http://blogcritics.org/ A sinister cabal of superior bloggers on music, books, film, popular culture, politics, and technology - updated continuously. en Copyright 2005-2007 by the authors Sat, 31 Jul 2004 17:31:39 EDT http://backend.userland.com/rss Blogcritics.org custom software http://blogcritics.org/ Phillip WinnSunday, August 26, 2007, marks the switch of all Blogcritics.org article feeds from full-content to short-content. This is the result of several converging factors, and is unfortunately a permanent decision (as permanent as any decision can be on the web, that is). We are aware of all of the reasons that this is a Bad Idea, and we are aware that some of you will be quite upset about having to click on something to read the free content, and we're sorry. Unfortunately, despite great effort, full-content feeds are not currently economically viable. Two other factors are involved: full-content feeds have resulted in an unprecedented level of content theft, with BC content appearing on many websites, usually spam sites, without attribution or permission. This duplicate content causes a cascading set of problems, not the least of which is that search engines generally aren't favorable to duplicate content, and don't always guess correctly. Finally, our RSS advertising partner is strongly in favor of short-content feeds. We hope that you'll continue to subscribe to BC via RSS, and when an article grabs your eye, it's only a click away, still free on the BC website. Thank you for your understanding. Administration0@blogcritics.org Sun, 26 Aug 2007 12:00:00 EDT http://blogcritics.org/archives/2004/07/31/173139.php Chris KentWhen watching M. Night Shyamalan's most recent film The Village, one will be reminded of other horror films. The Blair Witch Project comes to mind, an excellent thriller which tapped our fear of the unknown and perhaps even more so our fear of the wilderness. The woods are dark and evil, and it produces inhuman noises that terrify. From the opening scenes of The Village, we know the woods hide a forbidden secret.That is the heart of The Village and the stark images are unforgettable. Grays and browns dominate this film, which takes place in an isolated 19th century town somewhere in Pennsylvania. Log and stone cabins transport us to another time, lit by the yellows of candles and kerosene lamps. People farm and garden on a daily basis, producing food which is consumed during communal dinners. Men's hair is long and uncut and shoes are crusted with mud. Women are adorned in long dresses, sitting by the warmth of pot-bellied stoves.Shyamalan has skillfully transported us to another time and place, a grim fairy tale world where the big bad wolf is seemingly hiding within every shadow. The Village is a beautiful film, a Gothic play with minimal dialog and oppressive mood. Shyamalan has also cast extraordinary actors in this piece, most notably William Hurt giving one of his finest performances in years as the town elder. The characters are at times frustratingly passive, and you would like to see more work from such great talents as Sigourney Weaver, Joaquin Phoenix, Adrien Brody and Brendan Gleeson. Their presence alone, however, adds great interest to the eerie proceedings.As in all Shyamalan films, there's one great performance which stands out, in this case Bryce Dallas Howard as the blind woman Ivy Walker, the heart and soul of the village. I have not seen this actress before, though have read she is the daughter of actor and director Ron Howard. It's a splendid performance, as strong as Haley Joel Osment's in The Sixth Sense. It's difficult to discuss this film without giving away some of the surprising plot developments, but Walker must eventually enter the woods, handicapped and alone, and the moments are almost unbearable.The village is an isolated town, residing within a clearing and surrounded by a forest. The residents go about their daily rituals, farming, eating and socializing. But dark howls can be heard coming from the woods. An agreement has been made with the unseen creatures of the forest. Residents in the village never enter the woods, and the creatures never enter the village. Never-the-less, torches are lit every night surrounding the village, and a guard tower is manned just in case the creatures decide to pay the village a visit. Lucius Hunt (Phoenix) is an independent town loner who aspires to enter the woods and visit neighboring towns to obtain medicine for village residents. The elders, a sort of pseudo city council that includes the characters played by Hurt, Weaver and Gleeson, refuse to let him go. Lucius is also in love with Ivy Walker, and their mutual affection is revealed in the film's finest scene during a fog-covered evening.Where The Village starts to stumble is when the forest creatures begin making appearances in the village. Town residents discover red markings on doors and animals skinned alive. It's never very clear why the creatures decide to harass the village. Eventually, Walker must enter the woods where she is stalked by the creatures. These scenes are terrifying, though the resolution, which includes a terrible plot device where an important article is discovered beneath the floor boards of a home, weakens the film substantially. Other scenes could have been far more plausible had Shyamalan not been so lazy as a writer. A scene where medicine is stolen from under the watchful eye of a superior is poorly choreographed and unbelievable. But the love between Lucius and Ivy is very touching, and carries the film through it's awkward concluding moments.I was reminded of two films which I consider superior to The Village, including the 1988 New Zealand import The Navigator and an obscure 1983 horror/western Eyes of Fire. Both films are period pieces, where village residents must battle oppressive forces of nature. In The Navigator, medieval town residents are trying to survive the Bubonic Plague, and go on a quest in search of a cure. In Eyes of Fire, pioneers are trapped in a valley and molested by evil spirits of the forest. Both films detail a symbolic journey in which the protagonists must battle unseen forces of nature. The Navigator had similar plot devices, but the contrasting elements came together with great finesse, and the conclusion far more satisfying. Eyes of Fire, one of the creepiest films you've never heard of, had a nightmarish resolution suitable for its subject matter. With The Village, there's a good chance viewers will feel manipulated when the end credits begin to roll. Since exploding on the scene in 1999 with the brilliant ghost story The Sixth Sense, Shyamalan has carved out a nice career for himself. Unbreakable, Signs and now The Village continues his trend of thoughtful supernatural thrillers. His films are marked by a unique sense of mood and Alfred Hitchcock subtlety, going against the grain of the Hollywood product. I suppose it's time we applaud Shyamalan, a talented filmmaker with trademark refinement. Where he stands in the pantheon of great directors is open to debate, residing somewhere between John Carpenter and David Cronenberg. I don't think he's reached the level of those directors just yet, but he has the talent to eventually do so.Noted film critic Roger Ebert has panned The Village, and I feel unjustly so. Taken at face value, perhaps the film is unbelievable. But I think Shyamalan was attempting to create a fairy tale, with Ivy Walker serving as a sort of retro Little Red Riding Hood. One could find other analogies, with the isolation of the Branch Davidians and the superstitions of colonial Salem, Massachusetts coming to mind. This film is also boosted by an extraordinary, dream-like atmosphere. Had this been an obscure foreign film playing at the local art house, critics and fans would have hailed its vision. I think The Village is Shyamalan's best work since The Sixth Sense, but he has yet to equal the success of that near-classic film. What your expectations are will have much to do with your enjoyment of this brooding drama. Video18113@blogcritics.org Sat, 31 Jul 2004 17:31:39 EDT http://blogcritics.org/archives/2004/07/28/135835.php Chris Kent"We are not alone!" screamed the ads when Close Encounters of the Third Kind was first released to theaters in 1977. After about 95 minutes of ponderous suburban angst, the viewer indeed discovered they had a friend or two in the skies.I was just a stupid kid when I first saw Close Encounters of the Third Kind, and I really didn't have the slightest clue what in the hell was going on. But oh how I loved the finale, a special effects-choked extravaganza which became one of the most famous scenes in cinema history. The seemingly endless buildup had some kind of payoff, and director Steven Spielberg's career was set for life (well, he