Rabbit-Proof Fence
REVIEWED 01/03, © STEPHEN BOURNE
www.ofrb.gov.on.ca | www.rcq.gouv.qc.ca


REVIEW:

It's strange how bygone European-based cultures attempted to re-engineer the environment of the far flung territories they'd supposedly conquered and had then put down roots in. For instance, during the mid-1800's in Australia, because the local wildlife was deemed inferior game to sport hunters, a concerted effort was made to successfully introduce wild rabbits for the sole purpose of shooting them. However, by the 1880's - twenty-five years after Thomas Austin, an English tenant farmer, had released two dozen of these imported critters into the wilds of Victoria - the Aussie Government had to build the longest fence network in the World (surpassing even the Great Wall of China) to keep Flopsy's and Mopsy's progeny from completely devouring the fertile grasslands down under. This was how the Rabbit-Proof Fence was born. Most of it eventually falling into disrepair, being rebuilt in the 1920's to protect subsequently vast herds of grazing sheep from starvation, and to keep the dingoes at bay. This movie isn't about that, but that anecdote is a pretty good allegory for what this important yet fairly sleepy drama skirts the issues of.

By 1931, South Australia's Chief Protector of Aborigines, A. O. Neville (Kenneth Branaugh), had so industriously solidified the genocidal (to people, not rabbits) Act of 1905 that had given his suspect and tenuously funded office free reign as so-called guardian of indigenous people, that legally kidnapping every First Nations child from their families' squalid settlement camps and infirming them in equally poor conditions at training missions miles away from their homes had tragically become an everyday occurance. However, his main focus was set on those prepubescents of mixed race, or 'half caste', where his policy of integration went far beyond simply turning these sons and daughters of Colonial deadbeat dads into a workforce of servants to the rich. At a time when interracial, uh, intermingling was still very much taboo and prohibited, Neville's master plan was to encourage the breeding out of all traces of their Bushman blood, in his arrogantly naive cause of ensuring their acceptance into 'superior' White society. This lays the groundwork that sparks the journey of fourteen year-old 'half caste' Molly Craig (Everlyn Sampi), her eight year-old sister Daisy (Tianna Sansbury), and their twelve year-old cousin Gracie (Laura Monaghan). All three girls having been violently spirited away from their Jigalong tribe, transported by rail in a cage, twelve hundred miles to the infamous Moore River Native Settlement Camp to be processed and trained. Almost immediately, Molly's thoughts turn to escape, despite the ever-present threat of cruel punishment if captured and returned by Moodoo (David Gulpilil), the camp's relentless eagle-eyed tracker. The rabbit-proof fence unintentionally becoming a proverbial trail of bread crumbs for this fleeing trio, as they make their arduous two-month trek homeward through endlessly rough terrain on foot.

Being a Canadian made aware of my own country's policy of assimilation, and recalling seeing firsthand the tortured confusion in the eyes of Inuit kids 'adopted' by my parents' well-meaning friends back in the 1970's, I guess I went in to this picture expecting quite a bit. What I ended up discovering was Sampi's and Gulpilil's wonderfully raw acting talent disappointingly wasted on this rather spineless After School Special. There's no real back story, to give an international audience any true impression of what happened to Australia's aborigines at the hands of that nation's racist bureauocracy, or what the rabbit-proof fence may have meant to their once nomadic way of life. It's as though nobody involved in this production wanted to hurt anyone's feelings. Anything truly awful is merely hinted at or handled with kid gloves here. Sure, the script is based on a book written by Molly's daughter, mainly presented from the viewpoint of this fiesty young teenager who boldly wanted to return to her birth mother. However, and perhaps because of this, this biographically heroic slice of life feels astoundingly watered down and somewhat amateurish throughout in telling a huge saga of courage and triumph over unbelievably harsh adversity. Too bad.

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The Recruit
REVIEWED 02/03, © STEPHEN BOURNE
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REVIEW:

What if someone came up to you and offered you a job as a spy? Say, you're a 'Young Turk' standing there in your prime, with the rest of your career as a software engineering genius already laid out and waiting for you to devour it. Corporate recruiters with blank cheques are courting you. The world is your oyster. And then, some stranger comes up to you and opens a door into a world of intrigue and unlimited funding with the CIA. A life that you'd never really considered for yourself until then. Would you take it? That's the question posed by the enigmatic Walter Burke (Al Pacino) to the bright young athletic computer whiz and part-time bartender James Douglas Clayton (Colin Farrell) at the outset of this thoroughly enjoyable glimpse into the inner workings of America's Central Intelligence Agency. Specifically, what goes on at 'The Farm', an inconspicuously cordoned off section of wooded real estate outside of Washington, D.C. and half a day's drive from CIA Headquarters at Langley, where raw potential operatives tapped from across the country are brought. Kind of part college, part boot camp. Ever since the impending threat of widespread Communism inspired President Truman to construct this Cold War institution of covert hunters and gatherers from the ashes of it's wartime predecessor, the OSS, in 1947 (a year after he'd disbanded that Old Guard of hitmen and saboteurs), it seems this fortified training facility has been around. For much of that time, so has Burke. First, as a player. Latterly, as a facilitator and instructor. However, things are about to change for him. He can feel it. That's where Clayton comes in.

Still mourning the death of his father Edward in a Peru plane crash over a decade ago, and piqued by vague clues linking that tragedy to this clandestine agency, James' curiosity soon lures him under Burke's Machiavellian spell, away from his Boston home, and into a heady curriculum of Advanced Interrogation and Weaponry 101. As it happens, Clayton's ballsy individualistic nature makes him a natural at 'The Farm'. Being the only one to evade capture during a mock insurgence, and quickly besting his peers in the art of deception. While everyone around him appears destined to be posted on-campus or in US embassies and sensitive departments around the world as Official Cover operatives, he's obviously the only candidate suited for the prized title of NOC, or Non-Official Cover operative. A solo field agent given James Bond-like missions. Problem is, a smart and sultry co-recruit named Layla Moore (Bridget Moynahan) has caught his lustful eye. Planting a weakness within him that is used against him. Ultimately leading to his summary dismissal. Until Burke reappears with an assignment to penetrate the CIA's stronghold itself as a civilian employee and track a decidedly malevolent computer virus that's being spirited away by a mole within the organization. Seems his being kicked out of spy school was just a ruse, and that Clayton was the NOC after-all. Then again, just as this flick's running theme suggests, perhaps nothing is exactly what it seems.

Hands down, 'The Recruit' is an amazingly tight psychological thriller that keeps you engaged and guessing through it's maze of clever plot twists from beginning to closing credits. The believable storyline is extremely well-crafted, and all of the characters are made thoroughly interesting for an audience looking for more from a film about espionage than another load of cool gadgets and ear-splitting explosions. Nothing is wasted here, as you're both entertained by the action and suspense, as well as encouraged to pay attention to the seamless dialogue and wonderfully captivating scenes that meticulously click into place like a self-solving Rubik's Cube - never really giving up it's secrets until it's good and ready. Pacino's and Farrell's performances are fantastic here, making this one a definite keeper. Awesome.

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Red Dragon
REVIEWED 10/02, © STEPHEN BOURNE
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REVIEW:

Did anyone else actually see 'Manhunter' when theatres featured it, for about three seconds, back in 1986? I hardly remember anything from it, though. Apart from the silly 'Miami Vice' wardrobe. And, it's just as well that Michael Mann's version of Thomas Harris' novel is so forgettable. Or else, everyone would be comparing it to this so-called remake and third installment from the franchise made voraciously popular by Anthony Hopkins' characters' taste for fine wine, classical music, and various body parts served with fava beans.

'Red Dragon' starts off by taking us back to a slightly more realistic 1980's, quickly establishing the details of the pathologically bourgoise psychologist Hannibal Lector's (reprised in this prequel by Hopkins) deliciously morbid dabblings, and the media feeding frenzy surrounding his court sentencing of life emprisonment to a maximum security mental institution. F.B.I. forensic investigator Wil Graham (Edward Norton) - the man who first unwittingly enlisted the help of, and then barely survived capturing, this latter day Jack the Ripper - is later coaxed out of early retirement and back in to a now uneasy working relationship with Lector, in order to solve a particularly gruesome set of homicides. Within as many months, two seemingly unconnected families have been slaughtered and horribly desecrated with shards of mirrors and bite marks, in their homes. We soon learn that the elusive murderer - boorishly nicknamed 'The Tooth Fairy' - is a longtime fan of Lector's, and is an even bigger fan of a nightmarish painting by poet and artist William Blake (arguably, a madman himself, during his lifetime), who believes he is evolving in to a higher being through committing these bizarre killings.

The best part about this slightly sick psychological thriller is that there's a balance of definition given to the three main characters here. Graham is the empathetic yet burnt out family man cursed with the uncanny ability to use clues to get inside the minds of his suspects. Our toothy antagonist (chillingly portrayed by Ralph Fiennes) is presented as a ruthless and tormented outsider whose clearly embraced blood-thirsty insanity is cleverly challenged by the last thing he expects. And, the good doctor is the vainly enigmatic wild card whose creepy sense of humour and epicurial reputation adds a higher level of intensity to this highly suspenseful and incredibly satisfying nail-biter.

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Reign of Fire
REVIEWED 07/02, © STEPHEN BOURNE
www.ofrb.gov.on.ca | www.rcq.gouv.qc.ca


REVIEW:

Fierce and ruthless fire-breathing dragons; the superstars of British Medieval lore, are reborn in a post-apocalyptic near-future (which they create) as the admittedly exciting premise for this plodding Summer snoozer. I really hate when that happens. That last bit, I mean. Here, these apparently inept moviemakers had an incredible opportunity to blast the audience's shoes and socks off with a rollercoaster ride of death-defying action sequences and relentless explosions of pulse-pounding CGI wizardry, in pitting 21st Century humanity against these ancient terrifying beasts. They could have given us a pumped up 'Mad Max meets Jurassic Park' adventure, instead of this updated 'One Million Years B.C. meets The Valley of Gwangi' crap.

