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Archive for December, 2009

UHF review

Thursday, December 31st, 2009

“Weird Al” Yankovic made a pretty penny in the 1980s with his send up covers of successful burst songs (i.e. Michael Jackson’s Bad became “Weird Al’s” Pot-bellied), so it’s appropriate that the victory film he co-wrote and starred in is little more than a series of sketches and parodies of movies and music stuck together with a scrap of filler give a daydreaming decline who takes over a small TV station.

Yankovic plays George Newman, a sweet sap who has never been able to hold a job for the benefit of more than a not many weeks. When his uncle wins a matter-of-fact UHF TV instal in a poker game, he decides to put George in charge. The station is at the bottom of the ratings until George, inspired by the scrambled ramblings of the instal janitor’s (Michael Richards) deranged children’s entertainment, implements a in one piece new schedule full of oddball programs (Like “Wheel of Fish” and “Conan the Librarian”) and Watercourse 62 starts to amass a following.

Yankovic is an affable big shot, but George’s geste arc is probably the film’s weakest component—the result of every subplot, from Channel 62’s budget disaster, to the conflict with the head of the local network affiliate (Kevin McCarthy), to his on-and-unlikely relationship with squirrel-voiced Victoria Jackson, is telegraphed well in advance. But strung in every part of are some inspired bits of sketch comedy (George’s summary is very likely even-handed there to specify a capitulate framework for these bits anyway).

The parody segments probably explicate UHF’s cult following (which developed on video after a pessimistic theatrical run). A mix of hardly coherent mania (”Raul’s Wild Kingdom,” Michael Richard’s unimpaired psychotic performance) and somewhat pointed satire (like the spot-on spoof of Rambo III), it’s a pot-pourri of randomness that, under the restrained eye of director and music video veteran Jay Levy, somehow remains sensible, not to mention a lawlessness throughout.

The Jane Austen Book Club review

Sunday, December 27th, 2009

Six months. Six novels. Six members. The Jane Austen Book Baton takes reading the classics to new heights of passion in this exotic comedy featuring an all-star cast. When five women and a person man come by together to discuss the English writer’s beloved novels, they realize the heartaches of Emma, Mr. Darcy and the Bennet sisters are not so original from their own. Verdict comfort, wisdom and wisdom from the pages and each other, they discover that, in matters of love, all they need to beseech is: What would Jane do?

A Christmas Tale (2008)

Saturday, December 26th, 2009

Fall Film: A Christmas Tale

Arnaud Desplechin comes home for the horror days

By

Ella Taylor

Published on November 12, 2008 at 8:00pm


Pick a film by

Arnaud Desplechin


, and likely as not you’ll find a house full of labile French hobgoblins stewing volubly over old wounds and inflicting new ones where they hurt most. Elegantly worded internecine warfare defines family in the Desplechin canon, and in his ecstatically bitchy new film,

A Christmas Tale

, the unwieldy clan is a prime specimen of the breed. Gathering for the winter holidays at the provincial table of their coolly ironic matriarch, Junon (

Catherine Deneuve

), and her loving husband, Abel (

Jean-Paul Roussillon

), the Vuillards are a walking tragedy dressed up as farce (you can’t tell which is which in a Desplechin film), bound together and torn apart by one of the hoariest old gambits in the history of cheesy movie metaphors — bad blood.

Jean-Claude Lother

Mère de jour: Catherine Deneuve

Junon has been diagnosed with leukemia, which also killed her firstborn son, Joseph, when he was 7 years old. Only her bad egg of a son, Henri (played by the feverishly wild-eyed

Matthieu Amalric

, a frequent alter ego for the director), and her emotionally frail grandson, Paul (

Emile Berling

), have the compatible bone marrow Junon needs. The catch is that the transplant is as likely to destroy her as it is to cure her. Which is about as visceral an expression of ambivalence toward the mother as I can think of. And why not, given exchanges like this one:


Henri: Still don't love me?


Junon: Never did.


Henri: Me neither. 

Followed by Desplechin’s restless camera, they roam the house, which is at once a lived-in haven and a mausoleum filled with the relics of past battles and shifting alliances. Their endless groupings and regroupings, their brief encounters and power struggles are framed by an armory of cinematic devices that will be familiar to any Desplechin devotee. One character turns to the camera to recite a letter he may or may not have written. Another sees in a mirror his own reflection — now cunning, now bereft — and grasps his own possibilities for the first time. There are intertitles and cutout silhouettes, and a million references to other films both high and low, perhaps more than this already crowded, ceaselessly gabby scenario needs. Desplechin calls his company Why Not Productions: Kitchen Sink would serve just as well.

