Reviews

This show is a tiresome mash-up of over-used television show and movie platitudes masquerading as plot. The actress playing the main character of "Emily" (a young marketing executive from Chicago dispatched to Paris) clearly honed her skills watching those kiddie shows on the Disney Channel, where "acting" consists only of eye-rolls, head-tilts, raised eyebrows, and overwrought facial expressions.

The save-the-day pitch to the key client? Lifted from any random "Bewitched", with a dash if "Mad Men".

The handsome meet-cute neighbor? We all know that he will become the romantic interest (but, as we also all know, not before an awkward discovery on Emily's part that he already has a girlfriend).

The "cool" crazy-rich clearly out-of-place and contrived Chinese friend? See "Crazy Rich Asians".

Throw in some predictable stereo-types about French people, mix with casual sex, and you are left with essentially a well-photographed, but ultimately unwatchable waste of time.

I am married to a Finnish woman, and travel to Scandinavia every summer, and so am very familiar with Scandinavian lifestyles and practices and the challenges of being an American abroad visiting family, not speaking the language (though I can speak some Norwegian). I am also familiar with clever, original, funny television shows, and this is not one of them; (yes, we get it Greg- your sister is Amy Poehler).

The Swedish countryside and lifestyle depicted are very accurate, as are some of the stereotypical characters and situations presented. I have no doubt that this show was a hit in Sweden, and perhaps even across the Gulf of Bothnia in Finland where the same punch lines could be successfully delivered. For an American audience, however, this is just another lame knock-off of an overly familiar theme (doesn't even "Little Steven" have some show about being in a witness protection program just across the border in Lillehammer, Norway?)

What I found most tedious, however, beyond the lack of originality or real humor in the very predictable set-ups and contrived circumstances, is that the lead character (executive producer Amy's brother) seems to be doing a second rate impersonation of just about every sad sack Ben Stiller character we have ever seen, becoming increasingly visibly flustered in uncomfortable and subsequently often humiliating, circumstances, e.g.throwing up over the side of a small motorboat because he gets seasick on the 20-minute boat ride- (hilarious!). It gets tiresome with Mr. Stiller, who is sometimes quite funny nonetheless. This convention, and dragged out by Mr. Poehler, however, seems to be the one long, unfunny one trick pony in this lame storyline.

Welcome to Sweden, indeed; I suspect it will be a mercifully short visit.

What started out as an unoriginal and generally unfunny show has now sunk into abject unwatchability. The premise of an adult child moving in with a parent is well worn, and there is nothing new or original that "Jennifer falls" adds to this genre. In fact, there is nothing new or original (or particularly funny) about this show at all. The characters are unlikable and unfunny, and the scripts have collapsed into boring platitudes in a desperate attempt to substitute vulgarity for wit.

A well-traveled path, instead of having Jennifer- an ostensible fired investment banking wiz- come up with a financial strategy to help her brother's bar, or otherwise demonstrate competence or generate some interest, the show lazily mimics the speaking to the camera tactic of the truly well-written "Modern Family" while the main characters merrily discuss sexual encounters "in the summer of sophomore year" (i.e. at age 15) and defecating on their sexual partner's doorsteps as adults, apparently in some sort of retribution.

Jennifer has indeed fallen, and she can't get up.

The premise is apparently supposed to be an English person intrigued with American culture who seeks to learn more and assimilate; (Alistar Cook had such a program). This pile of rubbish (as our English friends might say) is nothing but a contrived one-joke insult to the audience.

Daisy, shamelessly stealing the schtick of her former colleague "Ali G", seeks to find humor in asking stupid questions with a straight face to unsuspecting people (and then wildly mugging for the camera). Example: claiming she wants to become "a star" she is shown walking the streets of Hollywood asking passers by if they can "make her a star". The humor in this is severely constrained by the fact that she is being trailed by a camera and sound crew, making her motives obvious (particularly in LA, home to "reality television". We see her squealing and running awkwardly from some pigs on a hog farm in another episode; (wasn't this scene directly lifted from Paris Hilton's "Real Life"?)

Finding interlocutors with strong and difficult to understand accents, and eccentric organizations to make fun of seems to be the general theme of this lamentable failure of an entertainment program. Daisy did not have to come all the way across the Atlantic to find such victims, but the Arquettes themselves are so out of touch with the US and "regular people" ensconced in their Hollywood redoubt that they are at least equally to blame. Daisy does America? Please don't.

