Clueless (1995)

Plan: Cher (Alicia Silverstone) is a happy-go-lucky teen living it up in Beverly Hills with her lawyer father (Dan Hedaya). After a disappointing grade, she plays match-maker with two teachers at her high school, then turns her and her friend Dionne's (Stacy Dash) attentions to a new student, Tai (Brittany Murphy), much to the amusement of her older ex-step brother, Josh (Paul Rudd).

This is one of the most faithful and funny Jane Austen adaptations I've ever seen, and I'm sorry I haven't mentioned it sooner.

I know that we can sometimes be critical of Amy Heckerling's (writer/director) work here, but we really shouldn't be. You have to admire someone who could spark such enduring fashion and linguistic changes and still make Austen applicable and interesting for the teen set.

The only thing that really sucks about it is that very few of the actors seem to have gone anywhere since. I'm not saying that they are the most talented bunch, but I know you enjoyed them. It's really only Murphy's career that has taken off since. I'm reluctant to say that she is the most talented of the bunch, though.

Don't mock, but I still enjoy most of the soundtrack as well. Anyone who can use Mott the Hoople, Celine Dion, and Coolio without compromising deserves a second listen. Plus I like singing that supermodel song.

Sometimes you don't need an excuse. B

The Yards (2000)

Premise: Years ago, Leo (Mark Wahlberg) took the fall for some of his friends and spent four years in jail. Now that he's out, he just wants to support his mom, Val (Ellen Burstyn). He reconnects with his best friend Willie (Joaquin Phoenix), who is working for Leo's new uncle, Frank (James Caan). His aunt, Kitty (Fay Dunaway) doesn't seem as happy that Leo is out as her daughter, Erica (Charlize Theron), who is also Willie's girlfriend.

If you are still wondering why you should see this movie? Have you had a look at that cast? Look at it again!

It rarely gets better than that.

Alright, now, I bet you think I watched this because I'm crazy about Phoenix. What if I told you that I saw this movie when it first came out? What would you say then, huh?

Actually, you'd still be right.

See, back on May 5, 2000, I went to see this little movie called Gladiator. Maybe you've heard of it. In any case, as we were leaving, the two ladies I was with and I were gushing about Russell Crowe and his talent, and I paused to say, "Yeah, but how about that guy who played Commodus? He was creepy as hell." Of course, I had no idea who he was.

When I spied The Yards on the satellite, I thought to myself, "Hey! It's that guy who played Commodus! And I heard this is supposed to be good."

So I watched it.

One of the best choices I have ever made based on such a small amount of information. Usually relying on "it's that guy!" is the wrong way to choose a movie. In the case of Phoenix, though, it always seems to work out.

James Gray, the ingenious director and co-writer, described Phoenix as a very demanding actor. The more I think about it, the more fitting I find that title. He isn't demanding in the I-only-want-cherry-mike-and-ikes-on-the-set way, but in the sense that he demands a lot from his director, writers, co-stars, and, most of all, himself. I honestly think this is one of his best performances. His character accidentally destroys his own life, and it's wonderful and frightening emotional transformation that he brings Willie through.

One of the amazing features of Gray and Matt Reeves' screenplay is the character development they bring to nearly every character. They give the audience a grand tragedy, and Gray pushes his phenomenal cast to emotional and nearly heartbreaking performances.

I am loving watching Wahlberg and Theron progress as actors. Theron blew the roof off in Monster, and I understand that Wahlberg has done his best work yet in I (heart) Hukabees. It's even better when you go back and watch their earlier stuff to see their raw talent become more polished and believable.

Dunaway is exceptionally well preserved in addition to sexy and talented. Burstyn gives her a run for her money by those criteria, and the two are fantastic together.

You know what isn't fair, though? Caan has been type-cast since 1972! That's not right. He's clearly got what it takes, and he gives a stellar performance here.

The only thing I could really without is Howard Shore's score. He freakin' steals music, man. And it really sucks that he's good at it.