Don't be fooled by the ads, folks. What we get is basically a movie about reactionary survival. Scattered tribes, huddled like frightened bunnies under the malevolent intimidation of these predominantly unseen reptilian oppressors. This bad thing, which could just as easily have been sudden world domination by mutant sponge mops, has crippled and splintered civilization to the point where we're just going through the motions with our cringing and in-fighting 'til the nasties all go away. Even when the Americans storm through town on their way to bag the Big One with their typical arsenal of military might, they and our cowering protagonists only fight back when the mutant sponge mops - uh, dragons - disrupt their happy posturing and 9/11-tinged malaise. Sure. We do get to see a few dragons in action (at an annoying distance), peeling down from overcast skies to strafe and snack on the fleeing countryfolk, or perching like Hitchcock-esque crows upon the charred skeleton of downtown London. But, the grim majesty of these powerful legendary creatures is inherantly overlooked. The glimpses that we are shown are thrown away, in badly edited snippits of clumsily designed shots. Seemingly added as an after-thought, by a director who appeared to be more concerned with the various coping mechanisms of victimized Brits. As though the dragons themselves were merely parachuted in as sizzling ticket-selling bait that weren't really all that important to the story after-all.

Scenes such as when an epiphanal moment in 'The Empire Strikes Back' is reinacted for the kiddies as a Shakespearean-like bedtime story are fleeting entertaining sparks throughout, but they're not enough. I paid to see flaming dragons. Gob-smacking close-ups of giant wings and rippling scales. Eye-popping shots of blood-thirsty talons and big sharp nasty teeth gnashing and gnawing, 'til the roaring catastrophic climax between Man and monster that never completely transpires here. In fact, the ending is so stupid and hackneyed that I can't even recommend you rent this one for the handful of good scenes that must've slipped in by mistake. Let's hope the obligatory sequel is more than just another diarrhetic sting of marketing hot air and smoke.

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The Ring
REVIEWED 10/02, © STEPHEN BOURNE
www.ofrb.gov.on.ca | www.rcq.gouv.qc.ca


REVIEW:

Yikes! Leaving the theatre after seeing this incredibly spooky horror mystery, a terrible thought crept up my spine. This chilling thriller is about what happens when Rachel Keller, a single mother and fiesty newspaper reporter, comes into the possession of an unmarked videotape of weird memory-like insanity. Of sunlight glimpsed from someplace dark and round. Of silhouetted horse carcasses washed ashore. Of a raven-haired child's grim reflection fading from a mirror. Of writhing insects, and blood.

The tape first materialized a week earlier, at a secluded moss-covered cottage where her teenaged niece and friends had spent the weekend. Now, they're dead. All perishing in gruesome, sometimes unexplainable ways, at exactly the same hour that they had viewed this video days earlier. Having unwittingly watched it herself, and receiving a deathly phone call from beyond the grave, Rachel realizes that she has seven days to frantically sift through these eerie black and white clips with the help of her skeptical friend (Martin Henderson, as Noah) for clues that might save her life. Things go from bad to worse, when she's too late in stopping her young son from also playing it.

This is the creepiest shocker that I've seen in a long time. There are a few forgivably cheesy flaws, but you can feel the race against time intensity and nightmarish panic leech past any semblance of jaded disbelief and proceed to repeatedly bite into your cringing skull. It's a fantastically mesmirizing puzzle, that methodically leads you on a tight investigative hunt through dim musty archives and sombre landscapes of impending doom, towards solving a frightening secret. 'The Ring' is a stylish scary movie that foregoes the pedantic hack and slash gorefest genre, presenting a superbly crafted marriage of ghoulish special effects with surreal visuals slightly harkening back to that of Salvador Dali. Truly an inspired wealth of spine-tingling scenes that stay with you long after the credits have rolled. Making you realize a terrible thought: By taking in this immensely satisfying movie, you've also seen the videotape that relentlessly haunts it's audience of victims for the next seven days. After that... yikes!

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Road to Perdition
REVIEWED 07/02, © STEPHEN BOURNE
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REVIEW:

There's a certain depth of grace; a certain pace to impending menace, that is fully realized in this incredible movie. It's heavy. Slow. Relentless. Claustrophobic. You watch helplessly, as these characters try to move freely within their own personal quagmires of denial, numbness, and pain. They are brooding. Broken nobility, some of them. Fumbling blindly for a single shread of redemption.

Tom Hanks steps out of his usual 'Nice Guy' role to portray a man who is up to his eyeballs in his own kind of self-destructive quicksand. He is a hitman. For, I guess, the Irish Mob. During the Depression, in America. On the job, he is ruthless and thorough. Feared by lesser gangsters. At home, with his wife and two young sons, he is distant and formal. Emotionally frozen by his oath of loyalty to his boss and father figure - played beautifully by Paul Newman.

This is not your typical Summer movie. You certainly don't feel good about anyone - good or bad - being gunned down at close range. Despite being adapted from a graphic novel (read: Comic Book), there's very little that's comical or uplifting about this script either. It aches. Bleeds. It trembles under the enormous weight of unspoken grief over the ghosts of all good things lost to bad men burdened with a memory and a conscience. This film grieves for them. It is melancholic, in a way. Uncompromising. Yet, it heaves an earth-shaking sigh of relief, when a small but touching connection between Hanks' character and his character's eldest son blossoms from the path of vengeance and survival and blood that these two men are forced to travel.

'Road to Perdition' won't be everyone's cup of tea. However, I thoroughly enjoyed it. For the reasons I'd cited already. It felt like the right kind of movie to make about criminals and murderers of that era. There are a couple of minor glitches, though. Such as it not really being made clear why Al Capone's money was targetted, through a string of bank robberies committed by Hanks. However, if you're like me and loved 'Unforgiven', you'll probably find this screen offering is just as powerful.


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The Rules of Attraction
REVIEWED 10/02, © STEPHEN BOURNE
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REVIEW:

With beer, drugs, sex, and masturbation at the top of the list, the excess of teenaged pursuits is pretty much the overriding theme of this somewhat experimental, and fairly challenging, overtly crass flick. It's experimental in the way various post-production tricks such as rewinds, split screens, and flashbacks are used throughout. It's challenging in that the non-linear whisp of a plot is presented with enough of a different sort of voice that I can't really blow this one off as being total junk. It comes close, though.

Sean Bateman (James Van Der Beek) is a womanizing senior and smalltime drug dealer at New England's Camden College. Lauren Hynde (Shannyn Sossamon) is the jaded yet naive pixie-like waif at the same Liberal Arts campus, who Bateman suspects has been leaving charmingly girlish anonymous love letters in his mailbox. Paul Denton (Ian Somerhalder) is a rich, openly Gay, student party lizard who foolishly becomes smitten with the weirdly enigmatic and self-absorbed Sean. The film's billed as being a love triangle, but none of the main characters ever really hook up. Sean lusts for Lauren, but ends up having sex with her room mate. Paul lusts for Sean, but just ends up becoming a needy doormat wanking off under a pillow. And, Lauren lusts for Victor, the globe-trotting fun-chasing man-child of her desires, but merely ends up unconscious and raped in front of a handheld video camera. None of them find true love. Perhaps that's the message, if there is one. There are no rules where these hearts are concerned. The pay-off is self-fulfilling angst fed the most readily available placibo of choice, to dull the harsh consequences that these folk aren't really grown up enough to deal with yet.

Sure, this emotionally depraved picture is slightly plodding and annoyingly unimpressed with itself at times. A series of little deaths turned inside-out and backwards, bucking for cult status with the pre-twentysomethings it's obviously speaking to. It's awkward and arrogant, and gets prematurely sidetracked by wanton violence and naked bodies, but feels as though it has an all-consuming point to make about the tough realities of life from the viewpoint of a trio of disillusioned kids. Kind of like a 'Reality Bites' for today's generation of inarticulately savvy and faux-embittered youth, but without the need for condescending Hollywood clichés or campy one-liners.

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Russian Ark
REVIEWED 08/03, © STEPHEN BOURNE
www.ofrb.gov.on.ca | www.rcq.gouv.qc.ca


REVIEW:

As if trapped in a kind of beautifully gilded bittersweet limbo, two souls find themselves wandering through time and space within St. Petersburg's colosally ornate State Hermitage Museum. They banter. They argue. They trade places on pontificating about the virtues of Art and Poetry and the history of Russia and it's people, as they meander through several intricately decorated halls and palatially designed gallery rooms - each haunted by the spirits of both regals and rogues who have ingratiated this outstanding collection of architectural wonders with their presence over the years. From seeing Catherine the Great inhabiting her mid-18th Century Winter Palace (one of this expansive grounds' six buildings), to unceremoniously bumping into soldiers from the First World War, to sneaking a peaceful glimpse of doomed last Tzar Nicolai Romanov and his family, before finding each other in the midst of a grandly costumed Royal Ball, our ghostly visitors never seem certain of the reason why they're there or what's going on. Or, if they really want to leave.

This subtitled 2002 feast for the eyes is certainly a strangely captivating movie. Sure, the list of historic firsts surrounding Russian Director Aleksandr Sokurov's ninety minute one-take tour through arguably the World's largest and most austere warehouse of paintings and sculptures are impressive from a technical standpoint. And, actor Sergei Dontsov does an exhaustively wonderful job as the only constant cast member - out of the eight hundred and fifty or more performers we see on-screen at any given moment - in keeping the audience from losing track or feeling as though a crash course in that country's rich history is needed to enjoy this one. He's pompous, impish, and slightly insane. Like his off-screen partner (apparently voiced by Sokurov), you can't help but want to tag along with him through this largely theatrical character-driven tale. However, what truly makes this masterfully choreographed (did I mention it was shot in one take?) yet sparsely scripted epic a must-see is the camerawork. German Steadicam wizard Tilman Buttner, who reportedly bought his own customized high definition digital camera for use on this shoot, seamlessly delivers you from virtually panoramic views of crowds amongst these marbled pillars into some of the most fascinating close-ups of people and artwork, under a wealth of lighting and staging conditions, from beginning to end here. His work alone more than makes up for this picture's lack of any real plot or story. 'Russkij kovcheg' ('Russian Ark') probably won't be every filmgoer's cup of tea, but it's definitely worth checking out on a big screen for the amazing sights.

