Film Reviews
Film listings are updated on Fridays.
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Compiled by Marjorie Baumgarten (M.B.); with reviews by
Louis Black (L.B.), Hollis Chacona (H.C.), Steve Davis (S.D.), Robert Faires (R.F.), Alison Macor (A.M.), Joey O'Bryan (J.O.), Marc Savlov (M.S.).
RATINGS
5 stars As perfect as a movie can be
4 stars Slightly flawed, but excellent nonetheless
3 stars Has its good points, and its bad points
2 stars Mediocre, but with one or two bright spots
1 stars Poor, without any saving graces
0 stars La Bomba
D: Haile Gerima; with Oyafunmike Ogunlano, Mutabaruka, Alexandra Duah, Kofi Ghanaba, Nick Medley, Afemo Omilami, Reginald Carter.
(NR, 125 min.)
A lush, deeply disturbing film about the spirit of slavery and the eternal shadow it has cast on both black and white races. Ethiopian-born, American filmmaker Gerima begins his tale atop the ruins of a slave trader's castle on the African coast. Here, and on the beach below, a beautiful model - clad in faux leopard skin and a Tina-Turneresque fright wig cavorts before an overbearing photographer. The model is Mona (Ogunlano), and before long, their fashion shoot is interrupted first by a tour group and then by a drumming, chanting shaman who urges Mona to face up to her past. Confused and dismayed, the girl follows the tour into the dungeons of the castle where, hundreds of years before, slaves were kept while awaiting export to the Americas. Here, she encounters the spirits of the dead and is suddenly transported back in time to a sugar-cane plantation in the 1800s. With her sense of identity lost, she is now Shola, the plantation owners' housemistress, cruelly raped and beaten on a daily basis and forced to suffer the myriad, unending humiliations of her enslaved ancestors. It is here that she also falls in love with a rebellious Jamaican slave by the name of Shango (terrifically played by reggae superstar Mutabaruka), who urges her to poison her masters. When she refuses to go along with Shango's plan, both must confront the specter of violence and resign themselves to a world where good and evil are no longer clear-cut choices, but instead mesh and interact on a moment-by-moment basis. Unlike most African-American films these days, Sankofa forsakes the boyz-in-the-hood thematics of Hollywood and instead takes the viewer to the far more visceral - and far more challenging - world of our own past. Gerima's nightmarish glimpses into the day-to-day reality of the slave life is brilliantly executed in minute detail. At times Sankofa bogs down in its leisurely pace, but the film is never less than compelling, and occasionally, despite its grim tone, beautiful. Recommended for those who thought the only African-American film voices worth paying attention to were Lee, Singleton, and the rest of the Hollywood Black Pack.
(1/26/96)
3.5
stars (M.S.)
Hogg
D: Michael Goldenberg; with Christian Slater, Mary Stuart Masterson, Pamela Segall, Josh Brolin, Debra Monk, Mary Alice. (PG, 87 min.)
(1/26/96)
0 stars (M.B.)
Arbor, Highland, Lake Creek, Movies 12, Westgate
D: Steve Miner; with Rick Moranis, Tom Arnold, Julianne Phillips, Carol Kane, Jeffrey Tambor, Don Knotts. (PG, 94 min.)
(1/26/96)
(M.B.)
Great Hills, Lake Creek, Lincoln, Movies 12, Northcross, Roundrock, Westgate
D: Tim Robbins; with Susan Sarandon, Sean Penn, Robert Prosky, Raymond J. Barry, R. Lee Ermey, Celia Weston, Lois Smith. (R, 122 min.)
(1/26/96)
(M.B.)
Village
D: Michael Oliver; with Dan Coplan, Geoffrey Lewis, Courtney Taylor, Haing S. Ngor.(NR 85 min.) (NR, 85 min.)
()
(M.B.)
Dobie
D: Christian Duguay; with Peter Weller, Roy Dupuis, Jennifer Rubin, Andy Lauer, Ron White. (R, 107 min.)
(1/26/96)
(M.B.)
Great Hills, Lincoln, Movies 12, Riverside, Roundrock, Westgate
D: Various. (NR, 100 min.)
(NR, 100 min.)
(1/26/96)
3.0
stars (J.O.)
Dobie
D: Jason Bloom; with Pauly Shore, Stephen Baldwin, William Atherton, Henry Gibson, Kylie Minogue, Patricia Hearst, Roger Clinton.
(PG-13, 95 min.)
Eons from now, anthropologists studying 20th-century man will no doubt ponder a cultural phenomenon as baffling as Stonehenge and the Rosetta Stone: the Pauly Shore movie. Taking sophomoric humor to new heights (or is that lows?), Shore is a creature of the channel-surfing MTV generation, a cracker slacker with the cosmic attention span of a gnat. If there's any method to his madness, it's self-indulgence at any cost. (I doubt if even the French appreciate him.) Bio-Dome is yet another vehicle for showcasing Shore's stoner talents, but this time he's not alone. In the role of Shore's best bud, Baldwin - sporting blond dreadlocks and the IQ of a nosehair - proves once and for all which of the Baldwin brothers is in most desperate need of work. (And you thought it was William after Fair Game...) Together, the two of them are beyond dumb and dumber. The story line has these idiots inexplicably trapped in a year-long biosphere experiment after mistaking the glass-domed edifice for a shopping mall. Needless to say, the boys are not environmentally sensitive and are soon wreaking havoc with the delicate balance of their controlled setting. Nothing makes much sense, except the onslaught of food-spitting, ball-scratching, and flatulence which ensues. Even the pointless cameos by Hearst and Clinton aren't much fun; they don't even bother to punch up any in-joke. Ultimately, Bio-Dome plays like an extended episode of Totally Pauly, with the star relishing being the center of attention and pathetically stooping to anything to keep the camera on him. Being a baby boomer, maybe I'm too old for Pauly and his ilk. Jim Carrey I can understand, but this!
(1/19/96)
0
stars (S.D.)
Great Hills, Highland, Lake Creek, Movies 12, Westgate
D: Darrell James Roodt; with James Earl Jones, Richard Harris, Charles S. Dutton, Vusi Kunene, Eric Miyeni, Leleti Khumalo.
(PG-13, 108 min.)
It seems fitting that the first film produced in the newly democratic South Africa is an adaptation of Alan Paton's world-famous, 1948 anti-apartheid novel, Cry, the Beloved Country. Though the story is a throwback to the past in terms of its excoriation of state-sanctioned apartheid, it is also a beacon of the future in terms of its central belief in social reconciliation and advancement. It is also fitting that this film adaptation stars acting giants James Earl Jones and Richard Harris, as well as being directed by South Africa's most high-profile filmmaker Darrell James Roodt (Sarafina!). In fact, so fitting is everything about this movie that it comes with an official endorsement from Nelson Mandela. Given all the social import surrounding the making of this film adaptation, it's amazing that the filmmakers were able to find the human drama that lies at the heart of this story. Set in 1946 during the dawning years of apartheid, Cry, the Beloved Country tells the story of two fathers - one black, one white - who become known to each other following the loss of their sons. Though the men have lived near each other in the Zulu countryside, it is not until the fate of their sons brings them both to Johannesburg that a strange coincidence causes them to meet. Jones plays Stephen Kumalo, a Christian village priest who has lost his sister, brother (Dutton), and son Absalom (Miyeni) to the big city. Now, a priest in Johannesburg has sent Kumalo a letter regarding his sister who has fallen into prostitution. While in Johannesburg to retrieve her, Kumalo also searches for his son, who he discovers has been indicted for killing a white man during a robbery. The white man turns out to have been a liberal reformer and spokesman for the uplifting of the native race; he also happened to be the son of landowner James Jarvis (Harris), who most definitely does not share the racial sentiments of his son. Still, both Jarvis and Kumalo find bonds of fatherhood and Christian charity that bond them together more than the differences of race, class, and ideology drive them apart. The movie retains the book's biblical language, and though this sometimes leads to overextended metaphors (like when the two men meet in a leaky church), the movie conveys the dignity, resilience, and reformation of the human spirit. The beautiful South African countryside and the recreation of the ghettoed city areas of the Forties is also fascinating. Cry, the Beloved Country has that rare gift of being the right movie at the right time, but, moreover, it is a deeply moving work for all time.
(1/12/96)
3.5
stars (M.B.)
Village
D: Paris Barclay; with Shawn Wayans, Marlon Wayans, Tracey Cherelle Jones, Chris Spencer, Suli McCullough, Darrell Heath, Helen Martin.
