jessied Reviews

Elizabethtown (2005)

Easy to Miss the Peak

[7/10 · 21 October 2005]

Athletic shoe engineer Drew Baylor (Orlando Bloom) builds a suicide machine the afternoon he discovers that his design flaw will cost his company millions—almost, as owner Phil DeVoss (Alec Baldwin) emphasizes, a billion. Along with the millions will go Drew's job, reputation, and gorgeous girlfriend Ellen (Jessica Biel), and so he makes a quick appointment with death. A tearful phone call from his sister Heather (Judy Greer), however, delays his meeting with the Grimm Reaper. Drew's father has died, and he must rescue the body from the clutches of their down-home, paternal relatives who reside in Elizabethtown, Kentucky. So sets the stage for acclaimed writer/director Cameron Crowe's modern-day fairytale that fails as a love story but succeeds as a story about last looks, chance meetings, appreciating life for what it is rather than what it could have been, and the different types of love that make life worth living and the finality of death a little less painful.

One must attribute Elizabethtown's failures to the surprising oversights of its writer/director; either 1) Crowe lacked focus and could not decide if he wanted to tell a story about an estranged family's reunion or the story of an unlikely romance or 2) Crowe did not take the time to fully develop and interweave the two very compatible plot lines. Anyone who has seen Jerry Maguire or Almost Famous knows this filmmaker possess both the focus and patience to create an enjoyable, thought-provoking, and nearly flawless film. Crowe, once again, deserves the highest accolades for an outstanding soundtrack; songs by Elton John, Tom Petty, Patty Griffin, and others are magnificently integrated into the film without error. He does not, however, deserve the same praise he earned in the past for an entertaining and believable script.

Crowe always pairs eccentric personalities with overly rational personalities, and the characters ultimately learn about their own strengths and weaknesses by interaction with the other. He does not veer from this standard, but the meeting between Drew and Claire Colburn (Kirsten Dunst) is too brief, too chance, and too unlikely to work. Audience members must suspend too much belief, and they must do so too often. Equally as damaging is the lack of chemistry between the two romantic leads. Claire states, "We peaked on the phone" as they watch the sunrise over an idyllic landscape, which may have been true, but she is the only one who noticed. The couple never peaks—they only exist in forced harmony to give the story a romance and Drew a road map for his father-son trip across the country.

Bloom satisfies the eye from start to finish, but his performance barely deserves mention. Dunst is convincing and endearing, but she does not stray from her prototypical role—she is as sympathetic and free-spirited as ever, but her artistic choices are entirely predictable. She refused to take risks with her character, and so Claire is nothing but another unremarkable character in a movie released in 2005. As she states on camera, "I'm impossible to forget, but I'm hard to remember." Elizabethtown and its creator will share her fate. Crowe will find his mediocre box-office flop impossible to forget because of its lackluster quality, and almost all audience members will find it hard to remember.

But one must emphasize "almost all" because some moviegoers will leave the theater thinking the film was well-worth the cost of their tickets. Even the staunchest critics will return to their computers to write scathing reviews smiling as they remember scenes that illustrate Crowe's cinematic brilliance. The scene when Drew meets all of his in-laws shortly after he arrives in Elizabethtown. The scene when Hollie Baylor (Susan Sarandon) transcends her grief as she tap dances across the stage with Moon River playing in the background and her in-laws applauding her every move. The scene when Drew dances in a tree-lined boulevard waving his hand in the air as he had done long ago in the company of his hard-working father. Most people will find moments in this film that will make them want to love and praise it, but the moments will only sustain a few.

Drew scatters his father's ashes at various points across the country where he wishes they had visited when they both inhabited the land of the living. The scenes are overly dramatic, but the message is both important and clear—life is a journey that needs to be traveled and traveled well in the company of family and friends so that nobody harbors any regrets when they reach their final destination. People leave a part of themselves in places where they find beauty, in activities where they find happiness, and in people who come in and out of their lives but never really leave. The point is as good and as sharp as the knife intended to pierce Drew's heart, but Crowe's means to the end are lamentably as uneven and meandering as the roads Drew traveled on his way back home.

Capote (2005)

Capote. Man and Film--Imperfect but Captivating

[8/10 · 12 October 2005]

Truman Capote (Philip Seymour Hoffman) lied to the people he pursued for stories that made him one of the most laudable American writers of the twentieth century. While the screenwriter (Dan Futterman), director (Bennett Miller), cast and crew of Capote deserve praise for an overall entertaining film, one must wonder if this creative team employed similar, manipulative tactics to please audiences and critics alike. The film does not tell the story of the Kansan family brutally murdered by Richard Hickock (Mark Pellegrino) and Perry Smith (Clifton Collins, Jr.) on November 15, 1959; famed writer and director Richard Brooks accomplished that task in 1967 with Capote's In Cold Blood starring Robert Blake as Smith and Scott Wilson as Hickock. Instead, it tells the story of its namesake who suffered through a self-imposed mission to return the convicted murderers to the realm of humanity. The story is captivating, but it is also rife with details altered from Capote's original account. Hollywood conventions effectively trivialize the life of the author and his work and diminish the credibility of the film and its creators.

Audience members should not limit filmmakers to original texts. Entertainment value typically trumps dedication to an original narrative if the alteration does not interfere with the story's integrity, but one must scrutinize artistic liberties utilized in films that aim to inform as well as entertain. Creative teams should not substitute sentimental falsities for mundane realities. Choices that substantially differ from the reality of a situation must be made with great care and caution. The filmmaker must remember that he or she rewrites history for the masses with each detail that he or she changes, and that these changes cannot be justified simply for dramatic effect. A lack of thoughtfulness cheapens the richness of life that exists outside of the movie projector and disrespects those who lived and died with experiences suitable for the silver screen. One who attempts to capture absolute truth on film will usually fail, but this failure exceeds any attempt that procures cinematic greatness at the expense of humankind.

Capote does not necessarily mislead its audiences or distort the author's memory of events that served as the basis of the novel that followed Breakfast at Tiffany's and became the last work Capote would complete before his death in 1984. All noticeable changes relate to details concerning the Clutter family if Capote's account is to be believed: names of minor but significant characters have been changed, characters' stories have been combined for cinematic efficiency, a sappy last line appears in Nancy's last diary entry, Perry kills all four family members, and the author rather than Sheriff Alvin Dewey (Chris Cooper) receives the murderer's tearful confession. Filmmakers cannot be limited to reality, but they risk losing their audiences' trust with every artistic variation. Name changes and the compilation of characters might have been unavoidable and necessary for practical and legal purposes. Hollywoodisms such as the diary line, a furious rage in which one killer storms through the house killing four helpless victims even though both men pulled the trigger twice, and a tearful confession made to Capote appear from start to finish, however, and they cannot be satisfactorily justified. The writer and director simply did not trust the abundance of character, suspense and tragedy inherent in the Clutter story, and in attempt to create more drama they undermined their credibility and made the Capote story difficult to believe.

Capote finds the Clutter story on the front of the New York Times, travels to Kansas with friend Nelle Harper Lee (Catherine Keener), spends three months interviewing the people of Holcomb and the surrounding area, sympathizes with one of the convicted murders, fights to preserve the Sixth Amendment trial rights of Hickock and Smith after their initial conviction, writes the majority of the novel that he tells people was the "book (he) was meant to write" and one that would be the book of the decade, stops visiting and corresponding with the men, tires of the long and laborious appeals process, and finally attends their executions after a near-catatonic and pathetic experience of self-pity due to the impending doom of his literary subjects. The story follows the basic plot. Capote's eccentricities, effeminate mannerisms and speech patterns are illuminated. One sits in the audience wondering how Nelle Harper Lee of To Kill a Mockingbird fame tolerated her miserable and egoistic companion with such patience, and also fully comes to understand why he ultimately dedicated this labor of obsession "with (his) love and gratitude" to her and also to his patient lover, Jack Dunphy (Bruce Greenwood). The characters and relationships seem real, but only as real as any Hollywood creation. If the creative team allowed significant changes to one storyline, one might easily assume they did the same to enhance all others.

While entertainment value arguably trumps informative value in this film, one cannot fairly criticize its shortcomings without giving credit where credit is due. Futterman told an incredibly paced story with powerful dialogue and memorable images. Miller skillfully directed a talented cast and, as did Capote, subtly developed the murderers into sympathetic human beings despite their faults and horrendous deeds. One cannot point to a weak-link in the cast, but Hoffman unquestionably delivers the most notable performance by capturing the stereotypes that formed a reputation Capote both loathed and purposely exacerbated with his caustic attitude, mannerisms, and oftentimes inexcusable behavior. Capote could not handle criticism. He could not handle situations that he could not control. He was ultra-effeminate. He was ultra-vain. He was Capote, and Hoffman embodied his persona with perfection.

One may lament the use of Hollywood devices and the inability to fully trust this film, but it deftly captures the essence of Capote's curiosity, torment, extreme vanity, eccentricity, perseverance, devotion and retreat, desire to be loved, and gradual descent into perpetual misery and alcoholism. Capote cannot escape deserved criticism, but neither can it escape its deserved status as of one of the year's best films.

View from the Top (2003)

Not a Spectacular Sight

[22 March 2003]

Director Bruno Barreto's A View from the Top is hardly a sight worth seeing. Gwyneth Paltrow, Mike Myers, Candice Bergen, Christina Applegate, Kelly Preston, Rob Lowe, and a handful of other recognizable faces round out this eclectic, all-star cast burdened by screenwriter Eric Wald's lackluster script. Pacing problems, hit-and-miss dialogue, and an overly didactic ending keep this film from getting off the ground. The picture has a few original, well-written and well-acted scenes, but the key word is `few' and there certainly aren't enough lovable or laughable moments to deem this insipid film a romantic comedy.

