NEW RELEASES
SHACKLETON’S ANTARCTIC ADVENTURE Taking a break from functioning as one of the world’s largest science classes (thanks to titles like Blue Planet and Dolphins), Discovery Place’s OMNIMAX Theatre instead becomes one of the world’s largest history classes with its presentation of a real-life event that has also been the subject of approximately a dozen recent books, a newly discovered documentary from 1919, a recently produced documentary that will come to town in January (courtesy of the Charlotte Film Society), and an upcoming feature film starring Kenneth Branagh. With a standard IMAX running time of 40 minutes, this invariably feels like the Reader’s Digest version of this incredible true story, but between Kevin Spacey’s sturdy narration and some choice archival footage, it provides a solid introduction to the saga. In 1914, Sir Ernest Shackleton attempted to become the first man to cross the Antarctic continent; instead, his ship the Endurance became trapped in — and eventually crushed by — the packed ice in the Weddell Sea. Yet even faced with bleak circumstances that continued to darken, Shackleton took extraordinary measures in an effort to lead his crew of 27 out of their frozen prison and back to civilization. The setting allows the filmmakers ample opportunities to dazzle viewers with breathtaking shots of this gorgeous region, but the real drawing card is the vintage footage shot by Frank Hurley, a photographer who was part of Shackleton’s expedition back in the day. 
CURRENT RELEASES
DOMESTIC DISTURBANCE Outside of family films, the general rule regarding a movie that runs less than 90 minutes is that the studio initially deemed it such a lost cause, they butchered it in the editing room in order to make some sense out of it and dumped it into the marketplace to fend for itself. Given that this one clocks in at 88 minutes and arrives missing at least one scene featured in the trailer, it’s safe to say this John Travolta vehicle (filmed in Wilmington) fell into that camp, although I imagine director Harold Becker would insist he was just trying to make a trim and efficient thriller. Certainly, there’s no excess fat on this puppy, but there’s also nothing we haven’t seen before, from the ordinary joe who must stand alone to the villainous outsider threatening to rip a family apart to the ineffectual cops who show up only after all the heavy stuff has gone down. In fact, this is schematically so similar to movies like The Hand That Rocks the Cradle, Unlawful Entry and The River Wild that the only thing missing is the moment when the family’s golden retriever attacks the bad guy just as he’s getting ready to shoot the hero. Travolta is appealing as the divorced dad who believes his son (Matt O’Leary) when the latter tells him he witnessed his new stepdad (Vince Vaughn) murder another man, and Steve Buscemi steals the film in his brief scenes as the victim. But Vaughn’s character is clearly up to no good, Teri Polo’s mom is too slow on the uptake to earn much sympathy, and the climax is simply ludicrous. 1/2
FROM HELL Known for their contemporary urban dramas Menace II Society and Dead Presidents, The Hughes Brothers (aka Allen and Albert Hughes) have returned with a thriller that’s set in 1888 London and focuses on Jack the Ripper. It’s admirable when any artist is able to break the shackles of preconceived notions, but for those still requiring some sort of connective tissue, it’s fairly obvious that From Hell is no different from its predecessors in that they all deal with the poverty, violence and drugs that are readily found on the mean city streets. In fact, what makes this more than just a slasher flick with a pedigree is its insistence on presenting its sordid tale at ground level, exploring the social chasm that existed between the upper and lower classes as much as recreating the killer’s grisly handiwork. This may not possess the macabre sense of showmanship that made Sleepy Hollow such a kinky kick (both films, incidentally, star Johnny Depp as a detective investigating bizarre murders), but on its own terms, it’s an effective thriller that’s densely plotted and well-paced. And as Depp’s character becomes more immersed in his investigation, we become more immersed in the period world that the Hughes and their crew have created. Between Martin Childs’ sets, Kym Barrett’s costumes, and Peter Deming’s mood-setting cinematography, this exudes authenticity right down to the last cobblestone. Well, OK: The Marilyn Manson song that plays over the closing credits may not exactly conjure images of 1888 London, but that’s a small concession I’m willing to make.
K-PAX Watching two great actors on the order of Kevin Spacey and Jeff Bridges squander their talents on something as ghastly as K-PAX is akin to spending your savings on the purchase of a fondue restaurant and using its facilities to create nothing more than grilled cheese sandwiches. Offensively sanctimonious, flagrantly derivative and just plain dull (don’t see K-PAX without NO-DOZ), this insufferable picture casts Spacey as Prot, who’s sent to a hospital’s mental ward after he turns up in a New York train station claiming to be from another planet (in the real-world New York, this sort of ranting can be heard on a daily basis and wouldn’t even raise an eyebrow, so why the fuss here?). Prot’s case comes under the supervision of Dr. Mark Powell (Bridges), who initially dismisses the patient as yet another flake but soon starts to suspect there might be some veracity to the otherworldly claims. The first half of the film plays like Patch Adams minus the bedpans on the feet, as Prot engages in a lot of “cute” behavior (like eating bananas with the peels left on) and offers guidance to his twinkly fellow patients. The second part shifts gears but doesn’t get any better: It’s like a nightmare version of an actor’s theater workshop, as Powell uses hypnosis to learn about Prot’s past. Spacey’s performance is built on nothing but putrid platitudes and affected mannerisms — frankly, I didn’t think it was possible for him to ever be this bad — while Bridges’ cardboard role is far beneath this fine actor’s capabilities.
