The Pianist
REVIEWED 01/03, © STEPHEN BOURNE
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REVIEW:

Musician and composer Wladyslaw Szpilman was the last Jew alive in Warsaw by the end of the Second World War. Inspired by this man's stunning autobiographical memoirs, originally published in Polish in 1946 as 'Death of a City' and quickly banned by Stalinist Communists - only to be reprinted in several languages around the world a year before his death in 2000 - director Roman Polanski has taken great pains to tell this factual story of unbelievable survival under the destructive power of Nazi might. His own mother killed at Aushwitz during the Holocaust, and himself leaving his Russian-oppressed homeland in 1962 after unfavourable reactions to his first cinematic efforts, Polanski reportedly returned to Poland for the first time in forty years to shoot this rivetting film. What's undoubtedly astonishing about Szpilman's incredibly lucky yet overwhelmingly tragic early life is that he never left that city during the six years it was systematically ravaged and eventually laid to waste by the Germans. He was like a mouse caught in the tenuously safe eye of a hurricane, witnessing everything and everyone around him being mercilessly swept away. With little more than his love of the music by Frédéric Chopin (born Zelazowa Wola - in that same community - in 1810) to keep him sane, powerless to do anything, until the maelstrom had finally subsided and his remaining seventy or so countrymen (out of the hundreds of thousands murdered) were liberated from Treblinka's nearby death camps on January 17th, 1945.

By all Earthly logic, Wladyslaw Szpilman (brilliantly portrayed by Adrien Brody) should have died several times over. He wasn't a hard-headed fighter like his younger brother or his three sisters. He hadn't experienced the terrible hardships of the First World War, as his aged parents had. Wlad was the Director of Music at Polish Radio in Warsaw, masterfully performing a live solo piano opus of Chopin's over the airwaves when Hitler's military invaded in 1939. Unfit for the manual labour heaped upon his rather frail body, he shouldn't have made it in the Nazi-sanctioned Jewish Sector (widely known as the Warsaw Ghetto), or survived the 'relocation' of his family to Treblinka in 1942. Nor should he have avoided being shot or blown to bits during the famed sixty-day uprising by the Jewish Resistance mounted against the Third Reich in the crumbling streets of that seven hundred year-old capital two years later. Nor, evaded summary execution through the subsequent widespread demolition by German cannonfire of pretty well every building still standing in that desolate ghost town, before the Russian Allied forces moved in. More importantly, he survived all of this knowing he should have died.

'The Pianist' is quite simply an immensely important must-see masterpiece. Veering clear of this genre's typically propagandist or heroic clichés, focussing on a far more realistic and mature telling of this unlikely protagonist's survival, it is raw and unflinching and deserves to be applauded. In many ways, this is pure Polanski, in how each pivotal scene methodically lowers the audience a little further into this movie's emotionally torturous meatgrinder. When Szpilman is unexpectedly ripped from his family as they're being loaded onto the train's cattle cars, you feel that you are there. Just as confused and frightened. When Wlad is trapped in an apartment during the Warsaw Uprising, and mortars violently punch through that building, you are as shellshocked and terrified as he is. It's a pale comparison, but if you loved Spielberg's slightly revisionist 'Schindler's List' as much as I did, this thousand times better true life epic will leave you as completely breathless as it did me. Wow.

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Pluto Nash
REVIEWED 08/02, © STEPHEN BOURNE
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REVIEW:

A long time ago, in a galaxy far far away, rising star Eddie Murphy used to be funny. Here, back in this solar system, he's still cranking out meteoric bombs featuring the same pseudo-sophisticated maverick with a slightly dented heart of gold that he's continuously failed to hone since apparently deciding that being the leading man means more to him than being the punchy, scene-stealing comedy relief. Frankly, that's a waste of his true talent. Just rent 'Showtime', and you'll see that he's still got an irreverant funnybone worth tapping in to.

This time out, it's the year 2080. We're living on the Moon, in the growing Gangland Chicago-like town of Little America. Where it's still every lasergun packin' spaceman for himself, as our street smart protagonist tries to go straight running a legitimate night club after getting out of prison for running contraban goods smuggled from good old Terra Firma. His plans quickly go nova when an enigmatic Mob boss blasts in to Nash's territory from his lunar den of debauchery. Leaving Nash, his wide-eyed love interest, and his trusty robot bodyguard (hollowly sleepwalked by Randy Quaid) no alternative but to fight back at weak velocity.

In the listings blurbs advertising this flick, we're warned that 'Pluto Nash' isn't recommended for young children. While sitting through this mildly crass and rather juvenile special effects-bloated release, I really couldn't imagine anyone other than young children actually enjoying what transpires on the big screen. About the only bright spot was the running side story of Jay Mohr's kilt-wearing accordian player turned Sinatra-like crooner who finds his perfect mate, has her cloned, and marries both of them. Other than that, this one's pretty well devoid of livable atmosphere. Too bad.

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Possession
REVIEWED 09/02, © STEPHEN BOURNE
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REVIEW:

During the British Museum's exhibit marking the Centenary of much-touted poet and 'perfect gentleman husband' Randolph Henry Ash, a roguish American researcher and devoted fan (Roland Michell, played somewhat thinly by Aaron Eckart) stumbles upon the Victorian's handwritten letters alluding to a startling indiscretion that doesn't quite jibe with popular scholarly belief. When Michell enlists the help of Maud Bailey (Paltrow), a rather frigid English expert on Ash's suspected adulterous desires, our two love-starved intellectuals begin a journey that unearths more of this aching secret romance and inspires their own repressed passions.

Over-all, this is a luxuriously well-paced movie that lavishly unfolds with wonderful investigative-like discoveries chronicling the growing obsession, climactic yet brief affair, and subsequently complicated consequences of two overwhelmingly smitten and blindly naive wordsmiths whose slightly magical and cinemagraphically anachronistic mid-1800's world is presented as how most incurable romantics fantasize about that era. And, it works. In the sets, and the costumes. And, primarily in how Ash and his lady love correspond and converse with such trembling volcanic chemistry. You're drawn in and want more of this compellingly terrible tryst, despite the fairly wooden portrayal of our contemporary sleuths - who, when they're not uncovering another seguay-to-the-past inducing treasure, really are annoyingly flaccid by comparison. Even the supposedly tense side story of a co-worker betraying their find to a serpent-like buyer willing to go to any lengths to possess the last piece of this captivating puzzle first is excruciatingly tepid and easily forgetable.

So, I'd have to say that 'Possession' isn't the greatest love story that I've ever sat through. However, the scenes that give us the actual love story between two articulate and sensual bygone lovers are incredibly satisfying and definitely make this one worth checking out.

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Punch-Drunk Love
REVIEWED 10/02, © STEPHEN BOURNE
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REVIEW:

"I look at your face," Barry adoringly whispers, "And, I want to smash it." "I want to scoop out your eyes," Leena coos back, "And, eat them." I suspect that I understand what Sandler and his crew were attempting to do with this slightly dark, extremely disjointed deadpan drama. Letting the audience see life from the angrily damaged perspective of a socially inept and emotionally stunted Californian by the name of Barry Egan. How his somewhat broken yet childlike mind tries to cope with his seven manic and shrewish sisters and this bewildering world, when all he really wants to do is build a business manufacturing novelty washroom plungers and be left alone. The problem is, this movie seems far too intoxicated by it's outrageously distractive weirdness for it's own good.

The main story revolves around Barry's misguided need to find a confidante to trust ending up with him calling 'Georgia', a Utah-based call-back phone sex service operator, who turns around and blackmails him for money the morning after. She bothers him at home. Long-distance, she harasses him at work. Out of overzealous panic, he stops payment, and then cancels and cuts up his credit card. Bringing on the malicious attention of Dean, this rotten peach's boss and foul-mouthed owner of a grimey furniture and mattress store. Dean doesn't appear to know anything about anyone being hit up for additional funds. He just wants his money for services rendered. By any means necessary. Still with me? Overlapping this embarassing mess is what the ads have cited: The clumsily blossoming and fairly quirky love story between Barry and Leena (scrumptiously underplayed by Emily Watson). Leena also turns out to be pretty nervous and awkward around people, despite being a consultant. Her strange attraction to Barry overwhelming her girlish shyness by desperately wanting to know him before she has to leave for Hawaii on business. Sparking feelings that both stabilize and scare this confused manchild. We learn, as events unfold, that it's a handy coincidence our reluctant hero has stumbled upon a promotional coupon loophole where he can amass thousands of frequent flyer miles by simply stocking up on pudding cups. Well, sort of. Like I'd mentioned, this one's weird. Experimental. It's a mystery what the ever-present harmonium, or the letters Barry carves into his knuckles during a dinner date, are in there for. Weird.

Frankly, 'Punch-Drunk Love' is a disturbed turkey. It shouldn't be a turkey, though. There's obviously a wealth of surprising talent on the screen throughout. Even some of the mildly surreal moments tweak a certain amount of interest. However, thanks to it's incredibly puzzling editing and a wildly inaccessible script over-all, this soberingly brave departure from Sandler's more popular comedies fails miserably.

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Phone Booth
REVIEWED 04/03, © STEPHEN BOURNE
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REVIEW:

In 1959, director Alfred Hitchcock released his runaway thriller 'North by Northwest', starring Cary Grant and Eva Marie Saint. That was also the year a virtually unknown UK Rock 'n' Roll band changed their name from 'The Quarrymen' to 'Johnny and the Moondogs' for a local talent show where three of its Twentysomething year-old band mates (John, Paul, and George) first met a drummer named Ringo. Besides that, the rather short-lived fad that swept through many college campuses worldwide that year was trying to beat the South African record of cramming twenty-five students into a telephone booth at once. The closest contenders were from St. Mary's College in California, with twenty-two. By the time Hitchcock died of renal failure in Los Angeles, and John Lennon was fatally shot by a lone gunman outside of his West 72nd Street Manhattan apartment building, inventor Alexander Graham Bell's 1876 patent for the telephone (named from the Greek for 'far voice' by German physicist Johan Phillip Reis in 1860, and probably inspired by an essay written by Belgian-born engineer Charles Bourseul in 1854) was celebrating one hundred and four years. That was in 1980. Ninety-one years after William Gray installed his new-fangled creation: the public phone booth - complete with an attendant - in a Connecticut Bank, and seventy-five years after Bell (the company) introduced the first coin-operated one outdoors, in Chicago.

It's now 2003. Six blocks South of New York City's Central Park, on West 53rd Street between Broadway and 8th Avenue. According to this flick's overdubbed narrator, it's the day before the steady rise in cell phone use and the decline in popularity of phone booths has this last one in the Big Apple slated to be replaced by a modern kiosk of pedestalled pay phones. Inside, personably sleazy freelance publicist Stu Shepard (Colin Farrell) is making his daily call to his young, aspiring actress girlfriend Pamela 'Pam' McFadden (Katie Holmes). Seems Stu prefers getting a hold of her this way - when he's not trying to convince her to meet him at a nearby hotel - because his wife, Kelly Shepard (Radha Mitchell), might find out about Pam through his cell phone bills. However, on this particular day, somebody is waiting for Shepard to pick up the phone. Somebody whose been listening in on those conversations for a while now. A sniper, armed with a thirty-action rifle and a history of killing people who don't heed his strangely obsessive need to set them straight and rudely hang up on him. And, it seems that's about to happen again, until Stu realizes not only is his life in danger but so are the lives of everyone around him - including anyone who bangs on the door demanding to make a phone call. He's stuck there. Unfortunately, somebody has to die for this to become crystal clear, and our unlikely hero is faced with the prospect of being shot by the police or seeing either Pam or Kelly (who both arrive on the scene) killed in cold blood before his eyes.

