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THE TEXAS CHAINSAW MASSACRE
10.25.03 (5:32 pm)   [edit]

[b]THE TEXAS CHAINSAW MASSACRE[/b]
[b]Cast:[/b] Jessica Biel, Eric Balfour, Mike Vogel, Jonathan Tucker, Erica Leerhsen, and R. Lee Ermey
[b]Directed by:[/b] Marcus Nispel
[b]Written by:[/b] Scott Kosar
[b]Distributor:[/b] New Line Cinema (US 2003)
[b]Rated:[/b] R for strong horror violence/gore, language and drug content

As Reviewed by: [b]GABRIEL SHANKS[/b]

The So-Bad-It's-Good movie phenomenon has finally reached its apotheosis, and turned back in on itself. Maybe one simply shouldn't fool with nature; B-Movies that work are rare birds to begin with, and lightning very rarely strikes the same place twice. Or maybe it is an evolution -- call it the So-Bad-Then-Good-Then-Bad -Again phenomenon. Or just call it THE TEXAS CHAINSAW MASSACRE, a remake that, no matter how you slice it, is an uninspired, by-the-numbers exercise.

Helming his first feature, Marcus Nispel brings admirable energy to MASSACRE's country-fried tale of horror and slaughter. But one doesn't get an A for effort at the movies. The script, adapted by Scott Kosar from Kim Henkel and Tobe Cooper's 1974 screenplay, strips much of the originality, fun and genuine fright from the proceedings, choosing instead to crib horror cliches from other movies (shadowy figures, creaky floorboards) while offering nothing to help the viewer's path to empathy. The lukewarm terror, such as it is, is telegraphed way ahead of the moment. And yet, there's no thrill of expectation; indeed, as the massacre (finally) gets underway, the audience is so far ahead of both villain and victim that dramatic tension rests somewhere near zero.

This new MASSACRE flows by in a bit of a haze, in part due to Scott Gallagher's over-the-top art direction, which literally puts everything in a sun-drenched fog. (Yes, a sun-drenched fog.) The densest fog, however, has to be Jessica Biel, who imbues her frantic heroine with all the gravitas of a hyperactive squirrel. Granted, her character makes some nonsensical, illogical turns in the film's final act (after refusing on moral grounds to abandon a dead stranger's body, she runs willy-nilly as a friend is filleted), but Biel is an actress of extraordinary inability. She may be a B-movie goddess in Nispel's eyes, but only her tight-fitting t-shirt makes that case. An actress she is not. The forgettable twentysomething eye-candy ensemble surrounding her is (literally) grist for the mill, giving aimless performances while waiting to be caught, as they inevitably are, by Leatherface.

Ah, Leatherface...where has your menace gone? In this new CHAINSAW, he's still got the chainsaw, and the special effects team do manage to make him suitably grotesque. But there's nothing frightening about his demeanor; as deadly as he may be, he evokes nothing so much as a misunderstood Quasimodo gone awry. As far as archtypal horror demons go, he's no Freddy, no Jason...heck, he's not even a Chucky.

As the horror parody of SCREAM and SCARY MOVIE claim franchise market share, it's perhaps odd to lament the utter mediocrity of THE TEXAS CHAINSAW MASSACRE. Sure, there's still horror offerings, and the B-movie will always have a long life, thanks to the DVD market. But the Golden Age of Horror -- the years that gave us not only Freddy and Jason, but Damien and poltergeists and children of the corn and exorcists and the first Leatherface -- has regrettably, sadly passed. We are left, it seems, with the leftovers, warmed and reheated but without the fire and tangy flavor of the originals. There's blood, gore, and jitters aplenty in THE TEXAS CHAINSAW MASSACRE, but none of it really matters much. The thrill is gone.
 
THE BARBARIAN INVASIONS (Les Invasions Barbares)
10.19.03 (3:23 pm)   [edit]

[b]THE BARBARIAN INVASIONS (Les Invasions Barbares)[/b]
[b]Cast:[/b] Remy Girard, Stephane Rousseau, Dorothee Berryman, Louise Portal, Yves Jacques, and Marie Josee Croze
[b]Directed by:[/b] Denys Arcand
[b]Written by:[/b] Denys Arcand
[b]Distributor:[/b] Miramax Films (US 2003)
[b]Rated:[/b] R for language, sexual dialogue and drug content

As Reviewed by: [b]GABRIEL SHANKS[/b]

