you will find the front doors left unlocked, peach
pies cooling on the kitchen window sill, and folks down at the diner who all
know your name. "Sweet Home Alabama" is the latest, admittedly charming,
recycling of this ancient myth.

The fact is that few people in Hollywood have voluntarily gone home again
since William Faulkner fled to Mississippi. The screenwriters who retail the
mirage of small towns are relieved to have escaped them. I await a movie
where a New Yorker tries moving to a small town and finds that it just
doesn't reflect his warm-hearted big city values.

Reese Witherspoon, who is the best reason to see "Sweet Home Alabama," stars
as Melanie Carmichael, a small-town girl who moves to the Big Apple and
while still in her 20s becomes a famous fashion designer. She's in love with
Andrew (Patrick Dempsey), a JFK Jr. lookalike whose mother (Candice Bergen)
is mayor of New York. After he proposes to Melanie in Tiffany's, which he
has rented for the occasion, she flies back home to Alabama to take care of
unfinished business.

Specifically, she doesn't want Andrew to discover that she is already
married to a local boy, and that her family doesn't own a moss-dripped
plantation. Her folks live in a luxury mobile home with lots of La-Z-Boys
and knitted afghans (La-Z-Boy: the sign of a home where the man makes the
decisions). Her husband, Jake (Josh Lucas), was her high school sweetheart,
but, looking ahead at a lifetime of dirty diapers and dishes with a loser,
she fled north. His plan: prove himself, to earn her respect and get her
back again. That's why he's never given her the divorce.

When Melanie returns home, she's greeted by the locals, who remember her
high school hijinks (like tying dynamite to a stray cat, ho, ho). Her
parents (Fred Ward and Mary Kay Place), who wile away their days lounging
around the double-wide practicing sitcom dialogue, look on with love and
sympathy, because they know that sooner or later she'll realize that home is
right here. A clue comes when the mayor advises her prospective in-laws to
"go back to your double-wide and fry something."

The Jake character is more complex, as he needs to be, because the
screenplay requires him to keep a secret that common sense insists he
divulge immediately. He must meanwhile undergo a subtle transformation so
that when we first meet him, we think he's a redneck hayseed, and then later
he has transmogrified into a sensitive, intelligent, caring male. Oh, and
his coon dog still likes her.

The JFK Jr. guy, in the meantime, cannot be permitted to become a total
jerk, because the movie's poignancy factor demands that he be Understanding,
as indeed he would be, with a Jackie lookalike mom who is mayor of New York,
a city where in this movie nothing bad has happened in recent memory.

So, OK, we understand how the formula works, even without learning that C.
Jay Cox, the screenwriter, is a student of writing coach Syd Field's
theories (i.e., analyze successful movies and copy their structures). We
know that the movie absolutely requires that Melanie reject bright lights,
big city and return to the embrace of her home town. And we know the odds
are low that Melanie will get the divorce, return to New York and marry the
mayor's son. (Anyone who thinks I have just committed a spoiler will be
unaware of all movies in this genre since "Ma and Pa Kettle.")

But answer me this: What about Melanie as a person, with her own success and
her own ambition? Would a woman with the talent and ambition necessary to
become world-famous in the fashion industry before the age of 30 be able, I
ask you, be willing, be prepared, to renounce it all to become the spouse of
a man who has built a successful business as a (let's say) glass-blower?

The chances of that happening are, I submit, extremely thin, and that is why
"Sweet Home Alabama" works. It is a fantasy, a sweet, light-hearted fairy
tale with Reese Witherspoon at its center. She is as lovable as Doris Day
would have been in this role (in fact, Doris Day was in this role, in
"Please Don't Eat the Daisies"). So I enjoyed Witherspoon and the local
color, but I am so very tired of the underlying premise. Isn't it time for
the movies to reflect reality and show the Melanies of the world fleeing to
New York as fast as they can? Even if Syd Field flunks you?

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Subject: [MV] WELCOME TO COLLINWOOD / **1/2 (R)
Date: 02 Nov 2002 07:24:45 GMT

WELCOME TO COLLINWOOD / **1/2 (R)

October 18, 2002

Riley: William H. Macy
Leon: Isaiah Washington
Pero: Sam Rockwell
Toto: Michael Jeter
Cosimo: Luis Guzman
Old Man in Prison: John Buck Jr.
Rosalind: Patricia Clarkson
Basil: Andrew Davoli
Carmela: Jennifer Esposito
Jerzy: George Clooney
Warner Bros. Pictures presents a film written and directed by Anthony and
Joe Russo. Running time: 86 minutes. Rated R (for language).

BY ROGER EBERT

I wonder if the real problem is that I've seen the original. "Welcome to
Collinwood" is a wacky and eccentric heist comedy with many virtues, but it
is also a remake of "Big Deal on Madonna Street" (1958), a movie much
beloved by me. Some scenes are so close to the original it's kind of
uncanny.

Consider the comic climax of the movie, which comes as the gang is trying to
break through the wall and get the safe. If you've seen "Big Deal," you'll
remember that great scene. If you haven't, I won't spoil it for you. The
surprise element, on top of the humor, makes it something like genius. But
when the scene came along in "Welcome to Collinwood," I knew exactly what
would happen, and so the new movie didn't have a chance. All I could do was
compare and contrast.

Would the scene work for a fresh audience? I don't see why not. I heard good
buzz about "Welcome to Collinwood" at the Toronto Film Festival, and assume
that for those who had not seen "Big Deal on Madonna Street," the scene
worked and the movie was a pleasure. The problem is, so many people have
seen it, one way or another. Made as a satire of "Rififi" (1955), which is
the mother of all heist movies, it is itself the mother of all heist
comedies. "Big Deal" is a regular on cable, is in the Criterion Collection
on DVD, and has been remade many times before, notably by Louis Malle
("Crackers"), Alan Taylor ("Palookaville") and Woody Allen (the middle
section of "Small Time Crooks").

Directed and written by brothers Anthony and Joe Russo, the movie is set in
the seedy Cleveland suburb of Collinwood, which looks unchanged since the
Depression. We meet members of the hamlet's criminal fraternity, who are
incredibly colorful, as if they read Damon Runyon and stay up late taking
notes on old crime movies. They have their own lingo. A malinski is a guy
who will take the rap for you. A bellini is a lucrative job. As the film
opens, a crook named Cosimo (Luis Guzman) hears about a bellini and needs a
malinski.

He shares his knowledge with his girlfriend (Patricia Clarkson) and unwisely
confides in his partner Toto (Michael Jeter, whose character is named after
the Italian comedian who played this role in the original). Word spreads
through the underworld, and while Cosimo fails to find his malinski, the
others sign up for the bellini, which involves a foolproof method to break
into a pawnshop where the safe is said to contain $300,000.

The heist spoof genre is durable. Steven Soderbergh, who produced this film,
directed "Ocean's Eleven" (2001), which was a remake of "Ocean's 11" (1960),
which was a remake of the French film "Bob le Flambeur" (1955). In the Russo
version, I like the sequence where the gang attempts to film the pawnbroker
opening his safe. An arm keeps getting in the way at the crucial moment.
After the screening, one crook observes, "As a film it's a disaster," and
another replies, "It's a documentary. It's supposed to look that way."

The break-in gang consists of Toto (Jeter), single dad Riley (William H.
Macy), Pero (Sam Rockwell), Leon (Isaiah Washington) and Basil (Andrew
Davoli). Romantic distraction comes from Carmela (Jennifer Esposito) and
Leon's sister Michelle (Gabrielle Union), who pair with Pero and Basil.
Their trainer is the retired safecracker Jerzy (George Clooney), who is in a
wheelchair and explains, "I don't go out in the field no more." He charges
them $500 to learn the "circular saw method."

The movie is in love with its dialogue, which is in a more mannered and
colorful style than real crooks probably have the time to master, and spends
too much time lining them all up for conversations. The actual heist is the
high point, just as in the Italian film, and so raffish and disorganized was
the gang that I can see how someone might enjoy this movie, coming to it for
the first time.

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Subject: [MV] CITY BY THE SEA / *** (R)
Date: 02 Nov 2002 07:25:27 GMT

CITY BY THE SEA / *** (R)

September 6, 2002

Det. Vincent LaMarca: Robert De Niro
Michelle: Frances McDormand
Joey: James Franco
Reg: George Dzundza
Maggie: Patti LuPone
Warner Bros. Pictures presents a film directed by Michael Caton-Jones.
Written by Ken Hixon. Based on a magazine article by Michael McAlary.
Running time: 108 minutes. Rated R (for language, drug use and some
violence).

BY ROGER EBERT

"City by the Sea" tells the sad, fatalistic story of a cop whose father was
a baby-killer, and whose son now seems to be a murderer, too. Robert De Niro
stars as Detective Vincent LaMarca, a pro whose years of hard experience
have made him into a cop who dismisses sociology and psychology and believes
simply that if you did it, you have to pay for it. This code extends to his
father and he will apply it if necessary to his son.

LaMarca works homicide in a shabby beachfront area; Asbury Park, N.J.,
supplied the locations. He knows so much about police work his autopilot is
better than most cops' bright ideas. His partner, Reg (George Dzundza), who
has eaten too many doughnuts over the years, soldiers along with him.
LaMarca walked out on his wife (Patti LuPone) and son 14 years ago, and now
tentatively dates his upstairs neighbor, Michelle (Frances McDormand).

The cop's story is intercut with the life of his son, Joey (James Franco), a
strung-out addict who has worked himself into a fearful situation involving
debt and need. In a confusing struggle, he knifes a drug dealer, and
eventually, inevitably, LaMarca is working the case and discovers that the
killer may have been Joey.

If this story sounds a little too symmetrical and neat, and in a way it
does, real life supplies a rebuttal: "City by the Sea" is based on a true
story, as described by the writer Mike McAlary in a 1997 Esquire article. I
learn from Variety, however, that in fact the murder the son committed was
vicious and premeditated, and not, as it is here, more or less an accident.

The plot takes us places we have been before, right down to the scene where
LaMarca resigns from the force and places his gun and badge on the captain's
desk. There is also the possibility in LaMarca's mind that his son is
innocent--he claims he is--and there is the enormous psychic burden caused
by the fact that LaMarca's own father was convicted of a heartless murder.
The last act of the movie is the sort of cat-and-mouse chase we have seen
before, staged with expertise by director Michael Caton-Jones, but the
movie's heart isn't in the action but in the character of Vince LaMarca.

De Niro has worked so long and so frequently that there is sometimes the
tendency to take him for granted. He is familiar. He has a range dictated by
his face, voice and inescapable mannerisms, but he rarely goes on autopilot
and he makes an effort to newly invent his characters. Here he is a man with
a wounded boy inside. Most of the time the cop routine provides him with a
template for behavior: He keeps his head low, he does his job well. But
inside is the kid who found out his dad was a killer. That provides the
twist when he finds himself on his own son's case. There is hurt here, and
De Niro is too good an actor to reduce it to a plot gimmick. He feels it.

Details of the plot I will not reveal, except to observe that the context of
the murder and the condition of the son leave enough room for the LaMarca
character to believe, or want to believe, that his son may be innocent. That
leads to the scene where he turns in his badge and gun, accusing his boss of
having already made up his mind. And it leaves LaMarca free-floating,
because without the protection of the job he is now nakedly facing a
situation that churns up his own past.

Frances McDormand takes a routine, even obligatory, character and makes her
into an important part of the movie. The female confidant is usually
dispensable in cop movies, except for a few scenes where she provides an ear
for necessary exposition. Not here. McDormand's Michelle likes LaMarca, but
more importantly she worries about him, sees the inner wounds, provides a
balm, and knows about tough love.

"City by the Sea" is not an extraordinary movie. In its workmanship it
aspires not to be remarkable but to be well made, dependable, moving us
because of the hurt in the hero's eyes. A better movie might have abandoned
the crime paraphernalia and focused on the pain between the generations, but
then this director, Caton-Jones, has already made that movie with De Niro.
"This Boy's Life" (1993) had De Niro as a harsh adoptive father and Leonardo
DiCaprio as his resentful son. A better movie, but "City by the Sea" is a
good one.

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From: [e-mail]
Subject: [MV] INVINCIBLE / **** (PG-13)
Date: 02 Nov 2002 07:24:58 GMT

INVINCIBLE / **** (PG-13)

October 4, 2002

Hanussen: Tim Roth
Zishe: Jouko Ahola
Marta Farra: Anna Gourari
Master of Ceremonies: Max     Raabe
Benjamin: Jacob Wein
Landwehr: Gustav Peter     Wohler
Fine Line Features presents a film written and directed by Werner Herzog.
Running time: 135 minutes. Rated PG-13 (for some sexual content and thematic
elements). Opening today at Water Tower.

MOVIES BY ROGER EBERT

Werner Herzog's "Invincible" tells the astonishing story of a Jewish
strongman in Nazi Germany, a man who in his simple goodness believes he can
be the "new Samson" and protect his people. He is a blacksmith in Poland in
1932 when discovered by a talent scout, and soon becomes the headliner in
the Palace of the Occult, in Berlin, which is run by the sinister Hanussen
(Tim Roth), a man who dreams of becoming Minister of the Occult in a Nazi
government.

The strongman, named Zishe Breitbart, is played by a Finnish athlete named
Jouko Ahola, twice winner of the title World's Strongest Man. Much of the
movie's uncanny appeal comes from the contrast between Ahola's performance,
which is entirely without guile, and Roth's performance, which drips with
mannered malevolence. Standing between them is the young woman Marta (Anna
Gourari), who is under Hanussen's psychological power, and who the strongman
loves.

"Invincible" is based, Herzog says, on the true story of Breitbart, whose
great strength contradicted the Nazi myth of Aryan superiority. I can
imagine a dozen ways in which this story could be told badly, but Herzog has
fashioned it into a film of uncommon fascination, in which we often have no
idea at all what could possibly happen next. There are countless movies
about preludes to the Holocaust, but I can't think of one this innocent,
direct and unblinking. In the face of gathering evil, Zishe trusts in human
nature, is proud of his heritage, and believes strength and goodness (which
he confuses) will triumph.

The movie has the power of a great silent film, unafraid of grand gestures
and moral absolutes. Its casting of the major characters is crucial, and
instinctively correct. Tim Roth is a sinister charlatan, posing as a man
with real psychic powers, using trickery and showmanship as he jockeys for
position within the emerging Nazi majority. There is a scene where he
hypnotizes Marta, and as he stares boldly into the camera I wondered, for a
moment, if it was possible to hypnotize a movie audience that way. Late in
the film there is a scene where his secrets are revealed, and he makes a
speech of chilling, absolute cynicism. Another actor in another movie might
have simply gnashed his teeth, but Roth and Herzog take the revelations as
an opportunity to show us the self-hatred beneath the deception.

As for Jouko Ahola, this untrained actor, who seems by nature to be
good-hearted and uncomplicated, may never act again, but he has found the
one perfect role, as Maria Falconetti did in "The Passion of Joan of Arc."
He embodies the simple strongman. The camera can look as closely as it wants
and never find anything false. A naive man from a backward town, not
especially devout, he gets into a fight when Polish customers in a
restaurant insult him and his little brother as Jews. A little later,
entering a circus contest, he watches as the strongman lifts a boulder--and
then puts an end to the contest by, lifting the strongman and the boulder.

The talent scout takes him to see his first movie. Soon he is in Berlin,
where Hanussen sizes him up and says, "We will Aryanize you. A Jew should
never be as strong as you." Zishe is outfitted with a blond wig and Nordic
helmet, and presented as "Siegfried." He becomes a great favor of Nazi
brownshirts in the audience, as Hanussen prattles about "the strength of the
body against the dark powers of the occult." But Zishe's mind works away at
the situation until finally he has his solution, tears off the helmet and
wig, and identities himself as a Jew.

Here as throughout the film Herzog avoids the obvious next scene. Is
Hanussen outraged? To a degree. But then he reports: "There's a line three
blocks long outside! It's the Jews. They all want to see the new Samson."
And then, at a time when Hitler was on the rise but the full measure of
Jewish persecution was not yet in view, the Palace of the Occult turns into
a dangerous pit where audience members are potentially at one another's
throats.

This is the first feature in 10 years from Herzog, one of the great
visionaries among directors. He strains to break the bonds of film structure
in order to surprise us in unexpected ways. His best films unashamedly yearn
to lift us into the mythical and the mystical. "Our civilization is starving
for new images," he once told me, and in "Invincible" there is an image of a
bleak, rocky seashore where the sharp stones are littered with thousands or
millions of bright red crabs, all mindlessly scrabbling away on their crabby
missions. I think this scene may represent the emerging Nazi hordes, but of
course there can be no literal translation. Perhaps Herzog wants to
illustrate the implacable Darwinian struggle from which man can rise with
good heart and purpose.

The strongman in "Invincible" is lovable, and so deeply moving, precisely
because he is not a cog in a plot, has no plan, is involved in no
machinations, but is simply proud of his parents, proud to be a Jew, in love
with the girl, and convinced that God has made him strong for a reason. He
may be wrong in his optimism, but his greatest strength is that he will
never understand that. The Roth character is equally single-minded, but
without hope or purpose--a conniver and manipulator.

Watching "Invincible" was a singular experience for me, because it reminded
me of the fundamental power that the cinema had for us when we were
children. The film exercises the power that fable has for the believing.
Herzog has gotten outside the constraints and conventions of ordinary
narrative, and addresses us where our credulity keeps its secrets.

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From: [e-mail]
Subject: [MV] LAWRENCE OF ARABIA / **** (PG)
Date: 02 Nov 2002 07:25:14 GMT

LAWRENCE OF ARABIA / **** (PG)

September 20, 2002

Lawrence: Peter O'Toole
Prince Feisal: Alec Guinness
Auda Abu Tayi: Anthony Quinn
Gen. Allenby: Jack Hawkins
Turkish Bey: Jose Ferrer
Sherif Ali: Omar Sharif
Col. Brighton: Anthony Quayle
Mr. Dryden: Claude Rains
Jackson Bentley: Arthur Kennedy
Columbia Pictures presents a film directed by David Lean Screenplay by
Robert Bolt and Michael Wilson, inspired by the writings of T.E. Lawrence.
Running time: 216 minutes. Rated PG. Opening today at the Music Box Theatre.

BY ROGER EBERT

W hat a bold, mad act of genius it was, to make "Lawrence of Arabia," or
even think that it could be made.

In the words years later of one of its stars, Omar Sharif: "If you are the
man with the money and somebody comes to you and says he wants to make a
film that's four hours long, with no stars, and no women, and no love story,
and not much action, either, and he wants to spend a huge amount of money to
go film it in the desert--what would you say?"

But producers took big chances in the early 1960s, and Sam Spiegel went
ahead with David Lean's masterpiece, even though Lean was able to cast Peter
O'Toole in the lead only over Spiegel's fierce protests. O'Toole went on to
win the first of his seven Oscar nominations; the film totaled 10
nominations and won seven Oscars, including Best Picture.

After being treated with shocking neglect for years, the movie has gone
through several restorations and opens Friday at the Music Box looking as
bright and clear as the day it was released. I remember how Robert Harris,
one of the ranking experts on film preservation, who restored the film in
1989, mailed me a rusty, crumpled film can with a note that said, "This is
how we found the print had been treated when we went into the vault."

"Lawrence of Arabia" was shot in 70mm, a format that offers four times as
much detail as 35mm. That makes possible the famous shot where a speck in
the desert eventually draws close enough to be recognized. To see it in this
way, as it was shown recently at the Telluride Film Festival, is to
understand it entirely differently than any impression you could get from
television or video.

For Roger Ebert's full-length review of "Lawrence of Arabia" in the Great
Movies series, go to www.suntimes.com/ebert/greatmovies.

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From: [e-mail]
Subject: [MV] THE LAST KISS (L'ULTIMO BACIO)/ **
Date: 02 Nov 2002 07:25:32 GMT

THE LAST KISS (L'ULTIMO BACIO)/ **

August 30, 2002

Carlo: Stefano Accorsi
Giulia: Giovanna Mezzogiorno
Anna: Stefania Sandrelli
Francesca: Martina Stella
Alberto: Marco Cocci
Marco: Pierfrancesco Favino
Paolo: Claudio Santamaria
Think Films presents a film written and directed by Gabriele Muccino.
Running time: 114 minutes. In Italian with English subtitles. Rated R (for
language, sexuality and some drug use). Opening today at Landmark Century.

BY ROGER EBERT

"The Last Kiss" is a comedy, I guess, about male panic at the spectre of
adult responsibility. If you're a guy and want to figure out what side of
the question you're on, take this test. You're a young single man. Your
girlfriend announces at a family dinner that she is pregnant. You (a) accept
the joys and responsibilities of fatherhood; (b) climb up into a treehouse
at a wedding to begin a passionate affair with an 18-year-old; (c) join
three buddies in discussing their plan to buy a van and trek across Africa.

Carlo (Stefano Accorsi), the hero of the film, is torn between (b) and (c).
Marriage looms like a trap to him, and he complains to Francesca (Martina
Stella), the 18-year-old, that he fears "the passion is going" from his
life. When his girlfriend Giulia (Giovanna Mezzogiorno) takes him along to
look at a house they could buy, he complains that buying a house seems so
"final." Not encouraging words for a pregnant fiancee to hear. "If I catch
him cheating, I'll kill him," she says, in the ancient tradition of Italian
movie comedy.

But the movie isn't all comedy, and has fugitive ambitions, I fear, to say
something significant about romance and even life. Consider some of Carlo's
friends. Paolo (Claudio Santamaria) is expected to take over his father's
clothing store, has no interest in retail, but is wracked with guilt because
his father is dying and this is his last wish. Marco (Pierfrancesco Favino)
is a serial lover. Adriano (Giorgio Pasotti) is depressed because his
girlfriend has lost all interest in sex after giving birth. Their 30s and
indeed their 40s are breathing hot on the necks of these friends, who cling
to golden memories of adolescence.

There is also the case of Anna (Stefania Sandrelli), Carlo's mother, who is
married to a detached and indifferent psychiatrist, and seeks out a former
lover with hopes of, who knows, maybe now taking the path not chosen. The
lover is delighted to see her for a chat over lunch, but reveals that he has
recently married and is the proud father of a one-year-old. How cruelly age
discriminates against women (at least those prepared to consider it
discrimination and not freedom).

"The Last Kiss" specializes in dramatic exits and entrances. Anna bursts
into her husband's office when he is deep in consultation with a patient,
who seems alarmed that his own house is so clearly not in order. Carlo
awakens with dread after a night spent imprudently, and flees. Giulia makes
a dramatic appearance at a death bed after discovering Carlo lied to her.
And so on.

The problem is that the movie has no idea of it is serious or not. It
combines heartfelt self-analysis with scenes like the one where Carlo is
taken by his teenage squeeze to her friend's birthday, and tries to party
with the kids. This is either funny or sad, not both, but the movie doesn't
know which.

The message behind all of this is difficult to nail down. Mars and Venus?
Adults who haven't grown up? The last fling syndrome? Doing what you want
instead of doing what you must? I have just finished Without Stopping, the
autobiography of the novelist and composer Paul Bowles, who as nearly as I
can tell always did exactly what he wanted, and was married to Jane Bowles,
who did the same. The answer, obviously, is not to choose between marriage
and the van trip through Africa, but to dump the buddies and find a wife who
wants to come along.

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From: [e-mail]
Subject: [MV] WARM WATER UNDER A RED BRIDGE / *** (Not rated)
Date: 02 Nov 2002 07:25:08 GMT

WARM WATER UNDER A RED BRIDGE / *** (Not rated)

September 27, 2002

Yosuke Sasano: Koji Yakusho
Saeko Aizawa: Misa Shimizu
Mitsu Aizawa: Mitsuko Baisho
Gen: Manasaku Fuwa
Taro: Kazuo Kitamura
Cowboy Pictures presents a film directed by Shohei Imamura. Written by
Motofumi Tomikawa, Daisuke Tengan and Imamura. Based on a book by Yo Henmi.
Running time: 119 minutes. No MPAA rating (intended for mature audiences).
In Japanese with English subtitles. Opening today at the Music Box.

BY ROGER EBERT

"Warm Water Under a Red Bridge" has modern automobiles and supermarkets,
telephones and pepper cheese imported from Europe, but it resonates like an
ancient Japanese myth. Imagine a traveler in search of treasure, who finds a
woman with special needs that only he can fulfill, and who repays him by
ending his misery.

Shohei Imamura, one of the greatest Japanese directors, tells this story
with the energy and delight of a fairy tale, but we in the West are not
likely to see it so naively, because unlike the Japanese, we are touchy on
the subject of bodily fluids. In Japan, natural functions are accepted
calmly as a part of life, and there is a celebrated children's book about
farts. No doubt a Japanese audience would view "Warm Water" entirely
differently than a North American one--because, you see, the heroine has a
condition that causes water to build up in her body, and it can be released
only by sexual intercourse.

Water arrives in puddles and rivulets, in sprays and splashes. "Don't
worry," Saeko (Misa Shimizu) cheerfully tells Yosuke, the hero. "It's not
urine." It is instead--well, what? The water of life? Of growth and renewal?
Is she a water goddess? When it runs down the steps of her house and into
the river, fish grow large and numerous. And it seems to have a similar
effect on Yosuke (Koji Yakusho, from "Shall We Dance?" and "The Eel"). From
a pallid, hopeless wanderer in the early scenes, he grows into a bold lover
and a brave ocean fisherman.

As the film opens, Yosuke is broke and jobless, fielding incessant cell
phone calls from his nagging wife, who wants an update on his job searches.
In despair, he hunkers down next to the river with an old philosopher named
Taro (Kazuo Kitamura), who tells him a story. Long ago, he says, right after
the war, he was stealing to get the money to eat, and he took a gold Buddha
from a temple. He left it in an upstairs room of a house next to a red
bridge, where he assumes it remains to this day.

Yosuke takes a train to the town named by the old man, finds the bridge,
finds the house, and follows Saeko from it into a supermarket where he sees
her shoplift some cheese while standing in a puddle. From the puddle he
retrieves her earring (a dolphin, of course) and returns it to her, and she
asks if he'd like some cheese and then forthrightly tells him, "You saw me
steal the cheese. Then you saw the puddle of water."

All true. She explains her problem. The water builds up and must be
"vented," often by doing "something wicked" like shoplifting. It is, she
adds, building up right now--and soon they are having intercourse to the
delight of the fish in the river below.

