Inventing the Abbotts (1997)

Summary: JC Holt (Billy Crudup) is obsessed with the Abbotts, the seemingly wealthiest family in the small town of Hayley, Illinois. More specifically, he is obsessed with Lloyd Abbott’s (Will Patton) beautiful daughters, Alice (Joanna Going), Eleanor (Jennifer Connelly), and Pamela (Liv Tyler). His younger brother Doug (Joaquin Phoenix) determines to stay far away from the Abbotts for this very reason, but he is consistently drawn to youngest daughter Pam.

I am of two minds about this movie. It opened with “Undecided”, which is one of my favourite jazz era songs, but it was performed by the Ray Gelato Giants when it should have been the great Ella Fitzgerald.

And that’s the thing about this movie. Right elements in the wrong context.

Ken Hixon’s screenplay, based on Sue Miller’s story, is unbelievably obvious, contrived, and goes on longer than it should. He also wrote City by the Sea, another overblown story, but one I loved because I’m a complete sucker for fathers and sons who say “I love you.”

There’s actually a part where the narrator (Michael Keaton) comes to the realization that “there was nothing especially original about [his] mother”, and the same is true of Hixon and Miller’s story.

Despite the material they were working with, everyone acted the hell out of this thing. Of course, that’s what I’ve always respected and am drawn to the most about Phoenix and Crudup (although he’s never quite caught my eye the way Joaquin has). That’s probably why my memory converted Crudup to Phoenix in The Hi-Lo Country. Because they just act the hell out of everything they are given, completely regardless of everything save the craft.

I was just about to call them actor’s actors, but I’m not sure what that would mean. If anything, they are both acting’s actors and audience’s actors because it’s perhaps loyalty to the art as well as the viewer that they make something so memorable out of something so forgettable.

Plus I think they really could pass for brothers.

I’d give the credit to director Pat O’Connor, but she hasn’t earned it. Her Circle of Friends was lovely, but her Sweet November was one of the most awful things I’ve ever seen. Just thinking about it now makes me want to up-chuck. Unlike Schumacher yesterday, I don’t think the shooting script has that much influence of the quality of O’Connor’s work. I just don’t think she understands people all that well. You need to, though, to tell a story in a way that it will connect with the audience.

Nit-picky point: They couldn’t get a better match for Phoenix than Keaton? That’s not what Phoenix sounds like now, eight years later, and it’s not what he will sound like however many more years down the line the narration is supposed to take place. Surely there must be someone else with similar delivery to Phoenix’s Doug, if not his accent. Keaton’s line readings just bugged me. They came across as lazy.

As always, I raise my glass to the dearly departed Michael Kamen, whose wonderfully evocative score had me tearing up over moments that my mind railed against. Objectively, they weren’t that good, but a well-done scene between Phoenix and the talented and beautiful Tyler or Phoenix and Crudup with Kamen’s string section swelling in the background could get to anyone.

If I could somehow discount the direction, the plot, and Keaton, this movie would get an A without hesitation. But I can’t. B

8 MM (1999)

Outline: Mrs. Christian (Myra Carter) hires private detective Tom Welles (Nicholas Cage) to authenticate an 8 millimetre snuff film she finds among her deceased husband's belongings. Once he does, she asks him to find out everything he can about it: who the girl was, how involved her husband was, and who made it. Welles' investigation takes him to LA, where he hires a porn store clerk, Max (Joaquin Phoenix), to help him navigate through the industry.

My second example in as many weeks of Joel Schumacher (director, obviously) being only as good as the script he's working with.

There are two detective archetypes in movies: 1) The family man whose perfect American life (wife, daughter, nice house) is contrasted with the filth and immorality he pursues or 2) The hard boiled, hard drinking man cut off from the world because of his contempt for it (just look at the base creatures he investigates in his line of work!) who only needs the love of a good woman to straighten himself out.

