Criminal
REVIEWED 10/04, © STEPHEN BOURNE
www.ofrb.gov.on.ca | www.rcq.gouv.qc.ca


REVIEW:

Longtime LA grifter Richard Gaddis (John C. Reilly; 'Chicago' (2002), 'Anger Management' (2003)) plucks desperately cash-strapped Rodrigo (Diego Luna; 'Open Range' (2003), 'The Terminal' (2004)) from an amateur con gone wrong in the belief that this young Mexican might make a worthy new partner. However, shortly after Gaddis spends an hour showing his eager apprentice a few sneaky tricks of the con man's trade, the game plan changes when a call from Richard's kid sister and concierge of Grand Avenue's swanky Biltmore Hotel Valerie (Maggie Gyllenhaal; 'Adaptation' (2002), 'Mona Lisa Smile' (2003)) leads to his aged and ailing former partner Ochoa (Zitto Kazann; 'Waterworld' (1995), 'Thirteen Days' (2000)) and an extremely rare 1934 Silver Certificate American hundred dollar bank note - probably the most valuable piece of currency in existence - that old Spaniard planned selling for at least twice its market value to a foreign collector staying at the Biltmore. Ochoa wants Gaddis to do the deal. For a hefty price, of course. So, despite Valerie wanting her criminally greedy brother out of her hotel, and with Rodrigo tagging along for part of the cut, Gaddis scrambles together his assets to buy the bill and quickly flip it into a couple of hundred thousand bucks before his buyer has to leave the country within hours, in co-writer Gregory Jacobs' directorial debut and remake of the acclaimed Argentinean flick 'Nueve reinas' (2000). This is an immensely talented cast of players headlined by Reilly, who does an incredibly capable job in making a paying audience both intrigued with and loathing of his character throughout the course of this mildly obvious set up. You know someone's going to get pasted before the closing credits and it's easy to hope that'll be Gaddis. The main problem with this hour and a half, R-rated independent picture is that Jacobs and co-writer Steven Soderbergh (that director's credited under the alias 'Sam Lowry') seemed to be wearing kid gloves while penning this potentially satisfying story, not really investing much in the way of convincing diversions so that the twist ending becomes a surprise, rather than luke warm gratification. Unlike in 'The Sting' (1973) or 'Matchstick Men' (2003) for instance, nobody on screen here is particularly personable, so you're pretty well left sitting on the sidelines deciding which people you dislike the least while this fairly bland shell game clicks out. The often times jerky, from-the-hip digital camera work from cinematographer Chris Menges tends to further sway attention to detail during key scenes, almost as though Jacobs wants you to give up thinking, just sit back, and let the pretty colours and sometimes quirky dialogue wash over you. Unfortunately, 'Criminal' is far too lush a character study for that, making its over-all presentation a bit of chore to sit through. It's still a worthwhile feature, but could have benefited greatly from a few more hours of polishing in the editing room. Definitely check it out as a well-paced rental for the thoroughly interesting characters presented by Reilly and Luna, but be prepared for a fairly anti-climactic pay off.

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Christmas with the Kranks
REVIEWED 11/04, © STEPHEN BOURNE
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REVIEW:

Luther Krank (Tim Allen; 'Galaxy Quest' (1999), 'The Santa Clause 2' (2002)) has a plan. His most brilliant of ideas yet. And, it's all thanks to the fact that his adorable twenty-three year-old daughter Blair (Julie Gonzalo) will be miles away in the jungles of Peru with the Peace Corps during the Christmas holidays. Of course, his loving wife Nora (Jamie Lee Curtis; 'A Fish Called Wanda' (1988), 'Freaky Friday' (2003)) is heart broken with separation anxiety over Blair's first time absence in all these years, but Luther's absolutely genius brain wave of a plan will soon solve that too. It's foolproof guaranteed to cheer up Nora. Come December 25th, the Kranks are hereby going on a ten-day luxury cruise of tropical sun and hedonistic fun through the warm, beckoning Cayman Islands. Saving them hundreds of thousands of dollars, compared to the $613,200 they spent this same time last year on the obligatory decorations and the presents, the donations and the parties. Yes, the Kranks are skipping Christmas. Brilliant. Foolproof. Genius. Unfortunately, his office co-workers don't agree. On the home front, neither does his crusty neighbour Walt Scheel (M. Emmet Walsh). Or, worst of all, Vic Frohmeyer (Dan Aykroyd; 'Celtic Pride' (1996), '50 First Dates' (2004)). See, Frohmeyer is the unofficial community leader of Luther's tree lined suburban neighbourhood. And, well, Frohmeyer has a problem with the Kranks deciding not to fall in line with everybody else who's traditionally going all out with the front yard lights and the good clean family spirit that having an eight foot-tall plastic statue of Frosty the Snowman on your roof represents. Skipping Christmas? Bah, humbug. Clearly, according to Vic and Walt and the other correctly-thinking citizens of Hemlock Street, Luther and Nora need to re-evaluate their priorities here. Immediately, or sooner. Well, if this aggravatingly patronizing farce based on famed thriller novelist John Grisham's book, 'Skipping Christmas', had been made in the 1950's, I suppose it could be considered a sly allegory against McCarthy-ism. Released in the Sixties or Seventies, this horribly unfunny comedy from director Joe Roth ('Revenge of the Nerds II' (1987), 'America's Sweethearts' (2001)) might pass for a kind of 'Bug the Squares' cinematic statement. Frankly, 'Christmas with the Kranks' is basically a child of the Eighties at it's core. The worst kind of Eighties movie, where pretty well all of the adults are idiotic stereotypes. An Eighties movie made in 2004, where all of the jokes are essentially rehashed jokes that really weren't particularly good jokes the first hundred times they were used half a Century ago. However, the main problem with this offering isn't so much the random retooling of Milton Berle's (1908-2002), Jackie Gleason's (1916-1987), Jerry Lewis', Chevy Chase's - and most of their contemporaries' - lamest of material. Shake down mighty oaks and something good is bound to fall out of those trees. Unfortunately, this half-baked celluloid turkey still has no wings. The dialogue is amateurish. The plot is tired and uneven. None of the characters are particularly interesting. There's absolutely nothing about 'Christmas with the Kranks' that would make a paying audience feel as though sitting through its entirely is worth the price of admission. Especially if you've seen the ads for it, where all of the remotely humourous stuff is used. It's almost as though Allen somehow felt habitually obligated to make yet another Christmas movie, but was strapped for an idea when the deadline for 'The Santa Clause 3' came and went, yet he still needed to throw away a big pile of investor and studio cash on another big pile of, uh, family entertainment. Of course, I'm speculating here. However, while enduring this lousy hundred and thirteen-minute disaster, it was tough not to wonder why it needed to be made at all. Definitely check out the vintage Christmas movie rack at your local video store, and steer way clear of this painfully boring and outrageously stinky, um, Yuletide log.

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Closer
REVIEWED 12/04, © STEPHEN BOURNE
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REVIEW:

Dan Wolfe's (Jude Law; 'Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil' (1997), 'Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow (2004)) euphemism for her would be, "She was disarming". The embodiment of enchanting nubile grace that was Alice (Natalie Portman; 'Star Wars I: The Phantom Menace' (1999), 'Garden State' (2004)), splitting open that grey curtain of London pedestrians on the day he first caught a glimpse of her, is what he'll remember most. It was the moment that his dreary life as an obituary newspaper writer and aspiring novelist changed. The day that this twenty-two year-old, pink-haired bohemian and former exotic dancer from New York won his heart and became his girlfriend. However, succumbing to love at first sight so deeply sometimes leads the heart to continue looking, aching for the next addictive swell of romantic infatuation, and Dan soon falls for ex-patriot American freelance photographer Anna (Julia Roberts; 'Pretty Woman' (1990), 'Full Frontal' (2002)) during a photo shoot for his up-coming book. And, politely let down, into an online swingers chat room as DDW and a graphically lustful cyber sex encounter that results in Larry (Clive Owen; 'Croupier' (1998), 'King Arthur' (2004)), a downtown clinical dermatologist, meeting Anna at one of her favourite haunts. Alice seems completely unconcerned with Dan's fickle interest in her, and Dan is insensed that the object of his new desires has been seduced by Larry. Both relationships eventually prove to be overwhelmingly doomed, as these four emotionally pathetic, beautiful creatures desperately sabotage the happiness they've discovered in favour of carnal fantasy fueled by jealousy and self-loathing. Yawn. This disappointingly plodding and relentlessly lurid adaptation of screenwriter/playwright Patrick Marber's award-winning 1997 play feels more like a terribly unrehearsed Art film featuring mainstream cinema-aspiring porn extras reading off-screen cue cards than director Mike Nichols' ('Working Girl' (1988), 'What Planet Are You From?' (2000)) intentionally serious examination of sexually-charged relationships and infidelities. Owen, who reportedly played Dan on stage in England, seems to be the only one from this ensemble cast who suitably presents this material as a fully realized character. Unfortunately, he stumbles quite a few times. The rest of these otherwise capable actors look as though they're fighting a losing battle with the dialogue for the most part, surprisingly unsure of how to believably interpret their lines and motivations throughout. Sure, the over-all look of this ninety-eight minute feature is wonderfully captured by cinematographer Stephen Goldblatt, and it's tough not to compare Portman's dazzling opening scene screen presence to that of Hollywood Walk of Famer Raquel Welch, but the substance of this overtly lewd and slightly pretentious offering quickly becomes irrevocably sidelined and boring as a direct result of its rather aggravating and awkward script of inarticulate verbal sparring. However, the main problem with 'Closer' is that a paying audience is never really given any reason to care about these people or what happens as you get to know them. Most of the interesting stuff about these parts has either already taken place before this story, or might happen long after the closing credits. It's a major failure that's further exacerbated by the fact that none of these characters are particularly empathetic, except during a few extremely brief seconds when they're in the moment of love or sadness or anger and not saying anything. Marcel Marceau would be proud. It's a shame, really. Steer clear of this disjointed snooze fest, unless you really need to hear America's Sweethearts Portman and Roberts sneer out an assortment of dimly colourful naughty words.

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Coach Carter
REVIEWED 01/05, © STEPHEN BOURNE
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REVIEW:

It's been more than half a lifetime since Richmond, North Californian sporting goods shop owner Ken Carter (Samuel L. Jackson; 'Jackie Brown' (1997), 'Twisted' (2004)) was an All Star basketball student athlete at that inner city's local high school. A Richmond Oiler Varsity champion. Long before the already tough streets got a whole lot meaner. Before the tight security identity card checkpoints and those looming metal detectors that now line the crowded hallways of Richmond High. Where, statistically, only fifty percent of its senior year is likely to graduate, and an astounding one out of every three classmates will probably end up in prison. All the same, Carter's convinced that he can turn around these dire foregone conclusions for a handful of young men by accepting the position as their new basketball coach. The kids aren't buying it, though. Him appearing at their gym in his pressed suit and polished shoes, talking all uppity and educated, calling everyone "Sir", doesn't cut it. Same goes for the crazy contract about punctuality and grade point averages that Carter insists they all agree to and sign before serious practice begins. And, the way he doles out punishing numbers of push-ups for the stupidest things... man. Clearly, this old guy's delusional. Beleaguered Principal Garrison (Denise Dowse) feels the same way, skeptical about his insistence in seeing regular scholastic progress reports of his team players, when all that he's been hired on to do for four months is to teach offensive dribbling and hoop shots. She blows him off. Not for long, though. Carter only knows one way of forcing these street savvy teenagers to fall in line with his plan to take them to the State Championships as better, smarter players: The arduous road of unwavering discipline. So, all hell busts loose at the height of the Oilers' 16.0 winning streak when Ken suddenly locks them out of practice in frustrated response to their failing and incomplete classroom ratings. Gathering the team at the library for daily tutoring in history and algebra - threatening to forfeit as many games as necessary under a storm of parental and media outrage - until he's satisfied. Or, until the School Board buckles from increasing pressure from all sides to fire him.