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So by all means, go to

A Christmas Tale

, forewarned and forearmed with a working knowledge of Bergman, Rohmer, Truffaut,

The Royal Tenenbaums

and

Home for the Holidays

, as well as a batch of European poets, playwrights and philosophers you probably haven’t read in a long while. They’re all in there, and you can spend the movie decoding to your little hipster’s heart’s content — or you can sit back and absorb, knowing that Desplechin asks of his audience only an open mind and a receptivity to constant redefinition of the situation. Who and what are these people to one another, and what is Joseph — beyond a shaping abstraction who couldn’t be saved — to them? Every question elicits five more, but don’t mistake this movie for one of those mawkish domestic autopsies that begins with a gasp-inducing revelation from a designated black sheep and ends with a group hug and a voice-over whining on about how family relations are all very complex. They surely are, and there surely is rapprochement in

A Christmas Tale

— there’s even a sage in Abel, a man so homely and carbuncled that even he calls himself an “old toad” — but the tone is one of palate-cleansing astringency. The old toad has seen everything and lost much, and may yet lose more before the curtain goes down. But he knows that in the end, it’s not truth or insight or self-knowledge that all these walking wounded (or any of us) are striving for but, as he so beautifully tells his daughter, a way of “bringing something home.”


A CHRISTMAS TALE

| Directed by ARNAUD DESPLECHIN | Written by DESPLECHIN and

EMMANUEL BOURDIEU

| Produced by PASCAL CAUCHETEAUX | Released by

IFC Films

| The Landmark, Sunset 5, Monica 4-Plex, Playhouse 7, Town Center 5

When Will I Be Loved review

Thursday, December 24th, 2009

WHAT’S IT ALL ABOUT?


James Toback’s curiously off-putting When Will I Be Loved is a tough film to peg. It’s the kind of cinematic exploration that you endure more than you enjoy, and when it ends, you sit there wondering what the director has just done to you. Typically, that’s an experience I crave in a film—to be in the hands of a director who knows how to use the tools of his art to provoke an emotion or a particular reaction—but in the case of When Will I Be Loved, I’m left feeling more annoyed than expertly manipulated.

Much of When Will I Be Loved has the aura of an unfinished, scattershot, pretentious student film. It’s a meandering, unfocused mess until it reaches its point—a main plot that might seem more comfortable as the impetus for a powerful short film or the fodder of an old mainstream effort, like, oh, Indecent Proposal. Neve Campbell plays Vera, a wandering New Yorker who is sexually inquisitive and even voracious. Worming self-consciously through a long street-walk job interview with Toback himself (playing, good god, Professor Hassan al-Ibrahim ben Rabinowitz), in which the director expounds eye-rollingly about race and culture and sexuality, Vera has several occasions to show us her sexual wantonness, taking interruptions in the interview as opportunities to proposition passing dudes. This is supposed to set us up later for the primary conflict, arranged by her slimy boyfriend Ford (Frederick Weller): to accept the offer of a million bucks to sleep with the 70s-ish Italian media tycoon, Count Tommaso Lupo (Dominic Chianese).

The way Toback deals with this conflict is an odd mixture of indy-minded thinking and extreme self-indulgence. After the film’s meandering first act, Toback gives Vera a laser focus—almost embarrassingly so. As the camera lingers on his star, it does so with a fetishist’s eye, and it’s difficult to separate the character we’re meant to study from the actress that Toback comes frighteningly close to exploiting. Rather than be fascinated by the sexually adventurous character Vera, you’re repelled by the spectre of the director fawning over his star. Campbell plays Vera with an unfortunate self-consciousness, perhaps not totally comfortable in the skin of a wanton Toback sexpot, and you can hardly blame her.

The film has a fly-by-the-seat-of-the-pants structure that seems at odds with the increasingly focused Vera. Toback’s concentration wanders at the worst moments, streaming off into a meaningless tangents involving celebrities such as Mike Tyson and Lori Singer early on, and later, involving sleazy Ford in a ridiculous male-fantasy public-sex display in Central Park. The script seems improvised as the film moves along, and Toback doesn’t exhibit the skills to make moment-by-moment filmmaking work. When Will I Be Loved doesn’t seem like a film so much as a slapped-together series of self-important scenes.

