PlutonicLove Reviews

King Arthur (2004)

Ooooooooooooooooh!

[13 July 2004]

Oh, paying money to see a bad imitation of Eisenstein and Kurosawa's greatest works amalgamated with 'Gladiator' and 'Braveheart'? Oh, give me more of that. Overblown set pieces mixed with underwritten expostion? Oooooh, put me in the front row. Excuse me, Mr. Shopkeeper? Can I trade in my volume of 'Morte D'Arthur' for a tape of 'Kangaroo Jack'? Oh, please, may I? Ooooooooooooooooh!

Oh, Mr. Bruckheimer, why not try a modern, revised remake of 'Spartacus' next, I can't feel the pain yet! Oooooooh, let me anoint your head with scented oils. Membership in the Jerry Bruckheimer Fan Club? Oh, it's dream come true for me. Ooooh...

Garfield: The Movie (2004)

It ain't the Cat in the Hat, but it's pretty close.

[12 July 2004]

So, I just saw this Garfield movie recently ("That's your own damn fault", I can almost hear you say) and it is indeed everything the more reputable reviewers have called it, plus a side of fries. From the very first scene on, this Garfield is the polar opposite of his comic book equivalent, talking incessantly, recklessly jumping around, waking Jon so he can make it to work in time (and though he is never seen working, Jon must indubitably have a very cushy job, judging from his at least one million dollar home). Hmmm, I always thought Garfield conserved energy as much as possible.

If this film resembles anything, it's one of those bad Disney talking animal movies from the '60s. Plot modus operandi: Animal with extraordinary abilities is abducted and exploited by evil, greedy big city person, other animals and/or animal owners must come to the rescue. Yawn. I wouldn't even mind the uber-generic plot contrivances if they were spruced up with some decent gags, but you could count this film's laughs on one finger. What Garfield really needed was a punch-up by a bunch of Simpsons writers.

I wouldn't mind buying Chris Beck's fun but rather standard score if I came across it in a bargain bin somewhere, but barring that unlikely scenario I'm likely not going to go out of my way to track down a promo. Still, even his work here remains more of a "Meh!" than a "Hmmm... neat."

Around the World in 80 Days (2004)

Why? WHY? WHYYYYYYY?

[12 July 2004]

From the "Mystery Science Theater 3000" episode "The Touch of Satan":

Girl in movie: "I'm possessed by the devil."

Tom Servo: "Michael Eisner?"

It's hard to decide what I hate most about this new "Around the World in 80 Days." From changing Phileas Fogg into a goofy inventor and outcast from his social club (the wager was never about "never inventing again"), to the appalling special effects, to the horrid cameos... it's a very close call! Oh now I know! Dave Stewart singing a particularly nauseating version of "All Around the World" -- "Everybody from every nation, everybody join the celebration..." ARRRHHGHHHH! Afterwards I had to listen to Lipps Inc's "Funkytown" for three hours just to get that bleedin' tune out of my head. When that didn't do the trick I tried Michael Sembello's "Maniac", but still no luck. Only sweet, sweet mead could soothe the pain caused by this latest Disney excretion. Oh, sweet, tasty mead, shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate, more exquisite and more pleasant, more divine and more balmy -- all in all the smoothest, and best tasting Ren Fest wine ever made! Long has this fine concoction been unavailable to aficionados in many parts of the country -- especially here in dreary old Atlanta -- but fear not, for the Bargetto online winery is here for the rescue, ready to deliver delicious Chaucer's Mead to your home at the touch of a button. To paraphrase the Bard, the delivery is swift, and flies with a swallow's wings. It's not just for peasants anymore!

Anyway, I think my point is pretty obvious: Avoid this film at all costs!

The Day After Tomorrow (2004)

The Day After Tomorrow - A Dangerous Piece of Environmental Hysteria

[7 June 2004]

Roland Emmerich's ‘The Day After Tomorrow' presumes that if the ocean convection current that cycles warm water north from the Equator to the North Atlantic, where it cools and gets cycled back down to the Equator, gets `broken', Northern Europe will no longer be receiving warmth transferred from the Equator and will fall into a new Ice Age. This also means that the Equator will heat up, since it won't be receiving cooler water cycled down from the North.

This, thankfully, is a big load -- at least as depicted in this film. Don't get me wrong; Global Warming is a very serious issue that requires further research on how it can be more efficiently controlled. I'm not remotely enough of an educated environmentalist to argue the issue vigorously with someone who is, but what little I do know, reinforced with a hefty dollop of gut feeling, strongly suggests to me that it's the right course. Hey, at least I am willing to admit my relative ignorance. Most environmental groups on the other hand are sadly and grossly misinformed about environmental science and, since they also simultaneously carry many other, stupid agendas (like antiglobalization), the last thing they want to do is bring science to the table, simply because it will upset their carefully constructed propagandized house of cards. The environmental movement is simply chocked full of nuts, some of which were undoubtedly behind the disaster that is ‘The Day After Tomorrow.' I fear this film will hurt the cause far more than it will help.

This leads to an obvious question: Is Emmerich (who got the chief writing credit here) one of these nuts, or was he simply looking for another cheap excuse to satisfy his New York City destruction fetish? Or did one of his story advisors deliberately feed him misinformation?

With most popcorn flicks I might be inclined to just shut up about the science and take the movie on its own terms, as long as it adheres to whatever narrative and physical rules established up front, but this is supposed to be a serious environmental disaster film, a caveat to all us polluters and exploiters of Mother Nature. That the earth is warming up is no longer in doubt. Everyone at this point (even the greenhouse `skeptics' of the 90's) agree that there is a definite warming trend. But the scenario presented by Emmerich is based on theories that have been debunked long ago, depicted so very ludicrously they could almost serve as parody.

Hell, this film does for the environmentalists what ‘The Life of David Gale' did for death penalty abolitionists. Sanctimonious political hooey, all of it. And what rebuttal does the movie present? A pseudo-Dick Cheney babbling about the fragility of the American economy. Oh, and Americans illegally immigrating into Mexico. Ho-ho.

This isn't supposed to be ‘Ferngully' after all. THAT's why I'm looking for some logic and an at least rudimentary scientific basis.

• THAT's why I get angry when Jake Gyllenhaal doesn't loose his hand to frostbite after being outside on the ship with no glove.

• THAT's why I get angry when our protagonists can outrun a freeze during which the temperature drops ten degrees a second.

• THAT's why I get angry when an entire Ice Age comes and goes in four days.

• THAT's why I get angry when the cancer kid has to wait for an ambulance even though he's really only on oxygen.

• THAT's why I get angry when it never occurs to anyone in the library to burn the wooden furniture instead of valuable, historically significant books

• THAT's why I get angry when it never occurs to the trekkers that left the library to simply enter another building when the storm gets really bad.