Holy cripes, what an outstanding sports movie. It's unclear whether or not the real Ken Carter's - now also an honoured motivational speaker and 2002 US Olympic torch bearer - reported autobiographical yet apparently unpublished manuscript, Yes Ma'am, No Sir, inspired this extremely captivating underdog story, but it seems clear that the actual events surrounding him locking out all forty-five of his freshmen, junior varsity and varsity team players in 1999 due to fifteen of them producing less than poor grades did. Outside of maybe Sidney Poitier, Jackson is the only actor tailor made for this role. Three-time Emmy-winning director Thomas Carter - who also directed and appeared in television's groundbreaking and obviously similar 'The White Shadow' (1978-1981) series - wonderfully charts the thoroughly believable sub-plots surrounding each of the primary characters affected by Carter's rather unorthodox methods here. 'Coach Carter' isn't just a basketball movie. It's an incredibly rich series of human dramas intersecting on this big screen court for a paying audience to become totally involved with. Sure, shades of Poitier gems 'Blackboard Jungle' (1955) and 'To Sir, with Love' (1967) are evident, and this hundred and thirty-six minute feature does resemble other contemporary schoolyard flicks such as 'Hoosiers' (1986) and 'Hoop Dreams' (1994) while tinged by the likes of 'Dangerous Minds' (1995) throughout, but the sheer caliber of Mark Schwahn's ('The Perfect Score' (2004)) and John Gatins' ('Hard Ball' (2001)) screenplay easily takes the game to a higher level. This is how it's done, folks. This entire ensemble cast, which also includes Rick Gonzalez ('Mambo Café' (2000), 'Old School' (2003)) as Timo Cruz, Rob Brown ('Finding Forrester' (2000)) as Kenyon Stone, Antwon Tanner ('The Wood' (1999), 'Never Die Alone' (2004)) as Jaron 'Worm' Willis, Channing Tatum ('Havoc' (2004)) as Jason Lyle, and Robert Ri'chard ('Light It Up' (1999), 'Who's Your Daddy?' (2003)) as Carter's son Damien, give you every reason on earth to care about this Cinderella team's path to glory. Frankly, the only down side is the incidental soundtrack, strangely resembling that of an Eighties After School Special teen drama at times. Sure, 'Coach Carter' is definitely one of those Hollywood offerings where expected insurmountable odds and adolescent self-sabotage are played out towards their somewhat predictable conclusions. However, there's so much to it that's so undeniably interesting and entertaining that you can't help but be drawn in cheering them on. Awesome. (Oh, and you can find Timo Cruz's quote of the inspirational Marianne Williamson passage at http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Marianne_Williamson).

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Les Choristes
REVIEWED 02/05, © STEPHEN BOURNE
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REVIEW:

Clément Mathieu (Gérard Jugnot; 'Une époque formidable...' (1991), 'Monsieur Batignole' (2002)) had no real idea what he'd gotten himself into, when he'd accepted the position of school supervisor at the secluded Fonde de le etande that sunny January of 1949. Its welcoming wooded surroundings banking each side of a lazy, serene stretch of curved gravel road never betrayed a hint of what awaited him just beyond that infamous orphanage-like institution for "difficult" boys' old white iron gate. "Seven stitches," bleated the recently stabbed and beleageured, out going supervisor he'd been hired to replace. As they now reminisce about it fifty years later as two estranged classmates reunited by fate, even young resident ruffian Pierre (Jean-Baptiste Maunier) and the younger, regularly victimized Pépinot (Maxence Perrin) could both sense that Mathieu was in over his head. A slightly round and balding lamb unknowingly led to the proverbial slaughter. Boy, were they wrong. Within days of his less than spectacular arrival marked by a flurry of epithets launched by this jaded body of juvenile delinquents bluntly assembled in the front courtyard by their cruel principal, Monseur Rachin (François Berléand; 'Camille Claudel' (1988), 'The Transporter' (2002)), Clément had most of them quietly sitting attentively in class, absorbing every word that he'd say to them. Like some kind of miracle, this outwardly unassuming little man had inspired their imagination to become more than a harsh world expected of them all. To rise to the challenge of their untapped full potential, with something that Mathieu never thought he'd turn to again: Music. An angelic arrangement of his song Vois Sur Ton Chemin had turned bullies into baritones, mischief makers and daydreamers into altos and tenors, into a cobbled together choir of these forgotten, tender souls. Much to the skeptical chagrin of Rachin, whose eventual spiteful threat of summarily banning their joyful daily practices would result in Clément turning to his own brand of nonconformance.

I've read that this 2004 crowd pleaser from France was actually based on another, older French film, but a lot of it plays out like a moderate remake of the Bing Crosby favourite 'The Bells of St. Mary's' (1945), or of 'Mr. Holland's Opus' (1995) to a lesser degree. It's not a particularly bad thing, but the similarities do tend to get in the way of this ninety-five minute screening feeling captivatingly fresh. Co-writer/director Christophe Barratier essentially guides a paying audience through a series of slightly familiar tugs at the heart, where kids who've spent most of their days jeering authority and causing deliberate mayhem out of sheer boredom suddenly respond in uncharacteristic unison to the offer of joining a choir and singing about lush green meadows and crashing waves and soaring skies full of seagulls. Huh? Frankly, the entire premise of this flick seems enormously unbelievable and merely created as vaguely fleshed out pretense so that Barratier's and Bruno Coulais' currently Oscar nominated song could find a centre stage spotlight on the big screen. None of these characters are presented as anything other than ordinary stereotypes. The mean boss, the impish brat, the Every man protagonist, the hooligan with a dented heart of gold, the coy love interest. You've seen them all before, probably many times in far better written movies. The real charm of 'Les Choristes' lays squarely on the shoulders of the cast itself, with each player relying heavily on their individual screen presence to pull you in. In that respect alone, this cinematic charmer is a memorably welcome success. However, as a complete picture, it's not really enough to warrant you going out of your way to find this effort. Check it out as a simple, mature minded yet heartwarming rental worth cuddling up to, but it's fairly fluffy over-all and doesn't offer much beyond the briefly enjoyable song.

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Constantine
REVIEWED 02/05, © STEPHEN BOURNE
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REVIEW:

When a mother screamed in horror at catching her young daughter snarling like an unholy beast from their Los Angeles inner city apartment's ceiling, the sun paled and a low chuckle rumbled from deep within the earth. Father Hennessey (Pruitt Taylor Vince; 'Identity' (2003)), normally keenly attuned beyond his wishes to these vaguely noticeable signs, quickly realized that his blunted abilities as an exorcist were useless in helping that possessed girl. He needed a drink. She needed John Constantine (Keanu Reeves; 'The Devil's Advocate' (1997), 'Something's Gotta Give' (2003)), the once legendary demon slayer who bitterly continues his lone twenty-year battle in tenuously keeping the balance between good and evil in check on this plane of mortal existence. It felt like another ordinary job for John, heaving a bored sigh while perching his smoldering, partially smoked cigarette on the edge of that struggling girl's bedroom dresser. Expecting to be done long before a core of grey ash hit the floor. Ending up punching, wrestling with and trapping something that John never thought he'd see on this side: A soldier demon. They never cross over. It's against the rules agreed to by God and by Lucifer (Peter Stormare; 'Fargo' (1996), 'Bad Boys II' (2003)) forgotten eons ago. Neither do full fledged demons conjured into being as a swarm of insects and snakes, but one attacked Constantine on his way home from Ravenscar Hospital later on. As his longtime connection Papa Midnight (Djimon Hounsou) cites, "Angels stay in Heaven, Demons stay in Hell. No direct contact." Something very wrong is starting to happen. However, it's only when LAPD Detective Angela Dodson (Rachel Weisz; 'The Mummy' (1999), 'Runaway Jury' (2003)) seeks him out regarding the unusual suicide of her troubled twin sister Isabel that John begins to put the pieces together. Razor sharp shards of a mortifying truth, all converging towards the birth of destruction for all Mankind if he can't stop the unthinkable in time - without dying first, along with everyone he knows...

Originally born as a supporting character from the mind of legendary graphic novel writer Alan Moore in the Detective Comics pages of his revamped Saga of the Swamp Thing #37-40 (1985), and loosely based on Hellblazer, this former Punk band member and burned out Liverpudlian sorcerer's popular series from that publisher's alternative Vertigo imprint since 1988, 'Constantine' surprisingly clicks along at an impressive pace. Fans of the book will likely miss the tattered trench coat and the morbid spell cursed father origins, and moviegoers will probably notice several cinematic similarities to 'Spawn' (1997), 'The Matrix' (1999) and 'Last Man Standing' (1996), but music video director Francis Lawrence's big screen directoral debut is a rollicking fun, richly brooding with atmosphere extravaganza plunging this snarky anti-hero archetype into the middle of a conspiracy to release Armageddon. Wonderfully clever broad strokes are used throughout Kevin Brodbin's ('The Glimmer Man' (1996)) and Frank A. Cappello's ('No Way Back' (1995)) heavily Roman Catholic dogma themed screenplay, deftly creating this slightly offbeat world that's out of sync with our own reality for a paying audience to quickly become thoroughly wrapped up with. Sure, the shiny crucifix-like rifle and a few of the CGI created Damned are somewhat silly. And, a lot of the editing trickery, specifically where a water droplet or a deadly stab grinds to halt in mid-air, does feel overtly familiar and distracting. The primary strengths of this hundred and forty-minute adventure are found with its cast of supporting players, working from different angles as delightfully captivating counterbalances to Reeves' internalized performance here. The role of Constantine is hardly much of a stretch, and his revised history and sometimes aggravatingly underplayed mannerisms fail to make him and his need to find redemption as interesting as those people and things surrounding him. Weisz, Shia LaBeouf ('Charlie's Angels: Full Throttle' (2003), 'I, Robot' (2004)) as John's sidekick Chas Chandler, Tilda Swinton ('Aria' (1987), 'Adaptation' (2002)) as Gabriel, and Stormare are given far more intriguing parts to sink their teeth into and have an obvious, scene stealing riot with their roles, frankly. All the same, 'Constantine' is an incredible visual achievement containing plenty of memorable moments to make it a worthwhile, macabre escape for a couple of hours. Check it out as a fun, undemanding second pick morality play rental featuring a fairly embellished, Noir comic book style interpretation of Christian Heaven and Hell on earth.

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Cursed
REVIEWED 02/05, © STEPHEN BOURNE
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REVIEW:

Days before the grand opening night of her new boyfriend Jake's (Vancouver's Joshua Jackson; 'The Skulls' (2000)) movie-themed Hollywood Strip nightclub Tinsel, television producer Ellie (Christina Ricci; 'Addams Family Values' (1993), 'Monster' (2003)) and her socially inept high school student brother Jimmy (Jesse Eisenberg; 'The Emperor's Club' (2002), 'The Village' (2004)) were sideswiped by a horrifying car accident on a lonely mountain stretch of Mulholland Drive under a looming, pale full moon. They never clearly saw what kind of animal had bounced off of their windshield, but the impact sent them careening into an on coming vehicle, slamming it through a barrier and smashing down a steep hill into the thick and shadowy woods below. Ellie frantically tried to save the other driver pinned upside-down by her crumpled dashboard, and she thought that Jimmy had almost succeeded in freeing that panicked young woman from the wreck, but something else hungrily skulking in those gnarled bushes had other plans for that lovely, tasty morsel. Ripping into her screaming flesh. Dragging her flailing body - with Jimmy and Ellie clinging to her - into the blood drenched darkness. Unleashing its razor sharp claws and snarling fangs upon them as well, until the police sirens interrupted that frenzied attack. Jimmy knows what it was, after they return home shaken and superficially wounded, and he escapes to his bedroom of horror comic books and an online web search that reveals the eerie truth about the mythical evil they've both unwittingly been infected by. A werewolf roams Los Angeles, feeding by the night's lunar cycle and hiding in human form during the sunlight hours amongst the bold and the beautiful. Ellie won't believe this supernatural nonsense at first, but quickly notices that's she's changing. Suddenly rapt with gut-churning pain, her senses become more acute as the bite on her arm slowly heals, and a nightmarish thirst for innocent blood begins to grip her every thought. Jimmy, still aching from gashes that throb with an unholy curse, is transforming at an alarming rate as well. Plunging them both into a life threatening race against time to track and kill the beast that has marked their souls with this undying legacy of carnage and death.

I honestly wanted to enjoy this latest offering from famed horror genre director Wes Craven ('A Nightmare On Elm Street' (1984), 'Scream 3' (2000)). Particularly after reading that 'Cursed' had been reportedly stalled by a year's worth of production problems, rewrites and reshoots, and several slash and burn sessions during editing. A total of four different film editors seemingly had their fingers in, and yet this eighty-six minute flick still feels unfinished. Sure, Ricci and Eisenberg both do a great job with the material handed to them throughout, obviously having a deliciously macabre if not overtly subdued blast with their roles. It's also fun to see cameos by Scott Baio, Whoopie Goldberg, Cher, and Lon Chaney Jr. in full Classic Wolfman costume - although, I suspect that Baio's the only one who doesn't appear as a wax mannequin... barely. The primary problem with this overly disappointing blood bath is that it doesn't go far enough. It's not gory enough. It's neither campy enough, nor devilishly humourous enough. It's only vaguely creepy, and suffers enormously from a load of bad special effects and extremely poor CGI animation. I couldn't believe that six-time Oscar winning master creature maker Rick Baker worked on this disaster, frankly. The actual monster itself looks like an amateurish throw away plucked from a yard sale nickel bin. Even the hugely impressive props and sets that offer the potential for this hairball turkey to become far more rollicking and perversely entertaining are completely wasted in Craven's apparent mad dash to get the whole thing finally over and done with as soon as possible. Pretty well everything conspires against Kevin Williamson's already sloppy screenplay, except for the main cast's reasonably contagious on screen enthusiasm. Making for an over-all tiring sit through in the darkened theatre, as a paying audience is forced to impatiently wait for the guy in the retooled rubber gorilla suit to lunge the pace forward a notch with another furiously silly cat and mouse moment of nasty sharp pointy, gnashing and slobbering yellow plastic teeth. Yawn.

