We were hacked tonight and everything was deleted. We're restoring from a backup that is dated 9/11/05, hopefully that'll be done by tomorrow morning :)

update 1:18am Pacific, 4:18am Eastern: forum's partially restored but we can't post on it - because the database is incomplete :) have patience, it will be restored soon.. :)

update 9:41am Pacific, 12:41pm Eastern: the two methods we are using to restore keep timing out b/c of a setting on the site, and we're asking for higher admin help from the host to get the setting fixed.

hugs,
astor

Number #5 - Spider-Man

Directed by Sam Raimi
Written by David Koepp
Starring Tobey Maguire, Willem Dafoe, Kirsten Dunst, James Franco

"No matter what I do, no matter how hard I try, the ones I love will always be the ones who pay."

The comic book superhero genre was already beginning to come alive again through films such as Blade and X-Men, however it was Sam Raimi's mega-hit Spider-man that unleashed a new wave of superheroes on cinemas in a way never before seen. The last of the big three superheroes to appear on screen, Spider-man arrived with the largest opening weekend ever and quickly climbed to a staggering domestic gross over of $400 million. Besides being an enormous popular hit, the film garned superb critical reviews and brought superheroes to the forefront in cinema.

In one of the great casting decisions in superhero films, Tobey Maguire was selected to play Peter Parker/Spider-man. He brings heart and emotion to the role in a movie that puts Peter first and Spider-man second. It is about half way through the film before Peter ever dons the full suit, but in many ways, the first half that is the best. Like all great superhero movies, it is the characters, not the stunts, that leave a lasting impression.

Willem Dafoe is excellent as Norman Osborn, Peter's best friend's father and the nefarious Green Goblin. Dafoe's Osborn is both charasmatic and sympathetic, while retaining the evil needed for us to root against him. The audience is able to like Norman and hate the Goblin at the same time. In many ways, Osborn is the victim of science gone wrong and his own inner demons. The Green Goblin, arguably Spider-man's greatest arch-nemesis, is not without his flaws in this adaptation however. The suit is a tad...ridiculous. While it doesn't do much to diminish the movie, it's obvious that the ball was dropped on a really great Goblin design. I had been waiting for a great Goblin on the big screen for many years, so it was with disappointment that this version was presented to us. Still, Dafoe salvages the character from corny one-liners and a bad costume to make Goblin one of the best supervillians on screen.

Kirsten Dunst is adequate, if awkward, as Mary Jane. She is neither stellar, nor terrible. She does just well enough to get by. James Franco is better as Peter's best friend and the son of the Green Goblin, Harry Osborn. His chilling words after the climax are enough to leave audiences salivating for a sequel, even before the ending comes. J.K. Simmons shines the brightest as the hysterical J. Jonah Jameson. He is completely and utterly over the top, and captures our attention for every second he is on film.

Like most superheroes it seems, Peter Parker has father issues. He was raised by his Aunt May (Rosemary Harris) and Uncle Ben (Cliff Robertson), and it is left to the actors potraying them to create an emotional depth for the origin of Spider-man. Both are respectable in their roles, and Robertson as Uncle Ben is able to create an appropriate genesis for Spider-man's birth. His words, "With great power comes great responsibility" have crept into popular usage and are used to great impact here. Uncle Ben struggles with his role in Peter's life. He is doing his best to set a good example and let his nephew know how important it is to be a good person, but all along dealing with the fact, as Peter bluntly tells him, he is not Peter's real father. Then there is Norman Osborn. He has problems with his own son Harry, but Osborn becomes a father figure to Peter as well. Peter looks up to Norman, enjoying his presence even more than Harry does. As Osborn tells Peter late in the film, "I've been like a father to you, be a son to me now."

Peter simply responds, "I have a father, his name was Ben Parker."

Blade (1998)

When you have a dude who is capable of kicking you in the balls so hard that while lying on the floor you body rises almost six feet in the air, it's probably safe to say that said dude is pretty darn bad-ass.

Meet Blade. Half man, half vampire, balls-to-the-walls bad-ass.

After the explosion-heavy action fests of the 80s and 90s that had fallen into the Hades of cliched and boring gunfights, and hand-to-hand combat that had more cuts than Patrick Bateman's bod, it was a breath of fresh-air to see a Hollywood movie that pulled no punches and was oozing with style. All this with black actor in the title role as he effectively paved the way for all other comic book adaptations after him from X-Men and Spider-Man to Batman Begins and Superman Returns.

Stephen Norrington's take on the Blade character and subsequent cinematic franchise redefined the 'cool' factor of comic book movies. It had a stylistic integrity and a solid cinematic grounding that allowed for a fantastic urban, visceral, kinetic and exciting action adventure film to grace the screen. He may have been the guy behind the sensibility of the Blade character, but it was undoubtedly the charisma and savvy of Wesley Snipes' talent that truly defined the character on a moment-to-moment basis. Even in the abysmal third installment by writer-turned-director David Goyer, it seems that Snipes' spirit is the only thing that offers the movie some lift out of complete mediocrity.

With this awareness of style comes the incredible cinematography. At once kinetic and off-beat, visceral and elegant, fun but frightening, Norrington's Blade oozes style at every corner. Of course the film is not without its flaws, but as long as art is subjective, a 'flaw' is merely in relation to the viewer's interpretation of what constitutes cinematic fallibility either within or outside the context of the film in question.

Of the three movies that comprise the 'trilogy', the first film's advantage of being able to maintain the tension of an expositional opening act and being able to adhere to Campbell's 'hero' outline means that it is easily the most fluid, efficient and gripping of the three installments. Del Torro's talent would see that the script-weak sequel would still be thoroughly entertaining, but it is the first movie that is the truly defining Blade experience if only because you can see the originality and the passion everywhere you look in the movie.

In terms of supporting performances, Stephen Dorff does the villain thing with a sense of relish and fun suficient for such a role adding the slant of youthful rebelliousness to the usual formula, and Kris Kristofferson plays the coolest possible granddad you could imagine. And let's not forget one of the biggest characters in the film: the fight scenes. There is something so unique about the modified Kali-esque martial art that Snipes executes with such grin-inducing finesse that you can't help but sit in your seat giggling with childish glee as Blade pulls his sword out of the wall and stands ready for the inevitable final confrontation with Dorff's Deacon Frost.

I know that the term 'visionary' isn't a term one often hears for action-adventure movies, but with such a distinct vision so obviously permeating this film, there aren't that many satisfactory substitues that one could think of.

Score: ****

The Matrix - A Retrospective

"Oh, man - you've just gotta see it."

Fuck that, I thought. I've got exams coming up and there's no way I can afford to take time out to watch some lo-jack Keanu flick.

"Sure thing, dude. I'll make it down to the cinema this Friday."

Uh-huh...

And so it goes that I missed what could have been one of the most innovative cinema-going moments of my life. When it came out on VHS and DVD, that same friend who couldn't stop talking about this blasted movie kept bugging me to borrow his video. I took it, and it lay on my window ledge for over a month.

He then asked me if I'd seen the film. I replied that I hadn't got around to it. He said he wanted it back and so I gladly lifted the buren off my shoulders. That day I gave it back to him, and he asked my teacher during art-class if he could play it in class - my teacher was cool like that. Draw him a pic of Spidey and he'd orgasm and give you an 'A'. And he loved to keep movies running whilst we compiled our critical studies. Being the busy bee that I was, my attention was utterly focussed on my work, and the ambient noise of the classroom drowned out the sound from the movie.

"Dude, look! Look!"