This story is unthinkable in a Hollywood movie, but there is something about
the matter-of-fact way Saeko explains her problem, and the surprised but not
stunned way that Yosuke hears her, that takes the edge off. If women are a
source of life, and if water is where life began, then--well, whatever. It
is important to note that the sex in the movie is not erotic or titillating
in any way--it's more like a therapeutic process--and that the movie is not
sex-minded but more delighted with the novelty of Saeko's problem. Only in a
nation where bodily functions are discussed in a matter-of-fact way, where
nude public bathing is no big deal, where shame about human plumbing has not
been ritualized, could this movie play in the way Imamura intended. But
seeing it as a Westerner is an enlightening, even liberating, experience.

Imamura, now 76, is also the director of the masterpieces "The Insect Woman"
(1963), about a woman whose only priority is her own comfort and survival;
"Ballad of Narayama" (1982), the heartbreaking story of a village where the
old are left on the side of a mountain to die, and "Black Rain" (1989), not
the Michael Douglas thriller, but a harrowing human story about the days and
months after the bomb was dropped on Hiroshima.

At his age, he seems freed from convention, and in "Warm Water," for
example, he cuts loose from this world to include a dream in which Saeko
floats like a embryo in a cosmic cloud. There is also an effortless fusion
of old and new. The notion of a man leaving his nagging wife and home and
finding succor from a goddess is from ancient myth, and the fact that he
would then turn to wrest his living from the sea is not unheard of. But
throwing his cell phone overboard, now that's a modern touch.

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From: [e-mail]
Subject: [MV] THE BANGER SISTERS / *** (R)
Date: 02 Nov 2002 07:25:16 GMT

THE BANGER SISTERS / *** (R)

September 20, 2002

Lavinia: Susan Sarandon
Suzette: Goldie Hawn
Harry: Geoffrey Rush
Raymond: Robin Thomas
Hannah: Erika Christensen
Ginger: Eva Amurri
Fox Searchlight Pictures presents a film written and directed by Bob Dolman.
Running time: 97 minutes. Rated R (for language, sexual content and some
drug use.) Opening today at local theaters.

BY ROGER EBERT

When you get right down to it, "The Banger Sisters" is pretty thin, but you
grin while you're watching it. Later you reflect that it has an obvious
story arc, sketchy minor characters, and awkwardly tries to get down and
provide uplift at the same time. The screenplay could have used an overhaul
before production, but I'm glad I saw it.

I'm glad primarily because of Goldie Hawn. She's infectious and likable in
this movie, but not in that ditzy way we remember. Although she plays a
legendary groupie who, in her day, "rattled" most of the rock stars ("and
roadies") in the business, she plays a woman who has taken her youthful
sense of freedom and combined it with a certain amount of common sense.

Hawn is Suzette. Her co-star, Susan Sarandon, is Lavinia. Together, some
(cough) years ago, they were such legendary groupies that Frank Zappa named
them the Banger Sisters. Hawn has stayed true to her school, and as we meet
her she's bartending in a West Hollywood club where she is more beloved by
the customers than by the owner, who fires her. (She thinks that's not fair:
"See that toilet? Jim Morrison passed out in there one night with me
underneath him.") Broke and without plans, she points her pickup toward
Phoenix for a reunion with Lavinia, whom she hasn't seen in years.

Along the way, in need of gas money, she picks up a lost soul named Harry
(Geoffrey Rush), a screenwriter whose dreams have not come true, and who is
traveling to Phoenix with one bullet in his gun, to shoot his father. Harry
is one of those finicky weirdos who doesn't want anyone upsetting his
routine. The very sight of Suzette, with her silicone treasures, is
disturbing in more ways than he can bear to think of.

In Phoenix, Lavinia lives with her lawyer husband Raymond, (Robin Thomas),
and her two spoiled teenagers, Hannah (Erika Christensen) and Ginger (Eva
Amurri). She is so respectable she doesn't even want to think about her
former life, which her husband knows nothing about. Are you counting the
formulas? And so here we have not one but two Fish Out of Water (Harry and
Suzette), plus two examples (Lavinia and Harry) of that other reliable
element, the repressed sad sack who needs a taste of freedom.

Give the movie a moment's thought, and you see the screenplay's gears
turning. This is a movie that could have been a term paper. But Hawn and
Sarandon hit the ground running, and are so funny and goofy that they
distract and delight us. Lavinia at first resists Suzette's appeal, but then
she realizes, "I'm the same color as the Department of Motor Vehicles--and
you're like a flower." The girls go out for a wild night on the town, and
Suzette brings much-needed reality into the cocooned existence of the two
daughters.

The most underwritten character is Lavinia's husband, Raymond. The movie
doesn't know what to do with him. They let him be a little surprised, a
little shocked, a little too straight, but mostly he just stands there
waiting for dialogue that is never supplied. Comic opportunities were lost
here. And the Geoffrey Rush character, while more filled in, also seems
oddly unnecessary. I can easily imagine the movie without him, and with more
about the family in Phoenix. He is not and never will be a workable life
partner for Suzette, no matter how the movie tries to sentimentalize him.

What Goldie Hawn does is to play Suzette sincerely--as if she really were a
groupie who still holds true to her partying past. Her daughter, Kate
Hudson, of course, played the groupie Penny Lane in "Almost Famous," and
Suzette could be the same character, or her friend, in 2002. The movie's
buried joke is that Suzette, the wild girl from West Hollywood, has more
common sense knowledge about life than the movie's conventional types.
Listen to how she talks to Harry on the phone. I guess you learn something
about human nature after (cough) years as a bartender.

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From: [e-mail]
Subject: [MV] APOLLO 13: THE IMAX EXPERIENCE / **** (PG)
Date: 02 Nov 2002 07:25:09 GMT

APOLLO 13: THE IMAX EXPERIENCE / **** (PG)

September 20, 2002

Jim Lovell: Tom Hanks
Fred Haise: Bill Paxton
Jack Swigert: Kevin Bacon
Ken Mattingly: Gary Sinise
Gene Kranz: Ed Harris
Marilyn Lovell: Kathleen Quinlin
Universal Pictures presents a film directed by Ron Howard. Written by
William Broyles Jr. and Al Reinert. Based on the book Lost Moon by Jim
Lovell and Jeffrey Kluger. Running time: 135 minutes. Rated PG.(intense
situations). Opening today at Navy Pier IMAX.

BY ROGER EBERT

At a time when screens and theaters grow smaller and movie palaces are a
thing of the past, the new practice of re-releasing films in the IMAX format
is a thrilling step in the opposite direction. Ron Howard's "Apollo 13,"
which opens today at the IMAX theater at Navy Pier, looks bold and crisp on
the big screen, and the sound has never sounded better--perhaps couldn't
have ever sounded better, because IMAX uses some 70 speakers.

Although it takes place largely in outer space, "Apollo 13" isn't the kind
of adventure saga that needs the bigger screen so its effects play better.
"Star Wars," which is headed for IMAX theaters, fits that definition.
"Apollo 13" is a thrilling drama that plays mostly within enclosed spaces:
The space capsule, mission control and the homes of those waiting in
suspense on Earth.

The film re-creates the saga of the Apollo 13 mission, which was aborted
after an onboard explosion crippled the craft on its way to the moon. In a
desperate exercise of improvisation, crew members and the ground support
staff figure out how to return the craft safely to Earth, cannibalize
life-support from both the mother capsule and the lunar landing module, and
navigate into a terrifyingly narrow angle between too steep (the craft would
burn up in the atmosphere) and too shallow (it would skip off and fly
forever into space).

Tom Hanks, Bill Paxton and Kevin Bacon play astronauts Jim Lovell, Fred
Haise and Jack Swigert, respectively. On Earth, the key roles are by Gary
Sinise, as the left-behind astronaut Ken Mattingly, who uses a flight
simulator to help improvise a solution; Ed Harris, who is cool-headed flight
director Gene Kranz, and Kathleen Quinlan, as Lovell's wife, Marilyn, who
tries to explain to their children that "something broke on Daddy's
spaceship."

The movie has been trimmed by about 20 minutes for the IMAX release. Filmed
in widescreen, it has been cropped from the sides to fit the IMAX format.
Neither change bothered me. Although I am an opponent of pan-and-scan in
general, I understand when it is used to maximize a different projection
format. The detail and impact of the IMAX screen essentially creates a new
way of looking at the film.

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From: [e-mail]
Subject: [MV] SECRET BALLOT / *** (G)
Date: 02 Nov 2002 07:25:30 GMT

SECRET BALLOT / *** (G)

August 30, 2002

Woman: Nassim Abdi
Soldier: Cyrus Ab
Local people: Youssef Habashi, Farrokh Shojaii , Gholbahar Janghali
Sony Pictures Classics presents a film written and directed by Babak Payami.
Running time: 105 minutes. Rated G. In Farsi with English subtitles.

BY ROGER EBERT

'Secret Ballot" is a quixotic new Iranian comedy about a female election
agent who is sent to a remote island to collect ballots in a national
election. Because we never find out who or what is being elected, there has
been much puzzlement among critics about what the election symbolizes. I
believe the message is in the messenger: The agent is a woman.

"It's election day, don't you know?" the woman tells a bored soldier
assigned to drive her around. "There's a letter. You have to guard the
ballots."

The soldier studies the letter. "It says an agent will come, not a woman."

"I'm in charge here, mister. I have orders. You must obey or I'll see to it
you remain a soldier forever."

Strong words in a culture where the rights of women are limited. I was
reminded of "In the Heat of the Night," in which the whole point is that the
Sidney Poitier character insists on being treated with respect. This movie
could be titled "They Call Me MISS Election Agent." The plot is secondary to
the fact of the character's gender, and in Iran this movie must play with a
subtext we can only guess.

But what else is going on? Is the movie intended to show us (a) that
democracy exists in Iran, (b) that it is struggling to be born, or (c) that
most people find it irrelevant to their daily lives? There's a little of all
three during the long day the soldier and the woman (both unnamed) spend
together. Some citizens, asked to choose two of 10 names on the ballot,
complain they've never heard of any of them. A fierce old lady shuts her
door to the team, but later sends them food, and her courier observes,
"Granny Baghoo has her own government here." A man in charge of a solar
energy station expresses his opinion with admirable clarity: "I know no one
but God almighty, who makes the sun come up. If I vote for anyone, it must
be God."

If the woman is the Poitier character, the soldier is like the sheriff
played by Rod Steiger. He starts out strongly disapproving of a female
agent, but during the course of the day begins to find her persuasive,
intriguing and sympathetic. By the end of the day, when he casts his ballot,
it is for her, and we're reminded of the sheriff's little smile as Mister
Tibbs gets back on the train.

The director, Babak Payami, has a visual style that is sometimes
astonishing, sometimes frustrating, sometimes both. The first shot is of a
plane dropping a box by parachute over a dry, empty plain. The camera pans
with exquisite subtlety to reveal ... a bed? Can it be a bed, in the middle
of this wilderness? We see that it is. In this hot climate, they sleep
outdoors.

As the soldier drives the agent around the island, events do not build so
much as accumulate. Mourners in a cemetery tell her women are not allowed
inside. Symbol quandary: (a) The fading patriarchy is buried there, or (b)
women cannot even die as equals? In the middle of a deserted, unpopulated
plain, the soldier brings the Jeep to a halt before a red traffic light.
Symbol quandary: (1) Outmoded laws must be ignored, or (b) in a democracy
the law must be respected everywhere?

As the woman continues her discouraging attempt to involve indifferent
islanders in the vote, we are reminded of Dr. Johnson's famous observation
in the 18th century, when women were as much without rights in England as
they are today in the Middle East. After hearing a woman deliver a sermon,
he told Mr. Boswell: "It is not done well, but one is surprised to find it
done at all."

Watching the movie, I reflected on a persistent subgenre of Iranian cinema,
in which characters drive or walk endlessly through enigmatic landscapes,
holding conversations of debatable meaning. Abbas Kiarostami's "The Taste of
Cherry" (1997), a Cannes winner much prized by many critics, not by me,
follows that pattern. "Secret Ballot" brings to it much more interest and
life. Perhaps the lack of cities, names, relationships and plots provides a
certain immunity: A film cannot be criticized for being about what it does
not contain.

Copyright ⌐ Chicago Sun-Times Inc.

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From: [e-mail]
Subject: [MV] ELLING / *** (R)
Date: 02 Nov 2002 07:25:20 GMT

ELLING / *** (R)

September 13, 2002

Elling     Per Christian Ellefsen

Kjell Bjarne     Sven Nordin
Reidun Nordsletten     Marit Pia Jacobsen
Frank Asli     Jorgen Langhelle
Alfons Jorgensen     Per Christensen

First Look Pictures presents a film directed by Petter Naess. Written by
Ingvar Axel Hellstenius and Ingvar Ambjornsen, based on Ambjornsen's novel.
Running time: 89 minutes. In Norwegian with English subtitles. Rated R (for
language and some sexual content).

BY ROGER EBERT

Here are two men, both around 40, with no desire to cope with the world:
Elling, who lived all of his life as a mama's boy and had to be hauled by
the police out of a cupboard, where he was crouched and trembling after his
mother's death, and Kjell Bjarne, who has been institutionalized so long, it
is the only world he knows--although he fantasizes endlessly about nubile
women in other worlds. Elling is assigned as Kjell's roommate in a care
home, and two years later, they are moved into an apartment in Oslo and
given a shot at independent living.

"Elling," the deadpan Norwegian comedy that tells their stories, was
nominated for an Oscar this year in the best foreign film category. It's the
kind of story that in the wrong hands would be cloying and cornball, but
director Petter Naess has the right hands. He gives the movie edge and
darkness, is unsentimental about mental illness, makes his heroes into men
instead of pets, and still manages to find a happy ending.

Elling (Per Christian Ellefsen) is slight, fastidious, fussy and extremely
reluctant to go outdoors. Kjell Bjarne (Sven Nordin) is burly, unkempt, goes
for days without a bath and knows a certain amount about the world, mostly
by hearsay. When their social worker Frank (Jorgen Langhelle) tells them
they must leave the apartment to buy food and eat in restaurants, Elling is
incredulous: What's the use of putting the Norwegian welfare state to all
the expense of renting them a nice flat if they are expected to leave it?

The movie is narrated by Elling, who depends on Kjell Bjarne (always
referred to by both names) and is threatened when Reidun, an upstairs
neighbor, pregnant and drunk, gets Kjell's attention. Yet Elling is a
fiercely honest man who tells both Kjell and Reidun (Marit Pia Jacobsen)
that the other is in love. Then he ventures out into the night to poetry
readings, having written down some words about Reidun's fall on the stairs
and realized, as he puts it, "My God, Elling, all your life you have walked
the earth not knowing you were a poet!"

At a reading, he befriends an old man who turns out to be a famous poet and
to own a wonderful car, a 1958 Buick Century hardtop.

Kjell can fix the car, and soon the four of them are heading for the poet's
country cottage for a weekend at which matters of love and identity will be
settled, not without difficulties, not least when Kjell discovers that
Reidun is prepared to sleep with him but does not suspect he has been
wearing the same underwear for more than a week.

In a subtle, half-visible way, "Elling" follows the movie formula of other
movies about mentally impaired characters (the picnic outing is an
obligatory scene). But "Elling" has no lessons to teach, no insights into
mental illness, no labels, no morals. It is refreshingly undogmatic about
its characters, and indeed Elling and Kjell may not be mentally ill at
all--simply unused to living in the real world. The humor comes from the
contrast between Elling's prim value system, obviously reflecting his
mother's, and Kjell's shambling, disorganized, good-natured assault on life.
If Felix and Oscar had been Norwegian, they might have looked something like
this.

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From: [e-mail]
Subject: [MV] MIYAZAKI'S SPIRITED AWAY / **** (PG)
Date: 02 Nov 2002 07:25:15 GMT

MIYAZAKI'S SPIRITED AWAY / **** (PG)

September 20, 2002

With the voices of:Chihiro: Daveigh Chase
Yubaba, Zeniba: Suzanne : Pleshette
Haku: Jason Marsden
Kamaji: David Ogden Stiers
Chirhiro's mother: Lauren Holly
Assistant Manager: John     Ratzenberger
Walt Disney Studios presents a film written and directed by Hayao Miyazaki.
U.S. production directed by Kirk Wise. Running time: 124 minutes. Rated
PG.(for some scary moments). Opening today at Landmark Century, McClurg
Court and Evanston CineArts 6.

BY ROGER EBERT

"Miyazaki's Spirited Away" has been compared to "Alice in Wonderland," and
indeed it tells of a 10-year-old girl who wanders into a world of strange
creatures and illogical rules. But it's enchanting and delightful in its own
way, and has a good heart. It is the best animated film of recent years, the
latest work by Hayao Miyazaki, the Japanese master who is a god to the
Disney animators.

Because many adults have an irrational reluctance to see an animated film
from Japan (or anywhere else), I begin with reassurances: It has been
flawlessly dubbed into English by John Lasseter ("Toy Story"), it was
co-winner of this year's Berlin Film Festival against "regular" movies, it
passed "Titanic" to become the top-grossing film in Japanese history, and it
is the first film ever to make more than $200 million before opening in
America.

I feel like I'm giving a pitch on an infomercial, but I make these points
because I come bearing news: This is a wonderful film. Don't avoid it
because of what you think you know about animation from Japan. And if you
only go to Disney animation--well, this is being released by Disney.

Miyazaki's works ("My Neighbor Totoro," "Kiki's Delivery Service," "Princess
Mononoke") have a depth and complexity often missing in American animation.
Not fond of computers, he draws thousand of frames himself, and there is a
painterly richness in his work. He's famous for throwaway details at the
edges of the screen (animation is so painstaking that few animators draw
more than is necessary). And he permits himself silences and contemplation,
providing punctuation for the exuberant action and the lovable or sometimes
grotesque characters.

"Spirited Away" is told through the eyes of Chihiro (voice by Daveigh
Chase), a 10-year-old girl, and is more personal, less epic, than "Princess
Mononoke." As the story opens, she's on a trip with her parents, and her
father unwisely takes the family to explore a mysterious tunnel in the
woods. On the other side is what he speculates is an old theme park; but the
food stalls still seem to be functioning, and as Chihiro's parents settle
down for a free meal, she wanders away and comes upon the film's version of
wonderland, which is a towering bathhouse.

A boy named Haku appears as her guide, and warns her that the sorceress who
runs the bathhouse, named Yubaba, will try to steal her name and thus her
identity. Yubaba (Suzanne Pleshette) is an old crone with a huge face; she
looks a little like a Toby mug, and dotes on a grotesquely huge baby named
Boh. Ominously, she renames Chihiro, who wanders through the structure,
which is populated, like "Totoro," with little balls of dust that scurry and
scamper underfoot.

In the innards of the structure, Chihiro comes upon the boiler room,
operated by a man named Kamaji (David Ogden Stiers), who is dressed in a
formal coat and has eight limbs, which he employs in a bewildering variety
of ways. At first he seems as fearsome as the world he occupies, but he has
a good side, is no friend of Yubaba, and perceives Chihiro's goodness.

If Yubaba is the scariest of the characters and Kamaji the most intriguing,
Okutaresama is the one with the most urgent message. He is the spirit of the
river, and his body has absorbed the junk, waste and sludge that has been
thrown into it over the years. At one point, he actually yields up a
discarded bicycle. I was reminded of a throwaway detail in "My Neighbor
Totoro," where a child looks into a bubbling brook, and there is a discarded
bottle at the bottom. No point is made; none needs to be made.

Japanese myths often use shape-shifting, in which bodies reveal themselves
as facades concealing a deeper reality. It's as if animation was invented
for shape-shifting, and Miyazaki does wondrous things with the characters
here. Most alarming for Chihiro, she finds that her parents have turned into
pigs after gobbling up the free lunch. Okutaresama reveals its true nature
after being freed of decades of sludge and discarded household items. Haku
is much more than he seems. Indeed the entire bathhouse seems to be under
spells affected the appearance and nature of its inhabitants.

Miyazaki's drawing style, which descends from the classical Japanese graphic
artists, is a pleasure to regard, with its subtle use of colors, clear
lines, rich detail and its realistic depiction of fantastical elements. He
suggests not just the appearances of his characters, but their natures.
Apart from the stories and dialogue, "Spirited Away" is a pleasure to regard
just for itself. This is one of the year's best films.

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Subject: [MV] SWIMMING / *** (Not rated)
Date: 02 Nov 2002 07:25:25 GMT

SWIMMING / *** (Not rated)

September 13, 2002

Frankie Wheeler: Lauren Ambrose
Josee: Joelle Carter
Nicola Jenrette: Jennifer Dundas
Heath: Jamie Harrold
Lance: Joshua Harto
Oceanside Pictures presents a film directed by Robert J. Siegel. Written by
Siegel, Liza Bazadona and Grace Woodard. Running time: 98 minutes. No MPAA
rating. Opening today at Landmark Century.

MOVIES BY ROGER EBERT

"Swimming" is above all about a young woman's face, and by casting an
actress whose face projects that woman's doubts and yearnings, it succeeds.
The face belongs to Lauren Ambrose, whom you may know as the young redhead
on "Six Feet Under." She plays Frankie, a teenage girl whose parents took
early retirement, leaving the family burger stand on the boardwalk in Myrtle
Beach, S.C., to Frankie and her older married brother Neil (Josh Pais).

The movie's plot, I fear, is an old reliable: After this summer, nothing
will ever be the same again. What saves it is that this summer is unlike
other summers we've seen in coming-of-age movies. It's different because
Frankie holds her own counsel, doesn't easily reveal her feelings, and is
faced with choices that she's not even sure she has to make.

Frankie is a tomboy, invariably dressed in bib overalls and T-shirts, her
hair tousled, her face freckled, with apple cheeks. Sexuality for her is an
unexplored country. Her best friend is Nicola (Jennifer Dundas), who runs a
piercing stand next to the burger joint. (So sincere is Nicola's dedication
to piercing that when she gets a cut on her forehead she decides a scar
would be cool.) Nicola dresses in an attempt to come across as a sexy blond,
but is loyal: When two cute guys in a car want her to come along but tell
her, "Lose your friend," she won't play.

One day Josee (Joelle Carter) appears in town. Ostensibly the girlfriend of
the hunky lifeguard, she gets a job at the burger joint, even though Neil
decides she is "the worst waitress I have ever seen." Josee is a sexual
creature, who one day out of the blue tells Frankie: "Frankie? I think I
want you. I want your body." Frankie's reaction to this news is not to react
at all. Life continues as before, but with confusing desire simmering
beneath the surface. It is possible that Josee is the first person ever to
have expressed a desire for Frankie, and by doing so she has activated
Frankie's ability to feel desirable.

The summer brings other possibilities. Nicola meets Kalani (Anthony
Ruivivar), a Marine from Hawaii with an imaginary friend, Ted. Frankie meets
Heath (Jamie Harrold), a gawky loner who lives in a van with his dogs and
sells tie-dyed T-shirts, which he dyes himself at a local coin laundry.
Nicola begins to resent all the time Frankie spends with Josee, and tells
her something she doesn't want to know: Josee is cheating with Neil, who has
a young family.

"Swimming" could unfold as a sitcom, or as a desperately sincere drama, but
director Robert J. Siegel and his co-writers, Liza Bazadona and Grace
Woodard, go for something more delicate and subtle. They use Ambrose's
ability to watch and think and not commit, and they allow the summer's
choices and possibilities to unfold within her as if her sexuality is
awakening and stretching for the first time. What happens, and why, is sweet
and innocent, and not pumped up for effect.

Ambrose's effect in the film reminded me of another early performance many
years ago: the work by Cathy Burns in Frank Perry's "Last Summer" (1969).
She, too, played a tomboy whose sexuality is unawakened; a member of a group
with another young woman (Barbara Hershey) who was sexier and bolder, whose
first romance was based more on admiration than lust ("You're so masterful,"
she tells the boy she admires). Often the movies are no more than
opportunities for us to empathize with people we find ourselves in sympathy
with. Ambrose has an extraordinary ability to make us like her and care for
her, and that is the real subject of the movie--in which, by the way, she
never does go swimming.

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From: [e-mail]
Subject: [MV] BEAUTY AND THE BEAST (LA BELLE ET LA BETE) / **** (Not rated)
Date: 02 Nov 2002 07:25:26 GMT

BEAUTY AND THE BEAST (LA BELLE ET LA BETE) / **** (Not rated)

September 6, 2002

The Beast/Prince: Jean Marais
Beauty: Josette Day
Felicie: Mila Parely
Adelaide: Nan Germon
Ludovic: Michel Auclair
The Merchant: Marcel Andre
Cowboy Pictures presents a film directed by Jean Cocteau. Written by
Cocteau, based on a story by Jeanne-Marie Leprince de Beaumont. In French,
with English subtitles. No MPAA rating. Running time 93 minutes. Opening
today at the Music Box Theatre.

BY ROGER EBERT

Long before Disney's 1991 film, Jean Cocteau filmed "Beauty and the Beast"
in 1946, in France. It is one of the most magical of all films.

Alive with trick shots and astonishing effects, it gives us a Beast who is
lonely like a man and misunderstood like an animal. Cocteau, a poet and
surrealist, was not making a "children's film" but was adapting a classic
French tale that he felt had a special message after the suffering of World
War II: Anyone who has an unhappy childhood may grow up to be a Beast.

The movie has long been considered one of the best ever made, but has been
rarely seen in America--more rarely still since the Disney animated feature
cornered the market in beauties and beasts. The Disney film is inspired, but
so is Cocteau's, in an entirely different way. And now a newly restored 35mm
print, with missing scenes restored, is opening at the Music Box for one
week. There is probably no better film in town.

Filming at a time when Freudian imagery was cutting edge, Cocteau uses
haunting images to suggest emotions at a boil in the subconscious of his
characters. Consider Beauty's reaction to the first entrance of the Beast,
which is theoretically frightened yet, it you look more closely, orgasmic.

The Beast's dwelling is treated in the Disney film like a vast Gothic
extravaganza. Cocteau sees it more like the setting for a nightmare. And
dream logic prevails in the action. The entrance hall is lined with
candelabra held by living human arms that extend from the walls. The statues
are alive, and their eyes follow the progress of the characters. Gates and
doors open themselves. As Belle first enters the Beast's domain, she seems
to run dreamily a few feet above the floor. Later, her feet do not move at
all, but she glides, as if drawn by a magnetic force. She sees smoke rising
from the Beast's fingertips--a sign that he has killed. When he carries her
into her bed chamber, she wears common clothes on one side of the door, and
a queen's costume on the other.

Jean Marais plays both the Beast and the prince who was turned into the
Beast and is restored again. Odd, how appealing he is as the Beast, and how
shallow as the pompadoured prince. Even Belle notices, and instead of
leaping into the arms of the prince confesses she misses her Beast. (So did
Marlene Dietrich, who held Cocteau's hand during the first screening of the
film. As the prince shimmered into sight and presented himself as Belle's
new lover, she called to the screen, "Where is my beautiful Beast?")

