NEW RELEASES
DON’T SAY A WORD Gary Fleder directed the 1997
Morgan Freeman thriller Kiss the Girls, but for whatever reason, he wasn’t
involved with last spring’s follow-up Along Came a Spider, about the
search for a kidnapped girl. Perhaps suffering from franchise envy, Fleder opted
to put his name on Don’t Say a Word, which, oddly enough, also involves
the kidnapping of a little girl. In short, Fleder was screwed from either direction
with this particular plotline, making one wonder if he should have tried for
a generic Disney comedy instead. Word doesn’t have quite as many plotholes
as Spider, but it also doesn’t have Freeman’s stabilizing presence; instead,
its marquee draw is Michael Douglas, who seems utterly bored with this particular
project. He plays Dr. Nathan Conrad, a New York psychiatrist whose daughter
is snatched by crooks whose defining trait is that they don’t have a single
defining trait between them. The good doctor learns that the only way he’ll
get his daughter back is by extracting valuable information from the mind of
one of his patients (Brittany Murphy), a catatonic woman with a murky past.
Murphy’s disturbed character is the most interesting one in the film, and this
might have worked had it bothered to treat her as more than just an occasional
plot device. As it stands, this boils down to routine police procedurals (stretch),
cars speeding through city streets (yawn), and Douglas trading climactic blows
with the baddies (zzzzzz). 
GLITTER Or, A Star Is Stillborn. If there’s
one positive thing to say about Glitter (and believe me, there really
is only one), it’s that, unlike their overreacting peers, its makers elected
to keep the fleeting shots of the World Trade Center in the picture. The current
rush to erase the buildings’ presence in all modes of entertainment is just
plain wrong (besides chalking one up for the terrorists, it dishonors the memory
of not only the victims but also of the architectural wonders themselves). Glitter made me glad to see there were some folks who didn’t go along with this questionable
edict (my belief that people want to see the twin towers was validated by New
York Times critic Lawrence Van Gelder, who, in his Glitter review,
wrote that “the only sight that aroused the [audience] to applause was the World
Trade Center”). But aside from offering shots of the WTC, there’s absolutely
nothing of interest in a vanity piece so self-absorbed, it makes Prince’s Purple
Rain look like a model of modesty and restraint. Mariah Carey, displaying
all the acting ability of a chia pet, stars as Billie Frank, who goes from being
a struggling back-up singer to landing a major label contract, putting out a
hit album, recording music videos and attending awards shows — all within a
span of about six months! Drained of all vitality and refusing to embrace a
single original notion, Glitter does offer several unintentionally funny
moments — enough, anyway, to make it a future camp classic.
GREENFINGERS By all appearances, Greenfingers appears to be veddy, veddy British, coming from the same well that sprung forth
The Full Monty, Billy Elliot and other quirky, uplifting comedy-dramas
from the other side of the pond. Go figure, then: The movie’s writer-director,
Joel Hershman, hails from Brooklyn and LA, and he based his picture on a New
York Times article. All this really proves, however, is that this undemanding
sub-genre has been ironed out to the point that anyone can join the party. Like
most recent films of this sort, this one’s the equivalent of a Sunday afternoon
stroll through the park: pleasant, cheery, and forgotten by the following Sunday.
Clive Owen, whose terrific performance in last year’s Croupier should
have won him an award or two, has such an incredible screen presence, it’s a
wonder he isn’t already a star (many scribes, myself included, have noted that
he should be the one playing James Bond). He brings that smoldering intensity
to this otherwise featherweight feature about a group of prisoners who find
a form of freedom through their newly gained interest in gardening. While serving
time, the five men (including Owen’s character) are encouraged to cultivate
the compound’s first garden, and it’s not long before their achievement comes
to the attention of noted horticulturist Georgina Woodhouse (Helen Mirren).
