Catch Me If You Can
REVIEWED 01/03, © STEPHEN BOURNE
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REVIEW:

In real life, Frank W. Abagnale (pronounced 'A-bag-nail') Jr. was convicted in the mid-1960's for forging $2.5 million worth of cheques and served five years of a twelve-year prison sentence as a youthful offender. Frank Jr. committed all of these crimes when he was between the ages of sixteen and twenty-one, including him successfully posing as an airline pilot, an assistant attorney general, a college professor, and a pediatrician. As he said in 2002, on his website (www.abagnale.com), "I wrote the book, Catch Me If You Can, more than 23 years ago. Obviously, this was written from my perspective as a 16-year old with the help of a co-writer (I'm now 54 and I sold the movie rights in 1980). I was interviewed by the co-writer only about four times. I believe he did a great job of telling the story, but he also over dramatized and exaggerated some of the story. That was his style and what the editor wanted. He always reminded me that he was just telling a story and not writing my biography. This is one of the reasons that from the very beginning, I insisted the publisher put a disclaimer in the book and tapes." Decide for yourself how revisionist his version of events is, though. Stan Redding was the co-writer of the best-selling book, and John Arend was the FBI agent who was assigned to track Frank Jr. down. He didn't catch him. The French police did, eventually.

In this latest movie directed by Steven Spielberg, Frank W. Abagnale Jr. (Leonardo DiCaprio) is the bright teenaged son of a New Rochelle, New York Rotary Club honouree and stationery shop owner (wonderfully underplayed by Christopher Walken) being relentlessly investigated by the IRS in 1963. His family is forced to sell their suburban house and move into the city, where Frank Jr. is transferred from his private school to Bellamy Jefferson High. It's there that he gets his first taste of conning people, using what his father had taught him about the art of persuasion, posing as his class' substitute teacher in order to mete simple revenge on a bully. He's caught still playing the part, two weeks later. Soon afterwards, when his mother's infidelity leads to his parents' divorce, Frank Jr. leaves for Manhattan, where he quickly learns that the banks won't cash his forged personal cheques unless he's a somebody. Somebody like a pilot. So, after posing as a reporter and interviewing a PanAm rep, he conjours up whatever he needs to give the illusion that he's a professional co-pilot, ending up mass-producing fake payroll cheques under an assumed name. Cheques that are brought to the attention of Carl Hanratty (Tom Hanks), a bookish FBI agent whose expertise is in investigating such fraud. Spurring an intriguing four-year cat and mouse-like chase of near-miss close encounters on both coasts of the United States. You can decide for yourself how revisionist Hollywood's version has gotten as well, if you'd like.

Frankly speaking, I found the editing weakened this film. It starts at the end, jumping back and forth as it sloppily tries to piece itself together. The individual scenarios featuring the highlights of Frank Jr's short-lived but captivating life on the lamb are cleverly written and strongly entertaining, though. DiCaprio's cheeky scoundrel plays very well against Hanks' almost stoic straight man, here. I can't say enough good praise for Walken's work playing a defiant yet crumbling man taking great pleasure in his son's shenanigans, but then again, Walken is a cinematic God to my generation. And, Spielberg does succeed in capturing the look and feel of that era - right down to the Saul Bass-like opening credits and the superbly playful nods to Sean Connery's James Bond. However, because of whatever went on in the cutting room, while missing out on catching such basic details as the boom mic appearing in more than one key scene, 'Catch Me If You Can' does suffer needlessly in the big picture department. It'll make a fun rental, probably.

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Chicago
REVIEWED 01/03, © STEPHEN BOURNE
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REVIEW:

The real history this silly, over the top melodrama is based on would have made a better movie: In 1924, Mrs. Beulah Annan shot her lover in the back. While the man lay dying on her Chicago boarding house room floor, she phoned her auto mechanic husband with a made up story of mortally protecting her honour with a loaded gun, and then cold bloodedly sat drinking and listening to a popular Foxtrot record until the police arrived. One of the many reporters who covered this seedy court case was the Chicago Tribune's Maurine Dallas Watkins, who was both mortified and intrigued by how Beulah and W. W. O'Brien (her defense lawyer) turned the trial into a full-costumed publicity circus complete with a carefully selected jury of men. Apparently, Beulah was a hotty. Two years later, Watkins arrived in New York (via Yale's playwriting class) with a script for a Broadway headliner entitled 'Chicago'. Her story of murder and Jazz built around the opportunistic Illinois murderess' factual courtroom farce was met with rave reviews, subsequently inspiring two movies. One of them, 'Roxie Hart' released in 1942, starred Ginger Rogers as a cleaned up Beulah wrongly accused of murder with comedic results. In 1975, vanguard dance choreographer Bob Fosse introduced his own stylishly slick stage adaptation of Watkins' play, enjoying massive success with it during his lifetime and postumously winning six Tony awards for it's revival shows in the late 1990's. Now, that - including the fact this woman who'd inspired the original play faded into anonymity in a sanitorium four years after winning her plea of not guilty - is captivating stuff.

'Chicago', starring Renée Zellweger as the starry-eyed femme fatale Roxie Hart, is not captivating. It's strange. It's bombastic. It needs to be marched straight to it's room without dinner, after a good round of finger wagging. It's the Roaring Twenties in Chicago's slummy speak easy district, and all Roxie wants to be is a famous night club singer. She'd do anything, including cheat on her naively oafish husband Amos with a guy who says he knows a guy who can get her onto the fast track to stardom. Freddy, her lover, eventually gets bored with her gleefully dreamy-headed jabberings of possible acts of singing and wardrobe once she makes it bigtime, and he comes clean in a rage that ends with Mrs. Hart shooting Freddy dead for lying to her. Meanwhile, her idol Velma Kelly (Catherine Zeta-Jones) continues nastily bumping and grinding on stage across the street at the Onyx Cabaret, until the cops come looking for her as well. Seems our sassy show-stopper Velma unexpectedly walked in on her hubby earlier that bitter January day, while he was practicing dance move #17 - The Spread Eagle - with her co-star sister, and then apparently blacked out while killing them both with a pistol. What wholesome fun. So, about five songs later (yeah, this is an unabashed musical where everyone bursts into cheerfully macabre Vaudevillian tunes), after inmate Roxie quickly gets over meeting inmate Velma in Cook County Jail's Murderer's Row, dashingly greasy high-priced defense lawyer Billy Flynn (Richard Gere) is hired by Amos to save his outwardly loving wife from the hangman's noose. The rest is just stupid, unless you absolutely can't get enough of being dragged through several more overtly emotive routines tenuously held together by a whisp of a script. Reading between the lines of this review, you may just correctly make out that I hated this flick.

This noisy, disjointed film presents homicide as fun and law as fickle. Maybe that's how it actually was in Maurine Dallas Watkins' day, but this movie is supposed to be for a 21st Century audience. It's actually too outlandish and mean-spirited to be enjoyable escapism as well, as it attempts to take no prisoners bringing garrishly live theatrics to the big screen venue where folk still need to be given a reason to care about the main characters beyond a couple of cutesy Betty Boop winks and wiggles. Sure, there are one or two cleverly arranged numbers here that you can't help but laugh on queue at. However, that's not enough to make sitting through the remaining hour's truckload of vapidly raunchy self-aggrandizing junk worth anything close to the price of admission. Frankly, until the real life story I'd cited makes it onto celluloid, Shirley MacLaine's 1969 musical 'Sweet Charity' (directed by Fosse) is still a better picture of this ilk.

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City by the Sea
REVIEWED 09/02, © STEPHEN BOURNE
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REVIEW:

Based on a true story, this movie is a rare gem that succeeds at honestly locking in to the soul of a good man scarred by the burden of personal failure. Wearing it like a second skin, eventhough much of that failure isn't his own. You see it in his eyes. Hear it in his voice, whenever he skirts the brittle fringes of his unhealed pain. This is a frail and complicated man who's tired of these demons, and who just wants to get on with his life. He has a fulfilling job, ekes out a simple life, and enjoys a blossoming mature relationship. However, what he wants never seems to last long enough for him to finally be at peace.

Robert DiNiro gives a captivatingly realistic performance as Vincent LaMarca, an empathetic New York homicide detective haunted by the sins of his otherwise loving father - who was publically tried and executed for the death of a baby kidnapped for ransom from a wealthy family when Vincent was merely a boy. When his own estranged son from a bitterly dissolved marriage is accused of brutally murdering a drug dealer, and then killing a cop and long-time friend, LaMarca is not only forced to face a poisonous legacy that has shaped his life since childhood, but to choose between being an excellent veteran police officer and making ammends for being an absentee father.

This film is an incredible, yet somewhat subduely paced cinematic triumph that is rife with gritty human pathos that crackles with jagged cathartic emotion and dialogue. All of the performances are as true to life as it gets, but are accessibly presented for an audience willing to lock in to. You're given concrete reasons to care and follow along. To the point where you can't help but feel for these people, as they struggle to do the right thing against a mountain of obstacles piling up around them. If asked, I'd definitely recommend 'City by the Sea' as being the absolute best human drama that I've seen so far this year. awesome.

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Comedian
REVIEWED 11/02, © STEPHEN BOURNE
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REVIEW:

On the surface, this movie is somewhat like a blast from the past as Jerry Seinfeld cracks wry jokes on the Stand-up Comedian stage. Just like in the typical openings to his outrageously popular weekly television sitcom that pretty well dominated the public's viewing habits for eight seasons, starting with it's initial episode in 1990. That's where the similarities end, though. Back then, his show was basically about nothing. Quirky observations on the human condition, presented by a quirky ensemble cast. Here, this flick is about being a professional funnyman. Him developing material from scratch, and building a solid live act five or ten minutes at a time.