(R, 88 min.)
An idiotic parody of the so-called "hood" genre, Don't Be a Menace to South Central While Drinking Your Juice in the Hood is filled to the brim with foul-mouthed, racist, sexist, and homophobic humor, but that really isn't my beef with this particular picture. After all, as they say, "comedy isn't pretty." No, my complaint is a far simpler one, which is that this film just isn't funny. Unlike great spoofs like Airplane or I'm Gonna Git You Sucka, this gagfest lacks both structure and momentum, and, also unlike those aforementioned classics, the folks behind Don't Be a Menace don't simply seem to be taking good-natured jabs at a genre they truly love. Instead, the film comes across as mean-spirited, with a condescending attitude toward the genre it's satirizing - a genre, I might add, that includes such bound-to-be classics as Menace II Society. If the material is uninspired, then the cast doesn't make matters any easier, with the majority of the players failing to reveal even the most rudimentary sense of comic timing, and, as if that wasn't bad enough, the project is further damned by music video vet Paris Barclay's bland direction. The only thing that keeps Don't Be a Menace from being a complete disaster is the effort of production designer Aaron Osborne, whose work provides hilarious background details (i.e., a water cooler filled with malt liquor and movie posters for films like Robopimp) and add some wit to this otherwise dim affair. Oh yeah, one more thing: If I see one more movie featuring that current favorite of obnoxious movie stereotypes - the pair of abrasive Asian convenience store owners - I'm not going to even going to think twice before getting up and leaving the theatre.
(1/19/96)
.5
stars (J.O.)
Highland, Riverside
D: Ken Kwapis; with Jason Alexander, Faye Dunaway, Eric Lloyd, Rupert Everett, Graham Sack, Paul Reubens.
(PG, 88 min.)
"I have two words for you," threatens jewel thief Lord Rutledge (Everett) to his disgruntled simian sidekick Dunston: "Medical experiments." More lines like this would improve Ken Kwapis' (He Said, She Said, Vibes) newest feature about a five-star New York hotel run by manager Robert Grant (Alexander) and terrorized by its tight-fisted and shrewish owner Mrs. Dubrow (Dunaway). Life at the Majestic Hotel is fairly chaotic on an average day for Grant as he struggles to appease the hotel guests while single-handedly raising his two sons Brian (Sack) and Kyle (Lloyd). When Rutledge and his chimp Dunston check in to check out the guests' jewels, Grant has his hands full. Dunston's abandonment of a life of crime means more chaos for Grant when the chimp runs amok in the hotel. Befriended by younger son Kyle, Dunston lives a life on the lam as Kyle attempts to save his new friend from cruel mistreatment by Dunston's crooked boss Lord Rutledge and entrapment by animal control officer Buck La Farge (Reubens). Kwapis delivers a mildly entertaining film with plenty of sight gags and some humorous performances. Alexander seems to be getting the most acting range from his Rold Gold commercials these days; as the beleaguered and sarcastic manager, Alexander basically recreates his character George from Seinfeld. Eric Lloyd's performance as young Kyle sweetens the film, and Everett's evil jewel thief sprinkles enough malice to make things interesting. Dunaway's casting as the snooty Mrs. Dubrow provides some entertaining moments and proves that there really must be no decent leading roles for "seasoned" actresses in Hollywood. As lowbrow animal control officer Buck La Farge, Paul Reubens ties with Dunston for best performance in this film. His appearance at the Majestic's Crystal Ball in a purple tuxedo is a must-see for all Pee-wee Herman fans in the audience. A crowd-pleaser for the under-10 set judging from the preview audience's reaction, Dunston Checks In offers a few funny scenes, one-liners, and characters, but not enough to inspire the entire film.
(1/12/96)
2.0
stars (A.M.)
Highland, Movies 12, Northcross, Westgate
D: John Schlesinger; with Sally Field, Kiefer Sutherland, Ed Harris, Joe Mantegna, Charlayne Woodard, Beverly D'Angelo.
(R, 101 min.)
Vigilantism is given a new cinematic spin in John Schlesinger's Eye for an Eye. Here, the vigilante spirit is inhabited not by some wronged male hulk like Charles Bronson or Steven Seagal fighting mano-a-mano unto death. This time, an ignominious evil (in the form of a malevolent Kiefer Sutherland) invades suburbia and drives Wonder Bread mom Karen McCann (Field) to biblical revenge after one of her fairy princess daughters is brutally raped and murdered and "technicalities" in the legal system allow the vile perpetrator to walk. We can joke about the Flying Nun with a gun, or how Gidget goes ballistic, but there is a very real fright as we watch this grown-up icon of American girlhood adopt the firearm cool of a Dirty Harry. Field herself is turning into something of an Ÿber-mom these days following her roles in Steel Magnolias and Forrest Gump. Here, she turns her fight for her deceased daughter's justice against this most inhuman and vile of evildoers into a cause no parent anywhere could resist. We understand her fury and her refusal to remain impotent all too well and this is what makes the movie's call to vigilante action palatable. Yet nowhere is her impassioned portrait countered by a tenable argument for the inviolability of the American system of justice as the only antidote to High-Noon showdowns on every street corner. In this sense, Eye for an Eye does not play fair. There is no room to resist its arguments and the evil is so awful that it cannot be vanquished in any other way. There is also an ineffectual side-story loitering around the edges of this drama that involves some murky government counter-intelligence that only confuses the focus. To Schlesinger's credit, there is a stunning sequence toward the beginning of the movie in which Karen becomes stuck in auto traffic and calls home on her cellular to let her daughter know she will be late. While on the phone with her, the doorbell rings and the girl unwittingly lets in her murderer and the whole horrible event is heard by Karen via the phone. Abandoning her car, she races on foot through the traffic looking for someone else with a cellular to call 911. Most people treat her like a lunatic and honk their horns or roll up their windows. Meanwhile, she races helplessly, futilely, impotently on foot - armed with the most up-to-date info and technology yet unable to do anything constructive about it. The writers of this movie - Amanda Silver and Rick Jaffa - scored last time out with The Hand That Rocks the Cradle, interestingly releasing that earlier box-office winner also in January during the vulnerable weeks following the Christmas glut. Eye for an Eye seems a calculated attempt to pull off that same lucrative strategy, but this movie is all calculation and no heart. (1/12/96)
1.5
stars (M.B.)
Arbor, Lake Creek, Lakehills, Lincoln, Movies 12, Riverside, Roundrock
D: Charles Shyer; with Steve Martin, Diane Keaton, Martin Short, Kimberly Williams, George Newbern, Kieran Culkin.
(PG, 106 min.)
George Banks' life is swell. He's survived the defection and subsequent, lavish marriage of his daughter to an irritatingly successful and singularly unobjectionable man, lives in a white, picket-fence dream house, truly loves his beautiful wife, and drives a really, really cool car. In other words, George's only Ford is in his flivver. Until, that is, two bombs drop on his utopia. First, his daughter, Annie, whom his mind's eye still views as a pigtailed tomboy, announces that she is pregnant. So George, in a desperate effort to combat the feeling of instant antiquity that impending grandparenthood incurs, gets a "bitchin'" new hairdo and seduces his wife in the kitchen on a rainy afternoon, thereby creating (literally) the second explosion to rock his cozy world. Awash in filtered, golden light, Father of the Bride Part II has an air of nostalgia about it - the type that makes the Cold War era seem innocent and carefree and that allows women who have gone through labor and delivery to do it again. At least Nina Banks seems to be ready to do the whole thing over again. George is not so sure. Where Nina sees a mother and daughter skipping dreamily down the street together, George sees a truculent two-year old tossing his double dip cone on the sidewalk. Still, the notion is more embarrassing and inconvenient than it is traumatic. And watching the Banks family cope with it can be fun. The entire cast from Father of the Bride returns for the sequel and they bring with it the familiarity and fondness and downright silliness of a real family. Steve Martin combines his peculiar physical comedy with a pathos that is so genuine and touching that you cannot help but regret that the actor is not a father in real life - it seems such a waste of great dad material. Martin Short is equally endearing as Franck, the haute but not haughty caterer/decorator, and in some ways, his character is a reflection of the movie as a whole. Too tasteful, too opulent, too rosy a picture to be believed; we still can't help but be charmed by it. Just as the wonderful soundtrack suggests, this affectionate film is like a simple walk down the sunny side of the street - in a very affluent neighborhood.
(12/8/95)
2.5
stars (H.C.)
