The Screengrab : ben kingsley

DVD O'Digest for March 17, 2009

Paul Clark — Tue, 17 Mar 2009 14:00:00 GMT

This week, the much-ballyhooed Luck of the Irish doesn’t extend to DVD shoppers, who will find little in the way of worthwhile recent releases to add to their collections. Nonetheless, there’s worthy stuff hitting the market today, provided you know where to look.

This week’s haul of recent releases is headed by Will Smith’s latest attempt to curry Academy favor, Gabriele Muccino’s Seven Pounds (Sony, also Blu-Ray). Other movies hitting stores today include the animated family film The Tale of Despereaux (Universal, also Blu-Ray), the comic book-inspired revenge actioner Punisher: War Zone (Lionsgate, also Blu-Ray), and Ben Kingsley and Penelope Cruz in Elegy (Sony). Also, this weekend brings the release of two new DVDs starring newly-anointed star Kristen Stewart- the smash vampire-teen blockbuster Twilight and the Mary Stuart Masterson-directed indie drama The Cake Eaters, the movie that answers the question, “whatever happened to Mary Stuart Masterson?”

In the classics department, the big news this week is the release of Akira Kurosawa’s first color film, Dodes’ka-den (Criterion). I’ve yet to see it myself, but according to a number of critics, Dodes’ka-den is second-tier Kurosawa. All the same, it’s still Kurosawa, so I’m eager to give it a look. Also this week: The Robe Special Edition (Fox, also Blu-Ray), a lumbering biblical picture that’s justly remembered solely for being the first Cinemascope release; and the box set Eclipse Series 15: Travels With Hiroshi Shimizu, featuring four titles from this Japanese auteur.

In TV on DVD, this week brings Mr. Belvedere Seasons 1 and 2 (Universal). And in Blu-Ray only news, the highlights this week are the sword-and-sandal epic Quo Vadis (Fox) and the eighties favorite The Princess Bride (MGM).

Finally, I’d like to close this column introducing a new feature with this week’s DVD Digest, spotlighting the most bizarre DVD synopsis of any of this week’s new releases. Despite some competition from a movie that described itself as “a horrific thriller in the vein of Captivity (who’d want to be associated with Captivity???), the inaugural winner of the prize was the Media Blasters’ DVD entitled Booby Life. Here’s the synopsis, courtesy of DVD Planet:

Naoto, your run-of-the-mill young dude with a thing for top-heavy women, is the luckiest bum in the world. Ayane, a busty babe he's known for almost all his life, has a thing for him and lets him have his way with her anytime he wants. On top of that, Chika, another one of his chesty childhood friends, has just a big a crush on him too. When she says to him, "My boobs belong to you," there's no way any guy with a healthy sex drive can resist. There's now only two hard things in Naoto's life now, and one of them is choosing between two gorgeous hotties!

So much for a slow DVD week, eh?

Jailhouse Rock: The Greatest Prison Films of All Time (Part Four)

Andrew Osborne — Thu, 22 Jan 2009 21:45:00 GMT

CHICAGO (2002)

Hot chicks behind bars? Check. A large, in-charge corrupt female warden? Check. Mean girl sparring between the new fish and the reigning cell block queen? Check. Nude lesbian shower orgies and bloody riot scenes? Sorry...Rob Marshall’s Oscar-winning adaptation of the toe-tappingly cynical 1975 Kander/Webb/Fosse musical adaptation of crime reporter Maurine Dallas Watkins’ 1926 play about celebrity criminals ain’t that kind of Women-In-Prison film. Helping to restore America’s faith in the potential entertainment value of movie musicals a year after Baz Luhrmann did his level best to destroy the genre with the Excedrin-headache known as Moulin Rouge, Chicago served up catchy tunes and light satire grounded by (relatively) gritty scenes of the “real-world” Murderess Row underpinning the fantasized production numbers. For all the literal and figurative song-and-dance surrounding the press and public’s fascination with lethal jazz babies Velma (Catherine Zeta-Jones) and Roxie (Reneé Zellweger), there’s also the other side of the coin: the grim fate of a Hungarian inmate who, unlike her media-savvy cellmates, is probably innocent but gets the noose rather than justice because she can’t speak English and doesn’t know how to game the system for her own benefit. But that’s about as serious as things get: those who prefer more harrowing musical depictions of doomed immigrant ladies destroyed by American xenophobia are welcome to seek out Dancer In The Dark, the entertainment equivalent of a swift hard kick in the crotch you’re not entirely sure you deserved. The rest of Chicago, meanwhile, is a feel-good romp about getting away with murder featuring Zeta-Jones at the top of her game, an unusually tolerable performances by Zellweger (in a role Divine would have really knocked out of the park) and a surprisingly unembarrassing performance by Richard Gere (although as fellow Screengrabber Scott Von Doviak correctly noted at the time, Christopher Walken in the razzle-dazzle role would have been godhead).

ESCAPE FROM NEW YORK (1981)

Look, we’re not going lie to you: a lot of what’s awesome about John Carpenter’s Escape from New York is Snake Plissken. Kurt Russell’s one-eyed bank-robber antihero is badass enough to have earned the guy a generation of goodwill despite a subsequent decade filled with Captain Rons and Tango & Cashes. A lot more of what’s awesome about it is the dynamite supporting cast, which includes Lee Van Cleef, Harry Dean Stanton, a tasty Adrienne Barbeau, Donald Pleasance as a Fightin’ President, Screengrab fave/That Guy! emeritus Tom Atkins, and Isaac Hayes in a role so tough he almost out-bad-dudes Snake Plissken. But leaving all that aside, Escape from New York twists conventions all over the place: the bad boy reprobate is trying to break into prison, not get out of it, and New York, rather than being the destination everyone’s trying to reach and the place people only leave because they’re about to hit 40 and they can’t stand living with a roommate in Crown Heights anymore, is a maximum security prison where futuristic America dumps its biggest scumbags. (Insert predictable ‘Oh, the wacky world of science fiction, where New York is filled with criminal scum! Ha ha!’ joke here). Much as he did in Escape from Precinct 13, Carpenter takes genre conventions and flips them on their ears, with highly entertaining results.