Welles is the former. The sexy and talented Catherine Keener is his wife. Some baby is his daughter. In the likely way, Welles becomes obsessed with finding the girl in the film, obsessed with hurting those who hurt her, in shocking twists that shock no one. Cage does very little with the role except pull an impressive face at one point. In the same way that Liz has a Michael Douglas rule, I have a Nicholas Cage rule: nothing with Cage can ever be all that good. He does Welles' descent into violence pretty realistically, but, at least at first, he's utterly too squeamish to be a detective. It's like he's never seen anything violent and degrading before, which raises the question as to how he could even authenticate the film if the world of snuff filmmaking is so new.

If I start asking questions like that now, I'll never finish this review. Basically speaking, Cage's characterization was over-the-top, like many of his egomanical performances we are so frequently "treated" to.

Phoenix amused me as a blue-haired, tightly-clad clerk who wasn't as interested in his product as he was in rhyme and his own idiomatic speech patterns (no wonder the band didn't work out). He always manages to rise above the archetype, in this case he who no one believed in, who (likely) ran away, and who never managed to succeed (perhaps he never believed in himself?). Welles takes a shine to him (not like that), and he wants to protect him, so we all know how that's going to turn out.

Andrew Kevin Walker's screenplay didn't do it for me. I'm cracking up because I was thinking about how much better it would have been if Welles' squeamishness had been played up for comedic effect like Ichabod Crane's (Johnny Depp) in Sleepy Hollow, which Walker also wrote. So, there ya go, Walker! Just stick with stuff like that. He also wrote two of the "The Hire" screenplays, all of which I am dying to see. Special shout-out to anyone who knows where I can get them.

Oh, get this: The actual script by Andrew Kevin Walker was reworked by Joel Schumacher and Nicholas Kazan after Walker left the project in disagreement with the director. (Click here for the source).

Also, what was with Jenny Powell's line readings?

Oh, Schumacher. Blindingly brilliant visual style. At an absolute loss for what to do with a formulaic script. Not that it was all that bad. I've seen far, far worse. B

The Interpreter (2005)

Brief: Late one night at the UN, interpreter Silvia Broome (Nicole Kidman) overhears an assassination plot against soon-to-visit President Zuwanie (Earl Cameron) of Matobo. Agents Woods (Catherine Keener) and Keller (Sean Penn) are called in to investigate, but Keller quickly uncovers much closer ties between Silvia and the President than the UN anticipated.

You take three screen writers: one lackluster (Charles Randolph), one medium luster (Scott Frank), and one electric (Steven Zaillian), and add one director (Syndey Pollack) who at least one critic has accused of no longer directing. What do you get?

Something banal, something mediocre, something middle brow. It's not so blah that I wouldn't recommend it, not so enticing that I would. The plot, for me, was a done deal thanks to the lying previews, so it was hard to fall into that sort of pulsing intensity that the film was supposed to have. There was only one scene that had me digging my nails into the arm rests.

There were some great exchanges between Kidman and Penn as well as Woods and Penn, but since I've long regarded the three of them as richly talented performers (although some lacking in discernment when compared to the others), I can't say I was surprised. I wouldn't rank these among their best performances, but they are no where near the worst.

Pollack's main concern is neither the story nor the telling of it; rather, that concern seems to be the building where the majority of the action takes place. He wants you to experience its bass toned beauty, its every surface and texture more lovingly shot than artful directed.

Intended or not, it was Kidman's clothes, Vespa, hair, and apartment that I was most concerned for in this film. If anyone can tell me where I can get that jacket, s/he will be getting a very special shout out. Her whole look was this "I don't care how I look" thing that I would love to start pulling off exactly this minute. Okay, maybe her hair was a little over the top. I think she could have managed a complete ponytail. Ponytails don't really work with my curls, but I want her look other than that.

It's sort of another Closer - I'm not sure how to grade it. Two great performers, not two great performances. Once again, there was nothing wrong with them per se, but there was nothing memorable about them either. Serious clothes envy. Nothing spectacular, nothing horrible.