Great Hills, Movies 12, Roundrock, Westgate
D: Allison Anders, Alexandre Rockwell, Robert Rodriguez, Quentin Tarantino; with Tim Roth, Antonio Banderas, Jennifer Beals, Paul Calderon, Sammi Davis, Valeria Golino, Madonna, Ione Skye, Lili Taylor, Marisa Tomei, Alicia Witt, Tarantino.
(R, 115 min.)
What must have seemed like a positively brilliant idea at the time - a quartet of short films by four of American cinema's most promising young directors - fails to live up to its promise and, instead, results in a wildly uneven, temperamental, and ultimately disappointing mish-mash of cameos, in-jokes, and stories that fail to engage. It's New Year's Eve, and perennial Tarantino favorite Roth is the new bellhop at the Hotel Mon Signor, a dilapidated Hollywood hangout that's the site of Four Rooms' four stories. Anders' "The Missing Ingredient" casts Madonna, Golino, Skye, Davis, and Fun's Witt (who incidentally has the best line in the film) as a coven of witches intent on resurrecting the goddess Diana. Ted the bellhop's night begins here, with a bang, and Roth never seems to get over it. His performance throughout is one of the most impressive collections of facial tics and spastic gropings since Jerry Lewis' mid-Fifties peak; Lewis, however, had the good sense to calm down every once in a while, or at least play off the inimitable straightman Dean Martin. Roth has no such off button: He's on a roll from frame one, and the overkill becomes tedious long before the film ends. Anders' segment seems over before it begins and leads to Rockwell's piece on a couple's (Beals and Calderon) violent psychosexual head games that also goes nowhere (though Beals shines, even with a gag in her mouth). It's Rodriguez's segment, "The Misbehavers," that works on all levels, with newcomers Lana McKissack and Danny Verduzco as the rambunctious offspring of suave-to-spare gangster Banderas. Conscripted into babysitting the devilish pair, Roth's frayed-around-the-edges bellhop has more than he can handle. The segment reminds one of the rapid-fire slapstick of early Rodriguez shorts like the award-winning Bedhead and Austin Stories: Filled with the director's brilliant, trademark rapid edits and a story that actually goes somewhere, it steals the show from Tarantino's capper, "The Man From Hollywood," which is essentially a retelling of an old Alfred Hitchcock Presents show, itself based on Roald Dahl's short story "Man From the South." A mixed bag at best, Four Rooms ends up perhaps a bit more schizophrenic in tone than its collective directors envisioned. Even some nifty cameos from the likes of Marisa Tomei and Bruce Willis can't save this muddled mess. It may be a hard lesson for Tarantino and the others to learn, but sometimes too much of a good thing is just that.
(1/5/96)
2.0
stars (M.S.)
Dobie
D: Robert Rodriguez; with Harvey Keitel, George Clooney, Quentin Tarantino, Juliette Lewis, Cheech Marin, Fred Williamson, Salma Hayek, Tom Savini, John Saxon, John Hawkes, Ernest Liu, Michael Parks.
(R, 108 min.)
"Whew!" That about sums it up for Rodriguez's new film, but what the hell, I'll expound. Written by and co-starring Hollywood's other young, stylistically hip auteur, Quentin Tarantino, From Dusk Till Dawn harkens back to the wonderful, awful horror movies of days gone by, throws in a criminals-on-the-lam first half, and then not only turns the whole beautiful mess up to 11, but also breaks off the knob and eats it. From Dusk Till Dawn opens with the notorious Gekko Brothers, Seth and Richard (Clooney and Tarantino), on the run from just about every law enforcement agent in Texas after a heist ends with multiple Texas Rangers and peace officers dead or dying. On their way to Mexico to meet with the mysterious "Carlos," the pair hijack the mobile home of Minister Jacob Fuller (Keitel) and his family in order to insure the criminals' safe passage across the border. Once across, their appointed destination turns out to be the Titty Twister, a riotously cheesy, neon-covered topless bar catering to bikers and truckers who've wandered off the beaten path. Everything seems more or less well and good, with Seth and Richard prepared to wait out the night for the arrival of Carlos (Marin), until all hell erupts (literally) when the bar's staff and patrons turn out to be Mexican vampires intent on a full-tilt exsanguination binge. From here on out it's 110% Rodriguez Action, with some of the most blood-spattered offerings since Dawn of the Dead (speaking of which, longtime George Romero-effects master Tom Savini has a sizable role as a crazed biker named, uh, Sex Machine) and a veritable army of Nosferatus clamoring for gore. Very cool. Rodriguez has come a long way since his short film Austin Stories first took the Chronicle offices by storm in 1989; his trademark rapid-fire editing and dark, almost lunatic wit are in top form here, and his set direction is exhilarating in the purest sense. Keitel is terrific as the preacher with the slipshod faith, Clooney is nicely menacing, and Marin turns in some of his most raunchy, hilarious work to date. Even Tarantino the Actor acquits himself admirably: Younger Gekko Richard is a perverse sex killer whose resultant carnage is glimpsed almost subliminally in a genuinely creepy motel room scene. Fans of Merchant-Ivory will do well to steer clear of Rodriguez's newest opus, but both action and horror film fans have cause for celebration after what seems like a particularly long splatter-drought. This is horror with a wink and a nod to drive-in theatres and sweaty back seats. This is how it's done.
(1/19/96)
4.0
stars (M.S.)
Arbor, Highland, Lake Creek, Movies 12, Northcross, Riverside, Roundrock, Westgate
D: Martin Campbell; with Pierce Brosnan, Sean Bean, Izabella Scorupco, Famke Janssen, Joe Don Baker, Robbie Coltrane. (PG-13, 129 min.)
After a six-year hiatus - and the end of the Cold War - 007 is back in action. Timothy Dalton has been replaced by Remington Steele's Brosnan, and to terrific effect: Brosnan's wittier, sexier, and an altogether more traditional Bond than Dalton, who always seemed to be trying too hard to fill the sizable Sean Connery/Roger Moore shoes. In almost every aspect, GoldenEye makes a conscious effort to hearken back to the days of the "classic" Bond of You Only Live Twice and Diamonds Are Forever. The stunts, the visuals, and miniatures, and even the female villains are all in the mold of the best Bonds of years past. This time out, 007 takes on a mysterious renegade Russian pair, headed by the traitorous General Ouromov (Gottfried John) and one of the most outrageous villainesses in memory, Famke Johnson's Xenia Onatopp ("On the top?" Bond queries). Johnson almost steals the show with her delicious portrayal of a deadly, black-clad siren who brings new meaning to the term "sex and violence." Ouromov and Onatopp are out to steal GoldenEye, a reportedly nonexistent satellite warfare system designed by the Soviets and then abandoned at the end of the Cold War. The mastermind behind their plan is Janus, a mysterious (is there any other kind?) madman with direct links to Bond's past. Everything else is exactly what you'd expect from the most successful franchise in film history. Certainly, there are plot holes as large as the craters in Moonraker, but they do absolutely nothing to slow down director Campbell's turbo-powered staging: from an epic tank chase through narrow Russian alleyways to some stunning and remarkable aerial camerawork (much of the credit must go to longtime Bond miniature designer Derek Meddings), this is escapist entertainment at its finest. Check your political correctness at the door and have a blast - this is the best Bond since The Spy Who Loved Me. (And yes, the Q's gadgetry is top notch.)
(11/17/95)
3.0 stars (M.S.)
Northcross, Showplace
D: Howard Deutch; with Jack Lemmon, Walter Matthau, Ann-Margret, Sophia Loren, Burgess Meredith, Kevin Pollak, Daryl Hannah.
(PG-13, 101 min.)
If the title wasn't already taken, Grumpier Old Men could have been titled Dumb and Dumber (but at least it isn't being advertised like Tom and Huck - "the original bad boys"). But for the generation difference, the humor appeals to the same dopey instincts as Dumb and Dumber, only geared for the retirement set. Both movies are also driven by two excellent comic actors working in tandem. The pleasure in this sequel to Grumpy Old Men derives from watching Lemmon and Matthau spar their way through another movie together. Plot and character development are mere trifles here, making it clear that the only reason for these movies is to create another excuse to once more pair this professional odd couple. Lemmon and Matthau play bickering next-door neighbors whose lovingly cantankerous relationship (and probably also fishing) forms the backbone of their lives. Of course, in the first part (back when they were still only grumpy old men) the two competed with each other for the affections of Ann-Margret. Lemmon won that round, but in part two it's time for Matthau to get lucky. Fortune strikes when Sophia Loren moves to town and opens up a restaurant where the guys' favorite bait shop used to be. After trying all sorts of childish pranks to thwart the restaurant's success, Matthau and Loren light some sparks. Subplots involve their children, Pollak and Hannah, who are also in the midst of gnarly wedding plans. Downright stealing the show, however, is Burgess Meredith, whose risquŽ verve, wit, and timing are the stuff of an octogenarian's wet dream. (Be sure not to bolt the theatre before the end credits roll, because preceding them are several minutes of funny film outtakes, many of which highlight Meredith ad-libbing like there's no tomorrow.) Grumpier Old Men is funny but not hilarious, full of material that pleases but never astonishes. It's just too bad they had to stick a plot on an entertaining comedy sketch. (12/22/95)
2.5
stars (M.B.)