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Respiro
REVIEWED 09/03, © STEPHEN BOURNE
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REVIEW:

Young Pasquale (Francesco Casisa) is the street smart eldest of two brothers from a rundown fishing village in Southern Italy. His playground is the gang-riddled squalor of ruins near the eroding Sun-bleached cliffs that stand against the crystal turquoise waters of the Mediterranean Sea, where his loving yet tough father trawls offshore for a meager living in a simple boat at sunrise. Every day, this strong-minded boy and his younger brother Filippo await the return of Pietro's (Vincenzo Amato) ragged catch-laden vessel, so that they and their quickly maturing older sister can live close to a normal family life where nothing much changes for the better for any of them. However, it's not Pasquale's sometimes-brutal grudge matches with a rival gang that is the true source of their troubles. Nor is it the fact that Pietro occasionally remains out at sea for days on end, leaving these kids to fend for themselves. It's Grazia (Valeria Golino), their strangely girlish bi-polar mother, who seems to live in a tumultuous world of her own at times, that is their primary grief. They love her and do respect her, but Grazia's unfettered precociousness does force her children to unfairly take adult roles that are far beyond their tender ages. So, when their Dad's instinctive fear of dogs results in their Mom releasing a kennel-load of hungry strays into the streets, and it's decided that Grazia's unstable mental condition would be better handled within the sterile walls of a distant Naples psychiatric clinic, Pasquale decides to take matters into his own hands and hides her in a secluded shoreline cave. The town believes she's drowned herself in the ocean. However, her son's mischievous plans soon backfire when he collapses from Sunstroke at Pietro's depression-clouded beachside vigil, threatening Grazia's survival.

Frankly, I still can't figure out how the heck this relentlessly pointless 2002 Italian turkey has won critical acclaim at Cannes and elsewhere. Were the judges drunk? Were the critics asleep? The acting is gnawingly amateurish. The cinematography is sluggish and badly cut together. And, the story itself lazily meanders along without pulling a paying audience in or giving us any real reason to care about what happens. I'm fairly certain that little is lost in the translation through its English subtitles, so I guess 'Respiro' is actually supposed to be nothing more than a painfully awful interim showcase for Golino (who's had far better roles in 'Rain Man' (1988) and 'Hot Shots!' (1991)) to pay the bills abroad until her Hollywood agent comes back from vacation and she doesn't have to keep taking such terrible parts in such ridiculous movies as this one, just to keep working. There's no real structure to the script, and each scene actually does feel ad libbed and cobbled together at the spur of the moment, as though director/writer Emanuele Crialese had no clue what to do with his International star except have her flounce around topless here and wildly thrash around there with the hope of coming up with its wisp of a plotline later on in the editing room. It fails to materialize, with any real conviction or expected passion. Sure, Filippo Pucillo's raw childish talent explodes onscreen as the mouthy little shot-stealing brother Filippo throughout, but even his babbling fits of hilariously fresh dialogue aren't enough to save this hugely self-indulgent and nonsensically boring stinker. Keep clear of this one folks.

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The Rundown
REVIEWED 10/03, © STEPHEN BOURNE
www.ofrb.gov.on.ca | www.rcq.gouv.qc.ca


REVIEW:

After taking on most of the local NFL club's offensive line in a bone-crushing bar fight to retrieve a pennant ring as collateral on a player's bad debt, glib Los Angeles loan shark collector and aspiring restaurateur Beck (Dwayne Douglas Johnson aka 'The Rock') is sent on what he insists will be the last job to finally clear him of his heavy-handed obligations with sleazy boss Billy Walker (William Lucking), and put a few grand into his life-changing culinary dreams. Seems Travis (Seann William Scott), Walker's son from divorce number three, made some powerful enemies in Chicago before disappearing into the Brazilian Rainforest, and this intimidating six foot four inch tall enforcer's assignment is to bring the boy home to settle up with Daddy and associates. However, this seemingly simple task quickly becomes waylaid by Travis' determined pursuit of a priceless golden statuette called the Gato Diablo that's hidden deep in the Amazon Jungle. Mariana (Rosario Dawson), sultry bartender of the small dusty town of El Dorado that skirts a vast gold mining quarry run by malevolent pit boss Cornelius Hatcher (Christopher Walken), has also taken an interest in this ancient treasure, and the three team up under strained circumstances that both frees these two Americans from a camp of Guerilla freedom fighters and puts them at direct odds against Hatcher's trigger-happy soldiers.

Well, it looks as though this native Floridian and former Calgary Stampeders footballer turned self-proclaimed 'most electrifying man in sports entertainment' US pro wrestler has the smarts to pick the right type of role to follow up his rounds in the last couple of 'The Mummy' trilogy pics after-all. It surprised the heck out of me, but 'The Rock' actually does a pretty impressive job as the leading man for this adrenaline-pumped adventure/comedy; Filling out his character as more than just a hulking behemoth thumping through the jungles after his human target. Sure, 'The Rundown' is still basically a bare-knuckled live-action cartoon over-all, and gets fairly goofy at times, but this guy does have what it takes to lift his dialogue and build his part on-screen - much in the same way Mel Gibson or Bruce Willis did in the early years of their careers. This flick delivers, and you don't automatically feel as though you're watching yet another mindless muscle-bound robot star being carried along by a collection of more serious actors here. The eye-popping high velocity fight scenes, carefully choreographed by Martial Arts master Andy Cheng, are simply amazing throughout. Unfortunately, the script tends to cripple the story about halfway through, forcing co-stars Walken, Scott and Ewen Bremner (as the Scots-Irish bush pilot caricature Declan) to wildly ham it up for the camera with slightly embarrassing results. Johnson and platonic teammate Dawson seem to be only ones who keep it together, presenting us with enough sensibly meted timing and charisma to keep an audience interested 'til the closing credits. Check out this flick for the great-looking wirework battles and fun quips, but also be prepared to discover some truly well rounded (yet still a bit raw) acting where you'd least expect it.

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Runaway Jury
REVIEWED 11/03, © STEPHEN BOURNE
www.ofrb.gov.on.ca | www.rcq.gouv.qc.ca


REVIEW:

Two years after investment day-trader Henry Wood was gunned down at point blank range in his downtown Biloxi office during a murderous assault by a then-recently fired co-worker, his widow's million dollar civil law suit against one of the country's biggest gun manufacturers - Vicksberg Firearms - has finally come to trial. It's an important, landmark case that will set the precedent of placing the liability for gun deaths in America squarely in the laps of the powerful consortium of companies that make and market these weapons, if won by Mrs. Woods' thirty-five year veteran prosecuting Southern lawyer Wendall Rohr (Dustin Hoffman). However, the all-important selection of a jury must be made first. That's where defense lawyer Durwood Cable (Bruce Davison) could have the upper hand, because his client has retained the pricey dubious experience of Rankin Fitch (Gene Hackman). Fitch is an ex-attorney turned consultant who believes that trials are too important to be left up to juries, and will stop at nothing to control the outcome of a verdict by any means necessary. Including bribing and blackmailing any or all twelve men and women called to pass judgment in this Alabama court of law. Enter Nicholas Easter (John Cusack), an outwardly unassuming manager of a local electronics store, who seems at first to be upset about being chosen as Juror #9, but it soon becomes clear that he and his girlfriend Marlee (Rachel Weisz) have ulterior motives in mind for this trial as he quickly gains his co-jurors' confidence and Marlee approaches both legal eagles with an offer to tip the scales in their favour for a hefty sum...

Based on John Grisham's 560 page 1997 potboiler of the same name (in which a tobacco firm is on trial), this fairly suspenseful game of cat and mouse certainly has a lot of fun toying with our outside view of the legal system. We see Fitch's shadowy team attempt to systematically undermine both the jury selection and each juror through a series of dirty tricks and invasive background checks from their high tech headquarters hidden in an old abandoned factory nearby. It's pretty unnerving to see the lengths they go through, even though Easter sees them coming a mile away. Hackman is excellent here, as everyone's puppet master nemesis, thundering over anything in his way while completely disinterested in who he might hurt in the process. The electricity between him and Hoffman could have been a lot punchier during their confrontation scene, but it was still a delight to see these two great actors face off against each other. What really worked for this movie was that it switches from the court case story into a full blown mystery surrounding just who Nicholas and Marlee truly are, pulling you in deeper as Fitch's man starts putting the pieces together. The problem with this flick is that the results of that investigation aren't presented in a compelling enough way to successfully balance out the emotion we see and feel throughout the trial and underlying bribery story involving Marlee. In fact, because Weisz remains such a dark-eyed enigma until the last ten minutes of this flick, the ending falls apart and you're left wondering why all that extra footage director Gary Fleder must have shot ended up on the cutting room floor. Sure, this is really Cusack's baby and he is absolutely fabulous as a leading man you can't take your eyes off of. Too bad they rushed the ending, or this already entertaining thriller would have been a far more satisfying picture worth recommending. Rent it for the labyrinthine plotline, but expect to find yourself scratching your head come the closing credits.

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Raising Helen
REVIEWED 06/04, © STEPHEN BOURNE
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REVIEW:

Director Garry Marshall serves up a sometimes soft-humoured yet surprisingly heartwarming romantic comedy featuring Manhattan's Dominique high-fashion modeling agency's bright young assistant Helen Harris (Kate Hudson) stumbling through raising her eldest sister's three precocious orphans, much to the chagrin of her matriarchal older sister Jenny (Joan Cusack). Child actors Felicity Huffman, and Spencer and Abigail Breslin do a pretty good job as strong-minded Audrey, brooding Henry and fragile Sarah respectively, and John Corbett pulls in a personably convincing performance as Saint Barbara's Lutheran School's laid back Pastor and frazzled Helen's tenuous love interest Dan Parker. Helen Mirren and Hector Elizondo round out this cast with some delightfully funny scenes, as Harris' initial and subsequent, rather quirky bosses.