In true Hollywood style, the convicts are about as threatening as the Backstreet
Boys, but the movie’s charms nearly outweigh its narrative complacency. 1/2
ZOOLANDER After scoring big as part of the comic
ensembles of There’s Something About Mary and Meet the Parents,
it seemed like a natural progression for Ben Stiller’s first solo starring role
to thrust him into the stratosphere. Instead, Zoolander, which finds
Stiller serving as actor, director, co-writer and co-producer, turns out to
be the most ragged comedy of the bunch, a frequently timid spoof that’s surprisingly
arid in between the handful of genuinely splendid gags. Based on a skit created
for the 1996 VH1/Vogue Fashion Awards, this casts Stiller as Derek Zoolander,
an imbecilic male model who becomes involved in a conspiracy plot that explains
why there are no male models under the age of 30 (Logan’s Runway?). Zoolander
himself becomes the biggest patsy in this nefarious scheme, and it’s up a fellow
model (Owen Wilson) and a Time reporter (Christine Taylor, Stiller’s
wife) to help him bring down the villains. Throw your popcorn bag at the screen
and chances are you’ll hit a major star making a cameo appearance — David Bowie,
Winona Ryder, Jon Voight, Fabio, the list goes on — but all the glad-handing
between celebrities can’t disguise the fact that there’s not enough here to
sustain an entire movie (even one that clocks in at 90 minutes). Still, there
are some terrific bits scattered around (the gasoline scene is a riot), and
Stiller and Wilson are perfectly cast as supermodels so idiotic, they think
a bulimic is someone with the ability to read minds. 1/2
CURRENT RELEASES
APOCALYPSE NOW REDUX For over two decades, Francis
Coppola’s 1979 Apocalypse Now has remained one of the great moviegoing
experiences of a lifetime, a messy masterpiece (loosely adapted from Joseph
Conrad’s Heart of Darkness) that wasn’t so much about the Vietnam War
as it was about the madness and senselessness inherent in any conflict between
men (it serves that adage “War Is Hell” better than any other movie that comes
to mind). With the recent proliferation of the “director’s cut,” which allows
filmmakers the opportunity to go back and fine-tune their past triumphs, it
was probably inevitable that Coppola would want to monkey around with a film
that has often been tagged a “flawed” masterpiece and make it perfect. But Apocalypse
Now Redux, armed with 48 minutes of extra footage, isn’t perfect — in fact,
the irony is that it’s even more of a “flawed” masterpiece than its predecessor.
That’s not to say that this isn’t the best thing to pass through theaters this
year; on the contrary, whether or not you’ve seen the 22-year-old cut, this
is still a must-see movie event. Nothing’s changed as far as the central story
is concerned: As before, Captain Willard (Martin Sheen) has been ordered to
travel up river into Cambodia and terminate the insane Colonel Kurtz (Marlon
Brando) “with extreme prejudice.” The extra footage is a mixed bag: A lengthy
sequence set on a French plantation stops the film dead in its tracks, but additional
scenes centering around Brando’s character are nothing short of fascinating.
As for the print quality, this movie has never looked or sounded better.
THE GLASS HOUSE The press material for The
Glass House plugs the film as a “psychological thriller,” a designation
more likely to apply to a Tweety & Sylvester cartoon than to this simpleminded
melodrama. Leelee Sobieski, whose physical resemblance to Helen Hunt suggests
that cloning may already be underway in Hollywood, is cast as Ruby Baker, a
teenager who, along with her younger brother Rhett (Trevor Morgan), finds herself
orphaned after her parents are killed in an automobile accident. With nowhere
to go, the kids are adopted by their parents’ former best friends, a couple
who now live in one of those shiny Malibu homes that look more like desk ornaments
than places of residence. Right from the start, there’s tension between Ruby
and her keepers, Terry and Erin Glass (Stellan Skarsgard and Diane Lane), and
it’s not long before Ruby suspects the Glasses are only interested in the children’s
sizable inheritance. After a shaky beginning that utterly fails to provide any
sort of comprehensive character dynamics (this section is so underwritten, even
the actors cast as family members appear as if they’re meeting each other for
the very first time), the film picks up once it focuses on Ruby’s efforts to
piece the puzzle together. But as the plot thickens (or, in this case, becomes
more thickheaded), credibility flies out the window and eventually elects to
leave the country altogether. There’s no shortage of good actors on board —
even Bruce Dern turns up — but they spend most of their time stumbling into
the script’s gaping plotholes.
