Reviews

Claire Trevor plays 'Tex', a go-getting girl reporter. Tricked into chasing a fake story on the wrong side of town, she stumbles onto a more interesting tale: a local black woman (Fredi Washington) who claims that her white daughter (Joan Carroll) is her real daughter.

As Tex attempts to scoop her bumbling colleagues on the story, she finds herself confronting issues of journalistic integrity as she befriends the woman and her policeman beau, played (and occasionally tap-danced) by Bill 'Bojangles' Robinson. Blackmailers and a wealthy couple (Sally Blane and John Eldredge) become involved before the truth is revealed.

Performances are excellent under veteran Allan Dwan's expert hand, but Fredi Washington is the clear standout, giving an intensely moving and dignified performance, assisted greatly by a touching chemistry with her on screen daughter. The promise she shows here makes it all the sadder that this was the final role of Fredi's brief screen career.

Watching films of the 1930s and 40s, you are often struck by the way that black characters are just figures in the background, barely human - servants, boot-blacks, often the butt of crude comic relief. When Claire Trevor first finds herself in the black neighborhood, we see black people as human beings, going about their business.

Though the film's rather disappointing ending is rooted in the attitudes of its time, this early scene alone, along with the heartbreaking Fredi Washington, make 'One Mile From Heaven' an important film that deserves to be more widely seen.

This interminable biopic of the Californian pioneer John Sutter demonstrates just how important Preston Sturgess' screenplay was to the artistic success of 'Diamond Jim' Universal's similarly lavish biopic, also starring Edward Arnold, of the previous year. Where Sturgess made the most of that story's rough edges, the cavalcade of writers who worked on this (rarely a good sign) not only sand them off but substitute some very dull fiction in place of fact.

Production values are high - they could not help but be, given the film's massive budget - and under the direction of James Cruze, famous for his nation-building epics of the silent era, visuals are impressive. None of this can overcome a plodding, overlong and exposition-laden script, in which characters tell us exactly who they are and how they feel at every possible moment.

Edward Arnold gives a sincere performance in the title role and certainly looks the part, but Binnie Barnes sleepwalks through her role as his love interest. At the other end of the scale, Lee Tracy hams it up as Sutter's right hand man, particularly in the later scenes as his character ages.

The bare bones of the story are not uninteresting, but they're conveyed in such an uninspiring fashion that you never come to care for Sutter, his vast ambitions, or his downfall.

The financial failure of this film is often cited as having sealed the fate of Universal Pictures head Carl Laemmle and his son, Carl Jr. By the end of this, you might wish you were the one who signed the termination letter.

Given the many errors in his review, the late F. Gwynplaine MacIntyre had obviously not seen this film. It's therefore a shame that decided not to give this enjoyable curiosity the benefit of the doubt.

The film starts in deceptively conventional fashion. Hapless little Elmer (Buck Black) is in love with Hattie (Jean Johnston), who declares that she would not marry him 'even if he were the last man on earth'. The devastated Elmer swears off girls for life.

The fun really begins when we skip to the distant future of 1940, when the major threat to mankind is not World War but 'masculitis', a disease that has wiped out the whole adult male population. Men are but a distant memory, gangs of skirted thugs fill the speakeasies, and the President (female, of course) is more interested in her cats than in running the country.

By 1950, the brilliant scientist Dr Prodwell (Clarissa Selwynne) has found a cure, but the fact remains that the women are now pining for the company of men, and none more so than the doctor's flapper daughter (Marie Astaire) - and yes, there are still flappers in 1950!

When an aviatrix finds the now-grown Elmer living in the wilderness as a hermit, his discovery is a sensation. Ernest is no less terrified of women than he ever was, but before long, his hand in marriage is being auctioned to millionairesses and fought over by congresswomen, who stage an all-ladies boxing match on the floor of Congress! The riotous conclusion makes Buster Keaton's 'Seven Chances' look like 'The Dating Game' - and of course, the grown-up Hattie (Derelys Perdue) finds herself revising her opinion of Elmer ...