did follow this film with the 1941 disaster). Close Encounters gets stronger with each viewing, though Spielberg has famously tinkered multiple times with the product.I've seen the Special Edition, where we actually go inside the spacecraft; I've seen the Collector's Edition where we no longer go inside the spacecraft but the story has been re-edited; I've seen the Making of documentary where we discover the deadlines Spielberg was forced to work under and the different ideas for the spaceships and aliens. It's all a part of the myth of Close Encounters.The spring of 1978 for me was the season of Star Wars and Close Encounters. It was my first year of junior high school. My friends and I would still ride bikes through the neighborhood. Our parents would drop us off at the cramped mall theaters. The great ongoing debate was whether Star Wars or Close Encounters was the better film. Many said "Star Wars." But for me, the most awestruck revelation in film history was Close Encounters.I still love Spielberg's epic UFO creation and watched it again just the other night. It's a sort of quasi-religious experience for a kid raised on War of the Worlds and Invaders From Mars. In Close Encounters, the aliens were friendly and most shocking of all - we were nice to them! This had not been done before as the alien standard was usually a growling James Arness dressed as a murderous carrot. With Close Encounters, Cold War paranoia was rinsed away.A bit older and worse for wear, these days I still get a child-like thrill whenever I watch Close Encounters. The opening two thirds of the film are no longer ponderous, but identifiable. The awkward situations of a struggling middle-class family are realistically portrayed. Paul Schrader, noted screenplay author of Taxi Driver and Raging Bull, wrote the original draft to this film. One suspects the obsessions and frustrations of Richard Dreyfuss' character came from his tortured pen.I am amazed how similar the television series The X-Files is to this film. We are all aware how The Night Stalker inspired Chris Carter to create his classic supernatural series. But is there a single plot turn in The X-Files not previously done in Close Encounters? Spaceships, aliens, cover-ups, conspiracies, investigations - it all started with Spielberg's 1977 classic.Richard Dreyfuss plays Roy Neary, working-class father and husband who witnesses what he believes to be a UFO. He finds himself tortured by visions and shapes seemingly stuck in his head, and he becomes obsessed with UFOs. Neary falls apart, losing his job, friends and eventually his family in several harrowing scenes. He befriends Jillian Guiler (Melinda Dillon), a single mother who has witnessed these UFOs and is obsessed with similar visions. Her son is abducted by the aliens in a terrifying scene. They eventually realize these visions are mysteriously pointing them towards Devil's Tower in Wyoming. They frantically travel there even though the U.S. military claims a train wreck has caused deadly gas to cover the countryside. Scientist Claude Lacombe (Francois Truffaut) and his eccentric team have devised a musical language enabling them to communicate with the UFOs. The meeting place is, of course, Devil's Tower in Wyoming. Neary and Guiler fight their way to the mountain, stumbling upon a government-constructed landing strip where Lacombe and his scientists hope to meet the aliens. An enormous mothership appears and humans make contact with aliens for the first time in history.This is not a simple story, and the drama which plays out between Neary and his wife (Teri Garr) is brilliant. Guiler's angst for her missing son is also perfectly portrayed by Dillon, one of the finest character actresses of this era. But the core of Close Encounters, the moment of truth, is the sequence involving the aliens. There are so many hundreds and thousands of ways this scene could have gone wrong. The aliens could have looked fake, but they didn't. The lighting could have been wrong, but it wasn't. The aliens are portrayed as being just as shy as we are - a perfect choice. There's a sense of wonder throughout the extraordinary proceedings. Eventually, one gets the feeling that if we truly meet brothers from another planet, it will happen much as it does in Close Encounters.At this point in his career, Spielberg was an enigma to the Hollywood brass - a young hotshot. His previous film Jaws had been nominated for a Best Picture Academy Award but not Best Director. Ironically, Close Encounters was nominated for Best Director but not Best Picture. My neighborhood friends claimed this was perfect proof why Star Wars was the better film (it had been nominated for Best Picture). Anyway, Annie Hall swept the awards that year and I remember asking, "Who the hell is Woody Allen?!"Special effects technology has come a long way since the days of Close Encounters, but that's not necessarily a good thing. Spielberg wanted detailed effects for his spaceships and aliens, and the film's budget did skyrocket to $21 million (it made $80 million at the box office). Technology was not entirely where it needed to be for Spielberg's unique vision, thus many of the ships and aliens are blurred by bright lights. This works perfectly in Close Encounters, allowing the viewer to fill in the gaps. We can't see everything, but it seems fantastic because of our imagination.If Walt Disney had decided to make a film for adults, it would have looked something like Close Encounters. Maybe Spielberg is the Walt Disney of the Easy Rider generation. And perhaps that is what Close Encounters eventually represents - a Baby Boomers' Peter Pan. Video17972@blogcritics.org Wed, 28 Jul 2004 13:58:35 EDT http://blogcritics.org/archives/2004/07/08/154154.php Chris KentI watched the classic 1976 film Taxi Driver the other night and was interested in my reaction. It depressed me. Over the years, I've seen it around 10 times. This is not unusual, as several films from the Orson Welles, John Ford or Sam Peckinpah canon I've viewed an equal number of times. I just don't remember being depressed after watching this before.Martin Scorsese directed this open-sore of a film and of his many classic works, this is the one I return to most often with morbid fascination. Taxi Driver is such a raw, visceral experience that after viewing its nightmarish terrain one must decompress. It's a bold, stomach-punch one hates or loves.Seedy does not begin to describe the horror of Taxi Driver, which details a world of pimps, prostitutes, drug addicts and a loner psycho brilliantly portrayed by Robert De Niro. This film established some of the great talents in motion picture history including De Niro, Scorsese, Albert Brooks and Jodie Foster. Taxi Driver also came close to getting President Ronald Reagan assassinated.Most people know the story of John Hinckley, an unstable loner who viewed Taxi Driver repeatedly. He began to stalk Foster and eventually tried to assassinate Reagan in a manner similar to the film's Travis Bickle (who attempts to assassinate candidate Charles Palantine). It's such an ugly story, echoing across the American landscape with the clarity of a snub-nosed revolver. A skate/punk band named themselves Jodie Foster's Army (changed to JFA to avoid lawsuits) in a bizarre tribute to the incident.I wonder about disturbing epics like Taxi Driver, A Clockwork Orange, Straw Dogs and Natural Born Killers. Whenever I visit the video store, I notice these films are usually checked out, empty boxes leaning against the shelf. Who's watching these films, and why so often? Granted, a hypocritical question, since I have viewed Taxi Driver multiple times. The films share a common thread in that they have likable actors (De Niro, Malcolm McDowell, Dustin Hoffman, Woody Harrelson) playing despicable men prone to violent rages. Alienated one and all, these characters have become anti-heroes for a world severely lacking in heroes. Gary Cooper they are not. Taxi Driver has been analyzed obsessively. And it should be. There are so many ways to view the film, with multiple levels serving as proof to its complicated brilliance. Urban alienation, cultural emptiness, veiled racism, Watergate analogy and Oswald repression are just a few of the metaphorical doors one can open in this nightmare. The racism specter, floating just beneath the surface, is most disturbing of all.The racist stance in Taxi Driver is so obvious the film could not have been made today. In a cameo by Scorsese, he plays an obsessed stalker spying on his wife. We see her silhouette through a window and assume it's the right person. Scorsese, sitting in the back seat of Bickle's cab, claims his wife is having an affair with a "nigger." Scorsese then goes into a long, unforgettable monologue where he discusses inserting a gun