Hitchcock would be proud of this one, but would likely have come up with a far better ending for it. There actually is a story that 'Phone Booth' screenwriter Larry Cohen did approach the famous director with this idea, in the 1960's. Seems they couldn't figure out how to keep the entire movie contained in a phone booth though, so Cohen shelved it until it's likely he was inspired by unknown NYC film student Paul Hough's short, entitled 'End of the Line' (1996), to add a sniper as the antagonist. And, it works. Keifer Sutherland is eerily fantastic as the predominantly unseen gunman who's sadistic mind games keep you on the edge of your seat for the most part. Farrell does a fine job as well; carrying this picture as a fast-talking con man the audience initially loathes but learns to care about. It's really only during the last fifteen minutes that the script begins to unravel into a rather boring, teary-eyed morality play for emotive actors, spurred on by Forest Whitaker as the exasperatingly marshmallowy burnout Captain Ed Ramey, who tries to empathetically negotiate Stu's peaceful surrender. It does have the potential of being completely enjoyable for fans of in-your-face suspense, despite being packed into a space no bigger than, well, a small aluminum-framed and plexi-glass walled room made for one. Check it out.

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Power and Terror
REVIEWED 06/03, © STEPHEN BOURNE
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REVIEW:

Renowned Gadfly Guru Noam Chomsky (as himself) is followed by a camera crew during a series of lectures and speaking engagements throughout the United States in 2002. Some of his talks are obviously closely tied to promoting his recent book, '9-11', where others seem to be more in tuned with this seventy-three year-old's long-standing crusade against the dumbing down of society by governments bent on unchecked dominance. However, the main message of this rather short documentary is that power and terror have always been closely linked throughout the course of human civilization. That the only real difference regarding the September 11th terrorist attack against the US is that American civilians were victimized and killed on their own turf. Well, by somebody else. According to Chomsky, innumerable innocents have lost their lives as a direct result of the often-brutal foreign policies of such Superpowers as America for decades. And, he goes so far as to suggest that the easiest way for its current administration to stop terrorism is to stop participating in terrorist acts elsewhere in the world. Controversial stuff.

Sadly, the important points that Chomsky is encouraged to belabor are clumsily sidelined by this picture's fairly low quality editing. More than once, you're forced to sit through obnoxiously shameless product placement shots of the various books and other commercial sundries being sold in the Great Man's wake. Beaming-faced disciples are trotted in front of the camera to spout their affectionate sound bites for the (gasp) Chomsky Propaganda Machine, as though they've just held commiserations with a latter day Plato. Sure, I realize that this flick is really intended for a Japanese market and so each searing blow to any government's oppressive boot heel tactics needed to be wrapped in the guise of an Elvis in Hawaii backstage video, but we already know Noam knows activism. We already know he has legions of fans from all walks of life. We know he's devoted his life to freedom and justice for all. What we still don't know, after sitting through this slightly longer than an hour feel good fireside-like teaser, is much of anything else. It's just a big ad. There's nothing deeper offered than the few important opinions cited, with no real direction where one might learn more - except maybe by buying something from him. So, unless you need to impress your University buddies by showing them the ticket stub (I'll sell you mine. Cheap), rent the much better 'Manufacturing Consent' and don't believe the hype, folks.

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Pirates of the Caribbean
REVIEWED 07/03, © STEPHEN BOURNE
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REVIEW:

Eight hundred and eighty-two pieces of cursed Aztec gold, such as the ghoulishly ornate medallion feisty young debutante Elizabeth Swann (Keira Knightley) has kept locked away since finding it on a rescued yet unconscious castaway of a burning ship eight years earlier, have been the only treasures consuming the blood-thirsty pirate crew of The Black Pearl. For ten torturous years, that began shortly after greed and mutiny resulted in wily Captain Jack Sparrow's (Johnny Depp) unceremonious marooning, his devilish first mate-turned-captain Barbossa (Geoffrey Rush) and this motley band of cut-throats have scoured and plundered every Caribbean port and inlet in search of each shining coin they themselves had unwittingly scattered from an ominous stone chest buried on the tropical uncharted Isla de Muetra. To release themselves from an ancient evil that has haunted these ghastly men ever since. See, they dream of feeling the wind and spray of the sea on their faces once more. To taste the spoils and pleasures of the lives they once knew, before this sacred blood money first stolen by Cortez made them ghostly immortals who transform into wretched sword-wielding skeletons by moonlight. Now, their shredded dark sails have brought them to Jamaica's Port Royal and to the last piece they need - the one snuck away on that ragged waterlogged boy, who has since grown into lovelorn blacksmith and formidable swordsman Will Turner (Orlando Bloom), found during the Swann's voyage from England to this Coastal fortress town almost half a lifetime ago. However, Will's past holds a secret that becomes just as important to these malevolent buccaneers as the final trinket they've died a thousand deaths to salvage, and he and Jack make a tenuous pact to reclaim the Pearl and save Elizabeth from Barbossa's unholy scheme of insane sacrificial salvation to appease a heathen god...

Well, this rip-roaring swashbuckler inspired by the decades-old animatronic theme park ride of the same name takes a while to get going, but the script eventually lifts itself beyond merely resembling a coy Gilbert & Sullivan knock-off to becoming a thoroughly captivating and fairly original adventure all its own. Depp turns out a wonderfully over the top, Keith Richards-like performance as the mercurially enigmatic yet personably quirky, ship-challenged Sparrow. His first scene, casually stepping off his sinking boat, is hilariously priceless. Rush is the perfect nemesis, snarling out his lines with absolute dastardly delight, without allowing his surprisingly complex character to turn into a caricaturish pastiche of 'ayes and arrrs'. An entire movie could've easily been made about him alone. The set design and cinematography throughout truly pull you in to this seedy world that does seem heavily borrowed from Walt's robotic attraction (including a few key scenes), but the crowning visual achievement of this flick has to be the CGI skeletons created by ILM. Even if you didn't grow up loving stop-motion animation pioneer Ray Harryhausen's famous climactic fight scene in 'Jason and the Argonauts' (1963), the reminiscent swordplay-by-moonlight sequences seen on the big screen in this first PG-13 rated offering from flagship Disney Studios, will undoubtedly blow you away.

Sure, it's obvious this one's intended for a typically prepubescent Hollywood-suitored demographic, so the female roles are rather weak and somewhat momentum-killing, but if you can get past that and take it all in with a grain of salt, 'Pirates of the Caribbean' is by far the best picture from this genre I've seen in years. Wow.

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Paycheck
REVIEWED 01/04, © STEPHEN BOURNE
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REVIEW:

The last time Michael Jennings (Ben Affleck) freelance back-engineered anything for a private conglomerate, it was for the Nexem Corporation, meticulously pulling each component of their business rival A-Life's new top of the line 3-D flatscreen computer apart and systematically redesigning it from the ground up - with a few custom modifications - while holed up in a high-security lab for two months. He doesn't remember any of it. That was part of the deal. To use his adept, surgeon-like skills stripping down and revamping this patented piece of hardware and it's supporting software's secrets for his monopoly-hungry client in return for a twenty thousand dollar paycheque and a hole in his mind. See, lasers are used with pinpoint accuracy to destroy the synapses in Michael's brain that contain all memory of what he's just done. It's dangerous, though. If the heat from each zap nudges his core brain temperature over forty-two degrees Celsius, he's a vegetable. However, this is business. Can't leave any loose ends, where corporate espionage is concerned. That's why this time feels so different. And, it's not the promised big chunk of cash and company stocks that's strange. After spending three years completing the same sort of covert function in disassembling and reconfiguring a mysteriously shelved classified government project in optics for his buddy and president of Seattle-based Allcom, Jimmy Rethrick (Aaron Eckhart), Jennings is remembering things he shouldn't. Deja vu-like visions, spurred on by the nineteen rather ordinary items kept in a manila envelope that should have contained his personal belongings, but instead holds such junk as a paperclip, a book of matches, a pack of cigarettes and a disposable lighter, a can of hairspray and some ball bearings, a rather sublime fortune cookie saying with some numbers printed on the back, and a gold-tipped bullet. What was he thinking? He doesn't remember Rachel (Uma Thurman), the lithe blonde biologist - and his devoted girlfriend for the past thirty-six months - who supervised the high-tech arboretum of tropical plants nestled across the hall from his mainframe-cramped grey laboratory, but when the FBI grab him and the smoke detector activates a blinding fog of fire retarding foam in that claustrophobic interrogation room, he automatically knows to wear the cheap pair of sunglasses found amongst those sundries, to bypass his captors and see his way to tenuous freedom. It's as if he knew ahead of time what would happen. Michael can't explain it, but he soon realizes that all the answers are back at Allcom's heavily guarded complex. Problem is, Jimmy expected him to be dead by now. So, Jennings' quest for the truth becomes a breakneck race against time as he pieces together this jigsaw on the run, and quickly discovers a catastrophic path of destruction for this planet that he's unwittingly already set into motion...

Posthumously acclaimed worldwide, Chicago-born Science Fiction author and philosopher Phillip K. Dick (1928-1982) apparently wrote over 120 short stories and several novels during his prolific yet troubled life, with 'Paycheck' first seeing print in long-defunct Greenleaf Publishing's Imagination Magazine in the Summer of 1953. Two years before his death; before the heavily rewritten adaptation of his book 'Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?' was released in movie theatres as 'Blade Runner' (1982), Dick wrote, "The SF writer sees not just possibilities but wild possibilities. It's not just 'What if' - it's 'My God; what if' - in frenzy and hysteria." Well, that dogma is certainly put to good use here, in director John Woo's first definitive stab at this genre where peering into the future ultimately reaps havoc, and one man armed with a jumble of clues has to repeatedly blast through a gauntlet of trigger-happy goons and Feds while the audience is sucked into this captivating puzzle. That aspect of this action-thriller, while sometimes a bit clunky and in desperate need of some semblance of foreshadowing, is undeniably fresh for the most part. Woo's vision of 2007 is eerily similar to our current reality at the dawn of 2004, with a lot of the futuristic retrofits shot on location in Vancouver heavily toned down to the point where it feels as though he's still more interested in the bullet-riddled stunts and martial arts choreographed fight scenes, rather than envisioning a 'phildickian' shift from the norm. That's fine as well, and is hugely entertaining as each subsequent pique of violence hammers across the screen in trademark slow motion. However, the story does suffer from that, because the actual machine that's at the heart of this mystery ends up feeling like what Alfred Hitchcock used to call a Maguffen. It doesn't matter, so it's only briefly explained. Nor does it seem to matter how Affleck's mild-mannered grey-suited tinkerer suddenly knows exactly what props to use - or how to use them - whenever needed to keep the plot chugging along. Granted, I'm not a big fan of either Affleck or Thurman, finding them both to be gratingly enthusiastic yet fairly unconvincing actors at the best of times, but Dean Georgaris' script doesn't seem to help them much. It pretty well shuffles them and the supporting cast through each set, like furl browed glassy-eyed puppets on somewhat obvious invisible strings, towards the next Mexican stand-off or death-defying escape. 'Paycheck' is a good, turn your brain off and let the techno babble wash over you kind of fugitive run, but when it also encourages you to invest some sleuthing grey matter into it, well, that's where things start to unintentionally fall apart over-all.

Check it out as a mildly satisfactory rental if you're a fan of anyone connected with this B-grade film, but don't expect anything as eye-popping or memorable as 'Minority Report' (2002) or even the fairly cheesy 'Total Recall' (1990) - both based on Phillip K. Dick stories.