Donna (Paltrow)--an intelligent and ambitious young woman trapped in her tiny hometown of Silver Springs, Nevada--hits rock bottom when her high-school sweetheart breaks up with her in a birthday card. She quits her job and heads to the bar, but as she tosses her optimistic paper reminders into the garbage can, Sally (Bergen) speaks to her over the television screen. She deserves to make her dreams a reality. Silver Springs is not her destiny. Sally started out as a small-town girl, but she found fame and fortune--and it all started with her decision to become an airline stewardess. Donna buys Sally's book--a text she deems the Bible of airline etiquette--and within no time she interviews with a local commuter line, squeezes into her form-enhancing synthetic leather uniform, and learns how to fly by the motto, `Big hair, short skirts, and service with a smile.' The hilarious `We're gonna crash!' sequence is short and simple, but definitely the highlight of the entire film. Pretentious stewardesses from a more sophisticated airline inspire Donna to reach greater career heights, and she decides to interview for a place in the Royalty Airlines trainee program.

The interview eventually leads to acceptance into the program that ultimately allows Donna to travel the world as she encounters plenty of difficult decisions, unfortunate revelations, and plenty of heartache along the way. The interview also introduces the film's only steadfast source of humor--John Whitney (Myers). Myers continues his reign as a king of comedy by demonstrating how to turn mediocre material into majestic material. Whitney's lazy eye is cheap, physical humor, but Myers uses the abnormality to create a rich and engaging steward who aced his trainee program final but was never allowed to fly because of the required eye exam. His facial expressions, mannerisms, articulation, and speech patterns atone for all of the weaknesses inherent to his character, and Myers' personal style and improvisation attest to his incredible comedic ability. None of the actors had much to work with, but Myers proves something can be made out of nothing and leaves the rest of the mildly to greatly talented cast members looking like a bunch of amateurs.

Unlike other recent romantic-comedy disasters, A View from the Top resonates with its audiences on certain levels. The film inaccurately portrays all of the airline stewardesses as young, beautiful twenty-to-thirty-something women--with the exception one effeminate, gay steward--and secures other fallible small-town stereotypes, but comedies thrive on generalities whether they are current or dated and so Ward should not be criticized on account of the misrepresentations. One should also note that he includes themes that help spectators identify with the characters: he highlights the humorous nature of serious triviality in many of the training scenes, exposes the fallacy of the `cheaters never win' axiom, shows that success doesn't happen over night, and bravely counters current social ideology by suggesting that a simple life with a significant other is preferable to an unpredictable and exciting life alone. Attempts to connect with audience members were commendable and Myers is unforgettable, but too many other flaws keep this film from taking flight.

Bringing Down the House (2003)

Let It Crumble

[4/10 · 7 March 2003]

Charlene Morton (Queen Latifah) almost literally brings down the house of successful tax attorney Peter Sanderson (Steve Martin) to get his attention in director Adam Shankman's Bringing Down the House, but even Latifah and Martin's commendable performances fail to generate numerous laughs in this slow-paced sleeper. The trailer editor selected every scene with even the slightest bit of humor to promote this insipid film, which translates into about two minutes of laugh-out-loud moments and one-hundred and three minutes of bland, look-at-your-watch-to-see-how-much-time-is-left material. Like most films in the genre, Bringing Down the House is built entirely on clichés, but unlike successful comedies, this one fails to find a fresh way to present the material and will soon be lost and forgotten in a stale pile of other mediocre films.

The predictably predictable plot revolves around race relationships, and specifically deals with race relationships between Caucasians and African-Americans in Los Angeles. Screenwriter Jason Filardi based the characters almost entirely on stereotypes, but he should not be criticized for this choice as he equally satirizes both racial subcultures and subtly suggests that diversity and integrating diverse populations positively affects everyone involved. Comedy would not exist if writers did not have the freedom or courage to lampoon reality through exaggeration and innocuous distortion. Spectators offended by Morton's `hoodish' behavior need to realize that she instigates every positive change that occurs in the film, and more importantly that her speech and behavior are both deliberate choices; she makes this explicit statement in Sanderson's office and frequently demonstrates that she behaves how she wants to behave in any given circumstances. None of the other caricatures are particularly noteworthy, though Mrs. Kline's (Betty White) superfluous racial slurs seem too cheap and unnecessary even in this base film.

Martin manages to add some life to his generic character, but it is Latifah who deserves the most acclaim for lead performance. She adds attitude to dull dialogue. She makes viewers take interest even in the most hackneyed situations. She is rough and tough, but she is endearing and delightfully dynamic. The intelligence of the character is greatly enhanced by the obvious intelligence of this versatile actress who demands attention every time she appears onscreen. Eugene Levy delivers a consciously monotonous performance as Martin's assistant, which works well in this film and contrasts nicely with Latifah's dynamism. The terrific cast chemistry also deserves mention, and one can only lament that Filardi wasn't able to provide this talented cast with a decent script.

The rudimentary computer screen opening sequence, despite its clever dialogue, is indicative of the overall quality of Bringing Down the House; the absurd half Tae-Bo, half street-fighting brawl in the bathroom is inexcusable; and the film presents a compilation of related scenes rather than a continuous narrative. Steve Martin is equally as good if not better in earlier films that provided him with much better roles--go to the movie rental store if you crave his comedy. Queen Latifah delivers an equally magnificent performance in Chicago--if you must go to the movie theater, purchase a ticket that's actually worth the price of admission. Whatever you do, stay away from Bringing Down the House, and let this comedic disaster crumble into cinematic oblivion.

Nowhere in Africa (2001)

Visually Unforgettable but Unfortunately Flawed

[8/10 · 3 March 2003]

A German Jewish family escapes Hitler's genocide by immigrating to Kenya shortly before World War II in writer and director Caroline Link's Nowhere in Africa, but life is not easy in the rugged country. Walter Redlich (Merab Ninidze), an accomplished lawyer in his homeland, struggles to provide for his family while he works for a temperamental cattle rancher. His wife, Jettel (Juliane Kohler), refuses to accept that she doesn't have the right or choice to live a privileged life. Regina (Karoline Eckertz and Lea Kurka), a young girl when the family first arrives, adapts quickly to her new lifestyle, but she is painfully aware of her parents' marital difficulties. This strikingly shot film is visually unforgettable, and the compelling story is engaging but unfortunately flawed. Interesting characters speak intelligent dialogue for most of the 140 minute duration, but one situation segues into another leaving unanswered questions and an array of unnecessarily preachy moments. The film tries to do too much and suffers in its obviously didactic scenes.

The decision to begin with Regina narrating and her intermittent voice-over is one of Link's weak authorial choices for many reasons. Firstly, Nowhere in Africa is not Regina's story; it is primarily Jettel's story, though this is a moot point because the film tries to make it the family's story and constantly switches perspectives. Secondly and directly related to the first point, Regina is not even present in much of the movie; her voice-over provides exposition, but it makes no sense in the context of the film because she is the only character allowed to reveal background information and personal thoughts through this easy device. Thirdly, Regina finds her place in Africa--Germany is just a memory and of little significance to the character soon after she is assimilated into the African culture. The impact of the Holocaust eludes the young girl, another weak authorial choice for this unusually wise character, and she grows up understanding and preferring the African way-of-life to her native customs and traditions. Eckertz and Kurka both deliver commendable performances, but the choice to privilege this character is never explained or justified by the time the end credits roll.

Kohler also delivers a commendable performance, but her troubled character acts without motivation and is so self-interested in the beginning that the spectator feels little sympathy for her and cannot believe her sudden personality transformation. The script is not void of character development--this development and transformation actually provides much of the conflict that drives the plot--but leaps and bounds in time and space onscreen fail to show the audience why the characters develop, and so these changes seem sudden and unbelievable. Kohler's character in particular goes from one extreme to the other; when Jettel first arrives in Africa, she chastises their cook, Owuor (Sidede Onyulo), and tells him to learn German, but by the end she speaks Swahili fluently and makes the sweeping statement that she has learned the value of differences.

This moralistic statement characterizes the script's dialogue that begins to suffer near the end of the film. Another German expatriate, Süßkind (Matthias Habich), who frequents the Redlich household rebukes Walter for pressuring Jettel to return to their native land when he says, `We're Jews even if it doesn't mean much to you'--a statement sorely misplaced shortly after Jettel tells Regina that Judaism has never been of much importance to their immediate family. Walter erupts in a fit of rage and screams that he is an idealist who believes in mankind. The high-minded nature of these statements and many others in addition to the anti-Semitic words of the headmaster at Regina's boarding school corrupt the script's initial eloquent but believable language that communicates through subtle rather than blatant discourse.

Despite the film's faults, Nowhere in Africa is worth the price of a movie ticket. The quick editing cuts and rapid development of a multi-faceted story enhanced by a riveting score of African music demands the audience's attention from the first frame and holds this attention regardless of its flaws because of its breathtaking cinematography. American audiences will appreciate this German film because of its commercial Hollywood style, and because it offers a largely untold story about a war that continues to both fascinate and horrify most of humankind.

The Life of David Gale (2003)

A Lost Message

[8/10 · 21 February 2003]

The Life of David Gale, directed by Alan Parker and written by Charles Randolph, undertakes the difficult task of presenting serious material through a dramatic-thriller. David Gale (Kevin Spacey) is a brilliant man with a destructive lifestyle; a false rape charge destroys his existence, and a separate murder conviction sends him to Texas' death row. The six-year appeal process, relatively short in terms of actual capital punishment appeals, fails to overturn the ruling, and he agrees to a series of interviews four days before his scheduled execution. Gale and his lawyer provide a reporter's name in their list of stipulations for the interviews, and esteemed journalist Bitsey Bloom (Kate Winslet) readily accepts the assignment. Bloom has two hours for three days to get her story. Gale has two hours for three days to convince her that he is an innocent man.