into his wife and pulling the trigger. It's difficult to listen to this scene, if only because of the blatant racist and sexist tones.Bickle later stumbles into a convenience store robbery, shooting the thief (a black man). The store owner then viciously beats the dying black man with a crow bar. Additional scenes show Bickle sitting in porno theaters, the only Caucasian man surrounded by black men and women. I think these scenes have been created to further emphasize Bickle's alienation and isolation. But it also implies the only customers in New York going to porno films are black people.The racism specter is further enhanced by the fact Paul Schrader's original screenplay had the three main villains (if there truly are heroes or villains in Taxi Driver) written as black men. Scorsese wisely changed the characters to Caucasian men. Racism exists within a world of frustration and hate - and that is certainly the world of Taxi Driver. I'm just not sure I care to see this hate as unpleasantly as I do here.De Niro's Bickle is a Vietnam veteran suffering from insomnia. He takes a job as a cab driver to work nights, driving through the most dangerous New York neighborhoods for fares. He becomes infatuated with a beautiful woman (Cybill Shepherd) who works at the campaign office of Palantine. Bickle takes the woman to a porno theater on their first date, and she dumps him immediately. To no one's surprise, Bickle soon begins to stalk her. He purchases a deadly arsenal of hand guns and intensely works out in preparation for his assassination of Palantine (and most likely the woman too). Along the way, Bickle stumbles across a 12-year old prostitute (Foster) whom he befriends. His attempted assassination fails and he drives over to the prostitute's home and kills her pimp (Harvey Keitel), landlord and an unlucky gangster. Taxi Driver unbelievably ends with the prostitute having been returned to her parents and Bickle becoming an inner-city folk hero. Shepherd's character tries to make a date with Bickle, but he's now at peace with the inferno around him and drives on disinterested.This ending has been debated for years. It is so controversial that when the film first ran on television, stations posted warnings stating they did not consider Bickle a hero. They're right. Bickle's a whacked-out cultural icon, granted, but he's no hero. He wants to be a hero, and perhaps the final scene is Bickle at the moment of death dreaming of a happy ending. He's essentially saved the day and rescued a damsel in distress. Bickle was seriously wounded after the shootout, having been shot in the neck. So it could have been a dream sequence, though Scorsese purposefully made it too vague to be entirely sure.It's clear Bickle wishes to be a cowboy hero in Taxi Driver, as seen by the boots he wears and the guns he straps on like an inner-city John Wayne. His famously improvised "You talkin' to me?" speech is in fact a line of dialog lifted from the classic 1953 western Shane. And the final showdown has Bickle taking on three men (outnumbered a la Cooper in High Noon) in a bloody, ferocious battle that to this day is one of the most violent scenes in history.Bickle, adorned in Mohawk and Army jacket, fires at random. He shoots off a man's hand, is shot in the neck, stumbles upon the stairs, slips on blood and falls to the floor. The scene is a grotesque nightmare, the stock purposely faded so the blood would be dulled enough for the film to avoid an X rating. At one point, as Bickle falls to the blood-splattered tile like a stiff mannequin, Scorsese increases the speed of the film for several frames, creating a surreal, dream-like aura. It's both brilliant and profoundly disturbing. The violence is so random and sloppy one gets the feeling they are viewing an actual crime scene. There is no music, only the jagged noises of constant screaming and guns blasting within closed-in spaces. While we love the balletic violence of the final shootout in The Wild Bunch, we turn away from the gore in Taxi Driver. It's as repellant as reality.Scorsese's masterpiece is not intended for the young or emotionally disturbed. Bickle is not a hero in a film populated by an army of non-heroes. Still, viewers just might get confused. I know Bickle is crazy, but I feel sorry for him. At times, I even identify with him. And that depresses me. Video17246@blogcritics.org Thu, 8 Jul 2004 15:41:54 EDT http://blogcritics.org/archives/2004/07/07/165456.php Chris KentIt was called a "runaway," and never has a term been more appropriate. In this case, it was a movie running millions of dollars over budget with an end nowhere in sight. By the time the smoke had cleared, hundreds of people lost their jobs, one of the most storied film companies in history went belly up and a huge western epic became the greatest financial bomb of all time.The 1980 film Heaven's Gate has become synonymous with failure, its very name punned whenever big-budget productions flirt with disaster (Kevin Costner's Dances With Wolves was termed "Kevin's Gate" before release). Steven Bach's Final Cut: Art, Money, and Ego in the Making of Heaven's Gate, the Film That Sank United Artists gives a terrific blow-by-blow account of this gargantuan flop. A former producer at United Artist who suffered the ax after Heaven's Gate, Bach penned this detailed tome a couple of years after fallout. The book, recently re-released with a new introduction and epilogue, should be a fascinating account for film lovers. Final Cut details the history of United Artists and filmmaking in the 1970s - a truly golden era. At United Artists, David Lean drops by on occasion, Alan Pakula broods over Comes A Horseman, William Goldman struggles with The Right Stuff, Francis Ford Coppola premieres Apocalypse Now, Woody Allen helms Manhattan and Martin Scorsese prepares Raging Bull. But the man of the hour in 1978 is a quiet guy named Michael Cimino. He just won an Academy Award for directing The Deer Hunter, and now he wants to make a western - a big, big western.Bach accurately reveals the difficulties United Artists was going through at this time, losing several long-time executives who jump ship to form the Orion film company. Bach and company, wishing to re-establish United Artists as a major player, take on Cimino's western project. Heaven's Gate was originally expected to cost $9 million, but before the cameras even began clicking, it spiraled to $13 million. In Final Cut, Cimino's got big ideas, and they're getting bigger. Cimino sets up shop in Montana, the location work a two-hour's drive from the nearest cement road. He's making a film about the Johnson County Range War, an obscure historical footnote which took place in Wyoming during the 1890s. After 15 days of filming, the movie is 13 days behind schedule with the cost increasing to $17 million. Cimino ships an antique train across five states to the Montana wilds. He hires over 700 extras. He signs a cast of mainly unknowns including Kris Kristofferson, Christopher Walken, Isabelle Huppert, John Hurt and Sam Waterson. And he films only during the twilight hour, a period right before dusk so scenes will have a golden hue. But what terrifies United Artists most is Cimino is filming 50-60 takes per scene, and printing almost every take. Such obsession was unheard of.Bach and David Fields (the two VP executives at United Artists at that time) fly to Montana and attempt to communicate to Cimino the dangerously growing situation. Cimino responds by barring all executives from the set. The film appropriately skyrockets to $25 million. As Bach reveals in Final Cut, Cimino's western was now going to have make blockbuster numbers just to turn a profit, performing in the Jaws and Star Wars neighborhoods. United Artists attempts to fire Cimino, at one point even asking David Lean to take over. Cimino realizes the dire situation, finally bucks up and finishes the film. With promotional and post-production fees, Heaven's Gate was going to cost United Artists $44 million - the most expensive film in history up to that time.Heaven's Gate is premiered in New York, a three-and-a-half hour monstrosity that receives devastatingly bad reviews. It is eventually released to the theaters and makes $1.8 million. It is the biggest bomb in motion picture history (cue dead elephant hitting the cement). Heads roll at the studio, Cimino's career is finished and United Artists, a film company created by Charlie Chaplin, D.W. Griffith, Mary Pickford and Douglas Fairbanks, is purchased by MGM to disappear forever into the sunset.Cimino's Heaven's Gate also spelled the end of the free-spirited, amazingly creative decade of the 1970s. Producers and studios took the reins out of the hands of superstar directors (Coppola's Apocalypse Now ran a similar Heaven's Gate route, but