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Pieces of April
REVIEWED 02/04, © STEPHEN BOURNE
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REVIEW:

April Burns (Katie Holmes) describes herself as the 'first pancake'; the one you're supposed to throw away. Infamously remembered as the pernicious wild child of the family, this tattooed twenty-something Punk has invited her suburban parents and two younger siblings to her cramped and dingy Lower East Side Manhattan apartment for a homemade Thanksgiving dinner. As a kind of reconciliation get together, in the wake of her forty-two year-old, cancer-surviving mother Joy's (Patricia Clarkson) emotionally invasion double mastectomy. Extremely nervous and completely out of her league in the kitchen, April wants it to be a special occasion. Creating handmade cards for the wobbley table, hanging balloon-lined hallway decorations up the narrow stairs to hers and boyfriend Bobby's (Derek Luke) third storey digs, and attempting to cook a fifteen pound turkey from scratch - for the first time in her young life. Problem is, the oven that's normally used as storage space doesn't want to work as, well, an oven. Calling the slummy building's landlord just gets his answering machine. So, while the Burns clan steadily and skeptically approach, with her senile Grandmother Dottie (Alice Drummond) in tow, on their thirteen-hour roadtrip to the Big Apple, April clamours to borrow a neighbour's oven to properly cook her haphazardly stuffed bird before their Chrysler stationwagon pulls up to the graffitti-scrawled street-level entrance. Luckily, the couple in 2C are willing to oblige her, postponing their sumptuously prepared gourmet homecoming meal to allow April a couple of hours to find another oven to finish off the five-hour cooking time stated in the recipe she got over the phone from her doting father Jim (Oliver Platt). Like her, he wants this to be a happy memory for his ailing wife - one of very few they have of their eldest daughter, as the family soon discovers while reminiscing over the course of their thousand-mile drive. However, when initially helpful vegan Tish (Susan Bruce) in 4A smugly decides she just can't stand the smell of flesh cooking after-all, and Wayne (Sean Hayes) in 5D offers his newly installed self-cleaning stainless steel convection oven with built in roast rack and frameless glass door, April ends up frantically calling in a kidnapping claim to police...

What a delightfully charming wry comedy of errors write/director Peter Hedges dishes up here. Shot entirely with a high-end camcorder, 'Pieces of April' starts off as a decidely small picture that eases you in to the underlying chaos of these peoples' lives. Holmes is great, wonderfully carrying the comedically deadpan majority of this story as she continually wrestles against Murphy's Law at almost every step forward. You want her to succeed, and that's what pulls you in and keeps you captivated through the relatively compact eighty-minute screentime. However, this is by far Clarkson's movie. Not only because Hedges' script feels suspiciously like an homage to his own mother - dedicating this film to her in the closing credits - but because the character of Joy is such a bundle of ragged emotions and mood swings, as the chemo-weakened tenuous leader of this numbed family stuck in death watch mode for the most part. She's a dying star, dragging all who orbit her down into a kind of brittle instability of self-preservation, where being positive just means hopelessly going through the motions. Brilliant, and definitely deserving of the awards she's garnered from this insightful performance. My only problem with it was near the end, where Joy has a realization about her relationship with April that could have been bolstered by the smallest line of confessional-like dialogue, just to keep a paying audience tuned in to what's going on inside her head. I also found that Luke seemed too tightly reined in his supporting role and peripheral subplot, as though nobody really knew what to do with him here. However, these are minor flaws, and certainly don't detract from the over-all enjoyment of this highly entertaining and often quirky flick. In fact, my initial dread that this was simply going to be yet another off-Broadway stage experiment transplanted onto the big screen completely evaporated once things got going. That's delightfully rare, making this offering a thoroughly memorable surprise.

Do yourself a favour and make the effort to check out this marvelously juicy gem. Good stuff.

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The Passion of the Christ
REVIEWED 03/04, © STEPHEN BOURNE
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REVIEW:

It's not easy being Jesus. Incessantly tormented by Satan (Rosalinda Celentano) and cowardly betrayed to His earthbound enemies by disciple Judas (Luca Lionello) for thirty silver coins; arrested for heresy by brutish temple guards at night in the Garden of Gethsemane and dragged in shackles under a pale full moon before Jerusalem's leading Sanhedrin, a beaten and bloodied Jesus of Galilee (James Caviezel) endures overwhelming ridicule and bitter judgment within the dimly-lit Synagogue of the High Priest Caiphas (Mattia Sbragia). This former Jewish carpenter and popular vocal teacher of God's Word has been deemed the worst kind of criminal, by adamantly claiming to be the son of Jehovah and undermining the prevailing Faith with magic. Christ knew this would happen, but chose not to escape with most of His trusted followers to safety, healing one of His captors and facing His mortal detractors with quiet steadfast grace. The temple priests want Him swiftly dealt with for His treachery. So does the angry mob of onlookers crammed into that small Holy place and made to believe those paid to give false witness against this easily entrapped threat. Condemned to death, Jesus' foregone fate is quickly sealed within minutes. However, this religious council does not want His blood on its collective hands - so close to the annual Sabbath - conceding instead to their European overlords who occupy and forcefully control this sacred land. So, Christ is brought into the columned open Praetorium of Rome's installed Governor Pontius Pilate (Hristo Shopov) at dawn, where Caiphas toys with the truth and demands He be judged guilty of treason against the Emperor for inciting a revolt. Pilate is reasonably skeptical that the suggested death sentence truly fits the crime but, after this obviously much-hated malefactor is returned from the debauchery-fogged court of a bemused yet unconvinced King Herod, is brutally scourged within an inch of His life in public by Pontius' savage palace executioners in a failed attempt to punish Him to the satisfaction the riled crowd, and is then resoundingly passed over for release in favour of the insane mass murderer Barabbas, Pilate uneasily concedes to the peoples' insistent demands. Evading a riot by ordering that this now horrifically tortured and reviled 'King of the Jews' be burdened with the weight of a one hundred and fifty pound roughly hewn wooden cross while being paraded with two patibulum-bearing thieves through the winding narrow streets of an outraged populous under watchful malevolent guard, and summarily crucified outside the city walls at the Mount of Olives before the eyes of His distraught mother and friends, His jeering persecutors, and His now-silent God.

In one form or another, we all pretty well know this story from either reading passages of The Bible or seeing various depictions of Christ's life in movies and on TV. His passion being for Mankind, accepting all of humanity's sins and making the ultimate sacrifice for them on our behalf, according to Christians. What you're treated to here is a relentlessly gory yet artfully thought-provoking, completely sub-titled and mature interpretation of Jesus' last hours before His crucifixion and subsequent resurrection. As told in the New Testament and (it would seem) the published visions of German prophet, seer and stigmatic the Venerable Anne Catherine Emmerich (1774-1824) documented in "The Dolorous Passion of Our Lord Jesus Christ according to the Meditations of Anne Catherine Emmerich" by 19th Century poet Klemens Brentano. This particular self-professed non-historic 382-paged book first saw print in 1833, and several key scenes from co-writer/director Mel Gibson's cinematic representation of events do resemble Emmerich's somewhat more graphic accounts - although he's publicly denied its controversial influence. Yes, shot in Aramaic, Latin and Hebrew on location in Italy, 'The Passion of the Christ' is chilling and gruesome for the most part. It's easily a peer of contemporary Hollywood violence - already apparently surpassing every showing, in garnering the most pre-release ticket sales in movie history - and understandably does take a few Faithful and artistic liberties over prevailing scientific findings here and there. Moot points. Besides Caviezel reportedly having to endure full body make up, freezing temperatures, and several injuries during production (including being hit by lightening), his portrayal of the Messiah involves being systematically flayed and mashed to a staggering soggy mess by virtually any reprehensible means possible throughout the majority of this screening. What's more noteworthy is in how a paying audience is kept captivated throughout this ordeal, by how the brutality towards Him affects so many others and changes some of them. Inspirational, frankly. Both the top notch main supporting cast and John Wright's absolutely wonderful editing of the intense effects and pivotal familiar flashbacks keep you totally riveted to what transpires from beginning to end, turning this into a surprisingly satisfying and strong human drama well worth the price of admission. From Francesco De Vito's fiery repentance as Peter to Maia Morgenstern's heartbroken Mother Mary, Monica Bellucci visibly shaken Magdalene to Shopov's emotionally torn Pilate, this visually medieval masterpiece-tinged flick truly is a smart and touching version that stays with you afterwards. Beautiful camerawork by Caleb Deschanel. Powerful screenplay by Gibson and Benedict Fitzgerald. Incredible acting from all involved.

This is definitely a must-see in the theatres, whether you're a true believer or not... on an empty stomach, probably. Awesome.

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The Punisher
REVIEWED 05/04, © STEPHEN BOURNE
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REVIEW:

Based on the darkly brooding Marvel Comics character that creator Gerry Conway initially introduced in 1974 as a one-shot vigilante nemesis of Spider-Man - but soon gained popularity under his own titles from the 80's onward - this revamped revenge tale about retired federal agent Frank Castle (Thomas Jane) is definitely quite different than the decidedly cheesy 1989 US/Australian release starring Dolph Lundgren.

For starters, this one doesn't suck. Sure, pretty well all of the main characters are familiar caricatures torn from your cartoon of choice, but first time director Jonathan Hensleigh surprisingly presents this actioner in often dramatic visuals heavily reminiscent of renowned comic book wunderkind Frank Miller's illustrations throughout its two hour and four minute screen time. Awesome. And, while Jane pulls in a fairly good performance as the likeably seething archangel of destructive punishment haunted by the brutal murder of his entire family, John Travolta gives us an equally impressive villain as Floridian drug lord and thunderously grieving father Howard Saint. What Hensleigh - who wrote the screenplays for 'Die Hard: With a Vengeance' (1995) and 'Armageddon' (1998) - and co-writer Michael France - who penned 'Golden Eye' (1995) - do here is masterfully pull out all the stops in giving a paying audience exactly what's expected from this rather bloody pyrotechnic genre, without getting too hung up on character development or labyrinthine plotlines. Normally, that would likely make for a dull time watching this death dealing killer storm through each scene with guns blazing. However, in this case, you're given reasons to care what happens to Castle as he systematically doles out each move in a delightfully ingenious scheme to completely destroy Saint. That is, while Saint and his right hand goon Quentin Glass (Will Patton) send subsequently more dangerous bone-breakers from their arsenal of hired thugs Frank's way. The entire scenario featuring Mark Collie as guitar-picking headhunter Harry Heck is priceless.

Despite this movie's slightly goofy ending, definitely check this one out as a worthwhile rental from the glut of comics-based cinematic turkeys being cranked out these days.

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The Princess Diaries 2
REVIEWED 08/04, © STEPHEN BOURNE
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REVIEW:

Anne Hathaway returns as the fictitious European country of Genovia's Princess Amelia Mignonette 'Mia' Grimaldi Thermopolis Renaldi, now fresh from graduating college five years after this clumsy San Francisco schoolgirl first discovered her regal heritage in the original 'The Princess Diaries' (2001) that was loosely based on the popular 2000 teen reader novel by American author Meg Cabot. Director Garry Marshall pretty well brings back all of the primary cast members - including Julie Andrews as the now retiring Queen Clarisse Renaldi, and Hector Elizondo as head of royal security Joseph - in this fairly innocent romantic comedy where Mia must decide for sure if she wants to accept the throne (meaning, get married as dictated by law), or acquiesce to the machinations of Viscount Mabrey (John Rhys-Davies) and his ready to be kinged silver-tongued nephew Nicholas Devereaux (Chris Pine).