Of course I didn't initially consider ‘The Day After Tomorrow' to be some sort of scientifically-based anti-pollution story. I mean, I sure didn't read any ‘Lord of the Rings' reviews that stated `This film is a poorly-veiled commentary on the modern use of magic rings in military operations, damn it to hell.' Having seen ‘The Day After Tomorrow,' though, it does seem true that Emmerich is torn between wanting to save America and wanting to level New York. And that Jack Hall fellow, the one I believe was the hero, with the son, he did have a fairly unsubtle speech to make: `Whether we survive depends on whether human beings can learn from our mistakes. What say you, my son?'

Donnie Darko: `I survived, thanks to the books at my local library!'

Ok, just as a thought experiment let's assume that this indeed was merely supposed to be a stupid blockbuster and see if it succeeds on that level. For instance, let us compare this film to the ultimate twister epic (because both had tornados in it), a little independent film by the name of Twister, starring that very wooden actor, Will Paxton. Or Bill Patton. No matter. While I never was a big fan of ‘Twister', at least it built tension -- much like a good orgasm -- liberally spreading progressively bigger-getting tornadoes all the way through its taut narrative. ‘The Day After Tomorrow,' however, blows it's wad far too early and then timidly asks the audience to cuddle for the next hour and a half. It's a classic case of premature tornado ejaculation.

Now if the tornados had faces like that of the Master Control Program from ‘Tron' and spoke in deep, falsetto voices before devouring L.A., that would be a different story.

Hell, at least that volcano in ‘Volcano' was one hell of a huge volcano, if you catch my drift. Also, I like to say `volcano'. Volcano. Sorry, I'll stop now.

Volcano.

I don't say this often, but screw Emmerich. Screw Emmerich up his sanctimonious, political, German arse. The guy should have stuck with bad Van Damme cyborg movies or German homoerotic low-budget rape/prison dramas of the future. That's what he's good at, people.

Van Helsing (2004)

What the Helsing?

[9 May 2004]

Alan Silvestri has graced us with innumerable sublime scores, from the heroic, fanfare-heavy `Back to the Future' to the strikingly simple `Forest Gump' to the sprightly, jovial `Mousehunt' to the propulsive, percussion-driven powerhouse `Predator.' His work ranges from the divinely subtle to the outlandishly epic, but rarely is it ever intrusive or over the top. Consequently, when he feels the need to violently pummel me with snare drums, I instantly know something is wrong. Well, of course Silvestri's score for `Van Helsing' is obnoxiously loud - it has to compete with piercing vampire screams, earsplitting thunder, and enough creaks, crashes and explosions to destroy any surround system. I can only suppose director Steven Sommers (`The Mummy,' `The Mummy Returns,' `The Mummy Forever,' `The Mummy and Robin' and, of course `Abbot and Costello Meet The Scorpion King') figured this would be the only way to keep his audience awake. Hell, Van Helsing's (Hugh Jackman) heroic theme even blasts at full force while he is leisurely strolling to Paris while adjusting his hat.

No matter. After finishing his assignment in Paris (featuring a brief cameo by Mr. Hulk, of `Dr. Jeckyll and Mr. Hulk' fame), Van Helsing returns to the Vatican to have a long chat with the Italian Basil Exposition, Cardinal Esposizione Del Basilico (Alun Armstrong, overacting with zeal). As Van Helsing apparently suffers from both short- and long-term memory loss, Basilico spends most of his time reiterating their shared past, then assigns him to travel to Transylvania in order to guard princess Anna Valerious (anorexic Kate Beckinsale, dressed in a mildly fetishistic leather and cotton outfit), the last surviving member of her ancient, vampire-hunting family. Turns out one of her ancestors stupidly promised God that he and his unfortunate relations would neither rest nor enter heaven until Dracula was defeated. "In retrospect, an obvious mistake," Basilico quips. Thus Helsing now must make sure that the poor dope's family won't be lost in purgatory.

Friar Carl, played by David Wenham of `SeaChange' fame, aids Van Helsing in this debatable quest by supplying him with daylight grenades directly out of Guillermo Del Toro's `Blade 2,' spinning razors, silver bullets, holy water and a rapid-fire crossbow with a seemingly endless supply of ammunition. (Now, it should be pointed out that nowhere in Bram Stoker's classic novel -- or its many cinematic adaptations -- does Van Helsing use anything even remotely like this crossbow, but it has long been hypothesized by reputable literary scholars that he was in fact modeled after an oddball historical personage by the name of Wilberforce H.K. Smithington who may have used something like it.) Before I forget, judging from his affected British accent Wenham is under the regrettable delusion that he is providing voice-over for Pino Van Lamsweerde's `Asterix in Britain.' "It was a real doddle copping down here to Transylvania, what what? Just smashing," one can almost hear him say.

Still, in terms of sheer ludicrousness none of the above can even compare to Count Vladislaus Dracula (Richard Roxburgh) and his brides (three obnoxious Maxim models). Roxburgh's performance is obviously modeled after both the Count from `Sesame Street' and an Ed Wood-era Bela Lugosi. "Beware," Dracula warns. "Beware of the big green dragon that sits on your doorstep. He eats little boys... puppy dog tails, big fat snails. Beware. take care." Later, he demonstrates how a vampire eats a Reese's Peanut Butter Cup. "I like to eat the peanut butter first," he exclaims, leaving deep tooth marks in the drained chocolate cup. Meanwhile his wives unanimously pretend to be in a Joel Schumacher film. When they're not gesticulating wildly or turning into androgynous, Marilyn Manson-like flying Barbie dolls, they boast even worse accents than Dracula, taunting and playing with Valerious in what `Ebert's Bigger Little Movie Glossary' refers to as the "Fallacy of the Talking Killer." Helsing and Valerious might as well have fought three Jar Jar Binkses instead. "Your blahd vill keep me beautiful forever," Bride #3 sneers. "Vat do you zink about zat?" Valerious replies: "If you're going to kill someone, do it. Don't just stand there talking about it." Apparently, she's a fan of `The Good, the Bad and the Ugly', where Tuto utters the similar, famous line "When you have to shoot, shoot, don't talk." Or perhaps director Steven Sommers was a little too aware of the fact that the brides could have easily killed Valerious 20 minutes into the film, but instead opted to merely lick her face, ala `The Relic.'

Ah, but the many `homages' don't end there. Besides the aforementioned films, Sommers pilfers scenes from `Return of the Jedi' (Luke burning Vader's remains and the following metaphysical appearance of Anakin, Obi Wan and Yoda), `Raiders of the Lost Ark' (the desert chase, where Indy's private parts come dangerously close to the wheels of the truck), `Speed' (the bus jumping the bridge), `The Lion King' (Simba's father in the sky), `Twister' (a cow being tossed around for comic effect), `The Hunchback of Notre Dame' (`The bells, the bells!') and of course the Bond franchise (Q, a rip-off so obvious that it has been pointed out by every single reviewer on the web). Also, he recycles plot devices from his own films, such as the illustration explaining how to kill the monster, a device used in `The Mummy Returns,' and Kevin J. O'Connor's performance as Igor, identical to Joey `Tooch' Pantucci from `Deep Rising' and Beni Gabor from the first `Mummy.'