LIFE AS A HOUSE The title is unfortunate, since it screams, “Look, Ma! I’m a metaphor!” But the wonder of Life As a House is how, with its understated approach and lack of artificial grandstanding, it gives audience members the choice of embracing its symbolic gestures or simply ignoring them outright. Certainly, the film feels a little too calculated at first — its conflicted characters and sense of irony make it feel like a yard sale version of American Beauty — but as the story progresses, its empathic nature and some choice performances eventually wear down all resistance to its rollicking charms. Kevin Kline stars as George Monroe, an architect who, upon learning he has cancer, decides to set things right before his time is up. He tries to establish a relationship with a troubled teenage son (Hayden Christensen) who hates him, attempts to make amends with the ex-wife (Kristin Scott Thomas) who left him, and sets about building his own seaside home. That we come to care about George, his family and his neighbors is a testament not only to the fine work by the entire cast but also to screenwriter Mark Andrus (As Good As It Gets), who, even during the more contrived sequences, keeps the emotions real (compare this to Riding In Cars With Boys, in which most characters behave as if they’re in a feature-length sit-com). Christensen, incidentally, has been cast as the teenage Anakin Skywalker in the next Star Wars film, and if nothing else, this movie at least demonstrates that he can act.
THE MAN WHO WASN’T THERE Myopic moviegoers who refuse to see black-and-white films should be required to check out this latest Coen Brothers effort, since one look should shatter all preconceived notions about the unattractiveness of color-deprived motion pictures. Ace cinematographer Roger Deakins has managed to transform his basic palette into a shimmering, glistening splash of vibrancy, resulting in one of the year’s most visually dazzling achievements. It’s just a shame that every aspect of this puzzler can’t match its ocular splendor. Joel and Ethan Coen, no stranger to genre sendups, have now turned to the smoke-choked world of film noir, and the result is an infuriating misfire, a mixed bag of a movie that contains a number of wonderful moments that never quite coalesce. In a perfectly pitched deadpan performance, Billy Bob Thornton plays a taciturn barber who discovers that his wife (Frances McDormand) is having an affair with her boss (James Gandolfini); he resorts to blackmail, a scheme that ends up leading to murder instead. The “winter of our discontent” feeling that marks most noirs is nicely captured by the Coens, but what they botch are the fundamentals of the twisty plot: This contains about as many plotholes as such generic junk as Domestic Disturbance, and the employment of non sequiturs that worked so well in their other films isn’t nearly as accomplished this time around. Still, there’s plenty to admire here, including some startling set pieces and uniformly fine performances. 1/2
MONSTERS, INC. Ever since it was announced that next year’s Oscar ceremony would be the first to include the newly formed Best Animated Feature category, it’s been agreed that the battle will come down to DreamWorks’ summer smash Shrek and this latest offering from Disney. With apologies to the not-so-jolly green giant, I gotta say that my vote squarely goes toward Disney’s creatures of the night. Teaming up once again with Pixar Animation (the Toy Story twofer), the studio has fashioned a vastly entertaining romper room of a movie that should satisfy all ages. The sharp screenplay posits that the burg of Monstropolis is powered by the screams of small children, and the only way to harness that energy is for a company called Monsters, Inc. to send its employees through kids’ closets in an attempt to generate worthy shrieks of terror. Of course, such an assignment is no picnic for the monsters, who believe that human children are toxic and that physical contact with them would be disastrous. So imagine the pandemonium that ensues when a bubbly tyke nicknamed Boo (voiced by 5-year-old Mary Gibbs) accidentally invades the monsters’ world, forcing two of the critters — gentle giant Sulley (John Goodman) and wise-cracking cyclops Mike (Billy Crystal) — to try to return her to her bedroom before matters really get out of hand. That this film is a visual marvel should surprise no one; what’s really unique about it is how deeply it makes us care about the relationship between Sulley and little Boo. 1/2
MULHOLLAND DRIVE Audacious, infuriating, and the sort of divisive movie we’ve come to expect from one of America’s most idiosyncratic filmmakers, this actually began life as a TV series pilot that was quickly shelved. Seeking to then release it theatrically, Lynch secured backing from French financiers, shot additional scenes, and headed to Cannes, where he went on to win the Best Director prize. Like Lynch’s Twin Peaks, this juggles a number of characters and plotlines, though the central one concerns the efforts of an aspiring actress (Naomi Watts) to help an amnesiac (Laura Elena Harring) discover her true identity. Just as the movie reaches the point when we expect everything to come together, Lynch goes ballistic in terms of time and characterization; the result is an unnerving watch that yields no easy answers but instead forces the viewer, in Memento mode, to mentally play the entire film backward and determine what’s possibly real, what’s probably a dream (a Lynch obsession dating back to Eraserhead), and where this ultimately leads. As an exercise in bravura moviemaking, as well as a commentary on the very nature of cinema itself, this works quite well, but on an emotional level, it’s one of Lynch’s most distant pieces, with practically all the characters being moved around the sets like so many chess pieces. It’s only the unexpectedly complex portrayal by Watts that adds any lasting resonance to a work that, with apologies to Winston Churchill, can best be described as “a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma.”