Despite some gutsy female characters it's a stretch to find any feminist message lurking behind this film, and the concept doesn't quite stretch to fill the full seven reels (in particular, the aforementioned boxing match would have benefited from cutting), but its offbeat nature and outlandish future fashions are so much fun that it hardly matters.

This is a thoroughly enjoyable and totally unpredictable romp. Given that its sound remake, 'It's Great To Be Alive' (1933) is a lost film, I can guarantee that you'll never see anything else quite like it.

Yet again, the late F. Gwynplaine MacIntyre has submitted a review for a film he clearly has not seen. This picture contains no sighting of the deerstalker hat. Holmes has no side whiskers. Several major plot details are incorrect. If you'd like to hear from someone who HAS seen this film, read on.

What you will find if you are able to see this very rare entry into the Holmes screen canon is a moderately interesting early talkie, with a script that too often betrays its stage origins.

After vowing that he has completed his final case, Sherlock is lured back into sleuthing by a complicated series of events that include murder, the kidnapping of Watson's future son-in- law, a double agent in Scotland Yard, and phone hacking (yes, really!)

Clive Brook is an agreeable if somewhat subdued Holmes, displaying a few of the character's quirks but none of his usual abrasiveness. H. Reeves-Smith plays a credulous Watson, who gets little to do other than to occasionally marvel at Holmes' brilliance, while Betty Lawford and Phillip Holmes are stiff as a clichéd pair of Bright Young Things, though they are not helped by some of the sappy lines they are given. Donald Crisp, as a shifty ship's doctor, is the best of the supporting cast.

For all the wrong reasons, the film's standout performance comes from Harry T. Morey, whose dreadfully hammy Moriarty stops the picture in its tracks. What is obviously meant to be a tense shipboard denouement instead comes off as a little ludicrous, thanks to a performance that seems to have escaped from a Universal horror film of the 1930s.

The dialogue is fairly static and the pace is uneven - which is to say, it's no worse than most talkies of this early period, and a little better than many of them. Holmesians will find much to interest them in this outing, even if it's just to hear that famous (if inaccurate) quote - 'Elementary, my dear Watson' - spoken for the first time on the screen.

Ruth (May McAvoy)'s father is shot dead by an unknown assailant, and suspect number one is the boyfriend he has mysteriously barred from seeing her, Robert (Ricardo Cortez). But someone's not convinced by the perfunctory police investigation. Enter Matilda Jones (Ethel Wales), a wonderfully feisty older woman who, under the name Rufus Romes, is a best-selling crime novelist. Now she turns her attentions towards the real-life crime at hand, and her clever amateur sleuthing uncovers a raft of secrets.

The film starts a little slowly, but from the minute the wonderful Ethel Wales appears, it's a delight. The central mystery is cleverly plotted and well directed by William DeMille (older brother of Cecil). While the supporting cast is fine, this is Wales' movie through and through. There are shades of Jessica Fletcher and both Agatha Christie and Miss Marple in her witty performance. If you're a fan of silents or whodunnits - or both - this will come as a treat.

I've been a Batman fan almost literally all my life, and was naturally looking forward to the latest incarnation of one of the greatest modern myths. The combination of talent and story sounded intriguing - sadly, all I found was an over-long, self-important muddle.

Naturally, director Christopher Nolan was perfectly within his rights to dispense with the traditional grungy Art Deco palette used for Gotham City, but why go instead with such an uninspiring and clichéd sci-fi hodge podge instead? Making Gotham real rather than surreal also runs the risk of making a man who likes running around in a bat suit seem a tad silly. Since 'The Wizard of Oz' in 1939, films have had to work hard to establish an internal logic to their reality; Batman Begins' seems unsure of what its is. Can Batman really fly? Is this the not-too-distant future? Is it an alternative reality? Who knows?

