I was there at the beginning and stayed until the admirable entry-point to the trio of prequels that would, we were assured, re-map the splendid beginnings of George's magnificent odyssey and usher in a whole new generation of fans who had only ever experienced the magic on VHS/BETA. No, I didn't much care for Star Wars "Re-dux" a couple of years ago at the cinema with the added bits for good measure. I mean, if it ain't broke, why unnecessarily lengthen and dissipate the narrative structural integrity with a plethora of CGI jiggery-pokery? For me, the original IS most definitely the best. Having said that, I was suitably impressed by "The Phantom Menace", a film which was chock-a-block with the aforementioned effects but which managed to develop the early incarnations of our heroes/villains suitably whilst effortlessly introducing some new faces and even throwing in some stunning set pieces (that remarkable pod-race sequence, for example) before slapping us across our drooping jaws with an intricate and splendidly edited three-way battle extravaganza at the finale. And of course...the critics disliked it as I believe did a sizeable majority of incredibly hard to please individuals. Poor ol' George must've really been scratching his head over that one. "What in God's name did I do wrong?", he might have said. "I set the whole shebang in perfect motion or so I thought. Sure, the effects got most of the headlines but scrape away the CGI and I also had a solid script, some thoughtful, low-key and otherwise performances from some splendid actors, some breath-taking locales, unparalleled action sequences in the traditional Star Wars stylee and the Mother and Father of all light-sabre battles with a particularly loathsome Sith Lord who prior to a late narrative tinker, I had pencilled in to last until the beginning of Episode III. I mean, what more do you people want!?!!" screams Curious George. O.K. folks, it appears that what George has done is pull his hair out in trying to bend and mould a once fresh-faced and truly original movie-franchise (if that's not a contradiction in terms), into a shameless hussy of a free-for-all in which everyone gets a bit of what they fancy. To hell with the original vision, here's Star Wars by the numbers with a dreadful, wise-cracking new version of once stolidly po-faced Obi-wan, a slew of cartoon-like chases and near-misses and improbable escapes. Throw in a ludicrous, "Gladiator"-style melee with terrible creature design and a newly transformed Senator Amidala into some kind of neolithic Wonder Woman and you're really only scraping the surface of what's gone very badly wrong. I'll admit that the story-line is reasonably well adhered-to in most places and the double bluff by the fantastic Count Dooku (take a bow, Sir Christopher) will leave most people guessing till the end, but by the half way stage, no amount of shots of the supremely cool, but criminally underused Jango Fett can sway one back to full consciousness after more than an hour of a tepid romantic tale not at all suffused by a rousing finale which instead is just a large mess of flashing lights and a painfully obvious, heavily unlife-like series of skirmishes which leaves a rather unsatisfied taste in the mouth as the strains of John Williams build to the end titles. "What did I just watch?", I heard someone say, "Was that Star Wars?" piped another. "My bleedin' eyes hurt", moans a third. All I can add to the growing list of unsatisfied customer-speak, is why reduce one of the most famous and well-written characters to the lowly bowels of bad stand-up with shamelessly ill-judged and un-funny puns. Poor ol' Anthony Daniels must be secretly crying into his cocoa. R.I.P C-3PO. I remember when real humour and many an uproarious punchline was exacted from your uppity, cantankerous and uniquely blinkered view of the universe and not from a junior script-writer's lazy scribblings on a matchbox on the subway to one of George's crisis meetings. Ah, what the hell, bar Lee, Jango Fett and a half-way decent performance by that Danish bloke wot played Annakin, "Attack of the Clones" was little short of a complete disaster. Please, George, I beg you, recant, shut yourself away in a little room with some pencils and a notepad and start re-writing the third and mercifully, final instalment. Don't listen to no-one, my amply-jowlled friend, and throw your work out there into the big, wide world letting those would-be directors and screenwriters amongst us peck at the pieces and take it or leave it. After all, you don't need the money at this stage, right. Right? And to think, your good buddy Mr. S. actually went and said that AOTC was better than "A New Hope".....the man's loosin' his cool. Fur reel, Dog. (Either that, or he felt you needed some serious consoling).