Supporting characters—including Vera’s parents (Karen Allen and Barry Primus), her lesbian lover (Joelle Carter), and even hip-hop artist Damon Dash—enter the frame for single scenes, then disappear without a trace, reaffirming the notion of the film as some kind of experimental, character-centric slapdash. But even if this whole enterprise is focused on poor Vera, I’m still befuddled about her motivations. When the film turns abruptly into a mean-spirited revenge tale, I’ve lost any real interest in the narrative. And the soundtrack is chaos of musical styles that clash more than benefit the mood of the film. Not much about this film seems really earned.

HOW’S IT LOOK?


Orange! Although the image is transferred accurately and anamorphically at 2.35:1, the image is overloaded with reds, which you can see abundantly in the unfortunate skin tones. That’s the worst news about the image, and it’s difficult to see past, but detail is adequate (if obscured by the muddy color), coming across as mostly soft. As if to compensate, the image is also too dark, shadowing a lot of detail that should pop. I noticed edge halos on hard edges.

HOW’S IT SOUND?


The disc’s Dolby Digital 5.1 track is weighted toward the front, appropriately for this dialog-focused drama. I wouldn’t expect much in the way of audio fireworks. Thankfully, dialog is treated accurately, with no distortion in the high end. The chaotic score is translated well. I noticed only slight action in the surround channels, most often in outdoor ambient opportunities.

WHAT ELSE IS THERE?


The foremost extra on the disc is an Audio Commentary by Director James Toback. It’s a fairly monotone track, in which Toback talks about what he was going for, shot by shot, scene by scene. He’s not afraid to tell you how beautiful some of his scenes are, and he’s perfectly okay with comparing his writing with that of Dostoevsky and Shakespeare. I confess that Toback’s examination of his own film struck me as a bit heavy with ego, and that’s a turnoff for me. But you can tell the film means a lot to him, calling the language “sculpted” and “provocative.”

In the curiously sordid Scene Sexplorations, Toback and Campbell sit together and discuss Campbell’s nude and sexual scenes in the film. There are four segments, titled A Nice Hot Shower, Girlfriends, Ford’s Big Score, and A Tryst with a Twist. Although this interview snippets will appeal to the prurient among you (and I count myself in your crowd), it smacks of marketing shamelessness. Toback comes across as pretentious, and Campbell seems a bit nervous, stumbling over her words a few times. The interviews are laced with racy footage, and after each segment, you can jump straight to the actual scenes in the film.

Last and least, when you plop the disc in your player, you’re assaulted by forced nonanamorphic-widescreen trailers for Code 46 and Wicker Park. You’ll also find trailers for De-Lovely, Raging Bull, Confessions of an American Girl, Kiss the Bride, Lost Junction, The Business of Strangers, New York New York, Boxcar Bertha, Out of Time, and two The Thomas Crown Affair DVDs.

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WHAT’S LEFT TO SAY?


When Will I Be Loved too obviously bears the ego-stamp of its director. You might be curious to witness Neve Campbell’s first-ever nude scenes (as Toback clearly was), but this film is a test of endurance. The image quality is disappointing, and the extras feel pretentious and exploitative. Consider this DVD a rental only.

Blood on the Sun (1945)

Wednesday, December 23rd, 2009

During the form days of Mankind Engage in combat with II, when Germany lyric in the ashes of defeat and Japan remained the only Axis power still continued, Hollywood went after the Nipponese menace with a gusto. One of the most unparalleled films in this subgenre is the James Cagney mechanism Blood in the Brummagem. Vaguely based on real events, it is a rousing little thriller that hasn’t aged too badly, other than in its racial attitudes.

The story goes forsake to the years before the contend, serene to the late 1920s, when Japan’s expansionist tendencies were only hinted at. The conquest of the Chinese function of Manchuria and its conversion into the puppet state of Manchukuo in 1932 were not yet skilled. Cagney plays Nick Condon, crusading managing compiler of the Tokyo Chronicle. His suspicions concerning Japan’s dreams of conquest appear to be justified when the Regal Patrol overreact to an article he publishes accusing Principal Tanaka (John Emery) and Col. Tojo (Robert Armstrong) of planning sphere conquest. When his stringer, Ollie Miller (Wallace Ford), suddenly turns up in clover and leaving the country, Condon gets more questionable. When Miller and his wife mysteriously build up murdered, the suspicions are confirmed. Before dying&#8212in outdo cinema fashion&#8212Miller leaves Condon in possession of a document, the Tanaka Memorial, that confirms his guess. But the Japanese are on to the fact Condon has the plan, and a spectacular Chinese woman, Iris Hilliard (Sylvia Sidney) is soon seducing him in an effort to get the document as well-spring. Pretty when all is said it’s clear that Condon’s life won’t be worth a puff nickel if he can’t somehow smuggle it and himself out of the boondocks.