Sure, there are times when the momentum drags a bit or you're left feeling as though the ads and trailers grabbed most of the good scenes here, but Patrick J. Clifton's and Beth Rigazio's fairly down to earth story (scripted by co-writers Jack Amiel and Michael Begler) does provide what feel like the right dynamics for Hudson and Cusack to capably give a paying audience some wonderfully satisfying moments throughout. For instance, it's almost magical how you're shown the fairly realistic paradigm shifts these two women experience, through the course of this screening. Some of the dialogue shared by Helen and Dan is extremely intelligent and witty, as they're drawn closer together in a kind of bubble of emotional comfort. I'd read that Marshall had a tendency to refer to Hudson as 'Goldie' during production. His unintentional slip is easy to understand, considering the immense enthusiasm and impressive versatility that this proven talent expresses does resemble those of her actress mother Goldie Hawn. One thing, though. How come Helen was fired by Dominique after some kids drew on a model's face with permanent markers? Did this picture supposedly take place before photo airbrushing or cover up cosmetics? Oh well.

Yes, this family movie is predominantly a 'chick flick' rife with head-tilted females weeping when they're not shrieking like banshees at each other, as well as featuring giggly children whirling around in what appears to be sugar-induced insanity at times, but the central storyline quickly cuts through all of that to offer unexpected and much-appreciated reality checks for these characters that don't feel overtly preachy or sappy, and do make 'Raising Helen' worthwhile checking out as a superior breezy feel good rental. Good stuff.

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Resident Evil 2
REVIEWED 09/04, © STEPHEN BOURNE
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REVIEW:

Picking up on Brit-born writer/director Paul W.S. Anderson's ('Soldier' (1998), 'Alien Vs. Predator' (2004)) 2002 surprise blockbuster 'Resident Evil', which was based on Capcom's hugely successful same-named shoot 'em up computer game first introduced in 1996 and itself reportedly based on the popular mid-1980's game called 'Sweet Home' in Japan, the whole of Raccoon City has been placed under heavily armed quarantine as the Umbrella Corporation's horrifically viral T-virus and the ghoulish Undead it spawns run rampant through the moonlit and bloodied streets. Disbarred member of the police force's elite Special Tactics and Rescue Squad, Jill Valentine (Sienna Guillory; 'Love Actually' (2003)) is trapped with a dwindling group desperately seeking safe haven from that grown throng of loping cannibals, when super human rogue gunslinger Alice (former Soviet model turned actor/singer/wardrobe artist Militza Natasha 'Milla' Jovovich; 'The Messenger: The Story of Joan of Arc' (1999), 'Zoolander' (2001)) saves them from a trio of toothy wall-crawling creatures that have already escaped from a secret underground lab called The Hive, and wheelchair-bound Doctor Ashford (Jared Harris) conscripts Jill and Alice from the safety of his easily hacked abandoned monitoring station to rescue his private school daughter from an impending mutilating death. That is, if they can evade an ever present army of blood thirsty zombies, avoid an intimidating bio-weapon called Nemesis that's been unleashed to reap further carnage against the police offensive, and reach the last chopper out of town before a five kiloton nuclear missile is detonated overhead.

Wow. This fairly contrived yet surprisingly entertaining actioner helmed by 'Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl' (2003) cinematographer turned director Alexander Witt and penned by Anderson actually does a good job of presenting a rip roaring, pyrotechnic feature throughout. Sure, it does pretty much resemble a live action cartoon bereft of substance in plot and dialogue, with a lot of the vaguely dramatic scenes feeling overtly wooden throughout, but let's face it. 'Resident Evil: Apocalypse' (its international title) is all about racking up spectacular body counts while cranking out high velocity, bullet-riddled and hairy-fisted fight scenes, right? Jovovich and crew deserve top marks for giving you that, by the truckload here. Many of the incredibly gory and wonderfully imaginative action sequences are truly jaw dropping, folks. It's also fun seeing the Province of Ontario's Metropolitan Toronto, Brampton and Hamilton being used as a stand in for Raccoon City in several location shots, with a certain glee being sated as Hog Town's famously recognizable UFO silo-like City Hall is unceremoniously trashed during the final, heavily CGI enhanced onslaught. With the recent success of the Brit nail biter '28 Days Later' (2003) and the 'Dawn of the Dead' (2003) remake, there's sure to be another 'Resident Evil' sequel in the works. Certainly if the thoroughly captivating results of this impressive $50 million, hundred-minute no holds barred gore fest fills enough theatre seats. Check it out as a fun popcorn flick packed with fresh stunts and gangrenous stumps for voracious fans of this hugely under rated cult genre inspired by legendary zombiemeister George A. Romero's 'Night of the Living Dead' (1968). Good stuff.

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The Return
REVIEWED 09/04, © STEPHEN BOURNE
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REVIEW:

The relatively dismal yet normal childhood lives of young but strong-willed Ivan (Ivan Dobronravov) and his more impressionable, older teenaged brother Andrei (Vladimir Garin (1987-2003)) are suddenly interrupted when the appearance of their twelve-year estranged father (Konstantin Lavronenko) sends them on an increasingly arduous road trip with this mysterious man, miles away from their repressed mother and their simple Russian port town in this extraordinarily stark, award-winning 2003 picture from Andrei Zvyagintsev in his feature-length directorial debut. Frankly, cinematographer Mikhail Krichman's luxuriously impressive visuals captured throughout are often times the predominant aspects of this subtitled, hundred and five-minute screening. His artfully bleak interpretation of this virtually petrified landscape, its heavy grey skies and the cold menace of the ever-present sea are absolutely mesmerizing, that it's sometimes barely noticeable that there are these people in the foreground vying for a paying audience's attention most of the time.

Sure, Garin - who reportedly drowned in Lake Ladoga, near St. Petersburg, shortly after filming wrapped at that location - and Dobronravov both do a fairly good job here, as diametrically opposite-minded siblings not only dealing with their emotionally distant Dad stoically attempting to build their character with unfamiliar discipline during their extended hours together, but with being plunged in to the depths of uncertainty and growing suspicion on this long journey North by car and by boat towards an unthinkably horrible fate. However, Vladimir Moiseyenko's and Aleksandr Novototsky's over-all disappointing screenplay fails to offer these actors much to work with, completely missing the opportunity for the flick to more fully examine these characters with any depth. A lot of questions are curiously left unanswered here, feeling as though they were planted to continuously tantalize your curiosity as a series of cheap taunts, just to steal your interest throughout, without these storytellers bothering to invest any clear sense of empathy or concern for these boys. Almost as though they're an afterthought that bridges those scenes featuring the astounding results of Krichman's masterful lens. Making 'Vozvrashcheniye' (its original Russian title) little more than a cinematic coffee table book of extremely taught and memorably haunting imagery super sized for the big screen, where plot and dialogue become superficially unimportant to your enjoyment. Where was this man for the past ten years? It's clear he's simply using his unsuspecting sons as a cover, while he drags them to a secluded island in search for something of value buried under an ancient secluded cabin, but we're never told any clear specifics about him or this treasure. It's all hinted at with wisps of reactions tantamount to Mime-like vagueness, but your deductions are never verified. Why? Even the dynamics between Lavronenko's character and his wife (aggravatingly underplayed by Natalya Vdovina) are pretty well non-existent in explaining anything about what's about to transpire throughout the majority of this offering. Annoying.

Definitely check this one out for the captivatingly superior visuals if you're a cinematography student or a photography buff, but steer clear if you're a fan of consistently accessible storylines featuring interesting characters worth the price of admission to spend any time with.

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Raise Your Voice
REVIEWED 10/04, © STEPHEN BOURNE
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REVIEW:

Relentlessly burdened by haunted memories of a tragic car accident that took the life of her beloved and supportive older brother Paul (Jason Ritter; 'Mumford' (1999), 'Freddy vs. Jason' (2003) and talented son of comedian John Ritter (1948-2003)), lyrical prodigy Teresa 'Terri' Fletcher (singer Hilary Ann Lisa Duff; 'The Lizzie McGuire Movie' (2003), 'A Cinderella Story' (2004)) hesitantly goes through with leaving her family business' waitressing job and the comfortable security of her Flagstaff home to surreptitiously enter the prestigious summer program at LA's Bristol-Hillman Conservatory of Music - one of the country's best, most-difficult to get accepted into schools for aspiring talent. It's there that Terri's world is opened up to new experiences, new challenges and the very real chance of realizing her dreams. Unfortunately, just as she's finding herself; as the song goes, she runs away. Caught up in confused torment over her dead brother, her having to continually lie to her overprotective father, and over a somewhat tumultuous budding relationship with sensitive Brit schoolmate Jay Corigan (Oliver James; 'What a Girl Wants' (2003)) days before she faces final judging at Bristol-Hillman's closing ceremonies that could win her a much-prized ten thousand dollar scholarship.

Wow. This slightly clumsy yet surprisingly compelling teen coming of age flick from director Sean McNamara ('3 Ninjas: High Noon at Mega Mountain' (1998), 'Race to Space' (2001)) feels a lot like a Disney Studios summer spin-off of 'Fame' (1980) or a decidedly drier, more wholesome retooling of 'Flashdance' (1983) - or similar to the lesser acclaimed dance pastiche, 'The Company' (2003) - at times, but it manages to stay the course with an incredibly impressive supporting cast that also includes David Keith ('The Two Jakes' (1990), 'Daredevil' (2003)) as the Fletcher patriarch Simon, Rebecca De Mornay ('The Hand That Rocks the Cradle' (1992), 'Identity' (2003)) as Terri's slightly rebellious Aunt Nina, and John Corbett ('Tombstone' (1993), 'Raising Helen' (2004)) in the role of Bristol-Hillman's mentorly eccentric music teacher Mr. Torvald, as Duff reasonably presents this fairly complicated character that's more than the usual cutesy pariah with a heart of gold seen in her previous films. Yes, many of the scenes where young Fletcher is nervously wrestling with her singing could have been a lot more convincing, but because Mitch Rotter's story adapted by screenwriter Sam Schreiber makes a concerted effort to develop this main character beyond the music, additionally giving her an enjoyably personable group of friends and family to play off of, any real onscreen stumbles feel completely irrelevant to this over-all contagiously uplifting drama. I'll admit that I was fairly skeptical going in to this one, but was almost immediately drawn into this delightful gem and totally captivated by this inherently simple yet well-paced, truly wonderful hundred and sixteen minuter from beginning to closing credits. Not just taking it all in as a potentially inspiring tale for otherwise jaded prepubescent moviegoers, but as a worthwhile piece of superior entertainment that adults can easily get caught up in on a rainy afternoon.

Definitely check out 'Raise Your Voice' as a surprisingly satisfying rental featuring a terrific soundtrack and an astounding cast of talent.