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Clean
REVIEWED 04/05, © STEPHEN BOURNE
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REVIEW:

Emily Wang (Maggie Cheung; 'Ging chaat goo si' (1985), 'Ying xiong' (2002)) is out of prison. Six months ago, she was strung out on a long time love affair with heroin in the front seat of a beaten blue Chevrolet, staring glassy eyed at the thick smog and bursts of colour belching into the night skies from the old Hamilton refinery hunched in the rain across the river from her ragged, pale carcass. The latest in a series of bitter arguments with her five-year boyfriend, musical has been Lee Hauser (James Johnston), had sent her there to cool off. His sudden, fatal drug overdose back at their dingy City Motor Hotel suite had sent her to jail for possession, and blamed for providing that poisonous white powder that had killed her lover and only friend. Now, strung out on clinically prescribed methadone, with no job, not a lot of money at hand, and very little hope of ever seeing her son Jay (James Dennis) for a while, her old stomping grounds in Paris seemed the best place for her to start over. She got a job working for her uncle as a bustling Chinese restaurant, but quickly fell in with her old crowd of pushers and players skirting the fringes of that city's music scene. Another dead end. Emily did try to cobble together her past career as a cable video show host, but everything has changed. Her own music seems to be her only way out of this deep hole that she's dug for herself, but even that needs a lot more work than her addiction addled mind can cope with right now. She needs help. She wants to see Jay again, but doesn't know how to make that happen. So, it's a surprise when Lee's Vancouver-based aged father Albrecht (Nick Nolte; 'Another 48 Hrs.' (1990), 'Hotel Rwanda' (2004)) sets up a meeting with her while he's in London overseeing Rough Trade Records' three-album re release of his lost son's hits and comforting his ailing wife Rosemary (Martha Henry) due for more tests in a UK hospital. Emily is flooded with emotional self-doubt, and is then forced to choose between making her career dreams a reality or trying to reconnect with her angry little boy when a chance to record her songs in San Francisco is set up for her at the same time that Jay seems ready to finally spend time with this estranged, tenuously recovering junkie who he knows is his mother.

There were actually three movies called 'Clean' released in 2004. So, for the sake of clarity, this one isn't the Rhode Island International Film Festival Grand Prize winner directed by Nyle Cavazos Garcia, nor is it the four-minute UK short film reportedly written by Malachy Martin. This 'Clean' is the two-time Cannes Film Festival winning Canadian feature co-written by Malachy Martin, that starts out promising enough but quickly begins flailing around in a quagmire of meandering storytelling and Luc Barnier's badly paced editing. More than once, I found myself sitting in the dark wondering what I was supposed to be watching while waiting for these characters to quit practicing on screen for the next scene and just go for it. There's quite a bit of that, where co-writer/director Olivier Assayas' ('Les Destinées Sentimentales' (2000), 'Demonlover' (2002)) otherwise wonderfully raw and unflinching offering feels like a bunch of audition clips ham handedly quilted together by a blind drunkard. As though the giddy experience of getting a (I guess) Telefilm grant big enough to capture his relentlessly haggard trilingual star on celluloid on location in Hamilton, Ontario; Paris, France and London, England was enough hard work for this project to be considered worthwhile by a paying audience. Sure, the first five minutes - heavily bloated with stage footage of Toronto indie band Metric slamming out a catchy ditty on stage - does pique your curiosity, and this quickly self-infatuated cinematic darling wannabe is vaguely likable due to Cheung, Don McKellar ('Highway 61' (1991), 'Childstar' (2004)) as Vernon, and Nolte bringing more to the set than was obviously in the script. I actually wish that I'd seen Nolte's reputation cleansing performance here before sitting through his poorly cast stint in 'Hotel Rwanda', but only just. However, 'Clean' is a disjointed Art house experiment with nothing much to offer. These characters seem forced yet unforgivably unrealized and terribly uninteresting for the most part, making this hundred and ten-minute picture unnecessarily slothful and boring long before the closing credits bring sweet sweet release from its exasperatingly disappointing blandness. It's a sporadically great looking piece of live action art thanks in large part to cinematographer Eric Gautier, but hardly worth spending time with if you're looking for depth or a lasting reward for buying a ticket to this coma inducing mess.

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Crash
REVIEWED 05/05, © STEPHEN BOURNE
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REVIEW:

Graham Waters (Don Cheadle), an LAPD Homicide Detective dragged from one crime scene to the next at all hours of the night, feels overwhelmed by the relentless complications of his career and personal life at this sudden crossroad that faces him head on. It's not so much the minor collision that's rattled him and Ria (Jennifer Esposito), his on the job partner and off duty lover. That relationship has its own problems. And, it's not the fact that his mother has fallen back into her heroin addiction. Something - maybe just his overfilled quota of death, silent despair and haunting failure - has his guts in a knot. It's become too much... Aged Persian confectionery shop owner Farhad (Shaun Toub) is concerned for the safety of his small business and that of his family. So, not only does he buy a handgun to keep under the cash register, but he hires locksmith Daniel Ruez (Michael Pena) to fix the broken back door's deadbolt of his store before anything goes wrong. Hooligans spray paint racist epithets and ransack his carefully stocked storefront anyways. And then, when the insurance policy won't cover the expense of rebuilding, Farhad's tortured mind turns to blaming Ruez - who has already been verbally victimized by another client, the District Attorney's wife Gene (Sandra Bullock), who's still shaken to the point of no-longer trusting anyone who isn't White after their Ford Explorer is brutally stolen at gunpoint by a couple of Black thugs (Terrence Dashon Howard and Chris 'Ludacris' Bridges) the previous evening... Seventeen-year veteran Los Angeles Police Lieutenant John Ryan (Matt Dillon) seems edgier than usual, letting his frustrations over failing to convince medical insurance case worker Shaniqua Johnson (Loretta Devine) to authorize the proper treatment for his ailing father impede his ability to objectively do his job with rookie partner Officer Tommy Hanson (Ryan Phillippe) in tow. For instance, when the car jacking bulletin comes over their cruiser's radio, Ryan knowingly singles out the first same-model car that he sees on Ventura Boulevard being driven by a Black man - a movie screenwriter (Larenz Tate) heading home from a late night awards ceremony with his slightly drunk actress wife - and proceeds to ruthlessly humiliate both of them...

Two things become clearly obvious while sitting through former 'L.A. Law' (1986-1994) and 'Due South' (1994-1996) writer Paul Haggis' exhausting directoral debuting effort: 1) This isn't in any way a remake of famed Toronto director David Cronenberg's same-named 1996 sexually-charged car accident fetish flick based on writer J.G. Ballard's controversial novel, and, 2) This feels more like a novelist's attempt at film making, where the majority of it seems a lot more boring than it should be. You can tell that there's a wealth of deeply troubled, interesting emotions being exorcised on the screen, but it's inaccessible on the big screen. All of these primary characters either start out or end up damaged in some way, are complicated and struggling for some semblance of personally recognized peace, and are extremely well presented throughout. Once again, Cheadle pulls in an outstanding, wonderfully under played starring performance, with this ensemble supporting cast individually giving a paying audience equally captivating moments well worth savoring. However, even though 'Crash' has all the makings of being as remarkably rewarding as 'Mystic River' or '21 grams' was, it's not. Primarily because co-writers Haggis' and Robert Moresco's hundred and thirteen-minute R-rated screenplay isn't really constructed upon anything that easily holds it together at its core - other than relentlessly unnerving references to racial tension and bigotry within this supposed microcosm of LA seen through a Hollywood lens. I'd be hard pressed to agree that that's enough to make it worthwhile as presented here. It also plays out as a pseudo-documentary, briefly and almost aimlessly examining these disconnected, discontented lives without bothering to spend enough time to really focus on any of them for the most part. That's where this picture fails. It's like a good book ruined by being pared down in order to make room for the illustrations. You want to care about what happens, but no real reasons to are given. That's why it's boring - except, possibly, for film critics who sit through a glut of mindless big screen entertainment for fun and profit, and pine for something different that at least gives the impression of being intellectually stimulating. Frankly, the only thing beyond the great acting that forces you to sit up and pay attention is Hughes Winborne's ADD-like whiplash editing style as you're summarily bounced around from one potentially compelling yet unfulfilling character study to the next, and so on. As though its quantity of vaguely varied vignettes will in some way make up for the lack of quality time spent with just one or two for the entire show. It's not. Over-all tightly interconnecting storytelling is ignored throughout, when it didn't need to be. Disappointing. Unless you're an Art House cinephile or an aspiring actor/screenwriter/cinematographer, it's highly unlikely that you'll enjoy sitting through this decidedly morose experiment that really doesn't go anywhere.

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Cinderella Man
REVIEWED 06/05, © STEPHEN BOURNE
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REVIEW:

That actually was one of his nicknames. New York City-born James Walter Braddock (1905-1974), the Bulldog of Bergen (North Bergen Township, New Jersey, where a small park reportedly now exists in his name), the Pride of the Irish and comeback contender called "Cinderella Man" by reporters during The Great Depression in the United States, who reportedly turned pro at the age of twenty-one and changed his middle initial to emulate two other boxing champions, is the genuinely inspiring, real life subject of director Ron Howard's ('Apollo 13' (1995), 'A Beautiful Mind' (2001)) hundred and forty-four minute cinematic masterpiece. Russell Crowe ('Romper Stomper' (1992), 'Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World' (2003)) is absolutely phenomenal here as Braddock, giving a paying audience a richly stunning, wonderfully underplayed performance rapt in the frailties of humanity yet devilishly conscious of wry wit sneaking in at all of the right places. Yes, it's tough not to draw comparisons to last year's golden gloves blockbuster 'Million Dollar Baby' (2004), but a more appropriate connection could easily be made with the scandalously overlooked Depression Era gem 'Seabiscuit' (2004) paired with (arguably) the penultimate boxing favourite, 'Rocky' (1976), if not the plots of that Oscar-winner's four progressively worsening sequels. I'll bet that the few cinephile purists reading this review thought that I was going to cite Robert De Niro's classic 'Raging Bull' (1980) or Anthony Quinn's (1915-2001) gritty 'Requiem for a Heavyweight' (1962), or even Marlon Brando's (1924-2004) ground breaking 'On the Waterfront' (1954), but Crowe's perfectly realized boxer turned stevedore turned boxer is completely likable and totally empathetic to the core, whereas none of those memorably powerful palookas - except for Rocky Balboa - are as clearly empathetic for a contemporary crowd. Nope, Paul Giamatti's ('The Truman Show' (1998), 'Sideways' (2004)) otherwise slick talking Joe Gould, James' friend and longtime manager, closely resembles a younger yet equally animated ringside coach similar to Burgess Meredith's (1907-1997) lovably crusty Mickey Goldmill opposite Stallone's famed Italian Stallion. You can't help but be immediately swept up in Joe's wild exuberance, as he spits commands in increasingly higher octaves from the sidelines while Braddock slugs away at each opponent's pulpy mash of eyes and nose and bleeding split lips. However, despite its exorbitant amount of gore and hairy knuckled pugilism, I'd be hard pressed to outright pigeonhole this offering as strictly a guy's flick. There are so many outstanding, tender nuances that crackle with life and strongly underpin the larger, slightly over the top and somewhat dragged out riches to rags, redemptive story of this 10-1 has been getting a second chance that eventually sets him against Craig Bierko's ('Dickie Roberts: Former Child Star' (2003)) well acted bygone Hollywood thespian and Omaha's hard hitting killer Maximilian Adalbert 'Max' Baer (1909-1959) ('The Prizefighter and the Lady' (1933), 'Abbott and Costello in Africa' (1949)) for the 1935 Heavyweight Championship at the Madison Square Garden Bowl in Long Island. Yes, 'Cinderella Man' is slightly over the top - primarily thanks to Renée Zellweger ('Jerry Maguire' (1996), 'Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason' (2004)) as Braddock's not-so silently beleageured wife Mae, as well as his hotheaded neighbour Mike Wilson (enthusiastically affected by Paddy Considine; 'In America' (2004)) - and it does feel somewhat dragged out according to my numb-tush-o-meter for the amount of actual story that Cliff Hollingsworth's and Akiva Goldsman's screenplay presents. Still, this truly is an overwhelmingly astounding picture and a refreshing change from the glut of less than impressive biopics cranked out recently. Incidentally, www.jamesjbraddock.com (the official website co-run by Braddock's grandson, James Jay III), mentions that actor Rosemarie DeWitt, who plays Mike's distraught wife Sara Wilson, just so-happens to be little Rosie Braddock's daughter. Definitely check out this over-all superior big screen knockout as possibly the first serious Academy Awards contender of the year.