The film succeeds as a crime thriller and provides viewers with intelligent characters and a complicated plot. Audience members must completely surrender themselves to films in this genre because thrillers simply do not represent reality. Thrillers are too clean and contrived, and in the end the protagonist prevails or somehow induces a restoration of justice. Real life is unpredictable and messy--there is no certainty that a person's time or efforts will lead anyone to an objective truth or instigate the reversal of a social or political evil. Still, people willingly agree to suspend disbelief, and so many unbelievable minor details and overdone moments in the film are readily forgiven.

More substantial details and scenes, however, should not elude criticism. The director, writer, and creative team enjoy a freedom detached from pure actuality, but a smart script must stay smart from start to finish. A truly commendable script cannot include any glaring errors that take advantage of a viewer's willingness to believe the unbelievable or compromise the overall integrity of a film with scenes that are important and necessary but ill-conceived and pretentiously included in the final cut. The Life of David Gale, told in flashbacks from Gale's perspective, fails in this respect at two key moments: the first instance establishes a possible jealousy motive for the reticent Dusty (Matt Craven), and the second instance reinforces Constance Hallaway's (Laura Linney) dedication to the Death Watch cause and the desperation that results from each failed attempt to stay or prevent an execution. These moments undoubtedly enhance the film's plot, but Gale could not have related this information to Bloom; he didn't see Dusty's envious eyes, and he wasn't in the office when Hallaway cried in a rage of despair.

These oversights deserve mention, but they do not invalidate the film. Despite these faults, the film is thoroughly engaging because of a decent script with wonderful moments, noteworthy performances by Spacey and Linney, and eye-catching camera work and editing. Unfortunately, though, The Life of David Gale deserves more profound criticism for resorting to Hollywood thriller sequences and techniques that keep audience members on the edge of their seats at the expense of undermining the anti-death penalty message. True statistics including that the death penalty does not deter crime and that many states without capital punishment report lower crime rates than states with capital punishment evade audience comprehension even though Hallaway asks Gale if he hears her reciting these facts, which is a somewhat forced line included only for the viewers' benefit. Gale hears Hallaway but the audience members do not because the thriller does not put them in a thoughtful or reflective state-of-mind. The viewer is suspending disbelief and anticipating the car chases, graphic displays of violence, and other situations steeped in suspense and conflict while he or she is told what to feel with a domineering pop soundtrack; the viewer is not paying attention to numbers or parallels to the real world because of the nature of the genre. The Texas governor's physical resemblance to George W. Bush and Gale's comment that `good thing our governor is in touch with his inner frat-boy' should remind people that this film has a relevant political message, but these cheap devices only receive a few snickers and unfairly suggest that capital punishment is the fault of one person rather than the fault of a thriving historical eye-for-an-eye mentality that exists in this particular state and in other parts of the country.

The message is undermined by the industry's need to produce a blockbuster, and though many of the characters are intelligent, all but Gale are stale archetypes. Berlin (Rhona Mitra) is the gorgeous graduate student who seduces Gale and charges him with rape--an extreme but familiar ploy Gale calls the graduate student revenge. Zack (Gabriel Mann) is the bright, hard-working intern paired with the achieved Bloom who arrogantly dismisses his abilities. Braxton Belyeu (Leon Rippy) is the southern lawyer without an impressive record who treats women politely but demeans them with his syrupy condescension. Hallaway is the self-sacrificing human rights activist who lives for others at the expense of her own health--a true follower of Jacques Lacant. The script turns Hallaway and nearly every other character into a crazed fanatic, which again taints the film's most obvious message, but one must realize that this choice is deliberate; none of the characters have anything to lose.

Gale is the only character that breaks an archetype mold, but the viewer remains detached and doesn't become emotionally invested in his plight because he is too pathetic too soon in the flashbacks and almost entirely void of emotion in the conversations with Bloom. His one tearful breakdown seems unmotivated until the end, though Spacey arguably made all of the right choices for this character. Regrettably, even all of the right choices by Spacey and Linney and a steady performance by Winslet and most of the others do not compel the audience to realize the horrifying nature of these circumstances or to care about its real-life implications.

Adaptation. (2002)

Not Just a Writer's World

[18 February 2003]

Charlie Kaufman (Nicholas Cage) sits at his typewriter yearning for inspiration. His fingers remain still on the keyboard while his mind wanders into self-evaluation and self-criticism. He wants a cup of coffee. He needs an idea. A muffin might help. His identical twin brother, Donald, keeps pestering him with ludicrous ideas for a screenplay that have nothing to do with art but everything to do with pleasing the audience. Charlie still hasn't poured himself that cup of coffee, he's still balding, and his physique suffers because of all the time he spends sitting and staring at a blank piece of paper. He still doesn't have an idea. A banana-nut muffin sounds perfect.

Adaptation, adapted from the real Susan Orlean's novel The Orchid Thief by the real Charlie Kaufman and directed by Spike Jonze, follows the lives of the Kaufman brothers, Susan Orlean (Meryl Streep), and John Laroche (Chris Cooper). Orlean writes for The New Yorker, and like Charlie, often finds her work painstakingly tedious and unrewarding. Her literary talents award her success and a comfortable lifestyle, but she laments the fact that her abilities are void of passion. She knows how to use the English language, but she doesn't care about her subjects or the people in her life, which makes it impossible for her to find meaning in the world. She has the aptitude to relate her experiences to her readers through words, but she cannot appreciate her own experiences because she deems these experiences mundane and without significance. She observes Laroche, a free-spirited Floridian, with condescension for an article she extends into a novel that ultimately becomes the screenplay of Adaptation, but she longs for the ardor he exhibits on his hunts for the Ghost Orchid as much as Charlie longs for his muse to speak.

Writers are an eclectic group of people with vastly different ideas, views, abilities, creative processes, and lifestyles, but any writer will quickly empathize with one or all of the writers in this film. The frequent voice-overs used to reveal Charlie's thoughts, a no-no in writing seminar guru Robert McKee's (Brian Cox) book, are perfect--a conversation or an event always continues on long after its actual conclusion in a writer's head because the `what if' game never ends. Despite the chronology enforced by actual time, life is not linear. Some writers believe in art for art's sake--others just want fame and fortune. Food and personal fantasy are constantly present in the subconscious and frequently impede one's ability to get words down on the page. The real Kaufman doesn't avoid stereotypes as stereotypes are rooted in truth; many writers are inherently depressed, moody, and never satisfied with themselves or the world around them, but this film resonates so true because the pervasive pessimism does not dominate the story. The real Kaufman knows writers and how writers think, act, and behave and this visceral understanding of these literary artists provides him with the insight to create memorable characters and memorable situations.

The film does not leave audience members grim-faced, but it is an unquestionable dark blend of comedy, drama, and suspense made believable even in its most outrageous moments by an accomplished cast. Cage's portrayal of the self-conscious Charlie, who is obsessed with what other people think and dismayed by the commercial entertainment industry, breathes life into the depressingly pathetic character; his portrayal of the upbeat Donald, who worships McKee and churns out an empty thriller destined to become a box-office blockbuster, is equally delightful. The script only required Streep to memorize one character's lines, but her performance demanded the same versatility delivered by Cage and she met the challenge with predictable skill. Cooper's character is more one-dimensional than the other leads, but his performance is just as commendable and his role provides the script with the action and surprise that leaves audience members anxiously awaiting the real Kaufman's next project.

The ending of Adaptation hardly matches the film's overall brilliance, but like the rest of the show, it is honest and provides hope even in less-than-perfect circumstances. Adaptation doesn't just speak to writers or even beg an audience that is familiar with a writer's mentality; it is a film that has something to say for any person who realizes or who will someday realize that change is not always a choice and that pursuing one's true passion is the only way to live. Passionate people speak poetically whether they are highly educated or not educated at all, other people don't see sadness in a passionate person's eyes, and public opinion doesn't matter when one pursues one's passion. Life is good and life has meaning, which procures true happiness, when passion fills the body. Some people can't imagine living life any other way and others have to adapt themselves to the pursuit of happiness, but this entertaining, heart-breaking, and unpredictable film suggests that it is ultimately the only way to make any sense of this crazy world.

How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days (2003)

How to Lose an Audience in 10 Minutes

[3/10 · 6 February 2003]

Women repeat the phrase `How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days' over and over again as if it's a brilliant concept in the film of the same name directed by Donald Petrie. Screenwriters Kristen Buckley, Brian Regan, and Burr Steers' unimaginative choice for the title is indicative of their collective writing ability, but one exits the theater wishing they had more appropriately dubbed this comedic disaster `How to Lose an Audience in 10 Minutes.' The story is expectedly built on clichés, not a criticism as it is inherent to the subject matter and a truth that applies to many films in this genre, but the writers rarely discover creative ways to turn hackneyed ideas into humorous situations. The dialogue often lacks ingenuity, the scenarios are much too familiar, and the script is nearly void of an honesty that makes people want to believe in predictably trite romantic comedies.

Headlines that lure women to purchase fashion and beauty magazines fall off the covers and slide across the screen as morning activity ensues at Composure, the fastest growing women's magazine in the country. Andie Anderson (Kate Hudson) finishes a political masterpiece at her computer, and her colleague commends the article but reminds Anderson that she works for a publication that prefers articles about fitness, cosmetic surgery, and shoes. The clientele just isn't interested in poverty, religion or the environment. Poor Anderson. Straight out of Columbia's Graduate School of Journalism with a column of her own and a schedule and salary that affords her plenty of free time both during the day and at night, a 5th Avenue apartment in Manhattan, and extra cash to spend on Knicks playoff tickets. Perhaps taking a more typical beginning journalism job covering the crime beat and town meeting after town meeting would have satisfied her desire to write about things that matter. The staff meeting at Composure provides a bit of enjoyable light humor and a peek into an exaggerated display of new-age office tactics, but introducing Anderson in this context with her firm agenda in such a flimsy atmosphere is awkward and unbelievable.