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Ray
REVIEWED 10/04, © STEPHEN BOURNE
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REVIEW:

How can one movie completely tell the entire, tumultuous life of this legendary musician? Well, it can't. Actor Jamie Foxx ('Any Given Sunday' (1999), 'Collateral' (2004)) pulls in an absolutely astounding performance as renowned singer/composer Ray Charles Robinson (1930-2004), spanning his early years as a struggling eighteen year-old pianist stricken with glaucoma since boyhood and fresh off the Greyhound bus from Greenville, Florida to join his rather untrustworthy partner Gossie McKee (Terrence Dashon Howard) at the Rocking Chair Club in Seattle in the late 1940's, through his stratospheric musical success that started with Atlantic Records from 1952 until Ray signed with ABC Records, while relentlessly burdened by his childhood demons and prevailing societal misconceptions regarding race and the handicapped. Of course, Ray Charles was also a notoriously philandering and mischievous lady's man, reportedly maintaining a legion of girlfriends and fathering twelve children with different women.

What former PBS documentary filmmaker and co-writer/director Taylor Edwin Hackford ('Against All Odds' (1984), 'The Devil's Advocate' (1997)) does here his wonderfully piece together an incredibly captivating telling of this larger than life phenomenon for the big screen. Where it selectively and completely pares away Charles' failed year-old marriage and first child with Eileen Williams, and a lot of peripheral anecdotal material including his fanaticism with chess and penning the theme song for such sitcoms as 'Three's Company', 'Ray' focuses in part on his relationship with a young Quincy Jones (Larenz Tate), his long and oftentimes beleaguered marriage to Della Bea Robinson (Kerry Washington; 'Bad Company' (2002), Against the Ropes (2004)), and his self-destructive twenty-year abuse of heroin. However, far beyond all of that, this enormously satisfying two hour and thirty-two minute biography sets its sights squarely on his music. Its roots and its development, as well as his showmanship in presenting it. "My style required pure heart singing," according to the man himself in comparing his chart-topping hits to Rock 'n' Roll, and this picture marvelously captures the astonishing depth and breadth of Ray Charles' inspired, pioneering talent - as the first to fuse Rhythm and Blues lyrics with Gospel music to create an entirely new sound. Frankly, if Hackford had tossed his and co-writer James L. White's brilliant script away and had merely given a paying audience a blank screen scored with a hundred and fifty-two minutes of Ray's litany of tunes, it's likely every ticket-holder would still leave the theatre afterwards feeling as though they'd gotten their money's worth. As it stands, Foxx immediately convinces you that he's the only actor capable enough to pull this off, and deftly immerses himself into the role while easily carrying your attention for that length of time. His performance and those of this cast of co-stars that also includes Regina King, Bokeem Woodbine, Sharon Warren, and Curtis Armstrong is truly a memorable feast.

Absolutely check out this incredibly satisfying cinematic offering as arguably the best tribute movie seen on the big screen in years, that's definitely well worth spending time with. Awesome.

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Robots
REVIEWED 03/05, © STEPHEN BOURNE
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REVIEW:

Despite his doting mother's worries and nurtured by his dishwasher father, aspiring Rivet Town-born inventor Rodney Copperbottom (voiced by Ewan McGregor; 'Star Wars: Episode II - Attack of the Clones' (2002), 'Big Fish' (2003)) sets out to follow his dreams of meeting his life long hero: The famed robot manufacturing genius, Bigweld (Mel Brooks; 'Spaceballs' (1987), 'Dracula: Dead and Loving It' (1995)), in the sprawling mechanized metropolis of Robot City. Rodney has tinkered with scraps of metal and bits of used parts ever since his first hand-me-down upgrade to child, finally creating a rather bashful yet energetic little coffee pot-shaped helper he's named Wonder Bot. However, not all dreams are easily found. Almost as soon as he steps from his hometown's tiny flying train into this bustling capital's station - where he meets small time con artist and scrounger Fender (Robin Williams; 'Mrs. Doubtfire' (1993), 'Insomnia' (2002)) - takes the rollicking Crosstown Express through a maze of chutes and mid air tubes, and finds himself standing at Bigweld Industries' brightly polished gold and silver gate emblazoned with the immortal motto, "You can shine no-matter who you are", does young Copperbottom realize the cold hard fact that dastardly big business droid Phineas T. Ratchet (Greg Kinnear; 'As Good as It Gets' (1997), 'Stuck On You' (2003)) has taken over. Ratchet has no time for aspiring inventors or new ideas, only interested in changing the plant's objectives towards the financially-lucrative, exclusive specialty of selling top of the line upgrades and stopping all production of affordable spare parts. Something must be done, before everyone starts falling apart and ends up being scooped up and shipped off to the devilish underworld lair of Madam Gasket's Chop Shop to be melted down and recycled...

It's tough at first in trying to figure out who this visually astounding ninety-one minute computer animated feature's intended audience is supposed to be, until the fart jokes and big butt asides begin. Feeling like a vague homage to 'The Wizard of OZ' (1937) and 'A Bug's Life' (1998), and purposely doling out light hearted nods to a litany of cinematic mechanical men, this relatively kids friendly feature of fairly forgettable, anthropomorphized machines tends to wallow in droll punch lines and over long scenes of silliness that don't really go anywhere. Williams is in his element, easily stealing the show with more frenetic goofiness reminiscent of his antics in the superior 'Aladdin' (1992), without director Chris Wedge ('Ice Age' (2002)) really worrying too much about cleverly developing its stereotypical, cartoony characters or plot. Frankly, 'Robots' does become fairly boring once the bright novelty of Lowell Ganz's and Babaloo Mandel's screenplay wears off, devolving into a relentless showcase of malfunctioning body parts and silly voices. As though this movie is merely a heavily padded commercial for an onslaught of merchandise destined to bloat the shelves at Wal Mart and Toys 'R' Us this summer. Sure, it does contain a handful of truly impressive effects compounded by its over-all dazzling CGI wizardry throughout, but there's not a whole lot going on beyond the eye candy that feels particularly fresh or memorably inspired as a big screen film. Which is fine, if you're looking for something undemanding and hyped to the hilt that you can take the toddlers to sit through during a weekend matinee, but it's more likely to become the fickley amusing, safe distraction played in the background during childrens' birthday parties.

Check it out as a vaguely entertaining second or third choice rental for the visual wow factor, but don't be too surprised if you're mostly bored and hungry for something far more substantial shortly after the closing credits.

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The Ring 2
REVIEWED 03/05, © STEPHEN BOURNE
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REVIEW:

"You let the dead get in." Feisty newspaper reporter Rachel Keller (Naomi Watts; 'Mulholland Dr.' (2001), 'I Heart Huckabees' (2004)) prayed that the nightmare had ended when she and her young son Aiden (David Dorfman; 'The Ring' (2002), 'The Texas Chainsaw Massacre' (2003)) had left Seattle. That the murderous ghost of Samara Morgan - mercilessly left for dead at the bottom of her childhood horse farm's murky old well by her tormented adopted mother years ago - had been satisfied by Rachel's desperate attempts at appeasement. That none of the copies she and Aiden had made of the one infamous videotape of Samara's haunted black and white visions of decomposing carnage and twisted insanity had ever seen the light of day. That nobody would unwittingly see those terrible images, or receive the gruesome phone call that meant their certain death seven days afterwards, now that the Kellers had moved to Astoria's sleepy coastal town to slowly piece together a new life. Her prayers weren't answered. A copy had gotten out. Falling into the hands of, reproduced and passed around by curious teenagers subsequently attempting to save their own lives by tricking others to watch the unmarked tape. Leaving a trail of broken, disfigured corpses that has followed Rachel here. As though on purpose. As though Samara still wants something from these two terrified lives she has uncharacteristically spared. Her evil schemes slowly revealed, when strange occurrences start closing in on Aiden and he begins to act differently. Sending Rachel to co-worker Max Roarke (Simon Baker; 'Red Planet' (2000), 'Book of Love' (2004)) for help when she realizes what's happening. And then to the local hospital with bruised and unconscious Aiden suffering from extreme hypothermia, under the suspicious eye of Child Services psychologist Dr. Emma Temple (Elizabeth Perkins). Leading Rachel here, to the Silverdale Psychiatric Institution. Behind these crumbling reinforced concrete walls, locked wide eyed in the icy stare of Samara's disturbed birth mother Evelyn (Sissy Spacek), desperately searching for answers. "You let the dead get in," mumbles the gaunt, notoriously eerie woman kept on close watch. "Listen to the voices... Listen to your baby," she tells Rachel, while explaining how Evelyn was in the same predicament shortly after Samara was born...

Taking a more story-oriented approach in retelling the Japanese horror 'Ringu 2' (1999), this anticipated sequel to the enormously scary 'The Ring' - itself a remake of 'Ringu' (1998), based on novelist Kôji Suzuki's book - clearly lacks several key aspects that made its predecessor such a thoroughly inspired success. Director Hideo Nakata (who directed the Japanese originals) seems to be more interested in presenting a familiar American flavour, completely side stepping the videotape's haunting, stylishly Dadaist-like images, while clumsily fleshing out these characters more fully. Ehren Kruger's screenplay fails to realize that they're already compelling enough for this genre, allowing the curiously self-gratifying hand of Nakata to get in the way of cleverly perpetuating this franchise's previous success. The primary problem is, the phantasmic danger dogging this small main cast throughout the course of this hundred and eleven-minute flick is heavily watered down in the process. The claustrophobic undertone so wonderfully realized in 'The Ring' is gone. Where the videotape and the ghoul within were the stars before, they're hardly seen here as anything more than lazily nodded at props. Forcing a paying audience to endure long, surprisingly boring scenes featuring Watts miming through several vaguely different expressions of fright, while Dorfman solemnly glares speechlessly behind pudgy cheeks or stares glassy eyed into the distance. Yawn. The unattended carcass of a truly great horror has fermented to runny, stinky cheese. For no reason, except sound stage ego or apathy, perhaps. Sadly, you practically need to sit through the first movie immediately beforehand, in order for any tangible momentum of unnatural terror to sustain itself during this one. Sure, it's great to see Spacek pay homage to the emotionally unstable side of her legendary 'Carrie' (1976) role during her wonderful yet brief cameo, and some of the special effects are impressive, but the majority of this flick is so excruciatingly dull and silly that these few welcome highlights hardly save it from wasteful disaster.