Ah, what the heck. B

Easy Rider (1969)

Plot: Wyatt (Peter Fonda) and Billy (Dennis Hopper) set out on a motorcycle trip from LA to New Orleans, picking up George Hansen (Jack Nicholson) along the way.

I'm shaking my head at this movie. I watched it nearly a week ago, and I still don't get it. I just don't get it.

It's the supposed quintessential movie of the sex, drugs, and rock 'n' roll generation, of the counter-culture, of the independents. Alright. Hopper was stoned out of his mind when he made the movie (true story!), so I can buy at least two of the three.

What is this movie about? What are Hopper (director/co-writer), Fonda (co-writer), and Terry Southern (co-writer) saying? Hippies are misunderstood and frequently the victims of violence? Drugs are both good and bad? Road trips can be fun? Some people are nice and some aren't?

For example, you see complete strangers willing to feed and/or board Wyatt and Billy. Then you see a cafe that refuses to serve them because they have "long hair" (Fonda's hair wasn't long at all) and are strange strangers.

I know I should comment on the acting, but it wasn't acting at all. I know there were screenwriters, but I doubt there was much of a script. I think Hopper and Fonda just said whatever they wanted to say, Nicholson played a character (which, I find, Nicholson basically plays a version of himself in everything), and everyone else did what they could with what they had.

Also, what was with the editing and cinematography? What do you want from me Donn Cambern? Those edits made me feel like I would never really get to know what was happening. If that was the point, though, then good work.

I got the impression that although the film wasn't about following any particular plot, it was supposed to be saying something about America. Is it the sum of its parts? Is it that there is always someone waiting to take away the occasionally glimmer of happiness that few are lucky enough to find?

Perhaps. You won't find it here, though. C- (I can't fail it just because I don't get it)

Moulin Rouge Lite and The Dressing Room

You know that new Chanel No5 spot? The Moulin Rouge-y looking one with Nicole Kidman having an affair with who appears to be Karl from Love, Actually then runs off to some glamorous event?

Well, it looks so much like a Baz Luhrmann production because it is one.

"The Dressing Room" - Again, I know you know the spot. Susan Sarandon/Julianne Moore/Eva Mendes/Kate Bosworth/Halle Berry go from an awards show to a more dressed down look with the help of Revlon cosmetics.

Why is it so elegant and effortless? Because Robert Altman directed it.

Now, I understand the appeal and have long enjoyed the use of actors instead of models as spokespersons for various products. But when did big time directors get into advertising? What's the appeal there?

How can Revlon, a notoriously sinking ship, even afford someone like Altman in addition to all those beauties?

Can someone please explain this to me? Aren't I supposed to be looking to the silver screen for their work?

This isn't what I thought they meant

"Have you noticed that the silver screen is looking a bit tarnished these days?" asks a book review in The Weekly Standard. The tarnish at the multiplex is quite real, according to Edward Jay Epstein, author of The Big Picture: The New Logic of Money and Power in Hollywood.

More . . .

Dear Frankie (2004)

Idea: Frankie (Jack McElhone) and his mother Lizzie (Emily Mortimer) move frequently, so he keeps in contact with his father through letters. Lizzie answers Frankie's letters, and, with the day of his father's visit fast approaching, Lizzie does what any mother would do. She hires a stranger (Gerard Butler) to play Frankie's dad for the week-end.

Oh, c'mon. You know it's sweet and cute and the set-up for lots of fun and misunderstandings.

Andrea Gibb's plot has two "reveals" (I wouldn't exactly call them twists): one you can see coming from a mile off and the other you don't. One, then one I saw coming, could be seen as manipulative.

But it wasn't. And I owe that to the natural interaction of Mortimer and McElhone. I've been a sucker for Mortimer since Lovely & Amazing because that film was so well done that I was a sucker for everyone in it. Mortimer has such sweetness and light to her that it's all the more effecting when she is pushed down by circumstance.