HEARTS IN ATLANTIS With the passing of
John Gielgud last year, the greatest voice in cinema now belongs to Anthony
Hopkins, whose dulcet tones lend a degree of reassurance to his heroes and a
sense of seductive menace to his villains. Above all, his voice suggests a world-weary
intelligence (it’s questionable whether this excellent actor could effectively
play an imbecile), and it’s this quality that juices his character in the latest
screen adaptation of a Stephen King bestseller. Set in 1960, the film casts
Hopkins as Ted Brautigan, a mysterious figure who moves into a boarding house
also occupied by struggling single mom Liz Garfield (Hope Davis) and her young
son Bobby (Anton Yelchin). Liz is suspicious of Ted, but Bobby develops a friendship
with the soft-spoken man, who, in between providing valuable life lessons pertaining
to compassion and self-esteem, asks the lad to keep an eye out for shady characters
he insists are after him. Hearts In Atlantis isn’t the smoothest King
adaptation out there — scripter William Goldman has minimized the supernatural
aspects of the tale so that their erratic appearances feel jarring and intrusive.
But in addition to providing Hopkins with a formfitting role, the movie does
an exquisite job of conveying the flush’n’blush of that first childhood romance:
The scenes between Bobby and his sweetheart Carol (Mika Boorem) are beautifully
handled, thanks in no small measure to the late Piotr Sobocinski’s luminous
cinematography and the wonderful performances by the two young actors.
JEEPERS CREEPERS “Jeepers Creepers” composers
Johnny Mercer and Harry Warren must be spinning in their graves with the release
of this absurd horror yarn, in which a cannibalistic winged demon goes on a
murderous rampage whenever he hears the title tune (personally, Phil Collins’
“Sussudio” is the only song that would conceivably make me take a hatchet to
someone’s head, but never mind). Adding a slick contempo sheen to the Texas
Chainsaw Massacre template (thereby ignoring the grimy, low-budget look
that made that 1974 classic so disturbing), this finds two college-age siblings
(well-played by Gina Philips and Justin Long), stranded in the middle of Nowhere,
USA, stopping to investigate when they spot a menacing figure dropping bodies
down a pipe (their reasons for not calling the police are witless even beyond
the low-ebb demands of the slasher genre). They find a basement full of corpses,
but, even worse, they learn that the Creeper (a cross between Freddy Krueger
and the Creature from the Black Lagoon) is now after them. Lapses in plotting
and logic are tossed out at such a breakneck speed, you wonder if writer-director
Victor Salva (Powder) was going for some sort of world record. (My favorites:
Why does a being with the ability to fly at incredible speeds spend most of
his time driving around in a beat-up truck? And how on earth did he acquire
a personalized license plate?) The sick ending, by the way, exists only to justify
the title and sets things up for a sequel I’ll be sure to avoid.1/2
O Othello, Shakespeare’s tragic tale of
the Moor who “lov’d not wisely but too well,” has been given an overhaul in
this new version, but the end result proves to be as irrelevant as last year’s
Hamlet, which clumsily transferred the story to the world of New York
conglomerates. Here, the setting is a Charleston high school, as Odin (Mekhi
Phifer), the sole black student, and his girlfriend Desi (Julia Stiles) find
themselves manipulated by their evil classmate Hugo (Josh Hartnett). Tim Blake
Nelson, whose performance as Delmar (one of the Soggy Bottom Boys) in O Brother,
Where Art Thou? demonstrated a lot more creativity than his direction of
this film, may have been trying to connect his movie to the present dilemma
of school violence, but in the process, he and writer Brad Kaaya have stripped
the Bard’s tale of its power. The high school setting isn’t remotely believable
(at least in the Taming of the Shrew update 10 Things I Hate About
You, the teens really sounded like teens), and with Shakespeare’s delicious
dialogue replaced with modern vernacular, the character of Othello/Odin has
been trivialized, essentially coming off as a grandstanding teen who succumbs
to the brutal instincts residing within him. Phifer and Stiles try to add import
to their roles, but Hartnett’s approach to Hugo/Iago is all wrong: I chortled
when someone stated that his character is liked by everyone, since it’s inconceivable
any self-respecting clique would put up with this sullen creep for even a minute.