Honestly, my latest film flirtation aside, this film really is brilliantly understated. A -

Very Annie Mary (2001)

Idea: Annie Mary (Rachel Griffiths) lives under the tyrannical rule of her tenor father, Jack (Jonathan Pryce). He controls nearly every aspect of her life until he suffers a stroke while performing one day. Although she is forced to take care of him and his bakery, Annie Mary seizes this opportunity to strike out on her own, doing things like joining a girl band and raising money for her sickly best friend, Bethan Bevan (Joanna Page), to go to Disneyland.

As much as I have made a case for British films being much funnier than American ones, I think the Welsh are giving them a run for their money.

Comedic plot lines are often as predictable as they come, and I'm happy to overlook that aspect as long as they keep me laughing.

Sara Sugarman's screenplay and direction has laughs in no short supply, although she occasionally falls back stereotypes to keep them coming. On the other hand, Ioan Gruffudd (Hob) and Matthew Rhys (Nob) as the two gayest men in gaytown singing "Annie Get Your Gun" was a sight to behold. Unfortunately, Rhys also has to deliver the cruelest lines in the movie, and they are a painful comparison to Hob and Nob's previous strong support for Annie Mary's emancipation.

Pryce, as always, is a nasty character. It's a little disappointing that he spends the second act doing little more than drooling and giving his daughter dirty looks. Even so, his temper and disappointment in himself is comedic gold.

Griffiths, who I have enjoyed for some time now, is oft inspired as someone far too old to be living the life she's in. There are times, unfortunately, when both her energy and the movie's energy wane.

The real disappointment, though, was the shocking sexuality of the latter half of the movie. I just didn't understand why that was suddenly thrown in there.

Overall, I enjoyed it, but I think the Welsh can still do better.

Outfoxed: Rupert Murdoch's War on Journalism (2004)

Subject: A look at the distinctly conservative media bias of the Fox News Channel (FNC).

That's all it is. I don't want you to think that that made it boring because it didn't. Documentaries are usually better when they focus on one or two ideas at a time.

Robert Greenwald (director) is going to blow you away if you pick you this direct-to-video leftist luxury. He will especially blow you away if you have no idea what I am talking about when I refer to either the Fox News Channel or conservative media bias.

And, if you have conservative leanings (e.g. enjoy the National Post), you should be ashamed of your media, although real Republicans will feel nothing but pride.

Greenwald excels in keeping his camera moving in what amounts to a world of interviews and archive footage. Clever editing helps him along, though, plus graphics and music.

Which is what he criticizes the Murdoch camp for. Hmmm . . .

I suppose, though, the real criticism applies to FNC's two ad-lines, "Fair & Balanced" and "We Report. You Decide.", neither of which, I can tell you, is true and to their claim of non-partisanship while having exclusively conservative commentators on their roster.

Greenwald lost me at the end, though, with the final section entitled, "A Call to Action." Here he enlists various members of the liberal media and media watch dog groups to comment on the importance of the citizenry coming out against conservative media and the power of the individual to effect change.

I realize that a leftist denouncement of the right will have to slide that way eventually, but it just didn't jive with the rest of the movie's feel, which left me feeling a bit cold.

Also, their criticism of FNC for using basic corporate journalism practices made me wonder. The movie never claimed to be "fair" or "balanced", though, so who am I to question it?

Oh, wait, I'm the exact person they want to question it.

See, there's a little problem here that they didn't bring up. Yes, FNC has a big ol' problem with media bias. They are controlled by Rupert Murdoch, who does tell them what to report on, when to do it, and how.

Because he owns them.

But all media is corporately owned. Let's play a little game. It's called one of these things is not like the other. I want you to spot the odd one out. Here we go:

Free speech - free press - free market - private ownership.

I bet that was a tough one.

Until the public wakes up and says that they aren't going to take it anymore, the media is only going to grow more and more biased. Until we are free to run our own presses and report on the news the way it actually occurs, then we are just as well served by a conservative bias as we are by a liberal one.