STALAG 17 (1953)

Billy Wilder’s films are so essential and influential and beloved that it’s hard to pull back and talk about how weird and unsettling and even unpleasant they are. But they are indeed weird, unsettling, and often unpleasant. For one thing, there’s so much fakery that it’s up for grabs what Wilder was trying to elicit from his audience. In Billy Wilder’s eyes, life is about deception. Many -- if not most -- of his main characters are phonies. The cynics are all romantics. The romantics are all cynics. Sometimes they’re deluding themselves, sometimes the rest of the world. His movies also lather on a thick corn hash. That’s not too unusual for a Hollywood director of his era. John Ford and Howard Hawks were both certainly guilty of overcooking the corn. In Wilder’s movies, sometimes the corn is funny and sometimes it seems pointless. It’s all part of the artifice of his movies, the occasionally clumsy sleight-of-hand that he works with to try to distract you from the horror and mess his characters are making of their lives with all their deception. This artifice is occasionally too much for Wilder’s movies, and a few stories that should work (like Ace In The Hole, for instance, or The Apartment) try to hang too much suffering on a premise too phony and characters too empty. However, Stalag 17 goes the other way. It's a good Wilder movie. It did, however, open the door for Hogan’s Heroes, a bad tv show (don’t try to justify your nostalgia to me; it may be iconic but that doesn’t mean it’s good). It also laid the groundwork for the Roberto Benigni atrocity Life Is Beautiful, and a handful of other movies leaping to your mind about the goofy fun time people had in Nazi prison camps. Not that movies about Nazi prisons have to be grim, but c’mon, those flicks have no goddamn perspective. Anyway, the comic relief is far too broad for the movie, the story is pitched somewhere between too cynical and too maudlin, the characters are a little slow on the uptake, and damn if I know how it all works, but Stalag 17 somehow makes sense.

A MAN ESCAPED (1957)

The title suggests a conclusion foregone, but Robert Bresson’s A Man Escaped is unconcerned with the conclusion. What’s important is the suffocating tight focus on Lt. Fontaine, our captured protagonist, his wide eyes full of twitchy wildness like cornered game, as he goes about the nuts-and-bolts of dismantling the prison about him. The movie opens with a close-up on his hand, testing a car door lever. In a minute, he will leap from the car and be immediately recaptured. But for the first couple of minutes, Bresson’s camera watches him as he holds his breath, waiting for just the right moment. Some men may give up when caught, but this one was built for escape. You will learn soon enough that he is a member of the French Resistance who is headed for detainment in a Nazi jail. He tells his story mostly in short, clipped voiceovers, as few people speak to him or give him a reason to speak during his confinement. But speech is unimportant. His mind is constantly at work planning his escape. Bresson’s taut and economical film lays bare the mechanics of a prison break, provided, of course, that the prison is built and staffed exactly like the one in the movie.

DEATH AND THE MAIDEN (1994)

The only prison in Roman Polanski’s film of Ariel Dorfman’s play Death and the Maiden is in the past. Sigourney Weaver plays Paulina, a former political prisoner scarred by her rape and torture while imprisoned. Her husband Gerardo (Stuart Wilson) owes her everything. One night -- the only night in this movie, really -- his car breaks down and he catches a ride from Dr. Miranda (Ben Kingsley), who leaves and later returns when he realizes that he accidentally kept Gerardo’s spare tire. The two men have a drink. Meanwhile, Paulina has apparently flipped. She steals Miranda’s car and destroys it, then returns home and begins to torture the man, claiming he did terrible things to her in the past. Her husband is understandably confused. Miranda seemed okay to him. And he knows that Paulina never saw her tormenter while in prison. How can she be sure? Three characters, one night, and a lifetime of human suffering.

Click Here For Part One, Two, Three & Five

Contributors: Andrew Osborne, Leonard Pierce, Hayden Childs

Get Wacked!

Andrew Osborne — Fri, 02 Jan 2009 15:00:00 GMT

So, those of you who read my picks for the Top Ten Flicks of 2008 (or my summertime review of The Wackness) already know I'm a big fan of this underloved coming of age charmer about sweet, dopey dope dealer Luke Shapiro (Josh Peck) and his relationships with his cynical shrink (and number one customer) Dr. Squires (Ben Kingsley), the doctor's wised-up daughter (Olivia Thirlby) and the Notorious B.I.G. in Rudy Giuliani's New York, circa 1994.

If you haven't seen the film yet (or would like to relive the dopeness of The Wackness again in the privacy of your own home), you'll get a chance to use some of those gift cards you got for Ramadan on January 6th when the movie is released on DVD.

In the meantime, please to enjoy the following semi-exclusive Screengrab Sneak Preview deleted scene!

Click Here For Clip!

Related Stories:

Andrew Osborne's Top Ten Movies of 2008

Provincetown International Film Festival Review: The Wackness

Screengrab Salutes: The Top Biopics of All Time! (Part Six)

Andrew Osborne — Thu, 04 Dec 2008 23:30:00 GMT

SEARCHING FOR BOBBY FISCHER (1993)

If you’re ever standing around awkwardly at a cocktail party with my father, just mention this movie and watch his eyes light up: you’ll instantly have a new friend and at least half an hour of fresh conversation fodder. Before he retired, you see, my father was a public school teacher who worked with “gifted and talented” students – and no, despite the beliefs of every pushy parent in America, not all of their little darlings are technically “gifted” – but Joshua Waitzkin, the real-life chess prodigy at the heart of screenwriter Steve Zaillian’s directorial debut, would definitely qualify. And that’s the character’s problem: as the saying goes, “Whom the gods wish to destroy, they first call promising.” Waitzkin (portrayed with believable, naturalistic grace by a then-eight-year-old Max Pomeranc) has undeniable talent, but worries his gift will ultimately rob him of a normal, happy life. The movie comes down to a battle for Waitzkin’s soul, with Ben Kingsley’s joyless mentor on one side, urging the boy to use his abilities to win at all costs (like World Chess Champion Bobby Fischer), and Laurence Fishburne’s laid-back speed chess guru on the other, reminding Waitzkin that Fischer’s exclusive focus on winning eventually drove him into bitter seclusion. The notion that winning and happiness aren’t necessarily the same thing is a rare theme in Hollywood (and the U.S. in general)...which is exactly why my Dad and me both dig this film so much.