McElhone was also wonderful because he played Frankie in such a way that he seemed unaware of the sadness and loneliness that he should have been carrying around. What's more, Gibb's screenplay didn't reduce him to the now stereotype of being the parent. Mortimer's character was still the adult no matter how far or how fast she ran.

Oh, and Mary Riggans with her cute little no chin.

Butler remains quite sexy and one of my top choice for the new bond. His attachment to Frankie and Lizzie was completely normal and natural, but Butler let it hint at past tragedy or even a failure.

So my hat's off to Shona Auberbach for her first feature film. In the hands of a lesser talent, it would have come across as trite and saccharine. Instead, it was something that awed me.

Plus Sarah loved it. A

Important Advisory (2005)

Two posts in one day! Did I blow your mind?

I've been meaning to talk about this for a long time, so here it is:

Don't go see Kingdom of Heaven. Please do not.

I don't think I ask you for much, and I think you know that most of time when I tell you to do something, it's only a suggestion.

This I am serious about. Do not go see a movie that glorifies the crusades, no matter how much you may like the director or some member of the cast. The crusades were an awful, nasty, brutal massacre. Nothing that involves accounts of children being roasted alive and eaten (thanks MWC!) deserves your attention or your money. Do not help this movie become one of many money-happy summer blockbusters.

This is not some half-assed attempt at reverse psychology. I'm shocked and horrified by the concept of this movie, and you should be as well.

Just please, please wait for the DVD if you must watch it. Please don't make it successful.

Tigerland (2000)

Premise: At a Vietnam training camp in 1971, Paxton (Matthew Davis) meets Bozz (Colin Farrell). Paxton enlisted and is set to record his army experiences, while Bozz was drafted and is set to torture any and all authority figures for sheer amusement. Also, Bozz can get pretty much anybody out of the army.

It's attraction of opposites time! I have a love/hate thing with those times. For example, I am tired of seeing a free-spirited women help a shy/arrogant inhibited man. So tired of it.

I still, however, love a well-done story that pits an Northern Ivy-leaguer with all the education and good breeding in the world against a less-educated Southern jester/slacker type with more charisma and natural leadership than the Northern's ever seen before or will see again.

Or maybe I'm just a sucker for charisma, which Farrell has in spades here. What happened to you? Natural born scene stealer, tremendously talented player, brought down perhaps by his own ego. Why else would he continue on with such vanity projects? He's a star in the most magnetic sense of the word, but he's so arrogant that he doesn't know what to do with it.

Davis and everyone else was good (shout-outs to Shea Whigham, Clifton Collins Jr, Thomas Guiry, and, yes, Cole Hauser), but they are all moths to the raging fire that is Farrell in this, his only note-worthy performance.

Here's to Joel Schumacher - one of the few directors who is made or unmade by the quality of the script he's shooting. He's got a great handle on the visual, but he's truly stuck when the writers give him nothing to work with.

Here's to Ross Klavan and Michael McGruther - may they have more opportunities to write feature films after a brilliant, thoughtful, and evocative first try. Thanks for giving Joel something to work with.

And here's to the year 2000! It tries so hard to never let me down. A

Following (1998)

Premise: A young writer (Jeremy Theobald) follows people for material until a thief, Cobb (Alex Haw), turns the tables on him. Cobb takes the man under this wing, teaching him his personal style of robbery.

Is it me, or is Christopher Nolan kind of obsessed with the criminal mind? Think about it: Insomnia, Memento, soon-to-be-seen Batman Begins, this one. The original. Where it all started.

Ah, who cares if he is. He's a genius filmmaker with a wonderful sense of atmosphere, and he's a master of suspense. As a writer-director, Nolan's unparalled in these unconventional timelines (yet another film with two occuring simuletaneously), but his cinematography and editing reveal someone who revels in storytelling. He loves the details: a business card flicking against a telephone, a single pearl earring.