he pulled success from the fires of disaster, perhaps inspiring this debacle as much as anything else). The beauty of Final Cut is it reveals a major film company handicapped by a runaway disaster. The executives had three choices - march until the bitter end a la Cleopatra; try an Apocalypse Now-like containment; or pull the plug and cut losses. Based on Cimino's great track record including the Clint Eastwood film Thunderbolt and Lightfoot and The Deer Hunter, executives fatefully chose containment. As Bach notes in Final Cut, never in the studio's wildest nightmares did they expect as staggeringly poor a film as Heaven's Gate. Though the signs were there, including The Deer Hunter's uniquely indulgent style, Cimino's pouty refusal to cast more bankable stars and warnings from accountants about the dangers of filming in the remotest regions of Montana.When watching Heaven's Gate today, it's an overlong, indulgent mess. Certain scenes will remind one of the greatest David Lean epics, yet there is no true intimacy. The characters are just faded photographs without life or emotion. Scenes (though beautiful) of dancing and skating go on for 10-15 minutes, barely propelling the lumbering story. Dialog is vague and stilted. Even the final battle (which is historically inaccurate), is about as ripe as a Ted Turner civil war epic. There's a lot of sound and fury and dying, but the viewer never really cares who lives or dies. And for a western, most unforgivable of all, it's boring. Cimino's career was ruined after Heaven's Gate, and he's made just four mediocre films since then. The one-time genius comes out of hiding on occasion to give odd interviews and accept awards in France (they love him as much as Jerry Lewis over there). He usually compares himself to Jim Morrison or Picasso or Tolstoy, and he does so with Napoleonic seriousness. Cimino's a walking ghost undoubtedly wondering just what went wrong in Montana, when filmmaking was changed by an obsessive megalomaniac with dreams of Xanadu.Final Cut is a tragedy exposing the end of a golden era of filmmaking and a once-great studio. It's as good as an Irwin Allen disaster film, and a lot cheaper. Books17213@blogcritics.org Wed, 7 Jul 2004 16:54:56 EDT http://blogcritics.org/archives/2004/06/29/210321.php Chris KentIt was just a matter of time before some eccentric entrepreneur came up with the idea of a Goth magazine. Editor-In-Grief, David Necro has done just that with his Crypt Magazine creation. Introduced to the masses this month, the magazine of "sex, horror and rock & roll" has only seen the light of the Internet, but a few hard copies are expected to hit the streets soon.In a press release that came out last week, Necro discusses the spirit of his morbid creation:"This magazine uses images of death to serve as reminder to enjoy life to its fullest. Glorifying death and trying to go for shock value are not the goals here. 'There's a lot of different meanings that you can read into here. That's good. I like that. It means people are using their imaginations, and we encourage this,' Mr. Necro says. 'Plus, I just think the shit looks cool; I like sleaze, horror, and humor. I know there's a quite a few boils and ghouls who are with me on this point.' To this, the Editor of Crypt Magazine doesn't take all of this dark imagery too seriously, and upon reading the pages of this magazine you will find that humor abounds and things are kept very tongue-in-cheek."After perusing the website, surfers will find everything from reviews of the new Type O Negative album to interviews with Motorhead. There's also some great concert reviews of Iggy and the Stooges and Cult of the Psychic Fetus. Then comes the real kicker (after all, this magazine is also about sex). A section called "Cryptgirls" is available for "all the undead beauties to send photographs showing their stuff." Haven't seen a Cryptgirl posted as of yet, but will stay tuned. It's a hard life, but someone's got to keep tabs on these folks. Admittedly, conservatives within our midst will do the great freak-out when they set eyes upon this demonic creation. I suppose Crypt Magazine could symbolize the decline of Western civilization (though personally, my vote would be for TV's American Idol), or we could accept the fact this is just the same story, different author. The Goth subculture has been around for quite some time, having its roots in the release of Black Sabbath's first album in 1970. Hell, even Coven had been playing for years on the Satanic/Hippie circuit before recording that cute "One Tin Soldier" for the Billy Jack flick in 1971.The great Goth infusion came with the publication of Anne Rice's novel Interview with the Vampire in 1977, followed by its sequel The Vampire Lestat a few years later. Mix those bloody erotics with the rise of punk music, and you have a nice Goth brew percolating across the globe. Musically, the "Goth" term began in 1981 when Anthony Wilson, manager of Joy Division, described the band as "Gothic compared with the pop mainstream." The interview was seen on a British Broadcasting Commission TV program, and the rest is pop history. Of course, the band's lead singer Ian Curtis had to go and hang himself, adding an entirely new dimension to the Goth badge.I have always been a great Rice fan, and even loved the film version of Interview With the Vampire starring Tom Cruise and Brad Pitt. One of my favorite scenes from the brooding epic was the Theatre des Vampires performance.For those unacquainted, Pitt and Kirsten Dunst, as Louis and Claudia respectively, travel to Paris in search of other vampires. They stumble across a rather hateful coven that performs nightly to sophisticated crowds with a taste for the bizarre. This specific Theatre des Vampires performance includes a nude blond woman being drained to death by robed vampires (I love plays that have nude blond women being drained to death by robed vampires). It's a great scene, all the more so because the Theatre des Vampires actually existed.Called The Theatre du Grand-Guignol, this macabre performance hall opened its doors in 1897 to interested Parisians. The "house of horrors" became a huge attraction in Paris for over 60 years. Each night, performances displayed murder, rape, torture, adultery and thievery. The messy special effects of eye-gougings, beheadings and scalpings came courtesy of a friendly neighborhood butcher providing fresh animal parts and lots of blood. Unlike the Theatre des Vampires of Rice's novel, or even the popular urban myth about the actual Grand-Guignol, the murders created on stage were fake.I suppose this little detour is to serve a point. Between 1897 and 1962 when The Grand Guignol was open, people flocked nightly to see any number of tortures and maimings. Whether we like to admit it or not, humans have a taste for sex, horror, blood and yes, even rock & roll. Today we can find such taste in the form of Friday the 13th films. We could insert other horror/slasher epics including Halloween, Dawn of the Dead or Last House on the Left, films which have disturbed many due to their perversion and violence. Italian horror maestro Lucio Fulci gave us an interesting scene in the 1983 film City of the Living Dead when a woman literally pukes her intestines onto a sidewalk. The actress actually swallowed sheep intestines purchased from a butcher (sound familiar?), and then threw up on camera. I'm sure the Grand Guignol's director would have died for such an unforgettable effect. Just bring a bottle of champagne and a couple of glasses (as attendees did back in the day), and it's a great first date. Paris - it's a hell of a town.The term "Goth" goes back even further than the days of Joy Division and the English dive the Batcave (The Cavern of the 1980s). It's related to Germanic tribes that overthrew the Roman empire around 270 A.D. These fierce warriors were noted for their fighting prowess and pagan beliefs. With all the wanton slaughter going on back then, Crypt Magazine or The Theatre du Grand-Guignol were probably unnecessary. When there is war, people usually have little need for macabre theatres, slasher films or Goth magazines. But when it comes to Cryptgirls, I suppose anything is possible.With the release of Crypt Magazine, we have a new era of publications hitting the stands. At least Necro would have us believe so. I'm not entirely convinced fascination with the macabre is anything new. I think it's been around for ages. Anything that freaks out the moral right will appeal to the rebellious teen trapped in suburban white civilization. As to whether their existence is as tortured as say, Edgar Allan Poe's, is open to debate. As to whether or not their existence is as miserable as say, the kids in Columbine, one would certainly hope not.Violence is more punk