HEAVENLY CREATURES (1994)

Before he came to Hollywood with dreams of elves, walking trees, and ancient CGI hobbits dancing in his head, Peter Jackson made a few films best described as ‘muppet porn’...and then he made Heavenly Creatures. Heavenly Creatures is the true (or true-ish) story of one of the most notorious murders in New Zealand, in which two teenage girls murdered one of their mothers in 1954. Jackson chooses to focus on the relationship between the girls, an obsessive closed-circuit of fantasy and romance that is surprisingly mundane and normal to modern eyes. Many people have intense friendships in their early teen years that involve storytelling and attachments to pop culture and so forth. Well, okay, these girls begin exploring their sexuality with each other at some point, which was extra-freaky for their parents – products of their times – once they start to catch on. Jackson shows how the girls’ fantasies have idealized the parents of the richer one (who’s played by a young Kate Winslet, by the way, just starting her career of cinematic nakedness), thus adding an interesting class dimension to their decision of which parent to murder for standing in their way. And Jackson brings their fantasy world to life with a deftness that helps to explain – if not forgive – how the girls came to choose murder as the solution to their problems. I should point out that I’m pretty fond of the elf movies, actually, and Heavenly Creatures has the wit and humanity to illustrate how Jackson brought those books to filmic life without embarrassing everyone involved. Well, okay, there’s a little embarrassment (for instance, all of the hobbits jumping on the bed towards the end, for 17 straight hours in dreadful slo-mo), but it’s minimal in the grand scheme.

GODS & MONSTERS (1999)

I don’t know how true this story is, but it’s better than a lot of biopics of creative people. The subject is James Whale (Ian McKellen, who also appeared in Peter Jackson’s elf movies), a director of 20 movies between 1930 and 1941 – most notably Frankenstein and Bride of Frankenstein – and only one thereafter. Whale was openly gay at the time, which is remarkable considering the contemporary horror of homosexuality. The movie runs with the idea by focusing only on his last days, after a stroke has left him lost in his memories. Whale is constantly flashing back to his time in the trenches in WWI, where he lost someone he loved, and to the making of Bride of Frankenstein. He becomes attached to his new gardener, played soberly by Brendan Fraser. Fraser comes to realize that the Frankenstein movies are a metaphor for the isolation Whale felt throughout his life because of his sexual orientation. All of this is a little overblown, naturally (this is a biopic, after all), but it fares fairly well when compared to the hoke-fests of Ray, Walk The Line, A Beautiful Mind, and their ilk. One of the best moments comes near the end, when Whale is walking in silhouette with a hulking figure that appears to be Frankenstein’s monster, but a flash of light shows it to be Fraser. Quite nicely done.

QUIZ SHOW (1994)

Robert Redford has a blunt directorial hand. The Legend of Bagger Vance, The Horse Whisperer, Ordinary People, and even (and this is hard for me, because I love to fly-fish) A River Runs Through It: all pushy where they should be gentle and preachy where they should be guileless. With two movies, though, Redford’s insistence that his audience agree with him is subsumed into his narrative, making them far more enjoyable viewing experiences: The Milagro Beanfield War and Quiz Show. Quiz Show is the true(-ish) story of the quiz show scandals of the 1950s, which led to congressional hearings into whether or not the shows were rigged. Amazingly, these hearings somehow failed to stamp out producer-rigged game shows for good. So the movie has a classic competition between a not-ready-for-prime-time slob (the “ethnic” ex-GI Herb Stempel, played by John Turturro, who is apparently all ethnicities in one) and an elite pantywaist (Columbia professor of English Charles Van Doren, played by the cinematic face of privilege, Ralph Fiennes). The producers rig the show (spoiler!) so that Stempel loses to Van Doren, but then renege on their promise to keep Stempel flush with TV work. There’s certainly some bluntness in this movie, but Redford does take the time to murky the waters by making Stempel a little unlikeable and Van Doren a little charming and regretful. Not too shabby.

RESCUE DAWN (2007)/LITTLE DIETER NEEDS TO FLY (1997)

The story so amazing that Werner Herzog had to tell it twice, Rescue Dawn is the fictionalized biopic version of the story Dieter Dengler tells about his life in the documentary Little Dieter Needs To Fly. The documentary will blow you away, guaranteed. Herzog has Dengler re-enact many of his ordeals while telling the story of his capture and desperate escape from a Laotian prison camp. Dengler is a fascinating guy with a positivity and self-assurance that seem bottomless, especially in circumstances where most people would see no other options than despair. It’s no wonder that he’s so interesting to Herzog, who is clearly attracted to people who remain in thrall to their dreams even in the most extreme situations. Rescue Dawn is the Hollywood movie treatment of Dengler’s story, but since Herzog remains in the director’s chair, it has an extremity and beauty that usually don’t appear in Vietnam epics. Christian Bale captures Dengler’s spirit well, and the cast is excellent. There’s still something a little too idealized about it, though. To feel like you know Dengler, you should see the documentary. To be swept up into his life, supplement with the movie.