If you're a fan of the first flick, you'll probably enjoy this light-hearted Ugly Duckling/Cinderella-like continuation. However, if you're a fan of the books, screenwriter Shonda Rhimes' offering apparently has little in common with Cabot's 2001 published follow-up 'Princess in the Spotlight' or any of the 'Princess Diaries' series beyond using the character names. Manhattan-based Mia's still sixteen in the recent 2004 hardcover 'Princess in Pink', while our big screen California Mia is celebrating her twenty-first birthday here. Cabot seems to not have any problem with this, stating, "Some people think I shouldn't have sold the rights to my characters to Disney, because these people don't approve of what Disney is doing with those characters. I am guessing that these are people who have parents who pay for everything, or who are perhaps independently wealthy. People who actually have to WORK for a living, like me, really like it when someone gives them a lot of money for something they invented - in this case, my characters", on her official website at http://www.megcabot.com. Aside from all of that, Hathaway still manages to astoundingly lift a paying audience's level of enjoyment throughout this sequel's obvious and somewhat contrived script by sheer presence and playfulness. 'The Princess Diaries 2, Royal Engagement' is definitely a fluffy popcorn feature intended for young and young at heart girls, where the goofy sight gags are abundant and the expected happy ending is given a mild twist, but where its biggest assets are still the actors. Not the story. You can see the chemistry between Mia and Nicholas from a mile away. And, it's a pleasure seeing what Andrews and Elizondo do with their relationship - which apparently wasn't scripted in the original movie, but developed during production - as an interesting juxtaposition to what Hathaway's character goes through. The cameos from Larry Miller, Stan Lee, Spencer Breslin, Paul Williams (remember Swan from 'Phantom of the Paradise' (1974)?), and a soundtrack tune by Lindsay Lohan, are fun as well. Unfortunately, it's the rather unimaginative camerawork by Charles Minsky that ruins much of this feel-good screening. There are several times where you almost feel as though you need to sit in the front row theatre seats in order to clearly see what's going on. Such as during the big Coronation scene, for instance.

Check it out as an enjoyably light, family-friendly hundred and fifteen minute rental, but there aren't a lot of surprises if you've seen the ads (that seem retooled from out takes, in hindsight) for it.

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Paparazzi
REVIEWED 09/04, © STEPHEN BOURNE
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REVIEW:

Temporarily amazed that about six months ago, Montana-born breakout action star of Hollywood's new highly-anticipated movie Adrenaline Force, Bo Laramie (Cole Hauser; 'Tigerland' (2000), '2 Fast 2 Furious' (2003)), was a complete unknown, he and his small family quickly face relentless character assassination by a thousand intrusive photos from the ever-peering lens of four unscrupulous tabloid newspaper photographers led by renowned celebrity shooter Rex Harper (Tom Sizemore; 'Natural Born Killers (1994), 'Dreamcatcher' (2003)). Clocking one of them in the mouth for snapping his son merely got Bo sued and humiliated. However, when a near-fatal collision later caused by Harper and his cronies' blinding ambush of scattershot flashing cameras puts Laramie's wife Abbey (Robin Tunney; 'End of Days' (1999), 'The In-Laws' (2003)) in intensive care with a ruptured spleen, and throws their young son into a coma, Bo's frustrated anger turns to cold revenge in response to Rex's determination to completely invade his life and home - after one of Harper's front page photo-hungry cohorts is killed in a freak accident on a lonely California mountain road. An accident that LAPD veteran Detective Burton (ex-Chicago cop Dennis Farina; 'Get Shorty' (1995), 'Snatch' (2000)) soon realizes Laramie's involvement in, as a second paparazzi is violently gunned down.

Sitting through this incredibly captivating ninety-five minute crime drama, it was tough not to compare the initial car accident scenes to the similarly horrifying and controversial real life crash in the Pont de l'Alma road tunnel by the north bank of the River Seine in Paris, France that subsequently took the lives of then-recently divorced Lady Diana Frances Spencer (the Princess of Wales) and her millionaire boyfriend Dodi Al-Fayed, after their Mercedes was pursued by nine French photographers in August 1997. Co-Producer Mel Gibson apparently does concede that the idea for 'Paparazzi' - a well known and somewhat derogatory moniker referring to Walter Santesso's obsessive photographer Signor Paparazzo, from Federico Fellini's (1920-1993) classic Oscar-winning Italian film 'La Dolce Vita' (1960) - grew from realizing various flash bulb horror stories shared by him and celebrity friends would make a great revenge movie. And, it's somewhat ironic that this hugely entertaining flick's executive producer Louise Rosner was line producer and unit production manager for several of the tabloid-stalked Olsen twins' 'Adventures of Mary-Kate & Ashley' direct to video adventures, but it's really former hairstylist turned longtime director Paul Abascal's wonderfully captivating vision matched by first timer Forrest Smith's unflinching screenplay that makes this $20 million movie such an intensely satisfying picture. Hauser is fabulous here, as his relatively unassuming nice guy character is relentlessly goaded by Sizemore's maliciously boorish antagonistic probing, towards Laramie exacting deliciously brilliant and brutal punishments that one can only speculate many big screen celebrities have considered doing from time to time. I almost expected the likes of Sean Penn and Alec Baldwin to make two-fisted appearances amongst the star-studded cameos here that include Chris Rock, Vince Vaughn, and an hilariously underplayed short scene with Gibson as an unnamed anger management patient armed with a thickly indexed and colour-coded self-made rage therapy journal. Sure, there are a few clichéd moments that are obviously contrived in order to encourage sympathy for this beleaguered protagonist who seems to enjoy his sudden wealth from fame but isn't willing to pay the claustrophobic price of celebrity, but this truly is an immensely worthwhile flick that masterfully keeps a paying audience on the edge of their seats in anticipation of what devilish twists and turns will unfold as those four understandably vilified paparazzi - which include Baldwin's younger brother Daniel as probably the scariest one of the bunch - get their comeuppance, as Farina's Columbo-like sleuth keeps a close yet empathetic eye on this mounting string of not-so mysteriously-linked murders.

Awesome. You might need to hunt around to find it in theatres, but definitely check out this surprisingly smart and thoroughly superior thriller.

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The Polar Express
REVIEWED 12/04, © STEPHEN BOURNE
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REVIEW:

When hard facts found in his small collection of newspaper clippings and a fairly bleak description of the North Pole in his World Encyclopedia set threaten to completely turn a young Grand Rapids, Michigan boy's (voiced by Daryl Sabara) precocious mind against believing in Santa Claus, his sleeplessly hopeful Christmas Eve slumber is noisily interrupted minutes before the stroke of midnight by the chugging, thunderous clatter of a magical locomotive - The Polar Express - pulling up alongside his snow swept front yard. The Conductor (Tom Hanks; 'Big' (1988), 'The Terminal' (2004)) points out that this is the first year this confused prepubescent has missed writing his seasonal wish list letter; also avoiding his annual photo shoot on the lap of the local department store's jolly bearded gent, making this the boy's crucial year and the reason why he has been given the opportunity of his life to join a small group of children destined to meet the big man himself, on this round trip rail ride through perilous wilderness towards the heart of Saint Nicholas' shimmering Arctic city of elves and toy factories.

Based on children's author/illustrator Chris Van Allsburg's acclaimed same-titled 1985 storybook and brought to the big screen through a computer animation version of rotoscoping (or, tracing filmed live actors frame by frame) called motion capture, this oftentimes rollicking morality play is in many ways an astounding achievement. Co-writer/Oscar-winning director Robert Zemeckis' and William Broyles Jr.'s lushly presented screenplay wonderfully captures the spirit of adventure and childhood belief throughout, as it throws a series of simple dilemmas at this nameless boy and his newly-made friends (voiced by Nona M. Gaye and Dante Pastula). In that respect, this hundred and twelve minute contemporary classic is an incredibly eye-popping marvel sure to delight a paying audience of both young and old moviegoers eager to find a thoroughly enjoyable new holiday favourite. Unfortunately, the technology used to create this cinematic fantasy does get in the way of you completely accepting its otherwise captivating tale - particularly in how these characters' facial expressions all seem unintentionally creepy for the most part, in much the same way that the process of colourizing old movies makes those timeless gems look unnecessarily weird by comparison. The people here look distorted and strange when they apparently shouldn't. It's also vaguely humourous that nothing but unpopulated mountainous terrain seems to exist between America and the North Pole, but perhaps the train merely took an express line that misses Canada all together.

Yes, just like 'The Last Starfighter' (1984) and 'Final Fantasy' (2001), 'The Polar Express' is undoubtedly a monumental leap forward in realistic CGI animation over-all. The sets and landscapes, machinery and animals are all truly astounding-looking. And, the tight story itself is impressively told. However, don't be surprised if you find yourself secretly wondering why Zemeckis didn't just choose to instead have these live actors superimposed into his otherwise visually stunning and wondrous romp - as recently seen in 'Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow' (2004).

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Primer
REVIEWED 12/04, © STEPHEN BOURNE
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REVIEW:

Cortex Semiconductor specialists Aaron (Shane Carruth), Abe Terger (David Sullivan), Robert (Casey Gooden) and Phillip (Anand Upadhyaya) are part time entrepreneurs, tirelessly working ridiculous hours for their own small company, Emiba, in Aaron's cramped garage. It's unclear what these young men are building, but when Abe stumbles upon the strange results of their secretive experiments, he brings Aaron into the equation. The results are staggering. Impossible. That two-foot square, metallic box they've fashioned out of household parts hooked up to a couple of car batteries has done something unimaginable. Revolutionary. Dangerous. Aaron's wife Kara (Carrie Crawford) is completely oblivious to what's going on in their suburban Texas home, even after it's deemed necessary to black out and lock down their two-car garage of homemade electronics. Later, while these two co-workers are struggling with the enormity of their discovery, Aaron sees Terger walking into a secluded storage warehouse in the distance. Their experiment has already been magnified. Abe has already taken the next logical leap. Nervously armed with enough supplies to sustain him, Aaron soon follows. Into the unknown. Dooming them both to face the unenviable challenge of managing this life altering experience before it horribly unravels into uncontrollable mayhem for all concerned.

This potentially satisfying, double Sundance-winning independent film from first time actor/writer/director/everything Carruth feels a lot like an extremely serious, low key second cousin to such Hollywood features as 'Back to the Future' (1985) and 'Millennium' (1989) and, well, an extremely distant relative to English novelist Herbert George 'H.G.' Wells' (1866-1946) famous 1896 science fiction, The Time Machine, much of the time. It's contemporary and stark, loosely edited to obviously keep a paying audience guessing, and features a wealth of techno-science bafflegab that's surprisingly fresh throughout. All the same, 'Primer' clicks out more as a seventy-eight minute raw experiment on video. Where this small impressive cast is given the wonderfully rich opportunity to fully examine the consequences of their actions towards their (apparently) already defined conclusions. How they get there is dragged out pretense. The main problem is, it's also the type of movie that attempts to challenge viewers to read between the lines a lot of the time. Seemingly uninterested in making key plot points obvious or clearly intelligible. You're forced to guess as little more than an eavesdropper at what's going on, sometimes making that internalized process more important than simply enjoying what's happening on the big screen. Everything presented is heavily downplayed, or severely blurred by Upadhyaya's stylized camerawork, including the conflicts that arise and then seem to fizzle out for no apparent reason. Yes, the paradigm of time travel and what it does to people is aptly demonstrated here. And yes, the main players are convincing enough to pull in some memorable performances without being given a lot to work with on a shoestring budget. However, the entire end result still seems unfinished and in need of several detailed scenes to more fully complete this otherwise compelling journey. Simply expecting ticket holders to go watch it again - once they know how it ends - really isn't good enough. I doubt a second screening would make much of a difference, frankly.

