Reviews

Adultery in and of itself does not necessarily make good drama. Sometimes, it can make good farce, I suppose, but as far as drama is concerned, the best way to handle a love triangle is to tell the story backwards. Neil Jordan's adaptation of The End of the Affair does, in some sense, attempt to tell the story sideways, and is occasionally interesting as a question of, `Where am I now – in their idyllic past or the grim future?'

The opening credits of the film are quite reassuring. Neil Jordan has always been a superb craftsman, and very often a strong storyteller.

For the first ten minutes, I thought I was in for a treat. The camera drifts over the belongings of the protagonist, Bendix (Ralph Fiennes) and then settles in on him typing his novel. `This is a diary of hate,' he begins, and I smiled, knowing that he was going to be the laconic, smart but silly everyman akin to Joseph Cotton in `The Third Man', the Graham Greene protagonist, tough yet brittle, with a wise acre mouth but deep wells of insecurity underneath.

Fiennes and Moore flirt at a party, and talk about the characters in the book he is going to write. This seems to be the most interesting part of their relationship – the attraction stage. Once they get into the affair, which is steamy and highly charged sexually, I promptly lost interest in the movie.

See, there's really not much interest in watching people who are having an affair on film. Perhaps the Graham Greene novel handled this in a poetic way (and the dialogue sounds very much like prose), but onscreen it plays itself out as a somewhat predictable romance which comes to its end. See, it turns into a love triangle between Fiennes, Moore and – well – the Holy Ghost. An incident which caused The End of the Affair brought about Moore's complex relationship with God.

This leads to the movie's major problem, which is that I never felt the "Presence of God" in this film as a character. `Breaking the Waves' had me convinced that God was a guiding force in Beth's life, and was always there. In this film, the miracles feel like plot points.

Perhaps God is underdeveloped as a character because Moore (though excellent) is really given a somewhat limited role. She remains in the background, in a way – a mystery. Fiennes and Rea come through clearer as three dimensional characters. We are never really given insight into what Moore feels – she's always being observed by someone else, be it Fiennes, the private detective he hires, or Jordan's camera. She seems to be a product of the Male Gaze. (Emily Watson was, too, but that was part of the point in `Breaking the Waves' and never flinched from the disturbing aspects of that.)

I spent a good deal of time squirming in my seat, fairly bored by the romance and the ramifications of this affair. However, there was a subplot which really worked. Ian Hart plays the befuddled and lovable detective who is trailing Moore, who strikes up a friendship with Fiennes. He's very by the books, but not a particularly good judge of character.He's smart enough to get it done though, and to realize that his son (who follows him everywhere in training) will be an even better detective than he is.

First of all, the father and son (a little kid) detective team is simply adorable and comic – a welcome change from the heaviness of the rest of the story. The little kid gets our sympathy not for being a cute tyke but because he's a clever sot and a likable joe, like his old man. He has a huge purple birthmark on his face which he's sensitive about, but otherwise seems happy-go-lucky. He becomes perhaps the best, most moving thing about the movie, even though he disappears from most of the second half.

Interesting that the subplot manages to have more heart and soul than the central story, and even more winning is that this is where the movie finds its real miracle.

Woody Allen's film has two things going for it: (1) The jazz guitar score is beautiful, and the scenes where protagonist Emmett Ray is onstage with his band are appropriately charming, fun and had my foot-a-tappin'. Allen loves jazz, and this entire movie exudes the charm of our idyllic '20s and '30s. (2) The film has the enormous benefit of starring Sean Penn, who somehow manages to be a scoundrel, an egomaniacal jerk and an insufferable lout while at the same time being spirited, likable and even charming in an odd sort of way.

Those are two pretty big factors in a character driven film about a jazz musician. Penn works wonders onstage, having mastered the extensive fingerings for the jazz guitar. It's a class act - a daunting job for an actor which he pulls off seamlessly.

Emmett Ray is a womanizing b***ard, and he goes through many ladies throughout the course of the film. Sometimes, this got old (Uma Thurman's one joke ingenue is an insufferably long sequence, but has a good joke at the end.) The critically acclaimed Samantha Morton is tolerable as the mute who loves him, her mannered performance reminiscent of Harpo Marx. Sometimes, it's a little too cutesy - I mean, how many times can you cut to her character eating a ton of food? But she makes a good foil for Penn, her silence forcing him to ramble on hilariously. (After sex he takes out his guitar and asks, "What's your favorite song? snicker Wait, look who I'm askin'!")