Oh, and of course there's the rope swinging, reminiscent of both `Tarzan' and `Spider-Man.' Never in my life have I seen this much rope swinging in utter defiance of all known physics. Almost every major character, even (I am not making this up!) the Frankenstein monster, gets to swing hundreds of feet across canyons and ravines, smashing safely through windows or against walls without ever suffering any visible harm -- "Pull the strings," Dracula yells. "Pull the strings!" At one time Valerious falls hundreds of feet, smashes against several ropes on the way, gets electrocuted, and is still able to catch the edge of a bridge, holding on with one hand. This makes me wonder why she hasn't considered simply strapping on an ACME jet backpack instead? And why, I must ask, didn't Friar Carl supply Van Helsing with an oversized magnet?

Incidentally, does anyone remember those mildly amusing yogurt commercials from the early '90s where people would eat a "heavy" sandwich and consequently fall through the floor? The exact same thing happens to Van Helsing and Velerious here, except that the sandwich has been replaced by absinthe. Yup, there's nothing funnier than people falling through shoddy floors! Of course, the floor doesn't even mess up our heroes' hair. This makes me wonder. is Van Helsing immortal? Or is he just ageless? Sommers seems to hint at the fact that Helsing is in fact archangel Gabriel, the left hand of God, and was present at the battle of Masada. What the hell is that all about? And why does Dracula keep werewolves around if they're the only ones who can kill him? And. vampire baby bats? ("One, one bat! Two, two bats! Hahahah!") And what the hell are those mole-men working in Dracula's laboratory? And why does the coach catch on fire when struck by a wolfman? And why does Dracula dress like a Flamenco instructor? And won't Frankenstein starve to death, stranded at sea on that ridiculous raft? And . oh, never-frickin'-mind!

I'm not even going to get started on the abysmal special effects on display here. Let's just say they're not nearly as convincing as Bert I. Gordon's bendable clay puppets.

Blech.

Out of the Past (1947)

Profound and Classy Noir

[28 April 2004]

Jacques Tourneur's consummate noir magnum opus 'Out of the Past' essentially follows the same premise as Siodmak's 'Criss Cross,' both depicting the downfall and demise of a fine man due to corruption by a callous femme fatale. Yet 'Out of the Past' remains clearly superior, with an intense profundity the later picture can only dream of. This is primarily due to its brilliantly intricate plotting, taut writing and, above all, thorough character development. Whereas all we learn about Steve Thomson is that he is a love-struck, irrational dope, prone to puzzling, almost martyr-like decisions, his equivalent here, Jeff Bailey (Robert Mitchum, in what is arguably his most excellent performance), becomes an almost instant identification figure for the audience, capable of following his well-defined ark from a composed, professional detective to a romantic hero, to a deeply cynical, perpetually wounded and toughened anti-hero – all without ever loosing his cool.

*** SPOILER WARNING ***

Unlike Thompson, Bailey remains one step ahead of his antagonists throughout most of the story, utterly seeing through the frame-up he is forced into and just about successfully playing all sides against each other. Though he is still tragically obsessed with the femme fatale Kathie Moffett (Jane Greer), he never trusts her again after the first betrayal, instead moving on and consummating a new liaison with the pure and virtuous Ann Miller (beautiful Virginia Huston), his apparently only chance of salvation. Jeff's tranquil existence with Ann is disturbed, however, when he is tracked down by Joe Stephanos (Paul Valentine), the unctuous accomplice of gangster Whit Sterling (hunky Kirk Douglas), who wants him to perform one last job.

In the following conversation with Ann, Jeff decides to finally shed some light on his mysterious past. A heavily narrated flashback ensues, during which Jeff is hired by Whit to track down Kathie, his deceitful mistress. According to Whit, she shot him and stole $40,000 of his money, but all he really wants is for her to come back to him. When Jeff tracks her down in Mexico City, it becomes clear why: Kathie is an irresistible stunner. Naturally he falls hopelessly in love, protects her from Whit, and later, when she cold-bloodedly shoots one of Whit's goons, falls out of love (moreover, it turns out she deceived him about the money). He buries the goon's body and goes into hiding in a small Californian town, where he meets Ann. Thus ends the flashback.

Now it turns out that Kathie has rejoined Whit, who blackmails Jeff into recovering some incriminating tax reports, the film's McGuffin, by threatening to pin the goon's murder on him. Jeff soon realizes he is being framed, double-crosses Whit and Kathie, who in turn triple-cross him. He quadruple-crosses Whit, while Kathie quintuple-crosses both Whit and Jeff. She kills Whit and puts forward an ultimatum to Jeff: he must either take the fall for Whit's murder or run away with her, loving fugitives forever. Instead, he alerts the police. When she finds out, she shoots him and is consequently gunned down by said law enforcement officials.

To those largely unfamiliar with the film's two main characters, the above paragraph must seem quite absurd, yet in the context of their uniquely conflicted, astonishingly dysfunctional relationship, it makes perfect sense. When Jeff again finds Kathie with Whit, he is shaken and sickened, even (or especially) after she tells him that she still loves him. `You're like a leaf that the wind blows from one gutter to another,' he replies. `You can't help anything you do, even murder.' Hence they go about deceiving and insulting each other in ever more wily ways, more and more alike in their mendaciousness and vindictiveness. In the end, this struggle becomes not just self-destructive, but desperately suicidal. `We deserve each other,' they conclude. Still, by alerting the authorities, Jeff ultimately chooses Ann, even if he knows he won't live to return to her. This is, of course, is ancient cinematic convention.

Indeed, what makes 'Out of the Past' particularly effective is that at times it at least seemingly offers the protagonist a way out. The many glimmers of hope, mostly in the form of Ann, who loves Jeff quite unconditionally, make the film's gloomily nihilistic conclusion all the more potent. There is little to examine about their relationship beyond the obvious, though. Ann is so slavishly devoted to Jeff that there is never a shadow of a doubt in her mind that he is innocent and will eventually return to her. In the end, only when she is made to think that Jeff actually left her for Kathie is she able to move on with her life. Still, his rare scenes with her represent the moral center of the film. Set in a bucolic environment and bathed in heavenly light at all times, they are both in tone and style dramatically different from the rest, an effective counterpoint to the otherwise dismal goings-on.

Crossfire (1947)

Redefining the Enemy

[21 April 2004]

Unlike most film noir, Edward Dmytryk's Crossfire, adapted from a novel by Richard Brooks, is not nearly as concerned with its murder mystery, which, at first sight, might seem superficially formulaic to the casual viewer, as it is with the complex motives of its characters and the oppressive ambience of its accurately rendered post-WWII setting, evoking feelings of disorientation, loneliness and entrapment. Under its classic noir exterior, it is about hardened and aloof veterans' struggle with postwar reintegration, utterly unable or unwilling to put their traumatic experiences behind them, and about their desperate attempt to redefine their goals. For those who define themselves by who their enemies are, such as hateful loner Montgomery (the brilliant Robert Ryan), this necessitates establishing a new one, a role filled here by Jewish intellectual Joseph Samuels (Sam Levene), who becomes the regrettable victim of a senseless hate crime.

