HELLBOY
It pains me to report that Hellboy is not the comic-book movie to end all comic-book movies. It pains me so because I am always rooting for director/writer Guillermo del Toro, the Mexican horror auteur whose passion for his craft drips from each frame like ectoplasm (I defy anyone to watch the infectiously passionate del Toro on the Blade 2 DVD without entertaining the notion of dropping everything to go and work as a gofer for the man). Up until this point, del Toro's small, independent efforts (Cronos, The Devil's Backbone) were much superior to his forays into Hollywood (Mimic, Blade 2). It seemed that Mike Mignola's clever, moody Hellboy comic, with its blend of noir and pulp horror aesthetics, might just be the ideal source material to lift Toro up to the level of Peter Jackson, another genre fanboy who won critical and commercial acclaim with a passionate adaptation of source material near and dear to his heart. Alas, Hellboy is not that movie. It is, however, a thoroughly entertaining superhero romp with much more heart than most of the recent spate of comic book adaptations.

The story (and if you haven't seen Mignola's book, you should check it out post-haste): in the waning days of the WWII European Theater, Hitler assembled a cadre of black arts practitioners including the very hard to kill Grygori Rasputin (Karel Roden), his lover Ilsa (Biddy Hodson), and Karl Kroenen, a sinister assassin whose surgical modification fetish has left him a mutilated husk that runs on some sort of bizarre clockworks. This group plots to reverse the course of the war by opening a portal into another dimension and unleashing the Seven Gods of Chaos, creatures that hold the power to lay waste to the planet. Fortunately for the good guys, FDR had the presence of mind to create a bureau dedicated to counteracting Hitler's fiendish occult dabblings, led by the young Professor Trevor Bruttenholm (played as older man by John Hurt). Bruttenholm, wise to the Nazis' plan, leads a group of American GIs to the remote Scottish island where the portal is to be opened. The Allies carry the day and close the portal. However, something escapes from the other side: a demon baby, as it turns out, bright red, horned, and with a massive stone right hand. Dubbed Hellboy, the creature grows up in a secret government base and is trained to fight on our side. Fast forward sixty years (Hellboy ages much more slowly than humans), and we find Hellboy in the employ of the Bureau for Paranormal Research and Defense, which operates under the aegis of the FBI but is, of course, publicly disavowed. FBI director Tom Manning (Jeffrey Tambor) is tired of covering up for the exploits of what he considers to be nothing more than a freak show, and is looking to shut the BPRD down. Bruttenholm, meanwhile, is dying of cancer, and selects young FBI agent John Myers (Rupert Evans) as his replacement to be responsible for his "son." Myers accepts the assignment and quickly meets Big Red, along with Abe Sapien (Doug Jones, voice by David Hyde-Pierce), an intelligent and clairvoyant fish-man; and Liz Sherman (Selma Blair), a pyrokinetic young woman who, as the action begins, has checked herself into an asylum because she has trouble controlling her powers. We learn that Hellboy is in love with Liz, and that he resents Myers' interloping on his turf (Myers quickly develops a crush on the moody and enigmatic Sherman). Meanwhile, Ilsa and Kroenen have managed to bring Rasputin back from the alternate dimension and are up to their old mischief.

The film is worth watching if only for the performance of Ron Perlman as Hellboy. Long known to genre fans (and a favorite of directors such as del Toro and Phillippe Jeunet), Perlman brings just the right amount of crustiness to the wisecracking demon. Lifting enormous weights, chomping on a cigar butt, or whomping monster ass, Perlman is never less than absolutely convincing as a supernatural hero of immense strength and few well-chosen words. What sets Hellboy apart from other muscle bound superheroes (and Perlman apart from, say, Vin Diesel, who the studio originally wanted for the part), is his emotional vulnerability. He'll take time out of a battle to save a kitten, and each morning files his horns down to nubs in a futile attempt to appear "more normal." Despite 60 years on our planet, Hellboy is still a teenager, emotionally speaking, with all of the attendant self doubts and foibles. He's a guy who is most comfortable beating the crap out of some horrible tentacled beast but clams up when he tries to express his feelings to Liz--no doubt many in the audience will sympathize with Red (as he's known to the team members) and his plight. That Perlman can express all this while completely covered in makeup and Rick Baker-designed latex appliances is a great credit to his abilities as an actor. In this special effects extravaganza, the best scene is one in which Hellboy, spying on Liz and Myers from a rooftop, receives dating advice (and cookies) from a preadolescent child.