He hadn't put on the film until about thirty minutes into the half-hour lesson, and the lesson was damn-near over. So I figure "what the heck - I'll just pretend to be interested for a few minutes and I'll pack my shit and leave."

The next thing I see is some dude covered in slime, looking out of a pink pod at billions of other people encased inside similar pink pods. As far as the eye could see, there were pink pods down the sides of vast, Giger-esque towers (I was especially aware of this influence because I was researching Giger at the time...needless to say, my critical studies were about to take a whole new form...) with huge bolts of electrical lightning roaring between them and within them, human beings lying dormant.

As the amaceated skin-head gets 'flushed' out of his pod, the teacher starts dismissing us and I'm like "whoa, wait...wait..."

I turn around to see my friend standing there, grinning.

With a sheepish-looking face, I ask "hey...uh...?"

"yeah, go for it."

And so I took the video home and watched it from start to finish.

I was kicking myself.

Taking the Red Pill:

Whilst my fandom of The Matrix wouldn't start for another four years upon the release of the simply stunning second installment of what the Wachowskis maintain was envisaged as a trilogy-worth of metaphysical mayhem, the first movie was still in a league of its own when compared to its Hollywood contemporaries and predecessors.

Having been a huge fan of animé since the age of 12 and having been introduced to my first cyberpunk work at the age of 14, I was very aware of where this new neo-noir was coming from. What's more, this was the kind of movie that I'd already seen in my head long before I'd seen it on screen. It was a rush to see my mind be put so well on my TV screen that I certainly wasn't in any hurry to hand my friend's copy of the film back to him. It was smart, fun, furious and disorienting - all the things I felt defined me as a teenager.

In this way, as with the protagonist of the movie, The Matrix was a wonderfully liberating experience.

However, what I began noticing after my second or third viewing of the movie were some of the potential flaws and set-backs. For example, minimal time had been spent on expressing any convincing connection outside of superficiality between Neo and the main love interest, Trinity. There were some painfully childish lines of dialogue where they literally tell you what's going to happen next ("we can't use [the EMP] until [Neo] is out").

Gee. Thanks, Trin.

And then there were the plot holes. How in the world can the system not locate a cookie-baking granny stationed in a shitty ghetto apartment? And why the Hell is she not unplugged? And if she is unplugged, how come she's able to stay in that one location in both the Matrix and on whichever ship she's from?

And it wasn't just oddities about the Oracle, either.

There was a lot of stuff about Morpheus, too.

"No need to hope, Trinity. I know it!"

If I didn't know better, I'd say this guy was near-desperate. Underneath that sleek apprearance and behind those armless round shades is a man who seems more like a Jehovah's Witness with subsequently dangerous, fanatical tendancies. Surely this guy can't be as 'good' as we think he is.

There were also personal pet-niggles that developled rather quickly - I hated how the machines had been demonised. I mean, shit, we'd already seen this in the Terminator movies (among countless others) and it might have been neat to see something a bit more fresh. And one thing that always got to me...the ending. I mean, the whole story was not even a story. It was 90 minutes of "is he or isn't he", albeit, very well executed in terms of technique. But it was all kind of cliché with a bit of a one-dimensional "happy ever after" ending with the good guy flying off. I couldn't harbour a seething hatred for it, because it was so stylishly done. But for a film that come out of the minds of some obviously capable directors, I couldn't help but feel that the movie was a little bit too much of...dare I say it...emptiness in a cool outfit. A hollow shell, at least compared to what it could have been. Ironically, the movie became an emboddiment of its central Baudrillardian conceit - a lack of meaning and definition beyond the surface appearance.

It was just like any other movie, only with substantially more style over an above-average but ultimately inconclusive substance.

Walking through the door...

The Morpheus of the shooting script was slightly different from the Morpheus of the final cut of the movie.

Fishburne's dogmatic freedom fighter seemed more "dogmatic" and less "freedom" oriented in the Wachowskis script. Neo being but one in a string of potentials who - like himself - had been made to believe in their false messianism, and were left dead after confrontations with Agents bearing striking similarity to that which Neo faced in the movie's climax. They, however, weren't so lucky as to be resurrected as a 'Master of the Matrix' à la Neo, and were but forgotten.

However, with Morpheus effectively being 'the exposition guy' throughout the movie, the Brothers probably decided that it would taint his credibility if Morpheus were seen to be that..well...utterly insane.

There were hints of that left, both in the passage I quoted in the previous section and in the Oracle revealing how even she could not pierce through Morpheus' powerful obtuseness; but now it could simply be alternative as Morpheus being the 'good Christian', the 'steadfast believer'.

In effect, he retains his now-popular dubbing as the John The Baptist figure of the piece.

This is one of many place in which The Matrix Reloaded exceeded, my expectations.

No longer viewing the Wachowskis world as filtered through the eyes of Morpheus and his ship, we are brought into the greater context. We are brought into Zion. Here, we see that Morpheus' opinion - whilst popular with many - is never to far away from the Cypher-like scepticism that seemed like such a gross perspective to have in the first film.

He is met with hostility for his views by superiors and peers alike. BUt it is that same unwavering, charasmatic power and belief that jerked Neo out of his slumber that works its magic throughout the people of Zion. In the Enter The Matrix game footage, co-scpetic lovers Locke and Niobe talk of Morpheus power over Zion, and the fact that .25 million sentinals inching their way towards the gates of Zion rendered everyone petrified.

Everyone but Morpheus.

As Niobe says, "you need him".

But, the Wachowskis being indifferent to the concept of religious subscription, wouldn't have Morpheus' faith be unshakeable. Morpheus personal extrapolation of and absolute resolution with the prophecy becomes his downfall.

Rewatching The Matrix after Reloaded and Revolutions (as I did today, which is what inspired this article) Morpheus comes across as an almost tragic figure. Seeing that child-like glee flash over his eyes in the first installment every time Neo does something out of the ordinary or when he responds to Neo's enquiry of the Oracle's revelation to him by saying " I would find the One" with a confident smile across his face...Morpheus elicits a sense of immense pathos that we might associate with those following the strict laws of many of the world religions.

Morpheus is disillusioned, trapped within his own 'Matrix'.

Unlike Neo, however, Morpheus doesn't just throw up and get over it...throughout Revolutions he is a broken man who seems to have abandoned his gift for inspired speech, but never stops trying to find some light in the darkness that has so suddenly and violently destroyed his entire sense of life. When Morpheus is asked why he wants to search the Matrix for Neo without a head-jack into the system, he can but implore Captain Roland of the Mjolnir with an uncharacteristically timid-yet-sincere "please...for me".

In many ways, this is what makes Morpheus last declarative speech of the trilogy one of the greatest. Whilst the pre-Architect summoning Morpheus gives in his "we are soldiers" speech of Reloaded tingles the spine and spurs the heart, it is the soul-shattering bleakness of his proclamation that keeps you hanging on to the end of Revolutions after an exhausting Zion seige.

For the first time in the trilogy, the lexical compostion of his speech is full of "don't know"s...which makes the final "I know" all the more powerful.

"Neo is doing what he believes he must do.

And neither can we."

~Morpheus~

Morpheus is coming to terms with Neo's potential to save both man and machine-kind as being a real sacrifice, and not just some sleek, airy-fairy surgical procedure. This is also where the stylitic departure of Revolutions from Reloaded takes its cue. Neo's journey is no longer one of super-coolness, arrogance and blind brute (pun not intended). It has instead become a journey through "the desert of the real" wrought with pain, death, suffering and clasping onto the smallest strain of hope ("the quintessential human delusion", as the Architect would have it) in order to acheive a state of enlightenment that Buddha would be proud of.