In the same way that I believe you learn more from a teacher who loves their subject, I think you get more out of a film when the director loves what he is doing, loves the story he's telling. Nolan obviously feels that kind of love. He lives for tension.

Also, because I am constantly anticipating interruptions, I need a film to go above and beyond in engrossing me to garner my complete attention. Sure, it helped that it is a scant 71 minutes, thus leaving less time to be interrupted, but Nolan pratically had me begging the DVD player on my hands and knees when it found an error on the disc in the last scene and quit working.

My heart goes out to Theobald. It's his story through and through, the rest (although talented) just bit players by comparison. He's two men, two roles to play with one body, neither fitting the way he thought they would.

An over-reaction to this gloriously crafted noir thriller? I think not. Yay Colin for recommending it. A

In the Cut (2003)

Plan: After part of a murdered girl is found in Frannie's (Meg Ryan) garden, Frannie meets Detective Malloy (Mark Ruffalo). They begin an affair while Malloy seeks the killer and Frannie's connection to him/her.

I'll confess that Ryan and the bait-and-switch trailers kept me away from this movie for sometime. No number of commercials praising Ryan as a "revelation" were going to make me want to see her to do anything besides be a bubbly, WASPy waif.

No number of attempts at a serious role will shake me of the belief that that's all she can do.

The problem with casting Ryan as Frannie is that Frannie is supposed to be alive with sexuality. Ryan's Frannie, on the other hand, is hollow and empty until Ruffalo's Malloy appears on the screen. There's enough chemistry there to get me through their scenes, but, when she was off without him, I found myself rolling my eyes back into my head from sheer boredom.

Not even Jennifer Jason Leigh as Frannie's half-sister Pauline or an uncredited Kevin Bacon as a jilted ex-lover could make me care about what happened to Ryan's Frannie. In fact, director and co-writer Jane Campion put Bacon in shadow so much of the time that I actually thought he wasn't the real thing but Poor Man's Kevin Bacon for half of the movie.

I'm rolling my eyes at Campion all on her own now. I know she had a brief moment of critical glory with The Piano (which I have never seen), and I certainly didn't see anything worth praising in my screening. The camera angles were poorly chosen, as was her use of steadicam. Of course, it doesn't help that she can't coax a believable performance out of a single one of her cast members.

I give Ruffalo all his own credit. He's a credit to the profession, really. I just love him.

It's funny how many complaints I have heard of the movie in comparison to the book since the co-writer of the screenplay is Susanna Moore herself. I was thinking that it must take a true talent to mess up your own book, but I think I'll go easy on her and just say that she's not cut out for pictures.

And what does the title mean? C- (Ruffalo is always a redeeming factor, but this crap is about two points away from a D)

Frank Miller's Sin City (2005)

Premise: Um, it's hard to sum up. Miller's graphic novels are presented in vignettes, some of which you return to, and some are dropped. Some are longer and others are shorter. I guess I'll give you a taste of each.

Opener: The Customer is Always Right - The Man (Josh Hartnett) approaches the Customer (Marley Shelton) with an offer of help.

The Yellow Bastard - On his last day on the job, Hartigan (Bruce Willis) seeks to save Nancy Callahan from Rourk Jr. (Nick Stahl), who likes to kidnap and hurt little girls.

The Hard Goodbye - Marv (Mickey Rourke) seeks out killer of his only love, Goldie (Jamie King).

The Big Fat Kill - Dwight (Clive Owen) decides to go after his girlfriend, Shellie's (Brittany Murphy), ex, Jackie Boy (Benicio Del Toro), but Jackie heads straight for old town and ends up getting himself killed. Dwight then discovers that Jackie was a cop, prompting his ex, Gail (Rosario Dawson), and Dwight to hide the murder.