The film falters most when del Toro emulates the formula of the contemporary blockbuster, which races from one action setpiece to the next. There's a cracking good battle in the middle of the film between Hellboy and a "resurrection demon" named Sammael that takes place throughout the New York subway system which successfully conveys the titanic-scale monster-bashing of Mignola's comic book work. However, the fight goes on so long that the audience's energy is sapped; the battle at the end of the movie between Hellboy and a gigantic Lovecraftian tentacle-thing seems anticlimactic as a result. The film's "human" villains are disappointing; Roden gives Rasputin a calm resolve when he should be a scenery-chewing madman; he is trying, after all, to bring about the end of the world-hardly the pursuit of a sane fellow. The film doesn't give us enough insight into Rasputin's plan, either. For much of the film, we simply know he's up to something-but he's not given any onscreen time to flesh out his plot or his character. Kroenen is suitably creepy and sinister, but he's just a henchman and doesn't have a lot to work with besides killing people and looking sinister. The great Jeffrey Tambor is wasted in a cliched "bureaucratic authority figure" role.

There are other errors in logic that stem, I think, from Sony's insistence that the film be trimmed to under two hours (my fingers are crossed for a "director's cut" DVD which will verify this assumption). At one point the bad guys have put a plan into motion to draw Hellboy to their lair, yet Kroenen is surprised by their arrival. Most inexplicably, a scene where Hellboy and Liz vanquish a roomful of Sammaels cuts directly to a scene where Hellboy's trapped in a set of magical stocks and Liz is laid out upon an altar. In the comic book vernacular: "Wha?!!?"

Other difficulties may stem from the expectations, bolstered by Sony's marketing campaign, that this film is a big-budget, mindblowing FX bonanza. Uninitiated audiences may be disappointed by the lack of rollercoaster thrills and the concentration on relationships and the HB/Liz love story. None of these problems will detract from a fanboy's delight the first time Perlman growls Hellboy's signature "Aww, crap!" Or at the appearance of a prop Hellboy comic cover drawn in the style of Jack Kirby. Or at the cameo by the reanimated corpse from Mignola's short story "The Body." No, del Toro has made sure to include plenty of goodness for those already on board with Hellboy. The big question is whether he's made a movie that will appeal to the popcorn-munching masses. Though opening-weekend grosses were hurt a bit by the move of The Rock's Walking Tall remake, there's a good chance that positive word of mouth will push the numbers up to bona fide blockbuster totals. With a budget of just $60 million (and looking onscreen like every bit of twice that), prospects are good for a sequel. At that point, it will be fair to ask whether del Toro has, like Sam Raimi did with Spider-Man, evolved from a good genre director into a great storyteller that works in a particular genre. For now, I'm almost hoping that Dreamworks delays del Toro's big-budget Lovecraft adaptation At the Mountains of Madness so that he'll make another independent production in Spain--a script he's written called Pan's Labyrinth.

4 "Big Damn Guns" out of a possible 5.

SPARTAN
"Where's the girl?" Those unfamiliar with David Mamet's trademark dialogue style my lose patience with Spartan after this line is repeated for the thousandth time, somewhere around the halfway point. I'm a big Mamet fan myself, though I have mixed feelings about the way his dialogue translates to the screen. It worked in State and Main, The Winslow Boy, and The Spanish Prisoner; I felt Heist bogged down under the hyper-stylized line readings. One thing is certain: actors sure love that dialogue! Some have a facility for it (Mamet regulars Bill Macy and Joe Mantegna, Alec Baldwin's show-stopping performance in Glengarry Glen Ross); others get tripped up (the usually great Gene Hackman in Heist); part of the fun is seeing how different actors adapt to the Mametized world.

In Spartan, we get Val Kilmer, who's often quite a good actor, but rather dependent upon the material and director. We get a genre picture about men of action and few words. We get double crosses and double-double crosses. All the signs point to a terrific suspense flick. And that's what we get...for the most part.

Kilmer plays Bobby Scott, a special-ops commando called in to rescue the President's daughter, a Harvard student who has been abducted. Interestingly enough, the phrase "President's daughter" is never uttered in the film; one can almost see Mamet hunched at the typewriter, whiting out all instances of the words in the script. In a way, though, the absence of exposition is welcome; in other dramas of this school, including the addictive TV show 24, the writers invariably feel the need to offer up some government functionary who exists only to add weight to the situation with unbelievable lines like, "You've got to save her! SHE'S THE PRESIDENTS DAUGHTER!" None of that nonsense here, we jump right into the story without preamble, and if, like the annoying couple behind me at the theater, you're not paying close attention, you'll get left behind.