Built of light...

Throughout human history we have been dependent on machines to survive.

Fate, it seems, is not without a sense of irony.

~Morpheus~

Morpheus gives us a highly summarised outline of transpired events that reshaped the face of the planet. It was pretty obvious that the one-dimensionality of the first movie that was predicated upon the basis that a relatively unreliable Morpheus was our guide through this world would extend to every facet of said story.

One such facet was the viewers opinion of the machines as dictated by Morpheus.

Despite Morpheus' confession that the Earth's sky was destroyed by men and not machines, the movie seems to propagate this sense of 'good' versus 'bad' throughout the entire thing. There is no compromise.

As long as the Matrix exists, the human race will never be free.

~Morpheus~

Like I said; no compromise.

What's interesting is that Neo seems more open to change than the guy who believes beyond any doubt that he will kick the machines' collective ass. Neo levels with Morpheus about what he's found out about the systematic manufacturing of the prophecy and the One with a straight-but-solemn face. He's bummed, sure. But it's Morpheus whose life-long illusion would be shatered.

In the kind of symmetry whose opportunity on which only the Wachowskis could capitalise, Neo echoes the words of his ex-mentor right back at him from way back when he first introduced Neo to the nightmare of his CG dream: "I didn't say it would be easy - I just said it would be the truth".

But Neo's relative open-mindedness compared to Morpheus was something that was evident ever since the end of the first movie. That final speech (in the script version) is actually much more moderate in tone, wording and central ideal than what Morpheus has been yelling at us for the last 90 minutes. But - with confused and underwhelmed test-audiences damanding something more along the lines of a George Bush declaration of war, the Brothers made Neo's final speech more overtly empowering to humans, Morpheus' cause and himself.

In other words, Neo's final words in the first film are coming from a place of egocentric power.

Isn't it wonderful, then, that after six months of "show these people what don't want them to see", Neo is sitting in the Neb mess hall confused about what the Hel he's supposed to do next? "Surely this can't be what I'm here to do", he's thinking. And sure enough, the machine army that's just perched itself of Zion's front lawn catalyses the events that follow, and Neo continues his journey within this web of illusions. It is his uniquely questioning nature, however, that allows him to ascend come Revolutions. He's willing to make changes that no One before him ever did.

Seeking out the Oracle:

It never ceases to amaze me how - as more and more of the deceptions are stripped away - just how differently we view the Oracle in each film.

In the first movie, we know only what we're told: she's old, she's wise, and "she can help you to find the path".

There are no questions. There are no 'if's or 'but's. Morpheus insists that one not view the Oracle's words as correct or incorrect. Which is effectively asking one to make that same leap of dogmatic faith as Morpheus because it overlooks one of the core practices of all philosophy: critical reason.

It is this critical reason that the second film borders on. She challenges Neo with two choices "acceptance" or "rejection".

In other words, you either trust her or you don't.

In Reloaded, we find out a number of facts that suddenly fill up the gaping holes left in the first film. Facts that suddenly shift your perspective of all that has transpired so far in Reloaded and the 90 minutes of the first film that preceded that.

The Oracle is not 'human'. She is a computer program. In other words, she's from the same place as the relentless Smith program that we so fear throughout the trilogy. This suddenly puts the Oracle of the first film into a different light. Furthermore, it challenges our view on those oh-so-evil machines. I still remember how my face went from a confused crumple into a childish grin as I heard Neo utter the words "you're not human, are you" in response to the Oracle's intent to "get the obvious stuff out of the way". What was even more great was the reply, "it's tough to get any more obvious than that".

Totally. Friggin'. Human.

The fact that it makes perfect sense is what makes it even more disturbing to the viewers who took Morpheus' words in the first movie as law. For me, I just couldn't stop smiling. The toughest part was trying to quieten all the thoughts now racing through my head as I listened to the rest of what the Oracle had to say.

Finally, almost half-way through the second film of the trilogy, the Wachowskis had begun the journey of breaking out of the Matrix...

Quintessentially human...

Pompous, arrogant, logical and menacing...the Architect emboddies the concept of mathematical malevolence.

Whilst the Architect differs in his approach to the idea, he seems to concur with his 'bastard son', Smith, that life is relatively purposeless. At the end of the movie, Smith lists all the "vagaries of human perception" he could imagine that might be motivating Neo to continue to defy his logic. Interestingly, one of those "delusions" is love - and Smith specifically states how "only a human mind could invent something as insipid as love".

And yet, Rama-Kandra, Kamala, Sati...even the Oracle seem to deem love as an important and essential factor. And they're not even 'human'.

But what is this term, 'human'? We use it to describe our species, yes. But we also use terms like "inhuman" and "humanitarian", both derivatives of the word "human". The semantic implication of the word "human" is one of morals, decency and love - things that we human beings take for granted as being our sole domain of function. And yet, here we stand, confronted with computer programs who are expressing those same "temporary constructs". As with Project #2501 in Ghost In The Shell, sentient life that has been allowed to evolve is expressing traits that we previously considered to be applicable only to us.

This is why Sati really is so important.

As Smith says, they are all "as artificial as the Matrix itself". Our own, self-created Matrices; like Morpheus being trapped within his construct of the prophecy, or Neo trying desperately to figure out what the next step in his journey must be, or even Trinity who is willing to go wherever Neo goes without ever looking back to ask "why". Are they are all "trying desperately to justify an existence that is without meaning or purpose"?

Perhaps.

But this seems to be what we're all after from birth till death.

We live our lives punctuated by the constant attempt to define it, to label it.

And that's what Neo learns at the end of the film. That to break free of that simulacrum of obsession with the 'surface of self' and to truly break free, he must realise the one universal concept that fuels all sources of liberation:

There is no spoon.

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As film buffs, we've seen a lot of movies. Too many of them. And, obviously, some of them stay on our mind more than others. Mentally, subconsciously, we've been making a personal library of movies we carry around with us all the time. And our brain activates them with a keyword that has different meaning for every one of us. When someone says "western", I think of Sergio Leone and his Once upon a time in the West. I watched it shortly after The good, the bad and the ugly, in the middle of my big Leone craze, and I just couldn't believe a movie this perfect was capable of being for real. I still can't.

In 1966, Leone did his masterpiece, the symbol of spaguetti western The good, the bad and the ugly. His only next wish was to pursue the life-long dream of giving the gangster genre the same treatment with what would become Once upon a time in America. Still, shit doesn't always turn out the way you like it and, contractually, Leone was forced to do at least one more western before getting the cash for his gangster project. Uninterested, Leone was lucky enough to run into two of his biggest fans, Bernardo Bertolucci and Dario Argento, and all three of them co-wrote a story that strives to be the ultimate crepuscular western for a new era - and succeeds.

Plot-wise (not that Leone loves sticking to the plot), the movie is about Claudia Cardinale's Jill McBain, a prostitute disguised as a lady that comes from New Orleans to marry Ed, a man with a lot of money and naive at heart. She finds out two things - Ed has been killed and there isn't that much money, just a bunch of dirt near a well of water. The plot thickens. Ed has been killed by sadistic villain Frank, brilliant casting with Henry Fonda, working as an associate to the railroad people, but evidence has been planted that sets everyone after the trail of charming bandit Cheyenne, played by Jason Robards. Yet more complicated, there's a mysterious guy playing a harmonica at all the wrong moments in town, and he's frigging Charlie Bronson to boot.