Certainly, nobody's suggesting Nolan should have slipped in a Batusi to lighten the mood, but the darkness of his vision might actually have benefited from some lightness. Tim Burton's choice of Michael Keaton to play the main role in his films was, of course, very controversial, but in choosing a comedian he instinctively recognised that donning a bat suit to fight crime is both noble and faintly ridiculous, something Christian Bale is too po-faced to put across.

Batman has always been dark, sometimes brutal - sometimes brutally funny. But one thing it has never been is just another super hero story, which this film - like the Spiderman and X-Men films before it - is.

Self obsessed yuppies Nancy and Alex decide to bump off an old lady in order to secure some prime real estate. Real funny stuff. Seriously - while there are some mildly funny moments in `Duplex', its overall effect is genuinely unpleasant.

Ben Stiller wanders through his usual man-about-to-explode routine, while Drew Barrymore is entirely wasted in a colourless role that could have been played by anyone with half her talent. However, the film's main problem that the old lady in question - played by Eileen Essel - is a far more sympathetic character than either of the film's protagonists. This makes Alex and Nancy's bloodthirsty fantasies to get rid of her seem particularly cruel and unfunny. A few Farrelly Bros style gross-out moments do nothing to improve the fundamentally nasty premise. However, I'm eager to see Essel's future work, hopefully in a film that better uses her obvious talents.

I was suprised to see so many highly regarded people listed as producers for `Duplex', including both Barrymore and Stiller, as well as Harvey and Bob Weinstein. If this had been a small budget film from a new director, its deep flaws may be forgivable. Instead, it's a bad misfire that places nobody - excluding Essel - in a flattering light. Give it a miss.

`The Wedding Singer' is one of those rare movies which manages, despite a conventional storyline and a mediocre script, to be an absolute charmer. Maybe it's due to the fun 1980s setting, which makes its unashamed romanticism far more palatable than if it had been set in the cynical 90s. It could also be due to a radiant performance by Drew Barrymore, who is so sweet and genuine that it's impossible to believe she was ever a wild child. Adam Sandler is also effective in a role that allows him to show off some of the singing prowess that made for some hilarious sketches during his `Saturday Night Live' days.

Sure, it's corny, it's sentimental - but it has genuine heart, something missing from so many so-called romances of today. It's truly a movie to fall in love with, and devotees will watch it again and again.

`Calamity Jane' is a film I love to take from the shelves when I'm feeling blue. It's so exuberant, so joyous, and so colourful that it cannot help but cheer you up!

Doris Day plays the role of her career as the rambunctious `Calam', the wildcat tomboy of Deadwood City. The fun starts when Calamity is sent to the `windy city' of Chicago to find a vaudeville beauty who will perform at the local bar. Instead of the genuine article, Calamity ends up with the star's ambitious maid, Katie, who decides to make her stab at fame in the star's place. Together, the two find fun, love, and a whole lot of catchy tunes.

Sure, the fascinating real-life historical figure Calamity Jane didn't look much like Doris Day - let alone Howard Keel, who is the last person you'd describe as `wild' - and Jane's transformation from independent homesteader to blushing housewife isn't what you'd call P.C., but if you're looking for reality, head to the Martin Scorsese section. This is light-as-a-feather entertainment done very well, and I can't help but love it!

There was a golden age of cinema lasting only four or five years - from the end of the silent era to the beginning of the Hays Code, the severe censorship rules which sought to turn cinema from naughty to nice, but in actuality sapped them of their truth and energy.

`Flying Down to Rio' is a classic pre-Hayes code talkie, and its characters have a quality of frankness which endears them to modern audience far more than many later films, whose stilted, conservative quality is somewhat alienating. You'd be surprised at what they could get away with in those days - it would be forty years before a film could get away with a line like that spoken by a starlet of her South American rivals - `What have those girls got below the equator that we haven't got?'

The film, about a love triangle between a Brazilian woman and two members of a swing band, is of course famous for two things - the slightly surreal sequence in which showgirls ride a biplane down to Rio in Busby Berkley-esque formation, and the debut of Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers as a screen team. It's no wonder that audiences fell in love with the duo, whose `Carioca' is the highlight of the film.