The title refers in one sense to Bobby: he's a career soldier who follows orders swiftly and effectively; he protects himself by not asking questions. If his orders dictate that he kill a man, he does it without reflection. However, when it becomes clear that all is not as it seems and that he may have been used to further a secret agenda, he goes "off the reservation." It would be unfair to detail too much of the plot; suffice to say it is not especially novel. Its joys lie in the unraveling, in Kilmer's kick-ass-first-ask-questions-never schtick, and in Mamet's dialogue (if you like that sort of thing).

Mostly, the actors do well with it. Derek Luke is great as a raw trainee selected to be on Bobby's team. Ed O'Neill and Mamet stalwart William H. Macy do good turns as black-ops spooks, and Kristen Bell is good as the kidnapped POTUS-spawn. Kilmer does solid work here; he delivers the lines with a low, earnest intensity and a good ear for their natural rhythms (for, despite some critics' claims to the contrary, there is a naturalistic component to Mamet dialogue if delivered correctly). In fact, the only scene where he's simply not believable is one in which we glimpse Scott's life outside work, where he orders seed from a country store-Ha!

The film falters a bit at the climax, but it's nothing that made me feel cheated. I can confidently recommend this film if you're a Mamet fan or a fan of the 24 school of political thriller. If you're not acquainted with either, you may leave the theater scratching your head, like those annoying people behind me.

3.5 out of 5 (Raise to 4 if you're a Mamet aficionado)

IF I PICKED THE OSCARS - 2003 EDITION
Honestly, I've haven't cared that much for the Academy Awards since Goodfellas got the shaft. They're a self-congratulatory industry lovefest designed to honor "event films" that rarely recognize the truly deserving movies. What's more, people can scarcely be bothered to care anymore. Kind of unfortunate this year, as there are actually some interesting nominations in the absence of a traditional "Oscar movie." As many have pointed out, the Academy's recognition of Miramax's underhyped City of God over their anointed candidate Cold Mountain represents a victory of sorts of quality films over big event films. So, though I'm not terribly excited about this year's awards, I'm at least interested to see how it all shakes out. Here's my annual list of my picks from among the nominees, along with predictions for who will actually win.

BEST PICTURE
Nominees: Return of the King, Mystic River, Lost In Translation, Master and Commander, Seabiscuit
Favored to win: Return of the King
My choice: Return of the King

As much as I dislike the practice of giving Oscars for cumulative work, Peter Jackson deserves recognition for the remarkable feat of not only bringing Tolkien's trilogy to life, but also for making it engrossing even for non-sword dorks. It's not my favorite of the trilogy (currently it's Two Towers), but it's good enough to take the prize from this field. Mystic River is overrated, LIT is too limited in scope, and Seabiscuit was an overblown TV movie. M&C actually rated higher on my top ten list than ROTK, so I'd be fine with that one winning. Better choices than any of these would be City of God or American Splendor.

BEST ACTOR
Nominees: Sean Penn (Mystic River), Ben Kingsley (House of Sand & Fog), Bill Murray (Lost In Translation), Johnny Depp (Pirates of the Caribbean), Jude Law (Cold Mountain)
Favored: Penn
My choice: Kingsley or Murray

I know, Kingsley's perennial Oscar bait, but so what-he's a great actor, and his performance in House of Sand & Fog is powerful stuff. I'd like to see Depp recognized, as I feel he's one of (if not the) best American film actors currently working, but as fun as he was in POTC, the role was more scene-stealing that actually acting. Bill Murray would also be an interesting choice, as he absolutely carried LIT, though his real Oscar-deserving performance in Rushmore was ignored by the Academy.

BEST ACTRESS
Nominees: Charlize Theron (Monster), Diane Keaton (Something's Gotta Give), Naomi Watts (21 Grams), Keisha Castle-Hughes (Whale Rider), Samantha Morton (In America)
Favored: Theron
My choice: Castle-Hughes

I have not yet seen Monster, so I can't pick Charlize Theron, who just about every critic says is deserving of the Oscar. I was absolutely bowled over by newcomer Keisha Castle-Hughes' unaffected and completely believable performance as a girl born to greatness in a traditionally male-centric culture. If you can watch the scene where she tearfully addresses the school assembly without getting choked up, you should see a doctor to make sure your heart hasn't been removed.

