Reviews

Diane Martel shook the cinematic landscape until the microphone trees fell with her frankly unbelievable choreography in the triumphant Life with Mikey, but now she has decided to open up the game.

Martel flips the "hood" genre on its nappy head by reworking the simplification of real lives that the media (and indeed directors like John Simpleton) has imposed on all forms of art from the "urban" sector. By placing these two semi-violent icons into an environment and plot which mirror the caricature nature of their "rap" personas, she places the impetus to laugh and to ridicule "thug life" firmly with us. "Laugh at Method Man," she says "laugh at Redman".

That said, this film looks like a Hype Williams video on crank. Messy costumes and over the top special effects (especially in the falling from a window scene) contribute to a blurring of the real issues. Without giving too much away, it goes without saying that the iron lungster and the funk doc blaze up some serious trees before the credits roll.

Has none of the look, style or panache of Hard Boiled, so don't be rushing to the video store counter with glee if you loved the first one. However, if you appreciate the sort of crazy, unbelievable choreography that John Woo made his name with - this is pretty close. It just won't have the quality of plot, characterisation or even, damn me for saying it, script. Funny subtitles, too.

Far from a remarkable movie. The romance lacks the panache or believability of Sleepless in Seattle and the supporting cast are meagre caricatures, despite the presence of Parker Posey and Greg Kinnear. The plot judders discernibly, though is drawn out, like most passable romantic movies, skillfully.

Put simply, there are far better cheap romances than this, a lot of recent teen movies and, notably, Sleepless in Seattle, which you should see before this.

The phrase BBC2 drama sums up this well-written, though preachy, slab of realism. Effectively up-to-date language sets off reasonable performances to a considerable, if missable, level. Young talent abounds along with a healthy amount of London cliche - lookout for the housing estate that is constantly playing jungle. Not all bad.

All the characters are cheap and hackneyed, from the concerned and confused, loving mother to the bad boy friend of the kid fresh from jail. Peer pressure, cod-psychology, simplistic relationships, poor characterisation, it's all here. It's not too offensive - what would one expect from a 1991 Ricky Schroeder/Brad Pitt film based around the adventures of two boys involved in running? A few "important" races, some shouting and a predictable yet ridiculously hole-ridden plot. Great stuff.

There is perhaps too much information available on the nuts and bolts of this movie and I am glad that I managed to shield myself from it by steering clear of the multitude's reviews and comments. However, the movie does not draw strength from plot development, though it is used expertly to tug at you emotionally. Its real power is in subtle characterisation (with the exception of Glenn Close's journey over the top) and simple fine cinematography.

This movie has so many superb nuances and such respect for its audience that you cannot fail to enjoy it, knowing that it is a warm and comfortable film. Being English, I wouldn't like to comment on what seems like stereotyping, or even a lack of respect for, those living in the South, but this seems to be the only failing. Its comedy is light, acting exceptional and it doesn't, where so many movies might, try to ensnare you into cheap emotional responses to simplified political ideas. A great film for just making you feel good, without being too tediously "feelgood".

Surprised that I took the time to watch this gross simplification of international events of the past 60 years, I saw a grating deja-vu performance from Bette Midler combine admittedly well with a characteristically capable James Caan to create a movie which seems desperate to make a point or two but falls a fair distance short.

Though charming for moments of its attempt to be close to "epic", it trivialises wars it tries to either document or romanticise. The end effect is a lack of empathy with our protagonists and a slight disappointment with the schmalzty approach to severe and devastating events.

Twogether (awful, awful title) seems to want to be an explanation, almost, of a hectic relationship between an emotionally vulnerable couple. Though at times its plot developments are pleasingly subtle, its surges towards melodrama are unbelievable and unsettling.

There seems to be a lack of talent involved in the movie and it comes across as pretentious and uninvolving. The two leads cannot hold your involvement and as it drags along, you cease to care what happens next. The script is competent and Jeremey Piven (from Ellen and Judgement Night) plays that character he always does, keeping the movie vaguely interesting and familiar.

Unfortunately, they were the only reasons I made it to the end of the picture.

At one point in this waste of celluloid, Charles Dance as some sort of meant-to-be-funny, cyborg bad guy says "If I had an anus, I'd soil myself."

Quite.

S.F.W. is not a great movie. It's not a bad movie. It's the sort of movie which should make up the mainstream. The bland ineffectualities of the average movie are grinding away at our expectations and it may well be helpful to have movies such as this or the Matrix. They're entertaining with a slight side order of thought-provoking.

Like the Matrix, it doesn't ask too much of you, but lets you extend the ideas in your mind with a few pointers. The issue raised in this movie (the disintegration of reality in the media saturated post-modern world) should certainly be covered more in this medium. Though it doesn't use the trick of implication of the viewer (Natural Born Killers, Funny Games), there is a certain guilt created by its admittedly slightly heavy handed media satire.

Stephen Dorff and Reese Witherspoon generally choose their films well (with the notable exception of Space Truckers) and serve them well. This movie will look great on their C.V. though will taint Dorff particularly with the Gen-X tag. The self-destructive lifestyle of Dorff's character grates a little, as he is always groomed with the finest Sub Pop Grunge Brush. Look to films like Gummo for the reality of these grimy lifestyles.