There is a distinct earnest eagerness clearly evident as "the Rock" once again tries to create his niche as an action hero, an aspiration in which he is not entirely unsuccessful. He is bold and buff, and exudes a certain likability, but as this lame screenplay demonstrates, as an action hero he is much more likely to be undone by 90 minutes of banalities masquerading as a script, stitched together by the attendant perfunctory explosions and predictable fight scenes, than by the evil plans (or brigades of thugs) commanded by a stock movie villain. Aspects of the plot of "The Rundown" are borrowed from a wide spectrum of movie standards, generously dosed with politically correct platitudes. Working as a debt collector for a loan shark while secretly clinging to his plans of opening a restaurant (strong, yes, but sensitive too, is he), the Rock accepts an assignment to retrieve the dissolute son of his employer (Stifler) from a remote Amazon village in exchange for clearing his own debt. We are led to believe that the Rock has a code of honor which involves fairplay, being a man of his word, and abjuring the use of firearms. Each of these is mentioned, and is factored into the script, but none are fully developed, and so they just end up as so many more loose ends sloppily strewn about the set. Stifler, we are asked to believe, is an archeologist who has found the secret chamber of an ancient indigenous idol (borrowed heavily from Indians Jones' milieu). A beautiful rebel leader agrees with the Rock to lead them from the jungle in exchange for the idol. Despite her apparent abandonment of this pact, (at the expense of the Rock and Stifler) the Rock somehow interprets her subsequent capture by the bad guys as having left him not holding up his part of the bargain, and charges into the fray to effect her rescue. His efficacy and the ensuing lethal results seem no more pernicious when he is compelled to break his personal vow (never fully explained, and rather odd for someone in his line of work) of forswearing the employment of firearms, and a shotgun soon adds to the general mayhem. Christopher Walken reprises his villain-as-weirdo role from that James Bond movie, this time mining gold in a most environmentally unfriendly fashion, and exploiting the poor Amazonians. We have seen it all before as he blusters across the set intermittently, as though wondering how he ended wasting his time with this movie. Sadly enough, it is very possible indeed that this feeling will be shared by the viewer.

Having not seen the first installment of this two part series, I was curious to see whether or not "Kill Bill, Volume II" could stand on its own as an entertaining and interesting story. The short answer is no. Most bad films have bad writing, bad direction, bad photography and bad acting. KB II is actually quite strong in each of these departments, but it is in general so bizarre that each of these elements is overcome in what is some type of twisted homage and loveletter from Director Tarentino (a kung-fu movie nerd is his youth) to star Uma Thurman. Perhaps with the well known rampage of blood and gore of its predecessor having been accomplished, KB II apparently is filling in the blanks on some of the issues raised in KB I. Knowledge of the first part might make the second part more intrinsically interesting, but KB II drags along with long sequences of essentially pretty and clever, but dull movie-making, punctuated by occasional outbursts of exceptional violence and stark ugliness. If you have some sort of fetish for Uma, and an unnatural fascination with martial arts films, KB II is definitely a must-see. For the rest of us, however, living well, and seeing another movie, might be the best revenge.

As with many of my fellow viewers here at IMDb, I at first had no interest in seeing this obscure comic book figure's cinematic debut, but preliminary favorable reviews and commentary found me pushing my $6.50 across the counter for the Sunday matinee viewing of "Hellboy". It was not $6.50 well spent.

Arcane as the character and story of "Hellboy" are, the film itself is disturbingly reminiscent of at least a dozen other (and better) movies. It isn't that the idea of an oversized, wisecracking demon, adopted and raised from infancy by the OSS in 1944, battling evil on the side of Righteousness is not without originality or merit, but we have pretty much seen everything before; a sinister Nazi plot to use supernatural powers to aid their nefarious cause ("Raiders of the Lost Ark"); top secret government offices and agencies to deal with phenomena kept hidden from the populace, yet operating under our very noses ("Men in Black"); special groups of creatures, i.e. misfits, with outlandish powers in hidden academies, led by benevolent elderly gentlemen ("The X-Men", "League of Extraordinary Men"); battles with slimy monsters living in abandoned tunnels in New York City ("Ghost Busters", among others); a girl with pyrokinetic powers ("Firestarter") and so on, and on and on...

It begins promisingly enough, but soon bogs down under its own weight with recondite references to biblical demonology, and increasingly bizarre (and apparently immortal) enemies. The fight scenes are violent, but dark and difficult to follow, as is the climax, which is held in a huge and elaborate underground vault looming beneath a cemetery near Moscow and outfitted with giant hammers with no other apparent purpose than to smash a bridge (don't ask). Perhaps the comic book saga explains these things in greater detail, but in an hour an a half, the uninitiated general viewer just gets lost (and bored).

The new government agent selected to chaparone Hellboy brings remarkably little to the film. This is a role which might have been played by Keanu Reeves or even Matthew Broderick with some greater success, but here just plods along as the script directs.

There is a fellow made of sand who winds himself up like a watch, an esp accoutered aquatic being with the voice of Niles Crane named for Abraham Lincoln, a beautiful Nazi woman named Ilsa who does not age after 60 years, and of course the Czarist priest Rasptutin plays a major role in the proceedings. None of it makes much sense, but then again, that could be a good thing...

As others have noted, "Intolerable Cruelty" is an unsuccessful update of the "screwball comedy" genre of decades past; there are wealthy divorcees, gold-digging poseurs and numerous plot twists, but the film utterly lacks any spark of wit, plodding lugubriously along, uninspired, and unfunny. Much of the blame is George Clooney's, who is just too wooden and inexplicably pleased with himself to make the movie work. Despite what he may believe, he has not a fraction of the talent or presence that Cary Grant would have brought to such a film. What passes for witty repartee sinks under Clooney's appalling mugging for the camera. Jones certainly looks the part of the very beautiful conniving social climber eager to gain happiness and security by marrying a wealthy man, but after all, isn't that the role she plays in real life anyway? Seeing it once may be tolerable, but anything more would just be cruelty.