I don't think I really understood that principle, though, until I saw this movie.

The movie made me understand one other thing, one which makes me pretty sad: Kerry's gonna lose.

A Slipping-Down Life (1999)

Short: Evie Decker's (Lili Taylor) life seems empty between working at Kiddie Arcades amusement park and living with her aging father. She hears Drumstrings Casey (Guy Pearce), a local musician, on the radio one night and believes she has found something with meaning, particularly with the way Drumstrings "speaks out". After carving his name into her forehead during one of his shows, the two find themselves inexplicably drawn together.

I never wanted a film to resolve more in my entire life. I mean that in the best possible way. I was watching, and I couldn't wait to see what would happen next. I kept thinking, "Things can't end this way! That can't be it!", and so the story would progress.

It was phenomenal. It was like a force of nature . . . but not the powerful hurricane/typhoon kind. It was like the wind.

Does that make sense? I feel like the wind is the most unpredictable element in nature. It can be gentle, reassuring, and welcome one minute then gusting, torrential, and dangerous the next. And always, always, I feel like the wind is trying to tell us something. I'd feel ridiculous telling you this if I didn't actually believe it.

Serious, the wind.

And that's what this film is like. Mostly slow-paced, patient with both the audience and subject matter. Yet, there were occasions when it would pick up, exploding with anger and fury. Those moments are few and far between mind you, which made them all the more unpredictable and powerful.

All of this is a credit to Toni Kalem, in her first offering as a writer-director. In fact, it's her only offering as a director to date, which is such a waste.

I have always thought that Pearce was rather sexy (and sometimes creepy), but I have never seen another film showcase it the way this one has. I had no idea he could sing and watching him up there on the stage makes it impossible to wonder why Evie is drawn to Drum the way she is.

There was something to unique about the two of them, too. Well, not unique but rare. Drum or Evie would act disinterested, and then one of them would betray everything in a single gesture, like when Drum touches a birth mark on Evie's back the first time they meet. So hot.

I realize that I discussed Taylor none too long ago, but she is such a natural talent that I find it difficult to resist her. The beauty of her face, the depth of her voice, the passion of her actions - it's all so immediate.

Man, can Pearce ever sing, though. Pearce, Taylor, and a guitar. That's all I would have needed.

Home for the Holidays (1995)

Summary: After kissing her boss, being fired from her job, and learning that her sixteen year-old daughter (Claire Danes) plans to lose her virginity that very week-end, Claudia (Holly Hunter) heads home for Thanksgiving to her doting father, Henry (Charles Durning), and panic-stricken mother, Adele (Anne Bancroft). Her brother, Tommy (Robert Downey, Jr.), shows up with Leo Fish (Dylan McDermott), instead of his boyfriend, and her little sister, Joanne (Cynthia Stevenson), seems non-plussed about the whole situation. Add in Adele's sister, Aunt Gladys, who appears to be losing her mind, and, well, it's a Thanksgiving a lot like yours.

This lovely little movie was my introduction to the sexy, winsome, and talented Hunter. I liked her and it a lot when I was younger because a fair bit of my family spent so much time apart that we basically only saw each other on holidays. Now that I am one of those people, I understand it all the more.

I also like McDermott in it since we know have such a tendency to think of him in a serious The Practice sort of a way. I never watched The Practice, and I pretty much only know him from quirky off-beat comedies like this one. I wouldn't exactly call them his strong suit, but I don't mind him here.

Downey, Jr., remains one of my fav actors because I find him so fearless as an actor. This was also around the time that he admitted to having a problem with drugs, but that never diminishes him as a person or as an actor in my mind. It may have made him difficult to work with, but he manages to give his character the flair and comedic timing necessary to carry him through.

Plus, Bancroft must be so phenomenal to work with. She seems so confident in her abilities, so capable without being condescending about it.