The movie takes place in the last days of the traditional western, where gunslingers are old, weary and tired and there aren't too many of them left, what with shooting each other so often and such. At the same time, the men with the money are coming from the big cities in the East, with a new idea - the railroad - and the means to build it. The three male leads are from the old school, people who have been under the sun a lot and solve their problems with their guns. "So you found out you're not a business man after all?", Bronson asks Fonda. "Nope - just a man". "An ancient race". It's clear which party is winning the unseen battle this time, though, and the movie focuses on them, the old, dying legends of the western. Every character in the movie seems very aware that he's going to die very soon, and their actions are often not so much about survival as they are about playfully spending their last days being themselves while the world leaves them behind. Leone himself liked to call it an opera of Death.

And, like, a good opera, it's all about the sounds. I don't think I've ever seen a movie that makes a better use of music (and sounds) than West. From the beginning, a long, fascinating, gloriously pointless sequence of cowboys standing around without any music, just amplified ambient sound, to the great peaks of the most epic Morricone score, this is a movie that looks great, but sounds even better. At times, sounds are used in unnatural ways that defy logic. When Cheyenne leaves Harmonica at the bar, he stops when he hears Bronson pull off a false note. It's not only impossible to do that with a harmonica, it's also ridiculous that the sound could be interpreted as a signal of challenge, yet the illusion that's the basic ingredient of Leone cinema makes it a shocking moment - we buy into the importance of that sound. The score is one of the greatest ever composed. There's an explanation to how great it fits, too, which I learned watching the extras on the DVD. This is the famous movie in which Leone actually played the score while the movie was being shot and had the actors move to its rythm. The music is not the compliment for the film - it creates it, like the random fantasy it's supposed to be.

It's the same way with the performances. Performances in Leone cinema are not restricted to great thespians. Leone is actually dressing up figures, icons of cinema he loves. Charles Bronson is not Clint Eastwood - his tough guy image actually comes with the package, it's not the result of good acting. Yet, because Leone has found him the part of his life and directs him step by step, little gesture by little gesture, he totally shines as Harmonica. Jason Robards, who is a great actor, appears to be in the same level. The movie is so well directed in that sense that it seems to spring completely from Leone's head, and I honestly believe it must be the most fucking blatant example of authorship in cinema ever.

Comparing this to the previous westerns by Leone is the old apples and oranges sentence. West is definitively less dynamic, less funny, less cartoonish. It has other qualities - it's much more of an intellectual's movie. Even the slow, epic pacing, which had been evolving since Leone's first film A fistful of dollars, is here much more of a joke, and sometimes the opposite effect is accomplished by telling the most important stuff in a few cuts and doing enormously long sequences about nothing that are pure style and nothing else. Leone's obsession with human faces continues. Cutting from widescreen landscapes to widescreen shots of squinting eyes and meaningful gestures, the movie hints at some pretty deep poetic shit when it juxtaposes Bronson's mug with the wide view of the desert. One man's face is the entire world for Leone.

The movie was succesful, yet controversial. It's not the awesome, energetic crowd-pleaser The good, the bad and the ugly is. In fact, it barely qualifies as a spaguetti western. Some people just didn't know what the hell to do with it back in '68. While it's openly a movie about America and its birth (much anticipating Scorsese's Gangs of NY on its cynic, bloody way of showing progress), Americans didn't get it and butchered the key scenes for its release, arguing it was too slow. This was not the mess they did with Leone's actual America epic, but it still sucks. The film was not even all that acclaimed in Italy. The French got it quicker than anyone else, as usual, and then it became trendy, and then the true classic it deserves to be. And, much later, it became one of my favorite movies and one of the most pleasant times I've found in cinema.

Number #6 - X-Men

Directed by Bryan Singer
Story by Tom DeSanto and Bryan Singer
Written by David Hayter
Starring Hugh Jackman, Patrick Stewart, Ian McKellen, Anna Paquin

"There is a war coming. Are you sure you're on the right side?"

There is a war coming. Bryan Singer's X-Men presents a world strained by the existence of mutant humans. There are three sides in this upcoming war, and the fascinating thing is that we can sympathize with all of them. The mutants are split into two primary camps, one lead by Patrick Stewart's Professor Charles Xavier. "Prof. X" is a caring father figure to young mutants who have been cast aside by society. He wants peace between mutants and humans, and he will defend both sides. Xavier is the most admirable leader of the different factions, and it is easy to see why the audience will rally behind him and his followers. He wants neither humans nor mutants destroyed. He preaches harmony and inclusion, ideals that anyone in the audience can support fullheartedly.

Senator Kelly (Bruce Davison) leads the third side, this one composed of humans. Humanity is rightfully afraid of mutants. They are people with powerful, dangerous abilities. They can do amazing things, things that would strike fear into any sane person. And just like regular humans, there are good and bad mutants. Should the good mutants suffer because of the bad? Kelly wants all mutants registered. While this is a stance we can all understand, is it worth the price? What kind of freedoms are guranteed to human beings, even if they are mutant? Registeration presents a slippery slop of morality. Where could this end up? These are deep, murky issues.

In the end, it is Xavier who we choose to support. His ideals of freedom and equality are optimistic, but they are also just. Magneto and Kelly are leading their followers down a twisted road, only Xavier takes the higher path. Xavier's followers are of course known as the "X-Men" and include Scott Summers (James Marsden) , also known as Cyclops, the team's field leader; Dr. Jean Grey (Famke Janssen); and Ororo Munroe (Halle Berry), also known as Storm. They are the body that carries out the crippled Xavier's ideas, fighting for both mutants and humans. In opposition is the Brotherhood of Mutants, lead by Magneto. They include Sabretooth (Tyler Mane), Toad (Ray Park), and Mystique (Rebecca Romijn-Stamos). They carry out Magneto's will, and are merely pawns in the greater scheme of things.

Despite so much going on in the very short film, the movie's main story, and heart, come not from these manueverings, but from two stranded characters, lost in the world. They are Logan (Hugh Jackman), or Wolverine, and Marie (Anna Paquin), or Rogue. The pair of loners meet early in the film and are eventually saved by the X-Men from the Brotherhood and become emersed in the coming war. They provide the emotion of X-Men.

The performances are strong all around. Patrick Stewart was born to play Xavier, and Jackman was made famous by his pitch perfect potrayal of Wolverine. Ian McKellen is superb as Magneto. James Marsden is slightly weak as Cyclops, but much of that could be attributed to his weakly written part. He gets a few good moments, but should have had much more. If any character gets shortchanged in X-Men, it is Cyclops. Halle Berry is terrible as Storm, in a part that is both poorly written and acted. The film could have benefited from a longer running time, with more focus placed on Cyclops and Jean and character development. These are minor quibbles however.

As an adaptation, Singer does an admirable job. He stays true to the characters and their world, while still making the necessary adjustments to create a believable fantasy. It is obvious that Singer cares about this world, and he creates not only a good film but also a good adaptation.

With X-Men, we are seeing only the beginning. The war has just begun, and based on the events here, it will not be an easy one.

I will say, first of all, that I came into this lacking in knowledge of the IRA and what's gone on there. Having discovered this film thanks to Chico, I'll be checking out other related movies such as In the Name of the Father and Michael Collins.

Bloody Sunday is, quite simply, a film that recounts what happened during a civil rights march in the town of Derry in Northern Ireland on January 30, 1972. Now, how accurate it is, along with all other things related to the conflict between Britain and Northern Ireland, is a point that has been debated to no end. But given the balance shown, and the truly human actions by both sides that led to the terrible tragedy that occurred - miscommunication, frustration, misdirected passion - I'd wager it's a rather honest portrait of what took place there that day. In fact, the filming style and way in which multiple points of view were presented reminded me very much of the more recent Der Untergang, my number one film of 2004; and to my knowledge that film is very accurate indeed.