Click Here For Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four & Part Five

Contributors: Andrew Osborne, Hayden Childs

Screengrab Salutes: The Top Biopics Of All Time! (Part Two)

Andrew Osborne — Thu, 04 Dec 2008 21:30:00 GMT

GANDHI (1982)

After watching this 188-minute biographical epic (possibly the only first-run film I ever saw in a theater that featured an intermission), it was years before I was able to see Ben Kingsley without thinking of his most iconic role. Now, almost three decades later, I’m so familiar with Kingsley’s onscreen persona (thanks to films like Bugsy, Sexy Beast and The Wackness) that it’s amazing to look back on Gandhi and consider how deeply the British-Indian actor submerged himself into the role of this lawyer-turned-freedom fighter, spiritual leader and all-around Great Soul. Richard Attenborough’s production was an old school event, featuring 300,000 extras (a Guiness World Record!) and racking up eight Academy Awards (including the trifecta of Best Picture, Best Actor and Best Director) for its depiction of the life of Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi from 1893 to 1948, through his early days as an activist for Indian rights in South Africa and his leadership in the struggle for Indian independence from England to his ultimate martyrdom at the hands of a radical Hindu assassin. This kind of large canvas storytelling frequently collapses under the weight of pretension, slack pacing and scattered focus (see: Australia), but Attenborough pulled off this cinematic monument with a clear-eyed discipline worthy of his extraordinary subject.

THE PRIVATE LIFE OF HENRY VIII (1933) & REMBRANDT (1936)

Here's why Charles Laughton was a movie star. (You could be excused for not always being clear on that.) With Henry VIII, a real warhorse of a classic early talkie, Laughton did as much as anyone to create the modern image of that much-married royal as a tantrummy spoiled child who did nothing but indulge his whims and send his clothes back to the tailor to be let out again, and he did it at such a generous comic pitch that he made the fellow seem lovable, even cuddly, like an Ewok with a weakness for having his ex-girlfriends beheaded. For a full taste of the big boy's range, it ought to be sampled alongside the much quieter Rembrandt, a surprisingly sensitive and engaging portrait of the Dutch master. For that cozy family feeling, both films feature charming appearances by the off-screen Mrs. Laughton, Elsa Lanchester, who was also the on-screen Bride of Frankenstein.

SWEET DREAMS (1985)

Patsy Cline died too young, but nobody can say that the movies haven't done all right by her. Beverly D'Angelo walked off with the second act of Coal Miner's Daughter as the pampered, saucy Patsy who taught poor little country girl Loretta Lynn how to be a star, and this full-length treatment, centering on the married-folks love story between Jessica Lange's Patsy and Ed Harris as Charlie Dick (one of those guys who was born to bathe in the light of a more exciting personality generous enough to decree him worthy), is like great country music in motion. For girl talk, Lange has Ann Wedgeworth, supporting actress extraordinaire, as her mama.

LUMUMBA (2001)

Raoul Peck's film stars Eriq Ebouaney, in one of the most towering unheralded great performances of the past decade, as Patrice Lumumba, first Prime Minister of the Democratic Republic of Congo. Lumumba was driven from office and assassinated two months into his term; when the movie was made, some forty years after the events it documents, the region was still such a political powder keg that locations had to be scouted far afield, and even after the film was released to theaters, a former American government advisor who felt that he'd been accused of being implicated in Lumumba's death got HBO to bleep the mention of his name from the soundtrack before the movie was broadcast on cable TV.

LUST FOR LIFE (1956) & VINCENT & THEO (1990)

In his tragically short life, Vincent Van Gogh was underappreciated, starved, mistreated, thought mad, and forced to go without his share of love and satisfaction, but he did get two pretty good movies made about him, and one of them inspired the title of an Iggy Pop song that somehow found its way into the ad campaign of Carnival Cruise Lines, so I guess it evens out. Directed by Vincente Minnelli and starring Kirk Douglas, with James Donald as Brother Theo and Anthony Quinn as Gauguin, Lust For Life is in the dramatic MGM style and played to the hilt; a huge success in its day, it is clearly enough a product of its time that it may be a bit underrated today, but it remains a very moving experience crafted by intelligent, talented people at the height of their game. The latter film, which stars Tim Roth as a Van Gogh so ferociously in love with life and so passionately aware of how much of it he's missing out on that he can seem open-hearted and embittered at the same moment, was directed by Robert Altman, and is very clearly the product of his sensibility alone. It is barely rated at all, because so few people have seen it.

Click Here For Part One, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five & Part Six

Contributors: Andrew Osborne, Phil Nugent

Movie Review: "Elegy"

Phil Nugent — Thu, 07 Aug 2008 16:00:00 GMT

Back in the early 1980s, a new kind of movie hero appeared onscreen, a dashing international man of mystery pitted against historical bad guys. Now that the actor who played that role is in his sixties, there was some trepidation expressed in some quarters that he might be getting, as they say, too old for this shit. But now that the smoke has cleared, it seems clear that, yes, this has truly been the summer of Gandhi. Or at least of the actor who played him, Ben Kingsley. Things got off to an inauspicious start with the Mike Myers train wreck The Love Guru, where he made funny faces. More recently, he appeared in Brad Anderson's indie thriller Transsiberian, where he made with a funny accent. And in between, there was Jonathan Levine's The Wackness (also known as I Love the '90s: The Motion Picture), where he made out with an Olsen twin. (I forget which one--they do look alike, after all--but I'm guessing that it was whichever one was on Weeds. She seems to be the one with the wild-child gene.) Now Kingsley has a full-on starring role in Elegy. directed by the Spanish-born filmmaker Isabel Coixet from Nicholas Meyer's adaptation of the Philip Roth novel The Dying Animal.

