A former film critic has chucked it in and now reviews movies before either of you have seen them.
Now and then, from time to time, every once in a while, in a blue moon and every so often there comes a film which is, indeed, the very embodiment of the times we live in; which encapsulates the feelings, aspirations, disappointments and fears of a generation and serves as a mirror, reflecting not only the beauty of the world around us but also its terrible flaws. This movie is not that film, merely the latest stinker from the ubiquitous Demi Moore who has used her countless millions to produce another sickly sweet contribution to the rites of passage-sisters doin' for themselves-boobs and tampons-failed relationships-all men are scumbags-'chick flick' genre.
Now, on balance I would have to say that a film such as this - for all its risible and po-faced platitudes and cod philosophising on the nature of sisterhood, friendship and love - is certainly preferable to the lame posturing of an excruciatingly mediocre macho action movie such as Broken Arrow (Samantha Mathis was the token female) - but only just. Why do (American) filmmakers feel obliged to make a big fucking song and dance about their 'feelings'. It's like therapy in public or the celluloid equivalent of the vomit inducing 'group hug'.
But these movies, which I should say often involve nauseating, whining brats somewhere along the way, are typically more about shallow sentimentality (with a heart-tugging accompaniment of sleazy greasy violins for good measure) than genuine emotion, as captured more effectively in European or Asian cinema. Americans do love to wear their hearts on their sleeve, so to speak, but it also looks like they wipe their collective nose on it. There is something undefinably rotten about films like Now and Then - but then again, this is not such a bad thing given that mawkish pap like this 'gives' good box-office.
Don't misunderstand me, I do like Demi Moore - especially when she wears swotty spectacles to make her look intelligent (almost convincingly in this case) but this project smacks of 'vanity' film-making and looks too much like an attempt to establish her credentials as a serious artist - as opposed to the bodacious, if one dimensional film 'star' that she is actually is. I just hope that now she has had her fill of serious film production and that she can go back to what she does best...er, whatever that is c.f. Striptease. Now and then, in Moore's case, really is once too often.
10 out of 10
Possibly inspired by John Landis' American Werewolf in London, this film represents the latest stage in the rehabilitation of Eddie Murphy - you know, that talented comic actor who became a star overnight (well, after 48 Hours) and then proceeded to piss away his talent and wealth on a series of lazy, complacent and increasingly dreadful films and a couple of extremely dodgy 'soul' albums.
Will he succeed? Who knows, who cares. But he is certainly fortunate to be working with Wes Craven on a project of this nature because if anyone knows his way around the horror genre it is the creator of such classics as The Hills Have Eyes, Nightmare on Elm Street, The People Under the Stairs and that post-modern classic, Wes Craven's New Nightmare - all B-pictures in essence but B-pictures imbued with style, intelligence, wit (er...and buckets of gore).
Craven, an academic in a former incarnation, has never really achieved the success he deserves but I suspect that this has more to do with the subject matter of his films than his directorial abilities. Sure, in one sense he is a low rent Cronenberg, concentrating on mind/body horror but unlike his Canadian counterpart, he seems to have compromised his work to the point where there is not enough splatter for gore hounds and not enough warped psychology for intellectually inclined moviegoers.
Still, I do hope that with this film he can obtain enough dough to finance a worthier enterprise and to be able to return to his 'sick' form of old. Murphy is pretty much a lost cause now (c.f. the forthcoming travesty The Nutty Professor, an updated and totally ruined version of the classic Jerry Lewis movie) and Angela Bassett, wonderful as ever, is wasted yet again in another flimsy supporting role. Incidentally, Bassett's stunt double was killed in an accident during the shoot, a fact which is both ironic (in a film about immortal souls) and utterly depressing given the pisspoor nature of the finished product.
An anaemic 0 out of 10
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