BEST SUPPORTING ACTOR
Nominees: Alec Baldwin (The Cooler), Tim Robbins (Mystic River), Benicio Del Toro (21 Grams), Djimon Hounsou (In America), Ken Watanabe (The Last Samurai)
Favored: Robbins
My choice: Watanabe

Robbins is not a horrible choice for this award, but for my money Watanabe was the best thing about Last Samurai. He's absolutely magnetic, commanding the screen with a presence you just don't see that often anymore. Hopefully he'll continue to get parts that the Academy deems Oscar-worthy.

BEST SUPPORTING ACTRESS
Nominees: Shoreh Agdashloo (House of Sand & Fog), Patricia Clarkson (Pieces of April), Marica Gay Harden (Mystic River), Holly Hunter (Thirteen), Renee Zellweger (Cold Mountain)
Favored: Zellweger
My choice: Agdashloo

Oh, great. Another Oscar for the supremely mediocre Zellweger. She's not a bad actress, but does she really deserve more Oscars than Meryl Streep? Agdashloo deserves the statue. I might have picked Clarkson, had she been nominated for The Station Agent.

BEST DIRECTOR
Nominees: Sofia Coppola (Lost In Translation), Clint Eastwood (Mystic River), Peter Jackson (RotK), Fernando Meirelles (City of God), Peter Weir (Master and Commander)
Favored: Jackson
My choice: Meirelles

It wouldn't be a crime if any of these directors won. In my opinion, Fernando Meirelles' ability to craft an engrossing and believable story with a cast of non-actors was the best achievement of the field. Jackson should get recognition for his achievement over the epic trilogy, and that's fine. Coppola hit all the right tones with her delicate work on LIT, but I think the success of the movie depended more on Bill Murray's ad-libs. Weir and Eastwood's efforts were solid and workmanlike-I especially enjoyed Weir's depiction of the close friendship between Crowe and Bettany's characters: completely believable without superfluous flashbacks and intelligence-insulting backstory.

ORIGINAL SCREENPLAY
Nominees: Denys Arcand (The Barbarian Invasions), Sofia Coppola (Lost In Translation), Steven Knight (Dirty Pretty Things), Jim Sheridan, etc. (In America), Andrew Stanton, etc. (Finding Nemo)
Favored: Coppola
My choice: Knight

Will the voters give Sofia Coppola this award as a consolation prize because they felt they had to vote for Jackson in Best Director? Possibly. I think it would be a mistake; LIT's pleasures lie in unscripted moments, unspoken thoughts, and in the city of Tokyo itself. My favorite screenplay was the woefully under recognized Dirty Pretty Things, which made us feel for the plight of Britain's immigrant underclass without pandering to rank sentimentality. It's an engrossing romantic thriller that plays differently than that description would suggest. Add a welcome dollop of black humor, and you've got the best screenplay of the year, hands-down.

ADAPTED SCREENPLAY
Nominees: Shari Springer Berman, etc. (American Splendor), Brian Helgeland (Mystic River), Braulio Mantovani (City of God), Gary Ross (Seabiscuit), Fran Walsh, etc. (Return of the King)
Favored: Helgeland
My Choice: Springer Berman

Tough competition here. I'd give the nod to Shari Springer Berman and Robert Pulcini's American Splendor, a film that made us care about the curmudgeonly Harvey Pekar (where the hell is Paul Giamatti's nomination, by the way?) and his supporting cast of misfits and weirdos without gimmicky theatrics. City of God was great, but I can't judge the original screenplay as I don't speak Portugese (but then again, neither do most of the voters, I'd wager). Walsh and Philippa Boyens should be recognized for faithfully translating the spirit of Tolkien's wordy and decidedly uncinematic prose; however, I feel RotK's script was the weakest of the three. Much like Frodo himself, the screenplay seems to tire out as we progress up Mount Doom.

ANIMATED FEATURE
Nominees: Brother Bear, Finding Nemo, Les Triplettes de Belleville
Favored: Finding Nemo
My choice: Cowboy Bebop: The Movie...all right, Nemo.