than Goth, and like drugs, one can graduate to darker and darker forms of rebellion. During times of war, civilization is so dark we need not toast champagne while viewing artificial beheadings. These days we can see it on fucking Iraq video. I am inclined to think the existence of the Grand Guignol, Friday the 13th and Crypt Magazine is a good thing. To me, it means life is so acceptable we can seek out its misery. We can pretend a fantasy of tragic reality. Culture16939@blogcritics.org Tue, 29 Jun 2004 21:03:21 EDT http://blogcritics.org/archives/2004/06/22/164306.php Chris KentBefore viewing last year's little sleaze-fest Wonderland, be prepared to wallow in a Hollywood-created world of drug addiction, bad hair, crappy clothes and blood-splattered walls. All of this lovely excess is spiced with frenetic quick-cut editing - you know, in order to create the wonderful high of freebasing for three straight days. I liked Wonderland, but then again I have always had a morbid fascination with crime. This crime is as morbid as one could possibly be.There is more to like in Wonderland than dislike, but the already-mentioned machine-gun editing hides several good performances. And the story plays out in a he-said-she-said, Rashomon-like fashion confusing more than aiding. Three versions of this story are shown in Wonderland, so the "interested" viewer can decide for themselves. Flash over substance always pisses me off, and director James Cox has gone to great lengths to make a stylish film about the most unsettling cretins in Hollywood history.Wonderland, sadly enough, is a true story that happened in 1981. Four people are found brutally murdered in a house on Wonderland Avenue, their skulls crushed by lead pipes and a baseball bat or two. Johnny "Wadd" Holmes, one of the most famous porn stars in history thanks to a 13-inch doppelwanker, is a prime suspect. The Wonderland house was a drug den, and Johnny "Wadd", coke addict Superdick who hadn't made a film in two years, hung around (pun intended) often. Investigators haul Holmes in and get a convoluted story detailing robbery, double cross and dope. It appears the Wonderland victims had robbed the home of Eddie Nash, Los Angeles nightclub owner and 1980's drug dealer king. Nash suspected Holmes was involved, and forced the weaselly drug addict porn star to lead his own goons over to the Wonderland house to exact bloody revenge.I could write an epic post if I wished to recount all the mistakes sophomore director James Cox made in Wonderland. Frankly, he was out of his league with this subject matter (he had one previous film, the thoroughly dull Highway in 2002). Cox's obsession with the Wonderland murders is reportedly why the film was financed in the first place. I imagine the casting of Val Kilmer helped. Everyone in this film is sleazy, and it's surprising such a strong cast to include Kilmer, Dylan McDermott, Lisa Kudrow, Josh Lucas, Kate Bosworth, Jeneane Garofalo, Carrie Fisher and Christina Applegate would take on such shady roles. The performances are uniformly good, though a lot of fine actors disappear in the shadows of communion dope smoke and coke snort. I suppose Applegate can be excused for taking part. She jumped on board because she grew up near the house on Wonderland Avenue. Applegate could actually recall the bloody mattresses sitting in the front yard awaiting trash pick-up. Now I ask, have you ever heard a better piece of trivia? Some of the best scenes in Wonderland are when Kilmer-cum-"Wadd" is figuratively flogging himself for the unparalleled loser he's become. He repeats over and over, "Please forgive me. I'm sorry. Please forgive me." But you will have to look quick to see this great scene because Fox, in obsessive MTV-retard fashion, cuts away as quickly as possible. Oh, he cuts back a couple of times like a chocolate-binging boy with scissors. We eventually see the entire scene, only in snip-snip pieces, inter cut with "Wadd's" girlfriend sleeping with another man. He used to pimp her out you see.Why is the Wonderland crime still remembered? Pretty simple really. You have a multiple homicide involving former porn stars, piles of drugs, sweaty sex and good rock n' roll. Investigators on the scene claimed the murders were more brutal than anything seen since Manson's Tate-LaBianca Grand-Guignol. And there are other bizarre connections between the two infamous blood epics, with the most glaring being the abuse of drugs and the fall of dreams in the city of Angels. James Ellroy, where for art thou?!I'm a crime buff, and was familiar with this sordid tale long before Wonderland bombed at the box office. In secret, I have perused great tomes on the Manson clan, Ted Bundy, Bonnie and Clyde, Bugsy Siegel and other demented sociopaths who would just as soon cut your throat as have an espresso. In almost all of these cases, I have avoided the crime scene pics, which I suppose is hypocritical. But if you pick up the Wonderland DVD, you have a lovely little extra which is the actual LAPD crime scene video taken at the soaked scene. In all its crimson, hand-held gore glory, you can see the infamous Wonderland pad, complete with close-ups of the dead and mutilated kids. I turned it off quickly, and am frankly stunned such an insensitive extra would be included. Dope dealers and criminals granted, but these kids deserve a bit more respect than to have their indecent murders serve as fucking gravy on a DVD.There's not much character development in Wonderland, and motivation is about as thin as a sheet of recycled toilet paper. Brief stardom and falls from porn grace have been brilliantly documented in Paul Thomas Anderson's 1997 film Boogie Nights. In fact, Dirk Diggler was based on Johnny "Wadd" Holmes. The robbery of Eddie Nash was covered in the unforgettable scene where Alfred Molina dances around to Night Ranger in sweaty speedos. Yucky Molina (who plays a character named Rahad Jackson) soon fires his shotgun at the aspiring criminals. Diggler does a Prefontaine and returns to the pad of director pal Jack Horner (Burt Reynolds). The film ends happily ever after, but not before the unforgettable money shot of Diggler's diggler. I suppose Wonderland is the seedy next-day truth to Boogie Nights, as Diggler-er-Holmes is forced to go to Wonderland Avenue and pound out a bloody revenge against his friends for the robbery. To Wonderland's credit, we never see Holmes' savage sausage. He is forced to pull it out at one point - away from camera view - for eager party guests.The Wonderland case is technically unsolved, though authorities pretty much know the story. Holmes was acquitted, and eventually died of AIDS in 1988. Eddie Nash served 37 months in jail for a drug-possession charge, but was never tagged for the murders. Today, Nash lives in LA freedom an elderly man, undoubtedly pleased at having been portrayed in filmland by the likes of Eric Bogosian and Alfred Molina, two of the finest character actors of their era. As to whether Nash would awkwardly dance around in speedo and housecoat while snorting lines of white powder, I cannot say. The similarity of characterizations in Wonderland and Boogie Nights leads one to think it must be partially true.As mentioned earlier, there's much in common between the 1981 massacre and the Manson slaughters during the summer of '69. To date, both crimes have had awkward films made about them (Helter Skelter was filmed twice for television in 1975 and 2004). I suspect it's not easy to wallow in this kind of snuff, when the only emotional truth is mindless brutality. Sleaze is sleaze, no matter the light one chooses to shed upon it.Wonderland accurately portrays a horrible crime and the days leading up to its resolution. The drug den will be familiar to anyone who stumbled upon such scenes during the coke-happy 1980s. Like watching a crime scene video, you'll find yourself wanting to look away. But like the party-goers staring wide-eyed at Johnny "Wadd's" infamous member, you won't. Video16737@blogcritics.org Tue, 22 Jun 2004 16:43:06 EDT http://blogcritics.org/archives/2004/06/04/094624.php Chris KentSpike Lee loves to talk. He talks to Reggie Miller at NBA basketball games. He talks to the press. He talks about films he doesn't like. He talks about a society which, for the most part, pisses him off. But Lee has always backed up his talk with assured filmmaking bravado. The tumultuous soul has the kind of writing and directing skill that comes along only once in a generation. I suppose one could compare Lee to New York neighbor Martin Scorsese. Both men come from minority backgrounds, their films taking place in the unique land of the Big Apple. Like Scorsese, Lee has never made a completely poor film. Like Scorsese, Lee's films are noted by fierce vision and angst. And like Scorsese, Lee