There is none of the usual Jim Carey slapstick or goofy noises and faces, but instead a surprisingly thoughtful, complex and thought provoking story. There have been several movies at least that I can recall which deal with the subject of erasing and/or replacing memories which are unpleasant or painful (I think Ben Affleck had one earlier this year, that no one seems to remember- hey it really works!). They usually involve spotless labs and sinister technicians in white coats. In this well spun take, the memory erasers (by design) behave more like the dolts who come over to connect your cable television from Verizon. There is some interesting play with flashbacks and Carey's character's attempts to defeat the memory erasure for which he had contracted to remove thoughts of a failed relationship (with Kate Winslet) while it is in progress. As the viewer sorts out the chronology of the film as it unfolds, and the effects of the various inter-related subplots with the small cast of characters you are drawn closer into the story, and the impending outcome. The movie is set in the present, and the troubled relationship is depicted as very real, and actually very troubled, but that in itself is quite realistic. This is not a "Hollywood" love story, (although in a larger sense, perhaps it is, in a more modern and updated version). It will make you think, and maybe make you smile. Who knows?; You may have even seen it already...

For all of the effort spent on the authentic look, music and other fine details of the '70's, and the original TV show, "Starsky & Hutch" ultimately fails to be anything other than mildly diverting or amusing for anyone older than about 14 (I graduated high school in '76 and never was a big fan of the hokey original show). Franky, I do not understand it; rather than do a straight parody of the original show, or do a larger, updated version (a la "Charlie's Angels"- which actually was a much worse movie for other reasons) the movie wastes its premise and its opportunities and the result is some sort of dopey fluff lurching from one gag set-up to another, with plenty of dead space between them. Starsky and Hutch were two "tough but sensitive" undercover cops who regularly duked it out with the bad guys, and always got their man by the end of the hour, driving their improbably ostentacious Gran Torino wildly and loudly through predictable car chases. There is a lot of material here for a humorous take-off. What we get instead is a re-imagined Starsky (Ben Stiller) as some type of straight-laced geek (his usual role) laboring under the shadow of his famous policewoman mother. Hutch (played by Wilson) is now some type of laid-back stoner-dude (no surprise here either) who is a cop who robs bookies in his spare time. Why even bother with the Starsky & Hutch setting at all? They have the clothes, they have the car- it's too bad they don't have anyone who could write a script with any originality. There is a dorky dance-off in a disco, some belabored scenes with Will Farrell and a lazy plot about drug dealers looking for a big score. It's really a shame; with a bit of thought and effort this could have been a very funny movie. What it is instead is a tired old re-run.

This film falls into the category I call "Emperor's New Clothes" (ENC), as it has achieved fame and accolades for "deep meaning" and "sensitivity" but really is a two hour film about two boring, unhappy people who meet in a foreign county in which they don't speak the language. That's pretty much it, and there's not much too "deep" in flogging the limited cinematic possibilities offered by the premises that some Japanese people don't speak English, that some Japanese people speak English (and sing kareoke) with a heavy accent, and that some parts of Japanese popular culture may be different from what Americans might enjoy. As an American I have often found it amusing that some Europeans who frequent the IMBD boards take great umbrage at perceived slights (real and imagined) inflicted upon their national honor, history and integrity by ostensibly "American" film makers and screenwriters. In some cases it may even be justified. There is no excuse for this movie's outright mockery of the Japanese, however, and it is astonishing to me that this insulting vapid waste of time- a two hour tribute to nothing but Sofia's attempt to reimagine her marriage to Spike, and the time she wasted hanging around Tokyo hotel suites- is somehow being hailed as great storytelling, or great anything. The Japanese whiskey company can pay fading action movie star Bill Murray $2 million to endorse its product, but cannot afford to pay for a competent translator for filming the commercial? A wig magically appears (and just as magically disappears) when young Scarlett is singing kareoke. Bill Murray plays, well Bill Murray, doing his SNL lounge singer character. The final climactic moment of the movie is a whisper not shared with the audience. Is this writing or in fact the absence of writing? Scarlett's song is one made famous by the Pretenders; how fitting indeed: The Emperor has no clothes! The movie features

"Big Fish" as directed by Tim Burton pays lavish attention to detail, and that alone makes for this to be an enjoyable and entertaining film viewing experience. The renderings of the fantastic tales of the elder Mr. Bloom are very visually rewarding and interesting, and the plot-line of the son's reconciliation with the dying father (and all of those tall tales) is a reasonable enough framework on which to have constructed the movie. In all that detail and elaborate storytelling, however, some elaborate threads are left dangling, some storylines seem to have been changed mid-movie and some, briefly alluded to, and left sadly unexplored. These deficiencies do not prevent the film from being sentimental fun, creatively satisfying and well worth seeing, but nonetheless hold it short of attaining the distinction of a "great" movie. There is enough symbolism and allusions to previous movies (his own and others)to keep film students and movie buffs busy analyzing and debating for years, but maybe Mr. Burton should have kept his eye more on the actual telling of the storyteller's story, rather than on constructing some of the perhaps too clever asides. I hate to say it, but there's just something fishy about that.