Single-life lover Benjamin Barry (Matthew McConaughey), how cute--two A's for Andie and two B's for Ben, accepts a bet offered by his boss and associates at the advertising agency, which pairs him with Anderson. The couple plunges into a romantic relationship, and both characters conceal their real objective after agreeing that all is fair in love and war. The conversation that takes Anderson and Barry out of the bar and into the restaurant where they feast on lobster and get to know one another is the first glimpse of a witty and refreshing exchange; enjoy these fleeting moments as they are the exceptions rather than the rule. Laughable moments do return, however, in full force during late-middle scenes in this nearly two hour film. The first dinner date at Barry's apartment, the boys' night poker scene, and the couple's therapy session all rescue the drowning viewer from the depths of ennui.

But even these rare moments cannot save How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days. Nevertheless, the film does find some redemption in its two lead actors. Individually, Hudson and McConaughey add spark to dull words and circumstances. Together they are dynamite, and one laments the fact that they were not endowed with a script that matches their talent. Hopefully they will reunite at another time--after both actors prove themselves in other roles that better display their abilities. In this film, though, both performances are expressive, intelligent, and warrant acclaim for adding something laudatory to a film that should have been canned and hidden away forever out of public sight or left on the cutting room floor.

One does not learn anything from the `how to girl' in this film except that love ferns die just like relationships if they are not properly nurtured. Diamond companies do not pay advertising companies great sums of money to come up with a slogan like `Frost Yourself'; one can only hope this was a failed parody attempt. Men do not come back carrying flowers and missing the smell of perfume on pillows to women who are prone to dating faux pas. No man should tolerate ten days of Andie's erratic behavior, and no woman should want a sports-fanatic boyfriend who skips game seven of his team's playoff series to go to a Celine Dion concert. Andie is annoying but occasionally endearing and the gestures by Barry are valiant, but none if it is real. Comedy doesn't need to be steeped in reality, but How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days suggests that something needs to resonate with the audience or all is truly lost.

The Pianist (2002)

Details

[25 January 2003]

Actual footage from 1939 Warsaw opens director Roman Polanski's film The Pianist. The non-threatening footage hardly sets the mood of the film, but it immediately establishes the time and place and consequently alerts audience members to the specific part of an immense and painful history that will be told through the film. This is a story about German Nazis and Polish Jews. It is a story about raw and arbitrary brutality. It is a story about moments of selfless love, and it is a story about all of the other familiar anecdotes associated with the Jewish Holocaust. But it is also a unique story. It is unique because it tells the story of the Warsaw Ghetto and one of its inhabitants, Wladyslaw Szpilman (Adrien Brody).

Polanski begins with the new story as he promptly introduces Szpilman playing Chopin in a Warsaw radio recording studio, but he quickly retreats from the unfamiliar to the familiar. A man and a woman wrestle with a can of soup, and it spills into the filthy streets; the man falls to his stomach and slithers on the pavement as he devours the thick gruel. People are starving. Armed SS officers use people as puppets when they make awkward couples dance in the streets. People are being humiliated. SS officers interrupt a family dinner, pick up a crippled man in his wheelchair, and casually dump him off the top-story terrace; the family is herded downstairs, ordered to run, and gunned down in the streets. People are being killed.

Most people can anticipate what will happen when an angry SS officer randomly selects men from a line and orders them to lie face down on the cobblestone street. The quiet scene of strewn suitcases and dead bodies is haunting but expected. The wooden door of a railcar packed with scared and screaming Jewish people slams shut, but Polanski does not follow the train to its destination because 21st century audiences should know about the gas chambers, the shovels people used to dig their own graves, and the crematoriums waiting at the end of the tracks. People should know about these horrific treatments and events, and many might choose to glance away from the screen during the most graphic scenes. During these moments of elected relief, a person might begin to wonder what happened to Szpilman's story. Polanski and screenwriter Ronald Harwood do well to stay in the Warsaw Ghetto and the surrounding area to keep the narrative focused, but Szpilman gets lost in the general history.

The newness exists in the subtle subplot of resistance. When reports of mass killings at Treblinka leaked into the Warsaw ghetto, a surviving group of young men organized the Zydowska Organizacja Bojowa, which translates to Jewish Fighting Organization. The members smuggled a small number of weapons into the ghetto through their burlap sacks of food. They urged Jewish people not to board the railcars. The April 19, 1943, uprising and revolt lasted over one month, a fact not entirely clear in The Pianist, but the German forces ultimately defeated the resistance movement. Still, the Jews had fought back, and their efforts were significant. So significant that one is justified half-way through the film to wonder if Polanski picked the wrong story. Szpilman's story, like every story of a Holocaust victim or survivor, is important and deserves to be told and heard, but the cinematic interest seemed to be occurring away from the camera's scope on the Jewish side of the brick ghetto wall lined with broken glass. By the time of the revolt, Szpilman had escaped and watches the action from a short distance in his hiding place. The audience member is confined to his temporarily protected space and separated from the historical events taking place inside the ghetto. Szpilman laments that he should have stayed with the men even though it would have meant his death, and again only for viewing sake, one might guiltily share his sentiments. Humans, after all, possess a curiosity and a desire to safely experience the most dramatic moments of history, and watching the ghetto crumble in fire from a distant window fails to places a person within the action.

But this is the story of Wladyslaw Szpilman, the masterful Jewish pianist who escaped his death because of his musical talent under tremendous circumstances, and one would be wise to trust Polanski's choices. There were at least 750 stories within the burning ghetto, but the one followed in The Pianist is equally compelling once the Warsaw ghetto is in ruins and Szpilman's life becomes the sole focal point of the film. Brody speaks as much with his body as he does with his mouth during the second half of the film, and he is equally if not more brilliant in his verbal silence. The circumstances are harsh and nearly unbelievable, and his acting prohibits audience members to blink in fear of missing one moment of the performance. One stops breathing as Szpilman plays dead in the street to avoid actual death. One feels Szpilman's internal emotion when his hands return to the piano keys after a long absence. One tastes the raspberry jam he licks off his boney fingers. Brody says nothing as Szpilman, but the audience understands everything.

The Pianist succeeds on every level for numerous reasons including its attention to detail. Polanski provides specific dates associated with movements and events. Three hundred and sixty thousand Jews in the Warsaw district were relocated to the small designated space in the ghetto. Majorek (Daniel Caltagirone) names Treblinka--it isn't just a concentration camp. Details, details, details. The film also succeeds in its ability to speak to current issues. Polanski does not include the story of the merciful Captain Wilm Hosenfeld (Thomas Kretschmann) to create sympathy for the German perpetrators. He does not haphazardly highlight the parallels between how the Germans tortured the Jews and then how the Russians tortured the Germans. Violence only begets more violence. Hatred is an epidemic for which no cure exists.

The Hours (2002)

A Lesson About Life

[22 January 2003]

Flowers, Mrs. Dalloway, dysfunctional relationships, tears, and silence unite three similar yet very different women in director Stephen Daldry's The Hours. Screenwriter David Hare's adaptation of Michael Cunningham's Pulitzer Prize winning novel adeptly uses the silence that imprisons Virginia Woolf (Nicole Kidman), Laura Brown (Julianne Moore), and Clarissa Vaughan (Meryl Streep) to convey dominant feelings of loneliness, incongruity, and despair. Life is not about major events; life is about the time in between the major events, and the life one chooses or does not choose in these frequently volatile hours. The script largely questions the essence of happiness as well as the possibility of truly experiencing this coveted emotion. Powerful performances by Kidman, Moore, and Streep heighten the inherent intensity of the story and atone for the film's overly obvious themes.

People often associate quietness with peacefulness. Woolf strolls in the idyllic wooded countryside with her beloved sister and niece. Dan Brown (John C. Reilly) peeks into the bedroom and smiles when he sees his pregnant wife sleeping comfortably in the noiseless house. Vaughan and her daughter, Julia (Clair Danes), rest in each other's arms after a meaningful conversation. But these moments of tranquility are exceptions rather than the rule. The quietness is infrequent and serene while the silence is persistent and uncomfortable. Woolf wades into the water more than once determined to silence herself forever. Like other women in the 1950s, Brown uses the expected silence and a smile to conceal her suffering. Vaughan lies wide awake early in the morning, but she does not say a word when Sally (Allison Janney), her lover, sneaks into the bedroom and gently crawls into bed. All of the women have much to say, but they cannot find words to free themselves from their confinement. They viscerally understand what poet Richard Brown (Ed Harris) meant when he said that life cannot be written down. Life cannot be written down; life can only be lived. And what does it mean, then, when mental illness, society, or self-imposed affliction forces a person into silence and a position in which life is not able to be lived?

Kidman does not receive more screen time than the other characters, but she deserves top billing for her honest portrayal of a woman who loved but who was difficult to love. The film is steady in its intensity and its ability to engage the audience, but one cannot help but to listen a bit more closely when the Bloomsbury Group author appears onscreen. She speaks lines that explain the entire movie in a few words: `I'm living a life I have no wish to live-how did this happen?' and `You cannot find peace by ignoring life' are phrases each woman in each vastly different time period likely uttered or thought. Kidman, even more, deserves acclaim that focuses on her performance rather than the much-talked-about prosthetic nose that certainly altered her appearance, but more importantly helped the actress transform herself into the Woolf character. The film could have worked without the nose; the film could not have worked without Kidman.

Streep adds another noteworthy performance to her resume with this emotionally demanding role. Moore, not yet an accomplished screen veteran like Streep or a Hollywood icon like Kidman, is convincing even though the circumstances surrounding her predicament are almost entirely unexplained. Some people might criticize the script for its lack of supporting details, but the attentive audience member should be satisfied with the provided information. Unlike the parallels between the women's lives, the women all possess a definite ambiguity. This ambiguity is especially appropriate for Moore's character, an Everywoman role, but it also maintains a proper mysteriousness that surrounds the characters played by Streep and Kidman.