The film's devices penetrate the usual conventions of narrative, and appeal
at a deeper psychic level. Cocteau wanted to appeal through images rather
than words, and although the story seems to be masking deeper and more
disturbing currents. It is not a "children's film," but older children may
find it involves them more deeply than the Disney version, because it is not
just a jolly comic musical but deals, like all fairy tales, with what we
dread and desire.

Adapted from Ebert's essay on "Beauty and the Beast" in his book The Great
Movies, and online at www.suntimes.com/ebert.

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Subject: [MV] I'M GOING HOME (JE RENTRE A LA MAISON) / *** (Not Rated)
Date: 02 Nov 2002 07:25:22 GMT

I'M GOING HOME (JE RENTRE A LA MAISON) / *** (Not Rated)

September 13, 2002

Gilbert Valence: Michel Piccoli
Marguerite: Catherine Deneuve
The Director: John Malkovich
Serge: Jean Koeltgen
Milestone Films presents a film written and directed by Manoel de Oliveira.
Running time: 90 minutes. In French and English with English subtitles. No
MPAA rating (contains no offensive material). Opening today at the Music Box
Theatre.

BY ROGER EBERT

There are a few movies where you can palpably sense the presence of the
director behind the camera, and "I'm Going Home" is one of them. The movie
is about an old actor who has lost many of those he loves but continues to
work. The actor is played by France's great Michel Piccoli, who at 77 has
appeared in 200 movies since 1945. And the director, whose breathing we can
almost hear in our ear, is Manoel de Oliveira of Portugal, who is 94 and
directed his first film in 1931.

When we first see the actor, named Gilbert Valence, he is onstage in a
production of Ionesco's "Exit the King," and the film lingers on speeches in
which the old man rails against his mortality and defines the unending
memorials which he fancies will keep his name alive. After the play, he
learns of a tragic accident that has robbed him of wife, daughter and
son-in-law. "Some time later," we see him living with his young grandson and
the nanny.

Gilbert's offstage life is one of routine, and it is here, in a touch both
subtle and glancing, that de Oliveira makes his most poignant observation
about how we die but life heedlessly goes on without us. Gilbert takes his
coffee every morning in the same Paris cafe, sitting in the same chair at
the same table and always reading the same morning paper, Liberation. As he
gets up to go, another man enters, sits at the same table, and unfolds his
copy of Le Figaro. This happens day after day.

One morning, the other man arrives early and takes another table. But when
Gilbert frees his regular table, he gets up with alacrity to claim it--only
to be headed off by a stranger who sits down first. These little scenes had
a surprising impact on me. I often think of myself as a ghost at places I
have visited: There is "my" cafe and "my" table, and when I return to a city
there is a satisfaction in occupying them again, because it proves my own
continuity. Of course those cafes also "belong" to others I will never know,
and someday I will never return to them, and someday neither will the
others, and someday the cafe will not be there. Yet daily ritual encourages
us to believe that because things have been the same for a long time, they
will always be the same.

The old actor sees a handsome pair of shoes in a store window and buys them.
For a man past a certain age, to buy new shoes is an act of faith. (One is
reminded of the Irish story about the shoe clerk who assured an old man,
"These will see you out.") We see the shoes in closeup as Gilbert talks with
his agent, a venal man who hints that a young actress might like to meet
him. After all, the agent says, when Pablo Casals was in his 80s, he married
a teenage student. "But I am nowhere near my 80s," Gilbert snaps. "And I am
not Casals."

What eventually happens to these shoes is a reminder that we can make plans
but we cannot count on them. There are tender little scenes in which the old
man and his grandson play with battery-powered trucks and enjoy each other's
company, and fraught scenes in which the agent tries to get the actor to
take a tawdry TV show. And a scene from a production of "The Tempest," in
which Gilbert gives Prospero's speech beginning "Our revels now are ended
.."

How the film plays out you will have to see for yourself. Few films seem so
wise and knowing about the fact of age and the approach of the end. And at
his great age, de Oliveira dispenses with the silliness of plot mechanics
and tells his story in a simple, unadorned fashion, as episodes and
observations, trusting us to understand.

In the final scene, as Gilbert leaves a cafe without drinking the wine he
has ordered, the camera lingers to watch another man walk in and order a
beer. Life goes on. You might think that "I'm Going Home," about an artist
at the end of his career, is de Oliveira's own farewell, but no: He made a
new film in 2002, named "The Uncertainty Principle," and it played at Cannes
in May. Some directors burn out early, others flower late. Luis Bunuel began
a remarkable series of 12 great films beginning when he was 61. De Oliveira
has made 13 films since 1990. There is a time when going to the cafe is a
habit, but if you go long enough it becomes a triumph.

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Subject: [MV] STEALING HARVARD / * (PG-13)
Date: 02 Nov 2002 07:25:23 GMT

STEALING HARVARD / * (PG-13)

September 13, 2002

John: Jason Lee
Duff: Tom Green
Elaine: Leslie Mann
Mr. Warner: Dennis Farina
Patty: Megan Mullally
Cook: Richard Jenkins
Det. Charles: John C. McGinley
Columbia Pictures presents a film directed by Bruce McCulloch. Written by
Peter Tolan. Running time: 83 minutes. Rated PG-13 (for crude and sexual
humor, language and drug references).

BY ROGER EBERT

The laugh in "Stealing Harvard" comes early, when we see the name of the
company where the hero works. It's a home health-care corporation named
Homespital. That made me laugh. It made me smile again when the name turned
up later. And on the laugh-meter, that's about it. This is as lax and limp a
comedy as I've seen in a while, a meander through worn-out material.

Jason Lee, who can be engaging in the right material (like "Chasing Amy" and
"Almost Famous") is bland and disposable here, as John Plummer, a young
Homespital executive. The firm is owned by his fiancee's father (Dennis
Farina), who subjects John to savage cross-examinations on whether he has
slept with his daughter. He lies and says he hasn't. He might be telling the
truth if he said he wishes he hadn't, since the fiancee, Elaine (Leslie
Mann), inexplicably weeps during sex.

Despite his foray into the middle classes, John has not forgotten his
super-slut sister Patty (Megan Mullally), who despite a life of untiring
promiscuity has a daughter, Noreen (Tammy Blanchard), who has been accepted
by Harvard. Carefully preserved home videos show John promising to help with
her tuition, and as it happens Noreen needs $29,000--almost exactly the
amount Elaine has insisted John have in the bank before she will marry him.

Crime is obviously the way to raise the money, according to John's best pal,
Duff (Tom Green), who suggests a break-in at a house where the safe seems to
stand open. The owner is, alas, at home, and there is a painfully unfunny
sequence in which he forces John to dress in drag and "spoon" to remind him
of his late wife. There's another botched robbery in which John and Duff,
wearing ski masks, argue over which one gets to call himself Kyle, and so
on.

Seeing Tom Green reminded me, as how could it not, of his movie "Freddy Got
Fingered" (2001), which was so poorly received by the film critics that it
received only one lonely, apologetic positive review on the Tomatometer. I
gave it--let's see--zero stars. Bad movie, especially the scene where Green
was whirling the newborn infant around his head by its umbilical cord.

But the thing is, I remember "Freddy Got Fingered" more than a year later. I
refer to it sometimes. It is a milestone. And for all its sins, it was at
least an ambitious movie, a go-for-broke attempt to accomplish something. It
failed, but it has not left me convinced that Tom Green doesn't have good
work in him. Anyone with his nerve and total lack of taste is sooner or
later going to make a movie worth seeing.

"Stealing Harvard," on the other hand, is a singularly unambitious product,
content to paddle lazily in the shallows of sitcom formula. It has no edge,
no hunger to be better than it is. It ambles pleasantly through its inanity,
like a guest happy to be at a boring party. When you think of some of the
weird stuff Jason Lee and Tom Green have been in over the years, you wonder
what they did to amuse themselves during the filming.

Copyright ⌐ Chicago Sun-Times Inc.

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From: [e-mail]
Subject: [MV] feardotcom / ** (R)
Date: 02 Nov 2002 07:25:29 GMT

feardotcom / ** (R)

August 30, 2002

Mike Reilly: Stephen Dorff
Jerry Houston:      Natascha McElhone
Alistair Pratt:    Stephen Rea

Warner Bros. presents a film directed by William Malone. Written by
Josephine Coyle. Based on a story by Moshe Diamant. Running time: 98
minutes. Rated R (for violence including grisly images of torture, nudity
and language).

BY ROGER EBERT

Strange, how good "feardotcom" is, and how bad. The screenplay is a mess,
and yet the visuals are so creative this is one of the rare bad films you
might actually want to see. The plot is a bewildering jumble of half-baked
ideas, from which we gather just enough of a glimmer about the story to
understand how it is shot through with contradictions and paradoxes. And yet
I watched in admiration as a self-contained nightmareformed with the
visuals. Not many movies know how to do that.

I'll get to the plot later, or maybe never. Let me talk about what I liked.
The film takes place in a city where it always rains and is nearly always
night, where even people with good jobs live in apartments that look
hammered together after an air raid. Computers and the Internet exist here,
and indeed telephones, televisions and all the other props of the present
day, but windows are broken, walls are punctured, lights flicker, streets
are deserted, and from time to time a dramatic thunderstorm threatens to
sweep everything away. This is like "Dark City" after a hurricane. It is the
kind of city where a man can walk down into a subway and be the only person
there, except for a little girl bouncing her ball against the third rail. Or
.. is the man really alone? Is that his fantasy? Whether it is or not, he
gets slammed by the next train, and the cops are startled by the expression
on his face. It looks, they agree, as if he has just seen something
terrifying. Apparently something even worse than the train. And he is
bleeding from the eyes.

The film's premise is that a Web site exists that channels negative energy
into the mind of the beholder, who self-destructs within 48 hours, a victim
of his or her deepest fear. Our first glimpse of this Web site suggests
nothing more than a reasonably well-designed horror site, with shock-wave
images of dark doorways, screaming lips, rows of knives and so forth. The
movie wisely doesn't attempt to develop the site much more than that,
relying on the reactions of the victims to imply what other terrors it
contains. And it does something else, fairly subtly: It expands the site to
encompass the entire movie, so that by the end all of the characters are
essentially inside the fatal Web experience, and we are, too.

The last 20 minutes are, I might as well say it, brilliant. Not in terms of
what happens, but in terms of how it happens, and how it looks as it
happens. The movie has tended toward the monochromatic all along, but now it
abandons all pretense of admitting the color spectrum, and slides into the
kind of tinting used in silent films: Browns alternate with blues, mostly.

The images play like homage to the best Grand Guignol traditions, to
"Nosferatu" and some of the James Whale and Jacques Tourneur pictures, and
the best moments of the Hammer horror films. Squirming victims are displayed
on the Internet by the sadistic killer, who prepares to autopsy them while
still alive; subscribers to the site, whose crime is that they want to
watch, are addressed by name and are soon paying dearly for their voyeurism.

The movie is extremely violent; it avoided the NC-17 rating and earned an R,
I understand, after multiple trims and appeals, and even now it is one of
the most graphic horror films I've seen. (The classification is "for
violence including grisly images of torture, nudity and language," the
ratings board explains, but you'll be disappointed if you hope to see grisly
images of language).

Stephen Dorff and Natascha McElhone star, as a cop and a public health
inspector, and Stephen Rea, who was so unexpectedly deceived in "The Crying
Game," plays the host of the Web site and the torturer. The movie keeps
trying to make some kind of connection between Rea and the ghostly little
girl, who was his first victim, but if the site is her revenge, why is he
running it? And how can what happens to him in the end not have happened
before? Never mind. Disregard the logic of the plot. Don't even go there.
Don't think to ask how the Internet can channel thoughts and commands into
the minds of its users. Disregard the dialogue (sample: "We will provide a
lesson that reducing relationships to an anonymous electronic impulse is a
perversion").

This is a movie that cannot be taken seriously on the narrative level. But
look at it. Just look at it. Wear some of those Bose sound-defeating
earphones into the theater, or turn off the sound when you watch the DVD. If
the final 20 minutes had been produced by a German impressionist in the
1920s, we'd be calling it a masterpiece. All credit to director William
Malone, cinematographer Christian Sebaldt, production designer Jerome Latour
and art directors Regime Freise and Markus Wollersheim.

Now. Do I recommend the film? Not for the majority of filmgoers, who will
listen to the dialogue, and will expect a plot, and will be angered by the
film's sins against logic (I do not even mention credibility). But if you
have read this far because you are intrigued, because you can understand the
kind of paradox I am describing, then you might very well enjoy
"feardotcom." I give the total movie two stars, but there are some four-star
elements that deserve a better movie. You have to know how to look for them,
but they're there.

Copyright ⌐ Chicago Sun-Times Inc.

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From: [e-mail]
Subject: [MV] RED DRAGON / ***1/2 (R)
Date: 02 Nov 2002 07:24:59 GMT

RED DRAGON / ***1/2 (R)

October 4, 2002

Hannibal Lecter: Anthony Hopkins
Will Graham: Edward Norton
Francis Dolarhyde: Ralph Fiennes
Jack Crawford: Harvey Keitel
Reba McClane: Emily Watson
Molly Graham: Mary-Louise Parker
Freddy Lounds: Philip Seymour Hoffman
Universal Pictures presents a film directed by Brett Ratner. Written by Ted
Tally. Based on the book by Thomas Harris. Running time: 124 minutes. Rated
R (for violence, grisly images, language, some nudity and sexuality).

BY ROGER EBERT

"Red Dragon" opens with the pleasure of seeing Hannibal Lecter as he was
before leaving civilian life. The camera floats above a symphony orchestra
and down into the audience, and we spot Lecter almost at once, regarding
with displeasure an inferior musician. Interesting, how the director forces
our attention just as a magician forces a card: We notice Lecter because he
is located in a strong point of the screen, because his face is lighted to
make him pop out from the drabness on either side, and because he is looking
directly at the camera.

I felt, a confess, a certain pleasure to find him in the audience. Hannibal
Lecter is one of the most wicked villains in movie history, and one of the
most beloved. We forgive him his trespasses because (1) they are forced upon
him by his nature; (2) most of the time he is helplessly imprisoned, and
providing aid to the FBI, or seeming to, after his peculiar fashion, and (3)
he is droll and literate, dryly humorous, elegantly mannered. In these days
of movie characters who obediently recite the words the plot requires of
them, it's a pleasure to meet a man who can hold up his end of the
conversation.

The opening, with Hannibal still in civilian life, allows a tense early
scene in which the doctor (Anthony Hopkins) receives a late-night visitor,
FBI agent Will Graham (Edward Norton). Graham has been assisted by Lecter in
examining a series of crimes which, he has just realized, involved
cannibalism--and now, as he regards the doctor in the gloom of the shadowed
study, it occurs to him, just as it simultaneously occurs to Lecter, that it
is clear to both of them who this cannibal might be.

Flash forward several years. Lecter is in prison, Graham has taken early
retirement, but now his old FBI boss (Harvey Keitel) wants to recruit him to
solve a pair of serial killings, this time by a man dubbed the Tooth Fairy
because he leaves an unmistakable dental imprint at the scenes of his
crimes. Graham resists, but photos of the dead families and a poignant look
at his own living family do the trick, and he joins the case as a free-lance
adviser. This requires him to examine crime scenes by creeping through them
in pitch darkness in the middle of the night, although there is no reason he
could not visit at noon (except, of course, that he wants to share the
killer's point of view, and also because the film seeds the darkness with
potential danger).

The director is Brett Ratner, who has not achieved the distinction of the
three previous directors of Hannibal Lecter movies (Jonathan Demme on "The
Silence of the Lambs," Ridley Scott on "Hannibal," and Michael Mann on
"Manhunter," the first version of "Red Dragon," made in 1986). Ratner's
credits have included the "Rush Hour" pictures, "Family Man" and "Money
Talks," some with their merits, none suggesting he was qualified to be
Lecter's next director.

To my surprise, he does a sure, stylish job, appreciating the droll humor of
Lecter's predicament, creating a depraved new villain in the Tooth Fairy
(Ralph Fiennes), and using the quiet, intense skills of Norton to create a
character whose old fears feed into his new ones. There is also humor, of
the uneasy he-can't-get-away-with-this variety, in the character of a nosy
scandal-sheet reporter (Philip Seymour Hoffman). The screenplay by Ted
Tally, who wrote "Lambs," also supplies a blind girl in peril (Emily
Watson), and blind girls have worked dependably since the days of silent
pictures.

A movie like "Red Dragon" is all atmosphere and apprehension. Ratner doesn't
give us as much violence or as many sensational shocks as Scott did in
"Hannibal," but that's a plus: Lecter is a character who commands
contemplation and unease, and too much action just releases the tension. To
be sure, Scott was working with a Thomas Harris novel that itself went so
high over the top (remember the quadriplegic murdered with an electric eel?)
that much of it could not be filmed. But this movie, based on Harris' first
novel, has studied "Silence of the Lambs" and knows that the action comes
second to general creepiness. There are stabbings, shootings, fires,
explosions, tortures, mutilations, and a flaming corpse in a wheelchair, but
within reason.

As the "Tooth Fairy" figure, named Francis Dolarhyde, Ralph Fiennes comes as
close as possible to creating a sympathetic monster. What he does is
unspeakable. What has been done to him is unspeakable. Dolarhyde himself is
horrified by his potential, and the character of the blind girl is not
merely a cheap gimmick (although it is that, too), but a device that allows
him to ask just how far he is prepared to go. We are reminded of another
monster and another blind person, in "Bride of Frankenstein" (1932), and in
both cases the monster feels relief because the blind cannot see that he is
a monster. (In photos of a crime scene, ex-agent Graham notices that mirrors
have been broken and shards of the glass put in the eye sockets of
victims--perhaps because the Tooth Fairy cannot stand to look at himself,
but is driven to a frenzy when others can look at him.)

The movie has been photographed by Dante Spinotti, who also filmed Michael
Mann's more cool, stylized version, and here he provides darkness and
saturated colors. The Lecter world is one of dampness, lowering clouds,
early sunsets, chill in the bones. Lecter himself, when he appears, is like
a little fire we can warm before; he smiles benevolently, knows all, accepts
his nature, offers to help, and more often than not has another macabre
scheme under way. The early passages of this movie benefit from our
knowledge that Lecter will sooner or later appear; it's as if the plot is
tiptoeing toward a ledge.

The Lecter character, and the agents who deal with him, and the monsters who
take him as a role model, create an atmosphere that encourages style in the
filmmaking. It is much the same with the best upper-class crime novels.
There is violence, yes, but also a lot of carefully described atmosphere, as
we enter the attractive lives of the rich and vicious: Consider Nero Wolfe,
who, like Hannibal Lecter, hates to interrupt dinner with a murder.

Copyright ⌐ Chicago Sun-Times Inc.

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From: =?iso-8859-1?q?Julie=20Ogwayo?= <[e-mail]>
Subject: Re: [MV] THE LAST KISS (L'ULTIMO BACIO)/ **
Date: 02 Nov 2002 22:27:58 +0000 (GMT)

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PLEASE STOP SENDING ME THESE REVIEWS! THEY ARE ANNOYING!
 [e-mail] wrote:THE LAST KISS (L'ULTIMO BACIO)/ **

August 30, 2002

Carlo: Stefano Accorsi
Giulia: Giovanna Mezzogiorno
Anna: Stefania Sandrelli
Francesca: Martina Stella
Alberto: Marco Cocci
Marco: Pierfrancesco Favino
Paolo: Claudio Santamaria
Think Films presents a film written and directed by Gabriele Muccino.
Running time: 114 minutes. In Italian with English subtitles. Rated R (for
language, sexuality and some drug use). Opening today at Landmark Century.

BY ROGER EBERT

"The Last Kiss" is a comedy, I guess, about male panic at the spectre of
adult responsibility. If you're a guy and want to figure out what side of
the question you're on, take this test. You're a young single man. Your
girlfriend announces at a family dinner that she is pregnant. You (a) accept
the joys and responsibilities of fatherhood; (b) climb up into a treehouse
at a wedding to begin a passionate affair with an 18-year-old; (c) join
three buddies in discussing their plan to buy a van and trek across Africa.

Carlo (Stefano Accorsi), the hero of the film, is torn between (b) and (c).
Marriage looms like a trap to him, and he complains to Francesca (Martina
Stella), the 18-year-old, that he fears "the passion is going" from his
life. When his girlfriend Giulia (Giovanna Mezzogiorno) takes him along to
look at a house they could buy, he complains that buying a house seems so
"final." Not encouraging words for a pregnant fiancee to hear. "If I catch
him cheating, I'll kill him," she says, in the ancient tradition of Italian
movie comedy.

But the movie isn't all comedy, and has fugitive ambitions, I fear, to say
something significant about romance and even life. Consider some of Carlo's
friends. Paolo (Claudio Santamaria) is expected to take over his father's
clothing store, has no interest in retail, but is wracked with guilt because
his father is dying and this is his last wish. Marco (Pierfrancesco Favino)
is a serial lover. Adriano (Giorgio Pasotti) is depressed because his
girlfriend has lost all interest in sex after giving birth. Their 30s and
indeed their 40s are breathing hot on the necks of these friends, who cling
to golden memories of adolescence.

There is also the case of Anna (Stefania Sandrelli), Carlo's mother, who is
married to a detached and indifferent psychiatrist, and seeks out a former
lover with hopes of, who knows, maybe now taking the path not chosen. The
lover is delighted to see her for a chat over lunch, but reveals that he has
recently married and is the proud father of a one-year-old. How cruelly age
discriminates against women (at least those prepared to consider it
discrimination and not freedom).

"The Last Kiss" specializes in dramatic exits and entrances. Anna bursts
into her husband's office when he is deep in consultation with a patient,
who seems alarmed that his own house is so clearly not in order. Carlo
awakens with dread after a night spent imprudently, and flees. Giulia makes
a dramatic appearance at a death bed after discovering Carlo lied to her.
And so on.

The problem is that the movie has no idea of it is serious or not. It
combines heartfelt self-analysis with scenes like the one where Carlo is
taken by his teenage squeeze to her friend's birthday, and tries to party
with the kids. This is either funny or sad, not both, but the movie doesn't
know which.

The message behind all of this is difficult to nail down. Mars and Venus?
Adults who haven't grown up? The last fling syndrome? Doing what you want
instead of doing what you must? I have just finished Without Stopping, the
autobiography of the novelist and composer Paul Bowles, who as nearly as I
can tell always did exactly what he wanted, and was married to Jane Bowles,
who did the same. The answer, obviously, is not to choose between marriage
and the van trip through Africa, but to dump the buddies and find a wife who
wants to come along.

Copyright ⌐ Chicago Sun-Times Inc.

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<P>PLEASE STOP SENDING ME THESE REVIEWS! THEY ARE ANNOYING!
<P> <B><I>[e-mail]</I></B> wrote:
<BLOCKQUOTE style="PADDING-LEFT: 5px; MARGIN-LEFT: 5px; BORDER-LEFT: #1010ff 2px solid">THE LAST KISS (L'ULTIMO BACIO)/ ** <BR><BR>August 30, 2002<BR><BR>Carlo: Stefano Accorsi <BR>Giulia: Giovanna Mezzogiorno <BR>Anna: Stefania Sandrelli <BR>Francesca: Martina Stella <BR>Alberto: Marco Cocci <BR>Marco: Pierfrancesco Favino <BR>Paolo: Claudio Santamaria<BR>Think Films presents a film written and directed by Gabriele Muccino.<BR>Running time: 114 minutes. In Italian with English subtitles. Rated R (for<BR>language, sexuality and some drug use). Opening today at Landmark Century.<BR><BR>BY ROGER EBERT<BR><BR>"The Last Kiss" is a comedy, I guess, about male panic at the spectre of<BR>adult responsibility. If you're a guy and want to figure out what side of<BR>the question you're on, take this test. You're a young single man. Your<BR>girlfriend announces at a family dinner that she is pregnant. You (a) accept<BR>the joys and responsibilities of fatherhood; (b) climb up into a treehouse<BR>at a wedding to begin a passionate affair with an 18-year-old; (c) join<BR>three buddies in discussing their plan to buy a van and trek across Africa.<BR><BR>Carlo (Stefano Accorsi), the hero of the film, is torn between (b) and (c).<BR>Marriage looms like a trap to him, and he complains to Francesca (Martina<BR>Stella), the 18-year-old, that he fears "the passion is going" from his<BR>life. When his girlfriend Giulia (Giovanna Mezzogiorno) takes him along to<BR>look at a house they could buy, he complains that buying a house seems so<BR>"final." Not encouraging words for a pregnant fiancee to hear. "If I catch<BR>him cheating, I'll kill him," she says, in the ancient tradition of Italian<BR>movie comedy.<BR><BR>But the movie isn't all comedy, and has fugitive ambitions, I fear, to say<BR>something significant about romance and even life. Consider some of Carlo's<BR>friends. Paolo (Claudio Santamaria) is expected to take over his father's<BR>clothing store, has no interest in retail, but is wracked with guilt because<BR>his father is dying and this is his last wish. Marco (Pierfrancesco Favino)<BR>is a serial lover. Adriano (Giorgio Pasotti) is depressed because his<BR>girlfriend has lost all interest in sex after giving birth. Their 30s and<BR>indeed their 40s are breathing hot on the necks of these friends, who cling<BR>to golden memories of adolescence.<BR><BR>There is also the case of Anna (Stefania Sandrelli), Carlo's mother, who is<BR>married to a detached and indifferent psychiatrist, and seeks out a former<BR>lover with hopes of, who knows, maybe now taking the path not chosen. The<BR>lover is delighted to see her for a chat over lunch, but reveals that he has<BR>recently married and is the proud father of a one-year-old. How cruelly age<BR>discriminates against women (at least those prepared to consider it<BR>discrimination and not freedom).<BR><BR>"The Last Kiss" specializes in dramatic exits and entrances. Anna bursts<BR>into her husband's office when he is deep in consultation with a patient,<BR>who seems alarmed that his own house is so clearly not in order. Carlo<BR>awakens with dread after a night spent imprudently, and flees. Giulia makes<BR>a dramatic appearance at a death bed after discovering Carlo lied to her.<BR>And so on.<BR><BR>The problem is that the movie has no idea of it is serious or not. It<BR>combines heartfelt self-analysis with scenes like the one where Carlo is<BR>taken by his teenage squeeze to her friend's birthday, and tries to party<BR>with the kids. This is either funny or sad, not both, but the movie doesn't<BR>know which.<BR><BR>The message behind all of this is difficult to nail down. Mars and Venus?<BR>Adults who haven't grown up? The last fling syndrome? Doing what you want<BR>instead of doing what you must? I have just finished Without Stopping, the<BR>autobiography of the novelist and composer Paul Bowles, who as nearly as I<BR>can tell always did exactly what he wanted, and was married to Jane Bowles,<BR>who did the same. The answer, obviously, is not to choose between marriage<BR>and the van trip through Africa, but to dump the buddies and find a wife who<BR>wants to come along.<BR><BR>Copyright ⌐ Chicago Sun-Times Inc.<BR><BR>[ To leave the movies mailing list, send the message "unsubscribe ]<BR>[ movies" (without the quotes) to [e-mail] ]</BLOCKQUOTE><p><p><br><hr size=1><a href="http://uk.yahoo.com/mail/tagline_xtra/?http://uk.docs.yahoo.com/mail_storage.html"><b><font face="Arial" size="2">Get a bigger mailbox -- choose a size that fits your needs.</font></b></a><br>
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From: "Wade Snider" <[e-mail]>
Subject: RE: [MV] THE LAST KISS (L'ULTIMO BACIO)/ **
Date: 04 Nov 2002 07:54:41 -0600

This is a multi-part message in MIME format.