This isn't really a biography either, since a lot of Seinfeld's embrionic history of bar scene stints and small screen roles (including his inaugural breakthrough in a 1976 Rodney Dangerfield HBO special, and his bit scenes in 'Benson' (1979) and 'The Cosby Show' in 1984) go unmentioned. It's more a selectively written documentary covering his reclaimation of those pre-fame years. In fact, while he was being videotaped for this guerilla-style showcase, returning to the nightly trenches at various Manhattan comedy clubs such as the Comedy Cellar and Carolines, the picture's working title was 'Anatomy of a Joke'. And, for all intents and purposes, the invisible process of endless trial and error behind this seemingly effortless profession of humour is what you see. Seinfeld, under the smokey spotlight fleshing out fresh monologues and crafting his performance. Him cursing about it, seeking comfort from his wife and newborn daughter, and candidly talking with peers such as Colin Quinn, George Wallace, Robert Klein, Chris Rock, Garry Shandling, and Jay Leno about what it's like for him to be back where he was in his late twenties. Acknowledging that his noteriety gives him a few minutes of grace, but that he still has to prove himself to a sometimes brutal audience - just like anyone else who steps up to the mic. The film also lends a fair chunk of screen time to then-rising New York contender Orny Adams, as this hungry young jokester ekes out his own niche in the limelight with hyper intensity bordering on manic schitzophrenia in parts. Honing and agonizing over his heavily scripted patter, unsympathetically clawing for any career opportunities, and grudgingly seeking out Jerry's mentor-like advice for the camera, as a sort of contrived contrast to the more experienced star's similar experiences. Almost as though Adams' surprisingly conspicuous inclusion is done more as a favour than anything else, considering these two dissimilar egos share the same business manager.

There's a wealth of philosophical waxing intermingled with heaps of crowd-pleasing quips throughout here. Obviously, these guys are obsessed with the love/hate aspects of their calling. That's the main point this story hammers home. For Seinfeld, 'Comedian' is also a carefully presented journey that eventually leads him full circle through the tireless junket of backstage jitters and sharp-tongued hecklers to performing a set in front of David Letterman's Late Night TV audience eighteen years after landing his first spot there. He also ends up trading insights with living legend Bill Cosby (cited as one of Jerry's idols), before taking his own one-man show on the road. Enduring fans of the much-loved 'Seinfeld' series that lives in perpetuity through syndication will likely enjoy this decidedly rough behind-the-scenes glimpse in to the tough business of making people laugh. I sure did. It's not a rehash of that seminal hit, but it is this proven talent's hilariously entertaining return to his comedic roots.

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Confessions of a Dangerous Mind
REVIEWED 02/03, © STEPHEN BOURNE
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REVIEW:

You probably already know the background to this one: 'Confessions of a Dangerous Mind, An Unofficial Autobiography' is the directorial debut of actor George Clooney, features Ottawa theatre's Sean Tucker in a bit part as a quick-tempered barfly just before a pivotal scene, and is based on 1970's game show enfant terrible/wunderkind Chuck Barris' 1984 book (his second of three), in which he claims to have knocked off over thirty people as a part-time undercover assassin for the CIA - a claim that's probably sold lots of copies over the years and helped seal this movie deal, but likely isn't true. In fact, a lot of this otherwise enjoyably quirky flick's so-called autobiographical details don't quite jibe with reality. For instance, Barris's daughter from his first marriage is never mentioned, despite her living with him and making regular appearances on his infamously inane amateur hour spoof 'The Gong Show' later in life. Another example would be his friendship with 'American Bandstand' icon Dick Clark. It's true Chuck Barris was hired to be a spy by an agency popularly known by three letters. By the American Broadcasting Corporation, though. Because of his self-serving nature and need for attention, this guy would have made a lousy CIA prospect. Fact is, it was Clark's now defunct recording label that released Freddy Cannon's hit 'Palisades Park' (written by Barris) under a veil of controversy that could easily be considered a favour by Dick in return for Chuck stonewalling ABC's and Congress' suspicions of payola on that show in the early 1960's.

By all rights, Charles Hirsch Barris (enthusiastically portrayed by Sam Rockwell) was the Howard Stern of his era. A bad boy. Spurred on by a particularly lascivious childhood prank he'd apparently played on his younger sister's playmate when he was nine years old, sex seems to have been Chuck's motivating factor throughout most of his young life. Leaving his stalwartly Philadelphia home for Manhattan and the girl-teasing allure of working for burgeoning television giant NBC in 1955. Quickly making his way up the ranks, from lowly studio tour guide to management trainee (by any deceitful means necessary), solely to get laid as often as possible. It's likely this part is based on the truth, since 'Confessions' does vaguely cite his first marriage (albeit as a doomed, childless fling in which names have been changed), as well as Chuck unceremoniously being canned as an ABC salesman, shortly before pitching his first memorably successful daytime series idea: 'The Dating Game'. Yeah, the timeline does flip around, leaving huge gaps of time left blank. More interestingly however, the line between slightly tickled truth and outrageous fiction quickly dissolves, when a mysterious recruiter (Jim Byrd, played by Clooney) steps from the shadows and offers cash-strapped Barris the opportunity to serve his country. To be trained in the arts of interrogation, weaponry and sabotage at a remote abandoned-looking facility, and become a part-time contract spy for the United States government. Later, using his celebrity as the chaperone of winning contestants sent to far flung European countries as a cover, while clandestinely smuggling out sensitive material and snuffing out foreign enemies of the States. Nathan Hale (the first American reportedly executed for espionage, caught gleaning info for George Washington against the British in 1776) must be spinning like a lathe in his grave.

Kidding aside, this is actually a pretty good show. Charlie Kaufman's surprisingly coherant script imaginatively captures the escapist essence of Barris's tall tale of breakneck weirdness and Bond-like debauchery. With snippets of mock documentary-style interviews punctuating this embellished stagger down Memory Lane. Well, more like Imagination Curve, most of the time. Much like the man's idiosyncratically goofy small screen persona during the highlight of his career, this offering is supposed to be a fun-loving dark-humoured romp. A cavalier crowd-pleaser, occasionally tossing a wink and a smirk to the audience in true show biz fashion. There's also the clever use of set theatrics and camera tricks here that seamlessly streamline a few potentially clunky scenes and wonderfully mesh live action with archival videotape. Sure, things do tend to get bogged down in a foggy malaise of mopey self-loathing at times - primarily surrounding Chuck's love interest Penny (Drew Barrymore, probably loosely based on his second wife) - but the over-all pacing that's sprinkled with wry cameos from the likes of Julia Roberts, Rutger Hauer, Brad Pitt, and Chucky Baby himself keep you engaged and interested until the final credits. Definitely a rare treat, best taken with a grain of salt.

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City of God
REVIEWED 04/03, © STEPHEN BOURNE
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REVIEW:

"Kill, be respected". In the mean streets of Rio de Janeiro, this appears to be the mantra that resonates in the brutalized minds of almost every young boy. "I was made in bosom-Brazil / I am ready to kill" are the first two lines from a poem written by Paulo Lins, a child of the real Cidade de Deus ('City of God' in Portuguese - a forty year-old government-built suburb populated by Rio's outcasts) and the author of the 1997 novel this incredibly captivating and monstrously violent movie is adapted from. Lins took ten years to write his fact-based history of crime spanning from the 1960's, when he was just a ragged son of this once sand-swept favela of tiny prefab huts, through to the 1980's, at the pinnacle of war between two rival gangs of gun-toting drug dealers and the bloody assassination of this now densely populated ghetto's cruelest kingpin, Ze Pequeno.

Buscape (aka 'Rocket', predominantly portrayed by teenaged unknown Alexandre Rodrigues) is our guide through this treacherous microcosm, as he both lives through and narrates an interlinked series of Tarantino-esque mini stories tracing almost three decades of Brazil's soul-crushing underworld's intrusiveness into his young life and the lives of his boyhood friends, family, and fellow 'favelados'. This movie is really about the rise and fall of Pequeno (Leandro Firmino da Hora), but is primarily told from Rocket's personal perspective. In 'The Story of the Tender Trio', we see how these two characters' prepubescent paths veer off in completely different directions as Ze, under his former moniker as Li'l Dice, eagerly tags along on a daring Motel robbery gone wrong, while Buscape's older brother Goose (a member of the Trio) forbids him from even looking at guns. In 'The Story of the Apartment', we get a wonderfully accelerated saga of the burgeoning drug trade that eventually grips this slum under Ze's sociopathic thirst for undisputed power, while Rocket clumsily flirts with petty robbery and pines for the attention of his first failed teen love. Leading to his eventual escape from terminal poverty as a shutterbug paperboy who unwittingly uses Ze's love of the spotlight in order to land a dangerous yet lucrative job as a newspaper photographer for the Jornal du Brasil, in 'The Beginning of the End'.

'City of God' is a richly unflinching, almost Shakespearean look at the squalor and wasted lives existing on the fringes of that country's humanity. From the roving bands of homeless kids who plot murder without knowing how to spell it, to the lost generations of pot-addled adolescents seeking meager solace at all-night raves, to the hives of soulless inductees who live and die by "Kill, be respected" within the ranks of Rio's amateur cartels, the audience is clearly shown the cause and affect of rampant corruption and desperation. Don't get me wrong, though. As powerfully traumatizing as it is, this film still manages to successfully find balance with quirkiness and wry humour. It's a rough ride that keeps you involved 'til the closing credits. You're given a reason to care about Rocket, and for most of the main players. Even the horrifically nasty Pequeno is mesmerizing. Making this one of the better foreign language flicks I've seen this year, and definitely well worth checking out if you get the chance.