The men and children exist as secondary characters in The Hours, and all of them are one-dimensional with the exception of Richard Brown, but they too deserve mention. This is a story about women and women's issues, but it is not a story that neglects or criticizes men or their relationship with women. One might even say the film contains a minor theme about men who truly love their women, even though they fail to utter the words, but who cannot for one reason or another make their women happy. The men do not commit any wrongs, but the situation is entirely out of their hands, which is a fact they do not understand. The children in the film, on the contrary, seem to understand more about life's complexities and difficulties than the adults including the idea that they cannot control everything. Young newcomer Jack Rovello melts the audience with his big, blue eyes, and delivers an outstanding performance as Richie Brown.

Early in The Hours, Clarissa asks, `Why is everything wrong?' One might leave the theater after watching this film asking, `How did this creative team get so much right?' The initial editing mimics the nervousness of Woolf's shaky hand. Philip Glass' beautiful original score that plays over the silence is often present but never obtrusive. The story is well paced and intelligent. None of the actors deliver a weak performance. The leading ladies leave little room for any major criticism. The film is not flawless, but it teaches a person to accept imperfections and to appreciate life for what it is rather than what it is not.

Chicago (2002)

Encore!

[10/10 · 6 January 2003]

In the blink of an eye Chicago envelops its audience in the 1920's world of jazz, cabaret, and liquor.

Hands grip freshly poured cocktails. Women in beads and bangles flirt with men who have money to burn. Trumpets blare in the background. The plush, low-lighted room smells of smoke, lust, and crisp dollar bills. Performers primp and savor one last drag on their cigarettes backstage. Audience members find their seats. Roxie and Fred stumble into the streets. Velma wipes the blood from her hands and adjusts her stockings and fringe. Good evening ladies and gentlemen. The bandleader's fingers warm the piano keys, and with a quick 5-6-7-8! the stage show begins.

Don't expect opening credits in this dazzling film directed by Rob Marshall--it doesn't have any. Don't expect a plethora of surprising plot twists or a lack of campiness--it's a musical. Don't expect a linear story--its brilliance relies on fantastic parallels and skillful editing that might easily confuse an inattentive viewer.

Expect corruption--it's the story's premise. Expect award-winning performances--its cast would sellout performances on Broadway for years. Expect an overall stimulating production--it might make you forget to breathe during the film's greatest moments.

Screenwriter Bill Condon privileges the character Roxie Hart played by Renée Zellweger. Her eye shuts, the title splashes across the screen, and as soon as she appears onscreen the story is told from her perspective. The choice to tell the story from Roxie's point-of-view undermines the inherent sexual nature of 1920's nightlife and the overriding corruption of Chicago during this era, and instead accentuates the performer's desire to perform. Chicago is not about skimpily clad performers or their crimes--it's about the performance both on the stage and off. Roxie doesn't want to be a star like Velma Kelly (Catherine Zeta-Jones)--she needs to be a star and will do anything to see her name in lights. She craves the stage and views the world through eyes that entertain an audience even though that audience does not yet exist. Time stands still when she appears from behind the curtain and sings stretched out across the piano. Her dreams are her realities, but they are not easily realized in the real world. She needs publicity. She needs people to take her picture. She kills and shares a cellblock with Velma. They share the spotlight in the papers, and the competition for the most dramatically compelling persona and court case ensues.

Roxie and Velma compete for press, and Zellweger and Zeta-Jones compete for top billing in one of 2002's best pictures. Zellweger ultimately deserves the most praise for her versatile and convincing performance as Chicago's sweetest little murderess, but Zeta-Jones sets the mood and delivers a nearly perfect performance as the seductive cabaret killer. The women initially struggle when they must interact with one another, as do other characters in this film that prospers largely because of individual performances rather than unblemished cast chemistry, but their somewhat flawed but infrequent exchanges hardly affect the film's overall success.

The film prospers because of impressive individual performances and these performances are numerous. Marshall and the casting team of Ali Farrell, Tina Gerussi, and Laura Rosenthal assembled a celebrity cast that includes Richard Gere as Billy Flynn, John C. Reilly as Amos Hart, Christine Baranski as Mary Sunshine, Queen Latifah as Matron Mama Morton, Lucy Liu as Kitty Baxter, and Taye Diggs as the bandleader. None of these characters possess depth, and the performances are hardly subtle, but again, Chicago is a musical. Billy is a detestable, self-interested attorney--he's not going to change. Amos is a lovable fool--he's not going to change. Mary is determined to get the story and cares little about the people who she interviews--she's not going to change. And so on and so on, but neither the writer nor the actors should be criticized for not making the characters more dynamic--flat characters are a staple of the genre, and each and every one of these actors skillfully exhumes his or her character's most engaging qualities.

The singing, the dancing, and the combination of performances elicits applause throughout the film, and loud cheers of approval erupt during the closing credits. Theatergoers readily participate in the suspension of disbelief when they attend the theater, and moviegoers must do the same for this stage show adapted for the screen. Characters might lack sufficient motivation for dramatic action and important social and political criticism is lost in the spectacle, but that's show business and the movie musical has rarely looked so good or evoked such emphatic cries for an encore like this production of Chicago.

Two Weeks Notice (2002)

Masters of the Genre

[6/10 · 2 January 2003]

Lucy Kelson (Sandra Bullock) protests destructive development as she embraces a giant Wade Corporation wrecking ball at the beginning of writer and director Marc Lawrence's Two Weeks Notice, but she rests comfortably in the arms of its CEO George Wade (Hugh Grant) by the end of the film. The activist realizes multi-millionaires are not always the epitome of selfishness and evil, and the multi-millionaire realizes--well, his attitude undergoes little transformation, but he does fall in love with the activist and consequently accepts her principles. Two Weeks Notice is not a particularly memorable romantic comedy and both Bullock and Grant assume their typically witty and endearing roles, but even in its ordinariness and predictability the film succeeds in evoking nearly two hours of laugh-out-loud entertainment.

The humor warrants little criticism--it is relatively constant, often dry except for the cheap and unnecessary use of slapstick physical comedy, and perfect for any person in the mood for this type of film--but one should not pardon minor but obvious oversights by the director and writer. Wade would likely refer to Kelson as a `tree-hugger' with her Birkenstocks, loosely fitting and mismatched outfits, and leftist ideals, and Kelson herself remarks that she is a woman who cares little about appearance even though she never appears al natural in the film. Bullock's makeup artists enhanced her beauty in every scene, which negated her comment and the overall concept for this character. Somebody chose to sacrifice the script rather than the star in true Hollywood fashion. Additionally, Kelson never calls herself a feminist, but her compliant acceptance of Wade's occasional patronizing albeit good-intentioned conduct seems out-of-character with her general lifestyle choices and mores.

Kelson and Wade keep their personal feelings in abeyance for most of the film, but the chemistry between Bullock and Grant surfaces in full force at their first meeting outside of the Wade Corporation building. Within six months of movie time and less than six minutes of screen time, Wade can no longer make a decision without Kelson's approval and calls her in the middle-of-the-night longing for the company of his strong-willed assistant rather than the attractive but dumb-witted twenty-something by his side. The professional relationship transforms into camaraderie not void of sexual tensions, though they ignore the tensions and act more like close but uninterested friends. This treatment of relationships closely imitates many developing relationships in reality, but it will not satisfy people who crave an abundance of romance in this romantic comedy. One must know that the guy will get the girl in the end, but his path is hardly littered with kisses and other overly flirtatious moments.

Lawrence's knack for dialogue does most of the work for Bullock and Grant in Two Weeks Notice, but the lovable stars largely enhance this engaging script with the masteries of their respective typecast characters. Bullock is convincing as a neurotic Harvard trained attorney partial to liberal causes and large quantities of Chinese food, and Grant is as quick as he is delightful despite his avarice and playboy tendencies. None of the other characters warrant mention, but they all deserve to been seen in this comedy that cleverly typifies people at both extremes of the political and social spectrums and brings these people together in a world of trite but enjoyable conflict.

Gangs of New York (2002)

Not Perfect but Bloody Close

[8/10 · 2 January 2003]

***Minor spoilers***

Director Martin Scorsese and screenwriter Jay Cocks revived the violence, hatred, and lawlessness that governed New York City from the 1840s through the bloody Draft Riots of 1863 in the epic film Gangs of New York. New York natives despised the poor immigrants that arrived daily by the shipload. Continuous bloodshed resulted from intense racial and religious tensions. Prostitutes and pickpockets roamed the city looking for victims. Hangings in the square brought together the community and elicited loud cheers of approval. America was born in the streets, and the New York streets were covered in blood and home to the trampling feet of gangs fighting for territory, dignity, and respect in the developing city.

Scorsese wasted no time placing audience members in the time, place, and ambience of this relatively unknown tumultuous era of United States history. Father Vallon (Liam Neeson) carries his cross and marches to a somber beat through the torch-lit catacombs collecting men and women of the Dead Rabbits gang for battle. A entourage of Irish-Catholics including Happy Jack (John C. Reilly), Hellcat Maggie (Cara Seymour), and Monk (Brendan Gleeson) join the priest before he kicks open the wooden door and steps into the wintry, desolate streets of New York's Five Points. Young boys including Vallon's son, a present-day Catholic curiosity, accompany the gang but move to the periphery as members of the Bowery Boys lead by Bill the Butcher (Daniel Day-Lewis) emerge from their own dilapidated building. The two leaders exchange battle cries as the people raise their knives and clubs, and the first of many violent sequences ensues. The pure white snow is defiled with the warm blood of battered members from both gangs before the ensanguined crowd retreats after another day of immense loss.

Nearly twenty years pass before the Gangs of New York camera returns to Five Points, and much in the community has changed though violence and corruption still reign. Amsterdam Vallon (Leonardo DiCaprio), the priest's son, returns with the camera after spending his childhood and adolescence in an upstate Catholic orphanage. The Dead Rabbits are nothing but a memory and no person dares to mention the old gang name. Members of the fractured gang now offer their loyalties, time, and resources to rival gang leader Bill the Butcher. Religion died with the priest along with the value and honor attached to both life and death. Amsterdam steps off the ship with a vengeful heart, but he gradually assumes the role of Bill the Butcher's adopted son and begins to viscerally understand the Dead Rabbits betrayers.