At first the film appears to simply be going through the motions: After the ambiguously shot opening murder scene all evidence points, for reasons I cannot presently remember, to Corporal Arthur Mitchell (George Cooper). Captain Finley (Robert Young) investigates and is soon joined by the idealistic Sergeant Peter Keeley (Robert Mitchum), who is certain of Mitchell's innocence. Two minor military characters, Floyd Bowers (Steve Brodie) and Bill Williams (Richard Benedict) are also somehow involved. Monty murders the former, while the latter, after a stern, Hugh Beaumontesque talking-to, reluctantly aids Finley and Keeley in setting a trap for the dastardly ne'er-do-well. Or perhaps it was the other way around -- I watch so many movies that Bowers and Williams might as well have been stranded in the South Seas and mistaken for Gods by the natives. Or, possibly, they have to spend a night in a haunted house before they can claim their inheritance, where they find a monkey that can play baseball and helps the local team win some games. At any rate, there's also the obligatory femme fatale Ginny Tremaine (Gloria Grahame) and a compulsive liar (Paul Kelly, delivering a wonderful performance) who might or might not be her husband, and exists mostly for local color and comic relief.

However, the real meat of the piece is the complex characterization of the veteran archetypes. Mitchell, for instance, suffers from a classic case of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (often also referred to as `shell shock,' `war neurosis' or `combat stress') and, like many suffering from this condition, is taunted and branded as a coward by his fellows. He has become utterly self-loathing and fears the return to normalcy. The scene in which is wife finally gets him to confront these fears and enables him to return to her (and his art) is one of the film's many highlights. Then there's Peter Keeley, perhaps the most positive military archetype on display here: the natural born leader. He is extremely charismatic and persuasive, has great concern and compassion for his fellow soldiers, and manages to bring out these qualities in others. It is Keeley's considerable understanding of both human nature and his compatriots' dilemma that makes him so valuable to Captain Finley, the only other character of equivalent moral fiber. Their polar counterpart is Montgomery, a sadistic, racist bully who vents his frustrations by mocking and humiliating his fellow men. Left without an enemy, he creates elaborate rationalizations to justify his hate for a substitute. This really could be the member of any marginally different group (in the novel, I am told, the victim is a homosexual), but in this case it happens to be a Jew. While one's initial reaction might be that Montgomery obviously fought on the wrong side during the war, it is important to remember that, at the time, anti-Semitism was far from limited to Nazi Germany. Indeed, after World War One, the financial and societal crisis of the Great Depression caused anti-Semitism to reach its zenith, and violent attacks on Jews were quite commonplace in many major cities. Later, the U.S. refused entry to countless German-Jewish refugees, interpreted by Hitler as a clear sign of approval for his Final Solution.

Still, as Captain Finley correctly points out, practically anyone would have done as a victim for someone like Montgomery.

Kill Bill: Vol. 2 (2004)

It transcends its genre and becomes Tarantino's most thoughtful and sophisticated work

[15 April 2004]

In my brief, initial review of 'Kill Bill Vol. 1.' I made the regrettable mistake of dismissing it as exceedingly pleasing yet unsubstantial stylistic masturbation, lacking the profundity and characterizations of Tarantino's previous works. Rarely have I been happier to be proven wrong.

What once seemed like somewhat incoherent cinematic recklessness has, after viewing the second part of Mr. Tarantino's saga, revealed itself to be wild, imaginative and brilliant filmmaking. As a whole, 'Kill Bill' is utterly unified (not despite but because of the radical shift in tone), possesses a strong, dramatic ark, and, above all, stands as quite possibly the most passionate, loving tribute to cinema I have ever seen. While part one pays homage to Brian De Palma, Dario Argento and the Shaw Brothers, part two cites, among many others, Jean-Luc Godard, Sergio Leone, and Robert Siodmark.

But that's far from all.

In his critical essay 'The Cinema of the Cool', Kevin Murphy suggests that Tarantino must move on and grow up to fully realize his potential as a filmmaker. In my opinion, with this piece, he has done so. Those merely seeking the blood-splattered, broken-bone action of Vol. 1 will be severely disappointed by Vol. 2, which is infinitely more thoughtful, pondering the nature of violence, both in cause and effect. While the action in the first installment was great, comic book fun, here it becomes severely unpleasant, cringe inducing, and never without consequence. If anything, it reminded me of the great Akira Kurosawa's work. Remarkable.

Romeo + Juliet (1996)

Shakespeare as Served by Taco Bell

[15 April 2004]

William Shakespeare's 'Romeo and Juliet' has been performed and adapted countless times, and, unfortunately, most of said adaptations have been utterly unable to arouse more than fleeting interest in our current young generation. Consequently, I have to admit that my anticipation for this new interpretation by Baz Luhrman was restrained and, in fact, even somewhat pessimistic. Still, as an antidote to the banal merriment of the Christmas season, during which the film was initially in release, it serves well.

The modern setting, though at first glance somewhat unsettling and irritating, anchors the interpretation of Shakespeare's romantic tragedy in a context familiar to the actors and audience. The acting is unexpectedly robust, considering the fact that a majority of the actors are in fact not (or at least weren't at the time) theatrically trained. One cannot but wonder if passion of such intensity was ever known by any of these plucky teens, these tumbleweeds in the desert of drama. The set and costumes are harmoniously combined and very worthwhile, within the context of a modern rendering. And the set design, too, is immensely resourceful, if not immensely successful. The costumes demonstrate a primal polarity of colors to differentiate the opposing forces as they tear asunder the dramatic passion binding Romeo and Juliet.

Indeed, just as the spirit of Johann Sebastian Bach gives life to lifeless digital sound canvas, so can the spirit of Shakespeare illuminate any shadowy modern context. 'Romeo and Juliet' is a treasure that benefits the world of the dramatic arts by transforming the detached audience into emotional participants. Yes, 'Romeo and Juliet', like Taco Bell, appeals to those seeking spicy freshness in a context of rapid deployment!

In case you haven't noticed, the above paragraphs contained generous portions of sarcasm. In actuality, this adaptation is a dull, botched one, a far cry from say Franco Zeffirelli's stunningly erotic version.