The merits (or apparent lack thereof) of "Charlie's Angels: Full Throttle" have been amply cataloged elsewhere; this dismal failure of a movie has no plot, characters who inexplicably magically defy all laws of physics, and a series of scenes loosely strewn together to create opportunities for leering at a) scanty outfits, b) girls dancing or c) both, for the three leads, Drew Barrymore, Lucy Liu and Cameron Diaz. Two things struck me, however, which I have not seen discussed: the scary psychological profile of Producer Drew Barrymore, and the racist and demeaning characterization of Bosley (and family) portrayed by Bernie Mac. The whole movie seems to be a preposterous fantasy sequence of some lonely, insecure adolescent girl: the men are all weird/weak/sadistic and or villainous; the girls are all supportive and dance and giggle together. The Thin Man is some weirdo with a hair fetish, the Irish thug is a sadistic criminal, and the two boyfriends are sappy window dressing. (I wonder where Joey Trebiani left Phoebe, Chandler, Monica, Rachel and Ross- his character is the exact same one he plays in "Friends"). The only real threat to the three "Angels" is another woman; all are omnipotent geniuses with magical powers. This is straight out of an troubled 11 year old's daydreams of power- the only thing missing was invisibility and mind reading. Of course, since Miss Barrymore's formal education ended somewhere around that age, about the same time her drug and other problems began, this $120 million daydream of hers simply (but expensively) brought to the big screen should really come as no surprise. As for Bernie Mac's Bosely, he did everything but have his hair stand on end and stammer "Yezzum, Ah thinks Ah done seens a ghost! O Lawdy Lawdy! Saves me Massa!" while clutching a watermelon. Why is there no comment, let alone outrage from the African-American community in Hollywood (or elsewhere) about this? It was a racist, stereotypical and highly insulting caricature, more suited to some 1920's low budget comedy than a major studio release of 2003. A bumbling Black man speaking in an ungrammatical minstral dialect ("Man, I'm gettin' me one of them for my house!") kept for comic relief by his patronizing mistresses ("We love you Bosley- you answer the phone!") and seeking approval from his mother, is surely from a long gone and dark era in our culture. I am not African-American, but I found his wildy exaggerated Stepinfetchit stammering and groveling outrageous for a 21st Century film. The whole thing is really very sad, despite the elaborate special effects and action sequences. Full throttle? This heap never even started.

This fairly-tale land of upper-class London has by now become a friendly and familiar venue to American viewers of such movies as "Notting Hill", "Bridgit Jones' Diary" and "About a Boy" (all featuring Hugh Grant in simple variations of his one character, as a matter of fact). The pervasive nature of American Culture in the very fabric of British life is quite an interesting phenomenon, and it plays quite a significant role in "Love, Actually", though perhaps without intending to. "Love, Actually" is a series of vingnettes strung together about a dozen or so characters whose lives are somehow all connected, which makes for easy transitions from the individual characters and their separate stories. It is quite entertaining, and sometimes touching, though sometimes also very familiar from previous films of the genre (a climactic scene at an English school student production, for example). America features quite prominently directly as well as indirectly, which may explain a rather awkward and unnecessary scene in which Hugh Grant (as the Prime Minister of England) loudly proclaims Britain's independence from the United States of America, to the apparent adulation of his staff, and the British public. I am unaware of the English feeling repressed by the US, but the scene struck me as one of those contrived sequences in "The West Wing" (an American TV show alluded to in the movie, ironically) in which the Left-Wing script writers have a character spout off about some pet issue-of-the-week (gun control, global warming, ad nauseum) to put everything right in their fantasy world where Martin Sheen is President, and the Democrats always win. This American President (played by Billy Bob Thornton) is a leering, smug Bill Clinton-like weasel whom Grant's character spots hitting on the housemaid to whom Grant himself has taken a fancy; British international policy thus dictated by the hurt feelings of an English PM, who puts America promptly and coldly in its place at a Press Conference, while Thornton looks on in surprise and dismay. America is described as a land of opportunity (of a certain sort) for a buffoonish would-be casannova who flies to Milwaukee, lands up in a random bar, and has all of his dreams remarkably come true (as in a beer commercial). It's quite funny, but also rather a meanspirited swipe at the women of America's heartland. A little boy pines for a classmate, who will soon be returning home to (guess where?) and one of the main characters is herself apparently American (and doomed to one of the only segments without a happy ending). Movies, music expressions and customs all imported from West of the Atlantic punctuate and permeate the film; and of course, most of the film's profits will be generated from the spending of American movie goers. Politics and sociology aside, "Love Actually" is really a rather entertaining and pleasant film. The segments dealing with the two characters who are stand-ins for the lighting and staging of a pornographic film have elicited many comments from other viewers, but the innocence of their burgeoning romance, juxtaposed with their increasingly intimate postures was also clever. It's really worth seeing, actually.

