CURRENT RELEASES
CHARLIE’S ANGELS: FULL THROTTLE Your enjoyment of Charlie’s Angels will likely determine your tolerance of Charlie’s Angels: Full Throttle. This follow-up to that 2000 hit isn’t so much a sequel as an extension — if movies weren’t so time- and cost-consuming, it’d be easy to picture a new Angels flick hitting the multiplexes on a weekly basis (in that respect, it emulates the 70s TV series on which it’s based). Like its big-screen predecessor, this new T&Angels adventure features countless scenes that serve as nothing more than mini-vanity projects for its three lovely leads (Cameron Diaz as giggly party girl Natalie, Drew Barrymore as street-smart riot grrl Dylan, and Lucy Liu as sophisticated smart girl Alex), reams of smarmy double entendres that are sure to elicit as many groans as giggles, and several stunt-heavy, death-defying feats that are simply absurd beyond reason. But so what? Indefensible as it may be on a hoity-toity level, this works more often than not because of the infectious atmosphere generated by its leading ladies as well as returning director McG. I’ve never been a fan of Demi Moore, so her much ballyhooed “comeback” in this picture (as a former Angel gone bad) means nothing to me, and the smutty humor brings it perilously close to Austin Powers territory. But let’s face it: When our heroines are disguised as welders at one point, who doesn’t want to hear Irene Cara’s Flashdance… What A Feeling playing in the background? 
1/2
HULK With a fan base that rivals those of other Green Party members (Kermit, Gumby, Shrek), it’s only fitting that Marvel’s not-so-jolly green giant gets his own movie. Unfortunately, this is the weakest of the recent batch, as the Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon team of director Ang Lee and writer James Schamus have created a film that unwittingly condescends toward the comic book medium even as it’s trying to elevate it to another plateau. The effortless affinity between hero and reader has been lost on the pair; wanting to create something more “meaningful” than a mere popcorn flick, they’ve decided to add import to their assignment by making a movie that’s as much about family dysfunction and harnessing one’s untapped potential as it is about a guy who turns into a monster. That’s all well and good, but in trying to come up with something of substance, they’ve largely left out the sharp sense of humor and gee-whiz level of excitement that have ignited the best of superhero cinema. They just don’t grasp that humor and excitement aren’t hindrances on the road to respectability but the very things that drive the journey. The CGI-created Hulk looks fine in close-up but fake in the distant shots, while dull Eric Bana, as his alter ego, is a human flatline. Lee’s visual scheme, which often provides the cinematic equivalent of a comic’s splashy color panels, is fun, but these are about the only moments that make us feel like we’re actually flipping through a comic book rather than lumbering through an arid college textbook.
JOHNNY ENGLISH Johnny English is a movie of anticipation. Much of the time, we know exactly what predicaments this bungling British Secret Service agent will find himself in, and yet we still want to see him placed in these situations, if only to count the ways in which star Rowan Atkinson will contort his rubber band of a face. Deadpan one second, bug-eyed the next, then pseudo-suave, then fretful, then pained — it’s like watching an entire comedy film festival rolled into one mug. Like many comedians, Atkinson is an acquired taste, but one which goes down easy for me — and so does his latest vehicle, which turns out to be one of the summer’s brightest surprises. After the vulgarity of the Austin Powers franchise, the PG-rated Johnny English seems almost like a quaint throwback, and it probably doesn’t hurt that two of the screenwriters were responsible for Die Another Day, the best James Bond outing in ages; clearly, these men know their way around this genre and how to best tweak it. A car chase scene proves to be about as wickedly clever as the much-ballyhooed ones in The Matrix Reloaded and Terminator 3: Rise of the Machines, but even with inspired sequences like this one, director Peter Howitt can’t keep the picture from losing momentum once it reaches a disappointingly undernourished climax. Still, in a season of heavily hyped titles, it’s nice to find a small-scale picture that delivers what it promises without making a big deal about it.