The tenuous invisible glue that holds relationships together is once again on display in Denys Arcand's THE BARBARIAN INVASIONS, a surprisingly funny glimpse into one man's final days. I say 'once again' because you may know these characters; many of them first appeared (played by the same actors) in Arcand's acclaimed 1986 hit The Decline of the American Empire, a slice of cinematic convention-skewering that simultaneously demonstrated the power of love and loyalty. Over fifteen years have passed since the events of Empire, and now one of their circle, Remy (Remy Girard), is dying of cancer. This painful premise is mitigated, however, by saucy and inspired comedy, the laughter and memories that bubble up once the far-flung friends are reunited. There's also a new generation, and with it a new generation of problems -- the film begins and ends, in fact, with Remy's estranged son, Sebastien (Stephane Rousseau), who has returned from London with a new fiancee and a very big chip on his shoulder.

The story points are incidental. Remember Arcand's magical touch with the glue of relationships -- the small, magnificent moments that fill in the cracks of life here are beautiful, detailed, and complex. One may not find a better ensemble in a film this year; these old pros move gracefully in and out of scenes with an effortlessness that recalls the golden age of cinema.

Despite salient points about the faults of socialized medicine, the loss of the social intellectual, the division between morality and ethics -- as well as the barbarians who, in this modern age, invade our lives without warning (perceived and real) -- it is nevertheless the human bonds, forged and broken, that leave the most lasting impressions in THE BARBARIAN INVASIONS. When the film's finale comes, one feels awestruck by Arcand's accomplishment: starkly aware of life's beauty, its fragility, and the undeniable truth that friends, lovers, and family are what makes us who we are.

THE BARBARIAN INVASIONS is for more than just Arcand's fans; audiences who may have dismissed the ponderings of JESUS OF MONTREAL or the psychosexuality of LOVE AND HUMAN REMAINS will find Arcand's latest effort a refreshing, viewer-friendly effort. It is no small accomplishment to make a family film challenging and intricate...not to mention possibly controversial, if the dramatic 9/11 footage Arcand includes receives attention. Such an effort can only be summed up in one word. Bravo.
 
GOOD MORNING, NIGHT (Buongiorno, Notte)
10.12.03 (8:33 pm)   [edit]

[b]GOOD MORNING, NIGHT (Buongiorno, Notte)[/b]
[b]Cast:[/b] Pier Giorgio Bellocchio, Giovanni Calcagno, Roberto Herlitzka, Luigi Lo Cascio, and Maya Sansa
[b]Directed by:[/b] Marco Bellocchio
[b]Written by:[/b] Marco Bellocchio
[b]Distributor:[/b] Rai Cinenacion (Italy 2003)
[b]Rated:[/b] Unrated

As Reviewed by: [b]GABRIEL SHANKS[/b]

I’m sure there’s something to be said for GOOD MORNING, NIGHT, the political chamber drama by revered Italian director Marco Bellocchio (Enrico IV) that recently picked up a trio of awards at the Venice Film Festival. Perhaps the story speaks more resolutely to those intimately familiar with the 1978 kidnapping of Italian prime minister Aldo Moro, the leader of the Christian Democrats who inflamed and enraged the dying Communist passions of the Italian counterculture. Party politics are dull enough in any country, and Bellocchio, despite a handful of spirited performances, is unable to move his tale beyond a simple class-war badgering. Disappointing obviousness, for devotees only.
 
KILL BILL: VOLUME ONE
10.10.03 (9:06 pm)   [edit]

[b]KILL BILL: VOLUME ONE[/b]
[b]Cast:[/b] Uma Thurman, Lucy Liu, Viveca A. Fox, Daryl Hannah, Michael Madsen, and David Carradine
[b]Directed by:[/b] Quentin Tarantino
[b]Written by:[/b] Quentin Tarantino
[b]Distributor:[/b] Miramax Films (USA 2003)
[b]Rated:[/b] R for strong bloody violence, language and some sexual content

As Reviewed by: [b]GABRIEL SHANKS[/b]

If Quentin Tarantino were more prolific – say, a film a year like Woody Allen – then the tendency to overanalyze his work wouldn’t be so tantalizing. As it is, however, KILL BILL: VOLUME 1 is only his fourth full-length directorial effort since he emerged on Hollywood’s radar in 1991. With such an infrequent output, it is perhaps to be expected that the man who revolutionized hipness in the movies (with his one uncontested masterpiece, Pulp Fiction) should have each of his films treated as seismic cultural events.