"Listen to the voices," is right. They're telling you to forget this unfortunate turkey, and simply rent the thoroughly enjoyable 'The Ring' again.

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Rory O'Shea Was Here
REVIEWED 04/05, © STEPHEN BOURNE
www.ofrb.gov.on.ca | www.rcq.gouv.qc.ca


REVIEW:

When Rory O'Shea met Michael Connolly, these two Dubliners were tucked away in the suburban Irish countryside under claustrophobic care at Carrigmore Residential Home. Michael (big screen newcomer Steven Robertson) had lived there all of his young life, a bright-eyed Cerebral Palsy survivor barely understandable and confined to his electric wheelchair. Rory (Glasgow's James McAvoy; 'Bright Young Things' (2003), 'Wimbledon' (2004)), on the other hand, had moved around from home to home, outwardly rebellious towards his lot in life as a quadraplegic and pretty well anything else going. He hated Carrigmore with devilish passion, constantly looking for way to buck the system and escape into the real world as an independent soul. Looking to get drunk, chat up the ladies, soak up life like a young Turk bashing his way through the world, and to dance the night away as though there's no tomorrow - even though dancing was impossible for him, except on the inside. As far as home director Eileen (Oscar-winner Brenda Fricker; 'My Left Foot' (1989), 'Veronica Guerin' (2003)) was concerned, this ne'er do well punk with his spiky hair and his nose ring and his untamed attitude was a bad influence on Connolly. "It'll all end in tears," she tells herself, as the small bus takes the boys away to their new life in the city. See, they've rented a small flat through the State-run Independent Living Fund - and an uneasy 'donation' from Michael's estranged father still embarrassed with his son's distorted physical condition. His loss. The boys are free at last, hiring on feisty and gorgeous blonde grocery clerk Siobhan (Romola Garai; 'I Capture the Castle' (2003), 'Vanity Fair' (2004)) as their untrained nursemaid. However, their lives beyond the safe haven of ordered daily care soon gives way to awkward complications when Michael's infatuation with Siobhan turns ugly, and Rory's increasing aggravation over his own predicaments makes being about him close to unbearable.

This hugely entertaining 2004 Irish comedy is an incredible balancing act between severe comment on how the world deals with these otherwise able lives and the sometimes hilariously riotous shenanigans that these fictional blokes manage to get themselves into. Jeffrey Caine's beautifully smart screenplay wonderfully fleshes out these characters, instantly making them all real and captivating for a paying audience to follow along with. You see the quiet humiliation of lost dignity. You see people in wheelchairs begging on the streets during a government sanctioned charity day, as though being needy parasites rolled out once a year is somehow their only use to society at large. It's maddening to know that this is actually going on in this day and age, frankly. McAvoy becomes the personably pernicious antagonist to all of that, with Rory demanding the same right to make the world his oyster alongside every young man his age. Sure, his particularly aimless path is a doomed one because he's gotten used to rebelling without looking beyond the next pint of lager, but that doesn't matter. You can't help but cheer him on anyways. You can't help but be amazed at how Robertson almost magically allows his role to blossom from an institutionalized, developmentally interrupted man child into the beginnings of a self-realizing adult inspired by his friend's lust for life before your eyes. Awesome. What director Damien O'Donnell ('East Is East' (1999), 'Heartlands' (2002)) does is get out of the way of that, masterfully showing you the oftentimes blunt realities associated with these two getting exactly what they want without being careful about what they wish for. Deftly punctuated with wry humour and immensely satisfying drama over-all. That's where 'Inside I'm Dancing' (this flick's international title) is a true gem worth discovering.

Absolutely do yourself a huge favour and check out this hundred and four-minute feature as a thoroughly entertaining rental that will likely stay with you long after the closing credits.

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Rebound
REVIEWED 07/05, © STEPHEN BOURNE
www.ofrb.gov.on.ca | www.rcq.gouv.qc.ca


REVIEW:

Ohio Polytechnic University's three-time State Championship basketball winning streak has been stuck in a losing tailspin since 1999, but the team's famous coach, renowned endorsement king Roy McCormick (Martin Lawrence), was nowhere near the game court for the first drop that fateful day. He had his assistant play back a pep talk cassette to his players, though. "Don't lose the game, it makes me look bad," was his inspirational, pre-recorded message. Coach Roy's photo shoot for Details Magazine ran a little long. It's all good, though. McCormick arrived in time to check out the ladies, shake his players into shape in front of the cameras, and kill the rival team's pet bird. Okay, things got a little out of hand with the bird thing, but Roy felt really bad about that. He did apologize to the Vice President of the NCBA about that little temper tantrum. The NCBA called him a disgrace and kicked him out of the league anyways. If his industrious, quick thinking handler Tim Fink (Breckin Meyer; 'Rat Race' (2001), 'Garfield' (2004)) hadn't cited the rule book, Roy probably still wouldn't be coaching the game he loved as a kid. All of the endorsement contracts have been terminated, but he still has that. There's even a framed picture of him smiling for the team photo that's still on display inside the otherwise empty trophy case in the hallway of his old alma mater, Mount Vernon Junior High School. The middle school that, coincidentally, is the only place that will allow McCormick to coach basketball. Mainly because Fink has him coaching the Mt. Vernon Swelters - the worst team in that league since, well, before any of it's current students were born - for free. The Press will love it. Principal Walsh (Megan Mullally) is highly skeptical at first, but quickly volunteers lovely single mother Jeanie Ellis (Wendy Raquel Robinson; 'Miss Congeniality' (2000), 'Mind Games' (2003)) to keep an eye on things. Particularly Coach Roy's anger mismanagement issues. Jeanie goes to all of the games because her son Keith (Oren Williams), jersey #4, is the Swelters' best player. Which isn't saying much. Goggles (Gus Hoffman) is also the best player, if having the highest record for being hit in the face with a basketball makes him the best. Ralph (Steven Anthony Lawrence) is the best too, if throwing up the most times during every game deserves an MVP nod. They still lost their first game coached by McCormick. 109-0. Roy needs to find more players. Fast. He sees Margaret 'Big Mac' Reid (Tara Correa-McMullen) shaking down a kid in the hallway, and immediately adds her as the team's enforcer. Wes (Steven C. Parker), another new addition, is painfully meek and uncoordinated, but he's six foot two with extremely long arms. They can't shoot, dunk or pass either, but the Swelters now have Coach Roy's almost undivided attention - Tim says he'll never work again otherwise - and these dribbling zeros slowly turn into hoop dream heroes as championship contenders against the winningest team in the league.

Playing out as a farcically soft kind of 'The Bad News Bears' (1976) on the Junior High School basketball court, this surprisingly entertaining kids movie from director Steve Carr ('Dr. Dolittle 2' (2001), 'Daddy Day Care' (2003)) isn't nearly as inspirational as 'Coach Carter' (2005) nor as riveting as 'The Year of the Yao' (2005), or even as memorable as 'The Harlem Globetrotters' (1951), but it does deliver as a thoroughly pleasurable hundred and three minutes at the movies. Which is saying a lot, considering that comedian Martin Lawrence ('Do the Right Thing' (1989), 'Bad Boys II' (2003)) has always managed to sabotage his character's likability for me in pretty well everything that I've seen him in over the past dozen or so years. To the point where I went in expecting to trounce this flick - with my bias against it also based on the trailer pretty well telling the entire story - as just another lame 1980's-style television script flipped up to the big screen in order to give someone on the career rebound a much-needed paid holiday in front of the camera. I was wrong, and ended up being happily impressed. Frankly, this leading role as a narcissistic egomaniacal University championship coach taken down a few notches and developing into a believable enough mentor to these young hopefuls truly suits Lawrence over-all. Some of the solutions that Coach Roy comes up with are fairly clever. He still fails to avoid the face pulling and the nauseating look at me I'm an hilarious guy in a goofy costume attitude, but Carr and film editor Craig Herring skilfully minimize any lingering damage. It additionally helps that Jon Lucas' and Scott Moore's tight screenplay works hard at fleshing out the otherwise familiar stereotypes for this predominant cast of teenaged actors that, along with Oren Williams ('Clifford's Really Big Movie' (2004)), Eddy Martin ('Spanglish' (2004)), Steven C. Parker ('Traces' (2004) and Steven Anthony Lawrence ('Cheaper by the Dozen' (2003), 'Kicking & Screaming' (2005)), also introduces on-screen first timers Logan McElroy, Gus Hoffman and Tara Correa-McMullen. Great picks. These kids shine as a wonderful collection of co-stars. Sure, this offering doesn't really contain any plot surprises or outstanding breakthrough performances, but the presentation is crisp and light hearted, and the good natured atmosphere that was clearly on the set easily translates in front of your eyes. They're having a fun time, so a paying audience can't help but do the same. Good stuff. It's just unfortunate that it doesn't offer up more laughs for the price of admission, since the potential was there. Check it out as a measurably enjoyable PG-rated rental for the entire family, that features some talented young faces that moviegoers will undoubtedly be seeing more of in the near future.