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The Core
REVIEWED 04/03, © STEPHEN BOURNE
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REVIEW:

It's funny how art pays homage to its mentors. One of the earliest and arguably most famous science fiction movies of the 20th Century was French stage magician and visual effects pioneer Georges Méliès' 'Voyage dans la Lune' ('A Trip to the Moon', 1902). It was based on Jules Verne's third novel 'De la Terre à la Lune' ('From the Earth to the Moon'), published in 1865 - a year after his 'Voyage au centre de la Terre' ('Journey to the Centre of the Earth') made its debut on Parisian bookshelves. That book, in which a band of adventurers descend into an Icelandic volcano and discover a mythical world deep within our planet, could easily be traced back to the hugely popular three-part medieval poem written by an Italian exile from Florence, Dante Alighieri (1265-1321). 'La Commedia' ('The Comedy', renamed 'The Divine Comedy' in 1555) chronicles the gruesomely fanciful Easter weekend journey through each level of Hell by a sinfully wayward thirty-five year old poet, Dante, under the protection of a limbo-livin' spirit named Virgil. The character of Virgil was actually based on a fellow by the name of Publius Vergilius Maro (70-19 BC), a Roman poet, who's epic yet unfinished 'Aeneid' celebrating the rise of Rome from it's defeat in the Trojan War is still considered to be one of the finest ancient literary works of it's kind.

In 'The Core', Virgil is the name of a big articulated worm-like ship made of a metallic alloy whimsically called 'Unobtainium', invented by an obscure hermit geologist living in the Nevada Desert. Mounted with super sophisticated X-ray electronics that can see through three feet of lead at fifty feet away, and a high frequency pulse laser that resembles a flashy gantline gun, Virgil is built to burrow the radius of the Earth. See, because of the malevolent electro magnetic dabblings of the US military's top secret 'Project Destiny', our planet's core has stopped rotating - causing mass death amongst those with pacemakers, throwing flocks of birds into a Kamikaze-like frenzy, and (hey, what a coincidence) creating high velocity lightening storms that pulverize Rome. Hunky-like-stump college physics professor Dr. Josh Keyes (Aaron Eckhart) is the first to figure out that we have three months before all Hell breaks loose, and is volunteered as leader of Virgil's rather motley crew of 'terranauts'. Their mission: Be launched into the South Pacific, cut through thousands of miles of predominantly solid rock and hot molten magma, and set off a multi-megaton nuclear bomb to get the core rolling again. Problem is, twelve hours and seven hundred miles in, they become stranded inside the bubble of a giant crystalline geode. Bummer, dude.

Packed full of CGI special effects and heavily laden with technical bafflegab, this is actually a pretty good romp. Sure, it's contrived and feels like a cheesy knock-off of 'Armageddon' at times, but you get your money's worth (as a rental) and it's basically wryly-written escapist fun.

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Chalte Chalte
REVIEWED 06/03, © STEPHEN BOURNE
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REVIEW:

This sprawling subtitled roller coaster ride of emotions starts with a near-miss collision. On his way to his friends' lush wedding reception, smalltime transport businessman Raj Mathur (Shah Rukh Khan) narrowly escapes plowing his ten-ton rig into the speedy sports car of high fashion designer Priya Mausi (Rani Mukherjee) - who's coincidentally on her way to the same happy gathering. It's love at first sight on that dusty road for this spontaneous, tall dark and handsome middleclass man-child. However, when Raj absent-mindedly lets Priya's hard-won phone number go through the laundry, he ends up scouring the city for twenty days obsessively (and musically) searching for this lovely object of his desires. Almost as quickly sending him to Athens on the same airliner she's booked on, when he learns of her sudden arranged engagement to a successful exporter and childhood friend. As luck would have it, bad weather reroutes their 747 to the Greek island of Mykonos for eight hours. Will this give Mathur enough time to convince Mausi of his worthy and undying love for her? Will she return to India with him and become his faithful wife? Of course. It's a Bollywood romance, silly. The real question is, will these two lovebirds from different castes remain together after their first year of matrimony, when faced with enduring bickering and an overwhelming financial loss that sends them both onto a self-destructive path of slowly drifting apart?

What a spectacular three-hour marathon of sometimes comedic, sometimes riveting drama and contagious dancing this immensely entertaining movie is. Producer and Hindi megastar Khan burns up the screen with his absolutely incredible range and depth, as his flawed yet dynamic character is thrown through each joyfully bittersweet high and heart-crushing low here. Sure, if you've seen 'Devdas' (2002), you already know that's his cinematic forte. Mukherjee also does a beautiful job of capturing the often girlish yet maturely torn reality of her part. And, although most of the supporting cast and accompanying crisp choreography wonderfully round out this powerfully captivating flick, I did feel 'Chalte Chalte' (which either means 'footsteps' or 'walking together', depending on where you look) ran about half an hour too long - despite the much-needed leg-stretching intermission - and that the primary flashback scene's editing throughout the second half did weaken its over-all momentum. It's not a major problem. I realize the audience needed to see how violently insecure Raj could get when tripped into panic mode, but continuity does suffer a little from the way in which it's plunked in the middle of this otherwise outstanding accomplishment that easily rivals most North American fayre of this kind. So, I'd definitely recommend you check out this lavishly enjoyable foreign flick if you can find it on the big screen, whether you're already a fan of East Indian Cinema or not. It's truly amazing.

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Cabin Fever
REVIEWED 09/03, © STEPHEN BOURNE
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REVIEW:

Five college grads end their last Summer together by renting a secluded North Carolina cabin from Bunion Mountain Getaways for a private party 'til it's time to finally enter the full-time working world. So, after stocking up along the way on beer and supplies and more beer at the dusty old Priddy's General Store - where they're given a cold dose of Hillbilly hospitality - Paul, Karen, Jeff, Marcy, and Bert happily navigate their Chevy Bronco through a winding off-road trail to their awaiting log shack that's nestled in the forest by a crystalline lake. However, something terribly horrifying is also lurking amongst the quickly turning trees that surround these unsuspecting campers. A ragged hermit named Henry has contracted a severe strain of necrotizing fasciitis or 'flesh-eating disease' from his trusted dog, and is now roaming the woods in a delirious stupor as his body quickly bubbles and rots from within. A day later, after being mistakenly shot and angrily beaten away for trying to steal the group's truck, Henry's rapidly decomposing corpse ends up floating in the local reservoir. Infecting the fresh water supply that's piped in to the area's cottages - including the rustic house where our young heroes are fearfully holed up. So, it's not long before one of the alumni starts to develop skin irritations that soon split open into blood-oozing wounds of gangrenous flesh, and their Fall fun becomes a frantic race against time to find scarce help and save themselves from the ravages of this extraordinarily frightening and voracious plague-like death before it devours them all.

Well, what can I say? Apart from obviously tapping into anyone's terror over catching this very real infection that has been around for ages (Hippocrates apparently described it in the 15th Century, but it wasn't formally named until 1952) and is probably best remembered for taking the life of famed Muppets-creator Jim Henson in 1990, this fairly mindless gorefest is little more than a ridiculously hokey and morbidly disgusting gross out. None of the decidedly one-dimensional victims-to-be are particularly likable in anything other than a lascivious or mean-spirited way. They're all boring stereotypes. You get the cute blonde guy who's really a jerk, the boorish jock who's just a joke, the nubile bimbo who's there to keep your mind off the lousy dialogue, and the updated cutesy young platonic couple comprised of a teasing princess and the wimpy smart guy who takes an agonizing eternity to finally catch this bug and drop dead. One thing's for sure, the lousy acting in this putrid turkey will surely spawn a definite blood lust in any paying audience that has to sit through it. I'd read that the sound editor - who'd actually suffered from the flesh-eating disease - insists that the gory make-up is 100% authentic-looking throughout. However, despite my not being able to find a single medical source online that showed graphic pictures resembling what I saw on screen, it's highly unlikely that one of the characters here would so easily drag a shaving razor across her gaping sores if accuracy was the primary goal here. It's silly things like that which make 'Cabin Fever' such a teeth-gratingly stupid movie for even the most dedicated horror fan - let alone someone like me who'd refuse to wear contact lenses if I had to, because they're just plain icky. Steer clear of this waste of skin, folks.

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Cold Creek Manor
REVIEWED 09/03, © STEPHEN BOURNE
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REVIEW:

For Sale: Generations-old New York State mansion on twelve hundred acres of prime fenced farmland and forest needs good owners with a passion for renovations. Cost: Your lives. Deep in the woods hours north of Cooper and Leah Tilson's overpriced Manhattan home lurks the dilapidated old Massie manor that harbors a terrifying secret. The stench of murder still remains thick and heavy in every dust-coated corner of this rambling estate. At night, you can still make out the shattered cries of those who were mercilessly killed with the gruesomely spiked death hammers now displayed on the main room's wall as quaint oddities of antiquity. They are not quaint. And, they hunger for blood. Dale Massie (Stephen Dorff), just returned after three years in prison for manslaughter, and the rightful heir and son of this property's abusively insane bed-ridden master, knows all about the tortured history of this place that the Tilson's have unwittingly hired him on to help repair. He saw the twenty thousand head of sheep that had to be destroyed by hand. He knows about his missing son's ghoulish Hammerhand poem. And, the broken sign hidden in the underbrush - the one that reads The Devil's Throat - that marks a hideous link to his fractured past, and that no amount of booze or feigned niceties will free him from. As Cooper (Dennis Quaid) begins to dig deeper into the stacks of maps and letters and disturbing photographs left behind by Dale's mysteriously vanished wife and children who once lived in this creaking dark house that the Tilsons have escaped their bustling city life for, the horror that awaits them almost aches to devour them all - including Massie - whole...