Allen also manages to pack in some good comedy, such as Penn taking all his dates to the local dump where he shoots at rats. (When one dame gets on his nerves, he tosses a dead rat casually into her lap.) Or the time he decides to make his stage entrance riding in a big yellow moon. There are so many "Emmett Ray" stories that one of them gets repeated three times. Hilarity ensues.

So I laughed a lot, which is more than I can say for most of Allen's output in the '90s. It's also his most consistent film in years. Sadly, this is the type of project Woody would have knocked off in the old days. Now, it's his finest hour.

Hiyao Miyazaki brings his poetic sensibility to `Princess Mononoke,' the latest from Studio Ghibi. The film is an ecological fable about the conflict between man and nature, but offers no solutions or preachy messages like most animated films. In addition, it doesn't provide the usual scapegoats or easy targets we are used to. The genius of the film lies not only in its pure cinematic excellence (each image is stunning in its beauty and detail), but its willingness to provide clear and understandable motivation for the consumers/exploiters.

Lady Eboshi (voiced elegantly by Minnie Driver) runs Iron Town, a mining village which is reaping its raw material from the Great Forest, taking it by force against the will of the Animal Gods, who battle to regain control over their habitat. Traditionally, Lady Eboshi would be an unrepentant villain who needs to be taught a lesson: destroy the environment and we destroy ourselves. Easy to say, right? Try telling that to the women who work the factory, who were once prostitutes before the lady took them in to work, or the lepers, whom no one but she would hire. Suddenly, the issue becomes clouded. And we understand that technology is both a friend and an enemy. Where would we be without industrial progress? (Miyazaki himself has understood in other films the wonder and glory of these advances, having a fascination for flying mechanisms which runs through his entire body of work.)

However, industrial progress comes with a price, and the film unflinchingly portrays Lady Eboshi's cavalier destruction of the forests and disregard for the lives of the Animal Gods who live there. The Boar Tribe is almost entirely wiped out. The Ape Tribe is afraid to plant new trees for fear of the fiery man made catapults. The Wolf Goddess is dying from a poisoned bullet, grimly accepting her fate.

San (Princess Mononoke, voiced by Clare Danes) is one of the key defenders of the forest, raised by the Wolf Goddess to despise all humans. The iron bullets are transforming the Gods into vicious Demons, wrecking everything in their path, and the damage is going beyond the Forest and Iron Town, into remote villages throughout Japan. The film's protagonist, Ashitaka (voiced by Billy Crudup) comes from such a village, attacked by a mad Demon Boar and leaving him with a poisoned wound which will slowly infect his entire body and corrupt him. Ashitaka rides into town and attempts to bring both sides together in a compromise.

As you can see, the mythos heavy plot requires you to keep up, but the film is consistently entertaining. It features epic battle scenes which rival those of the master, Akira Kurosawa (an admirer of Miyazaki's work), and an understanding of how animals behave which is believable throughout (in body language, gesture and, seemingly, in thoughts.) The adaptation by Neil Gaiman is remarkably vivid, unlike most translations, which seem to lose something special from the source. The voice characterizations range from excellent (Driver, Crudup, Gillian Anderson as the quietly ferocious Wolf God) to questionable (Clare Daines is a bit too cutesy as San, and Billy Bob Thornton is at first seemingly a strange choice as Jiro, a sneaky monk, but neither of them are too distracting. Billy Bob actually grew on me.)

`Princess Mononoke' was one of the finest films I've seen this year.

The Whistle Blower Everyman takes on Big Tobacco.

The Insider is a film of remarkable intensity, considering there are no explosions, car chases or shootouts. However, it does capture the feeling of a man under pressure, the Hitchcockian hero up against impossible odds. Chubby, bespectacled Jeffrey Weygand is our hero, played with enormous restraint by Russell Crowe. He's a man who, like most whistle blowers, wants to do the right thing, but is terrified about the after effects on his home and family.

Enter 60 Minutes producer Lowell Bergman, played by the fast talking Al Pacino (who is less over-the-top than in his previous collaboration with Michael Mann). Looks like they want to do a piece with Jeff on 60 Minutes. That's when the corporate suits lay their knives into Jeff and the CBS studio goes into full damage control mode to protect their interests.

The problem with such a story, no matter how brilliantly acted, how crisp the dialogue is, how beautifully it is shot by Dante Spinotti, how layered the sound design is, and how stirring the musical score (except for a few operas Mann throws in, which push the material over the top), we already know EXACTLY what's gonna happen. We've seen these paranoid conspiracy films before (mostly in the '70s), and there really ain't much new happening here.

Then again, there was nothing all that new in Mann's "Heat", either, but it played like a first rate cop and robber story, and we didn't know who was gonna win the cat and mouse race. This time, there's no doubt.