L’AUBERGE ESPAGNOLE Xenophobes and the old at heart need not apply, but most discerning moviegoers will get a hedonistic kick out of L’Auberge Espagnole (translated as the Spanish Inn), a French import that was a deserving critical and commercial hit in its homeland. Invoking the spirit of such youth-themed fare as The Graduate and National Lampoon’s Animal House, this light-hearted romp with serious undercurrents follows the odyssey of Xavier (Romain Duris), a 25-year-old French exchange student who leaves behind his fussy girlfriend (Amelie‘s Audrey Tautou) to attend college in Barcelona. After briefly staying with an obnoxious doctor and his sexually repressed wife, Xavier ends up sharing an apartment with several other students who, combined, represent a United Nations of sorts (one’s British, one’s German, one’s Italian, and so on). With so many characters and so many subplots crowding the screen, it’s almost inevitable that not every story strand will flow smoothly (one embarrassing interlude would have been right at home on Three’s Company). But rarely has a modern movie done such a sound job of capturing the messy, giddy, self-centered realizations that accompany the flush of youthful vigor, or convincingly pushed the soulful benefits of global fraternization (as someone who partied in Europe during his youth, I can attest to the movie getting these vibes right). In fact, with its scenes of members of different nations co-existing peacefully, this film should be required viewing for the current administration and its lockstep supporters, who have all effectively built an impenetrable wall of fear and bigotry around this nation’s borders.
THE LEAGUE OF EXTRAORDINARY GENTLEMEN A fascinating fiasco, this adaptation of the graphic novel created by Alan Moore and Kevin O’Neill is clearly a failure on just about every level that comes to mind, yet like the best “bad” movies, it holds our interest if only because we’re dying to see what it will do wrong next. The concept is certainly fiendishly clever (and oh-so-calculated): At the turn of the previous century, a ragtag band comprised of famous literary characters must unite in an effort to stop a masked megalomaniac known as The Fantom from instigating a world war. Thus, we get adventurer Allan Quatermain (Sean Connery), late of King Solomon’s Mines, leading a motley crew that also includes Captain Nemo (Naseeruddin Shah), the Invisible Man (Tony Curran), Dr. Jekyll and his monstrous alter ego Mr. Hyde (Jason Flemyng), Dracula vampire Mina Harker (Peta Wilson), Oscar Wilde’s immortal Dorian Gray (Stuart Townsend), and Tom Sawyer (Shane West), who has grown up to become a secret agent for the US government (I kid you not). It’s a promising premise that’s immediately undermined by the casting of several of the most boring actors imaginable (even Connery’s asleep at the wheel) in roles that never break past the “gimmick” stage. Add to this dilemma a script that lurches from one schizophrenic set piece to the next, unappealing art direction that screams “Clutter Chic,” and plotholes big enough to steer Nemo’s sub Nautilus through them, and what’s left is a blockbuster bust. 1/2
LEGALLY BLONDE 2: RED, WHITE AND BLONDE As the father of a 12-year-old girl who’s a big fan of Legally Blonde, I’ve seen all or parts of Reese Witherspoon’s commercial breakthrough more times than I care to admit. Yet repeat viewings haven’t tired me of Witherspoon’s vivacious Elle Woods; instead, I’ve become fond (within stringent critical reason, of course) of both the film and the character at its pink center. Yet it’s doubtful that excessive viewings of this sequel will render the same verdict; on the contrary, once is certainly enough. Lazily copying the first film’s template to a staggering degree, this excursion finds Elle, now a full-fledged lawyer, hoofing it to Washington, DC, to introduce a bill that would prevent animals from being used as cosmetic test subjects. There, she’s taken under the wing of prominent Congresswoman Victoria Rudd (Sally Field), befriended by a hotel doorman (Bob Newhart) who might be the most politically savvy man in town, and forced to lock horns with Rudd’s cynical chief of staff (the great Regina King, sadly wasted here). Part of the appeal of the original film was in watching Elle Woods grow from a shallow sorority girl into a self-aware woman genuinely surprised at the breadth of her own potential; here, the character has grown stagnant, and the herky-jerky script relies on recycled gags and pompous speeches to cover up this lamentable fact. There are a few bright spots along the way, but not enough to prevent this from being declared legally bland.
PIRATES OF THE CARIBBEAN: THE CURSE OF THE BLACK PEARL It’s long been established that movies based on video games are a dismal lot, so the odds are automatically against a film that engages in the even more desperate ploy of being based on a theme park attraction. Yet this take-off of Disney’s popular park feature proves to be one of the brightest of the summer blockbusters, with appealing characters, a sturdy screenplay, and plenty of derring-do. Producer Jerry Bruckheimer, known as the Antichrist in cineaste circles (Armageddon, Con Air, and on and on and on), bypassed his usual stable of hacks and tapped versatile Gore Verbinski (MouseHunt, The Mexican) to man the ship; aided by the scripters of Shrek and The Mask of Zorro, he provides notable visual panache to this rollicking yarn about an eccentric pirate (Johnny Depp) and a stalwart blacksmith (Orlando Bloom) who attempt to rescue a governor’s daughter (Keira Knightley) from the clutches of a band of supernaturally affected pirates. More heavily plotted than one might expect, this 135-minute epic might test the patience of younger audience members but wears its length well for older viewers. Bloom and Knightley are suitably striking, while Geoffrey Rush adds the proper degree of hammy menace as the captain of the cursed pirate crew. Still, this movie wouldn’t be half as memorable were it not for the patently bizarre turn by Depp, who transforms a conventional anti-hero into a fey, garrulous scoundrel whose antics constantly keep the other characters (and us) wondering what he’ll do next.