James Nesbitt in the starring role of Ivan Cooper gave an excellent performance; also, it was an extraordinarily powerfully written role, and well-captured on camera. I don't want to take anything away from the portrayal so it was probably a lot of both that led to its gravity. In any case, he's every bit the heart-stirring and benevolent Protestant crusader who wants only to peacefully seek civil rights and a normal and happy life with the Catholic woman he loves. Their meeting in a side room as the phone rings off the hook paints a very real picture of two people under a great deal of wartime duress.

"Geez, do you know how many times l think we should just give this up? There isn't a day goes by l don't think ''Oh, wish l could take her to the pictures or take her to see Charlie Magee at the Stardust,'' you know.. and then l think, ''What if someone sees us?'' you know. What if someone decides to have a go at you because you're this Catholic girl..."

[phone interrupts]

Words fail me when attempting to sum up the emotional power of watching the events unfold that led to the massacre. You get the feeling you're on a moderately paced yet helplessly runaway train to inevitability, and you can only be forced to sit and view, to know the truth yourself, no matter how terrible it is. This happened, then this happened, then this.. heightened anger on the part of the Paras (Britsh military) because of deaths of their own in the past due to the rioting; passionate young men who see the military there to enforce the no-marches rule as an oppressive enemy who must be driven back; a breakdown in communication between the officers at the scene and the officers back at headquarters; a few physical roadblocks that interfere with the carefully-laid plans and result in more haphazard methods being taken up, which leads to rushes of adrenaline and bad judgement. In short, it all falls down.

In a film filled with poignant moments, the most poignant came toward the end, when Ivan Cooper, quite clearly in a state of shock, sits before the British media after having spent the afternoon at the hospital comforting the families of the 13 dead, and gives what statement he can.

"I just want to say this to the British Government... You know what you've just done, don't you? You've destroyed the civil rights movement, and you've given the IRA the biggest victory it will ever have.

...And you will reap a whirlwind."

In my reading after watching the movie, it was interesting to observe the sharply contrasting views people hold, apparently according to their allegiance, in regards to what really happened that day. Some say the Paras were fired upon, and only returned the fire as they saw necessary. Others say it was a planned attack by the British from the get-go as an attempt to permanently quell the protesting. The truth, as in most things, lies somewhere between - and I believe this film to have given its every, solid effort to bring us as close to that goal as possible.

8.6/10

And here it comes, as last - the unnecessary Hollywood remake of my favorite Hideo Nakata Horror. In hopes that Walter Salles (I didn't like Motorcycle Diaries, but the guy is supposed to be an auteur and all that) had done something new with the material I bought a ticket. He hasn't. It's the same ol' thing with little differences in the plot, namely some of the backstory of the ghost has been moved to Connelly's character. It's not all that bad, but it's lame and a waste of a great cast - Tim Roth, Jennifer Connelly, John C. Reilly, Koyabashi from Usual Suspects and B.B. from Kill Bill as the creepy kid of the day.

[spoilers]

Maybe it's better that this is not so much a straight Horror film, because frankly, the creepy sequences here are not very creepy. For all of its purdy cinematography and excellent Angelo Badalamenti score, the movie has a severe lack of atmosphere. Maybe it's the by-the-numbers effect or the fact that I have already seen the story done better, but shit just seemed to happen without anyone caring. The scene where the mother goes up the stairs to the water tank is pretty damn scary in the original. In here, it's very short and sort of out there - none will leave the theater thinking it memorable.

The acting is superb, though, which maybe it's all the worse since the movie doesn't make a good use of it. Tim Roth as the lawyer (there's an added subplot about his lonely life and a hint at an attraction to Connelly) is actually pretty damn funny and charming, and the rest fares well. Koyabashi is impressive and also has his fair share of comedic lnes. If you'll excuse the shallowness, Connelly is so thin these days Salles sometimes uses her figure for scares. No worries - I'd still hug her.

There isn't much more to say, though, unless I start rambling about the original Nakata movie, which I love. Now with Nakata repeating himself in Hollywood and remaking more Asian Horror, this sort of stuff is getting boring. Luckily I have Cult Icon's thread to remind myself that there are still Asian Horror movies that are surprising and captivating I haven't yet seen. I'll do my best of steering clear of the "let's see how the remake fares" line of thinking in the future.

I've been going a Disney phase of late. I suppose as my birthday is fast approaching I'm wanting to recapture as much of childhood as possible before coming into the "real world." But it's been fun to rewatch some of these classic (and not so classic) films.

Since this is a list of traditionally animated films, Pixar won't be on this list (even though their stuff is superior to a lot of what Disney has to offer). Miyazaki will not be included as well. Even though Disney distributes his films, the company has little to do with the actual creation of his films so they're not really Disney flicks.

>

I really never cared for this one. Disney just seemed to out-do themselves in the PC-department here. I can't complain too much about the animation, which was suitable enough, but the whole film just seemed to be a disappointment. After the powerhouse Beauty and the Beast, Aladdin, and Lion King, this was all Disney could muscle out? Pocahontas just felt like a chink in the Disney New Wave armor.

29: Oliver and Company

Cute, but I found it forgettable. Disney was in dire straits in the 1980s before the company's comeback with The Little Mermaid, and here's a film to attest to that (though to be fair, I haven't seen The Black Cauldron yet). The songs were forgettable, the only one I can remember if "Street Savoir Faire" and the voices were decent enough (even if Billy Joel was a little shaky on the acting side). Actually, "decent enough" sums up this film pretty well. Nothing too spectacular, just an easy way to kill 90 minutes on a rainy afternoon.

28: Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs

I've never liked this film. Never. I can respect it for the technological leap it was at the time and the place it holds in film history, but I always found it boring, cheesy, and extremely dated. A lot of Disney's early works have a certain timelessness to them, that kids (and adults) from all generaations can feel in touch with the films, even if they were from the 1940s or 50s. Not so with Snow White. I feel like I'm watching something that's permanently stuck in the 30s. The Dwarfs themselves always annoyed me, Snow White even more so. The only enjoyable character in the whole thing was the Evil Queen, who seethed malice and was given the juiciest part in the whole film. Snow White's a classic, yes, but that doesn't mean I have to like it.

27: The Fox and the hound

It was about this time when this film came out that Don Bluth made his famous "rebellion" against Disney and broke off to form his own successful animation company. Whenever I watch this film, I always feel like there was so much potential in the animation and story, but Disney cut corners and what we have is some-what subpar. Even still, it's ten times better than some of the crap Eisner and Co. have been shoving down our throats in recent years. The Fox and the Hound just feels like a downer from the once great studio before they were revitalized with The Little Mermaid in '89.

26: Fantasia 2000

The sequel to Disney's masterful and gorgeous Fantasia (which will be coming up much later on the list) and premiered in Imax. The imagery here is stunning and I found the musical selections to be quite good (my favorites being Rhapsody in Blue and the Firebird). Bu for all its "pomp and circumstance" I found it to be lacking in heart when compared to its predecesor. The first Fantasia was bold, lively, and dark. This one felt too slick and in a lot of the sequences you could tell where the hand-drawn animation ended and where the CG started (I found this especially true in the Pines of Rome and Steadfast Tin Soldier sequences). But the stand-out sequence to me was easily Rhapsody in Blue. The animation Rhapsody in Blue captured 1930s New York in a fun, bittersweet way that melded perfectly with Gershwin's timeless tune. The characters were given distinct personalities and it was fun to follow them through the story. Aside from that sequence, I've found this Fantasia hard to watch over and over again. It struck me as manufactured rather than created.