Definitely check out this small offering as an insightfully curious rental that's well worth inspiring thoughtful discussion afterwards, but don't expect any tangibly satisfying entertainment value out of it once they figure out the fungus among us.

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The Phantom of the Opera
REVIEWED 12/04, © STEPHEN BOURNE
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REVIEW:

The 1919 auction of dusty forgotten sundries from Paris' once majestic Opera Populaire brings with it a flood of memories to the aged Vicomte Raoul de Chagny (Patrick Wilson; 'My Sister's Wedding' (2001), 'The Alamo' (2004)). Thoughts of the new owners of that now crumbling ruin, and their foolish ignorance of the long-feared Opera Ghost - The Phantom of the Opera (Glasgow's Gerard Butler; 'Mrs. Brown' (1997), 'Lara Croft Tomb Raider: The Cradle of Life' (2003)) - and that underworld creature's tyrannical demands, in 1870. Raoul recalls his first glimpse of Christine Daaé (Emmy Rossum; 'Mystic River' (2003), 'The Day After Tomorrow' (2004)), the house diva Carlotta's (Minnie Driver; 'Grosse Pointe Blank' (1997), 'Owning Mahowny' (2003)) unassuming understudy and The Phantom's rising protegee, many years since de Chagny's and Daaé's days as childhood playmates had passed. He remembers how she called that ghoul her Angel of Music, citing him and her beloved deceased father in the same breath. Dearest Christine. Her soft touch. Her warm taste, as they stole a first kiss under the snowy moonlight on that theatre's ornate roof. And, the terror of violence that roared over them both, as their blossoming love that soon turned to plans of marriage ignited The Phantom's jealous wrath towards a murderous end. Every detail of passion and death; as though it had happened yesterday, Raoul remembers it all. As does Madame Giry (Miranda Richardson; 'The Crying Game' (1992), 'The Hours' (2002)), the Populaire's matron and secret ally of the Opera Ghost, whose saddened eyes meet his from across the musty air of that broken jewel's pigeon-infested rubble, as the auctioneer presents Lot #666: The huge, partially refurbished crystal chandelier. The same one that sparkled from this regal house's opulent domed ceiling, until insane rage sent it crashing into the opening night audience of screaming dignitaries and horrified French aristocracy. The night that the Angel of Music became the Devil incarnate for the last time... perhaps.

Reportedly taking fourteen years to adapt as a big screen version of Oscar-winning co-screenwriter/composer Sir Andrew Lloyd Webber's ('Jesus Christ Superstar' (1973), 'Evita' (1996)) long-running 1986 musical stage play, with both loosely based on globe trotting Le Matin journalist, temporary filmmaker and prolific French writer Gaston Louis Alfred Leroux's (1868-1927) classic 1911 novel, this elaborately operatic flick feels strangely unfinished for the most part. As though co-screenwriter/director Joel Schumacher ('The Lost Boys' (1987), 'Veronica Guerin' (2003)) had lost interest in making anything other than a community television channel recording of the play, without trying to fashion this picture for a wider audience of moviegoers. So much of the story's plot and important dialogue is muddled within Lloyd Webber's, Charles Hart's and Richard Stilgoe's collaboratively-scored songs; as opposed to what's seen in most Hollywood musicals, where the music enhances the cast's spoken lines, or it lyrically articulates their emotions, that it's tough for a paying audience to avoid reverting to vague memories of the book - or to Leonidas 'Lon' Chaney Sr.'s (1883-1930) iconic depiction of Erik (The Phantom of the Opera) in the classic 1925 silent film - for key story clues throughout this hundred and forty-three minute disaster. Sure, a lot of the brief CGI enhanced moments are impressive, and Wilson and Richardson do pull in fairly good supporting performances here. However, there's no tangible fire to Butler's starring efforts while storming around in a white half mask that makes him look like he's been hit with a badly aimed cream pie, and it's almost painful watching Rossum wrestle with her severely confused and slack-jawed role. How many sweet young women who aren't vampires would visit a grave site wearing a low cut lingerie-like blouse in the dead of winter, for instance? The actors are merely used as pretty finger puppets. Their talents are wasted. Nothing pulls you in, keeping you at arm's length, expected to soak it all in by osmosis, I guess. What clearly matters are the theatrical sets, the puffy costumes and dime store make up and, above all, the swelling music made famous by Brit actor Michael Crawford ('A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum' (1966), 'Condorman' (1981)) and Lloyd Webber's ex-wife, singer Sarah Brightman on the London stage almost two decades ago, apparently. They're not enough to hold your interest. Frankly, it was more fun staving off comatose boredom by picking out not-so subtle homages to cinematic greats such as the surreal hallway from 'La Belle et la Bête' (1946), the mirror showdown from 'The Lady from Shanghai' (1947), and the freak show scene from 'The Elephant Man' (1980), than waiting for another bone-rattling aria to shove aside each unconvincing scene of dull drama and lazy camerawork.

Rent this one if you've already seen and loved the play, maybe check out the soundtrack while watching the far superior 1925 Chaney Sr. horror, but steer clear of this turkey in the theatres if you're hoping for a worthwhile contemporary offering.

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P.S.
REVIEWED 01/05, © STEPHEN BOURNE
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REVIEW:

The kerchief still smells of him. Kept safely hidden within a small blue shoe box, in her old bedroom closet, surrounded by guards of unblossomed rosebud wallpaper. That cherished piece of cloth, his Vineyard & Cheese's plastic name tag, this crumpled oil paint tube marbled by his smudged fingerprints, that faded envelope, and these twenty year-old memories welling up inside of her now, are all that Louise Harrington (Laura Linney; 'Primal Fear' (1996), 'Love Actually' (2003)) has left of Scott. Tall and perfect Scott Feinstadt, her first true romantic love. The real Scott, who died in a terrible accident a long time ago. Not this Scott. This tall and perfect and very young F. Scott Feinstadt (Topher Grace; 'Traffic' (2000), 'Win a Date with Tad Hamilton!' (2004)) who will sit across from Louise as an applicant to Columbia University's Fine Arts Program tomorrow. She will see for herself. She knew it was unusual to ask him in for an interview, but something inside of her needed to see him. To satisfy this thirty-nine year-old Admissions Director's uncharacteristic curiosity about whether or not this is all some weird coincidence or something more. They have the same names. It's uncanny. Tomorrow she will peel open that keepsake envelope, unfold that yellowed sheet of paper from inside it, and compare his face to the perfect self portrait drawn in ballpoint pen. This Scott Feinstadt... this F. Scott Feinstadt, I mean... can't be the same boy she loved and then lost. Seriously, this can't possibly be some kind of second chance for her, a lifetime and a failed marriage later. Can it? Even after they meet and Louise sees the resemblance - his eyes, his smile, his pure artistic demeanour and self-assured swagger - how can this be happening? They even paint the same way. It's him, but not him. It's all so confusing. So dangerously exhilarating, feeling his touch electrify her like that again, alone together in her apartment. Feeling. Letting go. Being alive for the first time in a long time. As though this is the moment that she's been waiting for, ever since he left...

Wow. Based on Helen Schulman's 2001 book, P.S.: A Novel, this delightfully fresh, ninety-seven minute 2004 independent film from writer/director Dylan Kidd ('Roger Dodger' (2002)) is an incredibly rich character study of one woman's obsession with her past and what might have been. Linney pulls in an extraordinary job here, with Grace and Gabriel Byrne ('The Man in the Iron Mask (1998), 'Ghost Ship' (2002)) easily stepping into their roles. This entire picture has a certain intelligence and quiet grace about it that's rarely seen on the big screen, making it a wonderfully surprising gem worth discovering. Sure, some of the events that transpire early on do feel slightly contrived - even though it's highly conceivable that any red blooded young hetero man would instantly be mesmerized by the prospect of bedding such a voluptuous older woman - and, the soundtrack does become rather inappropriate as it aggravatingly pumps out an Eighties television drama-like beat throughout. However, it's the small, empathetic story of Harrington that almost instantly grabs your interest and keeps you fascinated by what transpires that truly propels this decidedly mature flick above and beyond any of its minor flaws. Linney is one of the few actors today who can deftly convey an incredible range of emotion and internal monologue without saying a word, and without making a paying audience feel as though you're watching a Mime at work. How she does it is pure magic, frankly. Here, as the starring figure carrying the majority of the script on her shoulders, Linney once again proves just what an immensely under rated talent - at least for now - that she obviously is. Awesome. An even bigger joy is in seeing her and Marcia Gay Harden ('Space Cowboys' (2000), 'Mona Lisa Smile' (2003)) play off of each other as slightly rivaling, long time friends. Harden is clearly a force of nature when given such a brilliantly meaty role to sink her teeth into. Kidd's screenplay is rife with extremely sharp dialogue and clever twists of human fate, where you can't help but feel as though these believable on-screen people are actually listening and reacting to each other without pandering to the camera or any need to be entertaining. Making 'P.S.' even more entertaining and captivating in the process.

Definitely check out this tremendously worthwhile, star-studded picture that will likely stay with you long after the closing credits.

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Pooh's Heffalump Movie
REVIEWED 02/05, © STEPHEN BOURNE
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REVIEW:

Something strange and very, very big has entered the small green patch of the Hundred Acre Woods where Winnie the Pooh (voiced by Jim Cummings; 'Aladdin' (1992), 'The Jungle Book 2' (2003)) and his friends Piglet (John Fiedler), Tigger (Cummings), Rabbit (Ken Sansom), Eeyore (Peter Cullen), Kanga (Kath Soucie) and Roo (Jimmy Bennett) happily live. It all started one usually sunny morning, when Pooh was suddenly awakened from a perfectly delicious dream of brimming honey pots, by a terrible, frightening sound. Tiny Piglet heard it too, tumbling in panic from his own warm bed, and scurrying outside while still fearfully wrapped up in his blanket. Next to wake up to that eerily awful noise was Tigger, who bounced out of his cot so fast that he bumped his head against the wall of his cozy hut. "It's a catastrophoid!" he yelped, as these friends gathered at Rabbit's house, scared and wondering what to do. However, it was young Roo who noticed the rather large and heavy foot prints in the grass. Clearly made by something even larger and heavier than any of them. Made by a dreaded Heffalump. None of them had ever actually seen one, but most of them know that Heffalumps have fiery eyes and a tail like a spike; are as wide as a river and as tall as a tree, and have three horns above and eleven below. A three-headed, honey stealing, home wrecking Heffalump was on the loose. Forcing them to gather up their courage and set out on the very first Grand Heffalump Expedition into the shadowy, dangerous Heffalump Hollow nearby, and capture that terrible, mystical beastie with Rabbit in the lead. And, with Roo left behind because he was too young and could get hurt. His mother, Kanga, tried to comfort the little Roo, but he headed into the hollow alone anyways. Through the old wooden fence at the edge of the deep forest, into the low gully and over the jagged rocks and bushes and trees, to a broken down stone mill by the river, where something was hiding in the dark. As it turns out, Heffridge Trumpler Brompet 'Lumpy' Heffalump the Third (Kyle Stanger) isn't so scary at all, and the two quickly become friends while the others' daring expedition continues elsewhere. That is, until Roo and Lumpy play their games a little too long and then go back through the fence, where Rabbit, Tigger, Pooh and Piglet end up thinking that Roo has been captured by this terribly big and very strange, lavender-coloured baby Heffalump that must be trapped and stopped.