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Charlie and the Chocolate Factory
REVIEWED 07/05, © STEPHEN BOURNE
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REVIEW:

The grand posters and announcements were dispatched around the globe overnight. Secretively reclusive yet world famous candy maker Willy Wonka (Johnny Depp) had personally added one golden ticket to five randomly picked Wonka Whipple-Scrumptious Fudgemallow Delight chocolate bars deep within the grey walls of his magnificent, fortress-like factory on the edge of young Charlie Bucket's (Freddie Highmore) working class town. This amazing first time lottery's prize would be an unheard of tour inside that wondrously imposing manufacturing plant where nobody had been seen going in or out of its large iron gate since Bucket's kindly old Grandpa Joe (David Kelly; 'The Italian Job' (1969), 'Waking Ned' (1998)) had been laid off from there - along with every other worker, thanks to rising corporate espionage stealing Willy's ingenious recipes - many years ago. Five lucky children from anywhere on Earth could be the winners, simply by discovering a shiny metallic invitation waiting beneath a bar's swirling brown and black wrapper from the millions delivered to countries far and wide. Charlie, a good natured little boy who lives with his parents and his four bed ridden Grandparents in a broken down shack at one end of the street that paves its way directly to Willy Wonka's magical sanctuary of confectionery perfection, couldn't believe it. He'd spent long hours building a scale model of the factory from the white plastic toothpaste caps that his father brought him from work, staring with starry eyes at the real thing through the hole in the roof of his decrepit attic bedroom, dreaming about what lay inside that forbidden brick castle of smoke stacks. However, the luck of him ever finding a ticket seemed hopeless. His family was poor, only able to afford buying Charlie one Wonka bar a year. And, that birthday gift had already been opened, ticketless, lovingly shared with his relatives, and enjoyed in carefully small nibbles. The media frenzy exploded elsewhere, as each golden treasure finder proudly came forward on the Bucket's little television set. Augustus Gloop (Philip Wiegratz) in Dusseldorf, Veruca Salt (Julia Winter) in Buckinghamshire, Violet Beauregarde (Annasophia Robb) in Atlanta, Mike Teavee (Jordan Fry) in Denver. Charlie's heart had sunk even further when the fifth ticket was said to be unwrapped in Russia. But now, having found himself holding the real last ticket through a miraculous stroke of luck, Charlie's bright smile widens its widest as he and his overjoyed Grandpa Joe - along with the four other winners and their parental guests - step through the large iron gate into that towering candy making nirvana's snow swept courtyard at precisely ten o'clock on the sunny morning of Tuesday, February 1st, and enter a world of pure imagination beyond their wildest of sugar saturated dreams...

Oompa Loompa doompadee doo, why did the classic need a redo? Well, it's not, really. Adapted from eccentric Welsh novelist, playwright and screenwriter Roald Dahl's (1916-1990) famous morality-based 1964 children's fable of the same name, director Tim Burton's remake-by-default of the family friendly cinematic musical acid trip 'Willy Wonka and the Chocolate factory' (1971) - a film Dahl penned but reportedly despised; the source of Leslie Bricusse and Anthony Newley's Academy Award nominated soundtrack that spawned renowned showman Sammy Davis Jr.'s (1925-1990) chart topping cover of actor Aubrey Woods' The Candy Man, and the unwitting target of an appropriately weird synch experiment similar to that of Pink Floyd's Dark Side of the Moon album (1973) / 'The Wizard of Oz' (1939) film, but featuring Canadian super group Rush's 1976 album 2112 (home.i1.net/~bytor/willywonka2112.html) - is clearly a more faithful embellishment of the book throughout. Sure, the glaring theatrical resemblances are there. Shades of Dr. Seuss' The Cat in the Hat also drift in. It's extremely tough not to compare the two 'Chocolate Factory' flicks due to them essentially being the same story of poor yet noble young Charlie Bucket (Freddie Highmore; 'Two Brothers' (2004), 'Finding Neverland' (2004)) this time taking his aged Grandpa Joe (Dublin's David Kelly tenderly replaces Oscar winning movie and 'Chico and the Man' (1974-1978) TV star Jack Albertson's (1907-1981) Uncle Joe here) on that winning golden ticket tour of reclusive Willy Wonka's (Johnny Depp; 'Don Juan DeMarco' (1995), 'Finding Neverland' (2004)) exotically quirky candy manufacturing plant maintained by a busy tribe of pygmy-like two foot-tall people called Oompa-Loompas (all played by Deep Roy; 'The Pink Panther Strikes Again' (1976), 'Surviving Eden' (2004)), but Burton's keenly bizarre imagination wonderfully sets his 'Charlie and the Chocolate Factory' apart from pretty well anything seen on the big screen before. The cast here is phenomenal, with Highmore earning high marks for flawlessly giving a paying audience every reason to care about what happens to Charlie from beginning to closing credits. Depp obviously has a blast re-envisioning Gene Wilder's ('The Producers' (1968), 'Another You' (1991)) madness-tinged naivete of Wonka, thankfully replacing much of the corny wit and menacing tone with delightfully fresh quips and playful goofiness. Despite it needlessly over-demoralizing the red haired fat German kid (played by wheezy Philip Wiegratz), John August's ('Titan A.E.' (2000), 'Charlie's Angels: Full Throttle' (2003)) otherwise inspired screenplay cleverly arms this hundred and fifteen-minute movie's main co-stars with slightly meatier bit parts to work with, with natural talent Annasophia Robb ('Because of Winn-Dixie' (2005)) easily stealing the show as narcissistic gum chewing blueberry-to-be Violet Beauregarde. The cameo scenes with Christopher Lee ('The Mummy' (1959), 'Star Wars: Episode III - Revenge of the Sith' (2005)) are an absolute treat. The nods to '2001: A Space Odyssey' (1968) and 'The Fly' (1958) are memorably wry, and it's great fun bopping along to former Oingo Boingo (1975-1995) front man turned acclaimed film scorer Danny Elfman's return to his irreverently eclectic roots revamping Dahl's uproariously strange Oompa Loompa song and dance numbers. Roy effortlessly makes you forget about those green haired blue people from the first Hollywood effort. The golden egg-laying geese, Veruca Salt's - the girl, not the grrl band - bombastic I Want it All song, the airborne inducing Fizzy Drink, Wonka's deliriously bad poetry, and the Gobstopper dilemma known from the '71 picture aren't revisited either. Frankly, a lot of the familiar preachy aspects from Dahl's novel and the thirty-four year-old box office flop subsequently saved by television reruns and video sales are either heavily down played or lost here too - as I'd said, it's tough not to compare - but the resounding pay off is that most kids and kids at heart are likely far more consistently entertained at a much higher level by this one's infectious superior humour and oftentimes dazzling atmosphere. Oompa Loompa doompadah dee, this version's awesome, go and you'll see.

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The Cave
REVIEWED 08/05, © STEPHEN BOURNE
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REVIEW:

Something horribly wrong is happening to Jack McAllister (Cole Hauser). Waves of gut churning pain thunder through his body and clamp his brain in a searing cauldron of unspeakable agony. This isn't what he and his crew of extreme cavers had signed on for, when archaeologist Dr. Nicolai (Marcel Iures) invited them to help map the sprawling virgin network of tunnels that lay a mile under the mysterious mountain-locked ruins of an ancient Romanian church during the next twelve days. Nobody had mentioned it was cursed. Nobody had said anything about the things that waited in the shadows for them. Two people were already dead amongst the brittle bones of the long forgotten. Twelve days suddenly felt like an eternity. McAllister will never forget the sight of what attacked him back there, in one of the narrow vents branching off from this underground maze of natural catacombs a couple of miles from his team's deep earth base camp. The beast was huge and powerful as its bony claws ripped into his helpless and flailing body. Its rows of long teeth as chalky white as its skeletal flesh. A voracious demon in Hellish pit. Shrouded in darkness and closed off from the world. One of many things that this dwindling group of adventurers is trapped with, as they clamour against time to discover any means of escape from these snarling nightmares ruthlessly hunting them down. The deep gashes in his shoulder throb against the antibiotics that trusted team muscle Top Buchanan (Morris Chestnut) injected into Jack earlier. They're not working. Jack's senses are changing. His skin and eyes are transforming, acclimatizing to this unnatural underworld's bleak environment. He's mutating into something that's unlike anything seen on the surface. And, he's the only hope that his brother Tyler (Eddie Cibrian), molecular biologist Dr. Katherine Jennings (Lena Headey) and the remaining members of this deadly exploration have, if they ever want to see the sun again. They have no choice. They're out of time.

How can you talk with a scuba mouthpiece clamped in your teeth, without everything sounding like a "guh guh, loo noo" awful ventriloquism act? Well, that's just one of several ridiculously weird things featured in this excruciatingly dumb underground fright feast from director Bruce Hunt that isn't explained. How did a huge army of Knights Templars end up in the Carpathian Mountains of Romania? Who supposedly built that spooky Byzantine-looking church that looks transplanted from 'Exorcist IV' (2003)? Do small Sikorsky helicopters really have a clown car feature that lets them hold all of the high tech gear and chiselled oily abs that this A-Team of spelunkin' hunks brings along? Gee. Simple logic has no place in this labyrinthian realm of gooey stalagmites and albino ghoulies and hamburger acting topped by heaps of cheesy post-production. 'The Cave' is basically a Playgirl video extruded from the tailpipe of the Scooby-Doo Mystery Machine VW van, folks. One dimensional fictional characters that you're never given any reason to care about are plunged into an impossibly obvious situation, against blood thirsty monsters, requiring a death defying escape plan that whittles down their numbers by half. In other words, co-writers Michael Steinberg's and Tegan West's screenplay assumes this movie's paying audience gets discount coupons for group lobotomies before slapping their ticket buying cash on the box office counter top. It doesn't matter why intensely stoic dive leader Jack McAllister (Cole Hauser; 'Tigerland' (2000), 'Paparazzi' (2004)) and his crew are there, except as great-looking panicked and scurrying Gore-tex wrapped morsels for this ninety-seven minute aggravation's horribly shown dragons to play with. That's right, dragons. It doesn't matter how those nasty toothed beasties ended up existing a mile underground to begin with. Don't they look way better than the ones in 'Reign of Fire' or, like, the new aliens from 'Alien VS. Predator'? Cool, eh? Yawn. In one scene, where the tension of fearless escape is supposedly at a high point as these wooden human entrées swim to safety, the soundtrack is the only thing that actually indicates the correct mood. Stuff your fingers into your ears, and you're suddenly watching mild filler from 'Flipper'. Weird. It's the type of stinker where you feel like cheering on the evil creatures, just so the closing credits happen sooner. I had a bad feeling about this silly creep show after noticing that its fairly misleading trailer ran ahead of everything else released in theatres for virtually the past year, but I was still hopeful that something fresh might come of it. I was wrong. 'The Cave' is a complete waste of time and talent. The worst part is, the last few minutes set up the possibility of a sequel. Ugh.

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The Constant Gardener
REVIEWED 09/05, © STEPHEN BOURNE
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REVIEW:

Her corpse was a brutalized mess of cold wet flesh heaped under a sheet on the stark metallic slab in that lonely morgue. He had watched the small plane fly her away into the hazy orange skies over Kenya, to Lake Turkana, days earlier. British High Commission diplomat Justin Quayle (Ralph Fiennes) had waved good-bye to his outspoken activist wife Tessa (Rachel Weisz) as she'd boarded, smiling, waving back to him, with her close friend Dr. Arnold Bluhm (Hubert Koundé; 'La Haine' (1995), 'Ndeysaan' (2002)) by her side. He remembers. Quayle remembers the warnings from the Home Office in London. He remembers Tessa's natural ability to ruffle the wrong feathers. Fierce. Relentless. She'd scared them. He loved her. Now, Tessa, twenty-four years old, was dead. Bluhm was missing, suspected of raping and murdering her in cold blood. Why? The police had ransacked her office, confiscating her work without explanation. Why? They had missed the tin that she kept stored with the linen, but why did she keep that label of Dypraxa - a prototype drug intended to cure tuberculosis - with her personal papers and the little blue booties of their still born child? Nothing made sense. A growing chasm of unspoken words had wedged itself between him and his wife for a while, and she and Arnold had shared many things without him, but Justin thought he knew her. Was Arnold her lover? Back in the chilled grey air of England, Justin came home to her small apartment where their passions had bonded them for life. Her ghost haunted him now as much as her silence had then. Nothing seemed real anymore. And then, small strands of truth began to emerge. Emails. Video clips. Photos. Her contact in Germany. The storm caused by Tessa's report about impoverished South Africans being used as human guinea pigs by the mobile clinics of The Three Bees, a Welsh company working for KDH, the manufacturer of Dypraxa based in Winnipeg, Canada. And, more warnings. This time threatening him. Justin was being watched. Followed. But, by whom? And, why? Everyone was scared. Dangerous. In collusion. All he wanted was closure. A reason. And then peace.