Well, I'd like to say that this incredibly disappointing turkey is at least worth the price of admission, but it isn't. For starters, it's boring. How Directed Mike Figgis thought that tossing a couple of snakes at the camera and trying to create a 'Cape Fear'-like terror story out of some crazy White Trash convict who throws a couple of minor hissy fits at Quaid and screen wife Sharon Stone would make a captivatingly scary movie is beyond all reason. Sure, the underlying tension builds well at the beginning, but there's nothing here that successfully takes that to the next level of fear. It's actually quite an unintentionally humourous flick, as you sit through these characters freaking out as though they're being attacked by an invisible murder of rabid crows, when all that's happened is somebody found a snake in their bed, or in the pool, or a storm moved in and the lights started flickering wildly. Golly gee. Same goes for the mystery angle of the script, where we're shown inklings of a terrible atrocity meted out on the Massie clan, with a child's teeth dug up and some provocatively nasty Polaroids found in an abandoned heap, but when we get to the point where a paying audience expects to be scared out of our wits by a supercharged pay off, all we get to see is Stone falling into an old well and everybody crazily gnashing their teeth at each other in the pouring rain. Remember Count Floyd from SCTV? yeah. This is the type of lame yawner he'd be stuck showing - without Doctor Tongue in 3-D (who might have helped this one, in hindsight). About the only good bits are Christopher Plummer's wonderfully disguised cameo performances as the gruffly delusional senior Massie, who does more to send shivers up your spine by pretty well only acting from the neck up than all the rest of this cast does combined. Now, that's comedy. Too bad 'Cold Creek Manor' isn't a comedy. Or, much of anything else, really. Abandon all hope for this ridiculous stinker, folks.

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The Cat in the Hat
REVIEWED 11/03, © STEPHEN BOURNE
www.ofrb.gov.on.ca | www.rcq.gouv.qc.ca


REVIEW:

Tucked at the end of primly manicured suburban Liplapper Lane, three miles from the bustling tiny town of Annville, Conrad (Spencer Breslin) and Sally (Dakota Fanning) Walden glumly stare out of their immaculately tidy home's window on a particularly rainy day with nothing to do. Their mom Joan (Kelly Preston), Humberfloob Real Estate's best sales agent and the volunteered host of the company's client Meet and Greet scheduled to be held at her house later that day, has been unexpectedly called in by her overbearing boss to finish some paperwork that Saturday. So, these two normally precocious children are bored. Left alone with their napping last-minute babysitter, Mrs. Kwan (Amy Hill). Nine year-old Conrad is a rule breaker, who's constantly getting into trouble for making messes and doing silly stunts like sliding down the stairs on a cookie tray. Today, he's just been grounded by his single mother for doing that precise thing. His younger sister Sally is a control freak, who gets a certain chuckle out of her big brother's housebound punishment. However, these kids are about to have an uninvited, six foot-tall and very furry guest from another dimension: The Cat in the Hat (Mike Myers). Convinced into signing a thick contract promising a day of fun where nothing bad will happen, the Walden siblings are immediately thrown into a raucous adventure that quickly gets out of hand. First, the couch Joan never allows them to jump on is transformed into a couch that is perfectly made for jumping on. Then, their spotless kitchen is splattered by exploding cupcakes, and that sticky purple batter makes its way into their pristinely kept livingroom, when the Cat's carefree impish friends (Thing 1 and Thing 2) are introduced to clean it up. They don't. They play and laugh with inexhaustibly silly glee, pushing the mayhem even further and tossing the family dog out the window. And, just to make matters even worse, the Walden's maliciously-minded neighbour Lawrence Quin (Alec Baldwin) sees Conrad and Sally outside with the Cat, finds their dog first, and plans to get rid of them by telling on them so that he can move in and marry Joan before everything he owns is repossessed. Meanwhile, something unexplainably huge and goopy is beginning to escape from the Cat's big red crate, and they have to find the lock and return it before whatever's coming through from his topsy-turvy alternate reality can't be stopped...

Frankly, it's been quite a while since I enjoyed this delightfully ridiculous seventy-two paged groundbreaking 1957 children's primer by world famous Pulitzer Prize-winning American writer and cartoonist, the late Theodor Seuss Geisel (Dr. Seuss, 1904-1991). He wrote over forty such books during his lifetime, but 'The Cat in the Hat' is probably his best-known and most recognizable work - probably only seconded by The Grinch or The Lorax, depending on when you entered Kindergarten. Even the central statue commemorating Geisel at the National Memorial Park in his Springfield birthplace features this striped-hatted cat by a bronze of the man. Dr. Seuss once said, "I like nonsense, it wakes up the brain cells", and so it's really no surprise that Canadian-born movie comedian and Saturday Night Live alumnus Mike Myers - who firmly believes that silly is a state of grace - should be cast in the starring role. This movie is completely silly. In a good way. In a different way than the 1971 animated made-for-TV special of the same name was good, too. Much like a Pantomime, where the audience is repeatedly addressed and acknowledged by key players on stage, Myers' character continually throws a fun-loving grin and wink to moviegoers while imaginatively fleshing out this role with incredibly tenacious energy. He is definitely The Cat in the Hat. From him tossing us scene after hilarious scene of over the top caricatures while still in full-bodied feline make up and costume, to beautifully capturing this beloved page-turner's irreverently goofy spirit without sticking too closely to its popular verse and rhyme, this flick is a wonderful escape packed with innumerable laughs aimed primarily at pre-teens, yet obviously mindful of older paying viewers' expectations to be equally entertained. And, it delivers on all fronts. The group of Twentysomethings sitting behind me couldn't stop howling with laughter, and I wasn't much better at keeping my sides from splitting from time to time throughout the screening. One surprising discovery was seeing the immense comedic talent of Baldwin, who must have had a blast with his deliciously devious and enormously self-effacing part. Sure, a lot of the surface humour is geared towards nine year-olds, with its weird noises, mucus-like messes, and an uncomplicated enough plotline culminating in a feel good moral ending that kids can tap into without feeling preached at. However, there's so much more zaniness underplaying all of that for the rest of us, that it would be tough for anyone of any age to not find enjoyment in this mind-rattling Technicolour roller coaster fantasy sugar fit. Without any need to say it Seussaphonetically, check out this thoroughly worthwhile fun family flick.

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Calendar Girls
REVIEWED 01/04, © STEPHEN BOURNE
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REVIEW:

Spurred on by constantly having to deal with the lack of comfortable furniture in the dreary Relative's Room of North Yorkshire's Skipton General Hospital while her now-deceased, floral hobbyist husband John endured severe chemotherapy treatments for Leukemia, homemaker Annie Clarke (Julie Walters) and her flamboyant childhood pal Chris Harper (Helen Mirren) decide to do something about it. See, they're both members of nearby Knapley's chapter of Women's International - a church-based social charity organization that routinely holds fairs and baking competitions, meeting locally on Thursdays to sing hymns and hear fairly dry presentations about gardening tips or the history of rugs - and are a little bit put off by the continually stoic ideas of club director Marie (Geraldine James), who wants their annual donation-raising calendar to feature the old chapels of their rolling pastoral countryside. However, it's only when car trouble leads to an inquisitive glimpse of a raunchy Skipton Spanners & Wrenches pin-up girl calendar at Chris' service station, and the two enthusiastically brainstorm with their friends a rather risqué alternative to photos of those ancient stone houses of worship, that things begin to liven up at the W.I. These women ranging in age from forty-five to sixty years old want to pose nude for this year's calendar, much to Marie's outraged chagrin, and are willing to do whatever it takes to, uh, pull it off, to raise money for the hospital on John's behalf. Everything naturally falls into place when Lawrence (Philip Glenister), a Cancer wing intern and amateur camera buff, is hired and suggests that each picture be done more tastefully; as playful works of fine Art, where each model is captured behind cakes or flower pots a cider press, representing a different homey pastime intrinsic to their daily rural lives. Unfortunately, what Annie and Chris don't realize is that their initial three thousand copy printing order almost immediately sells out across Britain as a tornado of media interest storms their sleepy towns and their cause shifts towards the bigger focus of Leukemia research. Things look bright, far beyond anyone's expectations, until Hollywood offers to whisk our overnight celebrities into an all-expenses paid luxury LA hotel with the intention of striking a movie deal - just as Harper's married life seems to be wavering and her son gets into trouble with Police.

This wonderfully entertaining fact-based offering, where a dozen middle-aged Yorkshire women actually did produce such a calendar in 1999 to astounding response and income for their chosen charity, is packed with hilariously quirky laughs throughout yet is cleverly kept down to earth by Tim Firth's and Juliette Towhidi's well-paced screenplay. What director Nigel Cole does is ensure this 2003 British Comedy Award-winning hour and forty-eight minute picture finds a good balance between acknowledging the rather patronizing general view of older women as matronly grannies past their prime, and celebrating the more realistic sexuality of these spry English ladies titillated with exposing themselves in print for a good cause. Mirren easily leads the pack, as this cast plays with the notion and personal ramifications to their individual characters in various forms. From the painfully shy housewife betrayed by her emotionally distant salesman husband, whose life takes on inspiring metamorphic stages after her photo shoot, to the single mum corner cafe owner whose ages-passed 'bad girl' days initially make her uneasy about how posing nude might affect her reformed life and teen daughter. However, full marks also go to most of the supporting cast of mainly male actors, who beautifully accentuate and enrich the entire atmosphere as you're drawn in to the story. This is an intelligently fresh, sometimes incredibly touching, and superbly humourous gem that had the audience of predominantly female moviegoers howling with laughter more than once - with me laughing right along with them - during the screening. Sure, this is without a doubt a 'chick flick', and is obviously intended for those of us who wholeheartedly enjoyed such syndicated British comedies as 'Waiting for God' over the generationally grey and teeth-gratingly Soapish melodrama of 'Coronation Street'. However, don't let that or the subject matter fool you into passing up an opportunity for a truly satisfying time. Sure, there is nudity and there are a few lewd jokes, but they're merely part and parcel of something that's far more worthwhile than the sum of those few naughty bits. Definitely check this one out. Good stuff.