The show is a pathetic retread which seeks to steal some of the success of CSI and the glamour of Las Vegas by setting up an unbelievably dumb premise: the security operations of a major casino. This translates into some kind of Orwellian fantasy-land in which cameras are recording everything, (where, I wonder- what database could support this immense amount of information and graphics short of the Enterprise?) apparently with spy satellite lenses which can enlarge anything with astounding resolution. James Caan swaggers around as some type of retired CIA tough guy who can somehow amazingly call in "favors" from his old employers, and Nikki Cox (ironically in the same locale as her last failed show) seems to have no purpose other than to serve as a support structure for her breasts, which are prominently displayed. Other cardboard cutouts fill out the cast. The camera-work steals from CSI, the filler shots are lifted from Baywatch, and the plots are idiotic. The cameras and computers seem to harness magical powers which can summon up any shred of information on anyone (which would seem to violate the Constitution, even if they were a police force) which reminded me of another dopey such show, Acapulco HEAT. Mercifully, this mess should not be around for long.

"The Curse of the Black Pearl" is a sun-drenched pirate adventure story of the second tier which combines with first rate special effects and engaged acting to create a very entertaining movie- one certain to be included among movie "classics". Employing many of the usual pirate movie themes and locales, (and, if you look closely enough, incorporating several very carefully reconstructed scenes from the eponymous Disneyland ride) "The Curse of the Black Pearl" reproduces storms at sea, broadside fussilades and deck to deck combat with thoroughly updated techniques and technology which is truly a pleasure to behold- assuming you like movies with such plot necessities in the first place. It reminded me of the old movies I used to watch on Saturday or Sunday afternoons when I was growing up (I am in my mid-forties), but improved 1000% in terms of special effects and technological prowess. I have never really understood the aura enjoyed by Johnny Depp, but he is actually quite entertaining in the role of the erstwhile pirate captain trying to take revenge against his mutinous shipmates and regain his ship (The Black Pearl). In interviews he has proclaimed that his inspiration for the character was Keith Richards, of the Rolling Stones. (Perhaps he channels this role too well, as at times Captain Sparrow seems a bit too much like a stumbling, addled-brained junkie). The girl from "Bend It Like Beckham" is quite good (and very fetching) as the mandatory high official's daughter kidnapped by the fearsome (and cursed) pirate band, and Orlando Bloom, plays the role of the honorable hero who tries to save her, very convincingly. As a boy, a favorite scene in a favorite movie of mine was when in "Jason and the Argonaughts" Jason and his crew fought the skeletons of the men killed by the Hydra. This scene is also similar to some of the battles in Brandon Fraser's "Mummy" films. The cursed pirate crew of the Black Pearl appear in skeleton form under moonlight, and move in and out of their "real" appearance with astonishing ease and "realism". It is truly an inspired and brilliant piece of CGI, and really makes the movie. The story is sound, with a few interesting plot twists, though the film may drag a bit towards the end, and wrap things up somewhat unconvincingly. All told, however, even if dead men tell no tales, this is a really good movie (though maybe a bit too scary for small children) and well worth a few pieces of eight.

There are many similarities between "Bend It Like Beckham" and "My Big Fat Greek Wedding" in that both deal with the collision between ethnic groups and the assimilation of immigrants' children into the society into which they have relocated themselves. The story and humor of "Bend It" are quite superior, however, to the contrived, and often cheap laughs of "Greek Wedding"; it is the story of a teenage Sikh girl (the people of the Punjab region of Northwest India, known for wearing turbans and beards, and for their very strong work ethic) who is growing up in London, and is caught between the old world view of her immigrant parents, and the realities of modern life in England.

Like "Monsoon Wedding", "Bend It" offers an interesting glimpse into the world of Indian society and customs. Like "About a Boy" and various other Hugh Grant films, the movie also shows middle class life on the other side of the pond, which is also quite interesting. This Sikh family lives comfortably in the London suburbs with a father who is apparently an airline pilot. While the parents live and function as members of English society, they also, understandably, adhere more closely to the customs of their culture than their daughters and others of the next generation who are typical English teenagers, but also lead a double life at home, and within the Indian immigrant community.

The main character of the film, Jasminder (Jas), is interested more in playing soccer than in learning traditional Punjabi cooking technique, and idolizes the famous English soccer player David Beckham (the Shaquille O'Neal and Bobby Bonds of England combined). When her soccer abilities bring her into membership on a local girls' team, the conflict is set up with her desire to play (and she is quite good) and her parents' desire for her to pursue serious studies at college, and set about finding a proper (Punjabi Sikh) husband- like her sister.

Making the story more poignant is the experience of Jas's father, who as a young immigrant with great promise as a cricket player was cruelly discriminated against by the English cricket clubs he sought to join. Though the movie follows basic formulas that most people will be able to recognize, the setting and details are compelling enough to keep the tale fresh, even if you can predict who will show up to help win the "big game".