Every so-often, and on more occasions than one might care to admit, a heavily hyped movie comes along with enough credentials to convince a paying audience beforehand that you're going to see an astounding piece of movie making on all fronts, but that ends up spitting you out after the closing credits feeling utterly hoodwinked and confused. Based on former diplomat and Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy (published in 1974) Brit novelist David John 'Le Carré' Moore Cornwell's 2000 book, this meandering snooze fest from director Fernando Meirelles' ('Domésticas' (2001), 'Cidade de Deus' (2002)) is woefully disjointed and unbelievably poor throughout. It's a piece of junk that dishonestly wraps itself in the very real atrocities of South African poverty to soften you up, and then throws in a bit of ineffective storytelling and wasted acting by the otherwise capable Ralph Fiennes ('The English Patient' (1996), 'Red Dragon' (2002)) as milk toast British Foreign diplomat Justin Quayle unearthing the cover up of his outspoken activist wife Tessa's (Rachel Weisz; 'The Mummy' (1999), 'Envy' (2004)) politically-motivated assassination. Sounds intriguing, promising to be just as captivating at 'Hotel Rwanda' (2004). It should be. However, this agonizingly over long hundred and twenty-nine minute turkey basically abandons you, while Alberto Iglesias' relentlessly monotone soundtrack thumps like a drippy faucet and Meirelles' trusted cinematographer César Charlone goes on little acid trip safaris for (it seems) the Christian Children's Fund that barely relate to Jeffrey Caine's ('GoldenEye' (1995), 'Rory O'Shea Was Here' (2004)) screenplay. It tries to be artful, instead of methodical. All sleuthing becomes sidetracked by an annoying sense of wonderment, depression, and choices in saturated colour schemes. Meirelles wants you to feel excruciating empathy for Quayle as his world crumbles around him, but all you really feel is the pain and none of the pleasure that you'd expect from a dramatic mystery. Sitting in the dark as yet another flashback bloats and suffocates the story, memories of Harrison Ford's similar and far superior performance in 'Frantic' snarled up my face. Awful. The worst part is that you can tell that Fiennes and Weisz are trying to seriously work here, desperate to get every scene perfect. Unfortunately, film editor Claire Simpson manages to ruin anything that isn't already wrecked by bizarre camera tricks and the need for a plumber. Rent 'The Constant Gardener' if you're a fan of experimental photography, but there really isn't anything here that makes it a worthwhile time for movie fans.

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Cry Wolf
REVIEWED 09/05, © STEPHEN BOURNE
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REVIEW:

The object of the game was simple: Avoid detection. Manipulate your friends. Eliminate your enemies. One wolf secretly set amongst the sheep, the winner takes all. For newly transferred Brit student Owen Matthews (Julian Morris), the liars game that his new American friends at Westlake Prepatory Academy snuck from their dorm rooms to the old campus chapel to play seemed peculiar, but easy enough. Everyone had a tell, all that Owen needed to do was pay attention, pick off his accusers one by one, and collect the ante piled on the dusty floor at his feet. They all knew that Dodger Allen (Lindy Booth) fancied Owen. They all suspected that she'd pick him to be The Wolf that night. But, he had won anyway. The following day would be slightly unsettling, though. That was when Dodger had suggested they change the game. Include the entire student body. Dodger and Owen, Randall, Lewis, Mercedes and Regina would become The Wolf, and their peers would be the sheep. These friends would make up a rumour, based on the game and the grizzly murder that had happened in the nearby woods nights before, and send everyone into a frenzy over the mysterious, blood thirsty serial killer that lurked in the shadows for fresh victims under a pale full moon. Of course, it was all a prank. There was no serial killer. It was just an emailed story made up in the library and sent out by Matthews to everyone with an account. They hadn't meant it to go this far. Things had gotten out of control. The email had reached the grieving mother of the murdered girl, and an attorney had contacted the school with threats of a lawsuit. Owen had been warned, and the matter had been dropped. But, it didn't stop. Now, The Wolf wasn't so imaginary anymore. The Wolf was text messaging them. Angry messages from this unseen killer. Real threats of dismemberment and torturous death. The disappearance of Randall. The agonizing screams of Regina. The butchery had begun...

This extremely lame and completely non-scary pile of junk marks co-writer/director Jeff Wadlow's feature length picture debut, and really plays out more like an After School Hallowe'en TV throw away than anything else. One that isn't remotely entertaining, and does absolutely nothing but suck away ninety minutes of your time that you'll never get back. It's probably the third worst new release that I've sat through this year, and that's a cryin' shame. Although sitting through Wadlow's and Beau Bauman's uninspired screenplay of truly unimaginative one-dimensional characters does feel like painfully unusual torture for the most part - well, the entire part between the opening and the closing credits, really - it's clear that there's a tiny kernel of a worthwhile idea in there. It's one that you've seen countless times before, in 'Halloween' (1978) and 'Friday the 13th' (1980) and their brood of sequels, but with a fresh angle: The serial killer is fictional within the film. You'd think that would be the entire movie here, but it doesn't even actually go that far. It chickens out. 'Cry Wolf' wastes so much celluloid on awkwardly attempting to establish these pernicious kids' vacuous personalities with trite dialogue, while failing to impress a paying audience with its useless load of amateurish plot twists, that any tangible cleverness becomes totally lost by the time you should be clinging white knuckled to your theatre seat in utter terror. Someone is killed, and then isn't. Someone dies a horrible death, but really doesn't. And, so on. Boring. It's not even a mediocre slasher blood bath, because of its lack of guts in the gore department. Nor is it so bad in a Degrassi High Meets Psycho sort of way - even with rock music's Bon Jovi front man John 'Jon Bon Jovi' Bongiovi ('Homegrown' (1998), 'Vampires: Los Muertos' (2002)) thrown in as unconvincing predatory journalism professor Richard Walker - that it's a funny cult escape. It's disappointing, in that what should have taken half an hour to work up - where Brit newcomer Owen Matthews (Julian Morris; 'Don't Go Breaking My Heart' (1999), 'Spin' (2002)) and his devilish pals Dodger Allen (Oakville, Ontario's Lindy Booth; 'Wrong Turn' (2003), 'Dawn of the Dead' (2004)), Tom (Jared Padalecki; 'House of Wax' (2005)), Randall (Jesse Janzen), Mercedes (Sandra McCoy), Lewis (Paul James) and Regina (Kristy Wu) become unwitting prey in their own web of All Hallow's Eve pranks that are used to sate a secret vengeance - is miserably stretched out without bothering to fill it with, y'know, an actual story you can sink your teeth into. Anything worth caring about is never seen. I wanted to see what happens after their game ends in death and you're told the real story. I wanted to see the potentially horrific consequences, as a kind of 'American Psycho 2' cat and mouse hunt through town and beyond that 'Cry Wolf' keeps alluding to but never figures out how to do. Yawn. The saddest aspect of this cinematic pile of junk is that it'll likely spawn a far better sequel (it couldn't possibly be worse) that will suffer thundering disinterest from horror fans, just as the villagers responded to the little prankster who cried out when the real wolf finally appeared in the famous fable from Aesop (c.620-c.560 BC).

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Corpse Bride
REVIEWED 09/05, © STEPHEN BOURNE
www.ofrb.gov.on.ca | www.rcq.gouv.qc.ca


REVIEW:

It all seemed so terribly simple in theory, beforehand, and yet things had suddenly gone horribly wrong when the terribly simple theory had been put into horribly wrong action. All that Victor Van Dort (Johnny Depp) had needed to do was remember his wedding vows to Victoria Everglot (Emily Watson), and every little microscopic, tiny little thing would have worked according to plan. There two families would have been ready to be joined in holy matrimony, his neuveuax riche parents would have risen in society to an aspired level of aristocracy that his mother Nell (Tracey Ullman) had always felt she should have been made accustomed to, and the secretly penniless Everglots would have evaded destitution by clinging to Victoria's wedding trail all the way to the bank. This arrangement certainly wasn't a match made in heaven, but marriages such as this one seldom seemed to have much at all to do with love. "With this hand, I will lift you from your sorrows. Your cup will never be empty, because I will be your wine," was how that Victor had intended to start. It was only a wedding rehearsal - and the first time that he and the lovely Victoria had met in person - but, his mind had gone blank. "With this candle I will light your way in darkness," was the second part of his vows. Very romantic. Victor hoped that Victoria's overzealously prim mother Maudeline (Joanna Lumley) would forget about her dress catching on fire. Their surprise guest, Lord Barkis Bittern (Richard E. Grant), seemed to put things right quickly enough. Burn stains and wine stains are easy to wash out, right? "With this ring, I ask you to be mine," was the last part of the vows. The part that had quite clearly spoiled everything, when all that young Van Glot had been doing was practicing those solemn words of everlasting love in the nearby woods that fateful night. Emily's (Helena Bonham Carter) hand truly did look like a gnarled branch jutting from the ground in the snowy darkness. Otherwise, he would have never slid that golden band meant for his very much alive betrothed on the fleshless and bony and lifeless finger of his corpse bride. He would never have married the wrong woman, nor would he have found himself trapped in this ghoulish underworld town of skeletons and the gruesomely disfigured deceased. Victor was far too young and in the possession of a very much beating heart still pounding within his chest to live here amongst the dead. Married to this rather vivacious yet somewhat rotting dead woman. He definitely needed a plan to escape this nightmarish honeymoon and set things right...

It's tough to figure out who this visually stunning, macabre animated romp from co-directors Tim Burton ('Edward Scissorhands' (1990), 'Charlie and the Chocolate Factory' (2005)) and Mike Johnson ('The Devil Went Down to Georgia' (1996)) is intended for, until the first of three songs has run its course, and awkwardly shy groom-to-be Victor Van Dort (voiced by Johnny Depp; 'Finding Neverland' (2004), 'Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest' (2006)) sits at the piano in his as-yet-seen bride Victoria Everglot's (Emily Watson; 'Angela's Ashes' (1999), 'Red Dragon' (2002)) parents' grey manor. It's not the ivories of a Steinway that Victor plays on, though. That piano's label clearly reads "Harryhausen" - an appropriate nod to famed American stop motion technician/inventor Willis H. O'Brien's (1886-1962) ('The Lost World' (1925), 'King Kong' (1933)) renowned protégé, Ray Harryhausen ('Jason and the Argonauts' (1963), 'Sinbad and the Eye of the Tiger' (1977)). 'Star Wars' (1977), 'Ghost Busters' (1984) and 'Willow' (1988) are just three titles from a long litany of crowd-pleasing live action films that have featured this sometimes clunky-looking yet painstakingly precise craft of puppetry too, but 'Tim Burton's Corpse Bride' (its complete title) seems to have been specifically made for aficionados of Rankin/Bass Productions' (www.rankinbass.com) bygone "Animagic" TV series 'The New Adventures of Pinocchio' (1960-1961) and their seasonal specials such as 'Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer' (1964) and 'Here Comes Peter Cottontail' (1971) that reportedly first inspired former Disney animator Burton to spin a poem of his into the similarly ghoulish comedy, 'The Nightmare Before Christmas' (1993). 'Corpse Bride' is for the twisted inner kid within all of us who still loves the bizarre and gruesome imaginings of Poe tinged with quirky, irreverent humour. However, this new offering does feel excessively long and tends to wander off course with bouts of self-indulgent creative regurgitation throughout. As though John August's, Pamela Pettler's and Caroline Thompson's screenplay is attempting to remake 'Fantasia' (1940) filtered through the likes of 'Beetle Juice' (1988) and 'Death Becomes Her' (1992). Sadly, the script doesn't measure up to the high calibre of technical perfection that dazzles a paying audience in virtually every scene. For instance, if the corpse bride Emily (Helena Bonham Carter; 'Planet of the Apes' (2001), 'Big Fish' (2003)) could adoringly chase Victor through the woods after he inadvertently slipped a wedding ring on her bony finger while practicing his vows, why do they need a netherworld incantation to return to the land of living later on? You're never told. All the same, I had fun visiting this weirdly humourous world reminiscent of the work of famed horror prose legend Edgar Allan Poe (1809-1849), but where skeletons sing and dance and a goofy maggot sounds like Peter Lorre (1904-1964) ('M' (1931), 'The Maltese Falcon' (1941)). It's definitely clever at times, but does feel surprisingly familiar, to the point where you'll likely need to leave your brain in a bubbling jar by the theatre door if you really want to enjoy this jolly necro-centric feel good affair.

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C.R.A.Z.Y.
REVIEWED 10/05, © STEPHEN BOURNE
www.ofrb.gov.on.ca | www.rcq.gouv.qc.ca


REVIEW:

The official website (http://concours.canoe.com/concours_crazy/index.html) for this fairly pedantic Toronto International Film Festival 2005 Best Canadian Feature Film Award winner ends its English version's synopsis with, "C.R.A.Z.Y, A love story between a father and a son. A mystical and whimsical fable on the human soul, beautiful, foolish and lyrical." Well, not quite. What Genie-nominated co-writer/director Jean-Marc Vallée really offers a paying audience here is a surprisingly shallow Gay riff on the coming-of-age genre set to Pink Floyd and David Bowie, with specific yet awkwardly cobbled together vignettes from the first twenty or so years in the turbulent life of suburban Montreal dreamer and pariah Zachary Beaulieu (Marc-André Grondin). I'm not sure how that's considered mystical or whimsical, unless they mean that family patriarch Gervais Beaulieu (Michel Côté) angrily cites fairies a lot throughout this hundred and twenty-seven minute subtitled flick. Seriously though, the title is supposedly made from the first letter of the five Beaulieu brothers' names: Christian (Maxime Tremblay), Raymond (Pierre-Luc Brillant), Antoine (Alex Gravel), Zachary, and Yvan (Félix-Antoine Despatie), as well as referring to that famous Patsy Cline chart topper penned by Willie Nelson that's treasured by the boys' angst-riddled screen father Gervais. And, that's just one simple example of the awkwardly contrived bouts of self-indulgent pointless grandeur that continually sabotage Vallée's and François Boulay's predominantly boring screenplay. You see Zachary's imagination at play, but only as how it applies to exploiting the soundtrack. You later see him away at summer camp, but nothing really happens that conjures up a sense of meaningful foreshadowing of worthwhile events to come. Pretty well anything of any interest gets chucked into the mopey narrative instead. 'C.R.A.Z.Y.' aches to be about something deeper and gritty with unwavering insight, but can't get past the wealth of sometimes impressive Québeçois props and asides circa 1960-80 that don't really have much to do with anything - except as lazy nostalgia in lieu of good character development and strong dialogue. Yes, Grodin and Brilliant are at times absolutely amazing here when they're afforded opportunities to throw around their natural screen presence in front of cinematographer Pierre Mignot's otherwise uninspired lens. That's hardly enough to wrap a feature-length movie around, though. There's an entire sub text that's completely ignored, so the whole effort feels poorly planned where it matters. It also seems to go on forever, and yet you still don't know much about what makes Zachary so special or worth caring about by the time the closing credits bring sweet release from a muddier darkness than the one that you sat in before the projector winked on. I guess Toronto was hard up for homeland fest entries to judge this year. Yawn.