"It's hard to explain how a few precious things seem to follow throughout all our lives," from Return to Pooh Corner (1969), is probably one of the best lyrical lines that singer Kenny Loggins ever wrote. Despite former Nelvana animator turned director Frank Nissen's fairly soft yet unassumingly enjoyable debut flick's introduction of a completely new character (Lumpy) to Walt Disney Productions' phenomenally popular forty-four year-old franchise, it's still interesting to remember that Heffalumps were originally created by writer, playwright and former Punch Magazine assistant editor Alan Alexander 'A.A.' Milne (1882-1956) for his first of three world famous books illustrated by Punch staff artist Ernest H. Shepard (1879-1976). Published in 1926, Winnie-the-Pooh was reportedly inspired by Milne's son Christopher Robin's (1920-1996) first birthday toy, Edward Bear, a tawny, Alpha Farnell Teddy Bear initially cited in Milne's poem Teddy Bear, featured in his successful 1924 poetry compilation for children, When We Were Very Young, and then embellished upon - around the same time that the boy renamed Edward after his two favourite real life animals: Winnipeg 'Winnie' Bear (1914-1934), 34th Fort Garry Horse Canadian Regiment's Birmingham-born cavalry veterinary officer Lieutenant Harry Colebourn's (1887-1947) tamed female American Black Bear adopted by the London Zoo in England via White River Bend, Ontario at the beginning of WWI (www.fortgarryhorse.ca), and after Pooh, a wild swan fed at the Milne's East Sussex cottage near Ashdown Forest - from his 1925 Evening News Christmas piece, A New Story for Children: Winnie-the-Pooh, About Christopher Robin and His Teddy Bear. A Heffalump was what Piglet thought Winnie-the-Pooh was at one point, and then a herd of those elephantine beasties were what a restless Winnie-the-Pooh tried counting like sheep, until he couldn't bare them eating his beloved honey and stopped at five hundred and eighty-seven. 'Pooh's Heffalump Movie' actually is vaguely reminiscent of Milne's tender stories, yet plays out more as a truly contemporary continuation of television's 'The New Adventures of Winnie the Pooh' (1988) and subsequent direct to video and big screen efforts from Disney for the most part. It's definitely fun, but a lot of the history that adults and their parents might remember is lost here. Thankfully, Brian Hohlfeld's ('Piglet's Big Movie' (2003)) and Evan Spiliotopoulos' ('The Jungle Book 2' (2003)) screenplay - peppered with half a dozen care free songs from Carly Simon - does cleverly allow these familiar child-like, anthropomorphized characters to come to their own moral conclusions through the story's loosely veiled anti-discrimination message, instead of lazily defaulting to an authoritative finger-wagging parental figure or extreme consequences resulting from its portrayal of precocious disobedience. Making this one a good addition to the legacy that spotlights Roo this time, for a new generation of tots over-all.

Frankly, I had Loggins' bittersweet tune humming in my mind throughout most of this Saturday Matinee screening, but the three to six year-olds who packed the theatre with me gleefully enjoyed it from beginning to end, and they're the ones this light hearted entertaining romp is clearly, successfully suited for.

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The Pacifier
REVIEWED 03/05, © STEPHEN BOURNE
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REVIEW:

Life long, hard nosed US Navy S.E.A.L. Lieutenant Shane Wolfe (Vin Diesel; 'XXX' (2002), 'The Chronicles of Riddick' (2004)) has choreographed multi-pronged amphibious landings, and has led classified assault missions into enemy territory halfway around the world. He is as proficient in hand to hand combat against numerous attackers under extreme conditions as he is keenly adept at using various classes of ordinance and military hardware. Wolfe is a top class soldier. Disciplined, honour driven, and courageous. And, three months after his team's daring rescue of kidnapped American software specialist Professor Howard Plummer (Tate Donovan; 'SpaceCamp' (1986), 'Hercules' (1997)) from a small band of heavily armed Serbian terrorists goes terribly wrong, Wolfe can add changing poopie diapers, singing the "Peter Panda Dance", and surviving a fearless duck attack to his impressive litany of skills. See, Wolfe has been reassigned to Plummer's family home, to stand watch over rebellious teenagers Seth (Max Thieriot; 'Catch That Kid' (2004)) and Zoe (Brittany Snow) Plummer, precocious Firefly Guides troop member Lulu Plummer (Morgan York; 'Cheaper by the Dozen' (2003)), uncontrollable pre-schooler Peter Plummer (Kegan and Logan Hoover), those siblings' drooling baby brother Tyler Plummer (Bo and Luke Vink), and their feisty pet mallard Gus, while the Plummer children's widowed mother Julie (Faith Ford; 'North' (1994), 'Beethoven's 5th' (2003)) is accompanied by Shane's commanding officer Captain Bill Fawcett (Chris Potter) to Howard's safety deposit box in Vienna. Before Professor Plummer was ripped from his Pentagon funded research, he was working on a revolutionary new surveillance jamming program called Ghost. A key to that highly prized weapon is locked away in a Swiss bank, but Fawcett also believes that important clues to Howard's work lay hidden within the Plummer household. Where Wolfe has been left alone, since nanny Helga (Carol Kane; 'Addams Family Values' (1993), 'Confessions of a Teenage Drama Queen' (2004)) has quit. He doesn't stand a chance...

I suppose it's not completely weird that Diesel reportedly had a stunt double for this extremely lame, relatively soft comedy, nor overwhelmingly surprising that much of choreographer turned director Adam Shankman's ('A Walk to Remember' (2002), 'Bringing Down the House' (2003)) fish out of water adult caricature versus precocious kids jokes offering seems lifted from the far funnier likes of 'Overboard' (1987), 'Uncle Buck' (1989), and 'Kindergarten Cop' (1990). What's truly strange about 'The Pacifier' is that Thomas Lennon's and Ben Garant's screenplay fails to acknowledge the obvious: This Navy S.E.A.L. is responsible for the death of this widow's husband and these kids' father. At no time is that - or the quickly glossed over actual theme of losing a loved one - ever really dealt with beyond a "Three Months Later" cut away and a teary-eyed, two-minute pep talk. The potentially satisfying, reality-based aspects of shame, sharp blame and hard won redemption are intentionally sidestepped throughout this cinematic hamburger fest, in favour of what seems to be the stuff of Disney popcorn flicks for a new generation of jaded pre-pubescents and frazzled parents seeking an easy outing for the family. Namely, egregiously silly sight gags and stale toilet humour wrapped around brief piques of violent action/adventure and a plot unimportant gadget. The gut churning odour of wasted big screen talent is almost unbearable, frankly. This stinker is clearly a lazy patronizing farce, featuring a poorly written inept Mary Poppins as muscle bound baldy soldier Vin parachuted into the lives of these updated Von Trapp kids gone bad - who are given little more to do than pull bored dumb faces and chew out lame dialogue - until this cast is finished their paid vacation in front of the camera and can go back to being real actors with something tangibly entertaining to offer a paying audience.

Even the duck has more charisma in its two equally poorly realized scenes. Yawn.

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Phil the Alien
REVIEWED 03/05, © STEPHEN BOURNE
www.ofrb.gov.on.ca | www.rcq.gouv.qc.ca


REVIEW:

The rich, vast hinterland of Northern Ontario is teeming with life these days: With the busy, super intelligent beaver, continually maintaining its carefully constructed dam of gnawed maple branches while dutifully awaiting the chance to exercise its sniper skills with high powered assault rifles. From the simple, local towns folk of trappers and prostitutes, all going about their daily lives that begin and end under a beer nut and whiskey-fed alcoholic stupor at the old roadside Canadian Tavern. Because of the sudden influx of shadowy American secret assassins, dispatched from their covert base located under the US side of Niagara Falls to scour that densely wooded region with laser guns at hair trigger readiness. And, by one lost soul from another galaxy. Possibly a Sloth from the Alpha Centauri Quadrant, as Jones (Calgary's Bruce Hunter; 'Good Will Hunting' (1997), 'Mean Girls' (2004)) - aka Agent Black - deftly surmises at the smashed and smoldering UFO's crash site mere hours after being reactivated from his perpetually hung over, mental fatigue leave. Maybe it's a red haired alien Communist named Agnes headed for Nebraska, as young Joey Klabinsky (Brad McGinnes) tells Agent Black under gun point interrogation. More likely he's simply Gheeeeee-ghehhhhh Ghohhhhh-ghehhhhhh (Rob Stefaniuk) - who Joey nicknames "Phil" - a dainty shape shifting extra-terrestrial who can move things with his mind, aimlessly wandering this untamed forest and setting down roots in that popular watering hole for the past couple of days, after a long, intergalactic camping trip with his father went terribly wrong. "There's a guppy in the hen house," Jones is told, with direct orders from his malevolent agency's psychotic General (John Kapelos) to get up off of his drunk butt, locate and kill said guppy post haste. The femme fatale Madame Madame ('Star Trek: Deep Space Nine' (1993-1999) alumnus Nicole de Boer; 'Cube' (1997), 'Public Domain' (2003)) is then sent in when the trail goes cold. However, Phil has already befriended most of the towns folk at the bar, and, finding Jesus in the local lock up, sets out on a Southward bound, soul saving and Gospel singing pilgrimage to The Falls after joining the bar's band...

Well, on the surface, it's tough not to enjoy this wildly irreverent, rollicking yet poorly realized Canadian flick from writer/director/co-editor/star Rob Stefaniuk ('Love Child' (1995), 'The Law of Enclosures' (2000)). With lines such as, "There's something about (Niagara Falls)." "Yes, it inspires... urination," a paying audience can't help but find a lot of frat house sketch humour that's undeniably funny throughout this eighty-six minute Sci-Fi comedy of errors. However, the screenplay's obviously bizarre leanings matched with the majority of this cast's relentless need to individually be little more than zany human cartoons torn from a kind of cult status comic book for cinematographer D. Gregor Hagey's lazily handled camera does become aggravating and exhausting by the second reel. It quickly becomes a novelty showboat for Canadian moviegoers eager to see familiar faces from national television on the big screen, without it really justifying why it didn't go straight to video. None of these characters are particularly interesting - or nearly as memorable as some of the campy dialogue - during this show, or soon after the closing credits. As though you've just sat through a rough first cut cobbled together from a badly shot stack of rehearsal tapes, long before the real actors are hired and the actual movie starts production. They're just goofing around for the most part, with a story arc made up of loosely strung together scenes and typically self-effacing punch lines, where any noticeable acting ability is barely required. Even the soundtrack, featuring clips from Toronto uber group Rush's thirty year-old anthem 'Tom Sawyer', is rife with laugh making intentions that don't quite fit. Yes, 'Phil the Alien' is a vaguely good, entirely homegrown screening over-all. Its lousy quality, wasted talent, and roster of crude epithets and curse-filled onslaughts aside, this one actually does somewhat stand shoulder to shoulder with the comparably superior likes of 'Nothing' (2002) and 'The Delicate Art of Parking' (2003) as one of extremely few noteworthy comedies from English Language Canadian Cinema seen in recent years. That bench mark's still pretty low, though.

Rent this one as a blatantly crude and fairly amateurish yet surprisingly funny Canadian novelty if you get the chance, but it'll likely find its way to uncensored late night television on the Comedy Network or the Space Channel in a couple of minutes.