I think I got that right. That was tough, man. I hate it when it seems like the plot is much more complicated than it really is. It's not complicated to follow at all, but I don't mean that it's simple either. It possesses the simplicity that all graphic novel plots possess, littered with obscenities, over-the-top dialogue and emotions, and loads of naked/scantily clad women. Just the way it is. Basically, it's rated 18A for many a good reason.

Here's what I know: Robert Rodriguez (writer/co-director/editor/cinematographer/co-composer) filmed the first section, and he handed it over to Frank Miller, telling him that that was the movie he would make. Miller, who co-directed with Rodriguez, had long resisted a feature film because he didn't want his stories to be butchered or to lose creative control of them. As soon as he watched it, Miller signed on.

Alright, the commercials praising the movie are out now, and I want you to think about all the superlatives you have heard applied to this movie, e.g. "Visually stunning!", "Bold!", "Amazing!", "Must see picture of the year!", etc.

They're all true. All of them. It is the most bold, amazing, visually stunning picture of the year, and I can already tell that nothing come Oscar season is going to make me knock this one from my top 10.

Considering that everything was filmed on a blue/green screen and that they had to deliver all the dirty/corny dialogue, the acting is as top drawer as it comes. I mean, the movie was running over with both people I love and hate, but I didn't hate anyone here. Not a single line, not even a syllable. Rodriguez captured everything there is to love about a graphic novel, drenched it in digital blood and rain, and delivered the most captivating labour of love I have seen in a long time.

And the audience was right there with me! I usually can only barely stand audiences, but everyone was there reacting so vocally that I almost wanted to watch their faces instead of the screen.

Okay, almost is a stretch. Rodriguez and Miller had me from frame one. So noir, so very noir. I'm not sure anything beats a well done noir movie that draws so many people in.

And afterwards, I watched the faces of the people streaming out, determining whose mind had been blown and who didn't have the good sense to feel that way.

I was going to single out certain performances, but it's hard to separate anyone out from the package right now. With the completely different stories taking place apart from each other, it doesn't make sense to call it an ensemble piece, but I don't know what else it could be. My dear Owen continues to redeem himself to the viewers, making them forget all about that unfortunate episode. It's a truly talented actor who can do that.

I just don't know where to start. They were all too good. No one struck me as a weak link. Stahl knocked my socks off again; Alba made me like her, as did Willis; Rourke nearly stole the show; Dawson also redeemed herself in my eyes.

It was almost too much to take in. Even now, I'm struggling to come up with the right words to describe something so unique and brilliant (hence the long post).

It's a masterpiece. The end. A+ (with a gold star, too)

Perhaps, Perhaps, Perhaps (2005)

Normally I like to avoid these types of personal blogs, as this site is supposed to be covertly, not overtly, all about me, my opinions, and everything I hold dear, but the occasion calls for it.

I don't have a lot of time for movies lately (which is all shades of suck), and Graham Ware's comments got me thinking. Maybe, just maybe, I'm taking this whole independent/hidden gem thing a little too far. Not that I have the inclination to watch more mainstream movies (and I likely never will), but it had occurred to me that you, gentle readers, are vast stores of information. You are all out there, watching movies, liking and disliking with perhaps equal passion to mine.

Okay, maybe not that last part.

In any case, although I tear into movies with Macian gusto most days, I don't want you to be afraid to send your suggestions to me. Drop me an e-mail if you are worried about sharing your opinions publicly. I know, after all, that there are those who avoid leaving comments behind for that reason.

If it's a movie that you truly love, you might want to keep that to yourself. But send me movies you hate then. Movies that just plain went over your head. They'll probably go over my head, too, but at least we'll be in it together.

Okay, I think that's the end of my latest appeal to your generosity.

I am pumped about one movie coming out today, and that is Sin City. I invite any and all Ottawa readers to go see the movie with me this week-end. Check the comments section for updated showtimes.

Hopefully this will go better than my last Clive Owen inspired outing.