However, the production is impeccable all around, and one has come to expect nothing less from this meticulous, if unsubtle, filmmaker. Mann is particularly good with regard to fleshing out his supporting cast with great character actors. Crowe has the great leading role and Christopher Plummer effortlessly, gracefully steals his scenes as the hard boiled Mike Wallace, but let's not forget the who's who of great talent like Colm (Glenn Gould) Feore as an ever practical attorney, the brittle but always believable Diane Venora as Jeff's frazzled and unhappy wife, Rip Torn's good ol' boy lawyer, Michael Gambon's deadly purring cat of a CEO -- most of them only show up for a scene or two, but they create a strong impression.

The movie does run close to three hours, but is compulsively watchable. I give The Insider a hearty * * *.

What can be said about "Being John Malkovich" without destroying the wonderful surprises in store?

Spike Jonze has made numerous short films and videos before embarking upon this visual treat, and he is one of the few music video directors who actually brings a great deal of thought or resonance to his images. His offbeat sensibility is ideally suited for Charlie Kaufman's imaginative and wildly original screenplay. The premise alone, revealed in the title, captures the sense of having your 15 minutes of fame inside an actor who not everyone knows by name.

Yes, puppeteer John Cusack takes a job working as a file clerk on the 7 ½ floor, and lo and behold, he discovers a portal into the mind of JM himself. After 15 minutes, he is unceremoniously dumped on the side of the New Jersey turnpike. The film takes its time before providing us with this wonderful scene, thoroughly developing the characters of frustrated artiste Cusack, his frustrated and frumpy wife played by an unrecognizable Cameron Diaz and Cusack's sassy, sexy, vixen-y co-worker Catherine Keener, all in top form (and some under the most brilliant hair design since the Farrelly Brothers virtuoso work in "Kingpin".)

And then we begin our adventure seeing the world through the eyes of JM, going in directions one wouldn't expect, and even if it does, it goes beyond those initial variables into some truly stunning and unexpected variations in terms of character development, plot, space and time.

Well filmed (and surprisingly subtle, not going for large scale effects) with impeccable taste, style and a flair for the theatrical without becoming overpronounced or gauche, Being John Malkovich ranks as one of my biggest delights this screengoing year.

John Malkovich, of course, steals the show. It is, after all, his head.

From the opening images, we are reminded of Taxi Driver. The swirl of New York City colors, the eyes of a man driving through these mean streets. Then the voice over kicks in, and we are reminded of Light Sleeper, Affliction, and countless other inflictions Paul Schrader has made upon screenwriting, and we hear the ponderous, tired voice of the Schrader hero who has seen it all, feels his life is about to change, and that he's so tired...if he could only get to sleep.

It almost plays like a parody of their previous work, which sort of fits since the film is a comedy, more or less. Nicolas Cage rides around in the ambulance during Act One, Act Two and Act Three, each time saddled with a new paramedic buddy. These sections of the movie actually work quite well, not unlike the mania of Scorsese's bizarre masterpiece, After Hours.

While it's always worth catching a Scorsese film on the big screen (even when he's slumming, he's a visual maestro and a strong storyteller), he seems to be coasting on his greatest hits rather than pushing new ground (the experimental Kundun seemed to spark a new direction).

As the only anime I was familiar with until seeing this were ultraviolent cyberpunk epics about little kids with amazing powers blowing up neo-Tokyo and killing hundreds of thousands of innocent people, it was a surprise to learn about a gentle, poetic, G-rated cartoon about two young sisters and their father, moving to a rural village and there encountering a giant furry forest creature named Totoro.

Thankfully, unlike most Disney films, My Neighbor Totoro moves at a slow, lyrical pace, allowing you to breathe in the nature, animals and joy of being a child long before anything supernatural or otherwordly happens.

The film has a fascination with children, animals and nature, as evident in the beautifully drawn images which linger on flowers, clouds, acorns and grass, insects and grasshoppers, et al. It perfectly captures the fascination with the elements as well as the unknown.

Raoul Ruiz's "Time Regained" deals with fragmented, even experimental narratives told in the form of a collage, and it has an uncanny beauty which perhaps can only be achieved by this effect.

Such a film defies conventional structure, since a literal adaptation of Proust would in fact be quite boring. You can't capture smells onscreen - you can't capture taste!

However, Ruiz employs the limitations of the film medium beautifully, chiefly by using the story as a tool to explore his own preoccupations with the layers of memory which unfold - through photographs, through mirrors and doorways opening up to the past or the present (and cutting back and forth between the two with ease).