"Bend It" is a very refreshing amalgamation of several motifs; the "sports movie", the "star-crossed lovers" tale and the "goofy old-fashioned parents" genre, to name three, but yet surmounts each of these potentially banal conventions to succeed mightily as an entertaining, interesting, and- dare I say it- inspiring story. Don't bend- go straight to the theater to see it.

The movie version of "Chicago" now garnering so much praise and attention (not to mention award nominations)is only a moderately well put-together adaptation of the well known Broadway musical of the same name. What is good about the movie is what was good about the Broadway show: innovative choreography by Bob Fosse and the imaginative set designs which moved the story along. What is not so good are the "famous" actors and actresses of distinctly limited singing and dancing ability who have been foisted upon the unsuspecting (or indifferent) audiences who apparently long to see them sing and dance simply because they are famous. The brilliant irony, of course, is that this is exactly the premise of the show-within-a-show we observe with Roxy, Velma and Billy.

These roles were played on Broadway by top class singers and (especially) dancers who made "Chicago" an event- performed live every night on stage. The story serves as a mere vehicle for the athletic and inspired dancing Fosse designed. Catherine Zeta-Jones may light up a cell phone commercial, but this show calls for more than the earnest efforts which may fit the bill at a dance hall in Cardiff. Richard Gere talks through his songs, and stiffly lumbers through his dance steps like the aging, past-middle age actor he is, and Renee's voice is even thinner than her non-dancer's legs. The only performers who can hold their own are Queen Latifa (who is of course, a real singer), and the "extras" in the cast and chorus who continually show-up the featured "stars" in ability and style.

The plotline of the story involves a small talent aspiring song and dance performer (Roxy/Renee)who lands up on Death Row in 1920's Chicago after murdering her lover, who had falsely claimed connections to aid her in her quest for stardom. In prison, she finds a night club performer of small renown (Velma/Jones) also awaiting trial for a similar infraction. Her strategy has been to retain well a known attorney (Billy/Gere) who specializes in winning cases by playing to the press, and building up a following in the tabloid newspapers. The merits of the case don't matter, it's the fame of his clients which wins the juries over.

Here then is the irony; the plot of "Chicago" revolves around efforts to cultivate interest in the press in people who's only claim to fame is being famous. Who needs a musical with actual singers and dancers when you can cast movie stars? The audiences will come just the same, drawn by curiosity for celebrities no matter how vapid the subjects, before turning to whatever the latest hype extols. As Billy/Gere smugly informs us, "That's Chicago".

There are a lot of familiar faces in "Boogie Nights" which combine with an interesting story and imaginative directing to make for a very good movie. Set in the late seventies in "the Valley" (across the Santa Monica Mountains from LA) the movie chronicles a small group of people who have found themselves in the business of producing pornographic films; in particular a young man who assumes the stage name of "Dirk Diggler" (Marky Mark himself in a surprisingly earnest performance).

A high school drop-out busboy at a nearby nightclub (not unlike the set-up for the vastly inferior "54") Marky Mark is noticed by an "Adult" film producer (Burt Reynolds) for a specific anatomical aberration conducive to a career in pornography. Leaving an unhappy home situation, he joins the film making family of Reynolds, Julianne Moore, Heather Graham, and Philip Seymour Hoffman, among other actors who have since become "stars" in their own right. (Luis Guzman and Don Cheadle also appear, foreshadowing an appearance together a decade later as the detectives in "Traffic").

As this group struggles to maintain some sense self amongst their failed lives, false celluloid intimacy and cocaine induced escapism we follow their stories and the (mis)fortunes of their industry. There is no overwrought preaching (or rationalization of drug use) and the harshness and sadness of their lives is somewhat compelling, and even touching as they try to move on. The hokey dialogue and cheapo sets of the porno films are convincingly reconstructed (or so I can only assume...) and the tawdriness of their lives made transparent without resorting to becoming what it describes (although Miss Graham and Miss Moore are briefly shown "at work") or alienating the audience from the people of the story.

It is a brilliant piece of film-making, and very well worth a look, not only as the recreation of an era (very well done with music and dancing of the period) but also as a very human story.

The original "Ocean's 11" (1960) famously starred Frank Sinatra, Sammy Davis Jr., Dean Martin and several other well-known stars of the era. The so-called "Rat Pack" were friends and the movie, a quickly slapped together story involving robbing the vaults of several Las Vegas casinos, was as much a lark for them as the movie-going audience. The modern version shamelessly appropriates the title and plot of the original film, but completely misses the point, and several major components of the first version, settling instead to be a vanity piece for the smirking but boring Mr. Clooney and company.