Updating the plays of Shakespeare has obviously occupied the minds of many directors before, but it is a good idea to try to occupy the minds of the audience as well. After all, while this is not the Bard's best play, it unarguably contains his best poetry; that is because the play is also about language, about the difference between what something is and the language used to describe it. Hence, this may be one of the hardest Shakespearean plays to adapt to a modern setting. In part this may be due to the dramatic asides, which broadcast private remarks for all to hear, except the target of the remark, but even more importantly the play suffers from another blessing, which is also a curse: the enormous power of the story itself. Any failure to do it justice is likely to be perceived as monumental. Such is the fate of Luhrmans's film, a poppy and incoherent music video mess. The cast's endeavors to render the Bard's language more relaxed and informal are disastrous, as are the countless Mexican standoffs and gunfights that replace the swordfights of the original play. Danes and DiCaprio are utterly lost here, as is any semblance of sense or continuity. Rather than immersing the audience, the MTV style quickly becomes dull and extremely distracting. Ah, but tell that to the teenyboppers, to whom this thing is basically critic proof! To attempt it is to carelessly stroll into a hedonist orgy in Birkenstock sandals, step on every single bare foot, imbibe all half-finished glasses of Maraschino liqueur, smoke a La Gloria Cubana and engage people in tête-à-tête concerning the European Monetary Union - very silly. They'll just look at you all googly-eyed and inform you that `Leo is sooooooooo hot!'

Bah!

Criss Cross (1949)

Steve Thompson, Idealist

[14 April 2004]

In faithful accordance with classic film noir convention (a modus operandi also reminiscent of the Greek tragedies of old), armored truck driver Steve Thompson, protagonist of "Criss Cross", Robert Siodmark's and Burt Lancaster's follow-up to the outstanding "The Killers", brings about his own ruin and demise through two primary tragic flaws, namely hopeless infatuation and unfounded optimism. The object of his affection is his ex-wife Anna, memorably played by the stunning Yvonne De Carlo, whose hubris prompts her to wed sleazy gangster Slim Dundee (Dan Duryea), apparently to spite Steve's detective friend Pete Ramirez (Stephen McNally) for intimidating her the night before. Regrettably I cannot be too sure of this plot point, though, as at the time my attention was solely focused on Miklós Rózsa's wonderfully dark and driving underscore.

Naturally a torrid affair ensues between Mr. Thompson and the now-Ms. Dundee, and -- even more naturally -- they are almost immediately caught together by her new husband, which impels Thompson to divert Slim Dundee's attention by unexpectedly suggesting a heist of his armored truck. It remains somewhat unclear whether this is something he'd been planning all along or just an inspired attempt to weasel himself out being killed on the spot, but the gangsters thankfully decide to go along with it. Crosses and double-crosses follow, Anna somehow escapes with the money, lovesick Steve stupidly leads the mobsters to her hideout, and Slim shoots them both in cold blood.

Undeniably this summary, either through simplification or omission, paints Steve Thomson as a bit of a nitwit, but although he makes some unbelievably bad choices, they are always well-rooted in his character, which screenwriter Daniel Fuchs (working from a novel by Don Tracy, of "Death Calling Collect" fame) takes great pains to establish in the first third of the story. The real conflict here is one of ideology, Steve being an idealist and Anna being a realist. One Imdb user cites Steve's refusal `to become completely cynical and hard-bitten' as his most admirable feature, likely unaware of the famous H.G. Wells quote that states `A cynic is what an idealist calls a realist.' Steve is more than just a hopeless romantic, he possesses and indefatigable optimism that allows him to rationalize any action not just for the sake of being with Anna, but due to the firm, absolute conviction that they belong together and that nothing will stand in their way. Alas, in film noir love does not necessarily conquer all and, as Anna put it, `you've got to watch out for yourself.'

In the end, when taking one of the gangsters to Anna's hideout for a payoff, Steve has obviously abandoned all logical reasoning and is acting on pure, emotion-fueled impulse. He is so blinded by love, so single-mindedly focused on Anna, that he gives no second thought to Slim or the money, certain that his police friends will take care of the matter eventually. In many ways, the traditional gender roles of him and Anna are reversed here. She is the tough, down-to-earth pragmatist struggling for survival; he is the longing, pining fool, willing to sacrifice everything for her love. It is the against-type casting of Burt Lancaster, in other way the blue-collar macho idol of the time, that makes this reversal fascinating.

The Passion of the Christ (2004)

Christ/Sade

[11 March 2004]

There is nothing I could say, nothing I could possibly do to alter people's opinions of Mel Gibson's ‘The Passion of the Christ.' My devout Christian friends tell me that because I am a nonbeliever I am not qualified to judge this film and could not possibly understand its importance. They are quite wrong.

True, I cannot view the Bible as anything but mythology. I'll spare you endless ramblings about how the Genesis depiction of creation is really no more valid than its Babylonian equivalent, or how the Israelite religion is a mere Yahwization of pagan religions, but rest assured that it is true. Many Christian Fundamentalists maintain that the misrepresentation of Bible teachings has always been a satanic priority, thus resulting in a variety of similarities to false religions and mythologies, but they forget that the aforementioned mythologies have developed autonomously. Creation myths, flood myths, the death and resurrection of the hero – they are far from exclusive to the Bible. When I see ‘The Passion', I see it as a filmed mythological story, no different from ‘Excalibur' or ‘The Lord of the Rings'.

As such, it fails.

Throughout times past, the story of Christ has served as a prime example of Joseph Campbell's heroic journey paradigm, as outlined in ‘The Hero With a Thousand Faces'. Christ goes through a period of self-discovery, understands the tremendous sacrifice required of him and, despite enormous temptation, chooses to fulfill his destiny. In his adaptation of the classic tale, though, writer/director Mel Gibson all but eliminates the spiritual context of the story – the uninitiated will learn nothing of Christ's wisdom or character – and reduces the social one to such a degree that Jesus' sacrifice appears ultimately meaningless. Robbed of his martyrdom, Christ instead becomes a victim of political intrigue, now more Michael Collins or Veronica Guerin than benevolent savior. Now THERE'S a good analogy: imagine Neil Jordan's movie version of ‘Michael Collins' featuring a mere ten minutes of Eamon de Valera plotting to have him killed and an excruciating 115 minutes of bullets entering Michael's body in slow motion. It might be evocative and momentous to a few followers of Collins, but virtually worthless to anyone else. The only way one could possibly find THAT entertaining is through some sort of bizarre bullet wound fetish.

Likewise, one needs to adopt a rather sadomasochistic mindset to enjoy ‘The Passion' – my impression is that Gibson's ideal target audience consists principally of Alexander de Large and his jolly band of droogs, imagining themselves as Roman soldiers, gleefully thrashing their sacred whipping boy.

Thankfully, I have built up a tolerance for violence and anguish over the years, allowing me to sit through it with only mild discomfort and nausea. One can only imagine, though, how agonizingly sadomasochistic this material must be for believers, especially the young children who are undoubtedly dragged to this movie by their pious parents. On the one hand, their innate reaction should be a desire for the suffering to end; on the other, it is essential for them to be absolved of their sins. It is crucial to their faith and ultimate redemption – and thus in their interest – for the agony to be prolonged until its preordained conclusion. It's torture and mockery of its audience.