Which is too bad, really. Such scrutiny is sure to damage the frothy chop-socky energy of KILL BILL, a trifling homage to kung fu movies of the 1970’s. Like its inspirational genre, KILL BILL is a light film, low on metaphor and allegory and high on action coolness. It shows little of the emotional and semiotic depth that made Pulp Fiction so enjoyable. But on its own terms, KILL BILL has a remarkable flair that makes it worth watching…and even worth waiting for its truncated-ending, cliffhanger-promising sequel.

Essentially a revenge flick filtered through the last twenty years of pop iconography, KILL BILL follows a former assassin called The Bride (Uma Thurman), who was betrayed and left for dead by her former colleagues. But (surprise!) she was merely in a coma, and awakening after four years, The Bride decides that her name is Payback and it’s a bitch.

The plot, however, is merely a coathanger upon which Tarantino can hang his distinctive brand of celluloid fantasy. In KILL BILL’s case, that’s a heavy dose of Kung Fu, 70’s style, with some modern-retro outfits and a color scheme that would make a kaleidoscope ga-ga. The violence, such as it is, is so outsized and overdone as to be laughable, which is of course part of the homage Tarantino intends. The kicky score, the anime sequences, and of course the ominous voiceovers by the still-unseen Bill (David Carradine) all add a chuckling glee to the atmospherics. The limpid plot is held together by the powerful screen presence and sheer determined willpower of Uma Thurman, who uses her enormous, beautiful eyes to project menace and sensitivity, often at the same time. She kicks butt, but never lets you forget she’s a lady.

Many will feel that KILL BILL is a disappointment – especially those searching for the next Pulp Fiction or those who feel let down that Tarantino has not yet become the legend once prophesized. But to judge KILL BILL on too high a standard is to miss the point entirely. My guess is that Tarantino wants you to have a good time, and that he’d be the first to admit that it isn’t Citizen Kane. Put it in perspective: KILL BILL is much more interesting than the art-house darling ,Thirteen, more entertaining than The Hulk, and more exciting than any of the action films Colin Farrell made this year. On that scale – a scale much more suited to the simple pleasures of a film by Quentin Tarantino – it’s definitely worth your time.





As Reviewed by [b]NED DEPEW[/b]:

Kill Quentin! (some things that may be "mini-spoilers" ahead)

What a waste of $XX Million!

Sure, Tarantino has moments of brilliance. There are images, confluences of music and action, moments of experiment with the "devices" of cinema, that are, in isolation, interesting and engaging.

Sure, he has borrowed many things from the past and re-directed our attention to them (my personal favorite is the resurrection and bizarre rendition of "I'm Blue [the gong-gong song]" one of my long time
favorites)

Sure his homage to (or is it plagiarism of?) Hong-Kong and Japanese cliches is sometimes winsome and precious - like a forty-five-year-old proudly showing us his mint-condition comic collection - but also more than a little perverse and immature.

Sure there is "action" and "entertainment" in the film. Uma is terrific, as is Lucy Liu - but they are playing comic book characters. Liu's animated alter-ego is given more "acting" to do than Liu herself, whose "inscrutability" is not only a demeaning stereotype - but also a blind for screenwriter Tarantino's inability to deal with any kind of truly human emotion.

For a movie where so much happens (and this is an event movie - grinding inexorably from set-piece to set-piece) almost nothing happens to the characters that doesn't feel false and contrived.

Even the most arresting emotional moment - Thurman's awakening from her coma to realize all she has lost - is undermined by its instant crystallization into the "revenge" motif, and then further by the Part
1's "final revelation" that it isn't even justified - the audience has been taken in, manipulated, yet again.

The whole thing is a sad, sappy, sorry, bloody (and I do mean "bloody") mess. It is cartoon violence - but it is violence none the less.

This is a film about people taking each others lives, killing, torturing and maiming - about violence begetting violence, about violence as a way of life, about the triumph of the most successfully violent. As such,
it is a sick combination of the fear of helplessness and a compensatorily grandiose fantasy of omnipotence.

Frankly, I hated [i]Pulp Fiction[/i] too - for many of the same reasons - but I hated it more, for placing its twisted characters and action in the context of something resembling real life.

I hate [i]Kill Bill[/i] somewhat less because at least it has the virtue of presenting itself as something like the Grimmest of Grimm's fairy tales.

If you think that the Japanese Manga tradition - of sado-masochistic ultra-violence paired with simplistic morality and arrested-development sentimentality - is a legitimate basis of "entertainment," then you and
I see the world differently, and you may find something redeeming in this film.

