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| HERO (Ying xiong) |
| 11.30.03 (5:45 pm) [edit] |
HERO
Cast: Jet Li, Tony Leung Chiu-Wai, Maggie Cheung, Zang Zhiyi, Chen Daoming, and Donnie Yen
Directed by: Zhang Yimou
Written by: Li Feng, Wang Bin, and Zhang Yimou
Distributor: Miramax Films (HK 2003/US 2004)
Rated: Not Yet Rated
As Reviewed by: GABRIEL SHANKS
If you spend any amount of time on internet film message boards, you're sure to have heard the troublesome tale of HERO, the acclaimed period epic (and international smash) that won seven Hong Kong Film Awards, was nominated for the 2002 Foreign Language Academy Award...and hasn't seen the light of day in America. Not for a lack of trying, though; made in 2002, HERO has been on and off the release schedule for well over a year. (Currently, the planned opening is April 2004, but don't hold your breath. It is available, however, from DVD stores and for rent at [url=http://www.greencine.com]GreenCine[/url] .)
Chat rooms have buzzed for months with conspiracy scenarios, most of which blame Miramax's shoddy record with Asian releases. (Their storerooms also include the anticipated Shaolin Soccer, which may finally see a release in 2004, and The Legend of Zu.) My guess is that Harvey Weinstein realizes that crouching tigers and hidden dragons don't come down the pike every day, and HERO is the kind of cross-genre movie that needs nuanced promotion. Made in the wuxia (period fantasy) style so popular in Asian markets, its high-flying special effects, historical grandiosity, and dreamlike narrative evokes nothing less than Rashomon recast as an action picture directed by Anthony Minghella.
The actual director is Zhang Yimou, an exceptional talent perhaps best known for his Gong Li starrer Raise The Red Lantern. For HERO, his cast is a veritable all-star roster of Asian cinema. Many of them have made lasting impressions on U.S. audiences: Jet Li ([i]The One[/i]), Tony Leung Chiu Wai ([i]Happy Together[/i]), Maggie Cheung ([i]In The Mood For Love[/i]), Zhang Ziyi ([i]Rush Hour 2[/i]), and Donnie Yen ([i]Shanghai Knights[/i]). In terms of Hong Kong action/adventure, this is The Big Chill.
The florid story, based loosely on 2,000-year-old history -- also the inspiration for Chen Kaige's The Emperor and the Assassin -- follows a man called Nameless (Li), who has the task of defending the soon-to-be first Emperor of China from three ruthless assassins: Broken Sword (Leung), Flying Snow (Cheung), and Long Sky (Yen). As Nameless recounts his tale, however, the facts and details spin out of control; events, players, and emotions become confused, and it is up to the emperor to figure out what really happened...and whether his life is still in danger. (The answer is, yes, very much so.)
The intricate plot is sometimes hard to follow, but watching HERO, one suspects that narrative is not director Yimou's first concern. Spectacle, in dazzling display, in what's on the menu. The fight choreography and special effects are -- and this statement is not made lightly -- some of the best ever committed to celluloid. Grand and otherworldly, the action sequences take on a symbolic resonance that leaves the viewer speechless. Equally breathtaking is the cinematography by Christopher Doyle (Ashes of Time), an unequivocal master of the field. Doyle's vibrant, operatic camera work makes delicious use of Tingxiao Huo's imaginative production design. In their hands, HERO gains majesty and scope, artistry and beauty. It moves from the merely successful to the classic.
To tone down the hyperbole (momentarily), it should be clear that HERO is no Citizen Kane; it's not even Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, the phenomenon that undoubtedly sparked Miramax's acquisition of it. The screenplay (by Yimou, Li Feng and wang Bin) is decidedly lacking in weight, framing the tale as a rippingly good yarn rather than a powerful epic struggle. HERO is fun, even awe-inspiring at times, but rarely more than that. As 2,000 year-old tales have a tendency to do, HERO cries out for a more thoughtful treatment.
Don't discount, though, the magic of sheer action glory. Paired as passionate lovers who double as deadly fighters, Leung and Cheung (who both garnered worldwide acting awards for Wong Kar-Wai's In The Mood For Love) imbue their characters with passion and edge. There's a frightening power to their performances, a take-no-prisoners energy that isn't seen very often in Western cinema. Their grace and delicacy is surpassed only by the fact that, in addition to being great actors, they are able to kick serious ass.