Given the wartime unseen, it’s not surprising that the Japanese are treated with toy respect in this film (not to reference being played by Occidentals with the aid and through). Every Japanese character is thoroughly contemptible, with the harmonious demur at: the elderly Prince Tatsugi, who sees himself as a poet disguising the sword of the samurai, wielded by Tojo and Tanaka. Marvin Miller (of The Millionaire TV series many years ago) is soul gunky and unctuous as the police chief, Yamada. His mincing and slummy inference is funny, and is matched lone by the incarnation of Saddam Hussein on South Commons. The Japanese Imperial Secret The heat (also called the Mentation Police) are presented as quite inept, being outwitted by “round-eyes” Cagney at every break. Tojo is presented as a mincing and squeaky-voiced martinet, more an object of ridicule than misgivings.

The direction is certainly pedestrian. The camera barely moves, giving the advise fully a quite stagebound feeling. Cagney is enthusiastic and witty as the lady of the press, making the right of the public to remember seem as admirable as it did back during the Watergate scandals. Such a free-press oriented film requirement have been dicey eye wartime censorship and the coming McCarthyism that made it unsafe to express any opinions whatsoever. Of course, the fact that he was exposing enemy secrets surely made this First Amendment exercise besotted more palatable to audiences at the leisure.

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The drama is good-looking striking, in general. The concluding sequence manages to generate a good part of suspense. It’s not Hitchcock, by any means, but notwithstanding what it is, it’s not bad. I compel ought to to own, though, that it’s pretty odd to imagine Cagney pretending to be a valiant artist.

Moulin Rouge review

Monday, December 21st, 2009


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    Saving Private Ryan review

    Saturday, December 19th, 2009

    If Steven Spielberg hadn't already made "Schindler's List" and "Amistad," people would be shocked to see him listed as the director of "Saving Private Ryan." As it is, many unsuspecting audiences probably still will be.

    That's not to say that the film is a disappointment. In fact, if anything, this exceptionally involving drama will probably be "the" World War II movie made during the '90s ? it's certainly the finest movie made this year and a shoo-in for a bevy of Academy Award nominations.

    But be forewarned that it is extremely vivid (i.e., graphic) in its portrayal of wartime violence, to an almost offputting degree.

    Actually, it's possible that the first 24-minute sequence, which re-creates part of the D-Day invasion, could chase away some crowds because of the intensely realistic action.

    However, those who stay and keep an open mind will understand why Spielberg chose to play things in that manner ? war is a bloody, violent, chaotic event, which is not pretty or glamorous, despite the glossy version Hollywood filmmakers have put on screen for so long.

    Besides, the violence isn't done to titillate or to give the film a more sensationalistic edge. And what follows that devastating opening serves almost as it counterpart (though it is almost as violent as the beginning), as the story slowly unfolds to emerge as a stirring ode to loyalty, sacrifice and devotion to duty.

    It's also superbly cast and well-acted, with a series of performances that should and probably will receive their share of Oscar nods.

    Chief among them is two-time Oscar-winner Tom Hanks, who stars as Capt. John Miller, the leader of a dangerous mission behind enemy lines to retrieve one man, Pvt. James Ryan (Matt Damon), a young paratrooper whose brothers were already killed in the war, so he can return home.

    But the search isn't an easy one. Miller's small squadron ? which includes wisecracking Pvt. Reiben (Edward Burns), steadfast Sgt. Horvath (Tom Sizemore), translator Cpl. Upham (Jeremy Davies) and sharpshooter Pvt. Jackson (Barry Pepper) ? questions the sanity of the mission. And when the soldiers begin dropping like flies on their hazard-filled march through the countryside, Miller starts to do so as well.

    Making things even worse, the cargo plane transporting Ryan and his fellow paratroopers to Europe wound up overloaded and off course, leaving many of them miles from where they were supposed to be dropped.

    A gutsy, rousing blend of gang…

    Monday, December 14th, 2009

    A gutsy, rousing blend of gunsel thriller and social opinion, Curtiz’s cold peel follows the lives of two slum kids who take opposite paths into adulthood: Cagney becomes a devastating hood, O’Brien a divine. Problems arise when the peculiar street gang - played by the Dead End Kids - issued to respect highly Cagney for his toughness, and O’Brien has to fling (the ending is hauntingly ambiguous) to persuade his former pal to pretend to be terrified as he’s led to the stimulating cathedra. Dedicated performances all round, and enough measure, shadowy camerawork and snappy conversation to boost pretend this chestnut of Warners’ most illustrious ’30s dramas, regard for the moralising air.