In 1960 Las Vegas was a relatively new venue, which had erupted from the desert in what was still a very undeveloped and rustic Nevada. World War II had ended only 15 years before, and the United States was going through a period of tremendous economic growth and optimism. The original Danny Ocean (Mr. Sinatra) and his crew had all served during the war together in the 82nd Airborne Division, and therefore were trained commandoes, and very used to working as a team. The concept of the movie is that this team of commadoes uses their wartime skills to plan and carry-out an elaborate scheme to simultaneously rob the vaults of the adjacent casinos on the strip in Las Vegas. In the original, the plan moves smoothly, until a very unexpected development deprives them of their ill-gotten gains. They leave, satisfied that their plan worked, and that the widow of one of their team is provided for, but otherwise none the richer for the criminal activities.

The Clooney fantasy is unencumbered by any such notions of plot or message; it's simply all about George and the assembled well-known Hollywood faces recruited to mimic the style of the original, which include Julia Roberts, Brad Pitt and Matt Damon. Not war heros and comrades who are used to putting their lives in eachothers' hands, but simply an amalgamation of two bit hoods and convenient "experts" with apparently limitless funding from a sympathetic gangster (a premise also borrowed from the original)Clooney- himself a small-time robber just out of jail- smugly stumbles his way through the exposition as though this was some type of "Mission Impossible" TV show setup.

Ridiculous, inane and outright dopey, the updated "Ocean's 11" sails along through frantic attempts at clever plot twists and the bad guys make off with the loot, and handsome George seems to be on track to win back his former wife, Julia Roberts. Guess what? Crime does pay! Apparently so in this case of stolen ideas and smug self-congratulatory celebrity. Montsrously enough, there are rumors of a sequel. What's next? Clooney re-recording "New York, New York"?

The story of Steve Rubel and of Studio 54 (the famous night spot of the elite on New York's 54th Street in an old ABC TV studio) is a facinating one which encapsulates much of the atmosphere of excess which characterized that era; this movie, "54" which purports to tell that story through the eyes of Shane, one of Rubel's employees, fails miserably in its attempt. What we get instead is Reese Witherspoon's husband presented as a shiftless but handsome youth from Jersey City (a working class town directly across the Hudson River) yearning for the excitment of the "Big City" in a banal "Cinderella" tale.

Mike Myers is brilliant as Steve Rubel, the club's creator, a drug swilling homosexual who likes to surround himself with pretty boys. Enter Mr. Witherspoon's "Shane" who catches Rubel's eye while trying to gain admittance one night into the fabled lair of the famous. Through some oblique family connection Shane is introduced to Rubel, and is offered a job as a busboy. So far, so good.

At this point the film loses direction (perhaps literally) as instead of learning the secrets of what went on in the club- facinating bits about basement VIP rooms and drug pipelines only alluded to in passing, we are instead served up a lame story of Shane's attraction for a famous TV star and (Neve Campbell) who frequents the club, and an entngled relationship with Shane's fellow busboy's pretty wife (Miss Hayuk).

Out of nowhere Shane is suddenly driving a Camero with custom plates and living the high life, but inexplicably is still living in a small apartment with his two fellow employees- and by the way, how a busboy and hatcheck girl could afford a two bedroom apartment in the City is just another careless detail in this sloppy mess.

As many other have said, "Boogie Nights" does a much better job of conveying the mood and music of the period, and also tells a more interesting story of the characters involved, in frankly a very similar story.

There was a good story to be told here, but we never can get past the door.

"25th Hour" is a very compelling and interesting movie to watch for several reasons, not the least of which are very good performances of each of the actors in this vignette of the last day of freedom for "Monty" (Ed Norton's character) before reporting to prison to serve a seven year term (for drug dealing in New York City).

Many of the previous comments have focused on a few tangential issues, some of which can be addressed. Standing on it's own, "25th Hour" is quite interesting for its "insiders'" views of New York City, where the characters live and work, and the storyline of what Monty does before heading off to the penitentiary, and the gruesome fate which may await him there. There are two sub-plots: the issue of who actually turned Monty in to the DEA (Federal Drug Enforcement Administration)precipitating these events, and whether or not Monty will actually go through with reporting to prison for his sentence, or instead become a fugitive and disappear.

As the movie takes place in contemporary New York City, references to the attack of September 11th, 2001, and the resulting destruction of the World Trade Center towers play a part in the story. This seems very natural, and in no way exploitive of peoples' patriotism, or pandering to voyeurism. One of Monty's two close boyhood friends (from an Irish working-class neighborhood in Queens or Brooklyn), played by the sniper from "Saving Private Ryan", and the photojournalist from "We Were Soldiers Once" is now some sort of arbitrage trader in the Financial District, and lives downtown in the neighborhood of the WTC site. Lingering shots of the cleared out site are very germaine, particularly as, illustrating the feelings of many New Yorkers, he claims that he will not move because of the threat of "dangerous dust" and would stay even in the building next door was attacked. This theme of New York resilience is central to the story.

Another part of the film which has attracted a lot of attention is a sequence in his father's Staten Island bar, in which Monty's reflection in the men's room mirror launches a diatribe against the various ethnic and sterotypical groups of New York City. Director Spike Lee still has some type of agenda here, and the very close similarity between this tirade, and the ethnic slurs voiced in much the same fashion during a segment of "Do the Right Thing" suggest that this has more to do with Mr. Lee's inner demons rather than advancing the story.