ORIGINAL SONG
Favored: "Into the West" (Return of the King)
My choice: "A Kiss at the End of the Rainbow" (A Mighty Wind)

ORIGINAL SCORE
Favored: Howard Shore (Return of the King)
My choice: Shore

EDITING
Favored: Jamie Selkirk (Return of the King)
My choice: Daniel Rezende (City of God)
Come on. No matter what you thought of the movie, you can't hold up RotK as an outstanding achievement in editing. Selkirk probably did as good a job as possible with the source material, but the pacing is just too problematic. Critics are divided on City of God's quality, but I don't think anyone can deny the edgy energy imparted by Rezende in combination with the cinematography (see below).

CINEMATOGRAPHY
Favored: John Schwartzman (Seabiscuit)
My choice: Cesar Charlone (City of God)
Or, on the opposite end of the spectrum, Russell Boyd's majestic seascapes in M&C. Although Schwartzman gets kudos for making horse racing look interesting.

ART DIRECTION
Favored: Ngila Dickson (Return of the King)
My choice: Dickson

COSTUME DESIGN
Favored: Ngila Dickson, etc. (Return of the King)
My choice: Dickson, for either RotK or The Last Samurai

VISUAL EFFECTS
Favored: RotK
My choice: RotK

FOREIGN FILM
Favored: The Barbarian Invasions
My choice: City of God. Oh, wait-that was nominated last year. But it's nominated in other categories this year. I don't get it!

That's it for now. I haven't seen any of the short subjects, though they will play here after the Oscars, so perhaps I will be able to offer my opinions retroactively.

DVD ROUNDUP
Once Upon a Time In Mexico

I have enjoyed Robert Rodriguez' Mariachi films on the level upon which (I think) they were intended-fun action films that aren't meant to be taken too seriously. While the success of his first film, the microbudgeted El Mariachi, seemed to point to greater things to come, Rodriguez seems content to keep producing the same type of movie with bigger name stars and budgets. All the movies are variations on a theme familiar for anyone with even a nodding acquaintance with spaghetti westerns- a laconic musician (Antonio Banderas) drifts into a town squirming under the thumb of an evil villain. Events inevitably draw the mariachi into the conflict and, while he'd prefer a peaceful path, when the chips are down he proves to be a pistolero of damn near superhuman ability. Mucho bloodshed ensues. Rodriguez sticks to the same story here, but increases the scope a bit- with mixed results. On the one hand, it's great that he gives us a bounty of other actors to watch: Ruben Blades, Willem Dafoe, Mickey Rourke, and especially Johnny Depp as an amoral CIA operative are all much more fun to watch than Banderas, whose stoic killer routine doesn't have the presence of, say, Clint Eastwood's Man With No Name. On the other hand, he can't spend enough time with these characters (with the exception of Depp's Agent Sands) to make the audience feel much of anything for them. Salma Hayak, for instance, is relegated to a too-brief cameo- in flashback, no less. The plot moves along quickly; one gets the impression that it's primarily sleight-of-hand designed to keep us from thinking too closely about its holes and inconsistencies.

Many critics have questioned whether Rodriguez' famously DIY ethic has spread him too thin to make a truly great film. Perhaps this is true, but though OUATIM was (as the credits say) "shot, chopped, and scored" by Rodriguez, I don't think these areas are the problem. The film looks about as good as anything I've seen that was shot on DV (with a couple of exceptions where bright explosions reveal some pixellation); the editing is crisp and the fight scenes comprehensible and exciting; and the music is quite good, setting the tone perfectly. I think Rodriguez could use some help in the writing department-he needs to find some ways of freshening up the genre. Homage is fine, but three versions of basically the same movie gets tiring, especially when the first one wasn't really anything new storywise. The dialogue could similarly use a little punching-up; there are some great one-liners in the film, but most seem to be improvised by Depp, who here bolsters his bid for the title of Best American Actor Working in Film Today with another magnetic performance. El Mariachi is still my favorite of the series; but if you're looking for a fun shoot-'em-up that doesn't tax your brain too much, you could do worse than OUATIM.

The DVD release truly shines in the extras department, however. The single disc is packed with so many extras I haven't yet been able to watch them all. There's a commentary track, three 'making-of' featurettes, four deleted scenes (two of which, in my opinion, would have improved the film significantly) with optional commentary, an "inside Troublemaker Studios" feature detailing Rodriguez' company, the informative "Ten Minute Flick School" feature, in which Rodriguez shares some of the insights he's learned by making films himself, and an accompanying "Ten Minute Cooking School" featurette, in which he shows how to make the dish that Depp's character craves throughout the movie. This might at first seem like a strange addition, but as Rodriguez says, "Eating is something you're going to have to do all your life; you might as well learn how to cook well...not knowing how to cook is like not knowing how to fuck." Amen, brother.