Complaints about the split-in two format are certainly legitimate - the closing line so nearly resembles typical ploys for the silliest and shallowest of soap operas or [i]The Adventures of Pearl White[/i] - but it seems almost irrelevant in the context of how bad, pointless and silly
this vast expenditure of money and talent has been.

I can hardly wait to miss Part 2.
 
THE SCHOOL OF ROCK
10.03.03 (7:50 pm)   [edit]

[b]Cast:[/b] Jack Black, Joan Cusack, Sarah Silverman and Mike White
[b]Directed by:[/b] Richard Linklater
[b]Written by:[/b] Mike White
[b]Distributor:[/b] Paramount Pictures (USA 2003)
[b]Rated:[/b] PG-13 for some rude humor and drug references

Reviewed by: [b]GABRIEL SHANKS[/b]

Watching the grin-inducing entertainment heretofore known as THE SCHOOL OF ROCK, one gets the feeling of a magic trick being pulled, a sleight-of-hand, three-card-monty, open-mouthed surprise that makes mundanity into something wonderful. And like that -- presto! abracadabra! -- the musty kids-and-comedy formula, honed to perfection by John Hughes in the 1980's and duplicated by lesser talents ever since, is metastasized and transformed into a refreshing, spunky gigglefest by the indie auteur Richard Linklater. Simply put, THE SCHOOL OF ROCK charms the pants off of you, becoming in the process one of the most enjoyable surprises of the year.

It's no small feat – the recent string of heinous Eddie Murphy kiddie vehicles show how hard it can be to get the mix right in this genre. And considering that the script, by actor/writer Mike White (CHUCK AND BUCK), is predictable to the point of laughability, the charm of THE SCHOOL OF ROCK is truly a testament to its director and star. Linklater, whose best films have lived in unconventional universes (BEFORE SUNRISE, WAKING LIFE), has made a straightforward commercial entertainment that keeps enough of its rough, unpolished edges to please the anti-Hollywood crowd. Imagine the paradox: here's a family film that quietly despises family, a wholesome values picture that comically worships at the altar of rock'n'roll anti-establishment. Gently subversive, Linklater plays both ends of his audience against the middle, resulting in an indie comedy with mass-market appeal.

But the real triumph of ROCK -- and its major distinguishing element -- is Jack Black, who has shined in supporting roles (HIGH FIDELITY) and leads (SHALLOW HAL) but has never had a role so perfectly suited to his zany-crazy talents. A real-life musician (in the satiric band Tenacious D), Black plays close to home as Dewey Finn, a small-time guitarist with big-time dreams of rock glory. Dewey lives only for rock music, which unfortunately isn’t much of a life -- his exasperated roommate, Ned (White), is tired of his freeloading. Fate and opportunity intervene in the form of a substitute teaching gig -- intended for Ned, but one which the desperate Dewey intercepts, impersonating Ned at a stuffy prep school run by Rosalie (Joan Cusack). Dewey quickly tosses the planned curriculum for a class intensive in stuff that really matters -- Hendrix, the Doors, and Pink Floyd.

As cool teachers have shows us from the beginnings of cinema, the 'rebel teacher' formula always plays well, even in drama (DEAD POETS SOCIETY), and it doesn’t fail here, either. Despite bumpy, erratic dialogue and sluggish plot points, THE SCHOOL OF ROCK exhibits an infectious, good-natured energy. The film goes from good to great, however, thanks to the magnificent comedic abilities of Black. When a part is perfectly cast, a film can reach iconic levels. (Think of Travis Bickle being played by Steve McQueen instead of DeNiro, or The Terminator played by Stallone. Would either character be what they are today?) In Dewey Finn, Black finds a career-making alter ego, a perfect marriage of actor and role.

A top-notch ensemble essentially fades into the background behind Black’s star turn, but is nevertheless worth noting. Hollywood’s most underrated comedienne, Joan Cusack, is in marvelous form as the priggish principal, and the kids in Black’s class transcend their cliché-ridden backstories, especially the stage-frightened Tomika (Maryam Hassan) and the talented but shy Zack (Joey Gaydos).

By the final scenes, one is already a number of steps ahead of the film. What’s extraordinary, though, is that it doesn’t matter all that much; there’s so much charm and joy filling the screen, one wants to leap right in and play air guitar. What could have been a chuckle-worthy Steve Martin or Chris Tucker clunker instead emerges as the path through which the world will discover a major new talent. If that’s not magic, what is?
 

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