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    charset="iso-8859-1"
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I agree. Do we really need somebody to copy and paste Ebert's reviews =
and send them in masse like that??? If we want to read those, which seem =
to be sent over and over, we can go to Ebert's site. I mean some of =
those are like weeks old, and then there are times when we get duplicate =
or triplicate emails! I know there is not much activity on this list as =
it is, but this kind of crap is obnoxious and wasted. Does anybody =
really need 75 emails like this in their inbox?????=20

-----Original Message-----
Sent: Saturday, November 02, 2002 4:28 PM



PLEASE STOP SENDING ME THESE REVIEWS! THEY ARE ANNOYING!=20


 [e-mail] wrote:=20


THE LAST KISS (L'ULTIMO BACIO)/ **=20

August 30, 2002

Carlo: Stefano Accorsi=20
Giulia: Giovanna Mezzogiorno=20
Anna: Stefania Sandrelli=20
Francesca: Martina Stella=20
Alberto: Marco Cocci=20
Marco: Pierfrancesco Favino=20
Paolo: Claudio Santamaria
Think Films presents a film written and directed by Gabriele Muccino.
Running time: 114 minutes. In Italian with English subtitles. Rated R =
(for
language, sexuality and some drug use). Opening today at Landmark =
Century.

BY ROGER EBERT

"The Last Kiss" is a comedy, I guess, about male panic at the spectre of
adult responsibility. If you're a guy and want to figure out what side =
of
the question you're on, take this test. You're a young single man. Your
girlfriend announces at a family dinner that she is pregnant. You (a) =
accept
the joys and responsibilities of fatherhood; (b) climb up into a =
treehouse
at a wedding to begin a passionate affair with an 18-year-old; (c) join
three buddies in discussing their plan to buy a van and trek across =
Africa.

Carlo (Stefano Accorsi), the hero of the film, is torn between (b) and =
(c).
Marriage looms like a trap to him, and he complains to Francesca =
(Martina
Stella), the 18-year-old, that he fears "the passion is going" from his
life. When his girlfriend Giulia (Giovanna Mezzogiorno) takes him along =
to
look at a house they could buy, he complains that buying a house seems =
so
"final." Not encouraging words for a pregnant fiancee to hear. "If I =
catch
him cheating, I'll kill him," she says, in the ancient tradition of =
Italian
movie comedy.

But the movie isn't all comedy, and has fugitive ambitions, I fear, to =
say
something significant about romance and even life. Consider some of =
Carlo's
friends. Paolo (Claudio Santamaria) is expected to take over his =
father's
clothing store, has no interest in retail, but is wracked with guilt =
because
his father is dying and this is his last wish. Marco (Pierfrancesco =
Favino)
is a serial lover. Adriano (Giorgio Pasotti) is depressed because his
girlfriend has lost all interest in sex after giving birth. Their 30s =
and
indeed their 40s are breathing hot on the necks of these friends, who =
cling
to golden memories of adolescence.

There is also the case of Anna (Stefania Sandrelli), Carlo's mother, who =
is
married to a detached and indifferent psychiatrist, and seeks out a =
former
lover with hopes of, who knows, maybe now taking the path not chosen. =
The
lover is delighted to see her for a chat over lunch, but reveals that he =
has
recently married and is the proud father of a one-year-old. How cruelly =
age
discriminates against women (at least those prepared to consider it
discrimination and not freedom).

"The Last Kiss" specializes in dramatic exits and entrances. Anna bursts
into her husband's office when he is deep in consultation with a =
patient,
who seems alarmed that his own house is so clearly not in order. Carlo
awakens with dread after a night spent imprudently, and flees. Giulia =
makes
a dramatic appearance at a death bed after discovering Carlo lied to =
her.
And so on.

The problem is that the movie has no idea of it is serious or not. It
combines heartfelt self-analysis with scenes like the one where Carlo is
taken by his teenage squeeze to her friend's birthday, and tries to =
party
with the kids. This is either funny or sad, not both, but the movie =
doesn't
know which.

The message behind all of this is difficult to nail down. Mars and =
Venus?
Adults who haven't grown up? The last fling syndrome? Doing what you =
want
instead of doing what you must? I have just finished Without Stopping, =
the
autobiography of the novelist and composer Paul Bowles, who as nearly as =
I
can tell always did exactly what he wanted, and was married to Jane =
Bowles,
who did the same. The answer, obviously, is not to choose between =
marriage
and the van trip through Africa, but to dump the buddies and find a wife =
who
wants to come along.

Copyright =A9 Chicago Sun-Times Inc.

[ To leave the movies mailing list, send the message "unsubscribe ]
[ movies" (without the quotes) to [e-mail] ]





  _____ =20

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<http://uk.yahoo.com/mail/tagline_xtra/?http://uk.docs.yahoo.com/mail_sto=
rage.html> Get a bigger mailbox -- choose a size that fits your needs.



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<DIV><SPAN class=3D672335013-04112002><FONT face=3DArial color=3D#0000ff =
size=3D2>I=20
agree. Do we really need somebody to copy and paste Ebert's reviews and =
send=20
them in masse like that??? If we want to read those, which seem to =
be sent=20
over and over, we can go to Ebert's site. I mean some of those are like =
weeks=20
old, and then there are times when we get duplicate or triplicate =
emails! I know=20
there is not much activity on this list as it is, but this kind of crap =
is=20
obnoxious and wasted. Does anybody really need 75 emails like this =
in their=20
inbox????? </FONT></SPAN></DIV>
<BLOCKQUOTE>
  <DIV class=3DOutlookMessageHeader dir=3Dltr align=3Dleft><FONT =
face=3DTahoma=20
  size=3D2>-----Original Message-----<BR><B>From:</B> Julie Ogwayo=20
  [mailto:[e-mail]]<BR><B>Sent:</B> Saturday, November 02, 2002 =
4:28=20
  PM<BR><B>To:</B> [e-mail]<BR><B>Subject:</B> Re: [MV] =
THE=20
  LAST KISS (L'ULTIMO BACIO)/ **<BR><BR></FONT></DIV>
  <P>PLEASE STOP SENDING ME THESE REVIEWS! THEY ARE ANNOYING!=20
  <P> <B><I>[e-mail]</I></B> wrote:=20
  <BLOCKQUOTE=20
  style=3D"PADDING-LEFT: 5px; MARGIN-LEFT: 5px; BORDER-LEFT: #1010ff 2px =
solid">THE=20
    LAST KISS (L'ULTIMO BACIO)/ ** <BR><BR>August 30, 2002<BR><BR>Carlo: =
Stefano=20
    Accorsi <BR>Giulia: Giovanna Mezzogiorno <BR>Anna: Stefania =
Sandrelli=20
    <BR>Francesca: Martina Stella <BR>Alberto: Marco Cocci <BR>Marco:=20
    Pierfrancesco Favino <BR>Paolo: Claudio Santamaria<BR>Think Films =
presents a=20
    film written and directed by Gabriele Muccino.<BR>Running time: 114 =
minutes.=20
    In Italian with English subtitles. Rated R (for<BR>language, =
sexuality and=20
    some drug use). Opening today at Landmark Century.<BR><BR>BY ROGER=20
    EBERT<BR><BR>"The Last Kiss" is a comedy, I guess, about male panic =
at the=20
    spectre of<BR>adult responsibility. If you're a guy and want to =
figure out=20
    what side of<BR>the question you're on, take this test. You're a =
young=20
    single man. Your<BR>girlfriend announces at a family dinner that she =
is=20
    pregnant. You (a) accept<BR>the joys and responsibilities of =
fatherhood; (b)=20
    climb up into a treehouse<BR>at a wedding to begin a passionate =
affair with=20
    an 18-year-old; (c) join<BR>three buddies in discussing their plan =
to buy a=20
    van and trek across Africa.<BR><BR>Carlo (Stefano Accorsi), the hero =
of the=20
    film, is torn between (b) and (c).<BR>Marriage looms like a trap to =
him, and=20
    he complains to Francesca (Martina<BR>Stella), the 18-year-old, that =
he=20
    fears "the passion is going" from his<BR>life. When his girlfriend =
Giulia=20
    (Giovanna Mezzogiorno) takes him along to<BR>look at a house they =
could buy,=20
    he complains that buying a house seems so<BR>"final." Not =
encouraging words=20
    for a pregnant fiancee to hear. "If I catch<BR>him cheating, I'll =
kill him,"=20
    she says, in the ancient tradition of Italian<BR>movie =
comedy.<BR><BR>But=20
    the movie isn't all comedy, and has fugitive ambitions, I fear, to=20
    say<BR>something significant about romance and even life. Consider =
some of=20
    Carlo's<BR>friends. Paolo (Claudio Santamaria) is expected to take =
over his=20
    father's<BR>clothing store, has no interest in retail, but is =
wracked with=20
    guilt because<BR>his father is dying and this is his last wish. =
Marco=20
    (Pierfrancesco Favino)<BR>is a serial lover. Adriano (Giorgio =
Pasotti) is=20
    depressed because his<BR>girlfriend has lost all interest in sex =
after=20
    giving birth. Their 30s and<BR>indeed their 40s are breathing hot on =
the=20
    necks of these friends, who cling<BR>to golden memories of=20
    adolescence.<BR><BR>There is also the case of Anna (Stefania =
Sandrelli),=20
    Carlo's mother, who is<BR>married to a detached and indifferent=20
    psychiatrist, and seeks out a former<BR>lover with hopes of, who =
knows,=20
    maybe now taking the path not chosen. The<BR>lover is delighted to =
see her=20
    for a chat over lunch, but reveals that he has<BR>recently married =
and is=20
    the proud father of a one-year-old. How cruelly age<BR>discriminates =
against=20
    women (at least those prepared to consider it<BR>discrimination and =
not=20
    freedom).<BR><BR>"The Last Kiss" specializes in dramatic exits and=20
    entrances. Anna bursts<BR>into her husband's office when he is deep =
in=20
    consultation with a patient,<BR>who seems alarmed that his own house =
is so=20
    clearly not in order. Carlo<BR>awakens with dread after a night =
spent=20
    imprudently, and flees. Giulia makes<BR>a dramatic appearance at a =
death bed=20
    after discovering Carlo lied to her.<BR>And so on.<BR><BR>The =
problem is=20
    that the movie has no idea of it is serious or not. It<BR>combines =
heartfelt=20
    self-analysis with scenes like the one where Carlo is<BR>taken by =
his=20
    teenage squeeze to her friend's birthday, and tries to party<BR>with =
the=20
    kids. This is either funny or sad, not both, but the movie =
doesn't<BR>know=20
    which.<BR><BR>The message behind all of this is difficult to nail =
down. Mars=20
    and Venus?<BR>Adults who haven't grown up? The last fling syndrome? =
Doing=20
    what you want<BR>instead of doing what you must? I have just =
finished=20
    Without Stopping, the<BR>autobiography of the novelist and composer =
Paul=20
    Bowles, who as nearly as I<BR>can tell always did exactly what he =
wanted,=20
    and was married to Jane Bowles,<BR>who did the same. The answer, =
obviously,=20
    is not to choose between marriage<BR>and the van trip through =
Africa, but to=20
    dump the buddies and find a wife who<BR>wants to come=20
    along.<BR><BR>Copyright =A9 Chicago Sun-Times Inc.<BR><BR>[ To leave =
the=20
    movies mailing list, send the message "unsubscribe ]<BR>[ movies" =
(without=20
    the quotes) to [e-mail] ]</BLOCKQUOTE>
  <P>
  <P><BR>
  <HR SIZE=3D1>
  <A=20
  =
href=3D"http://uk.yahoo.com/mail/tagline_xtra/?http://uk.docs.yahoo.com/m=
ail_storage.html"><B><FONT=20
  face=3DArial size=3D2>Get a bigger mailbox -- choose a size that fits =
your=20
  needs.</FONT></B></A><BR></BLOCKQUOTE></BODY></HTML>

------_=_NextPart_001_01C28409.B912A858--

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-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

From: Gene Ehrich <[e-mail]>
Subject: RE: [MV] THE LAST KISS (L'ULTIMO BACIO)/ **
Date: 04 Nov 2002 09:12:40 -0500

At 07:54 AM 11/4/2002 -0600, you wrote:
>I agree. Do we really need somebody to copy and paste Ebert's reviews and
>send them in masse like that??? If we want to read those, which seem to be
>sent over and over, we can go to Ebert's site. I mean some of those are
>like weeks old, and then there are times when we get duplicate or
>triplicate emails! I know there is not much activity on this list as it
>is, but this kind of crap is obnoxious and wasted. Does anybody really
>need 75 emails like this in their inbox?????

I agree. I always delete all of them.

Total waste of band width.

Maybe if we could have one e-mail with each of the links in it.



http://www.voicenet.com/~generic


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From: [e-mail]
Subject: [MV] 8 MILE / *** (R)
Date: 08 Nov 2002 16:47:16 GMT

8 MILE / *** (R)

November 8, 2002

Jimmy Smith Jr.: Eminem
Stephanie: Kim Basinger
Alex: Brittany Murphy
Future: Mekhi Phifer
Wink: Eugene Byrd
Sol George: Omar Benson
: Miller
Janeane: Taryn Manning
Cheddar Bob: Evan Jones
Universal Pictures presents a film directed by Curtis Hanson. Written by
Scott Silver. Running time: 118 minutes. Rated R (for strong language,
sexuality, some violence and drug use).

BY ROGER EBERT

Pale, depressed, Jimmy Smith Jr. (Eminem) skulks through a life that has
been so terribly unkind to him. His girlfriend has gotten pregnant and
broken up with him, and although he did the right thing by her--he gave her
his old car--he now faces the prospect of moving back into his mother's
trailer home, with her boyfriend who hates him. Jimmy carries his clothes
around in a garbage bag. He has a job as a punch press operator.

We see him, early in "8 Mile," about to do the only thing he does well and
takes joy in doing. He is about to go onstage at the Shelter, a rap club
that looks uncannily like a deserted building, and engage in the hip-hop
version of a poetry slam. In this world, he is known as "Rabbit."

He rehearses in a mirror in the men's room, fiercely scowling at his own
reflection and practicing those hand gestures all the rappers use, their
outboard fingers pointed down from jerking arms as they jab spastically like
Joe Cocker. Then Rabbit throws up. Then he goes onstage, where he has 45
seconds to out-rap his competitor in a showdown. And then he freezes. The
seconds creep by in total silence, until Rabbit flees the stage and the
Shelter.

We are hardly started in "8 Mile," and already we see that this movie stands
aside from routine debut films by pop stars. It stands aside from Britney
Spears and the Spice Girls and the other hit machines who have unwisely
tried to transfer musical ability into acting careers. Like Prince's "Purple
Rain," it is the real thing. Eminem insists on Rabbit's proletarian roots,
on his slattern mother, on his lonely progress as a white boy in a black
world.

Whether "8 Mile" is close to Eminem's own autobiographical truths, I do not
know. It is a faithful reflection of his myth, however, beginning with the
title, which refers to the road which separates Detroit from its white
suburbs. He lives on the black side of the road, where he has found
acceptance and friendship from a posse of homies, and especially from Future
(Mekhi Phifer), who emcees the contests at the Shelter. When Rabbit gets
into fights with black rivals, and he does, they are motivated not by racism
but by more wholesome feelings, like sexual jealousy and professional envy.

The genius of Rabbit is to admit his own weaknesses. This is also the
approach of Eminem, who acknowledges in his lyrics that he's a white man
playing in a black man's field. In the climactic performance scene in "8
Mile," he not only skewers his opponent but preempts any comeback by
trashing himself first, before the other guy can. At one point,
devastatingly, he even calls another rapper "too generic." They must read
rock critics in the inner city.

The movie, directed by Curtis Hanson ("Wonder Boys") and written by Scott
Silver, is a grungy version of a familiar formula, in which the would-be
performer first fails at his art, then succeeds, is unhappy in romance but
lucky in his friends, and comes from an unfortunate background. He even
finds love, sort of, with Alex (Brittany Murphy), who is loyal if not
faithful. What the movie is missing, however, is the third act in which the
hero becomes a star. We know that Eminem is awesomely successful, but "8
Mile" avoids the rags-to-riches route and shows Rabbit moving from rags to
slightly better rags.

There has been criticism of Kim Basinger, who is said to be too attractive
and even glamorous to play Rabbit's mother, but this strikes me as economic
discrimination: Cannot poor people as well as rich people look like Kim
Basinger? Given the numbers of ugly people who live in big houses, why can't
there be beautiful people living in trailers? Her performance finds the
right note somewhere between love and exasperation; it cannot be easy to
live with this sullen malcontent, whose face lights up only when he sees his
baby sister, Lily.

As an actor, Eminem is convincing without being electric. Perhaps the Rabbit
character doesn't allow for joy; he seems to go through life forever
remembering why he shouldn't be happy. As it happens, on the same day that
"8 Mile" was screened in Chicago, I also saw "Standing in the Shadows of
Motown," a documentary about the studio musicians who created the Motown
Sound. The contrast was instructive. On the one hand, a Detroit white boy
embracing the emblems of poverty and performing in a musical genre that
involves complaint, anger and alienation. On the other hand, black Detroit
musicians making good money, performing joyously, having a good time and
remembering those times with tears in their eyes. What has happened to our
hopes, that young audiences now embrace such cheerless material, avoiding
melody like the plague? At least in their puritanism they still permit
rhymes.

Eminem survives the X-ray truth-telling of the movie camera, which is so
good at spotting phonies. He is on the level. Here he plays, if not himself,
a version of himself, and we understand why he has been accepted as a star
in a genre mostly owned by blacks. Whether he has a future as a movie actor
is open to question: At this point in his career, there is no reason for him
to play anyone other than himself, and it might even be professionally
dangerous for him to try. He can of course play versions of Rabbit in other
movies, and would probably play them well, but Rabbit, let it be said, is a
downer. I would love to see a sequel (maybe "81/2 Mile") in which Rabbit
makes millions and becomes world famous, and we learn at last if it is
possible for him to be happy.

Copyright ⌐ Chicago Sun-Times Inc.

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-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

From: [e-mail]
Subject: [MV] TULLY / ***1/2 (Not rated)
Date: 08 Nov 2002 16:47:19 GMT

TULLY / ***1/2 (Not rated)

November 8, 2002

Tully Coates Jr.: Anson Mount
Ella Smalley: Julianne Nicholson
Earl Coates: Glenn Fitzgerald
April Reece: Catherine Kellner
Tully Coates Sr.: Bob Burrus
Telltale Films and Small Planet Pictures present a film directed by Hilary
Birmingham. Written by Birmingham and Matt Drake. Based on the short story
"What Happened to Tully," by Tom McNeal. Running time: 107 minutes. No MPAA
rating.

BY ROGER EBERT

"Tully" is set on a Nebraska dairy farm, one without a woman but where
thoughts about women are often in the minds of the men. Tully Coates Sr.
(Bob Burrus) still loves the wife who walked away from the family years ago.
Tully Jr. (Anson Mount) is a ladies' man, dating a local stripper named
April (Catherine Kellner). His younger brother, Earl (Glenn Fitzgerald), is
quieter and more open, with a soft spot for Ella Smalley (Julianne
Nicholson), who is home for the summer from studying to be a veterinarian.

In this rural community, everyone knows one another. They even think they
know each other's secrets, but there are dark secrets at the heart of the
Tully family which only the father knows. One, revealed fairly early, is
that his wife was not killed in a crash, as he told the boys, but simply
abandoned them. The other I will leave for you to discover. The mother is
not only alive but dying of cancer in a hospital, where $300,000 in medical
bills have caused a lien to be brought against the farm: The Coates might
lose it, after their decades of hard work.

Here in Nebraska, the exotic dancers are not very exotic. April is a
neighbor girl who strips in a nearby town because the money is good but
still has small-town notions about going steady. After she and Tully Jr.
spend an enjoyable afternoon on the hood of his Cadillac, she claims
territorial privilege: From now on, that hood is hers, and she doesn't want
to hear about Tully inviting any other girl up there.

Earl has a sort of crush on Ella, who is red-haired and freckled, open-faced
and clear about her own feelings. She would like to be dating Tully, but
only if he can outgrow his tomcatting and see her as worthy of his loyalty.
In her own way, during this summer, she will hook Tully and reel him in, and
it may be years before he figures out what really happened. Nicholson is
wonderful in the role, wise about men, aware of her own power.

The anchoring performance in the movie is by Burrus, as the father. Long
days alone in the fields have made him taciturn. The boys notice that the
lights burn late in the farm office, that he is worried about something, and
then they discover their line of credit is cut off at the bank.

During the course of the movie, old hurts will be remembered, old secrets
revealed, and new loves will form. "Tully," directed by Hilary Birmingham,
co-written by Birmingham and Matt Drake, and based on a short story by Tom
McNeal, doesn't turn those developments into a rural soap opera but pays
close and respectful attention to its characters, allowing them time to
develop and deepen--so that, for example, we understand exactly what's
happening when Earl warns his brother to be careful with Ella. In other
words, don't treat her like another one of his conquests.

Even Ella is bemused by Tully's reputation: "What's it like to drive women
crazy?" What Tully is far from understanding is that Ella knows how to drive
him crazy, and there is a lovely scene when she takes him to her favorite
swimming hole and allows him to feel desire for her, and pretends that
wasn't on her mind. Women know how to win the Coates men, and it's clear
that the old man forgives his faithless wife and still loves her.

The movie is a matter-of-fact journal of daily farm life during its opening
scenes, and its dramatic secrets are revealed only slowly. At the end, when
there is a tragedy, it has been hanging there, waiting to happen, for four
or five scenes. Birmingham has a writer's patience and attention to detail,
and doesn't hurry things along. She knows that audiences may think they like
speed, but they're more deeply moved by depth.

By the end of the film, both times I saw it, there were some tears in the
audience. They confirm something I've suspected: Audiences are more touched
by goodness than by sadness. Tears come not because something terrible has
happened, but because something good has happened, which reveals the
willingness of people to be brave and kind. We might quarrel with the
crucial decision at the end of "Tully," but we have to honor it because we
know it comes from a good place. So does the whole movie.

Copyright ⌐ Chicago Sun-Times Inc.

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From: [e-mail]
Subject: [MV] FEMME FATALE/ ****
Date: 08 Nov 2002 16:47:20 GMT

FEMME FATALE/ ****

November 6, 2002

Laure/Lily     Rebecca-Romijn-Stamos
Nicolas Bardo    Antonio Banderas
Watts    Peter Coyote

Warner Bros. Pictures/Quinta Communications presents a film written and
directed by Brian De Palma. Running time: 114 minutes. Rated R (for strong
sexuality, violence and language).

BY ROGER EBERT

Sly as a snake, Brian De Palma's "Femme Fatale" is a sexy thriller that
coils back on itself in seductive deception. This is pure filmmaking,
elegant and slippery. I haven't had as much fun second-guessing a movie
since "Mulholland Drive." Consider such clues as the overflowing aquarium,
the shirt still stained with blood after many days, the subtitles for
dialogue that is not spoken, the story that begins in 2001 and then boldly
announces: "seven years later."

The movie opens with a $10 million diamond theft, with a difference: The
diamonds adorn the body of a supermodel attending a premiere at the Cannes
International Film Festival, and they are stolen with erotic audacity as the
model is seduced in a restroom of the Palais du Cinema by the tall, brazen
Laure Ash (Rebecca Romijn-Stamos). Her team includes the usual crew of
heist-movie types, and we get the usual details, like the guy in the wet
suit, the laser-cutter and the TV spycam that attracts the attention of an
inquisitive cat. But the movie announces its originality when none of these
characters perform as they expect to, and Laure Ash steals the diamonds not
only from the model but also from her fellow criminals.

No, I have not given away too much. The fact is, I have given away less than
nothing, as you will fully appreciate after seeing the film. The long
opening sequences, about 40 minutes by my clock, are done almost entirely
without dialogue, and as De Palma's camera regards these characters in their
devious movements, we begin to get the idea: This is a movie about watching
and being watched, about seeing and not knowing what you see.

Romijn-Stamos plays Laure Ash as a supremely self-confident woman with a
well-developed sense of life's ironies. Chance plays a huge role in her
fate. Consider that not long after the theft, while trying to avoid being
spotted in Paris, she is mistaken for a grieving widow, taken home from a
funeral, and finds herself in possession of an airplane ticket to New York
and a passport with a photo that looks exactly like her. And then ...

But no. I cannot tell any more. I will, however, describe her relationship
with Nicolas Bardo (Antonio Banderas), a papa-razzo who photographs her in
2001 on that day she is mistaken for the widow, and photographs her again
seven years later (!) when she returns to Paris as the wife of the American
ambassador (Peter Coyote). She wants that film: "I have a past here." And
then ...

Well, the movie's story, written by De Palma, is a series of incidents that
would not be out of place in an ordinary thriller, but here achieve a kind
of transcendence, since they are what they seem, and more than they seem,
and less than they seem. The movie tricks us, but not unfairly, and for the
attentive viewer there are markers along the way to suggest what De Palma is
up to.

Above all, he is up to an exercise in superb style and craftsmanship. The
movie is very light on dialogue, and many of the words that are spoken come
across as if the characters are imitating movie actors (the film opens with
Laure watching "Double Indemnity"--for pointers in how to be a vixen, no
doubt). I've seen the movie twice; it's one of those films like "Memento"
that plays differently the second time. Only on the second viewing did I
spot the sly moment when the subtitles supply standard thriller
dialogue--but the lips of the actors are not moving. This is a movie joke
worthy of Luis Bunuel.