25: Pinocchio

To be fair, it's been a long time since I've seen Pinocchio and maybe if I get the gusto to sit down and watch it again it may go higher on the list. But as it stands, it rests here at #25. I don't have fond memories of watching this film. The sequence where the boys turn into donkeys gave me horrific nightmares as a kid and so I've avoided it for years. It never quite grew on me. However, Jiminy Cricket is one of my fave Disney sidekicks (with above-average intelligence when compared to some of the others) and "When You Wish Upon a Star" has moved me to tears on many an ocassion and remains my all-time favorite Disney song. There's some definite Disney magic in Pinocchio.

24: The Hunchback of Notre Dame

I'm glad that I was older when I saw this movie. I never caught it during its theatrical run and I have a feeling that a lot of its religious and sexual undertones would have flown over my head if I had seen it in theatres. The animation here is stunning, capturing the dark, smoky interior of the famed cathedral with an amazingly organic feel. This wasn't a pristine church, but a place where millions of pilgrims had shuffled through, with all the grime and dirt of their travels, even before the story of Quasimodo began. Quasimodo was voiced perfectly by Tom Hulce (Mozart from Amadeus), with sympathetic tones that made this monster into a man. Kevin Kline and Demi Moore were good as Phoebus and Esmerelda, but the juiciest role naturally goes to the villian, Frollo (Tony Jay). The guy just oozes malice and is so caught up in his own "righteousness" that it consumes him in the end. Frollo is easily one of the most complex characters to ever come out of the animation studio and the stand-out of the movie. His song "Hell Fire", where he's caught between his piousness and purity, and lustful urges for Esmerelda, is the highlight of the film. This in a DISNEY movie!! But it works wonderfully.

My only major gripe against this film is those damn gargoyles, especially Hugo, voiced by an abrassive Jason Alexander. Normally it wouldn't be such a problem except that they're so prevelant. I kept wanting to shout at the screen "Cut back to Frollo! Or Esmerelda! Anything!" I guess with all the more adult themes running through the rest of the film, Disney felt they needed to kiddy the movie up. The gargoyles are essentially the Ewoks of this film (however, I do like Alex Weitzman's theory on the gargoyles found here). They almost ruined the film for me.

23: Hercules

Pure popcorn fun. Yeah so its not as deep as a lot of other films on this list, but I had a blast with this one. It came out at just the perfect time in my life: I was a total Greek-freak and a walking encyclopedia of Classical mythology. And here was a film to cater to all my nerdy tastes (even if Disney took considerable liberties with the Hercules myth). Hercules was quirky and fun, which is to be expected from the same directing team that brought us Aladdin, and a colorful cast of characters from that lovable oaf Hercules, the sassy and sarcastic Megara, and James Woods' wonderful take on Hades. Both he and Danny DeVito nearly steal the show as Hades and Phil (Hercules' ever-frustrated trainer). Of course casting Paul Shaffer as Hermes was a stroke of genius.

The film starts off with a bang, but breaks down slowly towards the end as it becomes another cookie-cutter, feel-good Disney film. The animation style, with its zany curls and jagged edges, was cool and fresh in 1997 but looks rather cheap and rushed now. As much fun as Hercules was to me, I don't think it'll be as timeless as many of the other films on this list.

22: Alice in Wonderland

"A very happy un-birthday to you!" "To me?" Fun, trippy, often incoherent, this is one of Disney's visually most appealing. The prim and proper Alice (voiced by Kathryn Beaumont, who was also Wendy in Peter Pan) gets lost in the fantastical and often frightening Wonderland one lazy afternoon. The film follows her through Wonderland in a series of vignettes, each with its own cast of quirky characters (my favorite being the un-birthday tea party). The vignettes can be pretty hit-or-miss, ranging from strokes of genius to pretty forgettable. Walt himself never liked this film and publicly disowned it. It wasn't until the sixties that Alice became popular (wonder why ). And just to add to the trippiness, Aldous Huxley was a ghostwriter for the script. In the words of the Cheshire Cat: Craaaaazy.

21: The Rescuers Down Under

Sandwiched between the mega-popular The Little Mermaid and Beauty and the Beast, not too many people remember it. I have vague memories of seeing this in its theatrical run but it wasn't until last March that I watched it again. To my surprise, I liked it a lot. I despise the original Rescuers, but the sequel's a gem. It has charm, humor, and a great voal cast (especially George C. Scott as the poacher, McLeach). It's nowhere near as dark or drab as its predecessor, having switched from a swamp setting to the dry, sunny Outback. Check it out as soon as you can, this is a film that needn't be forgotten.

This isn't so much a review, as it is a defense of a pretty decent film that was unfairly (in my opinion) skewered by a very good critic who simply didn't try hard enough to understand what the movie was saying.

http://rogerebert.suntimes.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/19920221/REVIEWS/202210301/1023

I apologize in advance because I won't go too much into the details of the film, as:

a) It's hard to discuss without giving away too much.

and

b) What "really" happens is not important, but is somewhat subjective. I revealed to someone recently what I believed "really" happened, and it somewhat changed this person's view of the film, even upsetting them to some degree. I don't want to do that if you have seen the film. So... hopefully, speaking in generalizations, I'll get my point across.

Hopefully.

Also, in all fairness, there are very few people, much less critics, who know more about film than Roger Ebert, and, most of the time, his reviews are more or less accurate and fair. In this instance, I don't believe either is the case. and let this thread be less about Radio Flyer, and bashing Ebert, as it is a gentle reminder that no one is perfect, and to always make up your own mind about film, specifically, and art, in general.

And the audience is told this up front.

Tom Hanks (uncredited) opens and closes the film as an adult version of "Mike", one of two young boys around whom the film revolves. Mike is recounting a dark and painful chapter from his childhood, because he thinks it's time for his two sons to hear "the whole story" about what he and his brother, Bobby, endured at the hands (literally) of their abusive, alcoholic step-father. Mike prefaces the tale by reminding his boys that "History is all in the mind of the teller. Truth is all in the telling." They don't know what, exactly, he means by that, but Mike says: "Don't worry. You will."

This is the crux of the film. The audience has two hours for this concept to sink in. If it never does, you will, almost certainly, hate this film, as Ebert did. That is, you will find a lot of things to hate about it. It will seem not only perplexing, but frustrating, sickly sweet, and perhaps even exploitive. In short, it simply will not make sense. The frustration will be further compounded by how very upsetting the story turns at times. There is constant physical and mental child abuse displayed, and, at one point, animal abuse--something I, personally, find very difficult to deal with. This isn't a gentle children's film like Donner's The Goonies, for example. But neither is it what Ebert sees it as:

"Who was this movie made for? Kids? Adults? What kid needs a movie about a frightened little boy who is at the mercy of drunken beatings? What adult can suspend so much disbelief that the movie's ending, a visual ripoff from "E.T.," inspires anything other than incredulity? What hypothetical viewer could they possibly have had in mind?"

What Ebert fails to understand is, this is a fairy tale, but it is not a fib. It is not to be analyzed or reasoned with, it is only to be understood and learned from. It cannot be taken literally, as he is, curiously, trying to do.

"I know that the voice-over narration suggests that maybe this wasn't the way the story really happened, and is only the way Mike, the older brother, now remembers it as an adult. OK, but then what did really happen?"

