Reviews

Lush, gorgeous, glitteringly dark--a gloomy, misty landscape of twisted, black trees, and looming shadows--Sleepy Hollow is visually breathtaking. Budding directors, cinematographers, and set directors should be required to watch this film as a textbook study into how one establishes atmosphere. Elfman's score is a jewel as well, the perfect complement to all this visual mastery. At once sumptuous and ominous, brooding on horrors seen and horrors to come, it sets off the misty, haunted look of the thing perfectly.

Beyond this, cast and casting are inspired--a wonderful gallery of oddly matched talents, note-perfect in their various roles. Depp is a strangely lovely Ichabod Crane, faithful, all the same, in spirit to the original: quirky, overwrought, his constant efforts to exude competence and confidence are continually undermined by the brutal reality that he is never more than a few short steps from becoming entirely unhinged by the wanton irrationality that abounds in this haunted rural corner of early America. This is Crane as a would-be man of science; uncomfortably finding himself on the trail of a headless ghost, he's determined nonetheless to rise to the challenge and see that justice is done. In his portrayal, Depp achieves a stammering, flustered delivery and gawky physicality that evoke the character perfectly. Ricci, for her part, is cast smartly half against type: playing a coolly beautiful, wide-eyed fairy tale princess, she brings a note of self-assurance and self-possession to the part that makes it as memorable as any of her more overtly dark roles: she's a heroine to complement Depp's Ichabod, composed where he's addled and alarmed, in her element where he's out of his depth. And yes, they do look awfully good together. Add to these principals a wonderfully mixed and matched stable of fine, nuanced English character actors, one icon of the horror genre and a few familiar old faces and favourites of Burton: Richardson, Lee, McDiarmid, Walken, Gambon, Jones, and there's some serious wattage on the screen, here, all generally put to very good use. There are some nice flashes of dark comedy, too, as you'd only expect from Burton. All of which makes the film, all in all, a fine mix of beautiful things.

That's what's great about Sleepy Hollow; see it, if for nothing else, for all that mist and shadow--on the big screen or in the gorgeous HD DVD version, if you possibly can, for Burton works this canvas beautifully, and you do want to see it in all the detail you can. And see it for Depp and Ricci, Lee (in a cameo, technically, but it's a key one, and he makes every second count), and Richardson.

There are, however, also more than a few weaker spots, here. Burton billed Sleepy Hollow as an homage to the classic Hammer horror films, and it does evoke that very feel, frequently--both for better and for worse. Yes, there's mist and mystery, a suggestion of supernatural dread lurking in every long shadow, and some reasonably affecting horror--but there's also a fairly liberal dash of fake blood (occasionally used for a nice comic effect, but then overused), and a little more latex gore than I've a taste for, personally. The failing is a common one in horror: the old 'too much on the screen/not enough left to the frightened imagination' problem. Having established that beautifully spooky, haunted atmosphere, Burton seems to think he can lean harder on it than he can, goes all kinetic and bloody, in the end, and the whole winds up a good notch or two more overt than it probably should have been, reveling just a little too much in the gore, and inevitably failing, therefore, to use it as powerfully as it might have to terrify. The horseman of the title itself, especially, though brilliantly menacing, initially, loses much of that menace as it becomes too familiar a presence on the screen, and this only gets worse and worse as the film proceeds. I found myself almost wishing Burton had had slightly less effective effects at his command: it might have helped, a little, if he'd been forced by technical limitations to keep his beloved whirling headless horseman o' death in the shadows a little more, let us be a little more afraid of what we can't see.

All that said: yes, it's quite worth the time. Absolutely do see it. Against those weaknesses, the sheer dark beauty of the visuals and the general brilliance of the cast make it well worthwhile.

Patry and Lacourse' Denial is solidly competent, lean, and focused in terms of film-making; there are few flourishes here. It has the basic documentary style common to most professionally made, reasonably well-budgeted made-for-TV documentaries; minor embellishments include a soundtrack with an occasionally subtly evocative quality, impressionistic passages attempting apparently to evoke the terror felt by escaping civilians during flight through the jungle from the scene of the massacre central to the coverage, and eerily powerful use of the disturbing drawings of children who have apparently experienced similar atrocities. Otherwise, it's done in a very classic, traditional documentary style: interviews and archival footage.

This, however, was a good move. It is as though Patry and Lacourse correctly judged, looking at their raw footage, that with material like this, you really don't need to dress it up much.

And you really don't. Denial is a powerful, disturbing work. Viewing it by happenstance some years ago first got me seriously seeking out and watching documentaries.

The film's mesmerizing quality comes ultimately from the subject matter; the horror of the El Mozote massacre, though hardly unique to the period or the region, was particularly pronounced, and the apparent villainy of subsequent attempts to quash coverage particularly arrogant and craven.

The journalism behind this work is also quite good; Patry and Lacourse score several coups beyond reaching the very rare survivors, including an interview with a civilian spear carrier for the Atlacatl battalion who was present at the massacre; his testimony is riveting.