They only made them like this for a little while - more's the shame!

`Metropolis' is one of those films whose reputation precedes it, making it difficult to judge objectively. The iconic image of the robot woman is one of the most famous in motion picture history, and countless other films have referenced its distinctive visual style.

It's 2026, impoverished workers toil beneath the ground to keep the rich dwellers of the sprawling Metropolis above them in comfort. These two worlds collide when Freder, son of the leader of Metropolis, meets with Maria, a resistance fighter who is inciting the workers to a peaceful revolt against their wealthy captors in order to bring unity to the world. Freder is horrified when he stumbles upon Maria's secret world. His father, upon learning about Maria's quest, commissions the scientist Rotwang to create an evil android Maria who will bring chaos to the workers' plans.

The special effects are still striking over eighty years later, from the eerie creation of the robot Maria to the stirring crowd sequences and the Metropolis of the title. Brigitte Helm is both sweet and sinister in her dual role as the good and evil Maria. The narrative is occasionally hard to follow, and the struggle between the rich and the poor is sometimes diluted by the visuals - no surprise given that the film was cut and recut literally from its first release - but it is still more or less coherent. Lang's sophisticated use of montage and his introduction of German Expressionism to the mainstream mean that this is a film more memorable for its individual sequences than the sum of its parts - but those sequences are amongst the most amazing in film history.

Is it a great film? In my opinion, it is - but with one caveat: BE SURE TO WATCH A DECENT VERSION OF THIS FILM. I can't emphasise how important this is; for many viewers it's the difference between loving the film and hating it. Many versions circulating today on home video are terrible. The original German cut of the film was 90 minutes long - some versions available today are as much as 157 minutes! This doesn't necessarily mean there's more material - the film's just been transfered at the wrong speed, resulting in a deadly dull film with no pace that seems to go forever. The 1984 restoration, a fairly short but cohesive cut with a modern soundtrack by Giorgio Moroder is your best bet, especially if you aren't familiar with silent film.

One thing many viewers don't seem to realise about this mindbender of a film: IT'S ALL A JOKE. It's satire. It's supposed to be funny. The earnest voice over? The bizarre one dimensional characters and plot twists? The over-the-top sex and violence? It's all a pastiche of the trashy, overwrought `Valley of the Dolls' - NOT a sequel, as is made clear in the opening credits. Don't get outraged, people - have a giggle!

True, it's not a film for everyone. But then neither are Pulp Fiction, Fight Club, or A Clockwork Orange - similiarly, all genre-bending or genre-spoofing satires of violence, its depictions, and our reactions to it.

It's a wonder this made it out the door of a major studio, but it's a good thing it did. This surely must rate as one of cinema's weirdest experiences ever - complete with one of the craziest twist endings ever caught on film. Watch this one with some buddies and watch it bend their mind. And remember... don't take it seriously!

Released in the same week as 'The Jazz Singer', F.W. Murnau's masterpiece 'Sunrise: A Song of Two Humans' represents the pinnacle of silent film art. In outline, the story doesn't sound like anything special. A young man from the country has an affair with a voracious flapper from the city. She convinces him to kill his wife, a simple country girl. However, it's Murnau's presentation of this simple but powerful story that makes it unforgettable. He takes what we expect from silent films - the form of storytelling, the cliches, even the plot twists - and turns them on their head.

To the modern viewer, silent film can sometimes seem difficult to watch, with leaden action and hackneyed situations. Murnau seems almost to comment upon this fact in this film - the camera is frenetic, especially in the scenes set in the city. Lights, movement, rushing people, automobiles madly crowding the roads - it's a gorgeous sight. The contrast between tranquil country and maurauding city, darkness and light, sunrise and sunset - even sound and silence - are all explored with expert subtlety.

It's a shame that Murnau is best known for `Nosferatu', a much lesser and rather derivative horror story, rather than this, the Citizen Kane of silent cinema. Only a few years after `Sunrise's' release this form of art was dead, just as it had found its feet as a legitimate form of art.