Kingsley plays David Kepesh, a New York literature professor and host of a Leonard Lopate-like radio talk show. (The novel marks Kepesh's third starring role in a Roth novel. He first appeared in the 1972 The Breast, which he narrates from his hospital bed after having metamorphosed into the 155-pound title character. After that, apparently, he got better.) Obsessing over his inability to fold in the face of "the tyranny of beauty" has always been Kepesh's thing, and this time the dictator with his heart (or any blood-pulsing organ) in her hand is Penelope Cruz, playing a student thirty years his junior who eases into a post-semester affair with the panting old thing. Actually, the biggest surprise of Elegy may be just how well Kingsley holds up his end of their steamy affair, especially in his bare-chested bedroom scenes. When Kingsley was a much younger man, he often had the reticent manner and the looks of someone who seemed to be killing time waiting to become as old as he felt. Now that he's 64, there's something commanding about him that goes beyond acting technique. I found the sexual attraction between him and Cruz convincing. Cruz herself is a different matter. Physically she embodies the concept of the tyranny of beauty just fine, but she still can't act with any authority in English, and Coixet makes her look kind of ridiculous by dressing her as if she were in her teens or early twenties (or as if she were a thirtyish woman acting out a premature midlife crisis, which doesn't seem to be the idea). In her shiny dark bangs and colorful East Village folk costume, she's the human equivalent of a Hello Kitty backpack.

Coixet--she made the deathwatch melodrama My Life without Me-- is not the world's most visually resourceful director, and here, telling a story that depends a lot on emotions that would be impossible to convey in words, she puts a lot of weight on Kingsley, shoving the camera in his face when he's alone in the frame and practically yelling, "Act!" (She and Meyer have also accommodated their star by making Kepesh a transplanted Englishman. This will come as news to Roth fans, but it's a relief to get to hear Kingsley caressing his dialogue in his own voice for a change.) The movie is worth seeing for his scenes with the other actors in the smallish cast: Patricia Clarkson as his semi-regular fuck buddy of the past twenty years, Peter Sarsgaard as his (embittered) son the doctor, and especially, and surprisingly, Dennis Hopper as his best friend, a bearded poet named George O'Hearn. Kingsley and Hopper may actually be a weirder pairing than Kingsley and Cruz, especially since this one works. I'd assumed that Hopper was perfectly content in his little rut, but he looks incredibly happy to get to be in a movie where he doesn't have to snort coke or get his thumbs scissored off or try to think up a new way to deliver the line "Fuck!" while wielding an Uzi, and he gives a fine, engaging performance that lends Kingsley solid back-up. (His wife is played by Deborah Harry, who, like Hopper, has aged a lot more gracefully than you might have thought possible: in profile, she looks as if she ought to be posing for her official portrait as First Lady of something.) And Ben Kingsley establishes himself as a formidable post-middle-age sex symbol for the literary appreciation set. It's a measure of just how formidable that he's got me trying to think up alternative terms for "old", since he looks as if he might conceivably be able to kick my ass.

Unwatchable #77: “BloodRayne 2: Deliverance”

Scott Von Doviak — Wed, 16 Jul 2008 17:00:00 GMT

Our fearless – and quite possibly senseless – movie janitor is watching every movie on the IMDb Bottom 100 list. Join us now for another installment of Unwatchable.

Here’s a nice change of pace. In our last installment, we looked at the zombie western The Quick and the Undead. This time it’s the vampire western BloodRayne 2: Deliverance. If there are any mummy westerns awaiting further up the list, well, I’d just as soon be surprised.

BloodRayne 2 is the first Uwe Boll movie we’ve encountered on our journey up the Bottom 100 chart, but I’m confident it won’t be the last. Boll is, of course, the renowned videogame-to-movie schlockmeister and favored punching bag of internet movie geeks. And true to form, BloodRayne 2 is a videogame adaptation, although I must confess to being familiar neither with the game nor the first BloodRayne movie. Because I care, I did a little research before settling down to enjoy the film. Here are my findings: Rayne is a half-human, half-vampire hybrid known as a dhampir. Her father was the king of the vampires and was played by Ben Kingsley, and this sort of makes me wish I was watching the original rather than the sequel. Alas, there is no Kingsley (nor any other known actors) in BloodRayne 2, which was released directly to video.

I also gather that the first BloodRayne was set in 18th century Romania, whereas BloodRayne 2 is set in the Old West town of Deliverance. (Confusingly enough, the BloodRayne videogame was set during World War II, but we’ve got enough to worry about without getting into that.) Deliverance is a quiet little place that’s just now getting the railroad, and reporter Newton Pyles (Chris Coppola), who has been dispatched from the east coast to collect true tales of the wild, wild west, is having trouble finding anything wild to write about. That is, until a pack of vampires descends on the town to feed on the children of Deliverance. Their leader: Billy the Kid! Billy the Kid with a Romanian accent! Just like in all the stories.

Who can stop these fiends? Only the dhampir Rayne (Natassia Malthe, #53 on Maxim’s 100 Sexiest Women list). Sure, in her leather cowgirl outfit she looks like she should be pouring Jager shots and dancing on the bar at Coyote Ugly, but she’s handy with swords and guns that fire silver bullets rubbed in garlic and blessed with holy water. Her showdown with Billy the Kid is one for the ages, assuming the ages were between 9 and 9:30 last night.

I have to assume this is not close to Uwe Boll’s worst work, because it’s pretty much indistinguishable from any other straight-to-video genre junk. Boll rips off musical cues from Once Upon a Time in the West and Deadwood, so at least he steals from the good stuff. There is one scene that, while not particularly well executed, at least caught my attention. It involves a trap Billy the Kid sets, with the town’s children rigged up with nooses around their necks and Rayne struggling to balance a weight that will keep them from being hanged. But now that I think of it, Boll probably ripped that off from a better movie, too.