Great Hills, Lake Creek, Lakehills, Movies 12
D: Michael Mann; with Al Pacino, Robert De Niro, Val Kilmer, Diane Venora, Ashley Judd, Amy Brenneman, Jon Voight, Tom Sizemore, Wes Studi, Ted Levine, Tom Noonan, Henry Rollins, Tone-Loc.
(R, 174 min.)
Having scored a solid critical and box-office success with his superb 1993 re-make of The Last of the Mohicans, director Michael Mann returns to the mean streets of his underrated Thief and Manhunter with his latest effort, Heat. A sprawling, two-hour-and-45-minute crime epic propelled by intense performances from a to-die-for cast, Heat is a rarity - a long movie that doesn't seem long, as well as an action movie that's surprisingly character-driven. Granted, with its plot of an obsessed detective tracking a professional thief, Mann's film may not sound that much different from the usual cops-and-robbers fare, but attention to detail and character are what sets it apart from the rest of the pack. As advance publicity has been quick to point out, Heat marks the first time that Al Pacino and Robert De Niro have worked together onscreen (that phrasing neatly excludes The Godfather II), although fans may be disappointed to hear that the dynamic duo share a total of two scenes together. Even though the undeniable novelty of seeing these two acting giants simply sitting across the table from one another probably is enough to warrant their teaming, the two stars refuse to allow their pairing to degenerate into stunt casting. As the wild-eyed, smart-assed cop with no room for anything in his life except his job, Pacino is a delight to watch, while De Niro's brilliantly controlled turn is nothing short of a marvel (he has a couple of incredible moments here that practically define screen acting). Val Kilmer more or less redeems himself following his bland stint in Batman Forever, but he is nevertheless upstaged by co-stars Ashley Judd and Diane Venora, who, as Pacino's wife, delivers some of Mann's most biting dialogue. The rest of the cast is rounded out by a parade of swell character actors ranging from the currently in-demand Tom Sizemore (Strange Days) to the criminally underused Wes Studi (Geronimo: An American Legend). Potential viewers should watch out for a surprising number of unexpected cameos by various musicians and B-movie personalities. Aside from the bravura performances and tight direction, Heat also features some of the most electrifying action sequences of the year, with two set-pieces in particular - a frantic shoot-out on the streets of downtown L.A. and the cat-and-mouse finale near the LAX airstrips - pushing tension levels well into the red. These moments, as well as many others, are well served by Mann's expert use of sound and music (he was, after all, the fellow responsible for Miami Vice, and who could ever forget his use of Iron Butterfly in Manhunter). Also, frequent Mann collaborator Dante Spinotti's dynamic cinematography perfectly captures the mood of the piece from the film's very first shot. The few faults to be found in Heat most likely stem from the whittling down of its running time to a more "manageable" length, resulting in a few disappointingly underdeveloped subplots. Ultimately, though, these are minor complaints: Heat is involving and exciting... a terrific thriller.
(12/15/95)
4.0
stars (J.O.)
Arbor, Highland, Movies 12, Riverside
D: Joe Johnston; with Robin Williams, Jonathan Hyde, Bonnie Hunt, Kirsten Dunst, Bebe Neuwirth, Bradley Pierce, David Alan Grier, Adam Hann-Byrd.
(PG, 104 min.)
Jumanji is the visual equivalent of a wild ride in a very surreal jungle theme park. Recently returned from a Disney World vacation, I kept expecting the seats in the theatre to start shaking in concert with the action onscreen. Based on the book of the same title by renowned children's author Chris Van Allsburg, the movie follows the adventures of four players of the board game, Jumanji, a magical, slightly malevolent test of grit and tenacity. The very first roll of the dice unleashes the game's power to conjure up animals, people, and forces of nature to challenge the players. And, like all good, scary rides, once you embark, you're on for the duration - no getting off mid-spin. The trick is to outlast the apparitions, for when the first player reaches home and shouts out, "Jumanji!", the game is over and the world is immediately restored to its original order. In the meantime, the players and audience alike best hold on to their pith helmets.... Buried in the dead of night a century earlier by two boys who survived the game, Jumanji is unearthed in 1969 by troubled young Alan Parrish (Hann-Byrd). When he coerces his reluctant friend Sarah to play, they begin a game that will span 26 years, embrace two modern-day players, and give them all a few rough-and-tumble lessons about friendship and courage and cooperation. The cast is fine - Williams' manic man/child persona is perfect for the part of the adult Alan, and Hyde delivers in a deliciously clever dual role, but it is Hunt (Beethoven) and Dunst (Interview With the Vampire) who particularly shine. Their soft, sure strength transcends the tumult and anchors the illusory expedition. Juxtaposing computer animation, animatronics, and magnificent set design to create breathtaking special effects, Johnston (Honey, I Shrunk the Kids) skillfully combines those pyrotechnics with a sweet, silly, but nonetheless sincere cautionary tale. With a running time of 104 minutes, the excitement should outlast the wait in line, making this the perfect amusement for kids this holiday season. But don't just park your kids there, you'll have fun going along for the ride.
(12/15/95)
2.5
stars (H.C.)
Great Hills, Lake Creek, Lincoln, Movies 12, Northcross, Roundrock, Westgate
D: Larry Clark; with Leo Fitzpatrick, Justin Pierce, Chloe Sevigny.
(NR, 90 min.)
For once, the hype is right on the money. Kids is an emotional sucker punch, a raw, dirty, disturbing piece of cinŽma vŽritŽ filmmaking that simultaneously hooks and repulses you from its opening scenes of the teenaged Lothario Telly adrift in his favorite pastime: deflowering young girls. After the shockingly on-target coitus during which the practiced youth assuages his young lover's fears with hollow promises of respect and ongoing warmth (his by-rote words carry all the weight of a thrice-used condom, but the virgin in question is oblivious in the heat of the moment), Telly - the self-proclaimed "virgin surgeon" - cruises off to hook up with pal Casper, who plies him for details of the tryst, living vicariously through his friend. On the other side of the city (New York), Jenny, a past conquest of the "de-virginizer" goes for an HIV screening as moral support for a friend. The friend comes up negative, but Jenny, with Telly being her one and only lover (and that was last summer, with no phone calls or tender words since), is stricken to find out she's a carrier. Frantic, confused, and afraid, she numbly wanders the parks and boroughs of a sweaty, grimy New York trying to find Telly to alert him to the situation. Director Clark (previously best known for his gritty photos of urban street kids and hollow-eyed junkies) uses Jenny's dazed meanderings as a way to explore the seamy underbelly of America's urban youth. We see Telly and his friends hanging out, getting drunk, smoking dope, fighting, fucking (there's no sex here, no lovemaking, just simple unromantic rutting), and generally acting without any moral compass whatsoever. They're kids playing at being grown-ups playing at being time bombs. Clark's brilliant eye keeps the film running as an edgy, in-your-face observation of what many kids consider a normal day's events. The loud public outcry that accompanied the release of Kids - that it was little more than an exploitative attempt at teenage titillation - is as silly as Telly's come-ons. Anyone who's been out clubbing in an urban area after 2am will find few surprises in what Clark depicts. Shocking, yes, but hardly surprising; the film, perhaps not unintentionally, feels very much like a documentary. Disturbing, harrowing, visceral, and even sporadically humorous, Kids is one of those rare films that begs the description "a must-see." For once, it's the truth.
(9/1/95)
4.5
stars (M.S.)
Dobie
D: Lars von Trier; with Ernst-Hugo JŠregard, Kirsten Rolffes, Ghita Norby, Soren Pilmark, Holger Juul Hansen, Annevig Schelde Ebbe.
(NR, 270 min.)