The turbulent relationship between Bill the Butcher and Amsterdam dominates the story from opening to closing credits, but other characters both add and subtract from the richness of this wonderfully shot film. Henry Thomas delivers the second most admirable performance as Amsterdam's sidekick Johnny Sirocco. Sirocco recognizes Amsterdam soon after he returns to New York, and out of respect and admiration he offers to help him survive in the city. Amsterdam commits another kind of betrayal and alienates Sirocco, who then makes a choice between allegiances and consequently engenders another major conflict. The character is extremely unlearned and his life is dictated by emotions, which makes him prone to irrational behavior and regrets. Thomas is endearing from his first appearance, and he demonstrates great versatility in a small but important role.

Cameron Diaz slips in and out of her Irish accent, does nothing to improve her poorly-written character, and disturbs the otherwise well-devised cast chemistry as coquettish Jenny Everdeane while DiCaprio and Gleeson deliver particularly commendable performances, but Day-Lewis creates a villain that makes the entire film unforgettable. Bill the Butcher thrives on putting blood on his blade and uses pigs to practice his technique for slaying human beings. He never flinches at the slaughter, and he almost never feels remorse walking away from his slaughtered victim whether it be beast or man. He personifies all evils associated with the American Dream such as materialism and the insatiable desire for power. Bill the Butcher is a loathsome character, but Day-Lewis is too good to be hated and wins over the audience just as he wins over Amsterdam with his dynamic personality. He is never kind and rarely selfless, but he recognizes the nobility of integrity and honors this trait even though it is a quality he knows he will never himself achieve. This honorable recognition does not nullify his dishonorable disposition, but it gives the character a tremendous amount of depth that Day-Lewis uses to deliver one of the most noteworthy performances of 2002.

Gangs of New York is not historically accurate, but the film still teaches audience members about obscure historical events while it entertains for its nearly three hour duration. The cinematography is beautiful, Scorsese skillfully incorporates violent scenes into the picture but does not include any superfluous violence and allows other important themes to surface alongside this dominating aspect of nineteenth century New York life, DiCaprio's return to the screen after a lengthy absence is impressive and encouraging, and Day-Lewis secures Bill the Butcher's name in American history. Gangs of New York contains lackluster moments, but overall it is an exuberant epic well worth the price of a movie theater ticket.

Catch Me If You Can (2002)

Interesting cat-and-mouse game

[28 December 2002]

***Possible Spoilers***

Two mice fell into a bucket of cream. The first mouse drowned. The second mouse kicked its legs until it churned the cream into butter, and it crawled out and lived. Director Steven Spielberg's Catch Me If You Can tells the story of both types of mice in this cat-and-mouse detective drama based on the life of Frank William Abagnale, Jr. The script contains major holes, but audience members forgive unexplained details because of screenwriter Jeff Nathanson's intricate and well-written script. Every event and clue has a satisfying albeit predictable payoff, and the continuous scheming of Abagnale (Leonardo DiCaprio) keeps the viewer constantly wondering what will happen next. Nathanson began with incredible material from Abagnale and Stan Redding's same titled novel, and he, Spielberg, and the cast turned this unbelievable history into an engaging film enhanced by a convincing and laudable performance by DiCaprio.

Catch Me If You Can is told in retrospect to add to the outlandish nature of the situation. Abagnale first appears as a scruffy but very young man-one with peers who rightfully act like teenagers with juvenile preoccupations. But by this time people have already called Abagnale a teacher, a doctor, a pilot, and a lawyer even though he never received any legitimate training in any of the professions. He has traveled the world, intimately known numerous women, thrown fabulous parties, made wedding plans, hoarded large amounts of money, and figured out how to elude the United States Federal Bureau of Investigation. Abagnale has lived a lifetime-or more accurately stated, many lifetimes-and done so all before his twentieth birthday.

Spielberg and Nathanson presented DiCaprio with an actor's dream. Abagnale is a criminal, but he is a lovable criminal with good intentions and a desperate need to escape his loneliness. The character's choices drive the plot, but his personality makes the movie. DiCaprio delivers an awkward performance as the sixteen-year-old Frank, but one cannot criticize too quickly as the character must have struggled outside of his alter-ego existence. Abagnale slips into the shoes of a twenty-eight-year-old physician with ease, but his own youthful sneakers never seem to fit. Abagnale's multiple roles require him to learn and imitate a variety of professions, but his disposition remains constant. His charm woos the women, and his confidence and masterful use of language persuades even the greatest skeptic to believe his assertions. DiCaprio's performance defines smoothness, and his choices illuminate the humanness of a man who chose a life of crime in order to escape a reality he could not accept.

Tom Hanks plays Carl Hanratty, the FBI agent duped for years by Abagnale's trail of bad checks and Christmas Eve phone calls. His acting is only surprisingly adequate as the no-nonsense government agent, and is certainly not noteworthy. The part does not demand much versatility, and Hanks' obvious reactions and other mediocre acting choices elicit little sympathy or interest in Hanratty's persona. He is legitimately ultra-serious and focused on his career, but Hanks fails to create a sufficient amount of dimension in a character purposely written without a lot of apparent depth.

The cat-and-mouse game and Abagnale's unusual situation provides over two hours of quality entertainment, but the many subplots and themes complete the film and make it memorable despite its minor flaws. Jennifer Garner joins the cast to add more star-quality to the picture in a superfluous role, and Martin Sheen also appears with a bit part as a rich and influential attorney. Christopher Walken completes the list of celebrities with an admirable performance as Frank William Abagnale, Sr., who teaches his son how to be the mouse that churns the butter and lives but who ultimately drowns in the cream. Nathanson wrote a story about a long game of hide-and-seek for the screen, but he also wrote a story about complicated family dynamics, love and loneliness, and the complex relationship between a criminal and his lawful pursuer.

The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers (2002)

Tepid Two Towers

[7/10 · 18 December 2002]

New hideous beasts join the Balrog and Orcs as audience members return to Middle Earth during Director Peter Jackson's The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers. Frodo Baggins (Elijah Wood), Gandalf the White (Ian McKellen), Aragorn (Viggo Mortensen), and five other members of the original Fellowship continue their arduous journey to Mordor to destroy the Ring. Conditions are often intolerable. Powers clash and collide. The battles are fierce and unrelenting. Friendships and alliances are tested. Innocent people and brave warriors lose their lives. Love is found and lost and unreturned. The world is simply a darker place. But even this enormous amount of conflict and drama does not engender a superior sequel to The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring.

The team of screenwriters (Frances Walsh, Philippa Boyens, Stephen Sinclair, and Peter Jackson) undeniably undertook a difficult task in reproducing J.R.R. Tolkien's epic in script form, but this fact does not excuse the film's slow pace and occasional incomprehensibility. Both major and minor characters are introduced too quickly and little or no time is invested in many of these people, which prevents audience members from connecting and sympathizing with the characters. Théoden (Bernard Hill) orders elderly men and young boys to fight an impossible war, but one cannot connect with the weeping women or terrified men as leaders outfit them in helmets and swords and send them off to a likely death. The writers have not given audience members the time or reason to care.

The overriding theme in The Lord of the Rings is that the good in the world is worth a tremendous fight and that evil cannot prevail despite its overwhelming force, but other themes evolve through various characters and subplots. Few people can miss the dominating theme; Sam Gamgee (Sean Astin) even states this Truth at the end of The Two Towers just in case it has eluded anyone in the story's first six cinematic hours. Unfortunately, many other themes are lost not simply because of exclusion from the original text, but again, because the writers did not invest enough time in explaining the details and significance of certain events. Allowing Galadriel (Cate Blanchett) to return momentarily to clarify certain points and clever monologues by Gollum (voice of Andy Serkis) avoid complete disregard for intelligibility, but more of these not-entirely-innovative but nonetheless helpful techniques would have benefited the film.

Gollum embodies the possibility that any inherently good creature can be transformed into something evil. The entire cast delivers laudable performances once again, but this computer generated character steals the spotlight in every one of his scenes. He appears deformed and acts maliciously, but the writers gave him a tremendous amount of depth and so his deformities and deviance is forgiven. Gollum is complicated, and he is endearing. He has become a slave to the desire for power, but traces of his former Sméagol self penetrate his dominating ugliness--especially in an intense but entertaining forest monologue.

Unfortunately, Gollum also represents the most disturbing reality of the second part of this film series: The Two Towers relies too heavily on its computer generated characters and special effects and not enough on the story and the abilities of its human actors. Legolas Greenleaf (Orlando Bloom) prances off boulders and dramatically flies onto a horse during battle, which elicits laughter during serious moments and detracts from Bloom's natural ability to play the part. The Fellowship of the Ring is not entirely void of these non-human creations, but the focus is on the nine-member Fellowship. The actors are responsible for the overall success or failure of each scene in the first film, but the exact opposite is true for the second film and pure spectacle does not afford cinematic greatness.

Jackson's talented cast is not as present in The Two Towers, but they make a valiant effort to carry the film even through too numerous sweeping landscape scenes. Still, few of the actors exhibit flawless or even nearly flawless performances. Wood and John Rhys-Davies, who plays Gimli, occasionally overreact with melodramatic reactions and facial expressions, though it is admittedly the exception to Wood's otherwise skillful and intriguing performance. Rhys-Davies is particularly guilty of this amateurish act, however, and these poor acting choices coupled with a script that portrays him as a fool cheapens the overall story and discredits the Fellowship. The most troubling acting problem, however, is the lack of chemistry between the lead male characters excluding the hobbits. Every single leader is captivating in his individual monologues and scenes, but their camaraderie seems forced and unauthentic. The camera does most of the work, and the actors rely on background music and other visual effects to compensate for their collective inefficiency. Thankfully, the believability of all other relationships balances this inadequacy, and newcomer Miranda Otto as Éowyn shines.