The actors and the way the story line is divided up into titled segments are really what sold this movie to be. Jodie Foster's direction is a little bland, and W.D. Ritcher's screenplay struggles at times. It's so weird that I could be offended by the way the movie deals with certain topics. It would, however, be unfair to say that the reactions are out-dated. If anything, that little bit on the phone with Durning towards the end is more modern than half the stuff out there.

This movie might be the little comedic gem some of us need to get us through the holiday season.

Dogfight (1991)

Brief: First let me explain the title term, as I don't want you thinking that it is meant in an air force sort of way. In this case, a group of marines about to ship out try to find the ugliest woman they can and bring her to party. The one with the ugliest girl wins the pot. Eddie Birdlace (River Phoenix) is just about to give up when he chances upon a waitress, Rose (Lili Taylor). Rose accepts his offer, but she discovers the true purpose of the party. Eddie realizes that he likes Rose, and he apologizes and takes her a proper date.

This is one of those movies that I saw a huge chunk from the middle, but neither the beginning or end, and I have always wanted to see the rest. It takes a special kind of movie to win you with the second act, n'est-ce pas?

Caution! As usual, I am about to reveal too much content.

I have previously found myself rather annoyed with movies that have people fall in love over a short period of time. I think that's crap. However, in this case, no one actually says "I love you", and I believe that's why I can still love this one.

While I find Phoenix's chemistry to be hit or miss, Taylor definitely provides us with a hit. All the awkwardness of young love and just getting together is there, and I couldn't stop smiling watching the whole thing. And, like so many movies that I like, the film glosses over the sex scene. The before and after are all we get (and all we need), and the before is so sweet that it's almost too much. Luckily, for me, it's just enough.

Honestly, I feel no need to point out anyone else that appears in the entire movie. Phoenix and Taylor are really all you need.

Like when Eddie is getting trying to work up the courage to kiss Rose, or Rose calls the rice "son-of-a-bitchin'." Those things torture me.

I don't think I could come up with a part of Bob Comfort's screenplay or Nancy Savoca that I have a problem with. Sure, I don't like that Taylor is made out to be a "dog" simply because they put her in a fat suit, but they work with that in a way that I can appreciate. As Eddie's fondness for Rose grows, she more and more beautiful she appears, as I can assure you Taylor is.

I can even dig the ending, although I understand that Phoenix walked with that limp for weeks after filming. Greater tragedy lies in that one fact than I'll ever understand.

Hoffa (1992)

Plot: The story of legendary Teamsters' leader, Jimmy Hoffa (Jack Nicholson), as seen by his right-hand man, Bobby Ciaro (Danny DeVito). Basically, the film chronicles Jimmy's life from when Bobby looses his job because of Jimmy, through Jimmy's ups and down with the Teamsters and the Mafia and his subsequent incarceration, to that fateful day when he disappeared.

To be honest, he was a pretty exciting a guy. He didn't concern himself with the law, for example. He wanted a justice. And, as the tagline claims, he was "the man who was willing to pay the price for power."

Fair enough.

Written by my dear David Mamet, I was expecting his caustic wit, his clever play on audience expectations, and his startlingly moments of human clarity.

No such luck. All the hallmarks of Mamet dialogue are there without any of the usual bite. So it made me wonder, what gives?

DeVito, that's what. While I have always respected him as an actor and a producer, I don't understand why he continues to direct. He's terrible at it! His actors give either over-the-top performances or monochromatic ones - there are no nuanced greys in here. He spends too much time setting up his cameras to pay attention to what's going on in front of them.

Nicholson falls into the over-the-top category, along with Kevin Anderson's RFK, and Armand Assante's take on the emotionally void, murmuring Mafioso. Neither hits the right emotional highs or lows, although Nicholson does his very best to confound your opinion of Hoffa. He makes it impossible to demonize or idolize the man.

DeVito also wastes a talented cast, giving J.T. Walsh, John C. Reilly, and Frank Whaley very little do with their talents. That bugged me.