If you only ever see one silent film - see `Sunrise'. It may well change the way you think of silent film forever.

`The Cat's Meow' is a mildly enjoyable telling of a notorious tall story that has been told in Hollywood for nearly eighty years.

Super-magnate William Randolph Hearst (Edward Herrmann) invites a diverse mix of Hollywood biggest names and its oddest fringe dwellers to celebrate the birthday of famed director Thomas Ince (Cary Elwes) aboard his luxury yacht. Things begin to fall apart when Hearst suspects a guest - none other than Charlie Chaplin (Eddie Izzard), the most famous man in the world - of having an affair with his actress girlfriend, Marion Davies (Kirsten Dunst).

Although the film is entertaining, there is something underwhelming about it. Its stage origins are obvious - characters perambulate from plot point to plot point, spouting exposition, never appearing much more than caricatures, and thus failing to evoke much sympathy.

The casting of Eddie Izzard in the pivotal role of Charles Chaplin is a grave mistake, though the script saddles him with a most unsatisfactory characterisation of Chaplin to work with. Chaplin was not a serial romancer, as is implied in the film, but a serial seducer. He would have been the last person to urge a woman to run away with him on the basis of undying love. He spent his most famous years running from women who suggested exactly that, freely admitting to them that while sex was a pleasant diversion, his work came before any woman. It's a casting decision that is an obvious attempt to distance us from the Little Tramp as opposed to Chaplin the real man, but we never get a true sense of either. Ironically, Izzard actually resembles the real Thomas Ince far more than does Cary Elwes, and as a real-life cabaret performer could conceivably have brought the flamboyance and eccentricity of the real-life director to life better than Elwes does.

The film also takes an annoyingly facile view of women, perpetuating the dull cliche that all women spent the 1920s with a bad case of St Vitus' dance and addicted to laughing gas. The grating performances of Claudie Blakley and Chiara Schoras in particular throw the beautifully understated efforts of Kirsten Dunst into high relief. Dunst feels like the only real person in this cast of cartoon characters - beautiful, funny, and vital, she is the best thing in the film. Yet there is never any moment in the movie to suggest the true depth of her dedication and passion for Hearst (portrayed as a roly-poly father figure rather than the hard nosed businessman he was), nor any justification for leaving him for the roguish but uncharismatic Chaplin. Unfortunately, the more interesting conflicts in Marion's life, such as her growing alcoholism and her dissatisfaction with Hearst's insistence on casting her in leaden romances rather than the comedy to which she was so obviously suited, are only touched on lightly.

Though it could have been a thought-provoking and complex experience, as Joanna Lumley's poignant final statements imply (and like `Gosford Park' to which it has been compared), in the end `The Cat's Meow' doesn't feel much more substantial than your average game of Cluedo.

So many friends had told me that this `wasn't your average cliched superhero film' that I wondered whether I'd seen the same movie as they had.

Utterly predictable and utterly cliched, this is a film that could have had the visual and emotional impact of Tim Burton's `Batman' films but instead has little more depth than your average half hour cartoon.

It's dreadful to see such a talented cast work with so little. Kirsten Dunst, a fine and feisty actress, cannot help but be dull as Peter Parker's passive love interest Mary Jane. Tobey Maguire (accurately labelled `Tobey Mogadon' by one Australian radio team, for his complete lack of animation) spends most of his time blinking into space as if he just woke up after a nice dream. I found myself wondering if the tears that fell down his face in the sadder scenes were merely another computer effect.

The plot is no help at all, with nary a single surprise the whole way through. The jocks-vs-nerds, nerd-wins-jock's-unobtainable-girlfriend storyline is so, SO very old and predictable that my attention had already lapsed in the first hour, and there was very little in the second hour to encourage it to return. Willem Dafoe's villain, The Green Goblin, is so unfrightening that I expected his climactic final showdown with Spidey might be a game of chequers or Go Fish.