Reviews
3 Reviews
Lawn Dogs
(1997)
Thoroughly engaging modern fable
31 August 2001
As I write, I'm desperately keeping my eyes peeled for a glimpse of Sam Rockwell's star on the rise. I've only recently had the privilege of witnessing this fine young actor in "Lawn Dogs" and "Box of Moonlight" and I was mightily impressed. Not unlike John Turturro, (with whom he stars in "Box of Moonlight"), who has reduced the art of acting to a pursuit seemingly as effortless as breathing, Rockwell exudes a calmness on screen and he simply becomes his character. This is a rare and true gift. Just as well then, that both the aforementioned movies are worthy of his talent. "Lawn Dogs" sees Rockwell play a disaffected loner, Trent, holed up in a dilapidated trailer in the woods and reduced to mowing the lawns and tending the trees of the ample grounds of an affluent neighbouring estate, constructed to all intents and purpose like a heavily fortified island, replete with twenty-four hour security. Recent arrivals to this whiter than white suburban oasis, are a married couple, played by the ever dependable Christopher MacDonald and Kathleen Quinlan, and their delicate, sickly daughter Devon, played with uncanny ability by newcomer Mischa Barton. From the outset, it appears that all is well with this ordered paradise, once the subjugated labourers are released with a flourish of crisp, clean legal tender back to the nether regions of society and the hatches are well and truly battened down for the onset of another peaceful night. Trent certainly appears to echo the sentiment, celebrating the release and the end of a day's hard graft with a naked plunge from a bridge into a nearby river. This one act alone serves to set his character's liberal, carefree and thus almost directly opposing nature in conflict with the inhabitants of the estate. He becomes an object of illicit desire for the young women and a source of competition for the young men, particularly for a pair of well-heeled types who tear around in a formidable sports/utility vehicle with a rather testy Doberman pinscher. Indeed Trent proves true to his potential as he frequently "entertains" one of the young ladies in his humble dwelling who appears more than drawn by his animal magnetism. This is but one of a number of clandestine meetings of the mind(and body), that belie the vapid exterior of the estate, an obvious microcosm of greater American suburbia. Out of this miasma comes a shining beacon. Devon is more than a closeted patient in a sickly-sweet homestead. We gradually become aware that even at a tender age, she is quite the most virtuous and intensely interesting member of the community. We learn that she has a serious heart condition and many operations behind her, not the least of which has resulted in an enormous scar which runs the length of her chest. The many traumas that one so young has been forced to endure cultivates an incredible imagination and sensitivity to her surroundings in Devon and she experiences the unseemly underbelly of her neighbourhood, matter of fact-ly, as she wanders about. Her father is a gormless conformist who fails to realise his wife is being serviced regularly by one of the young dudes. Devon also receives some wholly unwanted attention from the same source and we witness a long overdue break from this diseased palace when she happens upon the miserable Trent, who conversely, is gradually withdrawing further and further into a virtual prison, only venturing out to mow Devon's lawn once in a while. From this point the two quickly become inseparable. Devon is literally bursting at the seems with a youthful exuberance that appears to have been stifled for so long and is maturing rapidly into a young woman. She paints Trent's empty emotional canvas with vivid colours and he slowly blossoms, the child in him re-surfacing once again. It is immediately obvious that the age disparity renders such a relationship fraught with danger. Trent is careful to remain a figure of paternal seniority to Devon and the bond between them develops not unlike that of an orphaned child who is unexpectedly re-united with a benevolent father. Devon by the very nature of a young girl's relationship with her father in the formative stages sees Trent as parent, potential lover, friend. Writer Wallace handles the explosive subject matter well; The constitution of Trent and Devon's relationship is utterly wholesome. It is only from an external viewpoint that it might appear unhealthy and Director Duigan conjures up a few genuinely cringe inducing scenes as the viewer is struck by the inherent potential for disaster, namely when Trent admits to possessing a scar also on his chest as the result of a shotgun blast. A mutual examination that both he and Devon engage in almost reduces the viewer to the role of look-out, so desperate does one become to spirit them through the minefield. Both have become painfully disenfranchised from the careful nurturing of a strong familial bond; Devon is but a worrisome work in progress to her noisome parents and Trent has grown apart from his terminally ill father and world-weary mother, unable perhaps to ameliorate their suffering in his present incarnation. Devon and he desperately need each other at this stage in their existence and it's difficult not to wish them well. The denouement, then, is particularly admirable as it refuses to submit to glib sentimentality or unwarranted pathos. All we are left with is the complexity of their tryst and the repercussion of its fateful resolution.
Box of Moonlight
(1996)
Otherworldly
29 August 2001
"Box of Moonlight" succeeds utterly in transporting the viewer to the very heart of the story, to a special and brilliantly realised "back woods of the mind" very early on and terrific performances by Sam Rockwell and John Turturro(never better), ensure that this gem of a movie lingers long in the memory.
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