Though probably a rather difficult work to get hold of unless you've access to a good library that happens to have bought a copy (the only distributor I've found seems to have only what I must assume are institutional rates), Denial is well worth watching out for. If it comes by a television set near you, be sure to set your VCR.

There's so much you can say about this work. Vivid characters, colours, and situations that practically leap off the screen into the theatre next to you. A wonderfully quirky, repeatedly startling story. Graceful low-key cinematography that turns slums and sideshows into an eerily beautiful netherworld, countless images that look like you could freeze them and hang them as inspirational totems for cults we have to hope don't exist. Jodorowsky paints with a heavy, vibrant brush, but it's the perfect tone for this primal-yet-humanizing tale.

But I should post a warning. As far as I'm concerned, my first viewing of this film was one of the more worthwhile two hours or so I've ever spent in a theatre, and I think based on my experience that this sadly neglected wonder deserves every bit of word-of-mouth promotion it can get. But I'm betting it's not to everyone's taste.

So this is my advice: if you found Storaro's green and red/jungle foliage and human remains canvasses in Apocalypse Now unsettlingly beautiful the first time you saw them, and wondered momentarily whether still prints were available for hanging before realizing what you were actually suggesting to yourself, here's a film for you. If you found Delicatessan's celebration of the paradoxical beauty hiding in human ugliness and stupidity a bit too sanitized for your taste, Santa Sangre's rather murkier depths await. You will love this work.

If, on the other hand, you have no taste for painters who work best in human blood as opposed to oils, and/or don't appreciate a bloody carnality mixed in with your religious metaphor, you will quite probably hate it with a passion that exceeds my affection. And I don't really blame you or judge you for walking out early. It takes all kinds.

Either way, fondly or with revulsion, you will remember it vividly, ten years later. I can say this confidently, as that's how long it was from the first time I saw this film to the day I wrote this review. Don't say I didn't warn you.

I saw eXistenZ on the reputation of its director as a fairly intelligent shockmeister/schlockmeister, who can make a pretty thoughtful film on occasion. I haven't seen much of his other stuff, however (I've seen *The Fly* and *Crash*, but I was unable to give either of them my full attention at the time, and one or two of his acting gigs, if these count), and thus came into this with relatively few expectations or preconceptions.

The verdict: I was entirely unimpressed with eXistenZ. It came across as uninspired, tedious, unremarkable. I remember it as a generic, monotonous little B-grade sci-fi picture with nothing much to recommend it.

Now I like to think I have more than a little affinity for odd little films meant to make you think. I used to read science fiction/speculative fiction voraciously in my teens, and the basic question driving this film -- *the* epistemological quandary -- how do we know what is real, and how well do we know -- has always held some fascination for me, as I expect it does a great many people. The ramifications for technology in accentuating alienation in human society are also, normally good, fertile ground for intriguing drama. I'd have thought prior to seeing this work that you couldn't easily make a film on either subject (let alone both) and not leave me with *something* about it I appreciated.

eXistenZ demonstrated otherwise.

It's partly, I'm supposing, the rather cold, kinetic style of the thing. It's really one long chase scene, and you never really get to know the two central characters. Beyond this, their interplay is workmanlike, unremarkable, unrevealing. I found it pretty hard to believe the actors in their respective roles, so it's hard to care at any point what happens to them.

The writing was flat, uninteresting. Excessive reliance on the same, rather overused devices; yes, we get it, it's hard to tell in this virtual reality world what's real, what isn't. Oh look, a plot twist, based on this conundrum. I'm pretty sure I've seen that one once or twice before. Oh, and another plot twist. I think I've seen that one too -- and actually all of five minutes ago, in this very movie. The attempts at dark humour aren't entirely unfunny, but seem to labour under pretense; they sound forced. The denouement is worse than merely cliche; I literally groaned (yes, out loud) at the last line.

If I'm allowed a little dimestore psychoanalysis, I rather wonder if it was something about Cronenberg's awareness that the concept was getting a bit overused/overdone that lead to the real trouble here. At some point, Cronenberg got to thinking, okay, this story's been done a few times. How can I give it a twist, keep it interesting? So he twists, and he twists, and he twists, and it all just winds up... well, really kinda shapeless.

I'm suspending judgement for now on Cronenberg himself, for lack of having really properly watched any of his better-known pictures as yet, but as to eXistenZ, my vote is skip this one.

Okay. This is one of those 'so bad it's good' movies. Really.

Yes, I know you've heard this one before. Probably, you saw *Attack of the Killer Tomatoes*, and agreed to say you liked it for just such a recommendation, though you were really only remotely amused through much of it. You're thinking, okay, someone gets a nominal budget for a sci-fi flick remarketing a very tongue-in-cheek comic book; I can watch it a bit drunk and pretend to be hip/ironic by doing so, probably not a total waste of an evening, right?