How can anyone have watched this film, and still ask this question? It doesn't matter what "really" happened. Although I think it's pretty obvious what "really" happened, and best left alone. Radio Flyer is a film depicting how one man dealt with a horrible, horrible memory from his childhood in a way that allowed him to survive it. The story Mike told was the truth. It wasn't what happened, but it was the truth. It was the truth that he could live with. It was the truth that he could hang on to, and allow himself to get up every morning for the rest of his life. It was the truth that he could pass along to his children so they could have the benefit of his knowledge, without the pain of his memories. Exactly what good parents do.

Radio Flyer does have a happy ending, but it isn't the one Ebert sees.

It's not what happens in the story that Mike tells his kids. It's that he survived to tell them. He endured, and his kids have a better life than he did. That's the ultimate happy ending, and that's what you have to take from this film.

Who was this movie made for, Roger?

A lot of us. You should have tried harder to see that.

Mild spoilers ahead.

Perhaps you people have noticed (if you actually give a damn, which I doubt) that I've been including sentences about George Romero or Dawn of the Dead in three or four of my last reviews, which, well, it's definitively obsessive - but for good reason. It's because this is my most anticipated movie of the year and as the Argentinian release approached, it was all I was looking forward to, even more than the uber-hyped Batman Begins. Well, I can safely say that expectations this huge haven't killed a film for me so far, at least not this year. There are things that bugged me, or to put it better, downright puzzled me, but we'll get to that later.

In keeping with the ambigous timeline of the Dead films, this one appears to be happening (well, take this with two grains of salt, it's only my idea) five years after Night of the Living Dead. The world has already settled in with the notion that there are zombies on the loose and that they have to be exterminated to save our asses. The initial shock has passed and groups have been formed. Civilization is rising again, although in a very crude manner. In the area described in the movie there's a fortified tower called Fiddler's Green. In there live the ones that can afford it, guarded by zombie wars profiteer Dennis Hopper, my favorite actor of all-time, who's weirdly subtle on this role, like he's purposefully going against what you'd expect of Hopper running loose with a character like this. Out of the tower are the slums where, well, most of the people live, and the mercenaries that risk their necks to bring back food and medicines to the tower. At the same time there's a biological evolution in the zombie world, as they have started grabbing ideas from the humans - as well as fire weaponry.

From the purely Horror/gore/zombies standpoint, this movie is brilliant, I can't count the times that I was effectively surprised by old Horror movie hat tricks that Romero simply manages to sell out of pure artistry. Hell, I jumped when a rat made a noise. The zombies are... awesome. I revel in Savini's work, but this Nicotero guy has managed to update the look of a Romero zombie, keeping the basics but making them look effectively threatening and surreal for a new era. The first shots of the movie with the zombies walking around are so overwhelming. Add to that the inventiveness that Romero and his FX crew keep showing at creating varied, bizarre and endearing zombies. My personal favorite here is a priest who, in Nearly-Headless Nick fashion, has his head hanging from a tendon and bounces it around taking ferocious bites. Really, it's hard to keep track of the times where I simply beamed in glee at the outrageousness of what I was seeing in the screen. If you've seen Dawn, well, this is actually on the same level, but it's so rare to see something so daring on any Horror movie these days that it shocks you all the same. And this is only the fucking theatrical cut!

But, it's time to enter what makes up for most of the actual Romero discussion and controversy - the subtext. Remember the stuff I wrote about the political subtext in War of the Worlds being so murky? Well, it's just a terrible pleasure to see how it compares to this. Romero has never been subtle about his ideology, and he's even less subtle than usual in this movie, but somehow that approach marries his stories perfectly. It doesn't feel forced and it's handled well enough that, if you want, you can ignore all about it and you still get a blast out of the saga. Zombies are tailor-made for symbolism, and, if Romero isn't above hammering his points home, he's well above doing so in an arrogant or clumsy way.

In here, for example, what I got out of it is that Romero is aiming all of his guns at the States external politics in a post-9/11 world, or at least that he has adapted his script (which has apparently been sitting around in early drafts since more or less the late '80s waiting for funding) to the new international situation. There's plenty of ground to think that Romero is lashing viciously at the conformist American idiosincracy that allows people to be sitting on their fat asses living the consumer's paradise while other countries have to pay for their ground. And, in a tragicomical scene that downright IS 9/11 for the Romero world, the people in the tower can't escape from the zombies because they're trapped behind the electric fences they put up themselves for their peace of mind. When staring at the zombies, pretty likely third-world inhabitants now, raging against the American dream they have been left out of, Hopper can do nothing but blurt "you have no right". The more pathetic thing is that the definitive downfall of his right-winded empire comes from the inside, from the internal segregation, both economical and racial, this model encourages, not from the zombies. The system is the one that destroys itself, not the foreign terrorists.

All this is the stuff of debate. What's important from a qualitative point of view is that a director who's over 60 now and that could be very well sleeping comfortably numb is still enough in touch with his times to provide this sort of provocative commentary better than anybody else in the world, and blend it so beautifully with well-crafted entertainment. The guy is pretty fucking far from a relic of rebellious times - he's the real thing.

Now we come to the grudges I have with some aspects of this film. Excessive comparisons with Dawn of the Dead are probably not recommended, but it is true, that compared to the fascinating foursome in that movie, the protagonists here are pretty much cardboard figures. I'm not talking about Dennis Hopper, who has quite the heavy burden of symbolism over his shoulders, or about the inspired zombies. I'm talking about the people in the middle. Charlie is a cool and different type of sidekick, yes, but what about the lead, Ripley? He's a heroic person, and I'm cool with that, but he's also quite the nothingness. A badass posture and a half-arsed brooding background. I'm at a lack of words to explain how great Asia Argento is for me, but she's totally wasted here as well. Her character is the whore with the golden heart and the tough woman without much purpose who's not only tough but also totally inhuman - unlike true empowered heroines like, say, I dunno, Ripley or even Dawn's Gaylen Ross. The rest of the main team is a bunch of cool, macho action figures that wouldn't be out of place in a Carpenter or Rodriguez action film, but that don't quite belong in this movie. It's funny, but this movie reminded me a few times of Carpenter - but of the more formulaic Carpenter, not the brilliant one.

To give closure to an already too long write-up, rest assured that I'll watch this one in theaters again ASAP and keep it in my head with the thinking cap on for some time. I have the feeling it can only get better from here.

Number #7 - Superman

Directed by Richard Donner
Written by Mario Puzo, David Newman, Leslie Newman, Robert Benton, Tom Mankiewicz
Starring Christopher Reeve, Gene Hackman, Margot Kidder, Marlon Brando

"Some people can read War and Peace and come away thinking it's a simple adventure story. Others can read the ingredients on a chewing gum wrapper and unlock the secrets of the universe."

This is the first movie on the list that I completely love, and don't have to feel guilty about it. Why is it so low? Well, I just saw this movie very recently. It hasn't had time to sink in. I didn't grow up with it, and there is no nostalgia for it. Over time, I would not be surprised to see its standing rise some, but for now, I think I have appropriately placed it, at least for me.

Superman is the template by which all other superheroes are molded. He was created in 1938 by Jerry Siegel and Joe Shuster and quickly set off a chain reaction of new superheroes in the comic book pages. In fitting form, it was Superman that was the first of the superheroes to get the big screen adaptation in 1978, forty years after his introduction to the world. The greatest fault of this adaptation is the time period in which it was released, it was just a bit too early to fully shed the camp of the mid-20th century comics. Superman is a campy film, not by the nature of the character, but by the way it is made. That is not to say that it is bad, this is camp done right. It is an enjoyable film all the way through, and often hilarious. Thankfully Superman is one of the lighter comic book characters and works well in this atmosphere, unlike other, darker superheroes who have collapsed under such a rendition.