has never been truly acknowledged with an Academy Award. When such inferior film directors as Steven Spielberg, Oliver Stone and even Kevin Costner are awarded multiple times, it causes film lovers to scratch their collective heads.Hollywood is about money, thus it's easier to award financial success rather than artistic merit. And perhaps, there are other factors as well. Scorsese's Raging Bull is generally considered one of the greatest films in history. It is furious, bloody, thought-provoking and poetic. Lee's greatest film, Do the Right Thing will eventually withstand the test of time. It too is filled with rage and unforgettable moments of groundbreaking intensity. Both films leave blood on the cement, and viewers exit the theater having witnessed levels of tragedy as ugly as anything seen in that Rodney King video. New York has a way of spawning such artistic unpleasantness.Most of Lee's work, well hell, all of it, has dealt with the lives of black men and women in America. So it came as a surprise when he decided to make 25th Hour a couple of years ago. While taking place in New York, it involved Caucasian men and women with a few Russian gangsters thrown in for good measure. It must have been a great challenge for Lee to step outside of his own personal experience - though I suspect he would be the first to admit that's just a load of shit. The argument of cultural appropriation could begin here I suppose. Write what you know, create what you know, sculpt what you've seen with thine own eyes. I loved Spike Lee's 25th Hour and consider it to be one of his finest films. It will never be considered his greatest achievement, as it is just a few notches below the rollercoaster couplet of Do the Right Thing and Malcolm X. I'm not sure if Lee can ever really top the youthful rebellion of those two classic works (though if I had to bet, I would say he would). But 25th Hour is still a brilliant, at times innovative, work blessed with superb portrayals, an electric eye for New York locale and heartbreaking regret. This film will always serve as an example of Lee's filmmaking prowess. He stepped outside of his own cultural neighborhood and just made a movie. Undoubtedly the themes appealed to him, and I'm sure he's bumped into these characters a few times along the blood-soaked cement. But he should be applauded for taking on this subject matter. In the wake of 9-11, I think we are all taking on new subject matter.I doubt Spike Lee will ever make a true box office hit - he's just not in to postcards or happy endings. There's always a slight hint of rage beneath the rippling surface, explosive in nature, waiting to break out. Vent, baby vent, fuck John Wayne.Edward Norton's rap during the bathroom scene in 25th Hour has been seen in previous Lee films, but in the dark shadow of 9-11, it's perhaps more relevant than ever before. The multiple scenes of improvisation also ring a familiar chord. I think moviegoers used to the kind of filmmaking formula common in today's packages are befuddled by such moments. But as a viewer we are witnessing the creative process on screen. It's life, as awkward and uncomfortable and messy as it always has been and will be. These scenes develop personality the hard way, providing clues to the ultimate rage these tortured characters suffer from. Lee had an exceptional cast at his fingertips. To his credit, he allowed this talented crew to discover its spirit.Edward Norton, in a largely passive role, has 24 hours of freedom remaining before taking the long trip to prison for dope dealing. He gathers his circle of childhood chums, among them a Wall Street trader (Barry Pepper) and a sexually frustrated school teacher (Phillip Seymour Hoffman). They awkwardly experience one final night of camaraderie at a New York nightclub. During the evening, each character will reveal their frustrations, their lives defined by lost dreams and disappointments. Shell shocked, they reside within the missing shadows of the World Trade Center (Lee's opening credit sequence is stunning), their angst rooted in opportunities now forever lost. These moments ring with emotional truth, haunting and heartbreaking, born of wisdom attained through pain.I found the moments with the Russian Mafia to be far too cliched, where moody criminals spout passages of pseudo street wisdom to cheer up Norton's character. I expected Marlon Brando to make an appearance with a mouth full of Kleenex. The scenes are too conventional, though provide a sense of foreboding for Norton's uncertain future.25th Hour has so much to do with regret and loss. In some way, each character has exploited freedoms which exist in our unique American society. They have abused the ideal. Following the terrorist bombings of New York, there are now emotional debts which must be paid. Like Edward Norton's character at film's end, we are battered and bruised, our crimes perhaps rooted in having taken our credulous utopia for granted.Spike Lee left his own blood-covered sidewalk to create this film. He boldly attempted to examine the American dream from a different perspective. In doing so, perhaps he's matured as an artist. Certainly, it was a challenge for this confident and cocky man to take on this subject matter. That he succeeded so well is a testament to his exceptional skill. Still, it was an odd experience to watch 25th Hour. There's just not many black filmmakers working today, and of the very few, they are not making films about the lost dreams of Caucasian characters.Steven Spielberg made The Color Purple in 1986, and it wasn't particularly good. All of his weaknesses as a filmmaker were uncomfortably exposed. I would have loved to have seen Lee make a film version of Alice Walker's classic novel. I don't think it would have been as manipulative. There probably would have been less syrup and apple blossoms and more whiskey and fingernail dirt. The film The Color Purple has always insulted me in many ways, it's narrative technique predictable and obvious. I suppose cultural appropriation could be applied here as well. I think we all know Spielberg's most personal, if not fierce, drama was Schindler's List. Spielberg, of Jewish heritage, took the reins in his teeth and told John Wayne to go fuck himself in his own timid manner. He was born to make that film, whether he would like to admit it or not.25th Hour never offended me. It was a uniquely inspirational experience, striking chords of truth Spielberg never really touched in The Color Purple. How much of it was due to Lee's terrific cast and how much of it was him is open to interpretation. The truth perhaps, is somewhere between. Like Do the Right Thing and Malcolm X, 25th Hour causes us to squirm in our seats. Lee has a vision, and it crosses boundaries no matter the stained sidewalk. Video16245@blogcritics.org Fri, 4 Jun 2004 09:46:24 EDT http://blogcritics.org/archives/2004/06/01/160010.php Chris KentWith the summer hoopla of the end-of-the-world saga The Day After Tomorrow smashing theaters, I'm reminded of one of the great disaster films of all time. You probably haven't heard of the 1962 flick, as it was made in England of all places. But it was a brilliant little suspense drama, told from the viewpoint of a bustling London newsroom.Called The Day the Earth Caught Fire, this terrific disaster drama did not have great box office success, but critics rightfully regarded it as a diamond awaiting discovery. The special effects are minimal, as we see littered abandoned streets, thick London fogs, a few burning buildings and drunk beatniks dancing on cars. I've never run into a drunk beatnik before, but according to The Day the Earth Caught Fire, once they start to groovin' baby, they're hard to stop. Damn hippies.The beauty of this film is emphasis on story and character rather than special effects. British science fiction from this period leaned towards respectability, and The Day the Earth Caught Fire's writer/director Val Guest was responsible for many of these films. His The Quatermass Experiment began the trend in 1955, and he continued with Quatermass II: Enemy From Space (1957) and The Abominable Snowman (1957). This notable British sci-fi class also includes Village of the Damned (1960), Day of the Triffids (1962), Island of Terror (1966) and Five Million Years to Earth (1967). American cult director John Carpenter has been a fan of these films for years, writing Prince of Darkness in 1987 under the name "Martin Quatermass" and even remaking Village of the Damned in 1995.The Day the Earth Caught Fire has been a favorite of mine because most of the intense drama is played out in the confines of the newsroom. Edward Judd plays a down-on-his-luck reporter suffering the trauma of divorce, writer's block and alcoholism. His buddy and mentor, wonderfully played