Originally created for Danish television, this four-and-a-half hour epic from von Trier (Zentropa) is a sumptuous feast of the sublime and the bizarre, both darkly comic and deeply disturbing. (It will be screened here theatrically in two parts.) Set in a huge Danish hospital (nicknamed "the Kingdom" for its epic scale), von Trier mixes the occult with TV melodrama along the lines of E.R. to create a whole new breed of story. It's the General Hospital in Twin Peaks with a bit of Jorg Buttgereit thrown in for good measure. Famed Swedish actor JŠregard is Dr. Helmer, a none-too-brilliant neurosurgeon brought in to head up the department with dire results for both his patients and the hospital in general. Working alongside this bitter, Dane-hating butcher is a bizarre assortment of dysfunctional doctors, nurses, and patients, including young Mogge (Peter Mygind), the dimwitted son of the hospital's director; Bondo (Pilmark), a physician obsessed with his research to the point of madness; a pair of Down's syndrome-afflicted dishwashers who act as an unnerving Greek chorus; and the trapped spirit of a long-dead child crying plaintively from the elevator shafts night after night. It's this last phantasmic character that catches the attention of borderline psychic and "malingerer" Mrs. Drusse (Rolffes), an aged Miss Marple-type who sets the hospital's infernal wheels in motion. As a director, von Trier has always been interested in skewing audiences' perceptions through cinematic trickery. Zentropa whisked viewers back and forth through a patently nonlinear story line, and The Kingdom is no exception to the director's rule either. Here, he and cinematographer Eric Kress manipulate the film stock to give the picture a dim, sepia-toned glow, as if the screen were being viewed through an ages-old shroud or with dismal cataracts. It's a strangely disorienting experience, especially given the length of the film. While The Kingdom tends to bog down in parts, it manages to keep the whiplash pace of television for most of its running time: New characters are constantly introduced and multiple story lines diverge and collide with alarming frequency. Like some hellish television show from beyond the pale, The Kingdom is anything but normal. Everything about this film seems slightly surreal, slightly out of sync with reality; it's less a hospital drama than some sort of haunted amusement ride, with ingenious shocks around every corner and secrets buried a mile deep.
(1/19/96)
3.0 stars (M.S.)
Dobie
D: Mike Figgis; with Nicolas Cage, Elisabeth Shue, Julian Sands.
(R, 111 min.)
Leaving Las Vegas hits you like a breath of fresh air coupled with a 100-proof chaser. The movie is an amazing, bracing, funny, audacious, tender, and sobering piece of filmmaking. Few movies have ever dared to be this remorseless in their portraits of addiction - in this case, alcoholism. Nicolas Cage plays Ben Sanderson, a hopeless drunk with no desire to quit and no overriding need to live. So, when his drunkenly rank behavior causes him to be let go from his Hollywood executive job, he takes his severance pay and gathers all his possessions and tosses some of it into large, plastic trash bags that he leaves at the curb and burns all the rest of his stuff, pulls his convertible out of the driveway and heads to Las Vegas, where he plans to drink himself to death. Hey, it's a plan. Ben has no regrets, creating a story that's quite different from all the alcoholism movies, like The Lost Weekend and The Days of Wine and Roses, that have come before. Ben can no longer remember if his wife left him because he drinks or if he drinks because his wife left. The first time we see Ben in the movie, he is gaily wheeling his shopping cart through the liquor store aisles, stocking his basket to the brim. Cage plays the part with complete abandon, creating a searingly immortal character. Part buffoon, part poet, part lout, and part angel, Ben is no easy character to pin down. Just when you think you're about to witness his sensitive side, he does something crass like plummeting through a glass table. In Las Vegas, he becomes taken with a $500-a-night hooker named Sera (Shue), who, in turn, takes a shine to him. Shue is wonderful in the role, surpassing any of the more wholesome work she's done before. Yet, her role is also one of the problems of the film. Though she's a good soul who is willing to accept Ben on his own terms for whatever brief time they may have together, she is essentially little more than the whore with a heart of gold. Even the movie's breakaway scenes of Sera talking to her therapist add little depth to the character and remind us far too much of Klute. Her story line also builds to a horrifying and disturbing climax, that really seems like an unnecessary sidetrack. Director Mike Figgis makes a valiant return to the tenor of some of his earlier and darker work like Stormy Monday and Internal Affairs, rather than the recent missteps he's taken with films like Mr. Jones and The Browning Version. Figgis also composed the soundtrack which is sung by Sting. I suppose it must also be mentioned that the novel on which the film was based was penned by John O'Brien, who committed suicide two weeks after learning that the book was bought for the movies. Leaving Las Vegas is redolent with cameos: Look for everyone from Richard Lewis to Carey Lowell to Bob Rafelson to Lou Rawls. Leaving Las Vegas is the kind of movie that feels like a terrific place to visit, but you know in your heart that you'd never want to dwell there. (11/22/95)
3.5 stars (M.B.)
Village
D: Stephen Herek; with Richard Dreyfuss, Glenne Headly, Jay Thomas, Olympia Dukakis, W.H. Macy, Alicia Witt, Joseph Anderson, Anthony Natale.
(PG, 145 min.)
Mr. Holland's Opus is the kind of movie that only a person who really doesn't like movies could love. It's a movie whose grandiose swagger is meant as compensation for its message about the resignation of the human spirit to smaller gratifications and vistas. It's a movie that wants to guide us, to sustain us through our darkest hour of lost ambition. It uses as its role model the story of Glenn Holland (Dreyfuss), a young, married man who takes what he considers a "fallback" job as a schoolteacher in order to pay the bills until he finishes writing the opus that will establish his "real" career as a modern composer of music. Of course, along the way Glenn becomes sidetracked - teaching music to teenagers becomes his true life's work while his dream of writing one immortal composition becomes a faint relic of his vainglorious youth. Mr. Holland's Opus wishes to be the It's a Wonderful Life for our time: a movie that reminds us that our immortality rests with other people, that we are only as great as the people whose lives we touch. Maybe yes, maybe no - that debate's outside this sphere. But what is true is that Richard Dreyfuss is no Everyman - this is the Dreyfuss who Ahab'ed a shark in Jaws, who led us to the "monolith" in Close Encounters of the Third Kind, and who originally left American Graffiti-ville to write the Great American Novel. Here, we have him getting into trouble with the school authorities because he uses rock & roll to teach music theory to bored students. He learns to inspire each and every "ungifted" student who comes his way. When he tells a thoroughly talentless but diligent pupil (Witt), "Close your eyes and think of the sunset," her squawking clarinet suddenly exudes the graceful tones of a Benny Goodman. As a bonus, this girl who served as his first breakthrough as a dedicated teacher, later grows up to become governor of the state. I guess we are meant to wonder about the welfare of the state had it not been for Mr. Holland. We are also to believe that the greatest trauma of this music man's life is the deafness of his son - the film's supreme example of irony in action. But all is resolved when Glenn learns to sign John Lennon's song, "Beautiful Boy," and dedicate it to his son, emphasizing the line about how "Life is what happens while you're busy making other plans." Despite the fact that the movie is constantly telegraphing its beliefs to the audience with all the subtlety of a high-school textbook, it takes Glenn Holland decades to make his peace with the unexpected path his life has taken. We get to observe his decades-long progress in what feels like hourly detail. When, at the end of the movie he is rewarded by his former pupils and all the others whose lives he has touched, the grandness of the tribute somewhat belies the film's message about acquiescence to mediocrity. The only thing missing from Mr. Holland's retirement tribute is the gold watch.
(1/19/96)
1.0
stars (M.B.)
Great Hills, Lake Creek, Lakehills, Lincoln, Movies 12, Riverside, Roundrock
D: Oliver Stone; with Anthony Hopkins, Joan Allen, Powers Boothe, Ed Harris, Bob Hoskins, E.G. Marshall, David Paymer, David Hyde Pierce, Paul Sorvino, Mary Steenburgen, J.T. Walsh, James Woods.
(R, 190 min.)