SPY KIDS 3-D: GAME OVER The law of diminishing returns clearly applies to this third entry in writer-director Robert Rodriguez’s family-oriented franchise. The 2001 original was deservedly a critical and commercial smash, while last year’s follow-up wasn’t half-bad as far as first sequels go. But Rodriguez’s well has run dry for this latest adventure, as he places all his faith in the 3-D effects that are meant to complement the film but instead overwhelm it. Truth be told, watching this overwrought picture’s frenzied special effects through the 3-D goggles eventually leads to a punishing migraine; on top of that, the left eyepiece was so darkly tinted that I felt like someone had squirted motor oil into my eye. Beyond the 3-D aspect, this is simply a poorly scripted adventure yarn, with young Juni (Daryl Sabara) forced to enter a “virtual reality” game in order to save his sister Carmen (Alexa Vega) and vanquish the game’s mad inventor (hammy Sylvester Stallone). Despite some occasionally interesting graphics, the game itself doesn’t seem very exciting (or comprehensible, for that matter), and the action frequently breaks for characters to deliver strained monologues about the importance of family. Speaking of family, Antonio Banderas and Carla Gugino, so appealing as the Spy Parents in the first film, have been reduced to nothing more than late-inning cameos. And what’s the point of casting Salma Hayek in a 3-D flick and not using the technology to showcase her attributes? I mean her lips, of course; what were you thinking? 1/2
TERMINATOR 3: RISE OF THE MACHINES In the category of Completely Unnecessary Sequels That Were Clearly Made For The Sole Purpose Of Milking More Money Out Of Franchises That Were Already Adequately Wrapped Up, it’s just possible that this might be the new king of the hill. Clearly, sights are adjusted southward for this belated follow-up to two excellent Terminator films helmed by James Cameron, but on its own terms, this isn’t bad, even if it’s occasionally too redundant for its own good. Cameron is somewhat missed behind the camera and Linda Hamilton (the real series star) is largely missed before it, but director Jonathan Mostow and a trio of scripters treat the property with respect and, in effect, don’t screw it up the way that, say, Alien 3 and The Fly II soiled the intent of their notable predecessors. Arnold Schwarzenegger’s back in “good Terminator” mode, playing another T-101 who’s been reprogrammed to journey back in time to our present to protect future leader John Connor (Nick Stahl) from being killed by the female T-X (Kristanna Loken), the most sophisticated cyborg created in the future world. Some interesting plot developments and a smashing (in both senses of the word) chase scene can’t quite erase the familiarity of it all (nor the fact that Loken’s T-X isn’t even as half as interesting as Robert Patrick’s T-1000 from the second flick), but this is still a valiant effort by all concerned. 1/2
WHALE RIDER A star is born in Whale Rider: New Zealand actress Keisha Castle-Hughes, who proves to be the best young import from that part of the world since Anna Paquin stunned us in The Piano a decade earlier. In writer-director Niki Caro’s adaptation of Witi Ihimaera’s 1986 novel, Castle-Hughes stars as Pai, a 12-year-old girl who had survived a difficult birth that killed her mother and twin brother. Pai is a descendant of Paikea, who, as the legend goes, first arrived in what would become the clan’s village riding on the back of a whale. Pai certainly displays all the characteristics that would enable her to one day become the village’s latest leader, but because she’s female, her tradition-minded grandfather Koro (Rawiri Paratene) dismisses her from consideration, showing controlled love for her as his flesh and blood but lashing out at her whenever she attempts to step outside what he perceives as her lot in life. Employing dashes of fantasy in what is largely a realistic family drama (in many respects, it begs comparison to John Sayles’ equally enchanting The Secret of Roan Inish), Whale Rider is above all a moving drama about a young girl’s efforts to find her place in the world while simultaneously seeking the love and respect of a patriarch whose own stubbornness blackens an otherwise noble spirit. As Pai, Castle-Hughes delivers a clear-headed performance that, like the film which embraces it, never succumbs to cloying sentiment but instead finds heartbreak and hope in a naturalistic manner.
This article appears in Jul 30 – Aug 5, 2003.