Monty is shown as a "nice guy" but it is also made clear that he is responsible for his situation, though some responsibility is shared by those close to him who were aware of his profession, but benefitted from it indirectly, or just chose to ignore it. A terrible beating administered to Monty near the film's end, encouraged by Monty himself, symbolizes his acceptance of his culpability.

Philip S. Hoffman appears as Monty's other boyhood friend, reprising his role as the pudgy loser, in this case a trust-fund supported private school teacher coming dangerously close to acting on his inappropriate feelings of a 16 year-old female student. The Russian gangsters for whom Monty works as a distributer offer a sinister look into that dark corner of Brooklyn, and also remind us of the violence and death that lurk just beneath the veneer of the affable people, and the profitable world of those who sell drugs for a living (it has to come from somewhere...) There is no sermonizing and no excuse making as the last day winds down. There are one or two surprises to keep the pace interesting, and ultimately it is Monty who does the right thing.

This film does not have pretenses; it is a reasonable action movie in the James Bond "Secret Agent" genre, (with the added "outcast" twist well known from the "Dirty Dozen") but you know what you're getting when you rent this DVD (or at least you should). The movie serves as a star vehicle for the muscular and athletic Vin Diesel, and borrows liberally from the conventions of the "spy" movies of the James Bond type: evil Slavic villains, sinister plans for world destruction/domination, elaborate high tech devices, and even more elaborate,picturesque secret hideouts of the evil plotters, and (of course) an attractive Russian moll, who may or may not be what she appears to be. The plot is simple, if somewhat dopey, but servicable for the goal of inserting Mr. Diesel into the formula. He is a renegade "extreme athlete" well-known enough to have a cult following around the world. Threatened with incarceration in a Federal prison for his past and recent transgressions, he chooses to cooperate with the National Security Agency (which in real life is responsible only for intercepting, translating and analyzing foreign intelligence) in order to clear his record. The theory is that Diesel's Xander Cage character will be more readily accepted by the targeted renegade gang of former Soviet soldiers operating out of Prague, in the Czech Republic, where previous attempts at infiltration have resulted in the agents' demise. The "James Bond" action which ensues contrasts the scruffy, gruff Diesel, (who is nonetheless affable) with the effete and smirky Bond of Pierce Brosnan. (Diesel also cuts a much more physically fit and commanding figure than the skinny wimp from Ireland who is Bond's latest incarnation). Certainly some of the "extreme" action is a bit far-fetched, but that's what these movies are for. The Diesel engine has arrived.

A snobbish and shallow sorority girl (is there any other kind in Movieland?) reluctantly goes along with the sorority plan to garner favor with the "Greek Council" (as in greek letter fraternities and sororities) by mentoring handicapped individuals competing in the local "Special Olympics". Her dealings with the handicapped individual to whom she is assigned, a crippled and mentally retarded wheel chair athlete (his nickname of "Pumpkin" is the origin of the title) are supposed to be the life changing catalyst through which she sees the hollow existence she had previously led. That sounds OK for a Hallmark Afterschool Special, but is considerably less effective as the set up for a comedy- which this film purports to be. "Pumpkin" seems to start off as a satire, with Christina Ricci (appearing as a bleached blonde) presented as the most popular sister at her UCLA sorority, though no evidence of why this should be is given. The rival sorority is shown as populated entirely by tall attractive blonde women. This is rather humorous, but it's also that last funny moment in the movie. Christina's boyfriend is the star tennis player of the school, and the envy of all, naturally. At this point, he would have been shown to be a boorish fop (as all popular high school and college athletes must be in Movieland) but he is actually revealed to be more considerate than Christina, criticizing her for attempting to "fix-up" the wheelchair bound retarded boy (who cannot articulate well)with an overweight friend of hers for a day at the beach. The parts of the movie that should show Pumpkin to be a sensitive and caring individual (central to this plot) are virtually ignored. The movie hits its lowest point when Christina sneaks into his room to spend the night with (and have sex) the cripple retarded boy. (Imagine just for a moment if the sexes were reversed for this little plot twist- a fraternity boy having sex with a crippled retarded girl). The humor apparently is supposed to derive from the outrage of the sorority girl dropping her hunky jock fraternity boyfriend for an "inappropriate" person. Humor at the expense of the handicapped is Adam Sandler's specialty, but at least he is up front about it. The movie is just too idiotic continue describing; a fistfight between the crippled retarded boy (miraculously now without his wheelchair) and the college athlete ending up with the humiliating defeat of the tennis star who outweighs him by at least 50 pounds; a spectacular mid-air car explosion and crash which leaves the tennis player wheelchair bound but somehow otherwise unscratched; and a relay race won by the erstwhile crippled boy at the climax of the Special Olympics. The final joke seems to be that Christina comes to the realization that Pumpkin really is, after all, mentally retarded, with a final panicked look into the camera as the movie fades out. Hilarious. This movie tries too hard to be clever and satirical and ends up instead a mismatched mess of banalities and moralizations. In short, this pumpkin is rotten.