If Robert McNamara's recently published apologia for the war in Vietnam struck you as well-reasoned and compassionate, then you're likely to find yourself also in the mood for Oliver Stone's new bio-pic Nixon. Overall, the movie is the most sympathetic portrait of the publicly disgraced president we're likely to observe since the collective amnesia we, as a nation, experienced while listening to the eulogies following his death last year. Certainly it is time for us to put some demons of the past to rest, and Stone's movie seems an honest attempt to do just that. His Nixon wants to make sense of the politician and his actions, and covers a lot of ground in that quest. It's as if Stone were looking for Nixon's "Rosebud," the key that might unlock all the forgotten secrets. What Stone delivers is a psychological portrait that exposes aspects of the former president not widely considered in the past. Stone's Nixon is a man resentful of the East Coast social elite and the Ivy Leaguers (especially the Kennedys), a man whose internalization of the stern value system of his Quaker parents dogged him throughout his life, a man who was haunted by the idea that the deaths of his two brothers and the deaths of the Kennedys caused him personal gain. This Nixon is a man with a chip on his shoulder and something to prove. "Can you imagine what he might have become," comments this dramatized Kissinger (Sorvino), "if only someone had really loved him?" Such psychoanalytic theorizing opens up a character in a narrative sense, yet I'm not sure that it adds much to our political understanding of the figure. Nixon is a self-consciously epic story that views its subject as a great tragic figure. Stone uses the word "Shakespearean" to describe his drama; the Greek concept of "hubris" also fits with Stone's narrative approach. What eludes me is how a better understanding of Nixon's human tragedy can contribute to our understanding of his "incursions" into Laos and Cambodia, his contempt for the courts in the Watergate debacle, his actions that earned him the moniker "Tricky Dick," and so forth. We come away with greater compassion for the human being, but I don't think increased empathy can ameliorate the consequences of his infamous actions. Though his physical features bear little resemblance to Nixon's, there could not be a more serendipitous choice than Hopkins to play Nixon. Hopkins captures the mannerisms and speech patterns ably enough, while his allure as a great British actor amplifies the Shakespearean angle of the story at the same time his notoriety for portraying Hannibal "The Cannibal" Lecter proves him capable of rendering the most reprehensible of human beings likable. In the three hours it takes Nixon to run its course, the movie feels like it only provides a swift glimpse of a portion of the man's life. It all takes place during the waning days of Nixon's presidency in a White House populated by conspiratorial underlings. Flashbacks to Nixon's youth, his rise to power, and his survey of his accomplishments are interspersed with all kinds of surreal visual effects to indicate the passage of time and history. In the end, we are left with the now-familiar image of Nixon on his knees praying in the Oval Office. For all its unwieldy temporal scope and narrowness of perspective, Nixon is an amazingly graceful beast, flawed yet invigorating, packed with enough material that will fascinate and irk moviegoers of all stripes for quite a time to come.
(12/22/95)
2.5
stars (M.B.)
Highland
D: Oliver Parker; with Laurence Fishburne, Irene Jacob, Kenneth Branagh, Nathaniel Parker, Michael Maloney, Anna Patrick.
(R, 120 min.)
In the final moments of Oliver Parker's new film of Shakespeare's tragedy, when Laurence Fishburne's Othello acknowledges how he has wrongfully killed his wife Desdemona and says that he, "Like the base Indian, threw a pearl away/Richer than all his tribe," his words fall on heavy hearts. We are weighted down by what we've seen, not because it's Shakespeare and we know we're supposed to be sad, but because the film has brought us close to the characters and rendered their spiraling dance of passion and violence with immediacy. Parker has stripped away nearly half of Shakespeare's text for the movie, but what this sacrifices in terms of the play's scope, it gains in the spaces between the lines - the pained glances, the tense stand-offs, the fiery kisses (especially the fiery kisses) - where Parker can deepen our sense that the characters are more than gushing founts of Elizabethan verse; they are figures of tender flesh and raging blood. The performances emphasize humanness. Fishburne's Othello is insistently man-sized: a composed, confident leader who raises his voice rarely, even when his brain reels with images of Desdemona's infidelity. Occasionally you want him to crank it up and put some Olympian fire in his lines, but in the end, it doesn't matter; he falls just as far as the Moors who rattle windows with their cries. The depth of his ardor for Desdemona is there in a gaze that could ignite parchment. Iago is the engine that drives the story, and Kenneth Branagh opens the throttle playing him. He's clearly having a grand time in the role, feigning cheery sympathy to his victims one second, sneering at them the next. Before roaring through a scene, he all but licks his chops and yells, "Let's see what this baby can really do!" Fortunately, his work isn't just Shakespearean showboating. He is deep into Iago's dark, calculating soul. It's clear when he delivers Iago's asides - which, like Richard III's asides in Olivier's film, are shot in tight close-up and almost whispered. Branagh's eyes lock on ours and we see a chilling void and a dagger of ice where a heart should be. The rest of the cast is effective, too - even Irene Jacob, whose Desdemona is so beatific, she at times borders on blandness - because they all play to the characters' feelings. Such an approach means that no matter how familiar the tale may be, it can still reach our hearts. And so this one does.
(1/19/96)
3.5
stars (R.F.)
Village
D: Roger Michell; with Amanda Root, Ciaran Hinds, Corin Redgrave, Phoebe Nicholls, Sophie Thompson, Fiona Shaw.
(PG, 104 min.)
Attend a screening of this adaptation of Jane Austen's last (and posthumously published) novel expecting the lavish likes of an Merchant-Ivory period extravaganza and you'll be sorely disappointed - or inordinately pleased depending on your bent. Entirely devoid of dewy-eyed, luscious-lipped, heaving-chested heroines, Michell's Persuasion makes us work a bit at Austen's story rather than serving it up to us on a big silver platter. Amanda Root's portrayal of Anne Elliott is so restrained and so unmovie-star-like that we are compelled to plumb her depths to see how a bird with such dull plumage flies. Anne has had eight-and-a-half long years to reflect on her dismissal of Frederick Wentworth (Hinds), the man she'd meant to marry. Anne's neighbor and surrogate mother, Lady Russell, persuaded her that Wentworth, "having nothing but himself to recommend him," was an unsuitable suitor. In a deliciously ironic twist of fate (the sort that fuels all really great romances), Anne's foppish father (Redgrave) and peevish dilettante of a sister (Nicholls) have squandered the family fortune, forcing them to "retrench." Thus, the family manse, Kellynch, is sublet to Admiral Croft and his wife, who just happens to be... Wentworth's sister. Now Captain Wentworth of the Royal British Navy (and if you don't think that's a glorious station in 19th-century life, just check out his hat), his star has risen just as precipitously as the Elliotts' has fallen. Michell's treatment of Anne's story is spare and muted, a movie of small moments. Whitened fingers gripping the back of a chair, a red velvet cape billowing in the sea air, a gloved hand on the small of a back. These are the images that set our pulses racing, and race they do even though we know perfectly well the outcome of the story. Even the comedy, which is quite subtle and likely to elude the inattentive listener, is capable of producing audible laughter. Persuasion is nearly a lesson in understatement, with fine, controlled performances, and a pace that quickens your interest in inverse proportion to its speed. I can't help but think that Austen would be pleased that this seeming Plain Jane of a picture could be a thing of such beauty and spirit.
(10/27/95)
3.0
stars (H.C.)
Dobie
D: Sydney Pollack; with Harrison Ford, Julia Ormond, Greg Kinnear, Nancy Marchand, Lauren Holly.
(PG, 127 min.)
Pollack's remake of the 1954 Billy Wilder romance movie poses no threat to the original Sabrina's charm, glamour, and wit. While it can't hold a candle to Wilder's film, the updated Sabrina has its moments. Pollack's film stays fairly true to the original story of Sabrina, the daughter of a chauffeur who drives for the Larrabees, a monied Long Island family. Sabrina (Ormond) has been in love with the younger son, playboy David Larrabee (Kinnear), since she was a child. He doesn't know she exists. A trip to Paris imbues Sabrina with both style and confidence, and thereby she captures the attention of the fickle David upon her return. Now engaged, David must be policed by his older brother Linus (Ford) and his mother Maude (Marchand). In an effort to keep David from ruining his impending marriage and thus an important business merger for Larrabee Industries, Linus squires Sabrina as David's surrogate. Those of you familiar with the earlier Sabrina know what happens next. For those who may not have seen Wilder's film, you probably can guess the ending. Ford's droll performance as the uptight and single-minded business tycoon gives the film its strongest character and some of its best lines. Ormond's fresh beauty and guileless acting give Sabrina the same ingenue status as the original character although it goes without saying that there can never be another Audrey Hepburn. Additional entertaining moments are played effectively by Marchand as the brusque, elite, but ultimately earth-bound Maude Larrabee, and Greg Kinnear's reprise of the part originally played by William Holden has its own smug charm. Pollack has made a few changes to keep the film contemporary, and generally these work unobtrusively - having Sabrina intern at French Vogue instead of a cooking school, learning photography instead of haute cuisine, making David more of a Nineties celebrity by having him pose for a Gap ad, and so on. However, the biggest problem with this story is that it seems so out of place in the present. Granted, chauffeurs still exist and they still produce daughters, but somehow the extremes in class seem implausible from the beginning. If you can get past what was for me a large stumbling block, then you probably will enjoy the romance between Ormond and Ford. Giuseppe Rotunno's photography ensures that the visual images are as sweetly appealing as many of the other elements in the film, making Sabrina a little piece of Christmas sugar just in time for the holidays: too sweet for some, but just right for others.