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Rock School
REVIEWED 07/05, © STEPHEN BOURNE
www.ofrb.gov.on.ca | www.rcq.gouv.qc.ca


REVIEW:

Legendary experimental Rock/Jazz Fusion musician/composer and anti-censorship stalwart Frank Vincent Zappa (1940-1993) - reportedly alone in being inducted into both the Jazz and Rock and Roll Halls of Fame, albeit posthumously - remains one of the most banally irreverent and often-quoted celebrities of the past thirty years. "The more boring a child is, the more the parents, when showing off the child, receive adulation for being good parents - because they have a tame child-creature in their house," Zappa reportedly said in the 1970's. Paul Green seems to live by that credo, running The Paul Green School of Rock Music for potentially gifted kids aged seven to nineteen since 1998, establishing permanent digs in the third floor of that capital's Henderson Building four years later and successfully launching a dozen branches of his after-school program across the States so far. From their info, this School of Rock Music teaches such fundamentals as Songwriting, Music Business 101, and How to Get Gigs and Promote Your Band. More importantly, it teaches the craft of musicianship under Green's oftentimes unorthodox mentoring style that noisily demands diligent practice off-stage, marked cohesiveness when these children and teens play in assigned groups, and a Rock Star attitude in front of an audience. The curriculum includes Led Zeppelin, AC/DC, Punk Rock, Queen and, of course, Frank Zappa songs. The result of each semester is an actual, small venue gig. C.J. Tywoniak (7) effortlessly plucks Black Sabbath and Van Halen riffs from his electric guitar that's only a couple of inches shorter than he is, for a mesmerized crowd during a live show. Eighteen year-old Madi Diaz-Svalgard cites her first audition for the school with slight embarrassment, remarking that she's come a long way from strumming Sheryl Crow tunes at coffee shops in between normal studies at a nearby Quaker high school. Singer/guitarist Asa and singer/drummer Tucker Wilson, seven year-old twins, bug their proudly supportive, purple-haired mother in preparation for their big night cranking out Ozzy Osbourne on-stage. "I have no credentials," shrugs Green, who bludgeons the students with his dream of wanting to be on the cover of Rolling Stone magazine in 2010 as the origin of a wealth of substantial musical talent. He loathes most of what passes for Rock these days and, in this respect, seems to agree with another Zappa quote: "Modern music is a sick puppy". Green's staff of teachers do a lot of the ground work though, patiently going over the basics one-on-one, while he thunders from one class to the next like a madman, verbally cracking a whip so that these ingenues and wannabes reach their full potential in the spotlight. For some, such as awkwardly tormented teenager Will O'Connor, actually getting a chance to perform seems hopeless. For others, like C.J. and Madi, their ambition for greatness is rewarded when the school is invited to headline at the fourteenth annual Zappanale Festival - where latter day hippies, music aficionados and former members of The Mothers of Invention converge to celebrate the music of Frank Zappa - in Bad Doberman, Germany.

Feeling more like an extended commercial inspired by 'School of Rock' (2003) and 'Mad Hot Ballroom' (2005) than much of anything else, this so-called documentary from cinematographer/director Don Argott may as well have been a home movie for the initiated. Paul Green, a Frank Zappa-lovin' Penn State Philosophy major, consistently unsigned Heavy Metal cover band guitarist and former Philadelphia music store teacher, is definitely a legend in his own mind who maniacally thrives on the attention of Argott's lens while this cheap ninety-three minute film lazily documents what appear to be the staged daily goings on at The Paul Green School of Rock Music's cramped and dishevelled headquarters in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. However, who cares? Sure, brief interviews with some of the seven to nineteen year-old students and their parents are momentarily interesting, but what 'Rock School' dishes out in obvious personality and tenuously humourous quirks barely make up for its sheer lack of context, content and basic research. A paying audience either needs to do some homework before buying a ticket, or had to have lived through and staunchly appreciated specific genres of music from the 1970's and 80's, for what transpires on-screen to hold any relevancy beyond this celluloid bubble. You aren't told much of anything about Green's background (I had to waste half an hour online, culling through newspaper interviews linked from the school's website). You aren't told anything about Frank Zappa or any of the other bands and Guitar Gods mentioned throughout, with regards to their specific importance to music history. Why? You're told that much of this curriculum is extremely difficult to learn, so how is it taught? You aren't shown. Who are the instructors who actually teach these kids? Oh, one of them is namelessly shown in the background, and another is invited to chat about Green, but nothing more. Have any of their graduates gone on to become famous? Uh... we dunno. Yawn. It's as though the prevailing mindset here was that if any topic wasn't about Green and his self-adoring ego, or didn't feature loads of clips of him gregariously flipping out in storms of expletives for the camera in one form or another, it wasn't important enough to include. Yes, there's an extremely short side trip through the Quaker back roads of aspiring guitarist/keyboardist Madi Diaz-Svalgard's teenaged life and musical interests, but it's clearly used as desperate novelty. The students are exploited to sell the school, frankly. Same goes for the final concert held at Zappanale in Germany, where former Frank Zappa and the Mothers of Invention singer/flutist Napoleon Murphy-Brown joins a small class of All-Star kids in front of a cheering crowd. Unfortunately, everything here quickly becomes suspected propaganda, to the point where it's tough to believe that Zappa - who, when Warner pulled the plug on his own ambitious four-album project upon completion, famously aired the tracks in their entirely on the radio and encouraged listeners to home record his work for free - would approve of this sneaky, poorly realized marketing ploy. Sadly, unless you're in this movie or want to order an enrolment pamphlet, 'Rock School' is hardly worth the price of admission.

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Red Eye
REVIEWED 08/05, © STEPHEN BOURNE
www.ofrb.gov.on.ca | www.rcq.gouv.qc.ca


REVIEW:

Plot holes abound in this initially wonderfully claustrophobic thriller from 'Scream' (1996) director Wes Craven ('A Nightmare On Elm Street' (1984), 'Cursed' (2005)), as cheery Miami hotel manager Lisa Reisert's (London, Ontario's Rachel McAdams; 'The Hot Chick' (2002), 'The Notebook' (2004)) apparent chance in-flight seating beside mysteriously charismatic Jackson Rippner (Cillian Murphy; '28 Days Later...' (2002), 'Batman Begins' (2005)) makes her an unwitting turned desperately uncooperative pawn in a shadowy conspiracy to kill the U.S. Deputy Secretary of National Security Keefe (Jack Scalia) and his family while they visit Florida.

Sure, 'Red Eye' obviously aspires to resonate with the same psychologically-charged suspense seen in films by Hitchcock and Frankenheimer, but Carl Ellsworth's screenplay ends up sabotaging the entire premise with heavy doses of unexplained cinematic shorthand and trite contrivances. Even this capable small cast seems altogether boring and one-dimensional in these lazily cobbled roles. For instance, you're never told who Rippner works for, how he managed to book the seat beside Reisert or how he came into the possession of her father's wallet and the classified info regarding Keefe's schedule. A paying audience is expected to simply accept whatever brief asides regarding those details are doled out, and focus on the smaller drama taking place in 18F and 18G. That would be fine, if it stayed there. It doesn't, so it isn't. When Reisert phones the hotel to switch this high ranking dignitary's suite, nobody - including the Secret Service - verifies anything in this Hollywood version of post-9/11 America. Same goes for the hit man parked outside of her father's suburban home. Nobody's suspicious, he's left alone. What could have easily been a thoroughly tight and clever nail biter ends up turning to smoke under even the lightest touch of thoughtful attention that you're actually encouraged to focus upon what's going on, earlier on. Yes, 'Red Eye' definitely does feature some delightfully chilling clips that likely look great when plucked out for the ads and talk show junkets but, as a whole, this surprisingly over-long eighty-five minute big screen game of cat and mouse loses momentum and quickly collapses just as soon as you're expecting it to kick into a higher gear of intensity met with relentless, fear-strained violence. The entire last act is a disastrous shambles of vapid clichés that don't go anywhere and left me cold. If it ever becomes possible to simply rent the second act of a movie without having to bother with the rest of it, 'Red Eye' is definitely a prime candidate for that.

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The Rising: Ballad of Mangal Pandey
REVIEWED 08/05, © STEPHEN BOURNE
www.ofrb.gov.on.ca | www.rcq.gouv.qc.ca


REVIEW:

Sharp shards of orange and red flickered across the gnarled brow of Mangal Pandey (Aamir Khan), as flames roared through the small ghost town that had pulsed with life less than an hour earlier. The open square where this ravaged farming village's men and women had begged the British East India Company's military to not seize their poppy fields was now littered with the bleeding and bullet riddled corpses of Pandey's countrymen. He, along with his fellow Sepoys from the 34th Bengal Native Infantry regiment's Barrackpore-based 5th Company, had been ordered to open fire. They had done their job. This village died that day. What ever vestiges of pride and loyalty he'd clung to until that moment rolled around in the back of his throat like thorns. Mangal had trusted the British. When the local civilians had jeered him for selling his soul to England's brutal hundred-year occupation of India, he had stood tall and had continued to fight in good conscience on the battlefields. With valour. A warrior. When he'd seen the ancient customs of the Hindus and Muslims outlawed by these pale Christian bureaucrats of the Raj, Pandey believed it was for the betterment of everyone. The Company from London had made India prosperous and strong. All enemies of this nation had fallen under its might. Those who still suffered in impoverished slums were corrupt and had yet to see the light of 19th Century Western Civilization that he and his troop maintained for these people. Those people he had killed today. His people. He had trusted his friend and superior officer, Captain William Gordon (Toby Stephens), when rumours of the cartridges for their new rifles being greased with the fat of the sacred cow and that of the forbidden pig had sent outraged insubordination through the regiment. Gordon promised it wasn't true. He believed him. Obediently, Pandey had stepped forward, alone. He had torn open the cartridge with his teeth, and had loaded the gunpowder and iron ball into the barrel in front of every man on the parade grounds. He had risked his caste. He had risked eternal damnation. He'd believed the lies. His nostrils stung from the bitter smoke of the burning grass huts that had mixed with the pungent stench of that slaughtered village. The senseless horror still haunted him. What a fool he had been to relish the leash of his masters. It must stop now. The attack must begin. Now.