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Chicken Little
REVIEWED 11/05, © STEPHEN BOURNE
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REVIEW:

It was a humble little stumble and a fusion of confusion with a few confounding things, but that eventful day when Chicken Little (voiced by Zach Braff) truly believed that the sky was falling still followed him a year later and desperately needed to be fixed. He couldn't stand seeing the utter disappointment in his father Buck Cluck's (Garry Marshall) eyes any longer, and being the joke to everyone in Oakey Oaks just seemed to get worse with each passing day. Chicken Little needed a plan. His school classmate and friend Abby Mallard (Joan Cusack) rolled her eyes at all of his crazy plans, but this one would work. She wanted him to sit down with his Dad and talk things out until they had closure, but Chicken Little knew that all he needed to do was be a hero to make everyone forget. He'd make Buck proud by joining the baseball team and bring victory to town by hitting the winning touchdown. That was a joke, but his plan wasn't. He needed this. They all did. What Chicken Little didn't need was what actually happened later. On that fateful night, when a piece of the sky fell again. This time, it definitely wasn't an acorn like his father had told everyone it was the first time. Boy, that was embarrassing. It was on the News and everything. This time, it really was what Chicken Little had tried to tell them it was, the first time. It really was blue, and it really was shaped like a stop sign. He had proof. A really hard piece of the sky - that had really fallen from the sky - was now sitting on his bedroom floor just waiting to vindicate him once and for all. Problem is, he can't tell his Dad if even he can't explain why this thing is changing to mimic everything around it...

Cleverly set up as a self-referring Sci-Fi sequel of the famous parable, The Sky is Falling, about a panicked little anthropomorphized chicken who originally sets out with his animal friends to warn the king when an acorn falls on his head but then encounters the malevolent Foxy Loxy, 'Chicken Little' is actually the second time that Disney Studios has brought this fable to the big screen. Uncle Walt's first short feature was in 1943, and the original story seems attributed to African-born Greek slave and storyteller Aesop (c.620-c.560 BC), probably because of its similarities to his The Boy Who Cried Wolf, but it's source was likely a couple of Centuries older. This time out, Chicken Little (voiced by Zach Braff; 'Blue Moon' (2000), 'Garden State' (2004)) remains the small rural town of Oakey Oaks' social pariah a year after something dropped on his noggin while under the big old oak tree, never allowed to live down his widower father Buck 'Ace' Cluck's (Garry Marshall; 'Grand Theft Auto' (1977), 'Orange County' (2002)) shame and disappointment, but managing to befriend other unpopular school mates Abby "Ugly Duckling" Mallard (Joan Cusack; 'Runaway Bride' (1999), 'Ice Princess' (2005)), Runt of the Litter (Steve Zahn; 'National Security' (2003), 'Sahara' (2005)) and Fish out of Water as he plans to clear his reputation. Everything here has been playfully altered and updated for a contemporary audience of kids and kids at heart to tap into, and this cast obviously has a blast under director Mark Dindal's ('The Emperor's New Groove' (2000)) helm. The basic premise of characters jumping to confusions is thoroughly expanded upon and eventually played at a riotous pace, making this one a thoroughly impressive offering. It's also brilliant how other fairy tales - such as Danish author Hans Christian Andersen's (1805-1875) The Ugly Duckling (first published in 1843) - are borrowed from to wonderfully flesh out this contemporary romp, and conspicuous nods to 'King Kong' (1933) and 'Raiders of the Lost Ark' (1981) are fun. Sure, 'Chicken Little' is primarily made up of hokey sight gags and familiar special effects strung together by a simple story of redemption much like 'Stuart Little' (1999) or the far more inventive 'Finding Nemo' (2002), but this completely computer animated seventy-seven minute cartoon - a first for Disney's production crew, after years of merely distributing Pixar's CGI blockbusters - is definitely an enjoyably undemanding time at the movies. Shades of 'E.T. The Extra-Terrestrial' (1982) and 'Explorers' (1985) are also prominent. Fish Out of Water - reportedly voiced by a gurgling water cooler - absolutely steals the show here. Definitely check out this slightly soft but impressively funny, family friendly flick as an enjoyable matinee worth seeing on the big screen.

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Cake
REVIEWED 12/05, © STEPHEN BOURNE
www.ofrb.gov.on.ca | www.rcq.gouv.qc.ca


REVIEW:

Well, Wedding Bells magazine's novice editor-in-chief Pippa McGee's (Heather Graham) inaugural cover concept didn't quite attract the kind of attention that she was hoping for once on the shelves. She thought it was clever. I mean, when you think of the vow "Til death do us part", doesn't the fairly gruesome image of a gowned bride limply rising over the city come to your mind? It seems obvious. It's fresh and hip. The critics didn't agree. Neither did the advertisers. They lacked vision. Sure, Pippa had always been fairly skeptical about marriage, vaguely remembering proclaiming a drunken toast during her friend Jane's (Sarah Chalke) recent wedding reception. "To marriage: The happy tomb," she'd half-jokingly said while raising her umpteenth glass of champagne to Jane and whatsisface that evening. As a footloose and fancy free travel writer for the past eight years, cycling in Cypress or trekking in Tanzania or skydiving in Spain, Pippa had developed a knack for hilarious quips like that. Of course, she was the only one who thought they were hilarious, but never mind. Pippa now had a magazine to run. Her publishing mogul father Malcolm (Bruce Gray) was bed ridden in Toronto General after suffering a heart attack, and her taking on Wedding Bells was just her way of helping him out with his burden of corporate success. Her best friend Lulu (Sandra Oh) wasn't convinced, immediately seeing the deliciously cruel irony of a steadfast single woman like Pippa - who defied any serious thoughts of wearing The Big Dress to the Altar of Matrimonial Bliss - ending up losing sleep over articles about how to make the perfect wedding snacks or colour coordinate your bridal party. The latest cover shoot had pretty well proved her point. It had also seriously compromised the magazine's continued existence, to the smug delight of newspaper chain owner Bob Jackman (Carlo Rota) during his bid to buy Malcolm's corporation and gut it for the spoils. What Pippa needed was a plan of action. Tone it down a notch or three and get through this without completely killing this glee riddled girly-girl rag while in charge. Unfortunately, that means hanging around the most boring and least spontaneous person she knows: Her father's drab Golden Boy and constant pain in her backside, Ian Gray (David Sutcliffe). Girl-shy Ian isn't too thrilled about it either, but for different reasons.

This lazily artificial romantic comedy from Vancouver director Nisha Ganatra ('Chutney Popcorn' (1999), 'Fast Food High' (2003)) plays out like a typical straight-to-CBC English-language Canadian movie that can't really decide what it wants to be. It ends up chucking bits of everything at an already half baked script - including an American star, in this case Heather Graham ('Austin Powers: The Spy Who Shagged Me' (1999), 'The Guru' (2002)), as flaky, adamantly single travel writer Filippa "Pippa" McGee grudgingly returning to Toronto for a friend's wedding and ending up grudgingly taking over her emotionally distant ailing father's magazine, Wedding Bells - in a desperate hope of entertaining everyone. Laughs galore it's not. Otherwise capable talent pushed to any benchmark of perfection is also a concept that's clearly considered over rated by this cast and crew. Its vague allusion to 'Bridget Jones's Diary' (2001) or even 'Pride & Prejudice' (2005) seems pointless. Plainly, 'Cake' doesn't work as anything other than an unintentional horror flick ("Nooo! I paid real money to see this pile of junk?! Gaah!!") or perhaps as the ominous start of a cinematic chalk outline for a few big screen careers. Sure, there's one relatively good scene, where Graham plays twenty questions with clumsy love interest Ian Gray (Saskatoon's David Sutcliffe; 'Happy Endings' (2005)) and you get to see her bring more than a perky smile to the set. But, even that's ruined when Ganatra encourages the background extras - curiously dressed in lobster costumes - to bop around for the camera for no reason. Maybe that's humourous in home movies or for high school Film class, but unnecessarily amateurish here. It's a shame, really. While sitting there slowly grinding my molars into stubby nubs in aggravated boredom, it seemed obvious that Tassie Cameron's self-indulgently chirpy Chick Flick screenplay probably could have risen above the poor production quality if additional time and attention had been put into developing these characters as being more than clichéd human finger puppets each armed with a handful of flat one-liners. It's like an awkwardly watered down version of something funny that you'd expect Goldie Hawn might have starred in thirty years ago. What's more, Wedding Bells is an actual magazine, but it's completely bewildering why its publisher would agree to have it so blatantly attached to this embarrassing mess. As it stands, there's really nothing of any memorably sustaining comedic or dramatic or romantic substance that's offered to this main cast of players, which includes Ottawa's Sandra Oh ('Waking the Dead' (2000), 'Sideways' (2004)) and Taye Diggs ('Brown Sugar' (2002), 'Rent' (2005)). It looks like they're all pretty well slumming it until the real acting jobs materialize. I hate to say it, but 'Cake' is a stale stinker that's hardly worth the film stock it's served up on.

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The Chronicles of Narnia
REVIEWED 12/05, © STEPHEN BOURNE
www.ofrb.gov.on.ca | www.rcq.gouv.qc.ca


REVIEW:

No running. No shouting. No touching the historical artifacts. Mrs. MacReady (Elizabeth Hawthorne) seemed to have a rule for everything, as the strict housekeeper of Professor Kirke's (Jim Broadbent) secluded country Tudor estate nestled a long summer train ride away from the nightly Nazi bombing raids crippling London that the Pevensie children had escaped. Peter (William Moseley), his younger brother Edmund (Skandar Keynes), their older sister Susan (Anna Popplewell) and the youngest of these four Pevensie siblings, Lucy (Georgie Henley), were safe. They were also very, very bored. Susan's idea was playing a game of words plucked from a big dusty dictionary. It was Lucy who had suggested that they play hide and seek, spurring Peter to begin counting as the others quietly walked at a running pace to find a good place to hide without touching anything ancient or valuable. This was how Lucy had ended up in that dim and lonely, nearly empty guest room. The large sheet that had covered the huge, ornately carved wooden wardrobe opposite that room's heavy door peeled away at the slightest touch of Lucy's small hand, as though freed from a forgotten gloom. She'd stepped inside, shouldering herself amongst the thick fur coats hanging inside, slowly stepping backwards within her newfound hiding place. Peter would never find her in there. Lucy stepped further back into that closet's shadows, letting herself get used to the smell of moth balls. The touch of stiff fur coats coarsely brushed against her bright little face. Deeper back. The old wooden floor creaked under her shoes. The light prickle of pine needles tugged against her sweater. Snow softly crunched under foot. Bewildered, Lucy turned her gaze away from the inside of the wardrobe's front door that still showed a crack of that dim room in her Uncle's Tudor home. Pine trees? Snow? In a closet? The wintry forest that lay spread out in front of her went on for miles. She had backed through a door unwittingly, discovering this magical world of Narnia, as she edged closer to the iron lamp post that stood in that small clearing covered in a hundred-year frozen white blanket. And then, she saw a shadow move...