Romijn-Stamos may or may not be a great actress, but in "Femme Fatale," she
is a great Hitchcock heroine--blond, icy, desirable, duplicitous--with a
knack for contemptuously manipulating the hero. She is also very sexy, and
let it be said that De Palma, at least, has not followed other directors
into a sheepish retreat from nudity, seduction, desire and erotic wordplay.
The man who made "Body Double" is still prepared to make a movie about a
desirable woman, even in these days of buddy movies for teenage boys. When
it comes to sex, the characters in "Femme Fatale" have all been around the
block a few times, but it takes this scenario to make them wonder what side
of the street they're on.

De Palma deserves more honor as a director. Consider also these titles:
"Sisters," "Blow Out," "The Fury," "Dressed to Kill," "Carrie," "Scarface,"
"Wise Guys," "Casualties of War," "Carlito's Way," "Mission: Impossible."
Yes, there are a few failures along the way ("Snake Eyes," "Mission to
Mars," "The Bonfire of the Vanities"), but look at the range here, and
reflect that these movies contain treasure for those who admire the craft as
well as the story, who sense the glee with which De Palma manipulates images
and characters for the simple joy of being good at it. It's not just that he
sometimes works in the style of Hitchcock, but that he has the nerve to.

Copyright ⌐ Chicago Sun-Times Inc.

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From: [e-mail]
Subject: [MV] THE BREAD, MY SWEET / *** (Not rated)
Date: 08 Nov 2002 16:47:17 GMT

THE BREAD, MY SWEET / *** (Not rated)

November 8, 2002

Dominic: Scott Baio
Lucca: Kristin Minter
Bella: Rosemary Prinz
Massimo: John Seitz
Eddie: Billy Mott
Pino: Shuler Hensley
Panorama Entertainment presents a film written and directed by Melissa
Martin. Running time: 105 minutes. No MPAA rating.

BY ROGER EBERT

"The Bread, My Sweet" tells an improbable love story in such a heartfelt way
that it's impossible to be cynical in the face of its innocence. Filmed in
Pittsburgh, where it has been playing to full houses since January, it now
gets a national release, thanks to the success of "My Big Fat Greek
Wedding," another unlikely hit about ethnic romance. It's likely to appeal
to the same kinds of audiences.

The movie stars Scott Baio as Dominic, who has two careers. He works
downtown as a corporate raider whose job is to fire people at the companies
he acquires. And he also owns a little pastry shop in an old Italian
neighborhood, which provides jobs for his two brothers: Pino (Shuler
Hensley), who is retarded, and Eddie (Billy Mott), who floats through life
without direction.

Upstairs over the shop live their landlords, Bella (Rosemary Prinz) and
Massimo (John Seitz), who are salt-of-the-earth types, loud, demonstrative,
extravagant with affection, always fighting but forever in love. They have a
daughter named Lucca (Kristin Minter) who, instead of marrying and providing
them with grandchildren, has joined the Peace Corps and disappeared from
their lives. Now the boys downstairs are a surrogate family: "Three years
ago, I don't know your name," Bella tells Dominic. "Now, you are my son."

Like many stories that are too good to be true, this one has some truth in
it. I learn from a review by Ron Weiskind of the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette
that the movie, written and directed by Melissa Martin, "was inspired by a
beloved Italian couple who lived above the Strip District bakery Enrico
Biscotti, which is run by Martin's husband, Larry Lagatutta." The bakery in
the movie is his actual bakery.

The first act establishes these people, their personalities and needs, and
shows that Dominic is increasingly unhappy with his corporate job. Having
opened the bakery out of love for his brothers, he finds he loves it,
too--and the old couple who live upstairs. I must explain what happens next
to deal with the movie at all, so you might want to file this if you don't
want to know that ...

Bella falls ill. And now her heart is breaking. She doesn't mind dying, but
she is filled with grief that she will die with her only child still single
and wandering somewhere in the Peace Corps wilderness. Dominic tracks down
the daughter and advises her to come home quickly. Lucca materializes,
turning out to be a good and loving daughter (perhaps the Peace Corps was a
hint), and she and Dominic discuss what is to be done. It quickly becomes
obvious to Dominic that only one thing will make a difference: He and Lucca
must be married, so that the old woman can die in peace.

This development is straight out of romantic comedy, and "The Bread, My
Sweet" is rather daring to take it seriously. There is a crucial scene where
Dominic explains his thinking to Lucca, and this scene somehow, against all
odds, works. Scott Baio and Kristin Minter, who could so easily bog down in
soppy truisms, discuss his plan objectively. She is of course astonished by
his suggestion, but he keeps talking. "I do deals," he says, and this will
be his biggest deal. "We have a very small window of opportunity."

Of course they can get divorced after Bella dies, etc., and need not have
sex, etc., but all of these footnotes are brushed aside by the enormity of
the deception they are planning, and then--well, two nice young people like
that, don't they deserve each other?

The film misses scarcely a chance to tug at our heartstrings. As Bella grows
more ill and loses her appetite, Pino bakes smaller and smaller pies for her
to eat, until finally in tears, he admits that he cannot make a pie any
smaller. Martin even adds a touch of magic realism, with a mysterious gypsy
woman who dances with a tambourine on the street outside.

What makes the movie special is its utter sincerity. For all of the
contrivances in the plot, there is the feeling that the actors love their
characters and are trying to play them honestly. Yes, the movie is corny,
but no, it's not dumb. It's clever and insightful in the way it gets away
with this story, which is almost a fable. The turning point is the key
conversation between Dominic and Lucca. Once that works, we can believe
almost anything. Now if only Bella will.

Copyright ⌐ Chicago Sun-Times Inc.

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From: "Wade Snider" <[e-mail]>
Subject: RE: [MV] TULLY / ***1/2 (Not rated)
Date: 08 Nov 2002 10:58:03 -0600

ASS!

Why do you persist in this b*******.


I'm going to quit this stupid list so I don't have to get this crap =
anymore.=20

-----Original Message-----
Sent: Friday, November 08, 2002 10:47 AM


TULLY / ***1/2 (Not rated)=20

November 8, 2002

Tully Coates Jr.: Anson Mount=20
Ella Smalley: Julianne Nicholson=20
Earl Coates: Glenn Fitzgerald=20
April Reece: Catherine Kellner=20
Tully Coates Sr.: Bob Burrus=20
Telltale Films and Small Planet Pictures present a film directed by =
Hilary
Birmingham. Written by Birmingham and Matt Drake. Based on the short =
story
"What Happened to Tully," by Tom McNeal. Running time: 107 minutes. No =
MPAA
rating.

BY ROGER EBERT

"Tully" is set on a Nebraska dairy farm, one without a woman but where
thoughts about women are often in the minds of the men. Tully Coates Sr.
(Bob Burrus) still loves the wife who walked away from the family years =
ago.
Tully Jr. (Anson Mount) is a ladies' man, dating a local stripper named
April (Catherine Kellner). His younger brother, Earl (Glenn Fitzgerald), =
is
quieter and more open, with a soft spot for Ella Smalley (Julianne
Nicholson), who is home for the summer from studying to be a =
veterinarian.

In this rural community, everyone knows one another. They even think =
they
know each other's secrets, but there are dark secrets at the heart of =
the
Tully family which only the father knows. One, revealed fairly early, is
that his wife was not killed in a crash, as he told the boys, but simply
abandoned them. The other I will leave for you to discover. The mother =
is
not only alive but dying of cancer in a hospital, where $300,000 in =
medical
bills have caused a lien to be brought against the farm: The Coates =
might
lose it, after their decades of hard work.

Here in Nebraska, the exotic dancers are not very exotic. April is a
neighbor girl who strips in a nearby town because the money is good but
still has small-town notions about going steady. After she and Tully Jr.
spend an enjoyable afternoon on the hood of his Cadillac, she claims
territorial privilege: From now on, that hood is hers, and she doesn't =
want
to hear about Tully inviting any other girl up there.

Earl has a sort of crush on Ella, who is red-haired and freckled, =
open-faced
and clear about her own feelings. She would like to be dating Tully, but
only if he can outgrow his tomcatting and see her as worthy of his =
loyalty.
In her own way, during this summer, she will hook Tully and reel him in, =
and
it may be years before he figures out what really happened. Nicholson is
wonderful in the role, wise about men, aware of her own power.

The anchoring performance in the movie is by Burrus, as the father. Long
days alone in the fields have made him taciturn. The boys notice that =
the
lights burn late in the farm office, that he is worried about something, =
and
then they discover their line of credit is cut off at the bank.

During the course of the movie, old hurts will be remembered, old =
secrets
revealed, and new loves will form. "Tully," directed by Hilary =
Birmingham,
co-written by Birmingham and Matt Drake, and based on a short story by =
Tom
McNeal, doesn't turn those developments into a rural soap opera but pays
close and respectful attention to its characters, allowing them time to
develop and deepen--so that, for example, we understand exactly what's
happening when Earl warns his brother to be careful with Ella. In other
words, don't treat her like another one of his conquests.

Even Ella is bemused by Tully's reputation: "What's it like to drive =
women
crazy?" What Tully is far from understanding is that Ella knows how to =
drive
him crazy, and there is a lovely scene when she takes him to her =
favorite
swimming hole and allows him to feel desire for her, and pretends that
wasn't on her mind. Women know how to win the Coates men, and it's clear
that the old man forgives his faithless wife and still loves her.

The movie is a matter-of-fact journal of daily farm life during its =
opening
scenes, and its dramatic secrets are revealed only slowly. At the end, =
when
there is a tragedy, it has been hanging there, waiting to happen, for =
four
or five scenes. Birmingham has a writer's patience and attention to =
detail,
and doesn't hurry things along. She knows that audiences may think they =
like
speed, but they're more deeply moved by depth.

By the end of the film, both times I saw it, there were some tears in =
the
audience. They confirm something I've suspected: Audiences are more =
touched
by goodness than by sadness. Tears come not because something terrible =
has
happened, but because something good has happened, which reveals the
willingness of people to be brave and kind. We might quarrel with the
crucial decision at the end of "Tully," but we have to honor it because =
we
know it comes from a good place. So does the whole movie.

Copyright =A9 Chicago Sun-Times Inc.

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From: [e-mail]
Subject: [MV] QUITTING / **1/2 (R)
Date: 15 Nov 2002 17:16:52 GMT

QUITTING / **1/2 (R)

November 15, 2002

Jia Hongsheng: Himself
Hongsheng's father: Jia Fengsen
Hongsheng's mother: Chai Xiurong
Hongsheng's sister: Wang Tong
Jia's roommate: Shun Xing
Director: Zhang Yang
Sony Pictures Classics presents a film directed by Zhang Yang. Written by
Zhang Yang and Huo Xin. In Mandarin with English subtitles. Running time:
112 minutes. Rated R (for drug content).

BY ROGER EBERT

"Quitting" is not so much a movie about drug addiction as a movie about
sentimentalized Chinese ideas of drug addiction. It is a brave experiment,
based on life and using actors who play themselves, but it buys into the
whole false notion that artists are somehow too brilliant to be sober--that
drugs and booze are almost necessary to tame their creativity, dull their
pain, and allow them to tolerate life with the clods around them. Thus the
"cure" is not so much to stop using as to stop dreaming; one must become
boring to become clean and sober.

Astonishing how persistent this idea is, since there is nothing more boring
than a drunk or an addict repeating the same failed pattern every day. But
China does not embrace the useful disease model of addiction, and in a
hospital where the hero is sent, a fellow patient explains, "The Soviets
called it hysteria, but the Chinese called it dementia." Addiction is
neither. In most cases, it is simply a habitual inability to avoid getting
wasted.

If "Quitting" embraced Western ideas, its hero would no doubt quickly find
himself attending AA meetings, and while that might be better for his
health, it might not be better for this movie. "Quitting" stars Jia
Hongsheng, who starred in Chinese movies and on television circa 1990, and
then, while appearing in the title role of "Kiss of the Spider Woman"
onstage in 1992, quickly progressed from pot through heroin into
professional and personal dysfunction.

Eventually he had to move in with his sister. He became a recluse, and
rejected all work offers. His parents, who were provincial actors, moved to
Beijing to take care of him, and the four family members found themselves
trapped in an apartment with his disease. Although this is a show-biz
family, the parents come from a backwater; Hongsheng believes he receives
secret messages from John Lennon, while his father has not even heard of the
"Bittles."

Jia Hongsheng plays himself in this story. The parents and other characters
play themselves, and the director of the film, Zhang Yang, was the real-life
stage director of "Kiss of the Spider Woman." This gives the film an eerie
intrinsic interest: they act in scenes based on remembered pain. This is
however not a documentary, and a startling shot late in the film underlines
the fact that it is artistry, not fact.

The movie's pumped-up scenes of domestic anguish are the least convincing,
and when Hongsheng hangs up on TV producers or hides in his room, he is less
a suffering person than an addict acting out a tiresome script. When,
however, he sits on the grass under a highway overpass with his father and
they both drink beer, there is a kind of unforced communion; the father, who
has a drinking problem, has promised his wife not to drink, and so as they
play hooky together they have a moment of peace.

Zhang Yang's previous film was the popular "Shower" (1999), about a
successful son who returns from the provinces to Beijing, where his elderly
father and retarded brother run a bath house. That film was a warm human
comedy, but has connections with "Quitting"; the director cares about how
fathers and sons can seem so different and be so much the same.

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From: [e-mail]
Subject: [MV] HALF PAST DEAD / 1/2* (PG-13)
Date: 15 Nov 2002 17:16:49 GMT

HALF PAST DEAD / 1/2* (PG-13)

November 15, 2002

Sascha Petrosevitch: Steven     Seagal
Donny/49er One: Morris     Chestnut
Nick Frazier: Ja Rule
49er Three: Matt Battaglia
Sonny Ekvall: Richard Bremmer
Screen Gems presents a film written and directed by Don Michael Paul.
Running time: 99 minutes. Rated PG-13 (for pervasive action violence,
language and some sexual content).

BY ROGER EBERT

"Half Past Dead" is like an alarm that goes off while nobody is in the room.
It does its job and stops, and nobody cares. It goes through the motions of
an action thriller, but there is a deadness at its center, a feeling that no
one connected with it loved what they were doing. There are moments, to be
sure, when Ja Rule and Morris Chestnut seem to hear the music, but they're
dancing by themselves.

The plot is preposterous, but that's acceptable with a thriller. The action
is preposterous, too: Various characters leap from high places while firing
guns, and the movie doesn't think to show us how, or if, they landed. A room
is filled with teargas, but what exactly happens then? The movie takes the
form of a buddy movie, but is stopped in its tracks because its hero, played
by Steven Seagal, doesn't have a buddy gene in his body. (I know, he takes
seven bullets for his partner Nick, but I don't think he planned it: "I'll
take seven bullets for Nick!")

Seagal's great contribution to the movie is to look very serious, even
menacing, in closeups carefully framed to hide his double chin. I do not
object to the fact that he's put on weight. Look who's talking. I object to
the fact that he thinks he can conceal it from us with knee-length coats and
tricky camera angles. I would rather see a movie about a pudgy karate
fighter than a movie about a guy you never get a good look at.

The film has little dialogue and much action. It places its trust so firmly
in action that it opens with a scene where the characters have one of those
urban chase scenes where the car barely misses trailer trucks, squeals
through 180-degree turns, etc., and they're not even being chased. It's kind
of a warm-up, like a musician practicing the scales.

Do not read further if you think the plot may have the slightest importance
to the movie. Seagal plays an undercover FBI guy who has teamed up with the
crook Nick Frazier (Ja Rule), who vouched for him with the master criminal
Sonny Ekvall (Richard Bremmer), who runs, if I have this correct, "the
biggest crime syndicate between Eastern Europe and the Pacific Rim." He
doesn't say whether the syndicate extends easterly or westerly between those
demarcations, which would affect the rim he has in mind. Maybe easterly,
since Seagal's character is named Sascha Petrosevitch. "You're Russian,
right?" he asks Seagal, who agrees. Seagal's answer to this question is the
only time in the entire movie he has a Russian accent.

Nick gets thrown into New Alcatraz. Petrosevitch gets thrown in, too. Later,
after his cover is blown, he explains to Nick that the FBI thought if he did
time with Nick, it would help him get inside the criminal organization. The
sentence is five years. What a guy.

Then, let's see, the prison contains an old man who is about to go to the
chair with the secret of $200 million in gold bars. Bad guys want his
secret, and cooperate with an insider (Morris Chestnut) to break into the
prison, taking hostage a female U.S. Supreme Court Justice who is on a tour
of Death Row (she's one of those liberals). They want to escape with the old
guy and get the gold. Among their demands: a fully fueled jet plane to an
"undisclosed location." My advice: At least disclose the location to the
pilot.

Nick and Petrosevitch team up to risk their lives in a nonstop series of
shoot-outs, explosions, martial arts fights and shoulder-launched rocket
battles in order to save the Supreme Court justice. We know why Petrosevitch
is doing this. But why is Nick? Apparently he is another example of that
mysterious subset of the law of gravitation that attracts the black actor
with second billing in an action movie to the side of the hero.

At the end of "Half Past Dead" there is a scene where Nick looks
significantly at Petrosevitch and nods and smiles a little, as if to say,
you some kinda white guy. Of course, Petrosevitch has just promised to
spring him from New Alcatraz, which can easily inspire a nod and a little
smile.

Meanwhile, I started wondering about that $200 million in gold. At the end
of the movie, we see a chest being winched to the surface and some gold bars
spilling out. If gold sells at, say, $321 per troy ounce, then $20 million
in gold bars would represent 623,052 troy ounces, or 42,720 pounds, and
would not fit in that chest. You would expect the FBI guys would know this.
Maybe not these FBI guys.

Note: I imagine the flywheels at the MPAA congratulating each other on a
good day's work as they rated "Half Past Dead" PG-13, after giving the
anti-gun movie "Bowling for Columbine" an R.

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From: [e-mail]
Subject: [MV] STANDING IN THE SHADOWS OF MOTOWN / *** (PG)
Date: 15 Nov 2002 17:16:53 GMT

STANDING IN THE SHADOWS OF MOTOWN / *** (PG)

November 15, 2002

Featuring the Funk Brothers: Jack "Black Jack" Ashford, Bob Babbitt, Johnny
Griffith, Joe Hunter, Uriel Jones, Joe Messina, Eddie "Chank" Willis, Benny
"Papa Zita" Benjamin, James "Igor" Jamerson, Eddie "Bongo" Brown, Earl
"Chunk of Funk" Van Dyke, Robert White and Richard "Pistol" Allen. Also
appearing: Joan Osborne, Gerald Levert, Me'shell NdegeOcello, Bootsy
Collins, Ben Harper, Chaka Khan, Montell Jordan and Tom Scott.
Artisan Pictures Inc. presents a film directed by Paul Justman. Written by
Walter Dallas and Ntozake Shange. Based on the book by Allan Slutsky.
Running time: 108 minutes. Rated PG.(for language and thematic elements).

BY ROGER EBERT

Think of the Supremes, Gladys Knight, Smokey Robinson, Marvin Gaye, Martha
Reeves, Stevie Wonder and the Temptations. You hold decades of pop musical
history in your mind: The Motown Sound. Now ask who the instrumentalists
were on their records. Or don't even bother, because the question is asked
and answered in the affectionate new documentary "Standing in the Shadows of
Motown." In the movie, fans are asked, who played on the recordings with
those artists? Who for example was behind Gladys Knight? "The Pips?" asks
one Motown fan.

No, it wasn't the Pips, the Miracles or the Vandellas. The musicians who
played behind all of the Motown stars on their studio recordings were the
Funk Brothers. The Funk Brothers? Paul Justman's documentary, based on a
book by Allan Slutsky, gives belated praise to Motown's house musicians, the
men who played under all the Motown hits recorded in Detroit.

The hero of the Funk Brothers themselves seems to have been the late James
Jamerson, the bass player who used only one finger but seemed able to keep
two times at once. Their stories about him are legion. The other original
Funks were drummer Benny Benjamin, pianist Joe Hunter and guitarists Eddie
Willis and Joe Messina. The movie always talks with or about perhaps a dozen
other musicians who played on many or most of the Motown records, but it's
difficult to keep them straight--because, of course, they were not famous.

And yet the Motown Sound was, quite simply, their sound. No disrespect to
the singers, but, as drummer Steve Gordon observes, "You could have had
Deputy Dawg singin' on some of this stuff." The documentary argues that they
played on hits that sold more records than the Beatles, Elvis, the Beach
Boys and the Rolling Stones combined--but were almost anonymous.

The first Motown sides were cut in "Studio A," which was simply the garage
of Berry Gordy, the label's founder. It was down four steps from his kitchen
and originally had a dirt floor. Along with Sun Studios in Memphis, it was
one of the birthplaces of the last half-century of American hit music. The
movie returns to that location ("Hitsville, USA") for sessions in which the
surviving Funk Brothers remember the good times and bad, and the very sound
of the studio itself.

Sessions would last all day and into the night. A producer would come in
with a song and a few chords and they'd play with it, adapting it to the
house style, adding a touch here, a riff there, until it emerged as the big,
bold and sometimes almost unreasonably happy Motown Sound. In one of the
movie's best sequences, we see them cobbling a song together almost from
scratch. Sometimes, they remember, they were so overworked they'd hide out
in a nearby funeral parlor, where Gordy wouldn't think to look for them.

The sound was born in and nurtured by a series of Detroit clubs, places like
the Chit Chat and 20 Grand, now closed, where the Funks and other musicians
got their start and returned to their roots. Separately they were great and
together they were beyond great; it's clear that working steadily behind
literally hundreds of hits fused them into a group that all but thought with
one mind. As they remember those days, they're like military veterans or the
members of a World Series team, and we realize nothing that came after ever
held the same joy for them.

The Motown Sound came to an end in 1972, when Gordy moved the label from
Detroit to Los Angeles, with "no warning and no acknowledgement." The Funks
found out from a notice tacked to the door. Some of them followed Motown to
the coast, but the magic was gone, and the movie doesn't ask the obvious
question: Why didn't some of the singers they worked with know how important
they were, and demand them, or return to Detroit to record with them?

"Standing in the Shadows of Motown" interlaces interviews with the surviving
Funk Brothers with new performances of many of the hit songs, and some
sequences in which events of the past are re-created. The flashback
sequences are not especially effective, but are probably better than more
talking heads. Or maybe not. The contemporary performers who sing in front
of the Funks include Joan Osborne, Ben Harper, Me'shell NdegeOcello, Montell
Jordan, Gerald Levert, Chaka Khan and the flamboyant Bootsy Collins, who
upstages the Funks, not to his own advantage.

What's interesting about these performances is that the singers make no
attempt to imitate the original artists, and yet the Funks turn the songs
into soundalikes anyway. Is it possible those great Motown stars were more
or less created by these unsung musicians? The Funks think that is a
distinct possibility. Of course, the backup singers had a lot to do with it,
too, and this movie never gets around to them. They're in the shadows of the
shadows.

Note:Sad news. Johnny Griffith, one of the Funk Brothers, died over the past
weekend. A reminder that this film comes just in time.

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From: [e-mail]
Subject: [MV] HARRY POTTER AND THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS / **** (PG)
Date: 15 Nov 2002 17:16:50 GMT

HARRY POTTER AND THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS / **** (PG)

November 15, 2002

Harry Potter: Daniel Radcliffe
Ron Weasley: Rupert Grint
Hermione Granger: Emma Watson
Lucius Malfoy: Jason Isaacs
Prof. Snape: Alan Rickman
Prof. McGonagal: Maggie Smith
Hagrid the Giant: Robbie Coltrane
Prof. Albus Dumbledore: Richard Harris
Draco Malfoy: Tom Felton
Warner Bros. Pictures presents a film directed by Chris Columbus. Written by
Steve Kloves. Based on the novel by J.K. Rowling. Running time: 161 minutes.
Rated PG.(for scary moments, some creature violence and mild language).

BY ROGER EBERT

The first movie was the setup, and this one is the payoff. "Harry Potter and
the Chamber of Secrets" leaves all of the explanations of wizardry behind
and plunges quickly into an adventure that's darker and scarier than
anything in the first Harry Potter movie. It's also richer: The second in a
planned series of seven Potter films is brimming with invention and new
ideas, and its Hogwarts School seems to expand and deepen before our very
eyes into a world large enough to conceal unguessable secrets.

What's developing here, it's clear, is one of the most important franchises
in movie history, a series of films that consolidate all of the advances in
computer-aided animation, linked to the extraordinary creative work of J.K.
Rowling, who has created a mythological world as grand as "Star Wars," but
filled with more wit and humanity. Although the young wizard Harry Potter is
nominally the hero, the film remembers the golden age of moviemaking, when
vivid supporting characters crowded the canvas. The story is about
personalities, personal histories and eccentricity, not about a superstar
superman crushing the narrative with his egotistical weight.

In the new movie, Harry (Daniel Radcliffe, a little taller and
deeper-voiced) returns with his friends Ron Weasley (Rupert Grint) and
Hermione Granger (Emma Watson, in the early stages of babehood). They
sometimes seem to stand alone amid the alarming mysteries of Hogwarts, where
even the teachers, even the august headmaster Albus Dumbledore (Richard
Harris), even the learned professors Snape (Alan Rickman) and McGonagall
(Maggie Smith), even the stalwart Hagrid the Giant (Robbie Coltrane) seem
mystified and a little frightened by the school's dread secrets.

Is there indeed a Chamber of Secrets hidden somewhere in the vast pile of
Hogwarts? Can it only be opened by a descendent of Salazar Slytherin, the
more sinister of the school's co-founders? Does it contain a monster? Has
the monster already escaped, and is it responsible for paralyzing some of
the students, whose petrified bodies are found in the corridors, and whose
bodies are carried to the infirmary still frozen in a moment of time? Do the
answers to these questions originate in events many years ago, when even the
ancient Dumbledore was (marginally) younger? And does a diary by a former
student named Tom Marvolo Riddle--a book with nothing written in it, but
whose pages answer questions in a ghostly handwriting--provide the clues
that Harry and his friends need? (Answer to all of the above: Probably.)

This puzzle could be solved in a drab and routine movie with characters
wandering down old stone corridors, but one of the pleasures of Chris
Columbus' direction of "Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets" is how
visually alive it is. This is a movie that answers any objection to computer
animation with glorious or creepy sights that blend convincingly with the
action. Hogwarts itself seems to have grown since the first movie, from a
largish sort of country house into a thing of spires and turrets, vast rooms
and endlessly convoluted passageways, lecture halls and science labs, with
as much hidden below the ground as visible above it. Even the Quiddich game
is held in a larger stadium (maybe rich alumni were generous?). There are
times, indeed, when the scope of Hogwarts seems to approach that of
Gormenghast, the limitless edifice in the trilogy by Mervyn Peake that was
perhaps one of Rowling's inspirations.