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The Perfect Man
REVIEWED 06/05, © STEPHEN BOURNE
www.ofrb.gov.on.ca | www.rcq.gouv.qc.ca


REVIEW:

The wondrous romance between Passionatebaker and Brooklynboy has begun to blossom. Of course, as you've probably already read in the daily blog of Girl_on_the_move - aka sixteen year-old Holly Hamilton (Hilary Duff) - nothing's ever certain when it comes to her desperately single mother Jean's (Heather Locklear) relentlessly dysfunctional love life. For as long as they can remember, Holly and her eight year-old sister Zoe (Aria Wallace) have seen how these heart felt flutters invariably dissolve into repacked moving boxes within days, sending all three of them on another Big Adventure to another corner of the States to rebuild and hopefully get on with their lives until the next break up. See, Jean can't handle failure, running away with her kids in tow whenever her relationships fizzle out. So, welcome to Day 9 in Girl_on_the_move's latest series of entries, uploaded from a tree lined patch of Brooklyn Heights, where she's finally had enough of living the Bohemian lifestyle. Holly actually wants to stick around and make more than brief acquaintances with her classmates. She likes her new friend Amy (Montreal's Vanessa Lengies) and wants to get to know budding comic book artist Adam (big screen first timer Ben Feldman) a lot more than her shyness around cute boys lets on. Besides, Zoe wants to enter her school's spelling bee contest, and that isn't scheduled for a couple of months. Their mom's temperamental heartstrings can't be trusted to snag the right man - the perfect man - who will keep them there long enough for the dust to settle from their last cross country migration. Lenny Hortin (Mike O'Malley), the self-proclaimed bread manager at DeMarco's Groceries where Jean now works as a pastry chef, doesn't quite fit the bill. His idea of a first date is hopping into his '98 Trans Am and roaring over to a Styx tribute band concert. The thought of wedding bells chiming out Domo Arigato, Mister Roboto send cold chills up Holly's spine. Enter Brooklynboy, a dreamy suitor who's both eloquent and witty, and sends charming notes to Jean's Passionatebaker email account. It's just too bad that Brooklynboy is a figment of Holly's imagination, cooked up while chatting with Ben (Chris Noth), Amy's very single, successful New York restauranteur Uncle. Yes, the romance is blossoming, but circumstances have become even more desperate due to Lenny's attempts to win back Jean with a wedding ring. This perfect match made in cyberspace needs to step into the real world, but it won't last too long outside of being a beautiful idea if a stand in for Brooklynboy can't be found in time...

Feeling somewhat like a big screen reunion of television's most perky pretty faces, this surprisingly entertaining feature from director Mark Rosman ('A Cinderella Story' (2004)) works as a fairly good, family friendly offering clearly intended for young women and fans of TV's 'Queer Eye for the Straight Guy' flamboyantly Gay fashion expert Carson Kressley. However, pretense and cheesy novelty aside, writer Gina Wendkos' ('The Princess Diaries' (2001)) wonderfully light hearted screenplay still manages to touch upon it's unorthodox subject matter with clever insight and careful character development throughout. Much like Hayley Mills in Disney's 'The Parent Trap' (1961), Hilary Duff ('The Lizzie McGuire Movie' (2003), 'Raise Your Voice' (2004)) continues to build upon her relatively impressive, newly realized ability to breathe believable enough life into her contemporary role here, to the point where - if it wasn't Hilary Duff playing this particular part - it would be obvious to moviegoers that far more attention and praise should be lauded upon her unapologetically cheery performance. Ironically, I hated 'A Cinderella Story' - meaning I've either lightened up a smidgen or a couple of folks listed in the credits have figured out a few things about making better movies. Sure, it's noticeable that 'The Perfect Man' is essentially an ensemble cast type of chick flick morality play, where cinematographer John R. Leonetti's crisp lens spends most of its time concentrating on the purely romantic main fiction of co-stars Heather Locklear ('The Return of Swamp Thing' (1989), 'Uptown Girls' (2003)) and Chris Noth ('Cast Away' (2000), 'Mr 3000' (2004)) slowly, painstakingly, eventually meeting, but the sub plot of Duff's dimpled faced precocious and vaguely angst riddled teen uneasily becoming smitten is an enjoyable romp that easily steals the show. At the same time, full marks do go to Locklear for pulling in an amazingly sympathetic portrayal of a well-meaning yet destructively selfish single mother who is forced to come to terms with how her cyclical behaviour threatens her kids. Yes, Wendko's dialogue is immensely satisfying for a mature paying audience to tap into, but it's in how those scenes are presented with such deliberate finesse and subtlety that wins my vote. Good stuff. Pretty well the only problem that I had with this fun hundred-minuter was whenever dopey love interest Lenny (comedian Mike O'Malley) and Lance the bartender (Kressley) ham it up wink and grin style for the camera. There's also a fair portion of 'The Perfect Man' that relies on communication through the internet - either through a blog's overdubbed narrative or characters tapping away at their computer keyboards while reading out their emails and instant messages for we few ticket holders not blessed with psychic abilities or telescopic eyesight. This becomes monotonous after a while, seriously deflating the over-all pacing. However, as seen from 'War Games' (1970) to 'You've Got Mail' (1998), and every other movie that's featured online interaction in one form or another, Hollywood has yet to invent a better way of keeping it interesting without editing in a lot of visual contrivances.

Check out this light hearted comedy packed with a lot of heart and good clean laughs, without it feeling preachy or patronizing for its intended audience of teenagers.

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Paheli
REVIEWED 07/05, © STEPHEN BOURNE
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REVIEW:

Only the parched desert breeze that caresses Centuries of unfulfilled desires can explain what possessed him to materialize. This is a story as old as time. In a time that has long since passed. On a long journey by caravan through the wilds of Sapta-Sindhu, when the bright henna patterns on young Lachchi's (Rani Mukherjee) slender hands were already beginning to fade along with her memories of marrying the handsomely rich merchant Kishanlal Seth (Shahrukh Khan) earlier that day. This was Lachchi's first time away from her parents' sanctuary, but this freedom held no excitement for her. The sweet berries plucked from the roadside bushes quickly soured on her lips from Kishanlal's scolding words. He wasn't a cruel man. He was kind hearted and a little shy, but the facts and figures of a well struck ledger were Kishanlal's first true loves, affording his serious mind little tolerance for the girlish whimsy of his beautiful new bride. His wedding was an obligation now transacted. The ornate trinkets of gold and pearls that dripped from her wrists and ankles squeezed tighter. Their wagon stopping midway was a refreshing reprieve. The gnarled skeleton of that well's ancient baobab tree strangely populated by small, colourful dolls cast a welcoming shadow that cooled Lachchi's silent regrets. One hundred and twenty-eight ghosts were said to haunt this resting place, but only the pure songs of a curious bird followed her lone path down the crude stone steps to the water's edge. It was there that he knew what he needed to do. Suddenly, she felt a presence that chilled her and she ran away. These few fleeting glances of Lachchi's immeasurable beauty could have lasted him a thousand more years locked in limbo without reason for human form or the soft taste of a lover's kiss. They wouldn't be enough, but the slow convoy carrying this new found treasure into the distance signalled that they would have to be enough. Desire now haunted this ghost. Day after agonizing day crept by, until Kishanlal once again passed through this forsaken spot, this time on an auspicious business trip that would leave his bride without him for five years. Hope blossomed where none but the spirits of men could see. But, how could the ghost's undying yearning be sated? He could return to the guise of that blue feathered admirer, finding and serenading Lachchi with his songs from any ledge that might bring him closer to her, but what good is a small bird to that vision of loveliness when her thoughts still cry out for her husband and not for him? Fifteen lonely nights after she had cried herself to sleep on her honeymoon, Lachchi could hardly contain her overwhelming joy at finding herself warmly wrapped in the soft words and uncharacteristically adoring arms of her husband Kishanlal Seth, who has unexpectedly materialized...

This apparently unintended remake of the acclaimed Hindi ghost romance 'Duvidha' (1973) - itself adapted from East Indian novelist Vijayadhan Dehta's classic reportedly based on the Rajasthani folk tale - is a pleasantly satisfying Period love story beautifully highlighted with delicately unobtrusive CGI effects. Director Amol Palekar skilfully allows cinematographer Ravi K. Chandran a free hand to dazzle a paying audience with wonderfully crisp, colour-saturated images that truly electrify this hundred and forty-minute feature. It's a fabulous-looking film from beginning to closing credits, frankly. It's also a real treat to see Bollywood powerhouses Shahrukh Khan ('Devdas' (2002), 'Swades' (2004)) and Amitabh Bachchan ('Amar Akbar Anthony' (1977), 'Black' (2005)) back together on the same screen, even though those scenes are painfully brief. The astounding balance of intensity and playfulness that these two immensely talented superstars effortlessly realize here make 'Paheli' well worth the price of admission alone. You already knew that, though. What raises the bar of excellence even further is the actual star of this oftentimes heartbreaking, subtitled tale, Rani Mukherjee ('Chalte Chalte' (2003), 'Veer-Zaara' (2004)), who manages to consistently instil a contemporary feminine strength in her bygone abandoned bride character Lachchi, from under the clearly overwhelming shadow of Khan's captivating dual role as her awkwardly estranged new husband and his affectionate stand-in doppelganger. The resulting friction caused by you wanting to see more of Mukherjee's character development materialize over the years depicted in this movie as Khan's sub story of clever trickery and precocious flirting steal the foreground does get in the way at times. However, Mukherjee's obviously formidable acting style and natural screen presence still manage to take the reigns where ever Sandhya Gokhale's slightly sappy screenplay fails to substantially put her to work. In this case, regardless of whatever egos might have been bruised in the process, the final cut proves that's a good thing. Other memorable highlight include Rajpal Yadav's ('Waqt' (2005)) absolutely hilarious cameos as the continually freaked out messenger Bhoja, and Juhi Chawla's insightfully forelorned Gajrobai pining for her own long lost husband.

Awesome. The songs in this Masala aren't the greatest, but definitely check out this inspired romantic drama for the incredible camera work and thoroughly outstanding acting from this impressive cast.

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Proof
REVIEWED 10/05, © STEPHEN BOURNE
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REVIEW:

This incredibly touching adaptation of playwright David Auburn's 2000 stage production is a lot more accessible than I'd expected it to be, going in. The play won a Tony Award and a Pulitzer Prize for Drama in 2001, and yes, it does sometimes feel as though there are in-jokes that only calculus fans would appreciate. 'Proof' cleverly explains them, though. This ninety-nine minute flick from director John Madden acknowledges that a paying audience might not know who Marie-Sophie Germain (1776-1831) was, or particularly care about Prime Numbers, but it manages to weave in all of the math stuff as delightfully interesting peripherals within the dialogue and background. Example: the movie poster's layout is shaped like a zed, which stands for Zahlen and represents a set of whole numbers or integers.