Previously on Unwatchable:
78. The Quick and the Undead
79. Anus Magillicutty
80. The Smokers
81. Soccer Dog: The Movie
82. American Soldiers

America the Beautiful: 15 Movies That Show What's Right With U.S. (Part Two)

Andrew Osborne — Thu, 03 Jul 2008 20:30:00 GMT

THE RIGHT STUFF (1983)

The title of Tom Wolfe's book refers to the ineffable, super-American quality that Wolfe attributed to the anonymous test pilots who paved the way for the NASA space program -- whose stars, the Apollo astronauts, Wolfe depicted as media puppets by comparison. Phil Kaufman's movie version hangs onto the romantic mythology of the test pilots and treats the astronauts' public packaging as comedy, but it also honors the astronauts as real heroes who, by learning to play the media and sticking together to face down the bureaucrats and the scientists with the Dr. Strangelove accents, proved their mettle and created a new kind of savvy icon for the TV age. Amazingly, this satiric yet stirring popcorn epic wasn't much of a hit in theaters but has since achieved classic status as a home video perennial. It has so many high points that it's practically made for the rewind button.

SOMETHING WILD (1986)

Jonathan Demme's road movie/screwball romance crams every getaway fantasy destination you can think of into one wild weekend: shanghaied from his lunch hour by Lulu, the boho funk priestess (Melanie Griffith) in the thrift shop accouterments and Louise Brooks 'do, Charlie the office drone (Jeff Daniels) stops by the liquor store, gets screwed to within an inch of his life in the roadside motel, meets his new flame's mom, hits the dance floor during the high school reunion, and barely makes it home Monday morning with the small town sociopath (Ray Liotta) in hot pursuit. Demme keeps things fresh with the jumping soundtrack and the crowded supporting cast, which includes fellow directors (among them John Waters, perfectly cast as a used car salesman) and faces from other Demme movies (such as Steve Scales, from Stop Making Sense, as a tourist-shop cashier who offers Daniels the sage advice, "Charlie, attempt to be cool."). They don't just liven up the screen; the way Demme uses them, the many bit players passing through suggest the variety of life that you pass by and rub up against in just a couple of days spent on the American road. The movie seems to be hinting at a hundred other stories that are out there, ready to be told; the camera just happened to latch onto Charlie and Lulu first.

O BROTHER, WHERE ART THOU? (2000)

Just your typical Depression-era musical comedy based on Homer's Odyssey, O Brother Where Art Thou is often dismissed as one of the Coen Brothers' sillier efforts. Well, sure, it is pretty silly at times, but it's also the Coens' richest, most satisfying serving of pure Americana to date. While Blood Simple, Raising Arizona, Miller's Crossing and Fargo had drilled into very specific subcultures, regionalisms and genres, O Brother is as expansive as the American South itself – a melting pot of prison flicks, road movies, musicals, social issue pictures and screwball comedies. From the golden-hued landscapes beautifully photographed by Roger Deakins (and later computer-enhanced) to corny-but-right images like a pie cooling on a windowsill to the Ku Klux Klan/Wizard of Oz mash-up that might have been disastrously offensive in the hands of less skilled filmmakers, the movie is a technical marvel. But more than that, it's a love letter to the pure American music forms of folk, country and blues – the Harry Smith Anthology come to life. And in moments as when the casually integrated Soggy Bottom Boys take the stage to a raucous ovation from an audience that literally runs a racist politician out of town on a rail, it's a celebration of community, holding a cracked mirror up to the best aspects of our national character.

DAVE (1993)

Like all nations, the U.S. has its share of assholes, but even our critics generally concede that Americans, by and large, are basically decent people: optimistic, can-do types, generally willing to help out and do the right thing, especially when our leaders quit pandering to our fear and greed and inspire us to roll up our sleeves and achieve worthy goals. Of course, for all the talk of elites, political insiders, change and the American mainstream in the current election, no president, congressman or media pundit is ever really an average citizen, living as they do in a bubble of power and privilege the nation’s true average Joes (and Daves) can only dream about...which is part of what makes Ivan Reitman’s good-natured political comedy so appealing. Released during the honeymoon period of the Clinton administration, when Bubba was still viewed as a charming, sax-playing, fast-food noshing everyman, Dave tells the story of part-time presidential impersonator Dave Kovic (Kevin Kline) who winds up in the Oval Office after the real president (Kline again) suffers a stroke while cheating on his imperious wife (Sigourney Weaver). Oily, Cheney-esque chief-of-staff Bob Alexander (Frank Langella) arranges the charade, intending to use Kovic as a puppet mouthpiece for his own agenda, but the plan goes awry when the impersonator starts acting more presidential than the corrupt president he started off imitating, using his newfound power to actually, y’know, help and support the American people rather than fleecing them like a vast herd of sheep. After outsmarting Alexander, romancing the First Lady and ensuring that a conveniently upstanding deus ex machina of a vice president (Ben Kingsley) will take his place, Kovic leaves the White House behind and returns to his regular life, where he decides to run for his local city council, echoing the film’s underlying message that our government functions best when our best people are in government.

MR. SMITH GOES TO WASHINGTON (1939)

He's often cited as America's most patriotic filmmaker, and there's no doubt that to a certain degree, Frank Capra – born in Sicily, and the very image of an immigrant boy made good – deserves the title. But most of his films aren't simply pro-American jingoism: they're patriotic in the truest sense, in that they recognize the flaws of Capra's adopted country and seek to address them, never pretending that this isn't a nation with profound problems, but likewise never succumbing to cynicism and always holding out the hope that even one individual can make a difference. Nowhere is this more evident than in the wonderful Mr. Smith Goes to Washington. Although today, the film – buoyed by a tremendously charismatic performance by Jimmy Stewart as the naïve but determined junior senator Jefferson Smith – is considered a classic depiction of grass-roots democracy and the way the little guy can succeed in his struggle against entrenched forces, it wasn't quite so warmly received at the time. Since Capra didn't flinch from portraying Washington as a deeply corrupt place full of crooked politicians and smear merchants, both Democrats and Republicans denounced it as a vicious attack on our noble democracy; some even pegged Capra as a communist agitator determined to stir up trouble. But in the end, the image of Sen. Smith's desperate filibuster has stayed with us as a lasting reminder of Capra's philosophy that one man, no matter how many forces are arrayed against him, can triumph against evil – and what could be more American than that?