In order to make any sense at all, the story of Christ MUST be taken as a whole. Imagine Peter Jackson's ‘Lord of the Rings' movies only covering the last 10 hours of Frodo's and Sam's journey through Mordor. We'd never see that so-called `Shire' they are willing to die for, wouldn't understand their relationship or motivation. There would be no room for character development, somewhat akin to opening the first ‘Godfather' movie with Michael Corleone already corrupted. Here Christ is transformed into a superhuman and/or -natural pain-absorbing device, bland and soulless, inspiring empathy only through the severity of his agony – a maddening manipulation. Unable or unwilling to give us a good reason to care about his protagonist, Mel Gibson unabashedly tries to shame us into spiritual submission.

Indeed, I find that to truly comprehend the failure of Gibson's film, we must assess an earlier, considerably more successful (artistically, of course, not financially) version of the classic tale: Martin Scoresese's adaptation of Nikos Kazantzakis' novel ‘The Last Temptation of Christ', which portrays Jesus as a careworn, frightened individual, utterly mystified by human sexuality and unsure of his choices. He is depicted pondering over leaving the cross in exchange for an ordinary life, a temptation that brilliantly clarifies his sacrifice for us. To me, this makes considerably more sense than Gibson's unequivocally godly rendering of Christ, which would have made it effortless for him to resist all temptation simply because, well, he was God. As Martin Scorsese put it in his interview with David Thompson: `He could reject the temptation of power in the desert; he could reject especially the temptation of sex, and he could undergo the suffering on the Cross, because he knew what was going to happen.' Mel Gibson, on the other hand, is apparently uninterested in the issue of Christ's humanity versus his divinity, and thus prevents us from identifying with his protagonist. The human body does not possess the pain threshold required to consciously endure even a fraction of physical damage on display in ‘The Passion' – we have no frame of reference to truly get a grasp on the experience. My reaction wasn't awe at Christ's sacrifice – it was amazement at the amount of abuse he could take without going unconscious.

Space Mutiny (1988)

Ambrosial sci-fi consommé

[2 December 2003]

Space Mutiny is unequivocally a delectable potpourri of classic science fiction themes, brilliantly conforming to the established standards of Asimov, Bradbury and Heinlein. My former stoner roommates Biff Asimov, Jack Bradbury and The Heinmeister, that is.

Haha.

Alright, I confess that they are entirely fabricated. Nevertheless, if I indeed did heretofore possess three staggeringly intoxicated roommates, this photoplay's narrative would likely not be far from the contents of their cannabis-dazed minds. Be it the puzzlingly enigmatic shenanigans of a tarrying sect of Bellarian witches or the seemingly aimless tomfoolery of the titular space mutineer, goings-on always remain just outside the viewer's comprehension. Add to that the Spirit of Christmas Future as the ship's Captain (traditionally represented as a jolly fat old man with a white beard), the inappropriately squalid sets (filled with more superfluous pipes than you could shake a Super Mario Brother at), and the irritating banter of space pilot Dave Ryder, and you get a consommé fit only for a madman. Taste at your own risk.

Looney Tunes: Back in Action (2003)

A mixed bag, but containing isolated moments of sheer brilliance

[18 November 2003]

Dante's homage to the late, great Chuck Jones ends up being somewhat hit and miss, especially due to the rather irritating villain played by Steve Martin, but the pacing is fast, the animation is spectacular, and there's enough great strandout moments (Area 52, the Louvre) to make up for the film's shortcomings. Both Jerry Goldsmith's score and Danny Elfman's niece are delicious.

Kill Bill: Vol. 1 (2003)

Pure style

[18 November 2003]

The ultimate incarnation of style over substance, a style so pure and fueled out of an unbridled love for the cinematic form that one can not help but admire Tarantino's technique. Sure, it's basically a glorified B-movie, uncontaminated by substance, but heck – it's COOL. The cliffhanger ending is painfully anticlimatic, though. Must... see... volume... two!

Intolerable Cruelty (2003)

First feel-good Coen Brothers film

[18 November 2003]

The Coen Brothers' tribute to the classic screwball comedies of the ‘50s is a stunning success, stuffed to the brim with the kind of acerbic humor, memorable characters and deadpan dialogue we've come to expect from them. While this is their first true populist feel-good film, lacking the twisted cynicism of a Blood Simple or Fargo, it never becomes too sappy or predictable. The soundtrack (a seamless combination of Carter Burwell's score, Simon and Garfunkel, Elvis Presley and Tom Jones) is awesome!

The Matrix Revolutions (2003)

A bag of hot air after all

[1/10 · 7 November 2003]

In my review of ‘The Matrix: Reloaded' I declared that it would be impossible to precisely rate it without first examining its resolution. Finally, with ‘The Matrix: Revolutions,' that resolution has arrived, but unfortunately it turns out to be even less satisfying than what I could have possibly predicted in my most depressing nightmares.

To call the Wachowskis' spiritualizing a bag of hot air would be an

understatement of almost biblical proportions, as the ending most resembles

‘Tron' run through a pretentious Anime filter (don't get me wrong, ‘Tron' is a very fine film and infinitely superior to this dreck). Add to that a barrage of bad sci-fi clichés (even worse than the Asimov and Bradbury `inspired' ‘Second

Renaissance Part 1 & 2'), hackneyed lines that will make you squirm in agony, headache-inducing action scenes, and characters one wants to die a most

painful death, and you get a concoction fit only for the most fanatic ‘Matrix' fan, devoid of even the most subtle smidgeon of taste.

All of this wouldn't be so bad if the Wachowskis hadn't presented it in such a ponderous and padded manner. Let's face it: There is absolutely no good

reason to split this material into two films – it could have been easily told in two and a half hours (at the most). If brevity is the essence of wit, the Wachowskis are the most humorless filmmakers since Rainer Werner Fassbinder (don't get

me wrong, his 15 1/2 hour epic ‘Berlin Alexanderplatz' still seems much shorter than what they delivered here). For the love of all that is good and decent: Stop!

Pearl Harbor (2001)

Thank you, Michael Bay, for making us laugh about love... again!

[1/10 · 30 September 2003]

John Hartnett and Ben Affleck star as dashing (as opposed to merely "runny") pilots in love with the same woman, a for the time surprisingly anorexic model type played by Kate Beckinsale. This love triangle gets so convoluted and unbelievable throughout the film that one almost expects Hartnett and Affleck to end up together, or possibly even a sexy soft-core three-way (Beckinsale: "Oh... I just can't decide between the two of you, so I'll have you BOTH!").

Equally hilarious is the complete lack of historical accuracy, from the Germans bombing DOWNTOWN London (and where would this be, pray tell?), to the fact that Hawaii is populated by nothing but rich Caucasians, dressing their kids as angels and chasing them down hills in slow motion. Also of course absolutely nobody smokes, despite the fact that this is the frickin' '40s. Not to mention the physically impossible flying scenes during Bays action scenes, apparently an intended homage to Star Wars - or so they would be if Bay's direction didn't immediately disintegrate into a rampageous helter-skelter mess of atrocious takes, clumsy acting, irritatingly gut-wrenching hand-held camera wiggling, and music-video editing.