Li, the one bonafide worldwide star of this ensemble and a charming presence, is also unfortunately the film's weakest actor. It's perhaps no coincidence that he has the lead role but also has the least to do as Nameless, a lowly sheriff who assumes the mantle of avenger. Stonefaced, resolute, Li gives his role a timeless quality...what Gary Cooper could do in a Western, Li does here for a similar period of Asian history. He is, without a doubt, heroic -- stolid, firm, intractable, always one step ahead.
Should HERO appear, finally, on U.S. screens, one can only hope it finds the audience it so completely deserves -- despite the best efforts of time, the internet, and Miramax. As Hollywood loses its relevance and its understanding of movie audiences, it's a shame when truly marvelous cinema sits waiting on a studio shelf, expectantly. HERO is marvelous cinema, to be certain. In its future, it may be even more.
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| THE MISSING |
| 11.26.03 (9:12 pm) [edit] |
THE MISSING
Cast: Cate Blanchett, Tommy Lee Jones, Evan Rachel Wood, Eric Schweig, and Aaron Eckhart
Directed by: Ron Howard
Written by: Ken Kaufman
Distributor: Sony Pictures (US 2003)
Rated: R for violence
As Reviewed by: GABRIEL SHANKS
Ron Howard, who spent his adolescence as a television star and his adulthood as a film director, won an Oscar for two years ago for A BEAUTIFUL MIND, a bleary-eyed historic fable which troublingly mixed vague facts with melodramatic fiction to critical acclaim. Chalk it up to a stroke of good luck; he probably won't be so lucky with THE MISSING, his Western kidnapping thriller that shares MIND's overripe sense of self-worth. The glistening irony, of course, is that this is a better film than Howard's Oscar winning-effort. But don't fret too long on this -- it's only marginally so. THE MISSING is a mixed-genre mutt that cribs liberally from John Ford classics, but also from modern whodunits and women's pictures, to fashion a tale of families battling the elements, the frontier, and each other. Unfortunately, that leaves little room for that qualities that turn the best westerns -- [i]Unforgiven, The Searchers, Stagecoach[/i] -- from good to great: a cool edge, an assured pace, and an understanding of its audience.
The watery screenplay by Ken Kaufman ([i]Space Cowboys[/i]) follows neither a sheriff nor a gunslinger but a frontier woman, Maggie Gilkeson, played with astonishing ability by Cate Blanchett ([i]Elizabeth[/i]). Without question, Blanchett is THE MISSING's greatest asset; she is certainly the most talented actress of her generation working in Hollywood today, and arguably the best living actress the cinema has. What's more, Blanchett clearly revels in the rarely-explored perspective of women in the West, and her enthusiasm is palpably refreshing. As Maggie, a widowed mother surviving as a local healer in northern New Mexico, Blanchett conjures both sturdy resolve and unexpected tenderness. Maggie is tough stuff to be sure, but first and foremost she is quite, quite [i]human[/i] -- and in the American West, where women are nearly always hardened tomboys or sexual objects, her full dimensionality is both welcome and satisfying to watch.
Maggie was abandoned at an early age by her father, Samuel (Tommy Lee Jones), but she is forced to seek his help when her eldest daughter Lilly (Evan Rachel Wood) is kidnapped by an indian gang led by Chidin (the marvelous Eric Schweig). With three generations of family in physical and/or emotional peril, THE MISSING gains a metaphorical meaning for its title to accompany its literal one: what are we missing in our lives, and how do we fill the void? How do we survive when what is missing is our own identity?
As one might expect when drifting this close to emotional self-discovery, THE MISSING wobbles precariously near Hallmark Hall of Fame territory. Scenes that cry out for a subdued approach instead become weepy, tear-laden confessionals. Gruesome examples of the rampant barbarism of this period are undercut by a modern delicacy. The politics of the time are brushed against but summarily discarded, while the ethnic tensions -- Apaches, Mexicans, and whites swap allegiances with lightning speed -- are barely addressed. Most distressing is the promising discussion of native spirituality versus Christianity, which comes to a head when Chidin places a life-threatening curse upon Maggie. But again this promising story element is dropped, seemingly because no one knows what to do with it. It is perhaps unfair, but there's a discerible pattern of such things in Ron Howard's movies; he has always felt firmer ground when dealing with emotionality, and like his films [i]Far And Away[/i] and [i]Parenthood[/i], THE MISSING suffers because of it. Where a gripping, taut, knife-edged drama could have been, a flabby, static, Lifetime Television movie rests instead.
The performances are without exception adequate, but none rise to notice. Jones and Blanchett, for their part, do marvelous work, but both seem to chafe at Howard's insistent march towards melodrama. Schweig, who so beautifully charmed the screen in [i]Big Eden[/i], is given little to do but grimace and mug. An uncredited Val Kilmer energetically enjoys a short scene as a cavalry officer, but is gone soon after. And pity poor Aaron Eckhart; as Brake, Maggie's current love interest, he scores only about 15 total minutes of screen time.