Surprisingly, this is the first feature length adaptation of Irish novelist and War veteran Clive Staples "C.S." Lewis' (1898-1963) famed children's book set in 1940. Published in 1950 as the first of an eventual seven, but considered the second chronological instalment after The Magician's Nephew (1955) and before The Horse and His Boy (1954), Prince Caspian (1951), The Voyage of the Dawn Treader (1952), The Silver Chair (1953), and The Last Battle (1956), from his The Chronicles of Narnia series, 'The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe' (the film's complete title) pretty well plays itself out as a gentler cousin of the far more intense 'The Lord of The Rings' movie trilogy. The resemblances aren't too surprising, Lewis was reportedly a close peer of Hobbit creator J.R.R. Tolkien (1892-1973). Writer J.K. Rowling's Harry Potter fans will also notice slight similarities, but thank ancient folklore - and Alice's Adventures in Wonderland (printed in 1865) by Lewis Caroll (1832-1898) - for inspiration. What co-writer/director Andrew Adamson ('Shrek' (2001), 'Shrek 2' (2004)) does is pretty well remain true to the original manuscript throughout, masterfully encouraging this main cast of talent to embellish upon their roles with wonderfully realized individuality beyond the printed pages. Big screen first timer Georgie Henley easily captivates your attention as WWII London Blitz-evacuated eight year-old Lucy Pevensie, attempting to convince her older sister Susan (Anna Popplewell; 'Thunderpants' (2002), 'Girl with a Pearl Earring' (2003)) and brothers Peter and Edmund (newcomers William Moseley and Skandar Keynes) that she's not only discovered a portal to the magical yet snow locked world of Narnia through a big old clothes closet in a dingy guest room of their reclusive Professor Uncle Digory Kirke's (Jim Broadbent; 'Superman IV: The Quest for Peace' (1987), 'Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason' (2004)) rambling countryside manor but, within, has also met a mythical cloven hoofed fellow called a fawn, named Mr. Tumnus (James McAvoy; 'Wimbledon' (2004), 'Rory O'Shea Was Here' (2004)). The consequences of the Pevensie children quickly entering Narnia truly are a treat for the senses - even with this flick's somewhat long run time of a hundred and forty minutes. Sure, the novel's Christian overtones are apparent here, but 'The Chronicles of Narnia' isn't so much an allegory of Christ's life as it is a mythology enriched reflection of His teachings regarding forgiveness in the face of betrayal and malicious cunning. The Deep Magic prevails, and the graphic violence is kept to a bearable minimum. This one's clearly a feel good fantasy intended for slightly older kids and kids at heart who also don't really mind a few contrivances along the way. Additionally, there are moments - particularly during the final battle between the armies of returning lion king Aslan (voiced by Liam Neeson) and the wicked self-proclaimed queen The White Witch Jadis (beautifully sneered by Tilda Swinton; 'Vanilla Sky' (2001), 'Constantine' (2005)) - when a paying audience will probably wonder why more attention wasn't spent on fleshing out some of the plot-important beasties before they suddenly appear, but a kind of stereotypical cinematic shorthand (i.e: if it's ugly and snarls, it's evil) that's used does work for the most part. For readers familiar with the book, this Disney picture's wrap up seems to be about the only aspect that'll likely feel awkwardly rushed. For moviegoers, it seems tagged on as a seguay for possible sequels. Check it out as a worthwhile, gentle fantasy that's fairly short on explanation but long on great adventure with a worthwhile moral.

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El Crimen Perfecto
REVIEWED 12/05, © STEPHEN BOURNE
www.ofrb.gov.on.ca | www.rcq.gouv.qc.ca


REVIEW:

The secret is to avoid being mundane. In order to live a successful life, you must be a sophisticated, elegant man and yet grab what you want, whenever you want it. Women. Fine clothes. Expensive cars. Anything. Be spontaneous. Be courageous. Be... spectacular, every day. Sad, dazed and confused, Rafael Gonzaléz (Guillermo Toledo) sat on the ugly couch, hugging an ugly clown doll that wasn't his, in the unfinished living room of his ugly fiancée that he didn't want. Eating popcorn with Don Antonio's ghost (Luis Varela). Something was wrong. This wasn't how things were supposed to turn out. Gonzaléz needed to re-evaluate. All he'd really wanted was to be promoted from his little patch of decadent heaven as manager of the ladies wear section in Yeyo's department store to becoming manager of that entire floor. That wasn't too much to ask for. Rafael was a great salesman, able to delicately encourage any customer to buy the things they truly wanted - even if they didn't know that they wanted those things. He helped them to fulfil their dreary lives by happily selling them items and then taking their money. Yeyo's was the cathedral of consumerism, and Rafael was its devilishly handsome high priest. The soft aroma of perfume from the cosmetics counter was an intoxicating incense. His faithful disciples were the nubile sex kittens who worked in Rafael's department: Roxanne (Kira Miró), whose blonde and slender body wouldn't quit writhing. Susana (Penélope Velasco), a ravishing bored wife and mother of two, who openly hungered for Rafael's masculine touch. Helena (Montse Mostaza), with breasts like fine cupcakes. Yummy. All devoted followers. His for the taking. Each playfully meeting him in the changing room after hours for a night of passionate escapism, punctuated by testing every bed in the furniture section before dawn. However, Gonzaléz didn't get the promotion. Don Antonio, that grizzled, wig wearing and fat head of the men's wear section had become the new floor manager instead. Rafael chewed some more popcorn, turned and looked at the butcher's cleaver still buried deep in the morbid skull of the ghost of Don Antonio. It had been a terrible accident, but he'd deserved to die. Well, the cleaver wasn't an accident. If Antonio hadn't been so fat, his corpse might have fit through the store's furnace door in one piece. That's where Lourdes (Mónica Cervera), Rafael's ugly and conniving fiancée, came in. Lourdes, the butcher of Rafael's elegant, perfect life. "There is a Hell," he mumbles to himself, "and the Devil wears a beige brassiere." With Antonio now as his pernicious accomplice, it was time for Rafael Gonzaléz to plan his own - preferably malevolent - escape.

Holy cripes, what an hilariously macabre farce. 'Crimen Ferpecto' (its purposely misspelled original title) is the twisted brainchild of co-writer/director Álex de la Iglesia ('El día de la bestia' (1995), '800 balas' (2002)) and co-writer Jorge Guerricaechevarría, following the goofy criminal escapades of philandering ladies wear department manager Rafael (Guillermo Toledo; 'El otro lado de la cama' (2002), 'Seres queridos' (2004)) after his arch rival Don Antonio (Luis Varela) dies in a freak changing room accident witnessed by mousy store clerk Lourdes, who uses her help in gruesomely disposing of the body as a means of manipulating Rafael into loving her. The smouldering green ghost of Antonio seems to be his only real compadré. By all accounts, this subtitled 2004 Spanish comedy is completely over the top with oftentimes side splitting humour akin to 'Death Becomes Her' (1992) and 'Shaun of the Dead' (2004) that's clearly intended for a mature audience that doesn't mind a little nudity and simulated sex tossed in as campy punch lines. Toledo is an absolute force of nature here, initially dripping with an oily smug machismo that you can't help but hate yourself for admiring, before his dream world of nightly passion in the bedroom furniture displays is horribly shattered by Cervera's character's riotously dubious good deeds. Like live action, measurable equivalents of the Warner Brothers' Wile E. Coyote and the Road Runner, these two truly are a wildly comedic duo in this no holds barred romp that feverishly builds to an explosive climax. Sure, the epilogue is fairly soft and contrived by comparison, but it does make sense within the context that's already established here, as well as sends you out of the theatre afterwards feeling completely satisfied - and a little sore from laughing out loud so much. Kudos also go to cinematographer José L. Moreno, for masterfully capturing what appear to be some of the most complicated shots without ever letting the technical side get in the way of realizing de la Iglesia's freshly frenetic vision. Additionally, some of the best parts of the screenplay are the peripheral sight gags - such as the fairground kids with the plastic hammers, and Lourdes' weirdly dysfunctional family - that serve to lift this picture even further beyond it merely being a two-star screwball affair. Great soundtrack, too. Awesome. All the same, my favourite scenes are when a sleep deprived and exhausted Rafael begins plotting dastardly gained freedom from his subsequently tortured life as snared groom-to-be. Definitely check out 'El Crimen Perfecto' as one of the most unforgettably funny foreign films well worth the price of admission.

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Capote
REVIEWED 12/05, © STEPHEN BOURNE
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REVIEW:

His carefully timed visit to the Sheriff's apartment had been a transparent ruse thinly veiled behind an offering of sundry gifts of food, the morning newspaper, and literature in the form of one of his earlier novels. But, Truman's unexpected appearance outside that rural Kansas courthouse's third floor plain door of frosted glass softly illuminated from within and of neatly scribed gold painted letters was welcomed by the Sheriff's wife as though she, Dorothy Sanderson, and he, Truman Capote (Philip Seymour Hoffman), were longtime friends. As though he had dropped by in pure happenstance on his way to the supermarket, or to the picture show, or to a nearby office building as a spontaneous, momentary detour from his daily routine. As though Truman had never read the chilling New York Times article detailing the mass murder of the Clutter family that had happened in the isolated white farm house hunched a long train ride from Capote's Manhattan apartment, but still beckoned to him at the end of a notably short drive to Holcomb from where he now stood. As though he hadn't seen the four lonely wooden caskets in the local funeral home, or had never looked at the brutalized bodies laying inside of them. He could barely breathe, as Dorothy led him with an open smile into the small parlour of tastefully manicured furniture still faintly shrouded in the lingering fragrance of breakfast bacon and fried eggs and home brewed coffee that could be found mingling in the comfortably sleepy air inside any number of homes that time seemed to have forgotten lined the sun washed streets of Garden City in November 1959. They were all the same, just as the people who inhabited this traumatized little town were all the same. But, this home in the Finney County Courthouse contained one thing that made it wholly dissimilar from all of the others. Capote's heart pounded against his rib cage like a panicked clenched fist, as he stood in the warm natural light of that meticulously clean living room. He needed to be there. The book that he was preparing to write demanded that he be there. He needed to be there, even if it hadn't been necessary for him to look into the grim eyes of Perry Smith (Clifton Collins Jr.). A cold blooded killer. Penned in the cramped Women's Cell whose hard iron bars enclosed the kitchen's windowed corner guarded by Dorothy's solid bone grey ice box. Truman's entire life and work and everything else that he had considered an intrinsic part of who he was lifted away from him in that sharp moment of realisation, like a cloth ceremonially unfurled from a newly moulded sculpture being presented to the world for the first time. A feeling of weightlessness washed over him, as he not so much stepped in measured foot falls towards the Sanderson's kitchen doorway, but as though that kitchen doorway was moving towards him in a slow, dreamlike manner. In order to devour him whole. Like it had done to its caged prisoner who sat awaiting Truman within its tiled gut that lay beyond that kitchen's gaping, rectangular mouth.

Holy cripes, what an outstanding starring performance. Adapted from writer Gerald Clarke's whopping six hundred and thirty-one page 1988 book, Capote: A Biography, this wonderfully myopic character study of famed celebrity novelist Truman Streckfus Persons (1924-1984) - reportedly adopted and renamed Truman García Capote by his mother's second husband in 1935 - during Capote's apparent six years of researching and writing about the brutal 1959 murders of four members of the Clutter family in Holcomb, Kansas for his acclaimed non-fiction literary masterwork, In Cold Blood: A True Account of a Multiple Murder and Its Consequences (1966). That book was made into a feature film the following year, ironically starring a young Robert Blake, but 'Capote' specifically concentrates on how the original murders and one of the two accused men awaiting execution, Perry Smith (Clifton Collins Jr.; 'The Replacement Killers' (1998), 'Mindhunters' (2004)), slowly begin to affect Truman Capote (superbly played by Philip Seymour Hoffman; 'Boogie Nights' (1997), 'Along Came Polly' (2004)) throughout the course of Capote's somewhat dubious brand of investigation assisted by longtime friend and peer Harper Lee (Catherine Keener; 'Being John Malkovich' (1999), 'The 40 Year Old Virgin' (2005)). In real life, Truman Capote wasn't renowned for being a particularly nice person, summarily feeding his enormous narcissism by unabashedly destroying close friends and famous acquaintances with glibly embellished or concocted character assassination for the sake of expounding amusing anecdotes for anyone who'd pay attention to him. This masterfully tight psychological drama's debuting feature director Bennett Miller seems to immediately hone in on the obvious parallels between Capote's generally pernicious attitude and those of Smith and cohort Richard Hickock (Mark Pellegrino; 'Mulholland Dr.' (2001), 'Twisted' (2004)), cleverly demonstrating this underlying tone as Dan Futterman's deliciously sparse screenplay clicks along at a steady pace. 'Capote' actually feels like a fairly small independent film at times, because so much of it unfolds through calculated gesture and dialogue presented in extremely close quarters between two or three individuals. It's during those moments when Hoffman's performance reaches the peak of superior acting. He's simply brilliant here, allowing a paying audience to decide what's truth while, as Capote, Hoffman audibly mumbles another slurred nasal load of manipulative lies that you instinctively recognize as such. Yes, the whole cast is amazing, but he carries the entire picture with the uncanny ease of bruised and diabolical grace. It's pure, electrified genius. Of course, 'Capote' won't be everyone's cup of tea. There aren't any huge moments of high drama or emotional outbursts as seen in 'Patton' (1970) or 'Veronica Guerin' (2003), and any action sequences depicting the shocking murders are brief and near the end, but this truly is a solid exposé about the man over-all that's definitely a must-see cinematic treasure. At the same time, and apart from this film not really bothering to flesh out the murderers - Hickock (1932-1965) was reportedly a petty con man and criminal sociopath since childhood, and Smith (1929-1965) was considered an anti-social Korean War veteran and Bronze Star recipient - the only annoying flaw comes just before the closing credits, when text appears that dubiously suggests Capote was destroyed by the outcome of researching and writing this book and never really worked again. The real Truman Capote actually wrote several screenplays and subsequent novellas, and destroyed himself by merely continuing to be the same type of toxic person that he always was, until drug addiction took his pathetic life. Y'know, I'm lousy at predicting who will win what come Oscar night, but I honestly wouldn't be surprised if Philip Seymour Hoffman's Golden Globe nomination for his performance here actually does lead to him taking home that little gold-plated fella in early March of 2006.