The film is edited so as to lack any real time-scale and is conceptual in nature, with only character sketches and brief insight into the people involved. Hence, there is little empathy with the story from any angle but your own personal emotions on the subject it covers. More films in this genre should be this thoughtful.

This is an imaginative movie, with elements of the slightly farcical movies of the '80's (Secret of my Success, you know the sort of thing). It's saved from mediocrity and anachronism by a sort of twisted realism caused by disjointed, surprising plot changes/devices. This is also evident in the sex scenes (with a sort of "left a bit"/"can we... move down the bed" approach) which makes the romance element all the more touching.

Josh Charles (Threesome, Dead Poets Society) delivers a traffic metaphor heavy Kevin Bacon (in She's Having a Baby)-esque narration competently, while Anne Heche manages to pull off being equally expressive, beautiful and serene. It's very hard not to love her in this movie, should you let yourself fall into the sap trap.

It's a striking film, touching and witty. Feelgood? Yeah, I guess I feel alright.

The Star Wars legend has entered mythology, for our generation. It's almost as if "The Phantom Menace" is "based on a true story", a theoretical recreation of the events that led to the story which we know and love. That said, it isn't bad. The knowing smile that crosses one's lips when Anakin meets Obi-Wan is affectionate, the nostalgic reaction to a light-sabre battle worth the price of entrance alone. The only gripe is the "Wicket Factor". If you remember the cute Ewok who first meets Leia and your reaction to him, then you'll appreciate my reaction to Jar Jar Binks and the other child-pleasing elements of the movie (pod racing commentator with two heads, Anakin's little buddies). I found them slightly out of touch with the true essence of Star Wars, as the Ewoks were. Natalie Portman and Liam Neeson do fantastic jobs in tough roles, though one suspects that his Jedi nonchalance was in part caused by the blue screen that he must have been acting with. Hey, we didn't expect another Empire Strikes Back.

John Candy shines in what is surely one of slapstick comedy's finest moments. James Belushi is excellent as ever as one of the most three dimensional gambler/losers since Woody Harrelson in White Men Can't Jump. Cybill Sheppard is naturally hilarious, George Hamilton superbly placed, the movie is a gem. It keeps you guessing until the incredibly dextrous twist as it ends. Nah, only kidding, the movie bites. Hard.

Space Camp, which had the unfortunate luck to be planned around the time of the Challenger accident, deserves such luck. The "stars" make a mockery of acting, Lea Thomson actually being turned sideways, when asked for more than her usual wide-eyed innocent smile, presumably to mask her risible attempts. The movie is at times hilarious, when it begins to ask far too much of you. A small boy keeps a multi-million dollar robot in his closet which breaks when given too many commands by the hordes of cliched dorm-mates. This hackneyed and unlovable machine, "Jinx", is a major player in the ridiculous premise of the movie, which seems part Short Circuit, part 2001 by the Airplane team. I shan't bore you with this, suffice it to say you can only laugh when faced with it. Having said all of this, it is enjoyable to watch, in a SeaQuest, Saved by the Bell kind of way. The romance and technology, beware, are as unbelievable as each other. Also, if you're an eighties freak, its unmissable for the amusing performances of Kate Capshaw (Willie from Temple of Doom) and, obviously, Lea Thompson. Also, Joaquin Phoenix puts in a dodgy turn as a sort of wannabe Goonie who befriends Jinx. Do not go near this movie if you are not a fan of trash.

No game, fighting or otherwise, has ever touched the majesty and depth of Tekken 3. The improvements on Tekken 2 are palpable, adding side-stepping and a much needed, flowing, 3D element. The characters become part of your life as you play the game, with countless holds, throws and special moves. I own a Playstation simply to play this game. Once you have fully understood the depth of the game, and have friends who have attained a similar level, the game becomes inexhaustible, continuing to set new boundaries of skill, knowledge and timing. Buy a Playstation. Buy this game. It's as simple as that.

I expected more from you, Robert Altman. After Nashville, Short Cuts and The Player, one would naturally imagine this movie to be as cutting, as subtle, but with such easy targets Altman has his job done for him. The cameos are nearly all excellent, the script good, but the overall impression the film makes is inconsequential. Also, though it is a minor concern in an Altman movie, the plot is close to meaningless and certainly uninteresting. Think of it as a series of "skits" on the fashion industry or, indeed, human nature, and you will find this enjoyable and humorous, if not insightful.

While watching this film, you get a sense of every thing you need to know being supplied in the script before you realise it. Hints are dropped constantly at the truth which as the plot unfolds, with more twists and turns than a twisty turny thing, becomes more of a guesswork patchwork. To enjoy the movie best, don't try and out-guess it, as, I have to admit, I did. Just let the flow take you to a conclusion that, through all the confusion is roundly satisfying. Without the possibly unnecessary concessions to the mainstream, it would have been a perfect film. It remains excellent.

If one were to hear of a movie concerning the antics of a dead Bill Cosby trying to help his children, the cineast in you would not be stirred to see/rent it. However, I still managed to be unpleasantly surprised by the gall of this movie. Each turn around the seemingly aimless plot reveals fresh idiocy. Every moment of Cosby's acting seems an excuse for a new stupid face to pull, though even these become horrendous. One is left with an over-riding feeling of disbelief, after having been asked to suspend exactly that from new levels for the duration of the picture. I suppose really odd Dana Ashcroft fanatics may wish to see this. But this movie is for children. Stupid children.