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Cold Mountain
REVIEWED 01/04, © STEPHEN BOURNE
www.ofrb.gov.on.ca | www.rcq.gouv.qc.ca


REVIEW:

It's been three years since two events changed young W.P. Inman's (Jude Law) humble life for better or worse. That summer of 1861 had seen his home of North Carolina eventually follow ten other states in succeeding from the Union to form the Southern Confederacy against newly-elected President Lincoln, plunging America into an unstoppable course of bloody and brutal civil war, with thousands of lives lost daily and no merciful end in sight. For the better, that was also the summer that Inman's small farming town of Cold Mountain built a modest Baptist chapel and celebrated the arrival of Reverend Monroe (Donald Sutherland) and daughter Ada (Nicole Kidman) - a lithe Charleston belle who took an immediate yet awkward liking to him on that warm day. Even now, neck-deep in the stench of death in the muddy trenches of Petersburg, Virginia, under General Lee's command against Grant's relentless Union forces a mere twenty miles from the Confederate capitol city of Richmond, Inman's deep love for Ada is about the only thing that keeps him alive. His faith and cause are gone, and the faded tintype photo wrapped in her few handwritten letters gives him more strength than his well-used sidearm or the wasted valour of his traumatized compatriots. So, exhausted and still bleeding from a bullet wound to the throat; with rumours of the war slowly being lost to the North becoming a painful foregone conclusion, W.P. risks being shot for treason as a deserter by leaving the cotton plantation mansion-turned-infirmary where he's been taken to convalesce, and sets out on foot across almost three hundred miles of war torn countryside to return to his beloved. However, three years is a long time, and Ada's stay at Cold Mountain has been an arduous battle all its own, save for the slightly unorthodox help of Ruby Thewes (Renée Zellweger) against starvation and the corrupt machinations of brutish Teague's (Ray Winstone) home guard.

Well, I did expect this hugely dramatic screenplay by Oscar-winning director Anthony Minghella based on Charles Frazier's 356-page 1997 novel to be the sweeping star-studded tearjerker promised in the ads. And, the first ten minutes of Civil War scenes are incredibly compelling both visually and emotionally. However, what I didn't expect to find was just how unbelievably boring this film is for the majority of its 155 minute screen time. Basically, what you get are the hardship stories of Inman and Monroe running consecutively yet miles apart, while they both deal with whatever trials and tribulations affect them, interrupted from time to time by yearning flashbacks of the few intensely mediocre moments these two shy lovebirds shared together before he marched off to war. That might seem like a reasonable schematic to let Kidman and Law do their jobs within, without them stepping on each other's toes while sharing the spotlight. Problem is, because you're never really given much of a reason to care about either of them - let alone the menagerie of walk-on characters that are given far too much attention - there really isn't much here to hold a paying audience's enthusiasm from beginning to end. Everything becomes watered down. It could be that neither of these two stars had a strong enough screen presence to carry the weight of their individual roles. Or, it could have just been the fault of a weak page-to-screen script. Pretty well all of Ada's predicaments are vague and uninteresting, and Inman's travels through a kind of Wonderland-tinged Old South of brown-toothed yokels wanting to either kill him or have sex with him then kill him does become gratingly repetitive rather quickly. Sure, Philip Seymour Hoffman's and Giovanni Ribisi's surprisingly affected cameos were welcome highlights here, but theirs' and most of the other "oh look, that's what'sisface" scenes really didn't add anything to the over-all story - other than in keeping the theatre seats filled a little while longer in the foolish hope that something would eventually happen. It doesn't. The overwhelming futility that permeates this picture puts Valium to shame. It's almost as though Minghella lost control of this flick, and just let the actors turn his efforts into a numbingly murky ensemble cast vehicle instead of making something worthwhile and, well, entertaining. The potential was certainly there. So, despite the heaps of awards and nominations already being loaded in to the 'Cold Mountain' wagon, I really can't recommend wasting your time with this meandering stinker.

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The Corporation
REVIEWED 02/04, © STEPHEN BOURNE
www.ofrb.gov.on.ca | www.rcq.gouv.qc.ca


REVIEW:

Ray Anderson, C.E.O. of carpeting conglomerate Interface, and one of the several top-level executives and critics interviewed during this two-hour and forty-five minute Canadian documentary, offers an analogy to sum up modern Westernized Civilization. He cites the beginnings of manned aviation, where an intrepid bygone pilot would ride his bird-like flying machine off a very high cliff, with his arms flapping and the contraption's wings flapping, giving the impression that the craft was actually in flight. Fact is, Anderson points out, it was just an illusion. Because the ground below was very far away, the pilot didn't realize he's really in a freefall, and would eventually crash. Never having flown at all. In his analogy, Anderson's pilot is today's corporate business: the often enigmatic yet overtly pervasive compilation of entities that he states has adopted The Way of the Plunderer over the course of the past couple of hundred years - pillaging and usurping the world's finite natural resources at an alarming rate - since the fourteenth amendment to America's Constitution was; according to lawyer Mary Zeepernik, distorted for the sake of financial gain by making these brick and mortar institutions 'persons' in the eyes of the law. Zeepernik adds that, throughout the Industrial Revolution, businesses were still relatively powerless, unable to sue, or own and buy and sell property, and that once the Supreme Court broadened the Emancipation Proclamation in 1810 to include these artificial persons, a Pandora's Box was opened upon society. Enabling full blown Capitalism, the exploitation of molecular engineering with horrifying results, and maintaining a government-enacted legal charter still on the books that encourages incorporated companies to put profit above all other concerns. Bereft of any moral fibre, only concerned with the well being of their stockholders, to uber-activist Noam Chomsky. Going so far as to welcome the popularity of such gleeful mudrackers as Michael Moore because, to paraphrase Moore, "They don't believe in anything, except making money." So, using actual documented examples from the World Health Organization for the basis of compiling diagnostic criteria referenced against the standard psychological profiling checklist utilized by psychiatrists and psychologists, this thoroughly intriguing picture goes about trying to determine just what kind of 'persons' make up the current corporate world at large...

Wow. Six years in the making and based on University of British Columbia professor of law Joel Bakan's upcoming book, 'The Corporation: The Pathological Pursuit of Profit and Power', directors Jennifer Abbott and Mark Achbar essentially offer up a powerful and often quite frightening reality check tantamount to 'The Matrix' (1999) here, citing dozens of real world examples where big businesses have used their influence to the detriment of the planet and humanity on virtually every front for the sole purposes of greed. From Coca-Cola's and IBM's historically documented exploitation of Nazism, to Dominican sweatshops where the efficiency of teenaged seamstresses is measured in ten thousandths of a second; bovine hormone manufacturer Monsanto's production of Agent Orange during the Vietnam War, to the Enron debacle and FOX network overturning a whistleblower lawsuit using an outrageous loophole, 'The Corporation' presents us with a wealth of information that strongly determines there aren't just a few bad apples out there. The entire orchard appears to be rotten. When Maude Barlow of the Council of Canadians points out a privatization-minded corporate vision that everything on Earth will eventually be owned by someone, she's not kidding. With the advent of genome mapping since the mid-1980's, genetics companies have apparently been falling all over themselves to stamp their patent on any living creature - including the building blocks of human life - in a race towards dominating this Age of Biology we now inhabit. Sure, this flick smacks of an obvious anti-corporate political activist agenda, going so far as to claim that whatever benefits come from business altruism within society are merely fleeting forms of propaganda for the sake of creating positive spins. It seems to encourage revolution, such as the people's uprising in Cochabamba, Bolivia against their government awarding total water rights - including the rain - to San Francisco-based Bechtel. This award-winning cinematic gadfly is truly the progeny of 'Manufacturing Consent', Noam Chomsky's insightful manifesto - co-directed by Achbar - that railed against social apathy at the height of commercial consumerism almost twenty years ago, whose controversy-charged adversarial message is both seriously and humourously echoed here. Seriously: Manhattan investors more interested in the terrorist attacks of 9/11 affecting gold prices than the lives of thousands of victims and their families. Humourously: the C.E.O. of Pfizer's all-smiles tour of a refurbished New York subway station, where the shiny newly-installed security measures are impressive yet none of the personal safety features seem to work on queue. 'The Corporation' is definitely a worthwhile eye-opener, whatever your political leanings might be, packed with generous portions of thought-provoking history and information worthy of attention, further investigation, and (hopefully) inspired benevolent action. Awesome.

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The Company
REVIEWED 03/04, © STEPHEN BOURNE
www.ofrb.gov.on.ca | www.rcq.gouv.qc.ca


REVIEW:

Gracefully weathering through her astounding open air performance met with roaring standing applause, Joffrey Ballet of Chicago's Loretta 'Ry' Ryan (Neve Campbell) seems poised to become a major star during this forty-seven year-old vanguard institution's new season. Machiavellian artistic director Alberto Antonelli (Malcolm McDowell) was blown away that evening, as the entire audience sat mesmerized in their high-priced Grand Park seats - through a wind-swept rainstorm no less - while Ry danced to an on-stage duet's haunting rendition of My Funny Valentine in front of that garden of umbrellas. Superb. However, once the glow of the moment and the backstage accolades soon fade, it's clearly back to the business of keeping the Company in business. With Antonelli fending off each financial crisis, dealing with every Diva du jour, and ensuring that Joffrey maintains it's long-standing relevance and crowd-pleasing vibrancy for another year. And, with each dancer - including Loretta - still needing to make ends meet, keep a sometimes-tenuous roof over their heads, and practice practice practice towards perfection. That's when life surprisingly starts to fall together for our bright young contender. Recently dumped by her fairly callous and self-absorbed partner, Ry easily finds love with restaurant chef Josh (James Franco) - just as rehearsals for 'The Blue Snake', a whimsical contemporary extravaganza choreographed by Canada's infamously eclectic Robert Desrosiers, begin on rather shaky legs. With no music to start with. Or, costumes. Unorthodox Desrosiers wants to see how this world-renowned troupe naturally moves to the rhythm from within, testing both theirs and Alberto's thinning patience...