RIDING IN CARS WITH BOYS Director Penny Marshall, who’s never met an interesting storyline she couldn’t fumble (A League of Their Own excepted), applies her ham-fisted techniques to this adaptation of Beverly Donofrio’s autobiography about how she escaped from her miserable lot in life by going on to, well, write her autobiography. Drew Barrymore, who ages from 15 to 35 over the course of the film, stars as Beverly, who becomes pregnant at 15 and finds her future instantly derailed. Forced to give up on her plans to attend college, she instead drops out of school, marries the simpleton (Steve Zahn) who knocked her up, and raises her son to the best of her abilities. It’s not that this is a bad movie; it just never comes close to fulfilling its promise as either an inspirational human tale or a three-hanky weepie. Since most of the actors are appropriately cast — Brittany Murphy is especially effective as Bev’s best friend — the fault rests mainly with Marshall and scripter Morgan Upton Ward, neither of whom care to offer more than a surface glimpse at the horrors that Bev had to endure most of her life (it doesn’t help that the film can’t stay serious for more than two minutes at a time, with dramatic scenes eventually taking a turn for the quirky or cute). In the later sequences, 28-year-old Adam Garcia is cast as 26-year-old Barrymore’s son, perhaps the most egregious example of age-related miscasting since 51-year-old Ava Gardner played 59-year-old Lorne Greene’s daughter in Earthquake.
SHALLOW HAL The unfortunate preview for this winning romantic comedy, which makes the enterprise look like two hours of fat jokes, couldn’t be more misleading; actually, most of the fat jokes have been crammed into that trailer, allowing the rest of the movie to make its case as a sympathetic tale about getting past surface appearances. Of course, I don’t mean to give the impression that viewers should amble in expecting the all-inclusive humanity of a Frank Capra feature, as this Farrelly Brothers picture has its PG-13 share of raunchy gags and morally dubious asides. But as was the case with the siblings’ There’s Something About Mary, there’s actually a tender love story at the center of all the sophomoric shenanigans. Jack Black plays the title role, a nerd who’s spent his life trying to date gorgeous women clearly out of his league. Hal’s only interested in physical beauty, but a chance encounter with self-help guru Tony Robbins (playing himself) changes all that. “De-hypnotized” by Robbins, Hal can now only see people as they truly are on the inside; this in turn allows him to fall for a large woman with a large heart. Hal sees a svelte beauty (Gwyneth Paltrow au naturel), while everyone else sees the 300-pound reality (Paltrow in a convincing fat suit). This works just fine until Hal’s equally shallow friend (Jason Alexander) contemplates breaking the spell. Black’s performance is a delight, retaining his character’s goofball persona while also showing us the blossoming adult underneath, but Paltrow’s empathic contribution is also key. Incidentally, this was filmed here in Charlotte, and under the eye of Oscar-winning cinematographer Russell Carpenter (Titanic), the city has never before looked so appealing on screen.
ALSO PLAYING
BANDITS Director Barry Levinson’s quirky comedy casts Bruce Willis and Billy Bob Thornton as “The Sleepover Bandits,” a pair of bank robbers who pick up a bored housewife (Cate Blanchett) as an accomplice. Like a squeaky axle that won’t quiet down over the course of a 500-mile road trip, this grates on the nerves almost from the start, with insufferable characters and a noticeable lack of laughs. 1/2
IRON MONKEY In a 19th century Chinese village, a masked man known as the Iron Monkey has his hands full fighting government corruption. While this Asian import (originally released in 1993) may lack the epic grandeur of Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, it equals that blockbuster in terms of its martial arts wizardry, as it showcases some of the most exhilarating action sequences I’ve seen this year.
JOY RIDE Transcending its own limitations, Joy Ride, the sort of film that would normally pop up on cable, emerges as a satisfying, hardcore thriller in which a psychotic trucker terrorizes three kids (Steve Zahn, Paul Walker and Leelee Sobieski) on the open road. The masterful direction by John Dahl builds the suspense so effectively that the final half-hour may have you chewing your nails down to the cuticles.
THE LAST CASTLE A military compound is the setting for this disappointing work from director Rod Lurie in which a virtuous prisoner (Robert Redford) squares off against a corrupt warden (James Gandolfini). This dull drama trots out the usual prison flick stereotypes, including the offensive one that presents the compound’s rapists and murderers as the kind of jovial guys you’d be happy to invite over for a Sunday in front of the TV.
TRAINING DAY An idealistic rookie cop (Ethan Hawke) learns the law of the streets under the corrupt eye of his superior (Denzel Washington). Rivetting performances by Hawke and especially Washington are what keep us watching even after the movie surrounding them falls apart. 1/2
This article appears in Nov 17-23, 2001.