(12/15/95)
2.5
stars (A.M.)
Arbor, Northcross
D: Ang Lee; with Emma Thompson, Alan Rickman, Kate Winslet, Hugh Grant, Gemma Jones, Emilie Francois, Elizabeth Spriggs, Greg Wise, Imogen Stubbs. (PG, 135 min.)
Who could have imagined that 1995 would have been such a banner year for Jane Austen? This new film adaptation of Austen's first novel, Sense and Sensibility, is the third Austen appearance onscreen this year. Earlier, there was the excellent adaptation of Persuasion and, remarkably enough, even Amy Heckerling declared that her movie Clueless owes a great debt to Austen's Emma. Whether this cluster is mere coincidence or an indicator of new social trends in film is a matter for conjecture... but not here. Here, I'm willing to count my blessings and not fret about their source. Sense and Sensibility is a wonderfully fashioned film adaptation, which only makes us rue there not being more Jane Austen novels for filmmakers to rework. The movie is lively, beautiful, and funny, though perhaps not as subtle as some of Austen's later work. It is, typically, a story about manners and morals set within a narrative context of finding suitable husbands for eligible young women. (Such a passŽ story line has greater relevance in this early 18th-century British setting when women were denied both occupations and inheritance; the setting also makes the characters' desire to marry for love rather than security a much more daring notion than it might seem currently.) Though many might be surprised by the choice of Taiwanese director Ang Lee (The Wedding Banquet, Eat Drink Man Woman) to helm this English period production, his sensibilities turn out to be in perfect accord with Austen's. Both artists use the subtleties of domestic microcosms for their tableaux, though until now, each explored the confines of radically different cultures. Even more intriguing is the accomplished screenplay by actress Emma Thompson, who also stars as the elder sister Elinor Dashwood. It is her first screenplay and its skillfulness belies her inexperience. Thompson has pruned the novel into solid dramatic nuggets and kept the excisions and alterations reasonable. One of the movie's biggest changes is the casting of Thompson as Elinor. In the novel, the character is 19 years old and her sister Marianne is 17. As played by Thompson and the dazzling Kate Winslet (Heavenly Creatures), the sisters are clearly older and more mature, but that alteration does not harm the story so much as add a greater urgency to their situation. Not enough can be said about this fine cast, each of whom chisels a vibrant, one-of-a-kind characterization. Sense and Sensibility is an absorbing, delightful, and nuanced movie with laugh-out-loud humor, and though it often plays events broadly where you might have preferred subtlety, it's not a movie that could have settled for muffled silence. (12/15/95)
3.5 stars (M.B.)
Arbor, Highland
D: John Lasseter; with the voices of Tom Hanks, Tim Allen, Wallace Shawn, Don Rickles, Jim Varney, John Ratzenberger, Annie Potts, Laurie Metcalf, Penn Jillette.
(G, 81 min.)
Pixar and Disney join forces and take the next great leap forward in animated films with this moving, hilarious, and ultimately groundbreaking tale about the secret life of toys. John Lasseter's Pixar computer animation company first gained fame in the mid-Eighties with a series of then-astounding computer-generated short films including Red's Dream, Knick-Knack, and the seminal Tin Toy, which featured the first-ever attempt to create a computer-animated human. You can see how much times have changed in Toy Story: The film has plenty of humans running around, in addition to the myriad toys of the title. Woody (Hanks) is young Andy's favorite plaything, a stuffed cowboy with a pull-string voicebox that lets him spout such western witticisms as "Somebody's poisoned the water in the well!" When Andy's not around, Woody comes to life, overseeing the other toys (Mr. Potato Head, Slinky Dog, little green plastic army guys, and all the rest you probably remember from your own childhood) as their unofficial leader. When Andy's birthday rolls around, Woody and company anxiously await the possible arrival of new, better playthings. Although protesting otherwise, it's all too obvious that Woody's worried that he'll end up obsolete and forgotten in the shadow of some G.I. Joe or Tonka toy. Woody's fears seem justified, to a point: The hit of Andy's birthday is his new Buzz Lightyear doll (Allen), a gizmo-laden, slam-bang action figure that not only talks, but has lasers, wings, and a mean karate chop. Before long, a jealous Woody is plotting ways to get rid of the interloper. Things go awry when both Buzz and Woody are accidentally lost in the world outside of Andy's house. When they find themselves in the clutches of Sid, the vicious, toy-destroying brat next door, it's up to Woody to come to terms with his jealousies and find a way home for the two of them. Like Tim Burton's The Nightmare Before Chrismas, Toy Story's brilliant animation is its chief draw; unlike Burton's film, however, Toy Story has a lot more going for it that just eye-popping visuals. The film actually has more in common with traditionally animated films such as The Brave Little Toaster and Disney's more contemporary work. Toy Story is just that: a great story supported and enhanced (but never overshadowed) by its stunning animation. All the characters - from Andy's Bucket o' Soldiers running tiny recon missions throughout the household, to Ham the piggy bank and all the rest - are fresh, fully realized, and easily identifiable characters. The evil (sort of) Sid is a veritable American male archetype as well; is there anyone who didn't blow up, melt with a magnifying glass, or otherwise deface a few GI Joes and Matchbox cars in his time? Lasseter's Toy Story is a comic and animated gem, the kind of holiday film you actually look forward to seeing again and again (and if you have kids, you're almost certain to go more than once). (11/22/95)
4.0
stars (M.S.)
Highland, Lakehills, Movies 12
D: Terry Gilliam; with Bruce Willis, Madeleine Stowe, Brad Pitt, Christopher Plummer, Frank Gorshin, Jon Seda.
(R, 130 min.)
Terry Gilliam may be the most gifted cinematic surrealist since Luis Bu–uel and, while his newest film fits more squarely into the category of science fiction than that of fantasy, his quirky, disquieting, and thoroughly unique vision is on full display once again. Virtually no one else could have made this film as well as he has (indeed, the thought of 12 Monkeys falling into the hands of someone like Steven Spielberg is nearly as disturbing as the movie's premise). Willis is James Cole, a seemingly deranged man who may or may not be an emissary from the future sent back in time to stop a deadly plague - possibly created by the mythical "Army of the 12 Monkeys" - that will eradicate 5 billion people in 1996. Confined in a mental hospital that makes Bedlam look positively cheery by comparison, Cole is watched over by psychiatrist Kathryn Railly (Stowe), who feels oddly drawn to this drooling, battered husk of a man. While there, Cole meets the raving, wild-eyed Jeffrey Goines (Pitt), who helps him escape before Cole seemingly vanishes into thin air. Cole's search for the mysterious 12 Monkeys takes him in and out of various stages of madness? reality? some bizarre netherworld? Gilliam keeps the audience guessing, and in doing so creates a startlingly effective rumination on the nature of sanity and madness cloaked in the shroud of a sci-fi thriller. All three leads - Willis, Stowe, and Pitt - give painstakingly nuanced, wonderfully layered performances. Pitt effectively shelves the sexy bad boy image that's made him a star and instead delivers a crazed, all-stops-out performance as the deranged Goines. Willis gives his best characterization to date, alternately heroic and pathetic, his doors of perception in dire need of a good greasing; Stowe is equally excellent as the rational mind fighting off the dark impossibilities hurled before her. Gilliam's direction is, as always, a wonder to behold, cramming the screen with outlandish images simultaneously nightmarish and cartoon-like. It's Hieronymous Bosch by way of Ren and Stimpy, a bogglingly eerie world where nothing is ever quite as it seems. Recurrent flashbacks throughout the film telegraph the ending a bit too much in advance, but that's a minor quibble when held up against the mirror of Gilliam's wild, wild ride. It often seems as though Gilliam is the least prolific of fantastic directors working today (with the possible exception of Alejandro Jodorowsky), but once again, it was worth the wait.
(1/5/96)
3.5
stars (M.S.)