Co-writers Auburn's and Rebecca Miller's screenplay takes its time in examining the fragility of Catherine Llewelyn (Gwyneth Paltrow; 'Shallow Hal' (2001), 'Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow' (2004)) after her beloved and well-respected University of Chicago higher mathematics professor father Robert (Anthony Hopkins; 'The Silence of the Lambs' (1991), 'The Human Stain' (2003)) dies, following his five-year deterioration into madness that's put a heavy strain on Catherine - both physically and mentally - and a notebook containing an important theoretical proof related to the Sophie Germain Primes is found in Robert's desk, but its authorship is questioned. Remember Greek geometry stalwart Pythagoras' (582 BC-496 BC) Theorem: The square of the hypotenuse of a right angle triangle is equal to the sum of the squares of the other two sides? Well, 17th-century French mathematician Pierre de Fermat (1601-1665) devised an addition to that formula, known as Fermat's Last Theorem (1637), and Parisian-born Germain - the first woman to attend at the French Academy of Sciences - specified and in part proved Fermat's equation a couple of hundred years later using Prime Numbers. 'Proof' masterfully reflects the delicacy of such erudite puzzles, using the oftentimes messy realities of life and regretful grudges and the blossoming of love. Paltrow is phenomenal here, reportedly revisiting the role that she'd performed in Auburn's play, naturally carrying this tremendously captivating flick while playing opposite Hopkins - seemingly doing his take on the pixie-like eccentricities of Richard Attenborough at times - and the awkward advances of Jake Gyllenhaal's ('Donnie Darko' (2001), 'The Day After Tomorrow' (2004)) math wiz/rock band drummer character Hal. Nothing is wasted throughout, including Hope Davis' ('About Schmidt' (2002), 'American Splendor' (2003)) hugely believable role as Catherine's obsessively compulsive sister Claire.

Awesome. Absolutely check out this fascinating human drama tinged with light humour and heady figures as a thoroughly entertaining time at the big screen.

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Paper Clips
REVIEWED 10/05, © STEPHEN BOURNE
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REVIEW:

Holocaust memorials. In Amsterdam, there is The Anne Frank Museum (www.annefrank.org). In Poland, there is The Auschwitz Jewish Center (www.ajcf.pl). Even in Berlin, there is the newly completed Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe (www.holocaust-mahnmal.de). However, when the nation read A Measure Of Hope: The Whitwell, Tennessee Holocaust Project Has Spread Far Beyond the Classroom - Washington Post Staff Writer Dita Smith's April 2001 article about the Whitwell Middle School's Paper Clip Project - that small rural community of two thousand nestled in the Southern Smoky Mountains of Marion County were overwhelmed by the emotional outpour to their proposed Holocaust memorial that would follow. See, it all started in 1998, when the school's gym teacher David Smith returned with an idea inspired by a teacher's conference that had cited the Nazi's intended annihilation of the Jews during World War II as an example of intolerance towards diversity. Whitwell, geographically located a mere stone's throw from the birthplace of the Klu Klux Klan, had virtually no diversity amongst its student population. Of the over four hundred teenaged kids there, only six weren't Caucasian. All are Christian. According to Dita Smith's Post article, most pupils who went on to study at college campuses that enjoyed a mixture of ethnic backgrounds simply couldn't cope. David Smith's (no relation) idea was to teach an extra-curricular class about the six million Jews who were killed in Hitler's concentration camps throughout Europe. Whitwell Principal Linda Hooper agreed, and staff instructor Sandra Roberts quickly signed on to teach the course. However, they soon discovered there was a problem, when a student asked what six million was. Nobody had ever seen six million of anything, so they couldn't relate to that enormous number. That's when someone suggested they collect paper clips to represent each of the six million Jews lost to intolerance. A letter writing campaign began, with a few responses garnering a relatively small amount of paper clips each week. They created a website, and that's when Washington correspondents Peter Schroeder and Dagmar Schroeder-Hildebrand learned about the Whitwell Middle School's Paper Clip Project through a friend who was researching the new memorial in Berlin online. They wrote a book in German about it, published in time to be featured at a book fair in Frankfurt, and more letters and donations began to pour in. Ten thousand paper clips. A hundred thousand. A million, sent in small numbers at a time. From families of those lost who wanted their relatives to be honoured. The Washington Post story and a piece on NBC's Nightly News brought in more and more responses. This simple project had taken on a life of its own, with Holocaust survivors wanting to visit the school and talk to the students about their stories. However, the memorial - called The Children's Holocaust Memorial - didn't really take shape until Schroeder-Hildebrand suggested that an authentic German rail car used to transport wartime Germany's unwanted to their deaths be used to house this growing collection from across the United States and around the world...

Probably the most interesting aspect of this delightfully touching 2004 documentary from The Johnson Group's co-directors Elliot Berlin and Joe Fab is that it tends to feel like a carefully orchestrated corporate video at times, and yet the simple power of what the students and faculty of this Whitwell, Tennessee middle school accomplished to date consistently shines through. 'Paper Clips', which attempts to journal this small rural American community's 1998-2001 creation of The Children's Holocaust Memorial - an authentic Nazi-era cattle car turned into a stark outdoor exhibit containing eleven million donated paper clips that represent the six million Jews and the five million others systematically murdered by the Third Reich's intolerance - isn't the greatest film about contemporary remembrance of this horrifying time in World History, and it certainly leaves itself wide open for factual scrutiny throughout, but it's wonderfully sincere at its core. One of the school's genuinely well meaning Holocaust Class students cites that the mundane office paper clip was chosen to give tangible meaning to the unimaginable number of Europe's concentration camp victims because it was originally invented in Norway, where anti-Hitler dissenters later wore these wire clips on their lapels during World War II as sign of solidarity against German occupation. The latter is common knowledge, as is the fact that the US military's endeavours to extract wartime German scientists such as pre-NASA rocket engineer Wernher von Braun (1912-1977) and aerodynamics pioneer Alexander Lippisch (1894-1976) before the Russians could was called Operation Paperclip, but paper clips were reportedly used Centuries before celebrated Norwegian inventor Johan Vaaler first patented his less popular version of them in 1899 - the same year that a machine for making them was apparently patented in Connecticut - so, moviegoers do need to be somewhat careful about what truths are taken from this otherwise truly captivating picture. My main problem with this eighty-two minute movie is that it doesn't take enough time to fully examine the peripheral stories and background surrounding the memorial's evolution. Sure, gym teacher David Smith is interviewed about being inspired by a teacher's conference covering intolerance that initiated this extra curricular class where it all began, but I wanted to see more of the specifics regarding sibling German-born Holocaust writers and White House correspondents Dagmar Schroeder-Hildebrand's and Peter Schroeder's investigative journeys to find, secure and transport the rail car almost five thousand miles from a railroad museum in Röbel to the Smoky Mountains of Marion County. Also, what's their story? The entire flick almost needs a companion book to fill in the blanks, perhaps fulfilled by the two published by the Schroeders. Yes, it's tough to avoid being skeptical here, because you do feel as though you're being spoon fed selectively heart-tugging information. According to the Whitwell Middle School's website (www.marionschools.org/holocaust) for this astounding undertaking, the official dedication took place on November 9, 2001 - exactly sixty-three years after Kristallnacht - but the connection is never made on screen and there's no attempt to put this project of understanding racial diversity into the context of 9/11 with these kids, despite that date clearly appearing as the old wooden car is carried by flatbed train from Baltimore towards its final resting place. What I'm getting at is that it's appropriately long on the emotional impact that automatically comes with the subject matter, but falls short on some of the details that would have made this very human feature a far superior effort of cinematic storytelling for a wider paying audience to tap in to. Instead, a few noteworthy contributors are shown reading their personally cathartic letters of thanks for this grassroots campaign. Don't get me wrong, though. 'Paper Clips' definitely is a worthwhile flick in its own right. Keep an eye out for the brown leather suitcase sent in from an overseas school, in a short segment that easily sends chills up your spine when you see what's inside. You'll likely leave the theatre afterwards deeply inspired to never look at another paper clip the same way again, but it's uncertain if that's really intentional, because the collection seems to have been transformed into a funding drive to expand the memorial.

Check it out as an incredibly heartwarming example of positive action culminating in personal change, but don't be surprised if you're left wanting to know more after the closing credits roll.

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Prime
REVIEWED 10/05, © STEPHEN BOURNE
www.ofrb.gov.on.ca | www.rcq.gouv.qc.ca


REVIEW:

Their first date had come out of the blue. Thirty-seven year-old Rafi (Uma Thurman), fresh from a divorce after nine years in a miserable marriage, had let her soft eyes linger at David Bloomberg's (Bryan Greenberg) during their chance meet at the Antonini Festival playing at the old Cinema Village movie theatre that warm evening, but his nervous phone call later inviting her to dinner was a pleasant surprise. It was romantic. Uncomplicated. Intoxicating. She knew he was younger, and was momentarily shaken by the fourteen-year age gap between them, but there was something special about him that she couldn't let go of. Rafi's therapist, Dr. Lisa Metzger (Meryl Streep), was elated about this unexpected fling. Rafi deserved to be happy. To feel alive again. In love. She just didn't need to go into specifics about it, describing David in ways that a mother shouldn't ought to hear. See, Lisa had realized early on that - to her secret horror - Rafi was dating the good doctor's twenty-three year-old son David. It felt unethical, hearing this woman rapt in the throes of passion. It had felt sneaky, hearing this second-hand gossip about David's strained relationship with his mother. It was bad enough that Bloomberg wasn't dating a Jewish girl like his mother had expected, now Metzger had to sit through her sessions with Rafi hearing about the intimate bits and details of her boy's romantic life. Her own therapist tried to comfort her, but suggested that Lisa continue treating Rafi. It might actually be just a two-week fling after-all. A month or so later, Rafi was taking about having a bay... having a... a b-a-b-y. With David. Lisa's little boy. This was not good...

Feeling a lot like an American's version of a European film, this plodding romantic comedy from writer/director Ben Younger ('Boiler Room' (2000)) can't seem to decide what it wants to be. Awkwardly aspiring twenty-three year-old Manhattan artist David Bloomberg (Bryan Greenberg; 'The Perfect Score' (2004)) falls for and seduces recently divorced socialite Rafael "Rafi" Gardet (Uma Thurman; 'The Truth About Cats & Dogs' (1996), 'Kill Bill: Vol. 1' (2003)), much to the wild ambivalence of his meddlesome Jewish mother and her supportive psychotherapist Dr. Lisa Metzger (Meryl Streep; 'Sophie's Choice' (1982), 'Lemony Snicket's A Series of Unfortunate Events' (2004)). The premise seems ripe for some truly riotous hilarity throughout, but Younger decides to play it safe for the most part. This hundred and six-minute feature is more of a sober drama conservatively spiked with some fairly pedantic naughty moments and a few theatrically blustery gurns from Streep. Where a paying audience would expect to see loads of wild screwball antics, as Bloomberg's love affair with emotionally fragile thirty-seven year-old Gardet sends Metzger into a secretly destructive tizzy, nothing particularly funny really happens. Mom doesn't completely flip out or start tailing her son or try throwing a lot of other "suitable" women at him. It should be goofy, like 'Guess Who?' (2005), but seems afraid to go there while tossing a lot peripheral stuff at you in the hopes of moving things along. You're introduced to David's perpetually single pal Morris as vague comedic relief instead, as though somebody decided that nobody wanted to see this chick flick's relatively older actors chew up the screen with what could have been great if given a half decent script and helmed by more capable hands. The right talent was clearly there, but was warehoused and forgotten for the most part in favour of seeing Thurman in various stages of bra-flashing passion. Yeah, I called it a chick flick, but it manages to fail at that as well. 'Prime' isn't even a deliriously fresh spin on the May-December aspects of 'Being Julia' (2004) or the superior indie flick 'P.S.' (2004), nor does it bother to attempt overshadowing the wonderfully entertaining 'Monster in Law' (2005), even though there are quite a few similarities to the basic idea in this meandering cinematic snooze fest. All that I could think of afterwards was how good it could have been compared to how lousy it is, frankly. Sure, some of the performances and subtle nuances are well-presented, but they seem more like the results of this cast realizing that they'd better bring something more to the set than what's in the script.

When the bit role of a doorman seen a handful of brief times is allowed to steal your attention away from the headlining stars like David Anzuelo's humourously stoic character does here, you know this picture's in serious trouble. Awful.

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