Were one to send a message about THE MISSING to its creative team, it might be this: it's simply not enough to borrow from Ford. To successfully execute a Western, one must subscribe to its patter, its patina, and its palette. Westerns define genders with crystal clarity -- men are men and women aren't. Violence triumphs, even for heroes. The hardness of frontier life gives Westerns their energy, but also their shape and their honesty.
Let praise fall where it can, however. The attempt to update the genre is admirable (i.e., [i]Unforgiven[/i]) -- and the idea of a woman-centered Western is not an unappetizing one. There is something very interesting happening when one watches Blanchett, rifle in hand, defending and avenging her family, steel-eyed and grimly determined. But Howard is simply not the man up to the task of telling Maggie's story. Just as guns and horses do not a chase scene make, so too is a thoroughly modern director like Howard the wrong choice for these ancient plains and valleys. In the end, Howard and THE MISSING sadly, ultimately, miss the point.
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| The Company |
| 11.13.03 (10:35 am) [edit] |
Cast : Neve Campbell, Malcolm McDowell, James Franco, Barbara Robertson
Directed by: Robert Altman
Written by: Neve Campbell (story), Barbara Turner (story); Barbara Turner (screenplay)
Distribution: Sony Pictures Classics (US)
Rated PG-13 on appeal for brief strong language, some nudity and sexual content.
Reviewed by: Ned Depew
[i]The Company[/i], the new film from Robert Altman, is a small gem that is typical of Altman's finer work. Altman's genius has always been that he is able to follow his own vision, regardless of trends, popularity and "box-office." Here he does it again - making an elegant, beautiful film that illuminates its subject with brilliance and clarity.
The principal complaint I heard about it is that "it doesn't have much of a plot." There is some truth in this - but how many of Altman's best films have really been about "plot?" Altman does character, he does milieu, he does situation, he does impression. And he does all of that very effectively here.
One could argue that some of Altman's least effective efforts - [i]The Gingerbread Man[/i] or [i]Pret ç Porter[/i] for instance - have come to grief on attempts to insert too much "plot" into a style that deals more usefully and adeptly with flashes of insight or the glory (or misery) of a moment than with the orderly progression of a series of connected events.
Altman really pioneered a style of film-making that tried to be more "realistic" in that it watched several characters - and the backgrounds against which they appeared - at once, and sacrificed narrative smoothness (and even, sometimes, continuity and comprehensibility) to do so. It was an experimental and provocative approach to film - and it still is. It doesn't always work - but when it does, the effect is outstanding.
It worked beautifully in [i]Short Cuts[/i], for instance (although the heavy-handed attempt to tie plot lines together with a dramatic "crisis" in the final episode was labored and artificial) and in [i]M*A*S*H[/i].
It works well here.
The subject is not a "story" as much as it is a way of life. The sub-culture of professional dance (and all professional performance) is a fascinating one that has been little explored.
Altman - typically - doesn't attempt to give either an encyclopedic nor a closely focused study of it. Rather, he looks to immerse us in it, to give us an insider's glimpse into the feel, smell, look and sound of it and the lives of those who espouse it - through intimate moments, captured and overlapped, that add up to a "pointillist" approach to movie-making.
The focus of all the characters - even the most self-absorbed and narcissistic - is dance - and so, dance is the center of the film. Whether in performance, in audition and practice or in solo rehearsal, performed for the dancer's satisfaction alone, the impulse to dance, the joy of dancing is celebrated here with enthusiasm.
Altman's camera-work has never been better (and that' saying a lot, since it is always exemplary) than it is here, and I'd venture to say that this may be the best film of dance I've ever seen. It is certainly one of a tiny handful of films that are able to capture some of the magic of a live dance performance.
Credit must also go to Altman's cinematographer, Andrew Dunn, who also worked on the visually exquisite Gosford Park with Altman, and on such other dazzling films as The Count of Monte Cristo and The Crucible
The film was co-written by Neve Campbell - who also stars. Who knew that Ms. Campbell - erstwhile star of horror films and a TV prime-time kiddie-soap - had continued the ballet training and maintained professional level chops? She is amazing in this film, doing her own work (this is no [i]Flashdance[/i]) and matching step for step, thank you, with the professional dancers of the Joffrey Ballet of Chicago who make up the bulk of the dancing cast. She is a joy to watch - as are all the dancers. Altman has made it so.