In the end, I know it was a failure because I kept asking myself what the point was. Yes, I maintain that movies don't always have to have points. But people's lives do. They, in fact, invariably have points, even if we fail to recognize them. And DeVito fails to recognize Hoffa's.

Plus I didn't care for their interpretation of Hoffa's disappearance, regardless of how likely it might be.

Edward Scissorhands (1990)

Premise: After an unsuccessful day selling Avon products door-to-door, Peg Boggs (Dianne Weist) decides to call on the gothic mansion at the top of the cul-de-sac. In the mansion, she finds a young man, Edward (Johnny Depp), with scissors for hands (shock!), and she brings him home with her. Edward's attempts to fit in the suburban mold ensue, from topiary to hair design to falling in love with Peg's daughter, Kim (Winona Ryder).

You know when you read or hear of those reviews that claim some film makes you remember "why it is that you go to the movies"? For example, the way critics felt about Cameron Crowe's 2000 rock ode, Almost Famous?

That's what this film did for me. As I had mentioned, I was stuck in the land of perpetually crap movies, and I began to wonder why I bothered blogging about them.

I had thought I would find a revival/reprise when I went home for Thanksgiving, but my mom no longer gets a wackload of movie channels.

I chanced on Tim Burton's (director, for those of you who are new) bizarre combination of suburban nightmare and gothic fairy tale on Sunday, and I was so blessed to find it again.

Burton takes a lot of slack for not being a "story-teller", and he also is the recipient of a fair number of off-the-wall comparisons. Burton doesn't rely on dialogue to sell his stories (Depp utters a scant 169 words), and there's never a need for an expositionary character. So much the better I say. Burton relies on visuals to convey his meaning in a combination of chirascuro and comic book, and the viewer is the richer for it.

For me, the only comparison worth making is to the Grimm Brothers. I think they would count Burton a kindred spirit if they only knew him.

Caroline Thompson (screenwriter), in her first screen offering, clearly represents what Burton had in mind when he conceived Edward. Her screenplay, pithy and often silent, is a caricature of what we fear and recognize in suburbia. In a way, the suburban plane is the new forest of the fairy tales of old. It is instantly recognizable as the source of power, mystery, and trepidation.

In the role that helped establish him as a serious actor, as well as establish a relationship that many would claim is Burton's film representation of himself, Depp exudes childish intensity and single-mindedness. The costume does a lot, but Depp runs with this opportunity to relieve himself of his pretty face. Depp once claimed that he trusts Burton so completely as a director that he would do anything that Burton asked. Burton should count his luck stars that he could inspire such loyalty from an actor with such breadth.

Weist sparkles as woman completely awed by the negative results of doing the right thing; Alan Arkin is hysterically flawed as her Darrin Stephens-esque husband; O-Lan Jones practically steals the show as the zealous Esmeralda; and even Ryder isn't annoying.

If the rest of the film melted away tomorrow, I would have the same feeling about it if I were left with one scene: Kim dancing in a combination of man-made snow, plastic, and glitter while Edward sculpts the ice, perfectly complimented by Danny Elfman's haunting and much imitated score.

As Rolling Stone summed when the film fist debuted, "pure magic."

S1m0ne (2002)

Plan: After his demanding starlet walks off the set, Viktor Taransky (Al Pacino) must find a new actress to take the lead in his latest film. When his ex-wife, Elaine (Catherine Keener), fires him and he realizes that no actress will work with him, Viktor is fortunately willed a computer program that will allow him to create the perfect actress. Seeing her as a means to an end, Viktor uses the program to finish his beloved project and is shocked to discover that no one has noticed that his new star, Simone (Rachel Roberts) isn't real. Simone quickly becomes immensely popular with the press and the public, and Viktor struggles to control the elaborate web of lies he has created.

Ooo, and Evan Rachel Wood plays their daughter! Isn't that great? It is.

Andrew Niccol (writer/director) has really lost me on this one. See, the films within this movie look a lot like, well, Niccol's dispassionate take on a dystopian future, Gattaca. As you well know, I really like Gattaca.