by Leo McKern, covers his ass and even writes a few stories under his friend's byline. At one point frustrated with Judd's destructive melancholy, McKern tells the wet noodle, "There will be somebody else sooner or later. London's full of somebody else's. Find yourself another. Find yourself a dozen." Judd replies with appropriate British dryness, "You dirty old man."The dialog crackles in The Day the Earth Caught Fire, and alert viewers will find themselves rewinding the film just to catch lines a second time. Witty conversations move at a quick clip, reminiscent of Howard Hawks' classic overlapping dialog in The Thing (1951), His Girl Friday (1940) and Only Angels Have Wings (1939).Judd stumbles upon the story of the century as he discovers a paranoid meteorological scientist attempting a cover-up - a Weathergate, if you will. With temperatures rising to record numbers, twisters forming in London and floods wrecking havoc across the globe, Judd realizes something is amiss. It appears the Soviets and the West detonated nuclear tests simultaneously, and the double-barreled explosion knocked the earth off its axis. Our doomed planet is moving closer to the sun. Bottom line - earth is being roasted like chickens in a Kenny Rogers fire pit. Judd still finds time to romance the lovely Janet Munro, a part-time phone operator at the newspaper. You might remember Munro as the nice girl in the Disney Leprechaun epic Darby O'Gill and the Little People. She's a nice girl in this film too, but with a bit of yummy risque spice. The scene where she and Judd consummate their attraction is surprisingly sexy. Due to an oppressive heat mist fog which shuts London down, the two fledgling lovebirds find themselves stranded at Munro's apartment. With temperatures hovering around 90 degrees, they strip to their underwear as night begins to fall. A bedside phone rings, Judd speaks to the newspaper, and the sweaty pair end up in each other's arms. The scene plays out in 5-6 minutes of steamy expectation, serving as an example of insinuation being far more erotic than display. I love the frantic activity of the newsroom as reporters scurry to make deadline. An editor yells, "I need 50 lines!" A reporter screams, "Give me five minutes!" The editor replies, "You've got four!" These British reporters go about their job with energetic professionalism, the scenes as realistic as any seen in the classic newspaper film All the President's Men. The film was shot in newspaper offices in the historic London Fleet Street area - once a major press center. Arthur Christiansen, an actual newspaper editor, plays himself. He has the best line when he asks a reporter for a story. The reporter snidely replies, "Isn't it too late to still be writing stories?" Christiansen answers, "It's never too late for a good news story well written." London temperatures soon begin to reach 130 degrees, with the ocean receding and beaches cracking like Death Valley soil. Malaria runs rampant, water is rationed at the local park and rioting begins in the streets. Weary reporters, now adorned in sweaty undershirts, continue to pound out these breaking stories for the next edition. The days of humanity on earth slowly dwindle, but the typewriters of The London Express clack away. The world's superpowers unite to strategically detonate multiple nuclear bombs. They hope the shock wave will return the careening planet back to its original axis. As the moment of truth nears, Judd and Munro hold hands at the local pub. Their love is strong, but their hearts fearful they may never grow old together. In the newsroom, two front pages have been prepared. The camera pans across both headlines, one proclaiming The End of the World! while the other states The World Saved! Seconds tick by like hours as reporters make a desperate toast at the pub.The Day the Earth Caught Fire predates global warming and other environmental terrors by several decades. It's a shockingly good film for those unacquainted, with some of the best dialog ever written for the genre. By most accounts, The Day After Tomorrow is all special effects and little dialog. With The Day the Earth Caught Fire, you get all dialog and little special effects. It's never too late for a good film well written. Video16166@blogcritics.org Tue, 1 Jun 2004 16:00:10 EDT http://blogcritics.org/archives/2004/05/23/103248.php Chris KentI have grown weary of listening to the misguided proclamations when it comes to the most overrated film of the year The Last Samurai. Let's be frank folks, this film sucked. And it sucked for many reasons. Let me count the ways.The ending of The Last Samurai is so stunningly awful as to capsize the entire film. I puked, I heaved, I cried in frustration. This film was a tragedy in the making. To tie up everything in a nice happy-ending bow was a crime on the level of Ted Turner colorization. I ask you, "Can we not see films with tragic endings today?" Has film making become so formulaic we can no longer suffer a hero's death? I sighed with great sadness when Tom Cruise somehow survived multiple bullets from that fucking Gatling gun. Pale and a bit worse for wear, he then presents a warrior's sword to the oh-so-prissy lisping emperor. If I was Japanese, and I am not, I would be pissed at this piece of shit movie.Hollywood's recreation of Japanese history involving samurai warrior Saigo Takamori in the 1870s is as accurate as a comic book. There were no Caucasian men who trained Japanese warriors in the art of modern warfare. There were certainly no veterans of Custer's Seventh Calvary who traveled overseas. Cruise's character is a composite, based mainly on Captain Thomas Weir, a survivor of the Little Big Horn disaster. Weir was severely depressed after the battle, committing suicide a year later in 1877. To place a historical magnifying glass to The Last Samurai would essentially rip this sorry film to shreds. I suppose if one reads little history, one can accept the repulsively gigantic liberties taken with actual fact. I also could not escape the overall feeling of déją vu throughout this film, with a predictable chain of Dances With Wolves - like events leading to the redemption of the film's main character. We've seen Kevin Costner do this before, hell, we've even seen Peter O'Toole do this before in the classic Lawrence of Arabia. A Caucasian man immerses himself in an alien culture, learning their customs, eventually leading them into battle. Along the way, he learns new spiritual beliefs and the great Caucasian hero is redeemed.In Lawrence of Arabia, our fine protagonist returns to British civilization and arguably commits suicide. O'Toole's Lawrence was a changed man, disillusioned, frustrated, unable to completely adapt to his old way of life. Costner's John Dunbar in Dances With Wolves all but abandons his adopted native American tribe before certain massacre. Oh I know, he said he was going to get the cavalry off their ass. But it was just a matter of time before the U.S. Army made target practice of Graham Greene and company. In The Last Samurai, Cruise returns to the hidden Samurai village as the lone survivor. He eyes the lovely oriental babe and all things end happily ever after. The profound reality, which this film severely lacks, is the widowed women of the village either committed suicide or entered into prostitution to survive. Their way of life had brutally come to an end, and no amount of Superman heroics by Mr. Cruise was going to change that sad fact. Director Edward Zwick is responsible for this piece of crap, and since his classic Civil War epic Glory (which amazingly had a tragic ending - go figure), has done nothing but churn out one bad film after another. He details throughout The Last Samurai that this band of colorful and fluffy samurai warriors are headed for a Charge of the Light Brigade conclusion. This is going to be a final, tragic stand for an ancient way of life. So to cop out is insulting and offensive. Why pull the punch? What the fuck was Zwick thinking?!There have been plenty of financially successful films with sad endings, though the present generation would be hard-pressed to find one. Off the top of my head there's Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, Love Story, Easy Rider, Bonnie and Clyde, The Wild Bunch and Night of the Living Dead. Anything more recent than 1980 I cannot seriously recall. Thus, we are stuck with bullshit cotton candy like The Last Samurai. I like Tom Cruise. He's easily the greatest movie star of his generation. I also happen to think he is an above average actor, with performances in Born on the Fourth of July, Interview with the Vampire and Magnolia serving as great examples. The chunky heart throb gives a good performance as the haunted captain, and I suppose he looks great in samurai