Also worthy of mention is Malcolm McDowell, as "Mr. A" the eminence gris* director of The Company. A mixture of charisma and ego; of petty narcissism and fierce, inspirational enthusiasm for dance and for his financially struggling company; of wise insight and crass insensitivity; McDowell exemplifies many of those who give their lives to the business of making art possible. It's a portrait in which many should be able to see themselves - both their glory and their shame - reflected. I wouldn't be surprised to hear that Altman did so.
Likewise, Altman gives us brief, intimate sketches of those who give their lives to the ephemeral career of performance - where pushing your body and self-discipline to the limit can just as easily lead to tragedy as to triumph.
We care about the characters and their lives - but the fact is that the thing they all care most about is The Company, and dance - so the sub-plots about their romantic and emotional lives are sub-sumed in the workings of the company, as they are in real life.
[i]The Company[/i], as envisioned by story- writer/star Campbell and her co-writer Barbara Turner - who also wrote the screenplay, and realized by Altman, is a bittersweet but ultimately exhilarating meditation on living a life dedicated to art - which could as easily be the art of film as that of dance.
For those who love dance - and even many who may think they can take it or leave it - the film is a welcome gift from one of our most talented film-makers, at his best.
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| THE LEGEND OF LEIGH BOWERY |
| 11.12.03 (9:36 am) [edit] |
THE LEGEND OF LEIGH BOWERY
Cast: Leigh Bowery, Boy George, Rifat Ozbek, and Michael Clark
Directed by: Charles Atlas
Written by: Charles Atlas
Distributor: Palm Pictures (US/UK 2003)
Rated: unrated
As Reviewed by: GABRIEL SHANKS
The decade of excess known as the 1980's could find no more colorful poster child than that of Leigh Bowery, the late Australian artist-impressario whose outrageous style and fashion designs made him a club-kid legend in London and New York. Charles Atlas' dynamic new documentary comes on the heels of a larger effort to spread the legend of Bowery to the masses -- the new Broadway musical Taboo, where another 80's icon, Boy George (who knew Bowery well) is playing Bowery in a show set in Bowery's famous Leicester Square nightclub.
Whether these works can transform Bowery's legacy from dated fabulousness to iconic trensetter remains to be seen. Atlas' documentary is really more hagiography than critique, smoothing out Bowery's rough edges to paint him as an irrepressibly charming svengali -- the interviews that make up Atlas' exploration are, without exception, those of friends and fans. What ultimately appears in THE LEGEND OF LEIGH BOWERY is that the man's genius cannot be disputed, but that attempts to shape him heroically are misguided.
The concern with "legend", in fact, may be a disservice to Bowery, whose career questioned the nature and purpose of art in Warholian strokes of brilliance. From his insistence on using his body as his canvas, he expanded the palette of modern fashion. His marriage to his female assistant flouted notions of sexuality (Bowery was publicly homosexual) and of artistic expression (he chose to see his wedding as an artistic experiment). Whether becoming a cause celebre in modern dance (with no dance training) or opening arguably the most successful nightclub of the era, Bowery was indisputably an original thinker, merging concepts of art, culture and business into a wholly unique persona.
Yet Atlas' documentary, and the friends of Bowery that Atlas profiles, seem unwilling to let the uncensored Bowery speak for himself. His off-color antics are quickly noted then discarded, as is his sexual adventurousness. While alcohol and drug use is hinted at, it is swept under the more colorful carpet of club life. Most regretfully, his quick death from HIV complications is given only the most surface treatment.
All is not in vain, however. Particularly touching are the memories of Bowery's father, who reveals unknowingly how little he knew his own son. Video footage of Bowery -- from television interviews, discotheque parties, performances with the Michael Clark Dance Company, and his self-installation art exhibit at the D'Offay Gallery -- are breathtakingly visceral. The sheer imagination of Bowery's clothing and makeup designs make THE LEGEND OF LEIGH BOWERY a spectacular must-see. While the word "legend" may be a bit grandiose for its subject, the spectacular character that was Leigh Bowery would certainly enjoy this well-deserved renaissance.