So what is he saying? I didn't get the impression that he felt that he has been misunderstood because he couldn't completely manipulate his performers. I don't think that was it at all.

Honestly, what is he getting at? Is he satirizing his previous works (G and The Truman Show)?
All three of these movies are about something that is completely under the control of someone else. Is Niccol a control freak, or is he trying to tell us something?

Also, every scene that takes place in the studio or on the lot is complete barren. I always got the impression that studio/lot places where bubbling over with stressed people running to and fro, but there's no one around at all. I gave me the creeps, and I have yet to fully comprehend the significance of that choice.

Enough.

Let's talk about Keener. I just love her. She's hilarious, and she has a oddball sexiness to her that's irresistible.

I don't even think that Pacino acts anymore. I realize that much was made about Angels in America, which I have yet to see, but I honestly think that when he arrives on set, there is a sharp intake of breath. Maybe there just isn't enough out there anymore to really challenge him. On the other hand, I'm dying to see his take on Shylock.

I can tell you that this movie isn't all that good, and I'm not even sure that I would want to see it again anytime soon. I can tell you, though, that I'm pretty sure I didn't get it. The fact that that doesn't particularly concern me strikes me as a problem.

Ladder 49 (2004)

Brief: After saving a man, Jack Morrison (Joaquin Phoenix) finds himself trapped in the worst fire of his career. As his "brothers" work diligently to locate him under the guiding hand of Chief Kennedy (John Travolta), Jack looks back on his life both in and out of the fire house since his first day with Engine 33.

It's a pretty simple idea, one that has been tried and found true. Here Lewis Colick (writer) handles the emotional highs and lows effectively, something occasionally found lacking in his previous films (e.g. Bulletproof). He knows how to pluck at the heartstrings of the crowd, and I wouldn't describe this movie as anything less than emotional. Not dramatic, my friends, emotional.

What I really appreciated, though, was that it was a movie about firemen, and it was not set in New York City. Set in Baltimore, I don't recall a single mention of 9/11, a now all-too-cliched way of forcing emotion from a quickly growing embittered public. Although some lost more than most, I think that nearly everyone lost something that day, and we don't want to be reminded of it everyday on TV (thanks, anyway, CSI: NY) and in the theatres.

That said, does anyone here know a fireman? I have personally known two in all my days, and I don't think either one fits the mold set out in movies for firemen. They are inevitably one or both of the following two things: 1) Irish Catholic, and 2) third generation firefighters. Believe you me, I wouldn't make a drinking game out of spotting those two things in this movie.

Aside from that, I would vouch for Colick's screenplay. It's a romantic send-up of what we often forget complete strangers are willing to do for us, and, although not the best one I've ever seen, it comes close.

Jay Russell (director) has graduated to big kid movies (previous offerings of My Dog Skip and Tuck Everlasting) with nothing short of a bang, and he certainly attacked this one with gusto. He treats us to fine supporting performances from Travolta, Jacinda Barrett, Robert Patrick, and especially Morris Chestnut. His greatest challenge, though, is Phoenix, who barely leaves the camera's eye for single frame.

I realize that coming from me this is a much belaboured point, and I'm going to say it anyway: Phoenix is such a natural up there on the screen. Not single breath feels forced in this performance. Jack is alive with a strong and believable combination of nervousness and confidence, and Phoenix knows just when to play which level of each, making sure the audience simultaneously knows and doubts they way things are bound to end.

William Ross' score was probably the most dubious element of the entire film but mainly because it was Irish before we knew the characters were.

For me, it was entirely worth the admission fee (who doesn't have seven dollars to spare), but I'm not sure I would say it was for everyone. I stayed until the last credit had rolled by, and, as I watched my fellow moviegoers leave, there were few dry eyes.

And, on a personally amusing note: http://www.thetyee.ca/Entertainment/current/AgainstTarantino.htm