Change Your Image
ahancock
Reviews
Pride and Prejudice (1940)
An affront to Austen, the viewer's intelligence, and all notions of human decency
The last movie I watched before this one was the Mystery Science Theater edition of Devil Doll, and I'm hard pressed to say which movie has less to do with Jane Austen. Everything about this film screams MGM Assembly-Line, from the astonishing banality of the script (Huxley Shmuxley!) to the insufferable "music" to the look-at-us-we're-vaguely-19th-century costumes. Olivier's performance is so fey it's a wonder he doesn't float off the screen, Garson tiptoes around Lizzy as though terrified she might say something offensive, and Melville Cooper accomplishes the superhuman task of making Mr. Collins unfunny. This monstrosity is to the 1995 BBC mini-series as a comic-book version is to the novel itself.
Ocean's Eleven (2001)
stunningly vacuous
The original wasn't much, but Soderbergh's remake makes that movie look like The Seven Samurai. 100-plus minutes of ultracool posturing, forced humor, and stylishly lazy diction (Brad Pitt can barely talk under the best of circumstances, and in this movie he chows down almost every time he's on screen). For those who enjoy watching dangerously "aging" sex-goddesses get put down, there's also The Protracted Humiliation of Julia Roberts thrown in for bad measure. (The character is so passive she barely exists, and the actress is lit to look like Ichabod Crane in drag.) A shameful piece of work by Soderbergh.
Save the Last Dance (2001)
Depressingly conventional
Hollywood deals with anything approaching real life so seldom these days, it's probably not surprising that it can only do so in the most predictable and pandering ways. This one's for all those white teens who long to be Black For a Night and want to be reassured that black teens are Funny When They're Randy, and all those black teens who want to show off how great they dance. Julia Stiles gives her all, as usual, but with material and direction this tepid she ends up seeming more irritated than anything else, even before the obligatory slo-mo leap into her lover's arms. Sean Patrick Thomas is by turns thrilling and smarmy in a plot that requires him to be too many different people at once (and shouldn't actors be banned from using three generic first names? Sean Patrick Thomas, Robert Sean Leonard, Neil Patrick Harris--how are we supposed to tell them apart, besides that one of them played Doogie Howser?)That prize of a supporting actor Terry Kinney goes to waste in an enigmatically boring role. And whatever happened to black directors who were searching for their own style rather than content with imitating after-school specials?