The visuals have a shiny, soul-less quality, perhaps an attempt to convey a heightened `comic book' atmosphere (as was achieved far more successfully in 'Dick Tracy'), but instead having the effect of emotionally distancing the viewer. Some of the CGI effects are substandard, which is inexcusable in a film of this magnitude. And, as is becoming sadly common, the screen is crowded with product placements.

Sam Raimi has proved himself in the past to be anything but a mediocre director, which makes it all the sadder that this film is such a dire disappointment.

The main problem with the film is that there's no real sense of conflict, especially when the storyline is packed with opportunities for drama. The geeky loser Lloyd falls in love with the unobtainable dream woman Diane ... and he gets her almost immediately. Her father is over-protective and reluctant to let her date ... but he lets her this time. And so on. Constantly, we wait for the real action, but it just never happens. The characters overcome their obstacles too easily.

The drama is supposed to hinge on the fact that while Diane shares such a close relationship with her father that she can `say anything' to him, he is holding from her the deepest, darkest secret of all. But again, when this secret is finally revealed, the effect is anti-climactic rather than bracing. The languid pace, which worked better in Crowe's earlier film 'Fast Times at Ridgemont High' (qv), makes the film seem leaden and episodic, and bring the tone perilously close to `After School Special'.

John Cusack wanders around with very little to get his teeth into. Ione Skye is a perpetually dazed and listless heroine, reciting her lines as if from an autocue. There are some funny and interesting incidental characters, but the fact they are so inessential to the story and have no well-developed character arc makes it difficult to care much about them (much the same as 'Notting Hill' (qv) ). Lili Taylor as the lovelorn guitarist Corky is the best of these, which makes it even more of a shame that her part seems so tangental.

After the edgy and funny 'Fast Times at Ridgemont High' (qv), this is a real disappointment. The dreadfully dated late 80's hair band sound-track doesn't help matters at all. Unlike many teen films of a similar vintage, such as 'Heathers' (qv), 'Ferris Bueller's Day Off' (qv), and John Cusack's 'Better Off Dead' (qv) it hasn't weathered the years well.

Go and watch Crowe's excellent 'Almost Famous' or his uneven but entertaining 'Singles' again instead.

If your children have worn their video of `Mary Poppins' to pieces, they will love `Bedknobs and Broomsticks'. An obvious successor to the earlier film, Angela Lansbury may not have the vitality of Julie Andrews but more than holds her own as the nervous and eccentric witch who comes to care for three children evacuated from London during World War II. Miss Price is a more appealing character than the rather taciturn Mary Poppins, and although the subject matter is somewhat weighty - preventing a WWII German invasion - it is treated in a manner which should not alarm any small child at all.

For children today, who are brought up on cartoon marvels like `Toy Story' and `A Bug's Life', the sequences melding cartoon and live action are still thoroughly convincing. There are a number of very hummable songs which deserve to be every bit as well known as `A Spoonful of Sugar' and the like.

It's a terrible shame that the two young actors who play Charlie and his younger brother Paul do not seem to have done anything other than this film. Roy Snart (Paul) is in particular a lovely little actor, as natural as can be.

The next time it's a rainy day at your house, pop down to the video shop and give it a go!

`Tango is like chess for your feet' Sally Potter claimed during the publicity for this, a film that she wrote, directed, and starred in as a tango dancing director called - strangely enough - Sally. Like the screen Sally, the real Potter also learned from Pablo Veron, also her co-star. If only the film was as cogent and searching as her intelligent definititon of a fascinating dance!

As a keen tango dancer myself, I was eager to see the committed to celluloid the intricacies of a dance which is part improvisational game, part physical conversation, and as much an exercise for the mind as for the body. A lot of work goes into becoming an excellent and effortless `tanguista', and there is much more to tango than most people realise.

Turning her story into a roman a clef, does not make it experimental or postmodern, as appears to have be intended, but in fact regresses to the self-referential musicals of yesteryear such as `Singing in the Rain'. As long as there has been art, there has been art about art, and art about creative blocks. Though such an approach can create masterpieces (such as Fellini's 8 1/2), it can also create ponderous excuses for not creating original art.