Click here for Part One & Part Three

Contributors: Phil Nugent, Scott Von Doviak, Andrew Osborne, Leonard Pierce

Provincetown International Film Festival Review: The Wackness

Andrew Osborne — Mon, 23 Jun 2008 18:00:00 GMT

Here’s all I knew about The Wackness going in: it won the audience award at the 2008 Sundance Film Festival, it starred Ben Kingsley as a kooky psychiatrist, Mary-Kate Olsen had a cameo making out with the aforementioned knight of the British Empire, it had something to do with New York wigger culture and it sounded unbelievably annoying.

Happily, though, writer/director Jonathan Levine’s coming-of-age story turns out to be much, much better than the sum of its awful-sounding parts. Much of the credit goes to Levine’s clever script and vivid evocation of 1994 Giuliani-era NYC (including a pretty fly-for-a-white guy soundtrack featuring The Notorious B.I.G., Wu-Tang Clan, Biz Markie, etc. and a startling, throwaway shot of the Twin Towers), but Josh Peck’s shy, winning and completely relatable performance as dejected teenage pot dealer Luke Shapiro is so good it withstands comparisons to Dustin Hoffman’s breakthrough role as another smart, alienated young man in Mike Nichols’ 1967 existential angst classic, The Graduate (and Hoffman never had to deliver a line like “I’m mad depressed, yo” and somehow make it work).

Kingsley takes the Mrs. Robinson role here, chewing a fair amount of scenery as Peck's older foil, a pothead shrink who trades dimebags for 50-minute therapy sessions, urging Shapiro to seize the day, then turning hostile when he realizes the young man would rather seize his stepdaughter (Olivia Thirlby).

Thirlby (Ellen Page’s BFF in Juno) is a wised-up, sexually precocious object of desire, and her chemistry with Peck is palpable as she urges Shapiro to quit focusing on the wackness of life and embrace the dopeness. For her part, Mary-Kate Olsen’s cameo as a stoned nympho hippie is relatively unobjectionable (and pretty funny in a meta way if you consider how recently she roamed the streets of the same but very different city as one of the squeaky-clean, family-friendly stars of the big stinky tweener bomb New York Minute). Famke Janssen, Method Man and Jane Adams also turn in reliably solid (if unexceptional) performances in minor roles.

Related Stories: Sundance Roundup: Day 3, Screengrab (Maybe) Confirms a Rumor About Gael Garcia Bernal, Reports Actual Facts About Quentin Tarantino & Christopher Guest

Tribeca Film Festival Review: "War, Inc."

Phil Nugent — Sat, 26 Apr 2008 14:00:00 GMT

John Cusack gets his smug on in War, Inc., a satiricial action comedy with a touch every bit as light and precise as its sledgehammer title. Cusack, who co-produced the movie with Grace Loh for his New Crime Productions, and splits the screenplay credit between himself, novelist Mark Leyner, and Bulworth scripter and Huffington Post blogger Jeremy Pikser, plays a hit man who is hired by Tamerlane, a Halliburton-like corporaton that is staffing America's first war that has been fully outsourced to the private sector. The movie intends an attack on how big business profits from, and may even influence, American foreign policy, but its ideas about how that's reshaping the world seem to have only gotten as far as slapping company logos on the sides of tanks and in smoking urban war zones, a device that mainly results in some really questionable product placement deals. (The Get Smart-style entrance to the lair of the American intelligence officers is through a Popeyes chicken joint, arguably the most prominent space that franchise has been awarded in a major Hollywood production since the Adam Sandler vehicle Little Nicky established that the denizens of Hell thought quite highly of their product.) The movie hits its targets only once in a great while, particularly when it goes after the gullibility and culpability of the media. There's a choice sequence about an imbedded group of reporters who get a taste of what it's like in a war-ravaged country by being treated to a Sensurround-style simulated ride through rough terrain. (They cheer with excitement, just like Geraldo every time he sees his name in the paper spelled right.)

War, Inc. positions itself as a sort-of-sequel to the 1997 New Crime Production Grosse Pointe Blank; it doesn't continue that movie's story or revive its characters, but it does reunite some if its key personnel while aiming for something similar in tone and approach. Cusack's emotionally confused master assassin with a streak of white in his dark hair is Martin Blank with ten years on him in all but name; Joan Cusack is once again his personal assistant (but this time, infuriatingly, is subjected to unflattering lighting and funhouse lenses and camera angles), and Dan Aykroyd turns up to do his Dick Cheney impression as the self-satisfied master of the universe dealing Cusack his orders. (They are joined by Marisa Tomei, who, as usual, pumps an incredible amount of sexiness and vitality into her corner of the vaccuum, and Ben Kingsley, who attempts what I think is meant to be a Texas accent, though it could just as easily have labeled his character as an Australian, a Venusian, or just a raving nut.) This is actually a clever approach--just as it was when the cast of A Fish Called Wanda did it in Fierce Creatures, a movie that didn't work either--but it mainly serves to highlight how opportunistic the difference between the two pictures feels. Grosse Pointe Blank, which came riding in on the last fumes of the Pulp Fiction bandwagon, treated murder as a hip slapstick joke. War, Inc. has the same kind of what-me-worry approach to violent chaos and the same admiring attitude towards its hero's murderous prowess, but it expects to be taken as being on a deeper, more meaningful level of smirking cynicism because Cusack has sunk to working for Republican CEOs. (In both films, Cusack is paired with a heroine--Minnie Driver in Grosse Pointe Blank, Marisa Tomei here--who expresses horror at his violent side until she needs rescuing.) War, Inc. is set to go straight to DVD after a non-victory lap of the festivals and a token New York/Los Angeles theatrical release, and Cusack and company are welcome to console themselves with the thought that their movie was punished for the sharpness of its bite. But its "satire" is the kind of thing that The Daily Show regularly makes fun of.