The movie's politically correct portrayal of the Japanese should also not be missed, planning their attack with toy boats in a little pool while lamenting the unfortunate fact that they have to attack the United States. "A brilliant man would find a way not to fight a war", Yamamoto says, "but they have given us no choice. Due to some economical reason or other, possibly to do with trade routes or something, we must attack the U.S., even though we really don't want to. In fact, we love America and are really, really sorry for having to attack it. Please accept my most sincere apologies for this heinous act. [*starts sobbing*] Oh, why? WHY must we do this? WHHHHYYYYTY!"

FDR: "You see, because I can get out of my wheelchair and walk, our sneak attack on Japan will be successful!"

FDR's advisors: "You truly make a persuasive argument, Mr. President!"

If this has not convinced you to watch this hilarious comedy, nothing will.

Cabin Fever (2002)

Unmitigated crap

[1/10 · 29 September 2003]

Why many horror fans and critics have embraced this unmitigated crap is beyond me. It's not even a real horror movie, for Pete's sake! It's a pointless excercise in pure randomness, lacking any purpose or objective, featuring idiotic characters making idiotic decisions, scenes that don't go anywhere (there's even a FADE OUT during an ACTION SCENE!), and - for no apparent reason - Dukes of Hazzard-type hillbilly stereotypes. Plot points and characters are introduced and abandoned recklessly, as is any attempt at continuity. The filmmakers' love for throwing erratic references to other (much better) horror movies in our faces is regrettably far stronger than their desire to tell a story. The result is aimless, arbitrary, and wanton.

Junk (2000)

It was certainly `Junk', I'll give you that.

[1/10 · 22 August 2003]

Throughout the late 18th century a grand Japanese-fever swept the regrettably not vaccinated western nations like a swarm of African killer bees from Irvin Allen's archetypal classic of the same name, leading, among other things, to myriad French impressionist art works and Gilbert and Sullivan's `The Mikado', which is for all intents and purposes about as Japanese as Shepard's pie - and for that we shall be forever be indebted to Mr. Gilbert's and Mr. Sullivan. Now, with many of the Japanese's recent imports, the unabashed scrounging of the other culture's art technique has come full circle. So enthralled are the pitiable, deluded fools by our lowest common denominator pop culture orts that they expend large amounts of their time and energy on plagarizing what is already watered down Tarantino, Romero, and Zimmer, by which I mean that this movie has in fact more in common with Paul Anderson's awful adaptation of the `Resident Evil' games, in themselves a tribute to Romero's classic `Living Dead' trilogy, Roger Avary's almost equally awful `Killing Zoe', needless to say a very second-rate imitation of `Reservoir Dogs', and the musical excretion of Klaus `The Uncomposer' Badelt, who has become rich and famous by simply imitating his only slightly superior and in general grossly overrated mentor Hans Zimmer.

The fundamentals that make up this movie's meager `plot' are recognizably familiar: The Avarian bank heist, the bickering gangsters, the Yakuza double-cross, the James Whalian ersatz-Frankenstein who crosses a line man was not meant to cross in order to reanimate his beloved dead wife, the Bay-esque macho military men with their Sam Elliot moustaches and Manuel Noriega-like skin, as well as the hilarity and wackiness that ensues when these forces clash. However, the imitation is not of a very high caliber, lacking the flaire and technical skill of a Tod Browning, a Romero or even, and this is particularly embarrassing, a Michael Bay or Roger Avary (I suggest the people responsible, especially the director, graciously commit harikari immediatly). Even without understanding a word of Japanese, the overacting and awkward, at times even idiotic, scripting is painfully obvious, as is the film's complete lack of original or memorable visuals. The pseudo-Badelt score is possibly the film's worst single aspect, full of hyperkinetic, depth-free, poorly synth-orchestrated, ultra-simplistic power-anthems of such a monumentally turbid, desiccated lifelessness that even if it fell off a junk, in this case not referring to the movie but to a Chinese flatbottom ship with a high poop and battened sails, it wouldn't be capable of rehydration.

Still, one does have to give credit to any movie that has the guts to call itself `Junk'.

Casper and Wendy's Ghostly Adventures (2002 Video)

A charming little show

[7/10 · 19 August 2003]

More amiable and far less irritating than today's SpongeBobs or Rugrats, Casper and Wendy is an altogether charming, consistently well animated and witty cartoon, despite its at times too goody-goody nature, which can become nauseating in large doses.

Their age notwithstanding, these cartoons look striking as ever (though not quite as great as some of the restored Disney shows of yore). The more modern and stylized art deco ones hold up especially well - infinitely superior to some of the junk found in contemporary children's programming.

This collection is a great introduction to classic animation, as well as a small gem for those seeking some nostalgia. Recommended.

28 Days Later (2002)

28 Days Later: Silent Earth of the Living Omega Dogs

[19 August 2003]

During the first half hour of "28 Days Later" I was ecstatic. This, I thought, was precisely the way the "Resident Evil" movie SHOULD have been done. So engrossed was I in it's faux-low-budget style, I didn't even mind that it was just about literally another filmed version of Matheson's "I Am Legend" (previously adapted as "The Omega Man") crossed with Craig Harrison's "The Quiet Earth" (later adapted by Geoff Murphy under the same title). But then I started to get restless, noticing more and more James Horneresqe direct rips from "Dawn of the Dead", "Night of the Living Dead" and even the substandard "Day of the Dead". Yes, I slowly realized that this movie didn't contain a single, original thought. Add to this the incredibly senseless idiocy of the film's hero Jim, who repeatedly gets himself in inanely deadly situations only to escape through sheer dumb luck, and you get a stupendously infuriating movie.

Then there's the film's visual style. Though Boyle does allow the digital fluff to somewhat defile his otherwise impressively potent post-apocalyptic setting, some of the early zombie scenes were indeed undeniably effective. Unfortunately, though, he nauseatingly overuses that Saving Private Ryan shutter-strobe effect to cover the disappointing lack of actual gore scenes. He prevents us from getting a good look at anything, not unlike Paul Anderson did in his disastrous "Resident Evil".

In it's second half, the film suddenly turns into Peckinpah's "Straw Dogs", with Jim in the Dustin Hoffman role, defending his girlfriend Selena from sex-starved British soldiers, who surprisingly turn out the be the real villains of the film (incidentally, this also closely resembles Romero's underrated "The Crazies"). Now, despite the fact that Jim was earlier established as a complete and utter imbecile, he is somehow able to perfectly predict and control the behavior of the surviving zombies, which he uses as preposterous weapons against the soldiers. I kid you not! In the film's third half, we're actually supposed to be rooting for the zombies as they violently slaughter soldier after soldier, including uninvolved innocents who just happened to be serving with the three rapists. The ending is so eerily similar to "Straw Dogs" that I couldn't help being revolted (not by the violence, but by the plagarism and its implications, considering Peckinpah's original intentions). Plus, the British soldiers are complete idiots, actually deciding to leave the safe perimeter of their base and enter the woods JUST TO KILL JIM! Couldn't they have just shot him in a remote part of the base and added his body to the already existing pile of zombies? But that wouldn't have given him the chance to escape, would it?