Worse still, it can come off as an act of monstrous narcissism. Potter is a stunning dancer, and it is understandable that she wished to play the main role on that count, but in all other respects she is merely adequate (and her singing, in the final scene, quite inadequate). Potter berates Veron in the film for not trusting her to be lead by him; by not trusting another actor to play her part, Potter is doing exactly the same thing.

Thus the film plays out like a rather dull overheard conversation that one might idly listen to on the bus but not miss once you reached your stop. Tango is a dance in which the female must follow unquestioningly, adding little of her own input, occasionally stepping back to let the alpha male shine. The tensions that this has with a woman who is a film director and feminist, used to leading and guiding, rebelling against traditional roles of male and female, might have been fascinating. Instead, it all seems a playful act of revenge against Pablo: in film, she gets to lead, not him.

Though tantalising ideas leap out from time to time (the influence the tango had on her creativity is something touched upon but unfortunately not explored), and as always her visuals are sumptuous, I found the film a disappointment overall.

Few are better qualified than Joan Long to tell this, a story of the trials and tribulation of early Australian cinema. A renown film historian, she based the film on the recollections of real-life picture show man Lyle Penn, but also draws on the rich knowledge of the era she gained by rediscovering and interviewing many of its leading players.

Travelling picture showmen were once common in Australia. Living out of caravans or even tents, they serviced the rural areas that did not yet have their own permanent cinemas, often providing variety acts as part of the show.

The film's tone is somewhat reminiscent of these early films. The story is delineated (and performed) in the same broad strokes as every Australian classic from 'Dad and Dave' to 'The Castle'. All the usual characters are present - the uneasy young man, the eager young tomboy who can't bear to act like a proper young lady, the shifty villian. Yet the simple, enjoyable story is studded with authentic period details such as how films were presented to country audiences, and ultimately the effect that the coming of sound had on the phenomenon of the travelling showman.

Garry McDonald's performance as an opportunistic, shambolic pianist, is probably the most enjoyable, yet fans of `Muriel's Wedding' would do well to look out for an early appearance from Jeannie Drynan, who played Muriel's mother - and, as can be seen here, could once have given Audrey Hepburn a run for her money.

Though very much a product of its time, the film is still a thoroughly enjoyable introduction to Australia's rich film history - a fascinating story which, without scholars such as Long, might have disappeared forever.

When he's good, he can be astoundingly good -`Chasing Amy' and `Dogma' proved that. `Clerks' is still as whip smart as it ever was. Even `Mallrats' isn't as bad as you've heard, and is still a heck of a lot better than 85% of subversive comedies out there. But `Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back' is far from Kevin Smith's finest hour.

If you don't know what I'm talking about in regards to any of these films, you might want to head to the video shop, or give `Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back' a miss. This is Smith's personal valentine to himself - it's an audacious director who films his own loving retrospective only ten years into his career. Numerous characters from his previous movies reappear, and you'd have to be pretty well acquainted with his output to catch all the self-referential jokes. It's a film that assumes you're in the club - to the point of characters looking out into the audience to see if you got the joke. If you're not in the club, you're going to be wondering what the hell's going on, unlike such films as `Waynes World', which do not require foreknowledge of the characters to be enjoyable. That's pretty alienating. In fact, Smith demonstrates exactly the `we're in the club' hauteur that he professes to be attacking.

The conflict at the centre of the movie - Jay and Silent Bob want to get back at all the dopey teenage netheads who have dissed them on internet discussion groups - does actually have an element of truth to it. In his previous movies, Jay and his rotund pal (played by Smith himself) were comic relief, and their schtick is too thin as main characters. There are some funny pop culture refernces, but in the end you'll feel as if you've been at Kevin Smith's house with his video collection, and he's been saying `Wait - guys - watch this bit. Oh, this bit was SOOO funny. C'mon! Hahaha!'. This should have been a 15 minute download from his website, not something you pay good money to see in a cinema. He can definitely do better, and as a fan, I can't wait to see what he does next.