Trailer Review: War, Inc.

Paul Clark — Fri, 18 Apr 2008 16:00:00 GMT

In theory, I support any film that takes on the hot-button topic of war profiteering. So why do I have absolutely no interest in seeing this? Could have something to do with the assault of shrill satire in this trailer- repeated shots of a Popeye's Chicken in the middle of a war zone, a dance line of people wearing prosthetic limbs, the final LeBron James reference, etc. The wayyyyyyyyyy-over-the-top supporting turns don't help matters. Joan Cusack and Marisa Tomei appear to have been directed to outdo each other in terms of volume and quirkiness, while Ben Kingsley scarcely seems to have been directed at all. Meanwhile, John Cusack could give this performance in his sleep by now. But hey, if you're a middle-aged guy who's been jonesing for Hilary Duff to show off her naughty side in a movie you won't feel weird about paying to see, then War Inc. is the movie for you. It's just, y'know, not the movie for me.

Sundance: The Final Roundup

Scott Von Doviak — Sun, 27 Jan 2008 18:51:00 GMT

It’s all over except for the long lines at security in the Salt Lake City airport. The awards were handed out last night by a jury featuring Quentin Tarantino and Marcia Gay Harden, and the top honors went to a couple of politically-charged pictures that flew under the radar for most of the festival. The grand jury prize for drama went to Frozen River, writer-director Courtney Hunt’s film about two women smuggling immigrants across the Canadian border. The top prize for documentaries went to Trouble the Water, about New Orleans families struggling in the aftermath of Katrina.

But that’s not all. As Kenneth Turan notes, awards were handed out like Halloween candy this year, with top audience prizes going to The Wackness and Fields of Fuel. Other notable recipients include American Teen (for dramatic directing), Man on Wire (for world documentary) and Choke (special jury prize for ensemble cast). Over at Slamdance, a documentary about a Neil Diamond cover band (Song Sung Blue) was the big winner.

In addition to its award, The Wackness picked up a distributor. Per the Hollywood Reporter, Sony Pictures Classics will ensure that you get the opportunity to watch Ben Kingsley and Mary-Kate Olsen swapping spit.

And on that note, that’s a wrap for this year. Let’s hit the slopes!

Mike D'Angelo at Sundance: Part 3

Peter Smith — Tue, 22 Jan 2008 17:15:00 GMT

Mike D'Angelo reports from the Sundance Film Festival:

So far no good on the Dramatic Competition front — which is a bit of a bummer, since those are the movies I came here to see, for the most part. I must confess that I didn't even last halfway through buzz magnet The Wackness, which expends most of its creative energy in its title, leaving writer-director Jonathan Levine with nothing to do but find jokes predicated on our knowledge that we're no longer living in 1994. ("Does this have anything to do with Kurt Cobain?" asks Ben Kingsley's pothead shrink of a patient.) Apparently, Kingsley makes out with an Olsen twin after I hit the exit; somebody more tuned into the zeitgeist than myself will have to explain why this is a big cultural event. Other Competition titles are such well-intentioned mediocrities that badmouthing them feels like kicking an injured dog, and word on Good Dick, which I was planning to see this afternoon, is so toxic that I'll likely wind up defecting to some obscure foreign film.

On the other hand, this year's documentaries continue to impress, and I say that as someone who much prefers fiction to nonfiction when it comes to cinema. Slingshot Hip Hop, an energetic portrait of the burgeoning Palestinian rap scene, features a bevy of great music and spotlights a truly sobering irony: In a genre that thrives on collaboration — name any significant hip-hop single of the last few years that doesn't include the word "Feat." — it's hard to create and sustain a movement when you're not permitted to travel ten short miles to meet the peers who've inspired you.

Even more politically trenchant is the articulate policy debate called Secrecy, which tackles what is arguably the key question of the information age — namely, how do we reconcile freedom and security? Directors Peter Galison and Robb Moss don't attempt to hide their belief that the U.S.'s government's increasing obsession with classification does more harm than good, and is being used today primarily as a means for the executive branch to avoid accountability. To their credit, however, they also give ample screen time to former CIA and NSA employees, who make a strong case for the opposing viewpoint — so strong, in fact, that I left the movie feeling as if the problem might be inherently insoluble. Like many expository docs, Secrecy sometimes feels more like an animated book than a movie, despite attempts to jazz things up via animated interludes and a propulsive score; you can't help but feel as if the surface of this enormous subject has barely been scratched. But much more than last year's bizarrely overpraised, in-case-you-missed-several-years-worth-of-the-news compendium, No End in Sight, this evenhanded act of advocacy is required viewing for the hundreds of millions of us who have consented to be governed.

Sundance Roundup: Day 3

Scott Von Doviak — Sat, 19 Jan 2008 20:30:00 GMT

Today’s Sundance buzz is all about Sir Ben Kingsley making out with one of the Olsen twins in a phone booth. No, it’s not the aftermath of a particularly out-of-control Park City bash – just a scene from The Wackness, in which Kingsley plays a psychiatrist who trades his services for weed and hooks up with another of his dealer’s clients, played by Mary-Kate Olsen. Per the Associated Press, Olsen “said she'd been worried about pulling off Kingsley's hairpiece during filming but pronounced the make-out session ‘fun.’” Good to know.

Unknown director Amy Redford was on hand for the premiere of her film The Guitar yesterday. Her father, a fellow named Robert, said all the right things to the Salt Lake Tribune. “She will probably have a rougher time than anybody…She did it on her own.”

We told you yesterday’s hot ticket would be Roman Polanski: Wanted and Desired, and sure enough, the Weinstein Company has swooped in and purchased the international rights to the documentary. Domestic rights remain available if you’re interested.

Or maybe you just want to look at the pretty people. Entertainment Weekly’s photo gallery includes Mary-Kate snuggling with Colin Farrell. Sorry, Sir Ben.