The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers lags behind its predecessor, but Jackson and his cast and crew have created another film well worth the price of a movie ticket. The story begs for more explanation and the actors are undermined by technology, but the special effects and computer generated characters will keep audience members content through the three hour duration. One Ring was forged to bind all creatures in the darkness of Mordor--despite the film's faults, don't be the only one to miss this continued journey that will determine if the dark prophecy will come true and send Middle Earth into catastrophic ruin.

Maid in Manhattan (2002)

a holiday delight

[5/10 · 15 December 2002]

Christopher Marshall (Ralph Fiennes), Marissa Ventura (Jennifer Lopez) and her son, Ty (Tyler Posey), scale a Central Park rock formation surrounded by lush trees as they gaze over the horizon lined with Manhattan's skyscrapers in director Wayne Wang's Maid in Manhattan. One of the characters states the obvious: `It's like two different worlds.' Later in the film, Ventura's best friend, Stephanie Kehoe (Marissa Matrone), uses the same line to convince Ventura that efforts to pursue a relationship with Marshall will be in vain.

Screenwriter Kevin Wade resisted subtlety in this modern Cinderella story, and the entire film is predictably predictable and laden with flat characters. Marshall is the smooth Republican senatorial candidate with captivating blue eyes and the perfect smile. Ventura is the beautiful and intelligent maid who deserves a more luxurious life than the one she lives in the Bronx. Ty is the ideal son who serves as Marshall and his mother's love catalyst. Jerry Siegel (Stanley Tucci), Marshall's campaign manager, suffers from constant anxiety and stress due to Marshall's public behavior and inability to concentrate on the senatorial race. Ultimately, the final credits roll an unending list of prototype characters.

But Maid in Manhattan surprisingly emerges as a simple but enjoyable cinematic delight. The lessons of the film are simple but poignant and important in the tradition of many holiday classics. Ventura reminds Marshall that societal problems are daily realities rather than matters of political debate for large populations that, on many levels, understand political issues more viscerally than governmental candidates who use the issues to secure votes and a desirable public reputation. The butler, Lionel Bloch (Bob Hoskins) tells Ventura, `What we do does not define who we are.' Ventura's friends support the unfortunate truism that it's not about what you have or what you know but about who you know. Finally, Ventura gives people hope that any dream-as impossible as it may seem-is truly attainable.

Audience members will recognize the many lessons of the film do little but to reinforce common knowledge, and they will also recognize that Maid in Manhattan enjoys success because of the well delivered performances by Fiennes, Lopez, Posey and the supporting cast. Fiennes and Posey share the first satisfying moment long after the opening scene of the film with their engaging conversation in the hotel elevator. The three main characters-those played by Fiennes, Lopez and Posey-share the next entirely pleasurable scene with two French women in the same elevator, and at this point the film finally reaches its tolerable pace. Fiennes did not have much material to create an extremely compelling and dynamic character, but he achieves in portraying a charming and self-admittedly less-than-perfect politician.

Lopez struggles onscreen until her onscreen chemistry with Fiennes rescues her from a rigid performance. Once she relaxes, however, she delivers an endearing performance. She is sweet but capable of dishonesty. Vulnerable but aggressive. Common but inexplicably highly extraordinary. She is human. Lopez is not an accomplished screen veteran, but she does not always make the obvious acting choice, which sets her apart from other actresses with similar screen experience. She carries an embodied knowledge of the truth that minorities are often `stereotypes or invisible,' and this understanding makes her shine in scenes that deal with this difficult issue.

Tucci illustrates the point that memorable performances are a product of quality rather than quantity in terms of screen time. His character not only must deal with the fact that Marshall is a campaign manager's public nightmare, but he also must endure professional humiliation when Marshall gives him extra duties as his beloved dog's caretaker. He is not subtle, he pushes the panicked and anal campaign manager caricature to an extreme, his character's personality is entirely unlikable and yet audience members walk away loving the unlovable Jerry Siegel.

Maid in Manhattan does not deserve a Best Picture nomination or any award nomination for that matter, but one must doubt that Wayne Wang or any member of the creative team set out to create an Oscar-winning sensation. In one respect, this is a sad commentary on the entertainment industry and general artistic integrity. In an ideal world, artists would only sign on to pictures that they believed would achieve the highest expectations of the industry. As every person knows, however, this is not an ideal world, and sometimes the only goal is to create an entertaining blockbuster hit. In these terms, the film is a definite success, and to criticize it for lack of artistic merit or originality is asinine as it never claimed to be anything more than an updated version of the Cinderella story.

Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets (2002)

almost is not good enough

[6/10 · 2 December 2002]

Dobby the house elf warns Harry Potter (Daniel Radcliffe) not to return to Hogwarts for his second year of magical lessons soon after the audience receives a taste of Harry's miserable existence with the Dursley family in the opening sequence of director Chris Columbus' Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets. Dobby, a computer generated character and one of the special effects that keeps this film moderately entertaining from start to finish, remains ambiguous in his warning but stresses that `terrible things are about to happen!' Many audience members exit the theater wondering if Dobby spoke of the dangers awaiting Harry at Hogwarts or the trite and threadbare story awaiting theatergoers for nearly three hours of the film's duration.

Screeching mandrakes, the howler Ron Weasley (Rupert Grint) receives from his mother (Bonnie Wright), a conversational diary, the phoenix, the ghostly Moaning Myrtle (Shirley Henderson), and other special effects including a cinematically superior game of Quidditch make the second Harry Potter film better than the first installment and superficially enjoyable, but spectacle alone cannot sustain a film even in this magical world. Kenneth Branagh wins the hearts of his female students and audience members in the role of Professor Gilderoy Lockhart, Jason Isaacs is notably cold and cruel as Lucius Malfoy, and the late Richard Harris as Headmaster Albus Dumbledore creates depth for his character amidst the other one-dimensional characters of the film, but these three veterans along with Maggie Smith as Professor Minerva McGonagall cannot tap their wands and make magic out of Steve Kloves' lackluster script that includes the most exciting events from J.K. Rowling's novel but fails to support these events with other necessary plot points making much of the film random and nonsensical.

The young actors including Radcliffe, Grint, Emma Watson as Hermione Granger, and Tom Felton as Draco Malfoy generally showcase improved performances from their first attempts in Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone, but they all lack the versatility and subtlety of accomplished actors. None of these amateurish actors attempt to find believable persons within their characters, and consequently each character emerges as a dull caricature. Harry is the unsuspecting hero. Ron is the pathetically helpless and bewildered sidekick. Hermione is the brain of the operation. Draco is the representation of evil. The script provides only one-dimensional characters, and none of these actors has the ability to create something out of nothing as more skilled performers can do, which adds to the banality of the film.

Columbus' first priority for the next film in this series should be to find a screenwriter with a vivid imagination and the creative ability to bring Rowling's world to life. The cast will miss Harris as Dumbledore and the young actors need a few more lessons in their craft before shooting begins, but with a decent blueprint this cast has the potential to rival anything the imagination could possibly create. Improvement is a step in the right direction and the film is almost worthy of some acclaim, but as Ron discovered in Professor McGonagall's class, almost is far from perfect and never quite good enough.

The Emperor's Club (2002)

a man's character is his fate

[22 November 2002]

Many films with obvious morals reveal the Truth through various plot points and a climax that makes any conscious audience member clearly aware of the story's intent. People have called director Michael Hoffman's The Emperor's Club an unsurprising film with a surprising moral, but screenwriter Neil Tolkin provides the lesson at the onset of the film as Classics teacher William Hundert (Kevin Kline) rows on the river. Hundert professes to know two things with absolute certainty: a morning that begins with rowing is better than a morning that does not begin with rowing and a man's character is his fate. The story is told in less time than a person needs to get comfortable in his or her theater seat, and the details and events that follow merely provide support for the most important Truth of this story.

Unfortunately this Truth is cliché and all of the details and events supporting this Truth follow suit. Boarding school boys follow strict dress codes and are governed by high expectations bestowed upon them by wealthy parents and uncaring school administrators. Their teachers are highly intellectual and sophisticated. The boys like to play pranks. They hide pornography, cigarettes, and other forbidden items under their beds. Girls are off-limits and utterly desirable. Bonds form that cannot be destroyed by time. Tolkin included every dull stereotype and few original glimpses into this elite world, and consequently a slow pace plagues the film leaving initially alert audience members in a state of ennui.

The retrospective story returns to the present long before the end of the film and illustrates the idea that the end depends on the beginning. All of the boys-and not just some but all of the boys making this one of the most successful reunions on record- gather at a private club on Long Island as successful grown men instead of mischievous adolescents. Hundert adjudicates a rematch of a competition that occurred over two decades ago not caring about who will win or who will lose but hoping that he has succeeded as a teacher not of the Romans and the Greeks but of character, principles, and conviction. He finds his answer and flies off in a helicopter waving to his former class of boys and convinced that he must swallow his pride and resume his work at St. Benedict's.

The story is predictable even if one does not immediately figure out the moral and most of the actors play static, one-dimensional characters. Kline, a versatile master of the screen and stage, is endearing as Hundert but obviously not challenged by the relatively simple role. His supporting cast is equally unchallenged and nobody emerges as a young-and-upcoming talent-they do not have the opportunity to shine with roles that hardly represent real human beings who may be dictated by one personality trait but still possess a depth entirely nonexistent in these young individuals. The grown up versions of the men echo their past selves; they now have their own large sums of money but are no richer in character. A man's character is his fate, but this film leaves no room for the realistic possibility of change.

Far from Heaven (2002)

1950s frame of mind

[15 November 2002]

Writer and director Todd Haynes wastes no time placing the viewer in the time frame and culture of the film Far From Heaven. The title of the movie splashes across the screen as the orchestral music swells in a fashion reminiscent of the 1950s classics. A vintage automobile pulls into a beautiful suburban home driveway, and a young boy greets the driver calling, `Mother, Mother!' Cathy Whitaker (Julianne Moore) steps out of the car dressed impeccably adding even more color to the rich autumnal scene and unloads the groceries with the help of her children and the maid.