It is surprising that the story never feels confusing, since Ruiz is a master at locating you even when shifting from the main character's childhood to middle age, or having the child and adult (same person) onscreen at the same time. It doesn't feel pretentious, either,since Ruiz has a sincere emotional investment in the protagonist (and by having its star emote as little as possible but wander around bemusedly, with a sad smile half hidden under his moustache, it is easy for audience identification with him.)

I like when a film is willing to take it's time and linger on scenes which another movie wouldn't dwell on. Not every movie would dwell on a quartet playing and linger on them through the entire song. How many films would do this and do it well? (The details make it - folks shifting in their seats, etc.)

* * * * for Time Regained.

Much has been made of the fact that the film was directed by David Lynch, the creator of such dark, subterranean fare as `Blue Velvet' and `Lost Highway'. I've heard it said that it's hard to believe that he made this film. Hogwash, says I. From its opening images of patterns of fields being mowed to the isolated shots of a small Americana town and a factory building puffing up smoke in the background, we know we are in Lynchian territory, which captures something special the way a photograph or a painting can (and, not surprisingly, Lynch is prolific at both).

A large woman on a small chair sits out on her lawn sunning herself. She goes inside, gets her cupcakes and potato chips, and sits back down in the chair, murmuring happy noises to herself. It's Lynchian, and somewhat grotesque, but it achieves what `Gummo' aspired to do at times: to capture the fact that life is beautiful and strange, filled with illusions – but it *is* beautiful if you take the time to really look at it. (The hero appropriately moves at five miles an hour.)

For my money, David Lynch makes some of the most *realistic* films ever made about the American experience. I often find that the films which tap into genuine and universal realism are often the most surreal, because it taps into something which can only be skimmed on the surface through naturalism.

Lynch has always been a master at this, and here he achieves it through a poetic lyricism that has always been there in his work, only now it's the center.

* * * * for The Straight Story.

The things that captured my attention immediately were the likability and believability of the couple at the center of the film. Kevin Bacon and Kathryn Erbe not only give strong, lived in performances and are appropriately likable, they also project the sense of having to get on with their lives in spite of the nightmare they've fallen into. They are a wholly believable relationship (a rare item onscreen) and as parents, warts and all. The kid gives a strong perf, too, and is less mannered than Haley Joel Osment.

The jolts are genuinely scary, and the buildup is even better. One especially creepy scene had Bacon wake up for the day and go through his morning routine while weird things start to happen, leading to a shock - woah! He wakes up. It was all a dream. Then he gets up to go through said routine and the same things start to happen. An obvious screenwriting ploy, perhaps,but the sickening, encroaching dread is a credit to Koepp's writing and directing. He knows how to deliver.

* * * for Stir of Echoes.

For the art house crowd comes this critically panned film never released theatrically in the U.S. `Nadja' director Michael Almareyda comes up with his skewed version of The Mummy, complete with hip characters, fun surprises, a great alternate music soundtrack, Christopher Walken doing a Irish accent but otherwise being his quirky old self, brilliant cinematography from Jim Denault and a flair for the unexpected.

The perfectly enjoyable heroes are Allison Elliott and Jared Harris, as a cheerfully drunken couple going to Ireland to dry out. The movie acknowledges the "alcoholic" problem by having them not deal with it or call attention to it, and it's to the movie's credit that it's never an "issue" or makes them into completely awful or unbelievably irresponsible parents (they're just normally irresponsible, like most parents.)

* * * for The Eternal, an imperfect gem.

Fessenden embodies much that is great about no-budget, maverick filmmaking. I appreciated his color palette of browns and blacks, and like Polanski's `Repulsion' he manages to place you into the heart of a character on a downward spiral while referencing back to the vampire film. The lingering question for much of the film is, simply, is he going bonkers because of emotional stress or is she a blood sucking vampire draining him dry?

Wisely, Fessenden avoids any overt references to vampirism for almost the entire film, allowing the viewer to determine what is happening. He avoids the clumsy exposition which populates so many films. In a brief moment when Sam encounters his ex at a Halloween party, they make no reference to breaking up or ever having been together; he simply asks her how her apartment hunt is going and offers to help her move, and the way theyinteract says it all. The film is filled with moments like this.

It also helps that the film is shot in such a creepy way, giving the mundane aspects of his life a jolt. The major setpieces at a masked Halloween party or at a carnival evoke mystery and dread without resorting to vampires jumping out at you.

Not as smug and offensive as the repugnant Happiness nor as subtle or rich in character nuance as The Ice Storm, American Beauty lurks somewhere in-between.