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| THE MATRIX: REVOLUTIONS |
| 11.06.03 (7:44 pm) [edit] |
THE MATRIX: REVOLUTIONS
Cast: Keanu Reeves, Hugo Weaving, Laurence Fishburne, Carrie-Anne Moss, Jada Pinkett Smith, Mary Alice, and Harry Lennix
Directed by: Larry and Andy Wachowski
Written by: Larry and Andy Wachowski
Distributor: Warner Bros. (US 2003)
Rated: R for sci-fi violence and brief sexual content
As Reviewed by: GABRIEL SHANKS
While many things do, in fact, revolve -- massive drill bits, sentinel swarms, aimless plotlines, and repetitive dialogue -- it's difficult to discover an actual revolution in THE MATRIX: REVOLUTIONS, the whimpering end to the sci-fi trilogy that began four years ago with such a bang. Nearly incoherent in sections and consistently pointless, this REVOLUTION feels weak-willed, idea-starved and irritatingly unnecessary. Even with campy pyrotechnics and choppily energetic CGI battle sequences, it's still a half-hour's worth of story stretched to two hours plus. The end result, unfortunately, is a by-the-book action picture that has no revolutionary aspects at all -- overlong, overthought and overdone.
The central problem, from which so many others stem, is that there's not enough story left to tell, and way too many characters to tell it. Nearly a half-dozen new characters make their way into this final chapter, joining the dozen-plus characters we're already supposed to be following. (It's possible to argue that, with his limited screen time, that Neo is a supporting player in REVOLUTIONS.) Some characters are just pointless, like Harold Perrineau's empty Linc, but others are shameful wastes of talent. Why would one cast the gorgeous AND talented Monica Bellucci as Persephone, imply that she'll be a major factor in the story...and then relegate her to the sidelines?
Perhaps it's just too much to keep track of. While we're waiting (and waiting) for the machines to arrive -- the ones that were already on their way in the last film -- we're subjected to endless cliche-ridden scenes about belief, truth, and that true franchise-killer, endless love. Audiences hoping for the clean, sparse storytelling of the first MATRIX will giggle aloud at the soapy dialogue...or, like me, shake their heads in saddened dismay.
The Wachowskis, who brought so much style to the first MATRIX and the lesbian pulp thriller BOUND, seem to be working to make REVOLUTIONS as muddy and flat as possible. There's none of the elegance, charisma, or majesty that typified their earlier efforts; design elements, cinematography, and even the screenplay seem to have a leaden weightiness. Where it should be light and exciting, REVOLUTIONS is instead joyless and uninspired. (We spend only a few minutes inside the matrix in this film, so perhaps it's the rebel humans who are responsible for the death of style.)
The problems for the Wachowski don't end on the screen -- out in the waiting audience, there's a weary fan base to consider, who is looking for innovation but instead finding tired convention. By this point, the new-agey psychobabble and mythic references that mixed so enthrallingly in Neo's first appearance have become dull and obvious. Now, when a character is asked time and time again if "they believe", we've heard it so many times before that the answers can be predicted with utter certainty. That dedicated fan base might sit through the nonsense waiting for a final payoff, but even then they'll be rebuffed; the film's climax and resolution is so illogical and nonsensical that one wonders if anybody ever read the script before shooting began. Surely, if they did, the Wachowskis would have been sent back to the drawing board to find a less pretentiously cutesy closing.
The bright spots are few -- two, to be precise -- but to be fair, I'll mention them both. The first is Mary Alice, the revered actress who took over for the late Gloria Foster as The Oracle. Alice's fatigued charm cuts the histrionics of the other characters like a diamond on glass; her measured pessimism is enchantingly balanced by a sparkle in her eyes, which lets us know there's much more to read than the surface of things. Similarly, Jada Pinkett Smith brings a hard edge and textured acting to Niobe, a ship captain who is, as we learned in RELOADED, the ex-lover of Morpheus (Fishburne). The only honest-to-God tension in the film is generated by her hell-bent drive to reach Zion in time to save it. It's a classic action picture performance which she executes flawlessly.
Still, neither of these talented women are in leading roles, which is a greater shame than any of us ever imagined. Reeves has never been more vacant as an actor, and the normally exciting Fishburne has joined him this time in blank-faced la-la land. The rest of the cast is on autopilot, presumably to match the special effects crew, who exhibit none of the genre-breaking newness of previous efforts. You've seen this one before, and that one, too.
One would be hard pressed to imagine a more disappointing end to the story of Neo. MATRIX: REVOLUTIONS reminds us that sequels are dangerous beasts, economically attractive for studios but russian roulette for audiences. The damage comes to one's memories of the magic that once dawned; truly, it will be hard to pull that DVD of the first MATRIX off the shelf and remember its glory days, when there were no sequels. Where the groundbreaking once existed -- where THE MATRIX reinvented the Hollywood landscape -- now lies a weakened formulaic legacy. Let's all say a quiet prayer that RETURN OF THE KING keeps that other big trilogy of 2003, LORD OF THE RINGS, from seeing such a dismal fate.
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Welcome to Mixed Reviews Single Servings. Here you'll find short reviews of current and past movies for people too busy to read a full review.
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