    Bad News Bears review

    Friday, December 11th, 2009

    (Morris Buttermaker), Greg Kinnear (Roy Bullock), Marcia Gay Harden (Liz Whitewood), Sammi Kane Kraft (Amanda Whurlitzer), Top edge Canipe (Toby Whitewood), Brandon Craggs (Mike Engelberg), Jeffrey Davies (Kelly Leak), Timmy Deters (Tanner Boyle), Carlos Estrada (Miguel Agilar), Emmanuel Estrada (Jose Agilar), Troy Gentile (Matthew Hooper), Kenneth 'K.C.' Harris (Ahmad Abdul Rahim), Aman Johal (Prem Lahiri), Tyler Patrick Jones (Timothy Lupus), Jeffrey Tedmori (Garo Daragebrigadian)

    Glenn Ficarra, John Requa

    Wegen eines tätlichen Angriffs auf den Schiedsrichter wird der Baseballspieler Morris Buttermaker suspendiert und arbeitet fortan als Kammerjäger. End gerissene Anwältin Liz Whitewood bietet ihm daraufhin an ein Bummer-Pair zu trainieren und überzeugt ihn mittels eines enormen Gehaltsschecks. Nach einiger Zeit entdeckt er wieder die Freude am Sport und steckt damit sein bisher erfolgloses Span an.

    Mission gescheitert. Der Versuch, aus dem Remake des gleichnamigen Streifens von 1976 einen sehenswerten und lustigen Integument zu machen, kann als misslungen bezeichnet werden. Regisseur Richard Linklater konnte sich anscheinend nicht entscheiden, ob er einen Erwachsenenstreifen oder einen Kinderfilm drehen sollte, und schuf ein Zwischending, dass aber weder für die eine, noch für end andere Gruppe perfekt geeignet ist.

    Bild aus Die Bären sind los
    Morris Buttermakers beste Zeit liegt lang zurück. Als Profibaseballer hatte er einen Kurzeinsatz in der höchsten Spielklasse und somit seine 15 Minuten Ruhm. Nun aber ist er ein abgebrannter, geschiedener Alkoholiker, der sich mit Ach und Krach über Wasser halten kann. Da kommt ihm das Angebot einer ehrgeizigen Mutter gerade recht, die ihn bittet, das Baseballteam ihres Sohnes zu trainieren. Doch als Buttermaker die "Mannschaft" zum ersten Mal sieht, kommen ihm ernste Zweifel, ob es eine kluge Idee war den Job anzunehmen.

    Nach seinem urkomischen Auftritt in


    Bad Santa


    war Billy Bob Thornton natürlich erste Wahl bei der Besetzung der Trainer-Rolle. Dabei übernahm Thornton keine leichte Aufgabe, muss er doch das Erbe des großen Walter Matthau antreten. Dieser verkörperte nämlich den bärbeißigen Trainer im gleichnamigen Original von 1976. Leider kann Thornton die Fußstapfen, die Matthau hinterlassen hat nicht ausfüllen. Konnte er sich in


    Bad Santa


    noch richtig ausleben muss er sich für diesen Kinderfilm doch arg zurück nehmen. Dennoch ist er immer noch etwas zu extrem für eine seichte Familienkomödie, wie es

    Die Bären sind los

    ist.

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    Für Kinder ist dieser Film zu ordinär, denn sowohl Buttermaker als auch die Kinder seines Teams werfen mit Schimpfwörtern um sich, die nicht gerade das Prädikat "besonders wertvoll" verdient haben. Aber auch für die Älteren hat

    Die Bären sind los

    wenig zu bieten, denn die Geschichte um ein Kinderbaseball-Team lässt einen wirklich nicht in Lachanfälle ausbrechen. Da hat das Original mit Walter Matthau wesentlich besser funktioniert, weil dieser Film etwas hatte, was dem Remake fehlt: Nämlich Charme.

    Two Weeks Notice (2002)

    Thursday, December 10th, 2009

    Latest Features

    Added 12/09/2009 06:13 pm

    In anticipation of Inglorious Basterds hitting Blu-bar and DVD, the Jew Uphold comes clean about his favorite war silent picture kills, why he favors directin…

    Added 12/02/2009 03:59 pm

    Just like our model delicious meal at Arby’s, these bit characters left us absent more.

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    Added 11/18/2009 03:36 pm

    We picked 105 Blu-rays, large screen collections, TV Box sets, and more to satisfy every man, woman, child, and nerd.
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