Wow. I'd hoped that this ambitious Period epic from director Ketan Mehta would have more closely kept to the factual details surrounding India's first War of Independence - also known as the Sepoy Mutiny of 1857 - but, as a seriously dramatic Bollywood film, 'The Rising' easily finds its place as an incredibly impressive offering alongside such successfully embellished cinematic histrionics as 'Rob Roy' and 'The Patriot'. Aamir Khan ('Raja Hindustani' (1996), 'Lagaan: Once Upon a Time in India' (2001)) is absolutely superb throughout, giving a paying audience hugely powerful scenes of insightful torment and unwavering courage in his starring role as inspiring real life revolutionary Mangal Pandey. Pandey was a rifleman with the 5th Company of the 34th Bengal Native Infantry regiment, one of two hundred-thousand indigenous soldiers commanded by the British East India Company that pretty well autonomously ruled India as a nation from 1757 until Queen Victoria annexed its holdings approximately a hundred years later. The Sepoy Mutiny, led by Pandey after long standing religious and economic tensions against his British overlords erupted when The Company's military introduced the Pattern 1853 Lee-Enfield rifle that used gunpowder cartridges greased with cow and pig fat - a sacrilege to the Hindu and Muslim soldiers if tasted - didn't last long and ended in tragedy, but is considered an important flash point. Also making Prince Charles' media photo session on the set of this subtitled flick all the more ironic, to me anyways. Farrukh Dhondy's screenplay tends to gloss over details and introduce unlikely sub plots, particularly regarding Mangal's relationship with his Scots-born commanding officer Captain William Gordon (wonderfully portrayed by Brit actor Toby Stephens; 'Sunset Heights' (1997), 'Die Another Day' (2002)), but these anachronisms work wonderfully at fleshing out this freedom fighter's struggles and infusing the legend with an enormous amount of captivating story telling. Yes, its hundred and fifty-minute runtime does feel like it could have benefited from a bigger budget, but Mehta clearly makes miracles happen with help from his art director Nitin Desai and cinematographer Himman Dhamija. Do any research beforehand, though, and you'll end up tilting your head sideways in confusion a few times, but, see this one as a costumed contemporary telling set against the backdrop of true bygone heroics and you'll leave afterwards feeling inspired and entertained. Even the Masala song and dance numbers fit in, affording you additional insight into the tumult of emotions that most of these characters wrestle with. My favourite is Rani Mukherjee's (in a reoccurring guest cameo as strong willed slave prostitute Heera) deliciously acerbic politicized tune, which includes the line, "Your love for me is like a honey-dipped dagger." Awesome. Kudos also go to Stephens for his astounding acting and convincing bilingual efforts throughout.

Absolutely do yourself a huge favour and check out 'The Rising: Ballad of Mangal Pandey' for its great story and thoroughly amazing performances from this ensemble cast led by powerhouse Aamir Khan.

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Rent
REVIEWED 11/05, © STEPHEN BOURNE
www.ofrb.gov.on.ca | www.rcq.gouv.qc.ca


REVIEW:

It's like everything's going to Hell in front of aspiring Manhattan film maker Mark Cohen's (Anthony Rapp) 8mm camera lens, and there's not a damn thing that he can do about it except record the descent. His room mate, one hit wonder rock star Roger Davis, stows himself away in their decrepit East Village loft apartment. Sullen and cranky. Still brooding over his dead girlfriend, lost to a heroin addiction - AIDS, really, while resenting the daily H.I.V.-fighting drug-popping that Roger's stuck with just to keep his misery alive. Mark's own girlfriend, gregarious performance artist Maureen Johnson (Idina Menzel; 'Kissing Jessica Stein' (2001), 'Just a Kiss' (2002)), has unceremoniously dumped him. For another woman. And now, Cohen has just come home to discover an eviction notice issued to their entire building by former friend turned Yuppie corporate hatchet man Benjamin "Bennie" Coffin III (Taye Diggs; 'How Stella Got Her Groove Back' (1998), 'Basic' (2003)). Bennie wants to renovate, turning that converted warehouse of Bohemian homes into a state of the art multi media cyber studio, and the fact that today is Christmas Eve fails to soften Coffin's tactics. He doesn't give Mark or Roger much of a choice, either pack up and get out or join progress and enjoy this new and improved creative space upon its completion if - and, it's a big if - they'll convince Maureen to cancel the one-woman concert she's organized to rally the neighbourhood against Bennie's dream. They can't do it, and they refuse to move out. Their sultry downstairs neighbour, nineteen year-old junkie and exotic dancer Mimi Marquez (Rosario Dawson), doesn't intend to be willingly shoved into the street either, but Mimi's rebellion seems motivated more by her attraction to Roger than anything else. Throwing him secret smiles, appearing on the fire escape outside of his grimy window in the night, playfully trying to seduce him. The Season of Love also seems to have found someone for the guys' friend Tom Collins (Jesse L. Martin) upon his return to the Big Apple for the holidays, in the form of curbside percussionist and brazen transvestite Angel Dumott Schunard (Wilson Jermaine Heredia). However, as the following year's months and days quickly dwindle towards to the turn of a new millennium, the AIDS virus they're all coping with in their own ways has malignant plans for one of them that will affect these friends for the rest of their lives.

[CHORUS] Five hundred, twenty-five thousand, six-hundred minutes. How do you measure, measure this flick? [REVIEWER] Pretentious, poor acting, bad opera, a lame novelty. The music's terrific, too bad they sing the dialogue. It's - eight thousand, forty long boring, annoying seconds. Like 'Hair' (1979) and 'Godspell' (1973), this turkey's a slog. [CHORUS repeats] How about love? Measure in love. [REVIEWER, unmoved] There is no love... [RODOLFO, uh, Manhattan East Villager and H.I.V. survivor ROGER DAVIS (Adam Pascal; 'The School of Rock' (2003), 'Temptation' (2004))] How do you start a fire. When there's nothing to burn. [REVIEWER] Well, director Chris Columbus plods through. But, fails to generate heat. Numbed my tush in my seat. [ROGER continues] You light up a mean blaze. With posters! [room mate MARK COHEN (Anthony Rapp; 'Adventures in Babysitting' (1987), 'A Beautiful Mind' (2001)) grabs Steve Chbosky's script - based on creator Jonathan Larson's (1960-1996) 1996 Broadway hit 'RENT', itself acknowledged as based on famed Madama Butterfly (1904) composer Giacomo Antonio Domenico Michele Secondo Maria Puccini's (1858-1924) opera La Bohème (1896) - and a cigarette lighter] And, screenplays! [REVIEWER nods, too late but encouraged] What I'm tryin' to say, in a lyrical way, it wouldn't even pay, to rent 'Rent'... [junkie neighbour MIMI MARQUEZ (Rosario Dawson; 'The Rundown' (2003), 'Sin City' (2005))] Do you go to the Cat Scratch Club? That's where I work - I dance - take a look. [REVIEWER] Yawn. Saw, in 'Alexander' (2005)... [MIMI] I should tell you. I should tell I keep my clothing on and was just dropped in. [REVIEWER] The play's cast is mostly here, but this effort's fairly grim... [Drag Queen ANGEL DUMOTT SCHUNARD (Wilson Jermaine Heredia; 'Flawless' (1999)) and new lover TOM COLLINS (TV's 'Law & Order' co-star Jesse L. Martin; 'Burning House of Love' (2002)) attend an AIDS Life Support group] No other road. No other way. No day but today. [REVIEWER] Important themes. Badly portrayed. Hope 'Rent' goes away... [CHORUS] Five hundred, twenty-five thousand, six-hundred minutes. Five hundred, twenty-five thousand moments so dear. [REVIEWER] I'd say this film's moment calculator is broken, the ending takes way too long to appear.

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Rumor Has It...
REVIEWED 01/06, © STEPHEN BOURNE
www.ofrb.gov.on.ca | www.rcq.gouv.qc.ca


REVIEW:

Thankfully, director Rob Reiner has finally freed himself from the 'You've Got Mail' (1998) curse that has apparently dogged and buried his subsequent big screen efforts until the release of this wonderfully bright and clever dramatic comedy set in 1997 Pasadena and San Francisco, inspired by a supposedly fictitious rumour revolving around real life writer Charles Webb's first novel, The Graduate (1963), adapted for the 1967 Oscar-winning film starring Dustin Hoffman and Anne Bancroft that spawned folk duo Simon and Garfunkel's famous chart-topping 1968 ode, Mrs. Robinson, the hit 1998 Broadway play named after the film, and, possibly, legions of middle aged women openly seducing much younger men throughout the free world. However, unlike the memorable romances of Reiner's Meg Ryan showcase days, 'Rumor has it...' exists on a far less chirpy planet, where Manhattan newspaper journalist turned disgruntled obituary and wedding announcement writer Sarah Huttinger (Jennifer Aniston; 'Office Space' (1999), 'Derailed' (2005)) erratically sidelines her engagement to New York lawyer Jeff Daly (Mark Ruffalo; 'In the Cut' (2003), 'Just Like Heaven' (2005)) during the weekend wedding of her self-absorbed little sister Annie (Mena Suvari; 'American Beauty' (1999), 'Domino' (2005)) to investigate the possibility that Sarah is the love child of The Graduate's real Benjamin Braddock, corporate player and technology visionary Beau Burroughs (Kevin Costner; 'The Untouchables' (1987), 'The Upside of Anger' (2005)).

This truly is a delightfully witty picture, with Aniston deftly investing her brand of reality-based neurotic humour into her extremely captivating and complex role opposite an effectively subdued Costner and the hilariously brilliant presence of Shirley MacLaine ('Sweet Charity' (1969), 'In Her Shoes' (2005)) playing Sarah's acid-tongued Grandmother Katherine Richelieu - the inspiration for the book's rather naughty Mrs. Robinson, according to this story. In fact, this entire cast is a perfect match for Ted Griffin's impressive screenplay, easily setting a much higher standard for this genre than has been seen in a while. Sure, this ninety-six minute feature isn't a rollicking series of over-the-top quirkiness as suggested in the ads, and although it revels in one of Reiner's trademarks by continually referencing classic Cinema as fodder for entertaining small talk and riotous barbs, the pacing does slightly suffer from the absense of Reiner's other well known cinematic embellishment: The soundtrack isn't a Muzak-like wall of toe tapping bygone tunes poking at you from the background to chuckle along. I miss that, but can see why that audio crutch is set aside. 'Rumor has it...' isn't 'Sleepless in Seattle' (1993), and makes a point of sluffing off any lasting sense of affected sentimentality that a paying audience might go in expecting to find as a carry over from earlier favourites from this director, because it's not a switch your brain off and feel warm and fuzzy all over kind of movie. It's smarter than that, because you're smarter than that. As a trade off, you're given better dialogue stripped of overt goofiness, stronger characters who actually live in a more familiar adult world, and a wider scope of emotions masterfully handled as part of this imaginatively funny effort firmly planted on solid ground. To that end, the entire third act could easily be considered a stroke of genius, with Ruffalo's lines pretty well saying everything that any real guy would say under those circumstances. Awesome.

Definitely do yourself a big favour and check out this incredibly smart and funny piece of superior entertainment that's both different and a whole lot better than you might initially expect it to be.

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