To be fair, most of the cast do exceedingly fine work in this funny/sad portrait of quietly desparate lives in suburbia, and the script offers quite a few zinger one-liners, but I kept feeling as though there were something more to be tapped into. For all the film's indications to "look closer", there seems to be very little beneath the surface.

Kevin Spacey is quite good as Lester, going through a mid life crisis after he quits his job one fine day. Yep, he's pretty cool when he blackmails the company ("pass the asparagus"), and he's pretty funny when he says the highlight of his day is masturbating in the shower, but though he's always compelling to watch, there's something about his performance - something a bit mannered which makes it not quite "real". It's fine, intelligent work from a gifted craftsman, but I never felt an emotional resonance underneath - I never particularly cared about his plight.

As for Annette Benning, she's mannered to excess. Her role (and performance) are akin to nails running down a chalkboard. Those glaring eyes, that mouth set in a curt, silent shriek at all times. I will confess, however, that her funniest moment is also her most pathetic, when she fails to make a real estate sale and starts slapping herself in the face over and over again.

The kids are effective, and the neo-nazi ex-marine next door (Chris Cooper, from Lone Star) is not as awful as you might expect - they manage to downplay the nazi stuff, and this character gives the film it's one interesting twist.

* * for American Beauty

Brandon Teena, 21. A brash, cocky, charming young man who's a man's man (he can drink a beer with you, back you up in a barroom fight, bull**it with you by the fire all night long) and a ladies' man, showing a remarkable courtesy, charm and charisma, tough but tender.

Of course, anyone who is familiar with the Brandon Teena story knows that he was a she - a young woman who taped down her breasts, stuffed a sock in her pants, wore her hair very short and had a slight swagger in her walk. She rolled into Falls City, Nebraska and successfully convinced the locals that she was a he. Brandon falls in love with a local girl, and teaches her to open herself up - like some small town girls, she's bitter, angry and filled with claustrophobic malaise - but Brandon offers her a way out, the dream of going to Memphis. The story made national headlines when Brandon is discovered by the local roughnecks who were once his friends, and is subsequently brutally exposed, raped and, two days later, murdered.

From the opening shots, we feel safe in the hands of a confident filmmaker. Kimberly Pierce doesn't push the envelope with any new stylistic devices, telling her story simply and shooting it like a traditional "indie film". Yet this serves the story better than you might expect - it never reaches for its moments of joy, tenderness, or intensity, and keeps the film focused entirely on its well written characters.

The team in front of and behind the camera is impeccable. The always reliable Jim Denault continues his impressive career as a cinematographer whose images emote a strange beauty and lyricism. Randall Poster is the music supervisor (you may remember the name from Velvet Goldmine), and he has become *the* name for music supervision.

And what a cast. Every performance shines, down to the smaller supporting roles. Every performance, starting from Hilary Swank's startling transformation into Brandon Teena. After this role, she will without a doubt become the next Lili Taylor of the indie film scene. Smart, sassy, charming, with an expressive face and a strong screen presence, she blazes across the screen. It's always something to see the birth of a star, and Swank far surpassed any expectation I had. Great work.

Also very strong is Chloe Sevigny's subtle performance as Lana, Brandon's girlfriend. The role could easily have been laughable - starting off as sullen, reserved and angry, then showing the light in her eyes when she slowly falls for Brandon's charms to the difficult scenes where she seems to know that Brandon is a girl, but loves her all the same. Sevigny never seems to be reaching for the right emotional notes - it just seems honest, truthful and always real. The gentle scenes of lovemaking or just hanging out and talking play with a sweetness uncommon in films, and make this tragedy deeply moving.

By the time the horrific events occur in the final third of the film, I cared very deeply for Brandon and Lana, and was shaking and crying as Brandon's friends turn on her. What makes it so intense is how likable the two guys are who ultimately assault and rape her. Peter Sasgaard and Brendan Sexton III each invest their characters with a lot of depth and humor. John and Tom spend a lot of time with Brandon during the early part of the story - she's one of the guys. They drink beers together, brook philosophical, talk about their lives, back each other up most of the time (except when Sasgaard's John loses his temper in drunken fits, whose extremity and intensity become deeper in retrospect.) These two roles could easily have lapsed into caricature or contrivance - and as much as I enjoyed Sling Blade, the abusive dad in that was still a *movie* character while these guys are the boys next door, raising hell, going in and out of jail for petty crimes. I grew up with lots of guys just like them, who were pi**ers to hang out with - kinda scary to see how human the face of evil can really be.

More scary when you take note of the fact that during a particularly cruel scene toward the end of the film when Brandon is exposed, abused and beaten, one or two insensitive members of the audience were laughing.

* * * * for Boys Don't Cry