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Casanova
REVIEWED 01/06, © STEPHEN BOURNE
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REVIEW:

This surprisingly fluffy and wildly anachronistic Chick Flick from two-time Oscar-nominated Swedish director Lasse Hallström ('What's Eating Gilbert Grape' (1993), 'An Unfinished Life' (2005)) plays out more like a farcical spin on one aspect of 'The Merchant of Venice' (2005) inspired by 'Tom Jones' (1963) and 'Shakespeare in Love' (1998), than anything remotely resembling a cinematic biography about the real Giacomo Girolamo Casanova (1725-1798). It's "the secret chapter" that has never been told, like Benjamin Franklin's treasure map on the back of America's Declaration of Independence in 'National Treasure' (2005), apparently. Sure, in Casanova's actual life story, The Complete Memoirs of Jacques Casanova de Seingalt - which you can read all thirty rambling volumes of, translated into English in 1894 and more recently appended to, at the Project Gutenberg site (www.gutenberg.org/files/2981/2981.txt) - he seems to have written, "The chief business of my life has always been to indulge my senses; I never knew anything of greater importance," but Hallström's 'Casanova' seems more interested in perpetuating the lady killer aspect of the man's myth as a cleaned up, light comedy of romantic redemption for a contemporary audience to essentially switch off above the neck and laugh along with. Nothing wrong with that, if you know what you're getting. This cast is basically playing dress-up, speaking in clipped English accents while playing Italians, and selectively cannibalizing the nice parts of history as lush props shot on location while making up the rest. The core idea hasn't changed much on the big screen since 1918, when famed Hungarian actor Alfréd Deésy (1877-1961) originally stepped into the big screen role, probably more memorably embellished upon by New Brunswick's Donald Sutherland's starring performance in legendary director Federico Fellini's weirdly steamy 1976 version. That being said, this fairly campy new 'Casanova' is definitely a consistently fun date movie, featuring Heath Ledger ('The Order' (2003), 'Brokeback Mountain' (2005)) playing circa 1753 Venice's notoriously philandering nobleman. Facing mandatory marriage or expulsion as decreed by his unnamed regal patron, The Doge (time-wise, likely Francesco Loredan, portrayed by Brit TV's 'Black Adder' alumnus Tim McInnerny; 'Erik the Viking' (1989), '102 Dalmatians' (2000)), Ledger's Giacomo suddenly finds himself smitten by the somewhat Tom Boy-ish and secretly outspoken feminist writer Francesca Bruni (Sienna Miller; 'The Ride' (2002), 'Alfie' (2004)). Rapier wit and a humourously awkward courtship ensues, just as The Vatican's least likely most feared Inquisitor Pucci (Jeremy Irons; 'Dead Ringers' (1988), 'Being Julia' (2004)) arrives to capture and hang Italy's acclaimed seducer. That's where Jeffrey Hatcher's and Kimberly Simi's screenplay begins to wobble a bit, tossing in oddly uncharacteristic sight gags and slightly corny one-liners that seem borrowed from 'Ella Enchanted' (2004) for the sake of keeping this hundred and eight-minute confection predominantly uncomplicated by logic or hard fact. For instance, Miller's character is reportedly a complete fabrication loosely conjured from superficial elements of Casanova's last known love, obscure seamstress Francesca Buschini, but Bruni's part feels completely swiped from the likes of 'Stage Beauty' (2004) or an updated version of Shakespeare's Portia - disguise and all. Yes, it's enjoyable over-all as a guilty pleasure of empty calories, but the uneven balance of Period sensibilities mixed with modern twists is jarring at times. The sub plot that unfolds between Oliver Platt's ('Married to the Mob' (1988), 'The Ice Harvest' (2005)) portly lard merchant Paprizzio and Francesca's mother Andrea (played by Hallström's wife, Lena Olin; 'The Unbearable Lightness of Being' (1988), 'Hollywood Homicide' (2003)) is actually far more delightfully intriguing than the big dramatic romp loudly bouncing across the screen. Good stuff. Check it out as a worthwhile escape that clicks along at an impressive pace, but 'Casanova' is definitely one of those movies that's really just a piece of unabashedly frivolous entertainment.

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Curious George
REVIEWED 02/06, © STEPHEN BOURNE
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REVIEW:

The undeniably charming children's stories begun in the 1930's by authors Hans Augusto "H.A" Rey (1898-1977) and his wife Margret Elizabeth Rey (1906-1996) about a care free and curious little tailless monkey named George are wonderfully adapted for the big screen in this hugely satisfying animated kids flick from debuting feature director Matthew O'Callaghan. George unwittingly stows away on the ship that returns lovably nerdy Ted (aka The Man In The Yellow Hat, voiced by Will Ferrell; 'Austin Powers: International Man of Mystery' (1997), 'The Producers' (2005)) from an apparently fruitless expedition for the forty-foot tall Lost Shrine of Zagawa in the jungles of South Africa that's the only exhibit sure to save the Bloomsberry Museum from closing forever. This truly is an endearingly innocent tale that's obviously been a labour of love for everyone involved. Yes, it's simplistic. Yes, wild contrivances and stereotypes abound throughout. It doesn't matter. The toddlers who had remained completely enchanted during the entire screening of this eight-six minute feature and then were crying outside of the theatre afterwards, because they wanted to stay for more 'Curious George' movie, pretty well proves that. There's never a dull moment. It's a delightfully sweet film, squeezing every drop of beautifully realized soft humour from these somewhat updated and fleshed out characters. Awesome. Sure, there's a lot more to this story than simply watching George get into all sorts of mischief at home and in the big city. Keep an eye out for the fun nod to 'King Kong' (1933). The sub plot of elderly museum owner Bloomsberry (Dick Van Dyke; 'Mary Poppins' (1964), 'Chitty Chitty Bang Bang' (1968)) encouraging Ted's treasure hunt - much to the chagrin of Bloomsberry's greedy son Junior, who wants to demolish and replace that marbled home of dinosaur bones and caveman displays with a three-storey parking lot - and that of school teacher Maggie's (Drew Barrymore; 'E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial' (1982), '50 First Dates' (2004)) awkward secret crush on Ted, all add marvelously rich textures to this entire effort that surprisingly don't in any way detract from the real star here: Curious George. Truck loads of credit for this slightly anthropomorphized monkey's immediate likability definitely goes to the animators, who also magically enliven George with a never ending knack for playfully getting into all sorts of mini adventures throughout. However, a good portion of what makes George such a captivating character is his wordless language of endless squeaks and contagious giggles, made possible by voice meister Frank Welker ('Aladdin' (1992), 'How the Grinch Stole Christmas' (2000)). Welker apparently didn't do similar work on the prolific Canadian series of Curious George television shorts in the 1980's that were reportedly made possible through Margret Rey's collaboration with TV writer/producer Alan J. Shalleck (1929-2006). However, 'Curious George' the movie absolutely honours these inspired originators and contributors, to the point where the little kid that I used to be was pretty well siding with those teary eyed tykes who didn't want to leave after the closing credits. Whether you're a parent of small children, a connoisseur of superior animation, or simply a kid at heart, definitely do yourself a huge favour and check out this delightfully tender treasure.

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Caché
REVIEWED 03/06, © STEPHEN BOURNE
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REVIEW:

Round table television host Georges Laurent (Daniel Auteuil; 'Le huitième jour' (1996), 'The Lost Son' (1999)) and his publicist wife Anne (Juliette Binoche; 'The Unbearable Lightness of Being' (1988), 'Chocolat' (2000)) suddenly find themselves targeted by an enigmatic stalker who begins anonymously delivering otherwise uninteresting, hours long videotapes of the sleepy suburban Parisian street outside of their comfortable home, slowly turning them against each other as confusion and panic builds as to why this is happening, in acclaimed writer/director Michael Haneke's ('La Pianiste' (2001), 'Le Temps du loup' (2003)) stylishly low key and yet surprisingly annoying 2005 thriller. I suppose that I should have thoroughly appreciated this three-time Cannes winner, but 'Hidden' (its international title) just seems to painfully drag on indefinitely without really offering up much substance over-all. Sure, from an entirely artistic standpoint, film editors Michael Hudecek and Nadine Muse do an initially brilliant job of systematically creating almost spine tingling tension by cleverly forcing you to stare at a series of forty second, seemingly mundane long shots that are carefully placed throughout this hundred and seventeen-minute subtitled French import. They do make this flick a demanding one, if you're expecting a certain faster pace to the story, but then become strangely intriguing as you begin to believe that you see clues as to why those tapes are being made and delivered within childish drawings splashed with red. However, the novelty eventually wears off, with nothing much else being introduced in order to sustain a paying audience's interest during the last two-thirds. Clearly, Haneke is interested in examining how paranoia affects human behaviour as a kind of water torture in the form of those stagnant, unexplained surveillance videos, but it's as though he's chosen to spotlight the wrong married couple here. Arguments erupt, but the Laurent's reactions are presented as being highly intellectualized and somewhat too clinical to easily empathize with. Yes, they're both intellectuals, but the screenplay definitely could have benefited from a more forceful hand scratching at those rather cerebral paper walls to produce a lot more raw moments to keep this one clicking along. Don't get me wrong, the acting from this talented cast is great. There's just very little of it that's spread around. I kinda felt like I'd missed the display of Coles Notes that might have been made available in the theatre foyer, while trying to follow along with this screening. Quite frankly, there are really only two memorable scenes of actual, explosive emotion in this feature. One of them will undoubtedly leave you gasping aloud, but the subsequent reactions to it on the big screen feel false as presented. Not a whole lot comes from any recognizably pivotal turns, and the ending is a complete mystery that remains aggravatingly unexplained while the closing credits roll. 'Caché' (its home grown title) isn't a complete cinematic hoodwink, because it's a measurably interesting movie in how sinister the story line is in taking these rather unimaginatively written characters down its path, but it's also pretty well one of those pictures that you'll likely need to drink a strong coffee beforehand and be in the right mood to sit through, if you don't want to end up slipping into a coma halfway through. Rent it, if you're a photography buff or can't get enough of French Cinema, but 'Caché' is far too coyly enigmatic for its own good to be worth a look otherwise.

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Cars
REVIEWED 06/06, © STEPHEN BOURNE
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REVIEW:

An unprecedented three-way tie amongst retiring race track champ car number forty-three Kenny The King (voiced by NASCAR legend Richard Petty), ruthless heir apparent car number eighty-six Chick Hicks (Michael Keaton; 'Mr. Mom' (1983), 'White Noise' (2005)) and rookie favourite car number ninety-five Lightning McQueen (Owen Wilson; 'Zoolander' (2001), 'Wedding Crashers' (2005)) that ends the Dinoco 400's final rally for the treasured Piston Cup at the Motor Speedway of the South sets the stage for this measurably enjoyable computer animated Disney flick from director John Lasseter ('A Bug's Life' (1998), 'Toy Story 2' (1999)), where self-centred and glory hungry McQueen ends up learning the value of friendship and team work after a wrong turn leaves him stranded and serving community service in the forgotten desert town of Radiator Springs on his way to a rematch race scheduled in California. If the basic premise seems familiar to you, that might be because much of this hundred and sixteen-minute morality play of anthropomorphized automobiles has a tendency to resemble aspects of 'Doc Hollywood' (1991) and 'Footloose' (1984) throughout. A big city outsider's unwanted presence shakes up a rural community, before attitudes eventually change and an awkward romance settles in. Additionally, I kept expecting to see Herbie the Love Bug appear, because so much of 'Cars' feels like it's heavily inspired by that 1968 classic and its sequels, filtered through the likes of Brit television's 'Thomas the Tank Engine'. The Lightning McQueen character - reportedly named after Toronto-born Pixar animator Glenn McQueen (1960-2002), not Hollywood racing fanatic Steve McQueen - is a retooled Herbie for the most part. Sure, writer Dan Fogelman's screenplay does offer up some delightfully fresh material throughout, but vague feelings of moviegoer deja vu are consistently noticeable while sitting through this family friendly feature that's solely inhabited by cars, trucks and various other transport vehicles - where even the insects are winged miniscule Volkswagen Beetles, and tractors stand in for a herd of cattle. A lot of the peripheral sight gags make up the majority of what's memorably fun about it. Paul Newman lending his voice as Radiator Springs' somewhat ornery authority figure Doc Hudson, George Carlin as the prerequisite hippy van Filmore, and tricked out Mexican auto body artist Ramone being played by Cheech Marin are albeit unsurprising but welcome casting picks. However, the reason why 'Cars' ends up playing out more as a measurably enjoyable show, rather than it being a hugely entertaining romp from beginning to closing credits, is because the humour is predominantly soft and predictable, and the main characters are depicted as being fairly stereotypical and narrow throughout. It's an undemanding cartoon that doesn't try to be anything other than that, that's obviously geared more for small children and young teenagers as the story progresses. I kept waiting for something interesting to happen, until I realized that I was supposed to simply sit back, switch off above the neck and enjoy the superficial quirkiness of the supporting characters. That's the only notable problem here. After being spoiled by 'Finding Nemo' (2003) and 'Over the Hedge' (2006), adults might find that the story telling in 'Cars' feels somewhat lacking in depth. Check out this one with the kids as a reasonably worthwhile half-price matinee or a rainy day rental, but don't be surprised if a lot of it feels noticeably similar to a couple of far better live action favourites.

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