This fairly low key slice-of-life glimpse into the inner workings of an actual dance studio would seem like the perfect fit for Campbell, considering this Guelph, Ontario-born actress did train at Toronto's National Ballet School of Canada before launching into a career in theatre at the age of fifteen that eventually led to big screen roles. Problem is, director Robert Altman doesn't quite seem to know exactly what to do with Barbara Turner's decidedly small, character-driven screenplay here. Sure, this two-hour non-documentary features several colourful dance numbers throughout that are bound to captivate its chosen demographic - although, I found a few of them to be repetitive pastiches tarted up with flashy lights and (sometimes) weird costuming - but it's almost as though Altman was disinterested in truly creating any sort of lasting moment within the framework of this meandering story. As though the bits of acting are merely brief respites plopped in for the rest of us to chew on, until the next dance number splashes across the screen. This definitely isn't 'Fame' (1980) or 'Flashdance' (1983) by any stretch of the imagination, though. McDowell does do a worthwhile job with what he's given to work with, snapping the proverbial whip to keep his troupe in line and giving some surprising insight to his role - apparently based on the company's actual artistic director, Gerald Arpino, who'd moved shop from New York and took over the position after the HIV-related death of co-founder and former longtime partner Anver Bey Abdullah Jaffa Khan Joffrey (aka Robert Joffrey) in 1995 - but it's really not enough to keep any sort of momentum or general interest from beginning to end. Frankly, a camera crew following a few real dancers and Arpino around for a month probably would have been a better use of everyone's time. If you're a huge contemporary ballet fan, 'The Company' might be something worth renting on a rainy afternoon. Otherwise, you won't get much satisfaction out of this one unless you simply can't get enough of Neve's pixie-like wincing smiles. Disappointing.

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Connie and Carla
REVIEWED 05/04, © STEPHEN BOURNE
www.ofrb.gov.on.ca | www.rcq.gouv.qc.ca


REVIEW:

Ever since they were little girls performing ad hoc musical skits to their unsuspecting and somewhat captive Chicago public school lunchtime peers, Connie (Nia Vardalos) and Carla (Toni Collette) have dreamed of being in show business. They could see themselves in full luxurious costume. On the spot lit Broadway stage, belting out famed Rogers and Hammerstein hits met with roaring audience ovations. Unfortunately, the closest these starry-eyed thirty year-olds have gotten to that is performing cobbled together Show Tune compilations in cheesy wardrobe to unsuspecting and somewhat captive tourists at O'Hare Airport's stopover bar. Their mothers are convinced by their garish clothes and make-up that Connie and Carla are secretly prostitutes, and their blue collar boyfriends, Al (Nick Sandow) and Mikey (Dash Mihok), consider their determination to be a waste of time. The girls won't give up trying to make it big in 'the business' through that daily waitressing 'dinner theatre' gig, though. It's only a matter of time. And, maybe a few more wigs. That is, until they witness their supportive boss Frank murdered by local building contractor and drug dealer Rudy (Robert John Burke) in the nearby parking garage, and they end up fleeing the city for the open road - and their lives. Leaving all of their hopes for stardom behind, along with Connie's tote bag containing her notebook of contacts that Rudy and his hired goon Tibor (Boris McGiver) could use to track them down. Which is exactly what happens, as that hulking thug crosses the country checking every amateur show from Florida to Manhattan in search of them. Luckily, Connie and Carla have found safety in the one place where they were certain none of the fine culture they've lived and breathed since childhood exists: Los Angeles. It's in the City of West Hollywood where they attempt to start anew, undercover as French beauticians until that falls through, ending up auditioning as winning performers at the Handlebars Cocktail lounge. However, not as women. As men dressed as women, working at that Gay bar. It's the perfect disguise. Plus, they get to sing and dance every night in front of an appreciative and enthusiastic crowd. Just like they've always dreamed of doing. It's absolutely fabulous, until Rudy discovers that the girls might be hiding in LA, and Tibor is quickly pointed in their direction...

This delightfully campy yet somewhat predictable romp written by Winnipeg, Manitoba native Nia Vardalos, whose surprise box office breakthrough 'My Big Fat Greek Wedding' (2002) has apparently become one of the most successful independent features in history, is a completely entertaining light romantic comedy spiked with famously familiar tunes from the Golden Age of movie Musicals. Borrowing from Julie Andrews' slightly similar performance in 'Victor/Victoria' (1982), and building upon that premise with a tightly paced and heartwarming contemporary script about these two naturally funny dreamers on the lam, director Michael Lembeck successfully plays with each aspect of this often misunderstood lifestyle from a completely accessible viewpoint for a paying audience. I found it hilarious, while reading through the production notes afterwards, that the idea for this flick was born when Nia penned the line, "And then, the two guys turned and kissed", while those studs were dancing in a bar with the two surprised characters who would eventually become these cross-dressing incognito leading ladies. That's the sort of irreverence presented throughout this hour and thirty-eight minute showcase that's wonderfully tempered by two fairly captivating subplots featuring Jeff (David Duchovny) as angst-riddled Connie's straight love interest, and Jeff's personably clumsy attempts to understand and reconcile with his transvestite bartender brother Robert/Peaches (Stephen Spinella). Spinella absolutely steals the off-stage spotlight by giving the unindoctrinated a solid glimpse into Rob's sometimes difficult path. We're not just given an insulting one-punch line Glam fest - or a gender switched rehash of Aussie television's Dame Edna - where you're expected to laugh hysterically at little else but whenever somebody walks onscreen in drag here, folks. You're given reasons to accept and care about these women, as well as their newfound friends, without feeling overtly preached at or expected to start emulating RuPaul. And, that's what makes 'Connie and Carla' such an enjoyably intelligent and worthwhile offering, as well as being a great screwball comedy. I figure this picture will do better as a rental, once word of mouth gets out about what a thoroughly satisfying sleeper it is, but check it out on the big screen if you're a fan of slightly audacious humour and feel good romantic endings.

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The Chronicles of Riddick
REVIEWED 06/04, © STEPHEN BOURNE
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REVIEW:

Heavily bolstered by the recently released 'The Chronicles of Riddick: Dark Fury' thirty minute animated video and 'The Chronicles of Riddick: Escape from Butcher Bay' tie-in first person computer game, this massive CGI effects-fuelled $120 million budgeted Sci-Fi sequel to 'Pitch Black' (2000) catches up with apparently invincible escaped murderer Richard B. Riddick (Vin Diesel) five years later. Director David Twohy and writing duo Jim and Ken Wheat also return, to pretty well pull out all the stops with this furiously over the top visual extravaganza space opera in which silver-eyed Riddick ends up dealing with bounty-hungry Toombs' (Nick Chinlund) small band of mercenaries, attempts rescuing holy man Iman (Keith David) and Jack-now-Kyra (with former French model Alexa Davalos taking over from Rhiana Griffith) yet again, and faces planet-smashing Lord Marshal's (Colm Feore) ferocious armada of Necromongers. Necromongers, rescues and mercs. Oh my. Seriously though, this is definitely one fabulously lush-looking movie in every respect from beginning to closing credits, packed with sweeping alien landscapes and outstanding set design rivaling 'Dune' (1984) or any worthwhile period piece. And, that's part of the problem here. Almost like 'Waterworld' (1995), the story and over-all performances fail miserably in living up to the marvelously far superior computer graphics. Furthermore, when the impressive backdrops aren't overwhelming your eyeballs while trying to follow the characters and fairly simple plot, a lot of Hugh Johnson's camerawork is so annoyingly blurred during the copious fight scenes that a paying audience is almost forced to switch off and just look forward to playing the upcoming DVD at half speed to keep up. Yes, Diesel does do a great job vaguely avoiding becoming just another finger puppet throughout, basically playing an edgier kind of role similar to those that eventually made actor Arnold Schwarzenegger a US Governor - uh, I mean, a rich and famous action star - but 'The Chronicles of Riddick' tends to get too fogged up on its own juice. It seems to regularly forget the ticket holders, as this thunderous adventure relentlessly clicks out its hundred and fifteen minutes' worth of often overpowering and sometimes silly brooding plotline. At one point, Riddick informs a group of fellow prison world escapees that there's only one speed, his, if they're going to outrun a blistering seven hundred degree sunrise to reach an awaiting spaceship before the tunnel-pacing guards do. Now, despite the fact that these desperate convicts don't just try to blast through the rigged doors and armed guards to avoid being fried alive anyways, it's as though you're already considered one of the doomed stragglers if you haven't dutifully succumbed to sitting there numbed by sensory overload in your theatre seat while everything washes over you from the big screen. Check out this hugely astounding visual romp if you're into breakneck action without much substance or explanation, but I was slightly disappointed by the lousy camerawork and the number of twists solely contrived to spur more mindless running and punching by this crew.

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Crimson Gold
REVIEWED 07/04, © STEPHEN BOURNE
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REVIEW:

Iranian director Jafar Panahi apparently continues his cinematic evaluation of contemporary life on the streets of Tehran, with this brooding tale of class injustice starring newcomer Hossain Emadeddin as former soldier turned pizza delivery biker and purse thief Hussein, out to avenge his continuously bruised pride when the burden of a meager alienating life on the eve of his wedding becomes too humiliating for him. And, despite writer Abbas Kiarostami's fairly clumsy script and Pahahi's apparent disinterest in actually explaining anything about this heavily religious militarized culture or the main characters in Hussein's small circle, Emadeddin does try to push his role beyond the sometimes-stunted dialogue rife with infuriating Mime-like moments. However, it's clearly obvious after only a few minutes in, that the real star of this ninety-five minute subtitled 2003 release is cinematographer Hossein Djafarian. There are several key scenes where the over-all badly depicted oppressive void of the main players' lives ends up not really giving a paying audience much to tap into, yet I felt as though I was sitting through a rough cut of an old Stanley Kubrick film here, simply because Djafarian's adept lens wonderfully lingers or slowly pans the shots for three to five-minute single takes throughout. Giving this movie an almost treacherous atmosphere; making that a main character in its own right. Sure, this is still a fairly boring flick. You're really not given any reason to care about what's happening, except that this or that face keeps showing up as though that's enough for Kiarostami's virtually enigmatic self-infatuated storyline to work. For instance, why Panahi chose to edit the picture's fatalistic ending into the opening reel seems a weird decision, since doing so fails to help imprint anyone's plight upon your psyche while you're doomed to wait for something to happen before the final credits roll. Nothing happens. Apart from Kamyar Sheisi as Emadeddin's best friend Ali, and Azita Rayeji as his fiancée, the supporting cast feels cobbled together from a list of eager neighbours and drama school dropouts. The international ads for 'Talaye sorkh' (its homeland title) call it 'a most unusual breed of crime thriller', citing Robert De Niro's classic performance as Travis "You tawkin' ta me?" Bickle in 'Taxi Driver' (1976). I didn't see either of those lofty claims transpiring at all, during the two-time Cannes-winning snoozer that I ended up sitting through. Even though I could easily imagine hordes of film students being overwhelmingly encouraged to seek this one out for its intrinsically simple but clever camerawork. If you're not into discovering (deservedly) over-looked foreign films, and aren't interested in seeing something new from Iranian Cinema, you're better off giving this one a pass.