And yeah, that's pretty much what you get, and yeah, the people involved in making it obviously aimed for this. So my bet is: if you watch it with this expectation, you'll be more than merely satisfied; it knows what it is, and is accordingly quite well crafted, if the word is appropriate. In fact, it's actually enjoyably funny/ridiculous throughout. Not just in the odd place. Pretty much steadily.

I'm a guy. I watched it 'cos it's got Lori Petty and Naomi Watts, with weapons, in revealing attire; that's really all I was asking. In addition, it offered up a soundtrack that mixes Ice T, Bjork, Devo, Bush, and Joan Jett doing Cole Porter, and some rather inspired silliness throughout. All in all, a good deal.

Okay, so it isn't *Airplane*. What is? It's *Tank Girl*. I have no regrets.

Don McKellar's less pretentious works (here, I exempt the Red Violin, of which I am not particularly fond) always seem to deliver what I need, if not quite what I want. There's always *something* about each work that bugs me a bit; but like the bit of gravel in your hiking boots that makes the trek that little bit more memorable, that little bit more real, I always wonder: would I really have been happier without it?

Last Night -- a subtle, oddly serene film about the world ending, not quite with a bang, not quite with a whimper -- but with a gently rueful, and very human, shrug -- is typical, in this regard. I more than merely like this film -- I believe I'd put it among my top ten favourite works, and I've seen a *lot* of movies -- but as a matter of honesty, I have to warn anyone who hasn't seen it yet, it does have more than a few rough edges.

The acting's a bit uneven, and ranges from borderline painful to actually stunning; I find the occasionally hysterical mother played by Roberta Maxwell painfully cliched. Bujold, on the other hand, you just have to see. Oh is memorable, surprisingly powerful. McMullen I still can't make my mind up about. McKellar is, well, McKellar. I can't help liking the character, even if it does seem a manipulative kinda setup that makes it so.

The script does amble a bit. It's kinda the nature of the story. And McKellar's fondness for clever, throwaway lines sometimes gets the best of him, in my view, both in his own part and in McMullen's.

But these are minor flaws, forgivable (or, as above, perhaps necessary), in an otherwise actually brilliant piece of work.

And overall, the writing, I have to say, is the best I've seen from McKellar yet. This a very delicately balanced script, marvelously restrained. Somehow, McKellar has made a movie in which regret, euphoria, and dread circle each other warily for an hour and a half, without melodrama once rising up out of the mix. There are believable moments of hysteria; they generally punctuate the prevailing current of reflection, resignation, and quiet desperation entirely believably and appropriately.

The ending... I'm not breathing a word about the ending.

Apart from this: it's flawless.

My vote: see it.

Rough and raw in the best sense. Delightfully quirky, damned funny, with the odd, faintly haunting moment worked in. My thought a few years ago, seeing it in a video store was, okay, I remember it got my attention first time round in the theatre, but this was ten years ago; what happens if I rent it and see it again?

Answer: it holds up quite well. Yes, the very raw (read 'cheap') production values shine through everywhere; this is part of the fun, after a while. The rough black and white footage makes rural Northern Ontario look properly bleak (and occasionally sinister -- hey, I grew up there; and trust me -- it's appropriate), and, at times, coldly beautiful. Buhagiar is deliciously bemused throughout as the stranger in a (very) strange land, and McKellar's wannabe serial killer is an absolute scream (listen for the line about upward mobility, hockey, crime, and weak ankles; I'll avoid spoiling it for you).

It's probably blasphemy to some fans' ears to say it (it's McDonald, it's rock 'n roll, and you're not really supposed to take any of these things too seriously), but on some levels, this is almost a film of substance despite itself, if you go looking for it. Again, it's partly the atmosphere: the melancholy question -- "whatinhell are we all doing here anyway, and exactly why are we bothering, again?" -- a question naturally posed by the area -- works its way in at the edges of the frame. The response of the lead singer of the fictional "Children of Paradise" -- to shut up entirely, and suffer the absurdity of it all without comment, from behind haunted, hollow eyes -- actually makes a fair bit of sense, given the environment.

The dialogue is weak through much of it, and not always much helped by the sometimes amateurish delivery, but there are some brilliant moments. Co-writer McKellar, who, in my view, hit his stride with the quietly apocalyptic (see it; I'm not explaining here) *Last Night*, was still working on his game here (and McDonald, honestly, I've always found a little lean this way). But there are definite flashes of great things to come.

The soundtrack's got an eclectic thing going for it. As with all three films in the loose 'trilogy' this one started (see also Highway 61, Hard Core Logo), this is a film about rock 'n roll, and is something of a document in this respect -- it features songs by the Cowboy Junkies, the Ramones, and Nash the Slash, to name a prominent few.

Overall, a strange sort of Northern Ontario travelogue -- but not exactly the Chamber of Commerce version. More the "come here if you like cold bleak scenery, and consider running over animals a sport" version. Highly recommended, if you're looking for something distinctive, memorable, and frequently, amusingly quirky.