Arbor, Highland, Lake Creek, Movies 12, Riverside, Roundrock, Westgate
D: Bill Bennett; with Sandra Bullock, Denis Leary, Yaphet Kotto, Stephen Dillane, Jonathan Tucker, Wayne Robson.
(R, 95 min.)
Two if by Sea opens with Frank (Leary) and Roz (Bullock) engaging in a series of pedestrian domestic disputes while (it is eventually and artlessly revealed) they are in the midst of a high-speed auto chase. The two fugitive art thieves evade a legion of state police by outrunning them in their rented compact car, jumping from a passenger train into a cattle car and, finally, leaping on to a departing ferry. They land on a posh New England island and take up residence in a temporarily vacated seaside mansion that, as luck would have it, not only lacks an alarm system, but also has the front door key left conveniently on the door sill. With a few days to kill before delivering the stolen painting to the unknown buyer, Roz takes a stroll on the vast lawn where the suave, erudite, British-accented next-door neighbor, Evan Marsh (Dillane), spies her through his handy binoculars. He falls head-over-heels for the mini-skirted, platform-heeled, gum-chewing cashier and proceeds to show her the good life - sailing, horse-training, and blue-blood cocktail partying. But credibility is the least of this movie's problems. The script, written by Leary and Mike Armstrong, is abysmal. Frank's and Roz's dialogue is, I suppose, meant to be a sort of blue-collar repartee ‡ lˆ The Honeymooners. But it is merely dreary and discomfiting. There is nothing witty or endearing about this pair or their endless exchanges, and sitting in a theatre with them for 95 minutes is like dining out with a couple while they reveal every misdeed and betrayal that led up to their impending, and inevitably, acrimonious divorce. The subplot story of the pugnacious FBI investigator O'Malley (Kotto), still obsessed with finding the long-declared dead art thief, Phil the Shill, is only marginally more entertaining. Following the superhighway-size trail left by Frank's pint-sized, pea-brained cousin, Beano (Wayne Robson, who provides the few funny moments of the movie), O'Malley tracks down the stolen art and unmasks (long after the viewer has) Phil the Shill. I wouldn't be surprised if this movie was released solely on the basis of Bullock's recent ascension to stardom. But even her ebullient charm cannot save this sinking ship. Therefore, I consider it my duty to issue this warning: Every able-minded person should rebel at the very sight of Two if by Sea.
(1/19/96)
.5
stars (H.C.)
Great Hills, Highland
D: Bryan Singer; with Stephen Baldwin, Gabriel Byrne, Chazz Palminteri, Kevin Pollak, Pete Postlethwaite, Kevin Spacey, Suzy Amis, Benicio Del Toro, Giancarlo Esposito, Dan Hedaya.
(R, 108 min.)
A movie shouldn't have to be seen twice in order to be understood. Second viewings can certainly deepen an appreciation and enrich our knowledge and experience of a movie. But a second look shouldn't be required in order to have a solid understanding of certain things as essential as who did what to whom... and why? That said, I can't think of a movie the second viewing of which I looked forward to more eagerly than that of The Usual Suspects. When revisited, the movie comes through like a champ and reveals a clarity and overall vision that seemed tentative at first encounter. The Usual Suspects is a movie with style to burn, and, initially, that is this crime drama's most mesmerizing aspect. The plot's convolutions and unexpected surprise ending all seem to be extensions of the film's stylistic flourish. Upon reflection, The Usual Suspects' story line is not all that eventful. The film begins with the elegantly filmed explosion of a boat. The only survivors are a charred Hungarian sailor who fearfully babbles about having seen the face of the devil, a man by the name of Keyser Sšze, and a con man with a distinctive limp who's known by the name of Verbal (Spacey). The rest of the film recounts the events that led up to the explosion. A seemingly random roundup of several top New York City thieves tosses five larcenous professionals into a jail cell and when they emerge, the web of heists that seals their doom is set in motion. Out of the group of five, Verbal is the last survivor. The web pulls the audience along, too, because we all become actively engaged in the process of figuring out which one of them is Keyser Sšze. The characters contribute so much to the movie's richness. These performances are full of fine nuances, dialogue, and slowly revealed traits. Very little really occurs in terms of the film's essential actions, but everything occurs in the way that these events go down. Everything is so fascinating to watch and piece together. Director Bryan Singer and screenwriter Christopher McQuarrie are high school pals whose first feature film, Public Access, won the Grand Jury Award at Sundance two years ago, though this widely hailed film languished from a lack of sincere distribution. Their second feature,The Usual Suspects, seems destined for greater things.
(9/1/95)
4.0 stars (M.B.)
Dobie, Texas Union
D: Forest Whitaker; with Whitney Houston, Angela Bassett, Loretta Devine, Lela Rochon, Gregory Hines, Dennis Haysbert, Mykelti Williamson, Michael Beach, Leon.
(R, 123 min.)
Adapted from Terry McMillan's best-selling novel, Waiting to Exhale tells the story of four black female friends, all of whom are frustrated in love - a simple story but so original. The "pundits" were all surprised when pop diva and Bodyguard box-office sensation Whitney Houston chose to join in this low-budget ensemble project. But whether due to Houston's popularity or the movie's more general appeal, Waiting to Exhale has turned into one of the box-office successes of this holiday season. The "pundits," of course, never predicted that there might be a hungry audience across America for a movie that features independent, African-American women professionals living comfortable, if unfulfilled, lives in Phoenix, Arizona. It would never cross the pundits' minds that the movie might fail because it, itself, was unfulfilled and uninteresting. Actor Forest Whitaker's debut as a feature film director is a tame and disjointed affair - a two-hour-long series of action-less events. The story of these four women and the various men in their lives lacks momentum and dramatic drive. Also unclear is the connection between all these women and the roots of their dissatisfaction. Novelist McMillan was assisted in the scriptwriting chores by veteran Ronald Bass (Rainman, The Joy Luck Club, Dangerous Minds) but somewhere along the way, the characters at the heart of the story got lost. Very little about the movie - as a movie - stands out: not the acting, not the camerawork, not the plot structure, not the dialogue. What stands out is its subject matter - self-reliant black women leading ordinary lives. Let's hope that the movie's success kick-starts a trend: some new movies whose technical originality is equal to their subjects.
(1/5/96)
2.0
stars (M.B.)
Great Hills, Lincoln, Riverside, Westgate
D: Douglas Keeve; with Isaac Mizrahi.
(NR, 79 min.)
Fashion photographer Douglas Keeve turns his camera on designer Isaac Mizrahi for an intriguing and often funny look into the making of a seasonal fashion collection. The documentary opens with Mizrahi receiving and reacting to the lukewarm reviews of his Spring 1994 collection. As he bounces back to design that year's fall collection, Mizrahi explains how his clothes are often inspired by a gesture, a bit of minutiae that somehow resonates for him. The Fall 1994 collection had its roots in a number of diverse gestures: images from Robert Flaherty's Nanook of the North, Seventies sitcom single goddess Mary Richards, and an antique French corset made of metal and fabric. The documentary chronicles the collection from its beginnings in Mizrahi's sketches to its parade down the catwalk in New York City. While the film entertains with its peeks into Mizrahi's daily life, more visually interesting is the whirl of models and fashion personalities who pass before Keeve's lens. Despite its provocative title, Unzipped is no exposŽ of the fashion world: Some models are well-behaved (Naomi Campbell, Cindy Crawford); others are more than a little obnoxious (Linda Evangelista). Mizrahi himself is very likable and grounded, somewhat surprising considering the eccentrics he must deal with, like Allure magazine creative director Polly Mellen. Yet the film's compilation of interviews, black-and-white and color images, and home movies of the budding designer proves engaging throughout. The film's visuals stylishly capture Mizrahi's dramatic sense of color and playful combination of shapes and fabrics, such as synthetic fur with silk and satin. Additionally, Mizrahi's extensive repertoire of popular culture references sheds some light on his more daring ideas, such as the faux-fur jumpsuit fantasy creation he hoped to make (but compromised into a short "chubby" jacket) in honor of the Banana Splits, those fur-encased musical maniacs from Saturday morning television. Keeve's self-conscious stylistics (random pieces of film leader, for instance) grow a little tiresome, but the witty Mizrahi manages to keep the film moving. By the time the film concludes with his impressively staged fall collection, Mizrahi has become the unzipped hero. A must-see for addicts like myself with an embarrassing number of fashion magazine subscriptions, but worthwhile for everyone else, Unzipped overflows with style and just enough substance.
(9/29/95)
3.0
stars (A.M.)
Texas Union
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