The production designer is Stuart Craig, returning from "Harry Potter and
the Sorcerer's Stone." He has created (there is no other way to put it) a
world here, a fully realized world with all the details crowded in, so that
even the corners of the screen are intriguing. This is one of the rare
recent movies you could happily watch with the sound turned off, just for
the joy of his sets, the costumes by Judianna Makovsky and Lindy Hemming,
and the visual effects (the Quiddich match seems even more
three-dimensional, the characters swooping across the vast field, as Harry
finds himself seriously threatened by the odorous Malfoy).

There are three new characters this time, one delightful, one conceited, one
malevolent. Professor Sprout (Miriam Margolyes) is on the biology faculty,
and teaches a class on the peculiar properties of the mandrake plant, made
all the most amusing by students of John Donne who are familiar with the
additional symbolism of the mandrake only hinted at in class. The more you
know about mandrakes, the funnier Sprout's class is.

She is the delightful addition. The conceited new faculty member,
deliciously cast, is Gilderoy Lockhart (Kenneth Branagh), author of the
autobiography Magical Me, who thinks of himself as a consummate magician but
whose spell to heal Harry's broken arm has unfortunate results. And then
there is Lucius Malfoy (Jason Isaacs), father of the supercilious Draco, who
skulks about as if he should be hated just on general principles.

These characters and plot elements draw together in late action sequences of
genuine power, which may be too intense for younger viewers. There is a most
alarming confrontation with spiders and a scary late duel with a dragon, and
these are handled not as jolly family movie episodes, but with the
excitement of a mainstream thriller. While I am usually in despair when a
movie abandons its plot for a third act given over entirely to action, I
have no problem with the way "Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets" ends,
because it has been pointing toward this ending, hinting about it, preparing
us for it, all the way through. What a glorious movie.

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From: [e-mail]
Subject: [MV] THE CRIME OF FATHER AMARO (EL CRIMEN DEL PADRE AMARO) / *** (R)
Date: 15 Nov 2002 17:16:55 GMT

THE CRIME OF FATHER AMARO (EL CRIMEN DEL PADRE AMARO) / *** (R)

November 15, 2002

Padre Amaro:    Gael Garcia Bernal
Amelia:    Ana Claudia Talancon
Padre Benito:    Sancho Gracia
Padre Natalio:    Damian Alcazar
Sanjuanera:    Angelica Aragon
Bishop Ernesto: Gomez Cruz

Columbia Tristar and Samuel Goldwyn Films present a film directed by Carlos
Carrera. Written by Vicente Lenero. Based on the novel by Eca de Queiroz.
Running time: 120 minutes. Rated R (for sexuality, language and some
disturbing images). In Spanish with English subtitles.

BY ROGER EBERT

"The Crime of Father Amaro" arrives surrounded by controversy. One of the
most successful Mexican films in history, it has been denounced by William
Donohue of the Catholic League for its "vicious" portrait of priests; on the
other hand, Father Rafael Gonzalez, speaking for the Council of Mexican
Bishops, calls it an "honest movie" and describes it as "a wake-up call for
the church to review its procedure for selecting and training priests and
being closer to the people."

Both sides treat the film as a statement about the church, when in fact it's
more of a melodrama, a film that doesn't say priests are bad but observes
that priests are human and some humans are bad. What may really offend its
critics is that young Father Amaro's crime is not having sex with a local
girl and helping her find an abortion. His crime is that he covers up this
episode and denies his responsibility because of his professional ambitions
within the church. Young Father Amaro thinks he has a rosy future ahead of
him.

The movie is based on an 1875 Portuguese novel by Eca de Queiroz,
transplanted to modern Mexico. It gives us Padre Amaro (Gael Garcia Bernal)
as a rising star in the church, a protege of the bishop (Ernesto Gomez
Cruz), who ships him to the provincial capital of Los Reyes to season a
little under an old clerical hand, Padre Benito (Sancho Gracia). Benito has
been having a long-running affair with the restaurant owner Sanjuanera
(Angelica Aragon), whose attractive daughter, Amelia (Ana Claudia Talancon),
may possibly be theirs. There is the implication that the bishop knows about
Benito's sex life but doesn't much care and sends Amaro to Los Reyes for
exposure to the church's realpolitik; that the bishop knows Benito's
ambitious program of hospital construction is financed through money he
launders for local drug lords. It is likely the bishop approves more of
priests like Benito, who raise money and get results, than of another local
priest, Padre Natalio (Damian Alcazar), who supports the guerrillas waging
war against the drug lords.

Once established in the local basilica, Amaro cannot help but notice the
fragrant Amelia. And she develops an instant infatuation with the handsome
young priest, whose unavailability makes him irresistible. Amelia has been
dating a local newspaperman named Ruben (Andreas Montiel) but drops him the
moment Amaro expresses veiled interest. Soon Amaro and Amelia are violating
the church's laws of priestly celibacy, and eventually she is pregnant, and
this fate leads them to an illegal abortion clinic on a back road in the
jungle.

The film has been attacked for the sacrilege of showing a priest paying for
an abortion, but since he related to Amelia as a man, not a priest, there is
a certain consistency in his behavior. It is also consistent that he would
attempt to hide his crime, because, like Benito, he finds it easy to make
himself a personal exception to general rules. There is still a little
seminary idealism in Amaro, enough to be shocked that Benito is taking drug
money to build the hospital, but part of Amaro is already wamning to
Benito's logic: "We are taking bad money and making it good." This theology
is not unique to that time or place, or even to that church; we are reminded
of the CIA using drug money to finance its friends.

The film is directed in a straightforward way by Carlos Carrera, who makes
it direct and heartfelt, like a soap opera. The presence of Bernal in the
cast is a reminder of his work as one of the two young men in "Y Tu Mama
Tambien" (2001), a film where the ethical issues were more complex and
deeply buried. There are no complexities here, unless they involve Amaro's
gradual corruption in the real world of church politics and money.

Is the film harmful to the church? I tend to agree with Gonzalez, who finds
that fresh air is a help, not a harm. Donohue and his league predictably
denounce every movie that is unfavorable to the church, undeterred by the
fact that their opposition helps publicize the films and sell tickets (no
movie has even been harmed by being called "controversial").

Predictably, the film's critics are most upset by Amaro's sexual behavior,
when in fact the film's real questions run deeper, and are political: Has
the church sometimes kept company with unsavory sources of financing? Is the
policy of celibacy more observed in the breach than in the observance? Are
laws against abortion made by men in the daylight and violated by them in
the darkness? Is the church more comfortable allied with an amoral
establishment than with a moral opposition? These questions are lost in the
excitement about sex, which is often the way it works: Carnal guilt clouds
our minds, distracting us from more important issues.

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From: [e-mail]
Subject: [MV] FAR FROM HEAVEN / **** (PG-13)
Date: 15 Nov 2002 17:16:47 GMT

FAR FROM HEAVEN / **** (PG-13)

November 15, 2002

Cathy Whitaker: Julianne Moore
Frank Whitaker: Dennis Quaid
Raymond Deagan: Dennis Haysbert
Eleanor Fine: Patricia Clarkson
Sybil: Viola Davis
Focus Features presents a film written and directed by Todd Haynes. Running
time: 107 minutes. Rated PG-13 (for mature thematic elements, sexual
content, brief violence and language).

BY ROGER EBERT

Todd Haynes' "Far from Heaven" is like the best and bravest movie of 1957.
Its themes, values and style faithfully reflect the social melodramas of the
1950s, but it's bolder, and says out loud what those films only hinted at.
It begins with an ideal suburban Connecticut family, a husband and wife
"team" so thoroughly absorbed into corporate culture they're known as "Mr.
and Mrs. Magnatech." Then it develops that Mr. Magnatech is gay, and Mrs.
Magnatech believes that the black gardener is the most beautiful man she has
ever seen.

They are the Whitakers, Cathy and Frank (Julianne Moore and Dennis Quaid).
They live in a perfect split-level house on a perfect street, where the
autumn leaves are turning to gold. Their little son is reprimanded for rude
language like "Aw, shucks." Of course she drives a station wagon. Mona
Lauder (Celia Weston), the local society editor, is writing a profile about
their perfection.

One slight shadow clouds the sun. While being interviewed by Celia, Cathy
sees a strange black man in the yard, and walks outside to ask, ever so
politely, if she can "help" him. He introduces himself: Raymond Deagan
(Dennis Haysbert), son of their usual gardener, who has died. Cathy, who has
a good heart, instinctively reaches out to touch Raymond on the shoulder in
sympathy, and inside the house the gesture is noted by Celia, who adds to
her profile that Cathy is a "friend to Negroes."

Frank Whitaker is one of those big, good-looking guys who looks like a
college athlete gone slightly to seed, or drink. One night Cathy has to pick
him up at the police station after an incident involving "one lousy
cocktail." In another scene we see him enter a gay bar, where in these days
long before Stonewall, the men exchange furtive, embarrassed glances as if
surprised to find themselves there. One night Cathy makes the mistake of
taking Frank his dinner when he works late, and opens his office door to
find him kissing a man.

The movie accurately reflects the values of the 1950s, and you can see that
in a scene where Frank says his homosexuality makes him feel "despicable"
but he's "going to lick this problem." The key to the power of "Far from
Heaven" is that it's never ironic; there is never a wink or a hint that the
filmmakers have more enlightened ideas than their characters. This is not a
movie that knows more than was known in 1957, but a movie that knows exactly
what mainstream values were in 1957--and traps us in them, along with its
characters.

Frank and Cathy have no sex life. Cathy is not attracted to Raymond so much
sexually, however, as she's in awe of his kindness and beauty, which is so
adamantly outside her segregated world. She hardly knows how to talk with
him. At one point she says that "Mr. Whitaker and I support equal rights for
the Negro." Raymond looks at her level-eyed and says, "I'm happy to hear
that." He has a business degree, but has inherited the same gardening
business that supported his father; a widower, he dotes on his 11-year-old
daughter.

The plot advances on a public and a private front. Publicly, word starts to
get around that Cathy has been "seen" with the black gardener. Only
that--"seen." Once when they take a ride in his truck, they enter a black
diner, where their reception is as frosty as it would have been in a white
place. Neither race approves of mixed couples. Soon people start to "talk,"
and Frank, the hypocrite, screams at her about all he's done to build up the
reputation of the family, only to hear these stories. Frank's homosexuality
of course remains deeply buried. A psychiatrist (James Rebhorn) muses about
"aversion therapy" but warns that the "majority of cases cannot be cured."
Frank drinks heavily and turns ugly, and Cathy's feelings for Raymond grow,
but she has no idea how to act on them. Mr. and Mrs. Magnatech need a
repairman.

"Far from Heaven" uses superb craftsmanship to make this film look and feel
like a film from the 1950s. Todd Haynes says he had three specific
inspirations: Douglas Sirk's "All That Heaven Allows" (1955), which starred
Jane Wyman and Rock Hudson in the story of a middle-aged widow and her
handsome young gardener; Sirk's "Imitation of Life" (1959), with Lana Turner
as a rich woman whose maid's daughter (Susan Kohner) passed for white, and
Max Ophuls' "The Reckless Moment" (1949), about blackmail. In Sirk's films
you often have the feeling that part of the plot is in code; that one kind
of forbidden love stands for another.

The movie benefits enormously from its cinematography by Ed Lachman, who
faithfully reproduces the lush 1950s studio style; the opening downward
crane shot of autumn leaves is matched by the closing upward crane shot of
spring blossoms, and every shot has the studied artifice of 1950s "set
decoration," which was not so different, after all, from 1950s "interior
decoration." The musical score, by Elmer Bernstein, is true to the time,
with its underlining of points and its punching-up of emotions. Haynes said
in an interview that "every element" of his film has been "drawn from and
filtered through film grammar."

One detail is particularly true to the time: Interracial love and homosexual
love are treated as being on different moral planes. The civil rights
revolution predated gay liberation by about 10 years, and you can see that
here: The movie doesn't believe Raymond and Cathy have a plausible future
together, but there is bittersweet regret that they do not. When Frank meets
a young man and falls in love, however, the affair is not ennobled but
treated as a matter of motel rooms and furtive meetings. Haynes is
pitch-perfect here in noting that homosexuality, in the 1950s, still dared
not speak its name.

Because the film deliberately lacks irony, it has a genuine dramatic impact;
it plays like a powerful 1957 drama we've somehow never seen before. The
effect is oddly jolting: Contemporary movies take so many subjects for
granted that they never really look at them. Haynes, by moving back in time,
is able to bring his issues into focus. We care about the characters in the
way its period expected us to. (There is one time rupture; Frank uses the
f-word to his wife and the fabric of the film breaks, only to be repaired
when he apologizes.)

Julianne Moore, Dennis Quaid and Dennis Haysbert are called on to play
characters whose instincts are wholly different from their own. By
succeeding, they make their characters real, instead of stereotypes. The
tenderness of Cathy and Raymond's unrealized love is filled with regret that
is all the more touching because they acknowledge that their society will
not accept them as a couple. When Raymond and his daughter leave town, Cathy
suggests may she could visit them sometimes, in Baltimore, but Raymond
gently replies, "I'm not sure that would be a good idea."

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From: [e-mail]
Subject: [MV] THE EMPEROR'S CLUB / *** (PG-13)
Date: 22 Nov 2002 16:25:01 GMT

THE EMPEROR'S CLUB / *** (PG-13)

November 22, 2002

William Hundert:    Kevin Kline
Sedgewick Bell:    Emile Hirsch
Elizabeth:    Embeth Davidtz
James Ellerby:    Rob Morrow
Martin Blythe:    Paul Dano

Universal Pictures presents a film directed by Michael Hoffman. Written by
Neil Tolkin. Based on the short story "The Palace Thief" by Ethan Canin.
Running time: 109 minutes. Rated PG-13 (for some sexual content). Opening
today at local theaters.

BY ROGER EBERT

"The Emperor's Club" tells the story of a teacher who fixes the results of
an academic competition and twice allows a well-connected student to get
away with cheating. Because he privately tells the cheater he is a heel, the
film presents him as a great educator, but he is correct when he tells that
student: "I failed you." The chief curiosity of the film is how it seems to
present one view of the teacher, but cannot prevent itself from revealing
another.

The film will not be generally interpreted in this way, and will be hailed
in the latest of a series of sentimental portraits of great teachers, which
include "Goodbye, Mr. Chips," "The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie," "Dead Poets'
Society" and "Mr. Holland's Opus." All of those are enjoyable films, except
for "Dead Poets," which is more of a show-biz biopic with students as the
audience. None of them have the nerve to venture into the tricky ethical
quicksand of "The Emperor's Club." The movie is too methodical, but it
doesn't avoid the hard questions.

Kevin Kline plays William Hundert. who as the film opens has retired after
teaching the classics for 34 years at St. Benedictus School for Boys, a
private East Coast institution that has an invisible conveyor belt leading
directly from its door to the Ivy League and the boardrooms of the
Establishment. The students are the children of rich men. The purpose of the
school is theoretically to mold them into leaders. Hundert tells them that
"a man's character is his fate" and asks them, "How will history remember
you?" But more truth is contained in the words of a U.S. senator whose son
is in trouble at the school: "You, sir, will not mold my son! I will mold
him."

The troubled student is Sedgewick Bell (Emile Hirsch), a smart-aleck who
interrupts in class, disrespects the teacher, and has a valise under his bed
that is jammed with men's magazines, booze, condoms and a pack of Luckys.
Despite all of the molding and shaping St. Benedictus has performed on its
students, the other boys of course idolize Sedgewick. Strange how, among the
young, there is nothing sillier than a man who wants you to think hard and
do well, and nothing more attractive than a contemporary who celebrates
irony and ignorance. So numerous are these slackwits that now they even have
their own newspapers published for them.

Mr. Hundert is a bachelor, ferociously dedicated to being a good teacher,
and silently in love with the fragrant Elizabeth (Embeth Davidtz), wife of
another faculty member. She also loves him, but marriage and rectitude stand
between them, and there is an effective scene when she says
goodbye--forever, she thinks. Hundert redoubles his teaching efforts, which
climax, every school year, with the Mr. Julius Caesar contest, in which the
three best students compete in a sort of quiz show.

(Spoilers follow.) After a rocky start, Sedgewick begins to apply himself to
his work--not so much because of Hundert as because of dire threats from his
father, the no doubt thoroughly corrupt U.S. senator (Harris Yulin). When
final exams are written, Sedgewick has so improved that he finishes fourth.
But because Hundert wants to reward that improvement, and because even for
him a rebel is more attractive than a bookworm, the professor takes another
long look as Sedgewick's paper and, after much brow-furrowing, improves his
grade and makes him a finalist.

The movie wisely never says if Sedgewick deserves to be upgraded, although
we suspect that if he had placed third in the first place, Hundert would not
have taken another long look at the fourth-place paper. In any event,
Sedgewick competes in the big contest, and cheats, and is seen by Hundert,
who finds a silent and tactful way to force him to lose.

Now many years pass. Sedge-wick is himself a rich man and wants to run for
senator, and will give an enormous endowment to St. Benedictus on the
condition that there be a re-run of the original Mr. Julius Caesar contest.
Does he at last redeem himself? You will have to see for yourself. What is
interesting about the movie is that Mr. Hundert is fully aware of his
ethical shortcomings in the matter of young Sedgewick. He does not let him
win, but does not expose him. And the movie does not provide the kind of
ending we fear the material is building up to, but finds its own subtle way
to see that justice is done. The mechanics of the eventual confrontation
between Sedgewick and his own son are ingenious, devastating and
unanswerable.

We are so accustomed to noble teachers that "The Emperor's Club" surprises
us by providing one who is dedicated, caring and skillful, but flawed. As a
portrait of the escalator that speeds the sons of the rich upward toward
power, it is unusually realistic. Kevin Kline's performance shows a deep
understanding of the character, who is, after all, better than most
teachers, and most men. We care for him, not because he is perfect, but
because he regrets so sincerely that he is not.

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From: [e-mail]
Subject: [MV] DIE ANOTHER DAY / *** (PG-13)
Date: 22 Nov 2002 16:24:44 GMT

DIE ANOTHER DAY / *** (PG-13)

November 22, 2002

James Bond:     Pierce Brosnan
Jinx:     Halle Berry
Gustav Graves:     Toby Stephens
Miranda Frost:     Rosamund Pike
Zao:     Rick Yune
Q:     John Cleese
M:     Judi Dench

MGM presents a film directed by Lee Tamahori. Written by Neal Purvis and
Robert Wade. Running time: 123 minutes. Rated PG-13 (for action violence and
sexuality).

BY ROGER EBERT

I realized with a smile, 15 minutes into the new James Bond movie, that I
had unconsciously accepted Pierce Brosnan as Bond without thinking about
Sean Connery, Roger Moore or anyone else. He has become the landlord, not
the tenant. Handsome if a little weary, the edges of an Irish accent curling
around the edges of the Queen's English, he plays a preposterous character
but does not seem preposterous playing him.

"Die Another Day" is the 20th Bond film in 40 years, not counting "Casino
Royale." Midway through it, Bond's boss M tells him, "While you were away,
the world changed." She refers to the months he spent imprisoned at the
hands of North Korean torturers, but she might also be referring to the
world of Bondian thrillers. This movie has the usual impossible stunts, as
when Bond surfs down the face of a glacier being melted by a laser beam from
space. But it has just as many scenes that are lean and tough enough to fit
in any modern action movie.

It also has a heroine who benefits from 40 years of progress in the way we
view women. When Halle Berry, as Jinx, first appears in the movie there is a
deliberate and loving tribute to the first Bond girl, Ursula Andress, in
"Dr. No" (1962). In both movies, the woman emerges from the surf wearing a
bikini which, in slow motion, seems to be playing catch-up. Even the wide
belt is the same. But Jinx is a new kind of Bond girl. She still likes
naughty double entendres (Bond says "My friends call me James Bond" and she
replies, "Well that's a mouthful"). But in "Die Another Day" her character
is not simply decoration or reward, but a competent and deadly agent who
turns the movie at times into almost a buddy picture.

The film opens with an unusual touch: The villains are not fantastical
fictions, but real. The North Koreans have for the time being joined the
Nazis as reliable villains, and Bond infiltrates in order to--I dunno, deal
with some "African Conflict Diamonds," if I heard correctly, but I wasn't
listening carefully because the diamonds are only the MacGuffin. They do,
however, decorate the memorable cheekbones of one of the villains, Zao (Rick
Yune), who seems to have skidded face down through a field of them at high
impact.

A chase scene involving hover tanks in a mine field is somewhat clumsy, the
hover tank not being the most graceful of vehicles, and then Bond is
captured and tortured for months. He's freed in a prisoner exchange, only to
find that M (Judi Dench) suspects him of having been brainwashed. Is he
another Manchurian Candidate? Eventually he proves himself and after a visit
to Q (John Cleese) for a new supply of gadgets, including an invisible car,
he's back into action in the usual series of sensational stunt sequences.
For the first time in the Bond series, a computer-generated sequence joins
the traditional use of stunt men and trick photography; a disintegrating
plane in a closing scene is pretty clearly all made of ones and zeroes, but
by then we've seen too many amazing sights to quibble.

The North Koreans are allied with Gustav Graves (Toby Stephens), a
standard-issue world-dominating Bond villain, whose orbiting space mirror is
not exactly original. What is original is Gustav's decision to house his
operation in a vast ice building in Iceland; since his mirror operates to
focus heat on the Earth, this seems like asking for trouble, and indeed
before long the ice palace is melting down, and Jinx is trapped in a locked
room with the water level rising toward the ceiling. (Exactly why the room
itself doesn't melt is a question countless readers will no doubt answer for
me.)

Other characters include the deadly Miranda Frost (Rosamund Pike), whose
name is a hint as to which side she is on, and Damian Falco (Michael
Madsen), whose name unites two villainous movie dynasties and leaves me
looking forward to Freddy Lecter. Oh, and Miss Moneypenny (Samantha Bond),
who seems to have been overlooked, makes a last-minute appearance and
virtually seduces Bond.

The film has been directed by Lee Tamahori (whose credits include "Once Were
Warriors" and "Mulholland Falls"), from New Zealand, who has tilted the
balance away from humor and toward pure action. With "Austin Powers"
breathing down the neck of the franchise, he told Sight & Sound
magazine, it seemed like looking for trouble to broaden the traditional
farcical elements. "Die Another Day" is still utterly absurd from one end to
the other, of course, but in a slightly more understated way.

And so it goes, Bond after Bond, as the most durable series in movie history
heads for the half-century. There is no reason to believe this franchise
will ever die. I suppose that is a blessing.

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From: [e-mail]
Subject: [MV] SLEEPY TIME GAL / ***1/2 (R)
Date: 22 Nov 2002 16:24:56 GMT

SLEEPY TIME GAL / ***1/2 (R)

November 22, 2002

Frances:    Jacqueline Bisset
Rebecca:    Martha Plimpton
Morgan:    Nick Stahl
Maggie:     Amy Madigan
Bob:     Seymour Cassel
Betty:     Peggy Gormley
Jimmy Dupree: Frankie Faison
Anna:    Carmen Zapata

Antarctic Pictures presents a film written and directed by Christopher
Munch. Running time: 94 minutes. Rated R (for brief nudity and language).

BY ROGER EBERT

Oh, what a sad story this is, about a woman who never accepted anything good
in her life because she was hoping for something better. Now she is dying,
and in her quiet and civilized way is trying to double back and see what can
be retrieved. We think we'll have enough time to tidy up the loose ends, and
then death slams down.

"Sleepy Time Gal" stars Jacqueline Bisset as Frances, a woman who in some
ways has led an admirable life. She made her own way. Very early, she was
the late-night disk jockey on a Florida radio station, and her later jobs
reflected various causes or passing fancies. She was married twice, had a
son by each marriage--and she also, we learn, had a daughter by a third man
and gave her up for adoption. She has not been an attentive mother. One of
the sons faithfully attends her bedside, but he observes, "She doesn't
really know very much about me"--perhaps not even that he is gay. The other
son phones in from London but will not supply a return number. She wishes
she could contact the daughter.

We meet that daughter early in the film. She is Rebecca (Martha Plimpton),
raised by foster parents in Boston, now a corporate lawyer. She travels to
Daytona Beach to buy a radio station for her employer and has the taxi stop
outside a hospital there--the hospital, she knows, where she was born. She
looks at it, but what can it tell her? Drive on.

The radio station for many years played rhythm and blues; it was a "race
station" when such stations were unknown, says its proud owner, Jimmy
(Frankie Faison). He wants to give its record collection to the local
community college. "I'll be damned if I know what it is that makes this deal
so sad," Rebecca says, but Jimmy is not sad; he plans to travel with his
wife, maybe to Malaysia. Rebecca asks him why he never moved to a bigger
market. There were a lot of reasons, he says, and one of them was love. He
loved the announcer who was known as the Sleepy Time Gal. Rebecca, looking
at her photograph, has no way of knowing it is her mother. That night
Rebecca sleeps with Jimmy, who has no way of knowing she is the daughter of
the Sleepy Time Gal.

The film is written and directed by Christopher Munch, who made "The Hours
and Times" (1991), about a trip to Spain during which John Lennon
experiments with homosexuality. In "Sleepy Time Gal," he does an unexpected
thing. He shows us a story that is not completed and, because of death, will
never be completed. Movies are fond of deathbed scenes in which all matters
are sealed and wounds cured, but sometimes, with plain bad timing, people
just die and leave matters undetermined. Frances has led an interrupted life
and her death will not be tidy, either.

Consider one of the most beautiful and mysterious scenes in the movie, where
Frances visits the Pennsylvania farm of a former lover and his wife. She is
in remission at the time. Bob and Betty (Seymour Cassel and Peggy Gormley)
have been happily married for 30 years. But always Betty has known that
Frances occupies emotional ground in her husband's mind. She doesn't know
they had a daughter, but she senses their feeling for each other and feels
no jealousy. That Bob still loves Frances is clear from the first time we
see him, in an extraordinary closeup. I have seen Seymour Cassel in
countless roles over the years but did not guess he had a smile like the one
he uses to greet Frances at the airport--the smile of a happy man who is
happy as a puppy dog to see her. This smile replaces 20 minutes of
exposition.

But see how the visit goes. Listen to the conversation between Frances and
Betty, and listen later to how it is recycled in the book Betty writes,
which glimpses the love of Bob and Frances from outside. The book is only
guessing but becomes all that remains of that love. Frances flees from
Pennsylvania as she has fled, we suspect, from everything: She is not a bad
woman, but she mistrusts happiness and is frightened of belonging to anyone.

After the grace of remission, she begins to fail, and the watch at the
deathbed is by her son Morgan (Nick Stahl) and nurse, Maggie (Amy Madigan).
They deal with her and comfort her. They care for her. But this is a
difficult woman to deal with. Meanwhile, on the East Coast, Rebecca
continues her search for her birth parents. "Sleepy Time Gal" is not,
however, about a deathbed reunion; having given away this child, Frances
finds she cannot get her back again at her own convenience.