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The Clearing
REVIEWED 07/04, © STEPHEN BOURNE
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REVIEW:

Apparently inspired by the controversial 1987 kidnapping case of Dutch executive Gerrit Jan Heijn by a known drug dealer subsequently protected by that country's laws, first time director Pieter Jan Brugge focuses on the lives of Pennsylvanian rental car magnate Wayne Hayes (Robert Redford) and his wife of thirty years Eileen (Helen Mirren) after Wayne is abducted by a broken shadowy figure named Arnold Mack (Willem Dafoe). Frankly, this could have been a far better movie if Redford's role had been cut dramatically in order to allow Mirren's performance the obvious elbow room needed to truly make this picture a winner. As it stands, 'The Clearing' is still a marginally interesting story that's told in an often-confusing combination of non-parallel timelines that seems to take forever in getting anywhere. Redford and Dafoe take (I guess) a day to walk through a wooded area towards what we're told are Mack's partners in crime, and yet it feels like an eternity, partly because Mirren's story takes place over the course of about a week or more. You're never sure what's a flashback and what's actually happening in real time. Furthermore, because these two incredibly talented main actors are so good in their individual parts, they tend to cancel each other out. Weakening the potentially riveting power of outwardly prim Eileen's out of control crisis exacerbated by the questionable advice from ever-present FBI agent Ray Fuller (Matt Craven) and her revisited injury caused by Wayne's infidelity. These and Dafoe's are wonderfully complex roles, sadly made far less captivating by Justin Haythe's somewhat experimental script. Yes, this flick does feel a little like Dutch director George Sluizer's tense thriller 'Spoorloos' (1988) - which he remade for Hollywood as the less satisfying 'The Vanishing' (1993), with Jan Brugge as an executive producer - but only just. Surprisingly, you're given reasons to empathize with and even come to like Mack, detrimentally softening any sort of menace that could have worked in keeping a paying audience involved as this drama slothfully unfolds. It's almost as though these players decided somewhere along the way that they didn't really want to make a kidnapping movie anymore, and opted to create precise moments of self-gratifying character examination and stage-like interactions where that whole silly notion of Arnold waving a gun around and thousands of dollars in ransom being pooled together to be spirited away for Hayes' release seemed inconsequential to the plot after-all. Making this one inherently fascinating at times, but predominantly awkward and weird. And, boring. This was probably the longest hour and half screening I can recall sitting through in a while. I actually hate panning this one, because I'm a huge fan of these immensely capable actors, but this flick is unfortunately a disjointed meandering turkey. Yawn.

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Coffee and Cigarettes
REVIEWED 07/04, © STEPHEN BOURNE
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REVIEW:

Apparently made over a seventeen year span and inspired by co-writer/director Jim Jarmusch's ('Night on Earth' (1991), 'Dead Man' (1995)) first same-named seven-minute 1986 short starring Roberto Benigni and Steven Wright, what you get here are a dozen often starkly shot black and white vignettes featuring loosely connected low key skits by various acting and music performers making small talk over coffee and (in most cases) a smoke in this or that eatery/café. It's not clear if the original Benigni/Wright bit 'Strange to Meet You' was re-edited before being included, but Jarmusch's second and Cannes-winning third short films, spotlighting siblings Joie and Cinqué Lee and Steve Buscemi in 'Twins' (1989), and Iggy Pop and Tom Waits in 'Somewhere in California' (1993) respectively, are also in the mix. These, along with the hilariously superior 'Cousins?' with Alfred Molina and Steve Coogan, and Alex Descas' and Isaach De Bankolé's subtitled and stylishly wry 'No Problem' round out the better of the bunch, with the remaining situational experiments featuring Cate Blanchett, Bill Murray, Jack and Meg White, and others quickly running out of steam and feeling overly long and lazily improvised. Frankly, this is a definite Art House flick that probably won't be to everyone's tastes. Simply because of its unpolished minimalism, and its almost Beat Generation hipness that seems intended as more an ad hoc home movie cut together of and for close friends to enjoy - much like those private party reels dug out of Charlie Chaplin's or Frank Sinatra's personal archives, or a much less zany offering similar to Brit director Richard Lester's Peter Sellers/Spike Milligan fast cut romp, 'The Running Jumping & Standing Still Film' (1959). There's no real story here. Just dialogue and slight character studies casually sprinkled with humour at times. Each vignette does stand alone, and yet they're connected by obvious reused camera techniques and the few continual props that thinly link them. Coffee. Cigarettes. Checkered-patterned tabletops. And, a couple of references to Tesla. Sometimes they work, sometimes they don't. Making the entire offering a slightly meandering screening that you'll either take pleasure in appreciating or leave the theatre afterwards feeling bored and robbed. I actually liked the whole process as a delightful series of artful intermissions, but wouldn't recommend it as something worth going to see at full ticket price at the movies. There's just not enough over-all momentum to carry a paying audience's interest from beginning to closing credits, unfortunately. Check it out as an interesting rental, particularly if you're a fan of any of the stars, but don't kill yourself hunting down 'Coffee and Cigarettes'.

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A Cinderella Story
REVIEWED 07/04, © STEPHEN BOURNE
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REVIEW:

Teen pop singer and fashion fad icon Hilary Duff stars as relentlessly marginalized North Valley High School senior Samantha 'Sam' Montgomery, known to her secret online and phone chat admirer 'Nomad' (Chad Michael Murray as Fighting Frogs football team captain and budding writer love interest Austin) only as 'PrincetonGirl818' - even after their brief encounter under the stars in a romantic candlelit gazebo during their school's annual Hallowe'en party, he doesn't really know who she is - until Sam's ridiculously malicious step-sisters Gabriella (Andrea Avery) and Brianna (Madeline Zima) stumble upon those lovebirds' emails and pass the juicy gossip on to Austin's tenuously endured girlfriend and perky perky cheerleader Shelby (Julie Gonzalo). Such is life in the San Fernando Valley, I guess. This is a silly boring movie, where first-timer Leigh Dunlap's clunky sugarcoated screenplay is ripe for the same type of annoying, puffy-cheeked Pantomime wannabes who seem to appear from clouds of pixie dust whenever anything remotely resembling renowned German storytelling linguists Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm's 1812 'Ashcenputtel' or the famous Disney animated version of 'Cinderella' (1950) puts out a casting call. Yes, this is definitely a slightly retooled contemporary Cinderella story, folks. Where the familiar glass slipper has been replaced by a cel phone, and the evil stepmother of bygone lore has been updated into Jennifer Coolidge's dimwitted gold digging narcissistic LA bimbo opposite Duff's down trodden yet cutesy tomboy character. Director Mark Rosman seems lost here though, pretty well encouraging this unfunny comedy to quickly become little more than uninteresting coming of age romance staged by amateur drama club students with nothing better to do for an hour and a half than to lazily patronize fans of the original fairy tale or any of its far superior cinematic versions. I kept waiting for the obligatory food fight set to an oompah soundtrack to break out on screen, because this disaster actually does feel like it was cobbled together with forgotten outtakes from several dismally awful child-starring Disney movies made for television in the 1970's. I realize 'A Cinderella Story' is intended for pre-teens, predominantly young girls, looking for a feel good love story they can relate to. And, I will admit that the notion of providing that is worthwhile. It's the final result as presented here that's the problem, because the underlying message of being true to yourself and taking empowering chances gets lost under the weight of so much mopey whining and lousy acting throughout. That's a shame. Steer clear of this saccharine shambles, folks.

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Catwoman
REVIEWED 07/04, © STEPHEN BOURNE
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REVIEW:

Taking a decidedly different approach to legendary DC Comics artist Bob Kane's (1916-1998) classic 'Batman' nemesis Selina 'Catwoman' Kyle; made famous in the campy 1966-68 television series by Julie Newmar and Eartha Kitt respectively, as well as adapted for Lee Meriwether in 'Batman: The Movie' (1966) and for Michelle Pfeiffer in 'Batman Returns' (1992) on the big screen, French director Jean-Christophe 'Pitof' Comar casts Halle Berry as Hedare Cosmetics giant's cowering in-house graphic designer Patience Phillips - who is subsequently transformed by a mystical Egyptian Mau into what we learn is the most recent in a long line of Cat Women worldwide, after Patience accidentally witnesses the mutilating long-term side effects of a new revitalizing skin cream due out for eager consumer within days. Well, the idea certainly showed a lot of promise in the same sort of way some of the alternate universe comic books in the Elseworld series were interesting shifts from the familar. However, it's as though John D. Brancato's, Michael Ferris' and John Rogers' screenplay of Theresa Rebeck's, Brancato's and Ferris' original story lost track in wanting to divorce itself from any of Catwoman's prior incarnations and ended up just cranking out what looks a lot like a European version of a Hollywood costume party themed on that fictional cat burglar. Yes, Berry obviously does work at attempting to pull off a decent performance here that's in some ways similar to her role as NSA agent Giacinta 'Jynx' Johnson in 'Die Another Day' (2002). Particularly, with her few feats of truly amazing feline-like stunts that aren't overtly computer enhanced or completely CGI-created (there's a whole lotta rotoscoping going on here) and getting her purrrrfect Eartha moments in, but there's really not too much for this otherwise capable Oscar-winner to play with. Beyond flashing that gorgeous smile and wiggling her tushy Diva style. Frankly, the script could have easily had a fighting chance if far less attention had been paid to the ripped tight leather outfit apparently designed by Angus Strathie for drooling fanboys (I actually preferred the earlier one seen in the Halsberg Jewelry scenes) and if this boring disaster had been afforded far better dialogue, a more convincing love story with City Detective Tom Lone (Benjamin Bratt), and a much more intimidating antagonist than Sharon Stone's badly written snarly finger puppet villain Laurel Hedare hiding the terrible secret that her pricey wrinkle ointment - gasp - causes welts and wrinkles. Yawn. It seems fairly apparent that this insulting 'Barbie with mask and whip' fashion show was a fun paid vacation while this cast took time off from being the real actors they've all proven themselves to be in the past, but it's a mystery why 'Catwoman' needed to be released in theatres at all. Considering nobody involved - including Pitof, whose cinematic trademark is apparently featuring female protagonists - took this potentially satisfying opportunity seriously enough to do something fresh with a costumed female vigilante and make it work in the final cut. What were they thinking? Were they thinking?