Perhaps no other actor in cinema history has become so identified with the character they play than Christopher Reeve, who for a generation of movie goers truly became Superman, and with good reason. Not only is Reeve excellent in the film, but he fits the Superman character perfectly. He looks and acts just like the Man of Steel of the comics. While his Superman exists primarily in the camp portions of the film, it is his Clark Kent that is taken most seriously and really shines. Reeve is utterly perfect as Kent. He is vastly entertaining and he becomes the role completely. This is an inspired example of casting an unknown in a lead role that works perfectly.

Gene Hackman portrays Lex Luthor, still in his mad scientist phase, rather than the modern businessman/politician. Even though his scheme is diabolical, he is surrounded by comic relief and never plays his role as sinisterly as most supervillians are done. Still, Hackman's Luthor is undeniably entertaining. Often times hilarious, the film shows Luthor's intelligence perfectly. There is no one on earth, at least in this film, who can oppose Superman physically, but Luthor shows he is by far the smarter man.

Margot Kidder, Glen Ford and the rest of the cast fill their roles nicely. They come across as believable and realistic, all except for Luthor's sidekicks, but even they are mildly entertaining. Marlon Brando takes surprise top billing as Jor-El, and does a decent, but not exeptional job as Superman's real father.

One of my favorite aspects of the film, is where it begins. It starts long before Clark Kent becomes Superman, even well before he comes to Earth. Instead, we witness Marlon Brando's Jor-El in action on the planet Krypton, with a fun look towards Superman II (which I sadly have not seen). Even after the destruction of Krypton, we are privy to Kal-El (Superman)'s discovery by the Kents. While I wish that Reeve could have portrayed the high school age Kent, it is obvious that he cannot, and Jeff East does a satisfactory job filling in. But it is Glen Ford who really brings heart to these early scenes and his character elevates the film just a bit from what it would be without Jonathan Kent. These early scenes provide a strong base for what is to come.

Superheroes are a group prone to be greatly influenced by their fathers and father-figures. Often their death is what triggers the said superhero into action. In Donner's film, Superman is no different. Both of his fathers are critically important to the man he becomes, especially when he faces an interesting problem at the film's end, when he is forced to choose between the advice of his true father and his adoptive father. I am glad of the choice he made.

I will begin by saying that I enjoyed this movie far more than I thought I would because I simply hated the trailers. HATED them. I thought that they were some of the worst trailers that I had ever seen. But the movie itself, thankfully, did not match my expectations derived from the trailers. I will even go so far as to say that for the first 1/3 of the movie, I loved this film. It was what I had hoped.

But then, Willy Wonka appeared.

Let's just get this right out in the open. It isn't a question of who I liked better - Wilder or Depp. I disliked this version of Wonka on its own merit, believe me. The choice for characterization for Wonka in this new outing is - to my mind - a misfire. It's a disconnect.

First, the choice to reveal Wonka's backstory with regard to his father, was - to my mind - a horrendous mistake. Horrendous. Then, the manner in which they chose to depict Wonka's eccentricity and quirkiness just grated on my nerves throughout the entire film.

But, aside from that, I found everything else to be enjoyable. The kids were great given the scope of their roles, and the visuals inside the factory were suitably magical. I wouldn't mind riding that candy boat on a chocolate river myself.

But, dammit - if Wonka had only been less........ well, he had only been the kind of "less" that is "more" - this movie would have been near perfect. The fleeting seconds within scenes where Depp dropped the silliness and had that look of malevolent observation - those quick seconds when Depp reigned in all of his out-of-control horses that were the characterization of Willy Wonka - caused me to have goose-bumps. But, then, those magic moments would disappear and Depp would resort to the kind of character that almost ruined the entire movie for me.

But, overall, the movie is worth seeing on the big screen if only for the visuals.

Another in a long line of movies that portray the Man-Child as protagonists - irresponsible and immature guys but yet, loveable. In general, I have to own up to a personal feeling: I detest these kinds of movies. These movies where mid-30-something year-old men (or older) who act like 19-year-old frat guys are - to my mind - among the most insulting types of films there are. Throw in "the women that love them," and you compound the insult. And yet, these movies always find an audience.

That said, there's something to be acknowledged when particular actors are able to make the material watchable. Vince Vaughn and his crowd can be included in that circle.

Owen Wilson - to my mind - doesn't really add a whole lot other than the requisite basics as the "Straight Man" in this movie. On the male side of the acting equation, Vince Vaughn does alllllllll the heavy lifting. And, in doing so, takes what could easily have been one of the worst movies of the year (to date) and makes it a damn funny comedy for the first 2/3 of the movie. His delivery - in many ways the "Vince Vaughn Delivery" acting style - continously saves this movie in the first two acts in scene after scene. Which brings us to the female side of the acting equation: Rachel McAdams.

Excuse me, ... that should be Rachel 'Hell Yeah' McAdams.

This woman is going to be a star. She will own. She just needs the right vehicle and I can't imagine that one will be long in coming for her. She really radiates off the screen in a nice mixture of that "Old Hollywood" feel and that "New Hollywood" polish. For the first two-thirds of the movie, this actress - with her understated line deliveries and that goddess-like smile - makes you believe that Owen Wilson would go through what he goes through in order to woo her. In one scene that occurs in the wee hours of the night, McAdams gets up to tip-toe down the hallway. She is wearing a simple pair of drawstring sleeping pants and a tank-top type of sleeping shirt. Not lingerie, not an oversized t-shirt that forms a mini-mini-skirt of her pantied loin, not any of the million other cheesecake types of sleepwear that women are put into when they are shown in their sleeping clothes in these types of movies. And, yet,- My God - she radiates all the sexiness that those other women in those other movies only aspire to achieve.

The problem is that the sentiment is not returned by Owen Wilson's character. We cannot see what would draw McAdams' character to him beyond the requisite stuff like "he makes her laugh." The movie tries to tip things in Wilson's favor by making his loser of a character more appealing by ramping up the jackass factor that McAdams' lout of a fiance possesses. But, in the end, I'm simply left bewildered. This is even more prominent when Vaughn and his love interest are - in a bizarre fashion - shown to be so compatible. For the first two-thirds of the movie, The Wedding Crashers is hilarious - hilarious in that way when you see and hear things so outrageous, you have to look away or look down in order to keep up appearances for the folks around you. But, when you do so, you're laughing.

Now, you may have noticed that I keep referring to the first two-thirds of the movie. That, for the first two acts, the movie works. Well, what happens after that? Vince Vaughn and Rachel McAdams essentially disappear for much of the last Act. And, as a result and is no coincidence, the movie nose-dives. It crashes and burns into a fiery inferno. And doesn't even begin to recover until Vaughn and McAdams return late in the Third Act for the resolution. And even the requisite Romantic Comedy resolution can't be saved by them.

For 2/3 of the time, The Wedding Crashers is a much elevated take on this standard material. Fun to watch. But, after Vaughn and Wilson are inevitably found out (I don't think I'm spoiling much given this type of movie - a romantic comedy where people "Meet Cute" under false pretenses) and leave in disgrace, the movie suddenly becomes a train wreck.

But, seriously, if you go only to see McAdams' classic beauty and for Vaughn's tour-de-force performance as the twisted womanizer, you might enjoy yourself. Just resign the movie to oblivion after that 2/3 point, and your fall will be cushioned.