Munch's screenplay is tenderly observant of his characters. He watches them
as they float within the seas of their personalities. His scenes are short
and often unexpected. The story unfolds in sidelong glances. His people are
all stuck with who they are and speak in thoughtful, well-considered words,
as if afraid of being misquoted by destiny.

Life's missed opportunities, at the end, may seem more poignant to us than
those we embraced--because in our imagination they have a perfection that
reality can never rival. Bob and Frances might never have built a happy
marriage ("We felt the pull of our own futures away from each other," she
remembers), but their 30 years of unrealized romance has a kind of
perfection. Bob's wife understands that and remembers them both with love.
She writes a book. Rebecca, who by now knows who she is and who Bob was,
attends a book signing and meets her, but does not introduce herself. So one
life slips past another, all of us focused on our plans for eventual
perfection.

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From: [e-mail]
Subject: [MV] HOW I KILLED MY FATHER / ***1/2 (Not rated)
Date: 22 Nov 2002 16:24:54 GMT

HOW I KILLED MY FATHER / ***1/2 (Not rated)

November 22, 2002

Maurice:    Michel Bouquet
Jean-Luc:     Charles Berling
Isa:    Natacha Regnier
Patrick:    Stephane GuillonMyriem:    Amira Casar
Jean-Toussaint:    Hubert Kounde
Laetitia:    Karold Rocher

New Yorker Films presents a film directed by Anne Fontaine. Written by
Jacques Fieschi and Fontaine. In French with English subtitles. Running
time: 100 minutes. No MPAA rating.

BY ROGER EBERT

One day a letter comes from Africa, regretting to inform him that his father
has died, and was not able to return to France "as he had planned." That
night, during a party in his honor, Jean-Luc sees his father standing among
the other guests in the garden, beaming, nodding, his eyes twinkling: Yes,
it's really me. Is this the father returned from the dead, or was the letter
mistaken? The end of the film presents a third possibility.

"How I Killed My Father" is not about murder in the literal sense, although
that seems a possibility. It is about a man who would like to kill his
father, and who may have been killed spiritually by his father. Because his
father abandoned him and embraced freedom on a continent far away, the son
has turned in the opposite direction and jammed himself into a corner,
denying himself love, freedom, even children. This is a harrowing movie
about how parents know where all the buttons are, and how to push them.
Unlike most such stories, however, it doesn't blame the father for pushing
the buttons, but the son for having them. We choose to be unhappy.

The background is easily told. Thirty years ago, when Jean-Luc (Charles
Berling) was about 10, his father Maurice (Michel Bouquet) walked out and
never returned. Jean-Luc's younger brother Patrick (Stephane Guillon)
doesn't remember the old man, isn't as wounded, but is a feckless failure
who Jean-Luc has hired as a driver and assistant. It's almost as if this
relationship forces Jean-Luc to take over the father's responsibility for
Patrick.

Jean-Luc is a wealthy doctor in Versailles, running a clinic that promises
to combat the process of aging. A woman client asks about botox. A man
complains he will be elderly when his 2-year-old is grown. At home, Jean-Luc
lives with his wife Isa (Natacha Regnier), a "perfect" wife, hostess and
adornment. He has determined it would be dangerous for her to have children.

And then old Maurice materializes in the garden. Michel Bouquet, whose thin
lips and twinkling eyes have added a knowing mystery to so many films by
Chabrol and others, has returned unexplained. He would like money to reopen
his clinic in Africa, but that doesn't seem to be his real motive. Perhaps
he has returned simply because he is curious. He and Jean-Luc have that sort
of infuriating relationship where the father does not have to say anything
at all in order to be critical. His very silences are a reproach. His
pleasantries carry an edge of irony. Like many parents, he is more beloved
by strangers than by his children. Isa, for example, is drawn to him. And
Patrick, who has no history with him, likes him. Only hard, cold Jean-Luc,
who has founded his life on resentment, who takes no chances so he can never
be hurt, hates him.

The film, written and directed by Anne Fontaine, plays like a thriller that
is toying with us by delaying its explosion of violence. But the violence in
the film doesn't involve guns or blood. It involves quiet little statements,
some of them pleasantries, by which the father literally devastates his
son's system of defenses. By the end, hardly having raised his voice,
Maurice has returned to the son he hurt so much, and finished the job.

Fontaine tells the story with many scenes of unexpected insight. Curious,
how Jean-Luc wants to buy an expensive apartment for his mistress (Amira
Casar), who doesn't want one. Odd how he dotes on her child. One night a
hooker takes him home, and Fontaine shows him looking through a door that is
ajar, so he can see the hooker's parents at their evening meal. What are
these scenes for? To show him always yearningly on the outside of a family?
Who put him there? Is his wife really not capable of child-bearing?

"How I Killed My Father" is about cold people and their victims. It is the
misfortune of the brother and the wife to have Jean-Luc to deal with. He
treats them both with financial generosity, but they can never heal his
wound, and he lets them know that. So imagine Jean-Luc's pain when a young
African appears in Versailles to visit old Maurice. This visitor is a
doctor, too: "Your father was my mentor." One night Jean-Luc glimpses them
laughing together in a way he has never laughed with his father. Sometimes
in life we trade parents. Others are closer to our parents than we are. We
are closer to the parents of others than they are. Maybe it is so hard to be
successful as a parent and a child that this is what we're forced to do.
Jean-Luc's tragedy is not that he lost a father, but that he never found
another. He refused to look for one. And the father he never found is the
one he killed.

Copyright ⌐ Chicago Sun-Times Inc.

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From: [e-mail]
Subject: [MV] FRIDAY AFTER NEXT / ** (R)
Date: 22 Nov 2002 16:24:46 GMT

FRIDAY AFTER NEXT / ** (R)

November 22, 2002

Craig Jones:      Ice Cube
Day-Day :     Mike Epps
Mr. Jones :     John Witherspoon
Uncle Elroy :     Don "D.C." Curry
Mrs. Jones :     Anna Maria Horsford
Miss Pearly :     BeBe Drake
Money Mike :      Katt Micah Williams

New Line Cinema presents a film directed by Marcus Raboy. Written by Ice
Cube and D.J. Pooh. Running time: 85 minutes. Rated R (for language, sexual
content and drug use).

BY ROGER EBERT

Craig and Day-Day are back in the ghetto as "Friday After Next" opens, after
a relative's lottery win allowed them to spend the previous film, "Next
Friday," in the lap of luxury. They're behind on the rent, unemployed, and
as the picture opens their Christmas presents are being stolen by Santa
Claus. That's the ghetto for you--a point the movie makes again and again,
with humor that will cause some to laugh and others to cringe. There's
already a controversy about the movie's TV spots, which "coincidentally"
superimpose Santa's "Ho, ho, ho" over shots of black women.

As it happens, I saw the movie at about the same time as Adam Sandler's "8
Crazy Nights," another holiday picture with an ethnic angle. That probably
helped me get in a better spirit. Sandler's film is so mean-spirited that
"Friday After Next," for all of its vulgarity (and scatology, and
obscenity), seems almost benevolent by contrast. At least its characters
just wanna have fun and don't seem mad at the world.

The plot involves cousins Craig (Ice Cube) and Day-Day (Mike Epps) as
roommates who have made one promise too many to their landlady (BeBe Drake),
especially now that her man-mountain son Damon (Terry Crews) is out on
parole. Desperate to raise cash, they get a job as security guards in the
neighborhood mall where their fathers, Mr. Jones (John Witherspoon) and
Uncle Elroy (Don "D.C." Curry) run Bros. Bar-B-Q. Other stores include "Pimp
and Ho Fashions" and "Toys N the Hood," which is a nod to Ice Cube's debut
picture "Boyz N the Hood" but leaves an opening for "We Be Toys."

The action mostly centers around attempts to raise the rent money and
apprehend the thieving Santa, and there's a rent party which fills the
screen with a lot of music and dancing and an improbable number of
great-looking women. The landlady complains about the noise until she is
rewarded with favors both mind-altering and sexual from upstairs, leading to
the usual broad humor when Mrs. Jones (Anna Maria Horsford) finds her
husband cheating.

A team of cops, one white, one black, both with ribald names, drift in and
out. At one point they find a thriving marijuana bush in the cousins'
apartment, and Craig desperately explains that it's for "municipal use." It
turns out, once the cops confiscate the plant, that he's right.

Some of the better laughs come from Money Mike (Katt Micah Williams), who is
short but, because of his wardrobe, not easy to miss. He plays the
neighborhood pimp. Which leads me to wonder: Why, really, does this movie
need a pimp? And "hos" that are not part of Santa's dialogue?And as much pot
smoking as in a Cheech and Chong movie?

I guess there's an audience for it, and Ice Cube has paid dues in better and
more positive movies ("Barbershop" among them). But surely laughs can be
found in something other than this worked-over material. The original
"Friday" movie, back in 1995, benefited not only from the presence of Chris
Tucker but from a sweeter approach more based on human nature. The third
picture has reduced the "Friday" series to loud, broad vulgarity, including
Mr. Jones' obligatory battle with world-class flatulence. There's an
audience for it, but it could have been funnier and more innocent. It's
rated R, but when it hits the video stores you somehow know it will be
viewed at home as a family movie, and that's kind of sad.

Copyright ⌐ Chicago Sun-Times Inc.

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From: =?iso-8859-1?q?Julie=20Ogwayo?= <[e-mail]>
Subject: Re: [MV] THE EMPEROR'S CLUB / *** (PG-13)
Date: 23 Nov 2002 03:21:19 +0000 (GMT)

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PLEASE STOP SENDING THESE REVIEWS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! YOU'RE RUINING THE MAILING LIST
 [e-mail] wrote:THE EMPEROR'S CLUB / *** (PG-13)

November 22, 2002

William Hundert: Kevin Kline
Sedgewick Bell: Emile Hirsch
Elizabeth: Embeth Davidtz
James Ellerby: Rob Morrow
Martin Blythe: Paul Dano

Universal Pictures presents a film directed by Michael Hoffman. Written by
Neil Tolkin. Based on the short story "The Palace Thief" by Ethan Canin.
Running time: 109 minutes. Rated PG-13 (for some sexual content). Opening
today at local theaters.

BY ROGER EBERT

"The Emperor's Club" tells the story of a teacher who fixes the results of
an academic competition and twice allows a well-connected student to get
away with cheating. Because he privately tells the cheater he is a heel, the
film presents him as a great educator, but he is correct when he tells that
student: "I failed you." The chief curiosity of the film is how it seems to
present one view of the teacher, but cannot prevent itself from revealing
another.

The film will not be generally interpreted in this way, and will be hailed
in the latest of a series of sentimental portraits of great teachers, which
include "Goodbye, Mr. Chips," "The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie," "Dead Poets'
Society" and "Mr. Holland's Opus." All of those are enjoyable films, except
for "Dead Poets," which is more of a show-biz biopic with students as the
audience. None of them have the nerve to venture into the tricky ethical
quicksand of "The Emperor's Club." The movie is too methodical, but it
doesn't avoid the hard questions.

Kevin Kline plays William Hundert. who as the film opens has retired after
teaching the classics for 34 years at St. Benedictus School for Boys, a
private East Coast institution that has an invisible conveyor belt leading
directly from its door to the Ivy League and the boardrooms of the
Establishment. The students are the children of rich men. The purpose of the
school is theoretically to mold them into leaders. Hundert tells them that
"a man's character is his fate" and asks them, "How will history remember
you?" But more truth is contained in the words of a U.S. senator whose son
is in trouble at the school: "You, sir, will not mold my son! I will mold
him."

The troubled student is Sedgewick Bell (Emile Hirsch), a smart-aleck who
interrupts in class, disrespects the teacher, and has a valise under his bed
that is jammed with men's magazines, booze, condoms and a pack of Luckys.
Despite all of the molding and shaping St. Benedictus has performed on its
students, the other boys of course idolize Sedgewick. Strange how, among the
young, there is nothing sillier than a man who wants you to think hard and
do well, and nothing more attractive than a contemporary who celebrates
irony and ignorance. So numerous are these slackwits that now they even have
their own newspapers published for them.

Mr. Hundert is a bachelor, ferociously dedicated to being a good teacher,
and silently in love with the fragrant Elizabeth (Embeth Davidtz), wife of
another faculty member. She also loves him, but marriage and rectitude stand
between them, and there is an effective scene when she says
goodbye--forever, she thinks. Hundert redoubles his teaching efforts, which
climax, every school year, with the Mr. Julius Caesar contest, in which the
three best students compete in a sort of quiz show.

(Spoilers follow.) After a rocky start, Sedgewick begins to apply himself to
his work--not so much because of Hundert as because of dire threats from his
father, the no doubt thoroughly corrupt U.S. senator (Harris Yulin). When
final exams are written, Sedgewick has so improved that he finishes fourth.
But because Hundert wants to reward that improvement, and because even for
him a rebel is more attractive than a bookworm, the professor takes another
long look as Sedgewick's paper and, after much brow-furrowing, improves his
grade and makes him a finalist.

The movie wisely never says if Sedgewick deserves to be upgraded, although
we suspect that if he had placed third in the first place, Hundert would not
have taken another long look at the fourth-place paper. In any event,
Sedgewick competes in the big contest, and cheats, and is seen by Hundert,
who finds a silent and tactful way to force him to lose.

Now many years pass. Sedge-wick is himself a rich man and wants to run for
senator, and will give an enormous endowment to St. Benedictus on the
condition that there be a re-run of the original Mr. Julius Caesar contest.
Does he at last redeem himself? You will have to see for yourself. What is
interesting about the movie is that Mr. Hundert is fully aware of his
ethical shortcomings in the matter of young Sedgewick. He does not let him
win, but does not expose him. And the movie does not provide the kind of
ending we fear the material is building up to, but finds its own subtle way
to see that justice is done. The mechanics of the eventual confrontation
between Sedgewick and his own son are ingenious, devastating and
unanswerable.

We are so accustomed to noble teachers that "The Emperor's Club" surprises
us by providing one who is dedicated, caring and skillful, but flawed. As a
portrait of the escalator that speeds the sons of the rich upward toward
power, it is unusually realistic. Kevin Kline's performance shows a deep
understanding of the character, who is, after all, better than most
teachers, and most men. We care for him, not because he is perfect, but
because he regrets so sincerely that he is not.

Copyright ⌐ Chicago Sun-Times Inc.

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<P>PLEASE STOP SENDING THESE REVIEWS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! YOU'RE RUINING THE MAILING LIST
<P> <B><I>[e-mail]</I></B> wrote:
<BLOCKQUOTE style="PADDING-LEFT: 5px; MARGIN-LEFT: 5px; BORDER-LEFT: #1010ff 2px solid">THE EMPEROR'S CLUB / *** (PG-13) <BR><BR>November 22, 2002<BR><BR>William Hundert: Kevin Kline<BR>Sedgewick Bell: Emile Hirsch<BR>Elizabeth: Embeth Davidtz<BR>James Ellerby: Rob Morrow<BR>Martin Blythe: Paul Dano<BR><BR>Universal Pictures presents a film directed by Michael Hoffman. Written by<BR>Neil Tolkin. Based on the short story "The Palace Thief" by Ethan Canin.<BR>Running time: 109 minutes. Rated PG-13 (for some sexual content). Opening<BR>today at local theaters.<BR><BR>BY ROGER EBERT<BR><BR>"The Emperor's Club" tells the story of a teacher who fixes the results of<BR>an academic competition and twice allows a well-connected student to get<BR>away with cheating. Because he privately tells the cheater he is a heel, the<BR>film presents him as a great educator, but he is correct when he tells that<BR>student: "I failed you." The chief curiosity of the film is how it seems to<BR>present one view of the teacher, but cannot prevent itself from revealing<BR>another.<BR><BR>The film will not be generally interpreted in this way, and will be hailed<BR>in the latest of a series of sentimental portraits of great teachers, which<BR>include "Goodbye, Mr. Chips," "The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie," "Dead Poets'<BR>Society" and "Mr. Holland's Opus." All of those are enjoyable films, except<BR>for "Dead Poets," which is more of a show-biz biopic with students as the<BR>audience. None of them have the nerve to venture into the tricky ethical<BR>quicksand of "The Emperor's Club." The movie is too methodical, but it<BR>doesn't avoid the hard questions.<BR><BR>Kevin Kline plays William Hundert. who as the film opens has retired after<BR>teaching the classics for 34 years at St. Benedictus School for Boys, a<BR>private East Coast institution that has an invisible conveyor belt leading<BR>directly from its door to the Ivy League and the boardrooms of the<BR>Establishment. The students are the children of rich men. The purpose of the<BR>school is theoretically to mold them into leaders. Hundert tells them that<BR>"a man's character is his fate" and asks them, "How will history remember<BR>you?" But more truth is contained in the words of a U.S. senator whose son<BR>is in trouble at the school: "You, sir, will not mold my son! I will mold<BR>him."<BR><BR>The troubled student is Sedgewick Bell (Emile Hirsch), a smart-aleck who<BR>interrupts in class, disrespects the teacher, and has a valise under his bed<BR>that is jammed with men's magazines, booze, condoms and a pack of Luckys.<BR>Despite all of the molding and shaping St. Benedictus has performed on its<BR>students, the other boys of course idolize Sedgewick. Strange how, among the<BR>young, there is nothing sillier than a man who wants you to think hard and<BR>do well, and nothing more attractive than a contemporary who celebrates<BR>irony and ignorance. So numerous are these slackwits that now they even have<BR>their own newspapers published for them.<BR><BR>Mr. Hundert is a bachelor, ferociously dedicated to being a good teacher,<BR>and silently in love with the fragrant Elizabeth (Embeth Davidtz), wife of<BR>another faculty member. She also loves him, but marriage and rectitude stand<BR>between them, and there is an effective scene when she says<BR>goodbye--forever, she thinks. Hundert redoubles his teaching efforts, which<BR>climax, every school year, with the Mr. Julius Caesar contest, in which the<BR>three best students compete in a sort of quiz show.<BR><BR>(Spoilers follow.) After a rocky start, Sedgewick begins to apply himself to<BR>his work--not so much because of Hundert as because of dire threats from his<BR>father, the no doubt thoroughly corrupt U.S. senator (Harris Yulin). When<BR>final exams are written, Sedgewick has so improved that he finishes fourth.<BR>But because Hundert wants to reward that improvement, and because even for<BR>him a rebel is more attractive than a bookworm, the professor takes another<BR>long look as Sedgewick's paper and, after much brow-furrowing, improves his<BR>grade and makes him a finalist.<BR><BR>The movie wisely never says if Sedgewick deserves to be upgraded, although<BR>we suspect that if he had placed third in the first place, Hundert would not<BR>have taken another long look at the fourth-place paper. In any event,<BR>Sedgewick competes in the big contest, and cheats, and is seen by Hundert,<BR>who finds a silent and tactful way to force him to lose.<BR><BR>Now many years pass. Sedge-wick is himself a rich man and wants to run for<BR>senator, and will give an enormous endowment to St. Benedictus on the<BR>condition that there be a re-run of the original Mr. Julius Caesar contest.<BR>Does he at last redeem himself? You will have to see for yourself. What is<BR>interesting about the movie is that Mr. Hundert is fully aware of his<BR>ethical shortcomings in the matter of young Sedgewick. He does not let him<BR>win, but does not expose him. And the movie does not provide the kind of<BR>ending we fear the material is building up to, but finds its own subtle way<BR>to see that justice is done. The mechanics of the eventual confrontation<BR>between Sedgewick and his own son are ingenious, devastating and<BR>unanswerable.<BR><BR>We are so accustomed to noble teachers that "The Emperor's Club" surprises<BR>us by providing one who is dedicated, caring and skillful, but flawed. As a<BR>portrait of the escalator that speeds the sons of the rich upward toward<BR>power, it is unusually realistic. Kevin Kline's performance shows a deep<BR>understanding of the character, who is, after all, better than most<BR>teachers, and most men. We care for him, not because he is perfect, but<BR>because he regrets so sincerely that he is not.<BR><BR>Copyright ⌐ Chicago Sun-Times Inc.<BR><BR>[ To leave the movies mailing list, send the message "unsubscribe ]<BR>[ movies" (without the quotes) to [e-mail] ]</BLOCKQUOTE><p><p><br><hr size=1><a href="http://uk.yahoo.com/mail/tagline_xtra/?http://uk.docs.yahoo.com/mail_storage.html"><b><font face="Arial" size="2">With Yahoo! Mail you can get a bigger mailbox -- choose a size that fits your needs</font></b></a><br>
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From: [e-mail]
Subject: [MV] ADAM SANDLER'S EIGHT CRAZY NIGHTS / ** (PG-13)
Date: 27 Nov 2002 15:41:52 GMT

ADAM SANDLER'S EIGHT CRAZY NIGHTS / ** (PG-13)

November 27, 2002

With the voices of:

Davey/Whitey/Eleanore    Adam Sandler
Jennifer     Jackie Titone
Benjamin     Austin Stout
Other voices by     Tyra Banks, James Barbour, Bobby Edner, Jon Lovitz, Kevin
Nealon.

Columbia Pictures presents a film directed by Seth Kearsley. Written by
Brooks Arthur, Allen Covert and Sandler. Running time: 71 minutes. Rated
PG-13 (for frequent crude and sexual humor, drinking and brief drug
references). Opening today at local theaters.

BY ROGER EBERT FILM CRITIC

Heaven help the unsuspecting families who wander into "Adam Sandler's Eight
Crazy Nights" expecting a jolly animated holiday funfest. The holidays
aren't very cheerful in Sandlerville, which is why the PG-13 rating mentions
"frequent and crude sexual humor." The MPAA doesn't mention it, but there's
also a lot of scatological humor in the film, in keeping with Sandler's
inexplicable fascination with defecation, flatulence and bodily fluids.

If this is not a family film, what is it? Well, the audiences for "Jackass"
may enjoy a scene where Davey, the hero, slams a sweet little old man into a
Port-a-Potty and shoves it down a hill. When the geezer emerges at the
bottom, he is still alive, but covered from head to toe with excrement. Then
Davey sprays him with a garden hose, and he freezes solid. Ho, ho.

Davey (who looks like and is voiced by Sandler) is "a 33-year-old crazy
Jewish guy," the film informs us, who is up before the judge on the latest
in a long series of brushes with the law, this time for drunkenness. The
judge is prepared to send him away for a long time, but kindly little Whitey
(also voiced by Sandler) pipes up. Whitey explains that he is the referee of
the local youth basketball league, and he could use an assistant. The judge
releases Davey to Whitey's custody, not explaining why he thinks this drunk
and vandal would be a good role model.

Whitey and his twin sister, Eleanore (Sandler again), take the lad into
their home, but he remains stubbornly ill-mannered, not to mention
pathologically violent, until the movie's eventual collapse into obligatory
peace and goodwill, etc. If there was ever a movie where the upbeat ending
feels like a copout, this is the one.

I can understand why Sandler might want to venture into "South Park"
territory with a raunchy animated cartoon, but not why he links it to
Christmas and Hanukkah. The advertising will inevitably use holiday images,
and in the minds of most people those images will not suggest a film this
angry and vulgar. There is also an odd disconnect between Sandler's pride in
his Jewishness, which is admirable, and his willingness to display the
obnoxious behavior of this particular Jewish character to an audience that
may not get the point.

That point is, I think, that Davey has lost his way through alcoholism and
antisocial neurosis, and is finally redeemed by the elfish saints Whitey and
Eleanore, plus the beneficial side effects of working with the basketball
team. All well and good, but the movie lingers on the scatological stuff and
adds the happy ending as if paying its dues. Did it occur to Sandler that he
could touch his bases and make his points in a film that was not quite so
offensive? That was, in fact, sweet and cheerful and family-friendly?
Considering that his popularity and the movie's holiday packaging will
attract large numbers of teenage Middle Americans not necessarily familiar
with Jews, does he think this is a good way to get them started?

Yes, I've argued against the requirement that ethnic groups must present
"positive" images of themselves in the movies. I've defended Justin Lin's
"Better Luck Tomorrow," with its criminal Chinese-American teenagers, and
Chris Eyre's "Skins," with its portrait of alcoholics and vigilantes on an
Indian reservation, and Tim Story's "Barbershop," with its free-for-all
African-American dialogue. But those films are positioned to reach audiences
that will understand them--decode them as their directors hoped they would.

Won't "Adam Sandler's Eight Crazy Nights" attract an audience for reasons
(holiday images, Sandler's popularity) that have nothing to do with the
material? What are people who want to see an Adam Sandler movie going to
take home from this one? Sandler's most recent film, the inspired and
wonderful "Punch Drunk Love," was not well received by Sandler fans; I heard
from readers appalled by the way his audience responded to the film--before,
in some cases, walking out. (How can someone in the dark of a movie theater
tell "his audience" from themselves? Easily: The giveaway is inappropriate
laughter, especially during serious moments.)

Sandler has painted himself into a corner. His comedies have included
generous amounts of antisocial hostility, sudden violence, dodgy material
about urination, defecation and flatulence, and a general air of defiance. A
lot of people like that. But they are not the people likely to understand
the Hanukkah message in "Eight Crazy Nights." And those who appreciate the
message are likely to be horrified by a lot of the other material in the
film. What Sandler has made here is a movie for neither audience.

Copyright ⌐ Chicago Sun-Times Inc.

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From: [e-mail]
Subject: [MV] SOLARIS / *** 1/2 (R)
Date: 27 Nov 2002 15:41:56 GMT

SOLARIS / *** 1/2 (R)

November 27, 2002

Chris Kelvin    George Clooney
Rheya Kelvin    Natascha McElhone
Snow    Jeremy Davies
Helen Gordon    Viola Davis
Gibarian    Ulrich Tukur
Berton    Morgan Rusler

20th Century Fox presents a film written, directed, photographed and edited
by Steven Soderbergh. Based on the novel by Stanislaw Lem. Running time: 99
minutes. Rated R (for some sexuality/nudity).

Solaris" tells the story of a planet that reads minds, and obliges its
visitors by devising and providing people they have lost, and miss. The
Catch-22 is that the planet knows no more than its visitors know about these
absent people. As the film opens, two astronauts have died in a space
station circling the planet, and the survivors have sent back alarming
messages. A psychiatrist named Chris Kelvin (George Clooney) is sent to the
station, and when he awakens after his first night on board, his wife, Rheya
(Natascha McElhone), is in bed with him. Some time earlier on earth, she had
committed suicide.