ROCK STAR Taking its cue from a real-life development
involving Judas Priest, Rock Star tells the story of a singer for a tribute
band whose wildest dream gets realized when he’s chosen to replace the lead
singer in his favorite heavy metal outfit. Mark Wahlberg, in yet another highly
appealing performance, plays Chris Cole, a devoted musician who starts out as
the lead singer for the unknown group Blood Pollution before being hand-picked
to front the chart-topping metal band Steel Dragon. Supported by his girlfriend-manager
(Jennifer Aniston), Chris embraces his newfound stardom, but the combination
of sex, drugs and rock & roll concerts eventually threatens to destroy his
personal life. Known primarily for churning out mediocre comedies for Disney
(The Mighty Ducks, Holy Man, etc.), director Stephen Herek attempts to
toughen up his resume with a movie that purports to reveal the harsh realities
of the rock lifestyle but instead ends up feeling carefully manufactured —
it’s like a feature-length version of Bon Jovi’s “Wanted Dead Or Alive” music
video. Still, despite its superficial sheen and the predictable turns that John
Stockwell’s script eventually take, the movie is often a lot of fun, featuring
some minor digressions from the formula (e.g. Chris’ parents are supportive
of his interests), the clever casting of real-life musicians in key supporting
roles, and the novelty of seeing Mike Leigh regular Timothy Spall (Topsy-Turvy)
as an unkempt band manager. 1/2
ALSO PLAYING
AMERICAN PIE 2 The first piece of Pie worked so well largely because of its appealing actors, and this sequel’s trump
card is that it brings back the original cast in its entirety. Their presence
helps offset the film’s randy gag quotient, which is more aggressive than necessary
(though the sheer chutzpah of a couple scenes admittedly left me grinning against
my better judgment…). 1/2
THE DEEP END With Tilda Swinton (Orlando)
as the embodiment of the maternal urge, this thriller does a masterful job conveying
the desperation beneath the domesticity, as Swinton’s Lake Tahoe housewife is
faced with an unfamiliar world once she’s forced to cover up the accidental
death of her son’s sleazy lover. This is a crafty, absorbing drama, though it
does falter during the home stretch.
JAY AND SILENT BOB STRIKE BACK This ode to
America’s favorite slackers is a scattershot comedy that’s endearing in its
own oafish way, as Jay (Jason Mewes) and Silent Bob (writer-director Kevin Smith)
head to Hollywood to stop production of a film based on their comic book alter-egos,
Bluntman and Chronic. Smith’s good-natured self-effacement makes the movie seem
sweet in spite of its potty mouth.
THE OTHERS A British woman (Nicole Kidman) suspects
her house might be haunted in this exceptional thriller from writer-director
Alejandro Amenabar. This is the sort of muted terror tale that rarely gets made
anymore: Creepy rather than scary, it builds upon an overriding sense of hopelessness
and dread that’s made tangible through the shadowy cinematography, a wonderful
music score (by Amenabar himself), and a strong performance by Kidman. 1/2
RAT RACE Following in the tenuous comic tradition
of It’s a Mad Mad Mad Mad World, The Cannonball Run and Million Dollar
Mystery, this frequently terrible picture finds various strangers taking
to the highway in a race to see who can reach a two million dollar cash prize
first. Out of the all-struggling-star cast, Jon Lovitz and Rowan Atkinson fare
best.1/2
RUSH HOUR 2 In 1998’s enjoyable Rush Hour,
Chris Tucker’s frenzy contrasted nicely with Jackie Chan’s serenity, and the
script smartly built up their characters’ relationship in a satisfactory manner.
This sloppy sequel isn’t nearly as patient: It immediately plops the two cops
in the middle of a tired plot involving counterfeiters, and then spends an embarrassing
part of the next 90 minutes ripping off scenes from the first film. 1/2
This article appears in Oct 6-12, 2001.