Blech.

SpongeBob SquarePants (1999– )

How do I hate Spongebob? Let me count the ways

[19 August 2003]

In the opinion of this humble reviewer the jarringly vexatious characters, piercingly shrill voice acting and atrociously inharmonious low-detail animation of Spongebob Squarepants should render its success highly elusive to the non-brain-dead viewer.

The show is so inconsistent that every single character looks like he or she escaped from an altogether different program; none of them seem to fit into the childishly stylized backgrounds – and don't even get me started on the maddeningly idiotic implementation of live-action footage.

Spongebob himself is quite possibly the most irritable, loathsome and repugnant cartoon protagonist of any show since Riefenstahl's Kampfy Der Uberhund. Why any halfway sane human being would want to watch this creep is beyond me.

When I was a child we had Rocky and Bullwinkle, Asterix and Obelix and Bugs Bunny to look up to – today we get a twitty psychotic. Poor kids.

Mystery Science Theater 3000: The Movie (1996)

A good effort, but could have been better

[9/10 · 19 August 2003]

In adapting their superb series for the cinema, Mike and the Bots chose the obvious way of straightforwardly repeating their proven formula while slightly upping the quality of their sets and cannon fodder, for which they selected Universal's minor science fiction classic This Island Earth.

While the result is indeed consistently funny, as well as frequently hilarious, one can certainly hypothesize how it could have been severely improved if they'd taken the time and effort to innovate. Alas, any kind of character development (yes, the original show DID develop their characters) is rendered impossible by the curiously short running time of 75 minutes, far less than an average episode.

Said time restriction also caused them to essentially cut This Island Earth, of which little over 50 minutes remain, to shreds. Then again, the much-beloved classic was hardly the perfect choice for the MST3K treatment anyway; I'd have picked something like Irving Allen's The Swarm – great to look at, simple to trim to a manageable length, and full of hilarious ridiculousness, both in dialogue, plot and effects. Along with some more host segments (perhaps even an actual plot?) it could have made a true MST3K epic.

But there should be no crying over a lost opportunity, as the final result is indeed very entertaining and a fantastic introduction to the show. Definitely recommended.

The Critic (1994–2001)

Good show, GREAT voice acting

[18 August 2003]

Though it never really becomes more than the sum of its parts (hindered by quite a few rather generic plot lines and unimaginative film parodies) `The Critic' does contain more than its share of memorable laugh-out-loud moments, generally due to the brilliant voice acting of Maurice LaMarche, who performs most of the celebrity voice impersonations. His Orson Welles impression (`Rosebud... yes, Rosebud frozen peas'), one of the show's standout moments, has to be heard to be believed – it's no wonder Tim Burton hired him to overdub D'Onofrio's voice in `Ed Wood'.

Other highlights include the many cameo appearances by film critics Roger Ebert, Gene Siskel, Gene Shalit and Rex Reed. Seeing Siskel and Jay re-enact the `wig' scene from Hitchcock's `Vertigo' is heartwarming, and though I could never stand Rex Reed's reviews, he is a fabulous voice actor. His delivery of the Savvy Indian Chewing Tobacco commercial jingle still makes me laugh out loud any time I hear it.

Not a knockout show, but definitely worth watching. It's a bloody shame this was cancelled.

Mystery Science Theater 3000 (1988–1999)

Consistently brilliant, one of the finest shows of our time

[14 August 2003]

Living every pop-culture enthusiast's dream of talking back at the industry's bottom-of-the-barrel refuse, at least those samples they could get their fingers on, the marooned janitor Joel Robinson (Joel Hodgson) and his bots Tom Servo (first Josh Weinstein, then Kevin Murphy) and Crow T. Robot (Trace Beaulieu, later Bill Corbett) have, at least in the minds of their countless fans, been elevated to an almost Christ-like status of brilliantly witty, film-savvy martyrs. Forced to watch atrociously bad movie after atrociously bad movie, which they survive only through the use of their own biting and above all highly educated and sophisticated wit, they are identification figures for all of us suffering wannabe critics. From the lowbrow to the esoteric, no opportunity for a cutting remark is missed by these lovable rascals, who practically invented this new way of reviewing film. It's the dissatisfied moviegoer's commentary track, an option that should, in my opinion, be included on the DVD releases of pretty much all major blockbusters released today. After all, wouldn't we Mysties just kill for an MST3K treatment of the Bay/Bruckheimer movies or Lucas' prequel trilogy? I'd like to think so.

Now for the development of the series: The KTMA years were still pretty sketchy and mostly unscripted, but did nevertheless successfully create the foundation of the show, firmly establishing its format. Though many of its episodes were forgettable, there were some true standout moments. One of these was their treatment of Sandy Frank's `Fugitive Alien' series, which would be repeated and perfected in MST3K's third season. The official first season was still not quite up to the quality we're so used to now, but it provided the show with some of its most memorable host segments and catch phrases, namely Servo's romantic infatuation with the ship's water cooler and `Hi-Keeba!'

Season two to six represents the shows golden years, wonderfully covering many of the `Gamera' and `Godzilla' films, other Sandy Frank abominations like `Time of the Apes', many ambitious Bert I. Gordon and Roger Corman misfires, the Italian `Hercules' series and, of course, Hal Warren's classic `Manos: The Hands of Fate', still the most infamous of all MST3K movies (the wonderful Torgo became a memorable recurring character throughout the show).

In the middle of the fifth season Joel Hodgson left the show and was replaced by the equally great Mike Nelson, who served as head writer all through the series. With the change of the host also came a change of the shows tone. Joel was an exceedingly amiable, pleasant fellow - a great balance to the scathingly sardonic Crow and pompous, overeducated Servo. Mike was still likable, but generally favored a much darker brand of humor. Thus, by the end of the 8th season, the show had become far less jovial in their treatment of the films, some comments being downright spiteful (for instance, the Canada song in `The Final Sacrifice').

As for the villainous mad scientists, Dr. Forrester (again, Trace Beaulieu) and his assistant TV's Frank (Frank Coniff) were later replaced by Dr. Forrester's mother (the positively Dawn Frenchian Mary Jo Pehl) and her assistants, Professor Bobo (again, Kevin Murphy) and Observer (again, Bill Corbett). Needless to say, it was not really a worthy replacement, and the quality of the host segments decreased considerably. Nevertheless, MST3K still produced some incredibly funny episodes, on par with (if not superior to) the best of their early work. `Puma Man', `Space Mutiny', `Overdrawn at the Memory Bank' and `Prince of Space' are unarguable classic episodes I would not want to live without.

All in all, an absolutely amazing show of quite consistent quality.