It's a shame this very enjoyable show wasn't received better by viewers - by no means perfect, it nevertheless had the potential to mature into a comedy classic in much the way as did its creators' former project, `The Simpsons'.

The basic premise is similar to that of Generation X classic movies `Reality Bites' and `Singles'. A bunch of odd flatmates thrown together in the dustbucket of life dwell in a trendy downtown apartment, fighting the good fight against `selling out', and failing miserably when it comes down to making ends meet. The twist comes when aspiring cartoonist Andy French's detested kid brother Kevin comes to live with them. The nerdy Kevin learns some lessons about being cool - but so too does Andy.

A little like MTV's wonderful `Daria', the series is set in a world familiar to teens and twentysomethings the world over, and pop-culture wisecracks feature highly. Where the show does fall down though is in the narrowness of its characters and situations. Unlike `The Simpsons', where you feel that each character could have their own very enjoyable spinoff, Andy's flatmates are poorly delineated and a tad uninteresting. The formula tends strongly towards `Kevin's in a moral dilemma, Andy helps him out of it', which can become repetitive. In fact, the flatmates' neighbours provide greater interest - in particular the gay couple Wally and Gus. Their sympathetic but hilarious portrayal makes the Simpsons' approach to Mr Burns' is-he-isn't-he assistant Weylon Smithers seem embarrassing.

All in all a mixed bag but a very fun mixed bag. No doubt had the show run for longer, many of the issues I have mentioned would have been ironed out, so it's too bad that this (like Kevin Smith's `Clerks' cartoon) wasn't give a chance. A noble try ... and I sure want to see what Oakley and Weinstein do next!

`Jawbreaker' is an obvious aspirant to the mantle of the legendary `Heathers' - one of the smartest, sassiest, and sharpest teen movies ever made. An ostensibly similar plot sees the most popular - and most spiteful - clique at school accidentally murder their classmate. The school nerd is their only witness. In return for her silence, they agree to make her over in their image, tempting her with the promise of popularity. Unfortunately, `Jawbreaker' lacks everything that made `Heathers' great. As a `Clueless on Crack' it fares a little better - but, given the intriguing possibilities of its concept, is still a disappointment.

Where the earlier movie was intelligently malevolent, `Jawbreaker' is a surprisingly mean-spirited film. Its characters never rise above caricatures, making them difficult to empathise with. The journey of Fern `Mayonnaise' Mayo from school nerd the babelicious Vylette is hollow and unconvincing. Unlike Veronica Sawyer of `Heathers' who undergoes a similar transformation, Vylette seems to gain precious little wisdom from her experiences. Perhaps this has to do with the nails-on-a-blackboard performance of Judy Greer, who seems to believe she is in a John Waters film. This would be fine, if `Jawbreaker' could decide whether it is one or not.

A lazy and sometimes implausible script hanging uneasily between reality, satire, and surrealism offers some clever one liners and sequences, but does little to showcase the talents occasionally on offer. Rose McGowan is the most enjoyable thing about the film for the simple reason that it's clear she isn't taking proceedings too seriously. Rebecca Gayheart's performance is also refreshing; a puddle of reality within the screeching teen-stereotype world around her which throws Judy Greer's Fern/Vylette into even higher relief. Both act as if they are in a better film.

Perhaps the real difference between the two is that `Heathers' had heart and actual insight. `Jawbreaker's heart is as hollow as the view it espouses: it's bad to murder your friend, but it's worse to be a b*tch.

Ruth Park's classic Australian book is here given a slightly insipid but enjoyable adaptation. Abigail (Imogen Annesley) is not quite as gutsy and stoic as in the novel, and a few accents are a little shaky, but visually the movie is very true to the book. The squalor of 19th Century Sydney's slum areas are vividly brought to life, using real-life locations that still exist today.

Watch the movie - but give the book a look too.