But the picturesque era portrayed in so many films and television classics disappears as the plot reveals the complexity of lives lived in silence. Cathy laments that she and everyone around her endures endless secrecy with their `lives shut in the dark.' People feign normalcy in the light and exist in the shadows ashamed of thoughts and behaviors that defy the expectations of an idyllic society.

The film does not mock the 1950s cultural stereotype, but Haynes taints the perfection of this culture with issues that earlier filmmakers were forced to ignore. In the mid-twentieth century, excluding certain populations and disturbing situations kept studio executives and audience members safe from the truths and consequences of alternative and abusive lifestyles. Commercial films entertained people with trite plot lines and predictable events and outcomes. Commercial films did not show people what they did not want to see or believe.

Dennis Quade delivers a commendable performance as Frank Whitaker, a man who never loved his wife but settled for her hand refusing to accept his homosexual feelings. They built an ideal life together, but his absence at the evening family meal becomes habitual. One night he follows a group of men into a back alley bar, encounters an exclusively male cliental, and becomes a part of their secret. He betrays his wife and his reputation and desperately tries to cure himself of the `sickness' by visiting a doctor who performs `homosexual conversion.'

Cathy cringes at the word `homosexual,' but she follows societal norms no more than her husband and commits greater sins in the eyes of the townspeople when she publicly befriends her black gardener, Raymond Deagan (Dennis Haysbert). Gossips destroy her reputation, her friendships are tested, and both parents' children suffer because of their parents' platonic relationship. Malice and hatred overthrow the world of courtesy and love. Secrets are no longer hidden behind smiles and superficiality, though nothing has been said and everything has been assumed.

Unknowledgeable audience members using twenty-first century film standards might criticize Haynes' script. The pace occasionally feels slow, and certain moments lack subtlety. Moore and Quade portray characters written with tremendous depth, but Haysbert's character frequently seems one-dimensional. But one must remember that this is a 1950s movie shot in the twenty-first century preserving the structure and style of a 1950s film. Every choice is purposeful and right for Haynes' concept.

Revealing an untold history of 1950s culture is paramount in Far From Heaven, but like the classics, it also entertains. The story contains drama, comedy, and even a little suspense. Haynes took a risk creating this film because most viewers cannot help but to approach this material with a twenty-first century mindset. People are not extremely shocked to see two men kissing or to witness a budding romance between a white woman and a black man; in today's culture this is elevating the ordinary to extraordinary. Viewers are, instead, horrified by the reactions of the townspeople and unable to empathize with men and women who revel in prejudice. Still, the risk pays off because the audience member is forced to reflect on the subject matter, which provides Haynes with a privilege that few of his predecessors who made these types of films enjoyed.

Frida (2002)

good writing, good directing, good acting--this film has got it all

[11 November 2002]

A young and far-from-innocent Frida Kahlo (Salma Hayek) romps joyously through the streets of Mexico City in 1922 at the beginning of director Julie Taymor's Frida, but her days of carefree happiness quickly soar away with the release of a bluebird as the poignant frame of her beautiful albeit bloody body surrounded by the golden dust of a recent but forgotten age lingers on the screen. Kahlo's life after this one tragic afternoon was intense enough to make her paintings cry real tears. Tears of pain, betrayal, sorrow, loss, and love flowed through her paintbrush to create what her unfaithful but truly loving husband, Diego Rivera (Alfred Molina), called poetry on canvas in the film.

Taymor created a cinematically rich film that entertains and teaches audiences about a real people, a real country, and a real history. Screenwriter Clancy Sigal did not dedicate himself to historical accuracy, but in many respects he assumed the responsibility of writing a story based on history told from a nontraditional perspective. Kahlo was a woman, she was an early feminist that flirted with bisexuality, and she supported communist politics making her quite unlike traditional recorders of history. She wrote with her art and Sigal used the passion flowing from her work along with textual research to provide the blueprint for an outstanding cast of actors.

Hayek captures the audience from the onset of the film by immediately showcasing a number of emotions along the continuum of extreme pleasure and extreme pain. She portrays a strong-willed character but allows a softness that makes her unconditional tolerance and forgiveness entirely believable. Many audience members will be sufficiently captivated by Kahlo to feel a quickened heartbeat as she rises from her wheelchair to take her first determined steps after the accident less than twenty minutes after the show begins, and no one should be unmoved as she and Rivera lay in bed seventeen days before their twenty-fifth anniversary.

The role of Rivera does not require as much versatility and risk from Molina, but he still provides a noteworthy performance. One wants to hate him for his infidelity and perpetuation of the Mexican male stereotype, but one cannot because he is too loved by his friends and family. He womanizes, he fights, he drinks, and nobody says a lasting malicious word because he cannot be a man that he is not. He is loved and hated and loved again, and love ultimately prevails. His ex-wife Lupe Marín (Valeria Golino) continues to dote on him as he begins a new marriage with Kahlo who also accepts the excuse that he is physiologically incapable of fidelity, and the moving relationship that develops between the two women lasts briefly onscreen though its revelations permeate the entire story.

Geoffrey Rush, Ashley Judd, Antonio Banderas, and Edward Norton round out the cast of superstars and are supported by commendable unknown talent. The script could have been trimmed and the relationship between Hayek and Judd's character seems entirely superfluous not-to-mention awkward and weak, but overall this film deserves much praise. Commercial film lovers may feel bewildered by the troubling dream sequences steeped in cryptic meaning, and conservatives might blush throughout the two hour running time because of its sensual and frequently sexual content, but it will leave few entirely disappointed. Non-commercial film lovers will enjoy the film's integration of several types of art forms and its use of contrast with oftentimes vibrant color and black and white that functions to raise existential questions. One leaves the film unable to forget that few things are ever perfectly black or perfectly white-that grey dominates life's palate, though color is what makes it beautiful even if it is at times beautifully tragic and sorrowful. Audience members with Mexican heritage and people who possess a vast knowledge of this culture will applaud its truthful portrayal of privileged Mexican life and will probably experience an even greater understanding of its symbolism and significance.

Moonlight Mile (2002)

Not a two-thumbs up response

[20 October 2002]

New heartthrob Jake Gyllenhaal pairs with Oscar winners Susan Sarandon, Dustin Hoffman, and Holly Hunter in screenwriter and director Brad Silberling's Moonlight Mile, but none of these fine actors shines in a hackneyed story that Silberling should have left in the wastepaper basket's darkness.

Life goes on after tragedy. Life goes on but with considerable hardship and much searching by all people closely related to the deceased. Everyone else cries a few tears, offers their condolences and maybe a book about dealing with death to the family, and their normal routines ensue.

A moviegoer cannot leave the theater without realizing this Truth as the cliché is pushed from the onset of the film. On the way to the cemetery, the procession passes a bride and groom leaving the church, kids playing baseball, people washing their cars, teenagers kissing in the street, and people washing their clothes at the Laundromat.

One cannot miss this forced idea and other pushed axioms such as `the truth is hard but the truth will set you free' unless, of course, he or she falls asleep because of the slow-paced story, which would save him or her from having to watch unbelievable characters with unbelievable motives in unbelievable situations.

Not all of the characters are unbelievable all of the time. JoJo (Sarandon) and Ben Floss (Hoffman) are not grief-stricken parents who shut themselves off to the world after the unexpected death of their only child. They are humanly inconsistent and create the film's few authentic moments. The conflict between moving on and keeping their daughter, Diana (Careena Melia), alive in memory wears away at their sanity and well-being as they try to bring her killer to justice and go on with their daily activities and work.

Joe Nast (Gyllenhaal) keeps Diana alive for JoJo and Ben, but he does not want to be kept. He wants to escape from their confines but will not leave the house because he fears their love will turn to hate if they ever discover the truth. And so he stays.

He stays and finds love in a woman who understands his plight and must also deal with her past before she can accept the future. Joe and Birtie Knox (Ellen Pompeo) feel a romantic chemistry almost instantly; unfortunately the audience member will never feel this chemistry and must endure forced dialogue and uncharged moments of intimacy.

This film does not deserve many more words. Mundane scenes and hints of possibly interesting subplots that the story fails to explore and develop sap this film's momentum and leave people sleeping in their seats or exiting the theater long before the final credits roll.

White Oleander (2002)

light review of weighty material

[14 October 2002]

The white oleander looks beautiful but its poison kills. Social service agencies take children from their abusive parents but place them in homes and institutions where violence reigns. Ingrid Magnussen (Michelle Pfeiffer) puts her daughter, Astrid (Alison Lohman), in the center of her artwork but pushes her to the perimeter of her reality. Life is a contradiction in which nothing is purely good or purely evil.

White Oleander is a story about life's contradictions and the complexities of control, power, loneliness, betrayal, loyalty, and love. Janet Fitch won rave reviews in 2000 for this novel; screenwriter Mary Agnes Donoghue did not match Fitch's brilliance, but turned a weighty narrative-both in terms of content and size-into an admirable film blueprint.

Director Peter Kosminsky and accomplished actresses Pfeiffer, Robin Wright Penn, Renée Zellweger, and newcomer Lohman used this blueprint to create a gripping film that both readers and nonreaders of the original text will appreciate.

Pfeiffer is as cool and controlling as she is stunning even in prison garb, and her mastery of personality subtleties deserves acclaim. Audiences will hate the character because she is too smart, too manipulative, and too real.

And anticipate an Oscar-worthy breakthrough performance from Lohman. She shines in her portrayal of a daughter who worships her mother until she realizes the superficial nature of her beauty and the cruelty of her heart. Ingrid Magnussen is not as perfect as she thinks, and her love is as poisonous as the white oleander.

Stereotypes cheapen some of the film's richness and choices made to avoid an `R' rating sap some of its strength, but overall the film is as compelling as its sad and truthful characters.