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Collateral
REVIEWED 08/04, © STEPHEN BOURNE
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REVIEW:

Twelve-year 'temporary' veteran Yellow Taxi Company hack Max (Jamie Foxx) is dragged into a world of fear and murder when he unwittingly lets a charismatic yet psychotic contract killer named Vincent (Tom Cruise) into his night shift cab under a chilled Los Angeles January full moon, and Max is forced at gunpoint to not only spend those wee hours delivering his fare to each targeted witness in a criminal case orchestrated by the District Attorney's office, but must also evade LAPD narcotics detective Fanning (Mark Ruffalo) and the trigger-happy FBI surveillance team hot on their trail in converging investigations. It's fairly obvious that this hugely entertaining thriller is the product of Emmy and Golden Globe award-winning hundred and fourteen episode 'Miami Vice' (1984-89) co-executive producer Michael Mann. That show's trademark pastel washes and sockless loafers have gone by the wayside here in favour of a raw and immediate contemporary look, but it has that same thorough attention to character detail and simmering underlying tension capped with smart surprises along the way. Plus, it looks great. Of course, you're given much more than cinematographers Dion Beebe's and Paul Cameron's stylish vision throughout, though. Both Foxx and Cruise are absolutely incredible here; in roles that Adam Sandler and Russell Crowe (huh?) were reportedly considered for early on, making this an intensely riveting crime adventure packed with Stuart Beattie's hugely satisfying dialogue all sharply edited by Jim Miller and Paul Rubell. Outstanding. Sure, there have been countless killer/hostage movies of this type from Hollywood in the past, but what gives 'Collateral' such a fresh spin is that Mann's characters are all professional rogues in a sense. From Ruffalo's scruffy NARC quickly realizing the FBI's conclusions about Max are terribly wrong, to Cruise's single-minded path of highly skilled destruction, to Jada Pinkett Smith's captivatingly intelligent Prosecuting DA confiding to Max in a blossoming love interest scene that's truly brilliant, none of these primary onscreen players are overtly clichéd or stupid. That's what draws you in to this amazing story. That, and letting a paying audience fully see how this sometimes horrifying string of events affect and change Foxx's capably portrayed character. Wow. Sure, there are a couple of continuity hiccups that might send you out of the theatre scratching your head afterwards - such as wondering how the opening LAX bag switch was so seamlessly accomplished if this brutal gun-for-hire meticulously guards his anonymity - but, they hardly detract from the sheer over-all power and lightening-fast thrills of this overwhelmingly superior drama. Absolutely check it out on the big screen. Awesome.

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Control Room
REVIEWED 08/04, © STEPHEN BOURNE
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REVIEW:

In March 2003, days before American-led coalition troops initially sent overseas to capture terrorist followers of Osama Bin Laden's al-Qaeda organization in Afghanistan were given orders to invade nearby Iraq, co-writer/director Jehane Noujaim took her small film crew behind the scenes of arguably the most controversial television broadcaster in the Arab world: Eight year-old Al-Jazeera, headquartered in Qatar, seven hundred miles from Baghdad. This fairly unbiased yet wry eighty-four minute documentary is the result, as Noujaim chronicles the coffee and adrenaline-fuelled viewpoints of some of that oftentimes beleaguered station's personalities, including US-educated Sudanese journalist and former BBC Arab News Service correspondent Hassan Ibrahim and Samir Khader, Al-Jazeera's chain smoking senior producer and former personal translator for the King of Jordan, throughout the course of that war from its ominous beginnings to President George W. Bush's infamous USS Abraham Lincoln aircraft carrier-staged May 2003 proclamation of victory in toppling the regime of then still elusive Saddam Hussein. What you're shown is how essentially the same news stories seen in the West on CNN, Fox News and the BBC were covered differently for a predominantly Muslim TV audience by Al-Jazeera. A daunting task, considering the fairly tight gag order many networks put on their reporters to secure easy access to the military and their press conferences held in that tiny Persian land. It's long after Noujaim brings us into the enclosed compound of 'CentCom' - the Coalition Media Center and Central Command stationed sixty-seven hundred and eight miles from New York and a mere ten clicks from Qatar by United States military personnel for daily briefings held with North American, European and Middle Eastern journalists - that a paying audience begins to understand why the stories are reported with different angles and possible agendas in mind. The continual footage of heavily armed soldiers storming in to drag people from their ramshackle homes, and scenes of bloodied bodies laying in the wake of repeated strafing runs by coalition bombers are happening to Khader's and Al Jazeera producer Deema Khatib's countrymen, neighbours and possibly friends and family members. CentCom press officer Lt. Joshua Rushing eventually concedes to the suggestion that "Objectivity is a mirage" there, openly comparing his rather unaffected reaction to seeing graphic pictures of Iraqi wounded to his horrified outrage over being shown broadcasted video of American POW's and their dead comrades from Army supply clerk Pfc. Jessica Lynch's 507th Maintenance Company and others. Veteran war correspondent for CNN Tom Mintier offers a somewhat more skeptical view of how stories are spun for consumption at the source, pointing to Central Command successfully burying the lead with Lynch's heroic April rescue on the same day allied forces rolled into Baghdad. Sure, 'Control Room' definitely isn't an overtly searing exposé into how the news is filtered, but it is an interesting and unobtrusive examination of some of the people involved from these two worlds in much the same way that Canadian viewers sometimes find decidedly differing coverage from the States, the UK and at home on television. Check it out as a much softer alternative to director Michael Moore's heavy handed 'Fahrenheit 9/11' (2004) that's worth renting for its comparably non-abrasive insightfulness.

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Cellular
REVIEWED 09/04, © STEPHEN BOURNE
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REVIEW:

After high school Science teacher Jessica Martin (Oscar-winner Kim Basinger; 'Never Say Never Again' (1983), 'The Door in the Floor' (2004)) is brutally kidnapped from her tranquil suburban California home and locked in the dark attic of a secluded hilltop hideout, she manages to tenuously rewire a shattered telephone and makes a desperate call for help. Enter Ryan (Chris Evans; 'Not Another Teen Movie' (2001), 'The Perfect Score' (2004)), a Twenty-something slacker whose initial skepticism quickly evolves into a panic-riddled attempt at bravery as Jessica's terrified pleas send him on a wild-eyed race against time to save her family and intercept her merciless abductors - led by crooked undercover LAPD cop Ethan Greer (former Olympic diver Jason Statham; 'Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels' (1998), 'The Italian Job' (2003)) - before they kill their hapless prey, in this rip-roaring actioner helmed by ex-Disney teen actor and former 'Smokey and the Bandit' (1977) and 'Lethal Weapon' (1987) stuntman turned director David Richard Ellis and penned by famed Hitchcock colleague Larry Cohen ('Wicked Stepmother' (1989), 'Phone Booth' (2002)). Wow. 'Cellular' is an incredibly smart and tight ninety-four minute roller coaster ride, as well as being a wonderfully constructed crime thriller, as both Ryan and retiring twenty-seven year veteran officer Bob Mooney (fabulously underplayed by William H. Macy; 'Fargo' (1996), 'Spartan' (2004)) individually become more and more involved in this compelling breakneck drama. It's pure magic, watching this perfectly compelling story thunder across the screen, with first time screenwriter Chris Morgan's script meticulously clicking into place piece by piece like a dazzling jigsaw puzzle as these characters are drawn closer to the impending dangers that await them by sheer velocity. A paying audience can't help but be dragged along head first and loving every minute of it. Definitely keep an eye out for Rick Hoffman's ('What Planet Are You From?', 'Blood Work' (2002)) hilarious, scene-stealing part as the bombastic $600 an hour LA lawyer here, but this entire main cast deserves full marks for pulling out all the stops in delivering such a thoroughly enjoyable picture. Sure, 'Cellular' is an unabashed and slightly formulaic popcorn flick at its core, and will probably end up becoming one of the most referred to and parodied movies of the year by default - much like the now-familiar "Can you hear me now?" television ads' catch phrase has already been used in recent big screen dialogue several times - simply because a lot of the plot twists revolve around cell phone technology mixed with high speed adventure, but this offering is definitely worth a look for more than that gimmicky reason. The performances really are great here. The action is virtually non-stop from beginning to closing credits, and a lot of the pulse pounding near-miss chase scenes marvelously captured by cinematographer Gary Capo and masterfully edited by Eric A. Sears are sure to be truly astounding for even the most jaded of ticket holders. Do yourself a huge favour and check out this incredibly entertaining action-packed movie while it's still playing in a theatre near you.

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