"She's not human," Kelvin is warned by Dr. Helen Gordon (Viola Davis), one
of the surviving crew members. Kelvin knows this materialization cannot be
his wife, yet is confronted with a person who seems palpably real, shares
memories with him and is flesh and blood. The other survivor, the goofy Snow
(Jeremy Davies), asks, "I wonder if they can get pregnant?"

This story originated with a Polish novel by Stanislaw Lem that is
considered one of the major adornments of science fiction. It was made into
a 1972 movie of the same name by the Russian master Andrei Tarkovsky. Now
Steven Soderbergh has retold it in the kind of smart film that has people
arguing about it on their way out of the theater.

The movie needs science fiction to supply the planet and the space station,
which furnish the premise and concentrate the action, but it is essentially
a psychological drama. When Kelvin arrives on the space station, he finds
the survivors seriously spooked. Soderbergh directs Jeremy Davies to
escalate his usual style of tics and stutters, to the point where a word can
hardly be uttered without his hands waving to evoke it from the air.

Even scarier is Gordon, the scientist played by Viola Davis, who has seen
whatever catastrophe overtook the station and does not consider Kelvin part
of the solution. In his gullibility will he believe his wife has somehow
really been resurrected? And ... what does the planet want? Why does it do
this? As a favor, or as a way of luring us into accepting manifestations of
its own ego and need? Will the human race eventually be replaced by the
Solaris version?

Clooney has successfully survived being named People magazine's sexiest man
alive by deliberately choosing projects that ignore that image. His alliance
with Soderbergh, both as an actor and co-producer, shows a taste for
challenge. Here, as Kelvin, he is intelligent, withdrawn, sad, puzzled.
Certain this seems to be his wife, and although he knows intellectually that
she is not, still--to destroy her would be ... inhuman. The screenplay
develops a painful paradox out of that reality.

The genius of Lem's underlying idea is that the duplicates, or replicants,
or whatever we choose to call them, are self-conscious and seem to carry on
with free will from the moment they are evoked by the planet. Rheya, for
example, says, "I'm not the person I remember. I don't remember experiencing
these things." And later, "I'm suicidal because that's how you remember me."

In other words, Kelvin gets back not his dead wife, but a being who
incorporates all he knows about his dead wife, and nothing else, and starts
over from there. She has no secrets because he did not know her secrets. If
she is suicidal, it is because he thought she was. The deep irony here is
that all of our relationships in the real world are exactly like that, even
without the benefit of Solaris. We do not know the actual other person. What
we know is the sum of everything we think we know about them. Even empathy
is perhaps of no use; we think it helps us understand how other people feel,
but maybe it only tells us how we would feel, if we were them.

At a time when many American movies pump up every fugitive emotion into a
clanging assault on the audience, Soderbergh's "Solaris" is quiet and
introspective. There are some shocks and surprises, but this is not "Alien."
It is a workshop for a discussion of human identity. It considers not only
how we relate to others, but how we relate to our ideas of others--so that a
completely phony, non-human replica of a dead wife can inspire the same
feelings that the wife herself once did. That is a peculiarity of humans: We
feel the same emotions for our ideas as we do for the real world, which is
why we can cry while reading a book, or fall in love with movie stars. Our
idea of humanity bewitches us, while humanity itself stays safely sealed
away into its billions of separate containers, or "people."

When I saw Tarkovsky's original film, I felt absorbed in it, as if it were a
sponge. It was slow, mysterious, confusing, and I have never forgotten it.
Soderbergh's version is more clean and spare, more easily readable, but it
pays full attention to the ideas and doesn't compromise. Tarkovsky was a
genius, but one who demanded great patience from his audience as he
ponderously marched toward his goals. The Soderbergh version is like the
same story freed from the weight of Tarkovsky's solemnity. And it evokes one
of the rarest of movie emotions, ironic regret.

Tarkovsky's 1972 "Solaris" has just been released on DVD from the Criterion
Collection.





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From: [e-mail]
Subject: [MV] ARARAT / **1/2 (R)
Date: 27 Nov 2002 15:41:54 GMT

ARARAT / **1/2 (R)

November 27, 2002

Raffi     David Alpay
Edward Saroyan    Charles Aznavour
Rouben     Eric Bogosian
Philip     Brent Carver
Celia     Marie-Josee Croze
Martin/Clarence Ussher     Bruce     Greenwood
Ani     Arsinee Khanjian
Ali/Jevdet Bey     Elias Koteas
David    Christopher Plummer

Miramax presents a film written and directed by Atom Egoyan. Running time:
116 minutes. Rated R (for violence, sexuality/nudity and language). Opening
today at local theaters.

BY ROGER EBERT FILM CRITIC

Atom Egoyan has something he wants us to know. In 1915, he tells us in his
new film "Ararat," Turkey committed genocide against its Armenian
population, massacring two-thirds of its 1.5 million citizens of Armenian
descent. This crime, denied to this day by Turkey, has largely been wiped
from the pages of history.

Egoyan is one of Canada's best and most respected directors. He and his
wife, the actress Arsinee Khanjian, are Canadians of Armenian descent. When
he told his children of the massacre, he has said in interviews, they wanted
to know if Turkey had ever apologized. His answer is contained in "Ararat."
Unfortunately, it is couched in such a needlessly confusing film that most
people will leave the theater impressed, not by the crime, but by the film's
difficulty. Egoyan's work often elegantly considers various levels of
reality and uses shifting points of view, but here he has constructed a film
so labyrinthine that it defeats his larger purpose.

The story has three central strands: (1) A film is being made about the
atrocity; (2) some of the scenes of this film-within-the-film re-create
historical incidents, for our information; (3) there is a web of connections
between the people working on the film and other characters in the story.

We meet an art historian named Ani (Khanjian) who lectures on the Armenian
artist Arshile Gorky, whose mother was one of the Turkish victims. Ani's
husband died in an attempt to assassinate a Turkish official some 15 years
earlier. She has a son named Raffi (David Alpay) from her first marriage,
and a stepdaughter named Celia (Marie-Josee Croze) from a second marriage
with a man who, Celia believes, was driven to suicide by Ani. When Ani
lectures on Gorky, Celia often attends in order to heckle her with questions
about her dead father. Further complicating this emotional tangle, Raffi and
Celia are sleeping with each other.

There is another sexual-political connection. When Raffi attempts to pass
through a Canadian customs post with several film cans from Europe, he is
questioned at length by a customs inspector named David (Christopher
Plummer), who is on his last day on the job. Raffi says the cans contain
unexposed documentary footage needed for the movie. We know, because of a
scene at breakfast that day, that Plummer's son Philip (Brent Carver) is the
lover of an actor named Ali (Elias Koteas), who plays the barbaric Turkish
general Jevdet Bey in the film. Thus David is in a position to know that the
film being brought in by Raffi may not be needed for the project.

We meet the director of the film, named Edward (Charles Aznavour), and see
him on the set, filming scenes that are often presented as reality before
the camera pulls back to reveal another camera. And we meet the
screenwriter, Rouben (Eric Bogosian). Both Aznavour and Bogosian, who are of
Armenian ancestry, are used to provide more information about the
atrocities, as is the character of Clarence Ussher (Bruce Greenwood), a
character in Aznavour's film. He was an American physician who was an
eyewitness to the massacres and wrote a book about them.

The questioning at the customs station goes on, apparently, for hours,
because David, on his last day on the job, is trying to determine through
sheer skill whether the cans contain film or heroin. He could open them (in
a dark room to avoid spoiling the film), but that would be too simple, and
perhaps he thinks that by understanding the young man before him, he can
gain a better insight into his own son.

The scenes in the movie-within-a-movie document horrendous acts by the Turks
against the Armenians, including one sequence in which women are burned
alive. The film also shows Gorky as a young boy, shouldering arms against
the Turks. There are flashbacks to show the adult Gorky painting in exile in
New York. And discussion of the relative truth of two portraits: one a photo
of Gorky with his mother, the other the painting he has based on this
portrait. It is the same painting we have heard Ani lecturing about.

You may be feeling some impatience at the complexity of this plot. It is too
much, too heavily layered, too needlessly difficult, too opaque. Individual
scenes leap out and have a life of their own; Khanjian makes the
difficulties of her own character very affecting; the Plummer episode is
like a small, perfect character study, and I remember the re-created
atrocities as if from another film, which is indeed how they are presented.

"Ararat" clearly comes from Egoyan's heart, and it conveys a message he
urgently wants to be heard: that the world should acknowledge and be shamed
that a great crime was committed against his people. The message I receive
from the movie, however, is a different one: that it is difficult to know
the truth of historical events, and that all reports depend on the point of
view of the witness and the state of mind of those who listen to the
witness. That second message is conveyed by the film, but I am not sure it
presents Egoyan's intention. Perhaps this movie was so close to his heart
that he was never able to stand back and get a good perspective on it--that
he is as conflicted as his characters, and as confused in the face of
shifting points of view.

Note: In the film, Adolf Hitler is quoted discussing his plans for genocide
and asking, "Who remembers the extermination of the Armenians?" The film
presents this as fact, although there is enormous controversy over whether
Hitler actually ever said it.

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From: [e-mail]
Subject: [MV] TREASURE PLANET / ** 1/2 (PG)
Date: 27 Nov 2002 15:41:57 GMT

TREASURE PLANET / ** 1/2 (PG)

November 27, 2002

With the voices of:

Jim Hawkins (speaking)     Joseph Gordon-Levitt
Jim Hawkins (singing)     John Rzeznik
John Silver      Brian Murray
Dr. Doppler     David Hyde Pierce
B.E.N.     Martin Short
Capt. Amelia      Emma Thompson
Arrow      Roscoe Lee Browne
Scroop     Michael Wincott

Billy Bones      Patrick McGoohan
Sarah     Laurie Metcalf

Walt Disney Pictures presents a film directed by Ron Clements and John
Musker. Written by Clements, Musker and Rob Edwards. Based on the novel
Treasure Island by Robert Louis Stevenson. Running time: 95 minutes. Rated
PG (for adventure action and peril). Opening today at local theaters.

BY ROGER EBERT FILM CRITIC

Walt Disney's "Treasure Planet" has zest and humor and some lovable
supporting characters, but do we really need this zapped-up version of the
Robert Louis Stevenson classic? Eighteenth century galleons and pirate ships
go sailing through the stars, and it somehow just doesn't look right. The
film wants to be a pirate movie dressed in "Star Wars" garb, but the pants
are too short and the elbows stick out. For anyone who grew up on Disney's
1950 "Treasure Island," or remembers the 1934 Victor Fleming classic, this
one feels like an impostor.

I am not concerned about technical matters. I do not question why space
ships of the future would look like sailing ships of the past. I can believe
they could be powered by both rockets and solar winds. It does not bother me
that deep space turns out to be breathable. I do not wonder why
swashbuckling is still in style, in an era of ray guns and laser beams. I
accept all of that. It's just that I wonder why I have to. Why not make an
animated version of the classic Treasure Island ? Why not challenge the kids
with a version of an actual book written by a great writer, instead of
catering to them with what looks like the prototype for a video game?

These are, I suppose, the objections of a hidebound reactionary. I believe
that one should review the movie that has been made, not the movie one
wishes had been made, and here I violate my own rule. But there was
something in me that ... resisted ... this movie. I hope it did not blind me
to its undeniable charms.

There is, to begin with, a likable hero named Jim Hawkins, whose speaking
voice is by Joseph Gordon-Levitt and singing voice by John Rzeznik (of
rock's Goo Goo Dolls). Jim is a nice enough kid when we first see him being
read to by his mother in his standard-issue Disney fatherless home. But he
grows up into a troublemaker, and it is only the possession of a holographic
treasure map and the journey in this movie that season him into a fine young
man.

Hoping to sail away to a planet where "the treasures of a thousand worlds"
have been deposited, Jim signs on as a cabin boy under the cat-eyed Capt.
Amelia (voice by Emma Thompson), and is soon befriended by the cook, John
Silver (Brian Murray), a cyborg whose right arm contains an amazing
collection of attachments and gadgets. Also on board is the wealthy Dr.
Doppler (David Hyde Pierce), who is financing the voyage. (His doglike
appearance and Amelia's feline nature make us wonder, when romance blooms,
whether theirs is a relationship likely to last.)

I will not be spoiling much, I assume, to suggest that John Silver is more
than a cook, and less than a friend. He has mutiny in mind. And the troubles
on board the ship are backdropped by troubles in space, where a black hole
threatens, and there is a "space storm" as dangerous as any in the
Caribbean.

It is obligatory in all Disney animated features that there be some sort of
cute miniature sidekick, and the peppy little creature this time is Morph, a
blue blob that can assume almost any shape, is cuddly and frisky, and takes
sides. Another supporting character is B.E.N. (Martin Short), a cybernetic
navigator who apparently has some fried memory boards, and lots of
one-liners. He would be obnoxious unless you liked creatures like him, which
I do.

Disney experiments with its animation methods in the movie (which is being
released simultaneously in regular theaters and on the big IMAX screens,
which have recently brought such an awesome presence to "Fantasia" and
"Beauty & the Beast"). The foreground characters are two-dimensional in
the classical animated style, but the backgrounds are 3-D and
computer-generated ("painted," the Web site assures us, but with a computer
stylus rather than a brush). Some may find a clash between the two styles,
but the backgrounds function as, well, backgrounds, and I accepted them
without question.

I'm aware that many, maybe most, of the audience members for this film will
never have heard of Robert Louis Stevenson. They may learn in the opening
sequence that he once wrote a book named Treasure Island, but when this book
is opened by Jim's mother, it contains no old-fashioned words, only pop-up
moving images. For these people, the loss of the story's literary roots may
be meaningless. They may wonder what old sailing ships are doing in a
futuristic universe, but then there's a lot to wonder about in all animated
adventures, isn't there, since none of them are plausible. My guess is that
most audiences will enjoy this film more than I did. I remain stubbornly
convinced that pirate ships and ocean storms and real whales (as opposed to
space whales) are exciting enough. Even more exciting, because they're less
gimmicky. But there I go again.

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From: [e-mail]
Subject: [MV] THE MANCHURIAN CANDIDATE/ ****
Date: 29 Nov 2002 11:02:30 GMT

THE MANCHURIAN CANDIDATE/ ****

November 29, 2002

Bennett Marco    Frank Sinatra
Raymond Shaw    Laurence Harvey
Rosie    Janet Leigh
Raymond's mother    Angela Lansbury
Chunjin    Henry Silva
Sen. John Iselin    James Gregory
Jocie    Leslie Parrish
Sen. Thomas Jordan    John     McGiver
Yen Lo    Khigh Dhiegh
Cpl. Melvin    James Edwards

United Artists presents a film directed by John Frankenheimer. Written by
George Axelrod, based on the novel by Richard Condon. No MPAA rating.
Running time: 126 minutes. Opening today at the Music Box Theatre.

BY ROGER EBERT

A newly restored 35mm print of "The Manchurian Candidate" begins a one-week
engagement today at the Music Box Theatre. This review, revised and updated,
originally appeared when the movie was re-released in 1988.

H ere is a movie that was made 40 years ago, and it feels as if it was made
yesterday. Not a moment of "The Manchurian Candidate" lacks edge and tension
and a cynical spin--and what's even more surprising is how the film now
plays as a political comedy as well as a thriller. After being suppressed
for years, after becoming an unseen legend that never turned up on TV or on
home video, John Frankenheimer's 1962 masterpiece was re-released in 1988,
to emerge as one of the best and brightest of American films.

The story is a matter of many levels, some of them frightening, some pointed
with satirical barbs. In a riveting opening sequence, a group of American
combat infantrymen are shown being brainwashed by a confident Chinese
Communist hypnotist, who has them so surely under his control that one man
is ordered to strangle his buddy and cheerfully complies.

Two members of the group get our special attention: the characters played by
Frank Sinatra and Laurence Harvey. Harvey seems to be the main target of the
Chinese scheme, which is to return him to American society as a war hero,
and then allow him to lead a normal life until he is triggered by a buried
hypnotic suggestion and turned into an assassin completely brainwashed to
take orders from his enemy controller. Harvey does indeed re-enter society,
where he is the son of a conservative dowager (Angela Lansbury) and the
stepson of her husband (James Gregory), who is a leading candidate for his
party's presidential nomination. More than that I choose not to reveal.

Meanwhile, Sinatra also returns to civilian life but is haunted by
nightmares in which he dimly recalls the terrifying details of the
brainwashing. He contacts Harvey (who is not, we must remember, a conscious
assassin but merely a brainwashed victim). Sinatra also becomes central to a
Pentagon investigation of a possible plot that affected all the members of
his platoon--which disappeared on patrol and returned telling the same
fabricated story.

Midway in his investigation, Sinatra meets and falls in love with a woman
played by Janet Leigh, and their relationship provides the movie with what
looks to me like a subtle, tantalizing suggestion of an additional level of
intrigue. They meet in the parlor car of a train, where Sinatra, shaking,
cannot light a cigarette and knocks over the table with his drink on it.
Leigh follows him to the space between cars, lights a cigarette for him and
engages him in a very weird conversation, after which they fall in love and
she quickly ditches her fiance. What's going on here? My notion is that
Sinatra's character is a Manchurian killer, too--one allowed to remember
details of Harvey's brainwashing because that would make him seem more
credible. And Leigh? She is Sinatra's controller.

This possible scenario simply adds another level to a movie already rich in
intrigue. The depths to which the Lansbury character will sink in this movie
must be seen to be believed, and the actress generates a smothering Momism
that defines the type. By the end of the film, so many different people have
used so many different strategies on Harvey's overtaxed brain that he is
almost literally a zombie, unable to know what to believe, incapable of
telling who can be trusted.

"The Manchurian Candidate" got glowing reviews when it was first released in
1962 (Pauline Kael wrote, "It may be the most sophisticated political satire
ever made in Hollywood"). But then it was shelved in a dispute between
United Artists and Sinatra, who held a controlling interest in the film and
thought the studio was using funny bookkeeping to keep it out of the profit
column. For more than 25 years, memories of "The Manchurian Candidate"
tantalized those who saw it at the time. Was it really as good as it seemed?
It was.

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From: [e-mail]
Subject: [MV] ALL ABOUT LILY CHOU-CHOU/ ** (NR)
Date: 29 Nov 2002 11:02:26 GMT

ALL ABOUT LILY CHOU-CHOU/ ** (NR)

November 29, 2002

Yuichi Hasumi    Hayato Ichihara
Shusuke Hoshino    Shugo Oshinari
Yoko Kuno    Ayumi Ito
Tabito Takao    Takao Osawa
Shimabukuro    Miwako Ichikawa
Izumi Hoshino    Izumi Inamori
Tsuda Shiori    Yu Aoi

Cowboy Pictures presents a film written and directed by Shunji Iwai. In
Japanese with English subtitles. Running time: 146 minutes. No MPAA rating.
Opening today at Facets Cinematheque.

BY ROGER EBERT

'A ll About Lily Chou-Chou" is like an ancient text that requires modern
commentary. It's not an old film (it's cutting edge Japanese techno-angst)
but it's so enigmatic, oblique and meandering that it's like coded religious
texts that requires monks to decipher. In this case, the monks are the
critics. They won't tell you anything you haven't figured out for yourself,
but they will confirm that there's no more to the movie than you thought
there was. This movie is maddening. It conveys a simple message in a visual
style that is willfully overwrought.

The story: Lily Chou-Chou is a Japanese pop idol, who must be real, since
she appears in concert, but who we never see. Ironically, then, one of her
songs consists of repetitions of "I see you and you see me." She is idolized
by Yuichi (Hayato Ichihara), a student in high school. He has a crush on the
real-life Yoko (Ayumi Ito), a gifted pianist. Both Yuichi and Yoko are the
targets of cliques of school bullies.

For a while, Yuichi has a friend, Hoshino (Shugo Oshinari), a fellow student
who turns into a sadist and forces Yuichi to steal money and give it to him.
Hoshino has another sideline: He pimps Shiori (Yu Aoi) to prostitute herself
with businessmen, and makes her give him most of the money. Shiori has a
secret crush on Yuichi, but is under Hoshino's control and pathetically
confides on the telephone, "Lately, when I think of men I think of
customers."

The elements are in place for a powerful story of alienated Japanese
teenagers, but the writer-director, Shunji Iwai, cannot bring himself to
make the story accessible to ordinary audiences. He and his cinematographer,
Noboru Shinoda, are in love with their lightweight digital camera, and give
us jerky hand-held out-of-focus shots. Some sequences are so
incomprehensible they play as complete abstractions. I know, it's a style.
It's a style that was interesting for a brief season and is now tiresome and
pretentious.

Either you make an experimental film that cuts loose from narrative,
characters and comprehensible cinematography, or you do not. Iwai seems to
want to tell the story of his characters, and it could be a compelling one
(some of the scenes have are poignant or wounding), but he cannot allow
himself to make the film in a way that can communicate. That would be, I
guess, a compromise. He has made a film that few reasonable ticket-buyers
will have the patience to endure. It will be appreciated by a handful of
highly evolved film watchers who can generate a simultaneous analysis in
their minds, but what is the point, really, in making a film that closes out
most moviegoers?

The world that swims murkily to the surface of "All About Lily Chou-Chou" is
certainly a frightening one, eclipsing even the anomie of the Columbine
killers. These students drift without values or interests, devoting all the
passion of their young lives to creatures who may exist only on the
Internet. Shiori has sex with strangers for pay, but is too shy to tell
Yuichi she likes him. Yuichi's life has been turned into hell by Hoshino,
who seems to act not so much out of hatred as boredom. The film's teachers
and adults care, but are hopelessly misinformed about what is really going
on.

There is a movie here somewhere. Shunji Iwai has gone to a great deal of
trouble to obscure it. "Lily Chou-Chou" has been compared by some to
Truffaut's "The 400 Blows," which was also stylistically groundbreaking in
its time, but Truffaut broke with traditional styles in order to communicate
better, not to avoid communicating at all.

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From: [e-mail]
Subject: [MV] SOLARIS / *** 1/2 (PG-13)
Date: 29 Nov 2002 17:02:35 GMT

SOLARIS / *** 1/2 (PG-13)

November 27, 2002

Chris Kelvin    George Clooney
Rheya Kelvin    Natascha McElhone
Snow    Jeremy Davies
Helen Gordon    Viola Davis
Gibarian    Ulrich Tukur
Berton    Morgan Rusler

20th Century Fox presents a film written, directed, photographed and edited
by Steven Soderbergh. Based on the novel by Stanislaw Lem. Running time: 99
minutes. Rated PG-13 (for some sexuality/nudity).

Solaris" tells the story of a planet that reads minds, and obliges its
visitors by devising and providing people they have lost, and miss. The
Catch-22 is that the planet knows no more than its visitors know about these
absent people. As the film opens, two astronauts have died in a space
station circling the planet, and the survivors have sent back alarming
messages. A psychiatrist named Chris Kelvin (George Clooney) is sent to the
station, and when he awakens after his first night on board, his wife, Rheya
(Natascha McElhone), is in bed with him. Some time earlier on earth, she had
committed suicide.

"She's not human," Kelvin is warned by Dr. Helen Gordon (Viola Davis), one
of the surviving crew members. Kelvin knows this materialization cannot be
his wife, yet is confronted with a person who seems palpably real, shares
memories with him and is flesh and blood. The other survivor, the goofy Snow
(Jeremy Davies), asks, "I wonder if they can get pregnant?"

This story originated with a Polish novel by Stanislaw Lem that is
considered one of the major adornments of science fiction. It was made into
a 1972 movie of the same name by the Russian master Andrei Tarkovsky. Now
Steven Soderbergh has retold it in the kind of smart film that has people
arguing about it on their way out of the theater.

The movie needs science fiction to supply the planet and the space station,
which furnish the premise and concentrate the action, but it is essentially
a psychological drama. When Kelvin arrives on the space station, he finds
the survivors seriously spooked. Soderbergh directs Jeremy Davies to
escalate his usual style of tics and stutters, to the point where a word can
hardly be uttered without his hands waving to evoke it from the air.

Even scarier is Gordon, the scientist played by Viola Davis, who has seen
whatever catastrophe overtook the station and does not consider Kelvin part
of the solution. In his gullibility will he believe his wife has somehow
really been resurrected? And ... what does the planet want? Why does it do
this? As a favor, or as a way of luring us into accepting manifestations of
its own ego and need? Will the human race eventually be replaced by the
Solaris version?

Clooney has successfully survived being named People magazine's sexiest man
alive by deliberately choosing projects that ignore that image. His alliance
with Soderbergh, both as an actor and co-producer, shows a taste for
challenge. Here, as Kelvin, he is intelligent, withdrawn, sad, puzzled.
Certain this seems to be his wife, and although he knows intellectually that
she is not, still--to destroy her would be ... inhuman. The screenplay
develops a painful paradox out of that reality.

The genius of Lem's underlying idea is that the duplicates, or replicants,
or whatever we choose to call them, are self-conscious and seem to carry on
with free will from the moment they are evoked by the planet. Rheya, for
example, says, "I'm not the person I remember. I don't remember experiencing
these things." And later, "I'm suicidal because that's how you remember me."

In other words, Kelvin gets back not his dead wife, but a being who
incorporates all he knows about his dead wife, and nothing else, and starts
over from there. She has no secrets because he did not know her secrets. If
she is suicidal, it is because he thought she was. The deep irony here is
that all of our relationships in the real world are exactly like that, even
without the benefit of Solaris. We do not know the actual other person. What
we know is the sum of everything we think we know about them. Even empathy
is perhaps of no use; we think it helps us understand how other people feel,
but maybe it only tells us how we would feel, if we were them.

At a time when many American movies pump up every fugitive emotion into a
clanging assault on the audience, Soderbergh's "Solaris" is quiet and
introspective. There are some shocks and surprises, but this is not "Alien."
It is a workshop for a discussion of human identity. It considers not only
how we relate to others, but how we relate to our ideas of others--so that a
completely phony, non-human replica of a dead wife can inspire the same
feelings that the wife herself once did. That is a peculiarity of humans: We
feel the same emotions for our ideas as we do for the real world, which is
why we can cry while reading a book, or fall in love with movie stars. Our
idea of humanity bewitches us, while humanity itself stays safely sealed
away into its billions of separate containers, or "people."

When I saw Tarkovsky's original film, I felt absorbed in it, as if it were a
sponge. It was slow, mysterious, confusing, and I have never forgotten it.
Soderbergh's version is more clean and spare, more easily readable, but it
pays full attention to the ideas and doesn't compromise. Tarkovsky was a
genius, but one who demanded great patience from his audience as he
ponderously marched toward his goals. The Soderbergh version is like the
same story freed from the weight of Tarkovsky's solemnity. And it evokes one
of the rarest of movie emotions, ironic regret.

Tarkovsky's 1972 "Solaris" has just been released on DVD from the Criterion
Collection.





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