armor. His long hair blows in the wind, he's strategically unshaven, he gets the shit kicked out of him a couple of times and he screams for Saki during alcoholic withdrawal. Along his predictable journey, Cruise bonds with the warriors' leader, nicely played by Ken Watanabe. Watanabe just about steals the film in the generic Omar Sharif/Graham Greene role. He is perfectly cast, as he looks oriental, but not TOO oriental. Thus, this Caucasian comic book fantasy remains safe for viewing down at the suburban cineplex.Zwick has gone on record as stating his admiration for the late-great filmmaker Akira Kurosawa, who directed brilliant samurai epics during his day including The Seven Samurai, Ran and Kagemusha. The Last Samurai is not anywhere near as good as those films, and lacks the kind of energy, action detail and eventually, profound tragedy that marks those international classics. Kurosawa touches are evident throughout, though the master is undoubtedly snickering in his grave.I have seen Kurosawa's Ran at least 10 times and consider it one of the greatest films ever made. For me, watching The Last Samurai was a torturous experience. I was insulted. I am sick and tired of Hollywood telling me I cannot handle tragedy, that when I purchase a movie ticket all I wish to see are thinly veiled imitations of past great films.I think I'll commit hari-kari. Video15892@blogcritics.org Sun, 23 May 2004 10:32:48 EDT http://blogcritics.org/archives/2004/05/08/181256.php Chris KentI rented Love Actually last week and watched it with my girlfriend. The film, released at the theaters last year, was not even my fourth choice. But when one is in a relationship, one finds themselves having to make compromises. In this case, the compromise turned out to be a pleasant surprise - though my girlfriend did fall asleep halfway through.Anyway, as I watched the fairly complex plot threads slowly weave their way towards a predictably syrupy conclusion, I found myself contemplating this film a bit more than expected. I'll try to cover the bases without boring readers to death.First and foremost, Love Actually boasts an extraordinary cast of actors, many of whom are from Britain, the location of this valentine of a movie. Hugh Grant, Emma Thompson, Liam Neeson, Alan Rickman, Laura Linney and Colin Firth, among others, lend an air of respectability to the mainly light proceedings. This ensemble piece examines eight varieties of relationships, all of them involving a form of love. You have love between a father and son, love between a Prime Minister and house employee, love between a long-time married couple, love between co-workers, love between two long-time friends, love between porno stand-ins and love between a writer and housekeeper. I'm sure I missed a relationship somewhere in this very busy film. If so, forgive me.Richard Curtis wrote and directed this romance/drama/comedy, and it was his first time behind the lens. His previous work included the charming screenplays to Four Weddings and a Funeral (a favorite of mine), Notting Hill and Bridget Jones' Diary. After such notable success with the pen, I suppose it was about time for him to sit in the director's chair. He does an adequate job with a fairly daunting screenplay. Not only must this story weave in and out of the lives of 10-20 individuals in modern-day London, but it must walk a fine line between comedy and drama, giving each notable actor enough screen time to flex their professional muscle. Curtis wears his heart on his sleeve in Love Actually, and that is not always a good thing. The film is radically uneven, and does not necessarily come together with satisfying panache. He bats about .500, but when he does make a hit, it is indeed a home run.The misfires are many, as the budding love between the already-mentioned porn stand-ins strikes the harmonious note of a wooden nickel. This talkative pair, in various forms of undress, pretend to perform lustful sex acts while cameramen set the lighting meters prior to the actual actors doing their "business." The odd couple make a date and literally shiver during their first kiss. The symbolism is too obvious - yes Richard, we know lust and love are two entirely different things. The film comes to a standstill during these vignettes. The slovenly Colin, played with nose-picking intensity by Kris Marshall, couldn't find love if it punched him in the face. So the 20-something man decides to travel to America in search of drooling babes entranced by his British accent. Colin lands in snow-covered Milwaukee. Within minutes he finds three single models who take him back to their penthouse to have an apparent orgy. Granted, British accents are cute, but I'm not sure it's going to give any man the inside track to winning the fantasy lottery. What this says about American women, I'm not entirely sure. But it's not particularly funny and certainly has little to say about love. Liam Neeson is terrific as a recently widowed father attempting to raise a young son on his own. By utilizing the power of positive thinking, he is lovingly supportive, and it's just a wonderful turn by an actor who normally plays the "hunk." I liked this vignette immensely and would enjoy seeing a film dealing simply with this father and son relationship - though perhaps we've seen it before in The Courtship of Eddie's Father. The conclusion of their drama, taking place at the airport, is a bit fabricated. But as viewers we will find it difficult to abstain from cheering for the delightful chemistry between Liam and son.Hugh Grant does a nice turn as the recently appointed Prime Minister of England who's shot by the Cupid's arrow when meeting the caterer of his new home. Grant goes to great lengths to deny his love for this lower middle-class woman. This vignette gives us one of the finest scenes in the film when Grant stumbles upon a Bill Clinton-like president of the United States (nicely played in a cameo by Billy Bob Thornton) trying to make a pass at the caterer. Grant's character has already been bullied by this important world leader. Now the prez is making a move on the love of his life! Grant stands up to the powerful man during a press conference, and the enjoyable scene will make one swell with British pride whether they live in Olde England or not.The strongest scenes in the film are delivered by Emma Thompson and Alan Rickman, as a longtime married couple. Rickman is being flirted with by a young woman at work, and Thompson catches wind of it. Eventually Rickman samples a taste, and Thompson discovers this too. Her scenes where she deals with the infidelity are the most memorable of Love Actually. This very fine actress reveals the true trauma of what such shenanigans can do to the victim. She delivers the best line in the film when she says to her longtime husband, "You haven't just made me look foolish, but you've made us look foolish." The term "us" is not just referring to husband and wife, but to their children as well. It is a dramatically profound moment, striking the emotional truth of the pain of infidelity. Thompson's work is nothing short of brilliant.There are other vignettes shedding interesting light on the messy equation of love. What I liked about Love Actually was it dealt exclusively with ADULT romance. Amazingly, there's not a teenager in sight. This is also such a sweet, life-affirming film, without a single moment of cynicism. To me, that's rare in today's movie making world.Love Actually stumbles happily to the semi-truth of life and love and how we cope with all the mundane bullshit. Love happens when we least expect it, and this film is aware of this. Love is not always fulfilled, and this film knows this sad fact as well. Love Actually accurately reveals that the love of husband, wife, lover, friend, brother, sister, son and daughter is what makes this life of ours worth living. Thank you Mr. Curtis for at the very least attempting to reveal such an important lesson.The opening line defines Love Actually's spirit best - "When the planes hit the twin towers, as far as I know none of the phone calls from the people on board were messages of hate or revenge - they were all messages of love. And if you look for it, I've got a sneaking suspicion that love actually is all around." Thankfully, there's only one wedding scene in Love Actually and it's early in the film. After the bride and the groom have exchanged vows, they begin walking back down the aisle. Suddenly, a choir begins singing, trombone players stand up, someone plays a guitar and a man wails into a microphone. The bride and groom laugh in surprised delight as the musicians begin performing The Beatles' "All You Need is Love."Has there ever been a more perfect song for a wedding? Cheers. Video15495@blogcritics.org Sat, 8 May 2004 18:12:56 EDT