Film: 3.5 (out of 5)
Look/Sound: 4.5
Extras: 5


The Italian Job (1969)

After watching last year's mildly entertaining remake I finally got around to checking out the original, expecting it to be superior in virtually every way to the slick Hollywood update. Surprise, the original doesn't hold up that well in most respects. The self-consciously wacky "Swinging London"-era humor doesn't really play all that well, the machinations of the heist (the essential ingredient of any heist flick) are given short shrift, and the supporting cast isn't developed at all (though Noel Coward scores as a cranky criminal mastermind who finances the operation from jail). What's more, there are weird notes of car fetishism (I defy anyone to find a movie with more shots of cars tumbling off mountains) and outdated nationalism (look at the resourceful Brits make fools of the stupid Italians!) that leave a sour taste. And the literal cliffhanger of an ending is just plain annoying (accompanied by an equally annoying theme song in the English "music-hall" style popular in the sixties).

What does the film do right? Well, the famous Mini-Cooper chase through the gridlocked streets of Turin is as good as advertised. Michael Caine looks good in his swingin' suits, and is likable as ladies' man and ambitious thief Charlie Croker (if Mark Wahlberg had but a fraction of Caine's charisma, the remake would have been infinitely better). Coward's absurdly nationalistic Mr. Bridger. Most of all, this version has a quirkiness that's completely absent from F. Gary Gray's Hollywoodized remake. Witness Benny Hill's turn as a computer hacker with a fetish for large women. Bizarre as the character is, there's nothing that interesting in the remake.

The picture and sound are great, and there are a fair amount of extras for an older film that doesn't exactly rate the deluxe treatment. Check it out if you're a car-chase completist or a big fan of swinging-London-type films. Want to see Caine as a '60's British criminal badass in a good movie? Rent the original Get Carter (but, unlike The Italian Job, stay far, far away from the remake!)

Film: 2 (out of 5)
Look/Sound: 4
Extras: 3.5

DVD ROUNDUP
TO LIVE AND DIE IN L.A.

I remember not liking William Friedkin's 1985 film To Live and Die in L.A. very much when I saw it in the theater. Of course, I was fifteen at the time and Back to the Future was more my speed. Lucky for me, the film has now arrived as a nice platter from MGM and I can fully regret the error of my youthful ways. For a film that boasts a soundtrack "composed and performed by Wang Chung," it holds up surprisingly well, looking quite a bit less dated than Michel Mann's Manhunter, which came out the following year and also stars William Petersen as a cop "on the edge."

Friedkin's film (based on the novel of the same name, but apparently tweaked so heavily that Friedkin gets a co-writing credit) follows Secret Service agent Richard Chance (Petersen) as he tails artist/counterfeiter Eric Masters (an early starring role for Willem Dafoe) and tries to put him away by any means necessary. Chance, as his name indicates, is a bit of a loose cannon who doesn't have much regard for playing by the rules. He thinks nothing of ripping off a suspect for $50,000, and his lover Ruth (Darlanne Fluegel) is essentially a kept woman from whom he extracts information under the threat of having her thrown back in prison. Thanks to his partner's untimely demise (wasn't it Ebert who noted that for movie cops, being less than a week away from retirement equals a death sentence?), Chance is saddled with rookie John Vukovich (John Pankow), who isn't comfortable with Chance's methods. Masters, on the other hand, is a bit of a cipher. He is a talented artist, but burns his best paintings. As a counterfeiter, he seems more concerned that his bogus money is properly appreciated than in getting it out on the market. He seems to fancy himself a patron of the arts, complete with a bisexual girlfriend (Debra Feuer) who works in a new-wave dance group that appears to be some kind of Cirque de Soleil progenitor. But he's also a cold-blooded killer. Ye gods, if only the art world were really filled with such interesting folks!

As much as the plot outline seems to be a rather typical cop story, it's where the movie diverges from the rubric that makes it interesting. Friedkin does little, if anything, to make Chance likable. Like Popeye Doyle before him, Chance is clearly not a good guy, and whatever sympathy we feel for him owes to Petersen's nicely nuanced performance and soulful gaze. In fact, Friedkin goes out of his way to make every character greedy, self-absorbed (but tell us, Billy, how do you really feel about L.A.?), untrustworthy, or incompetent. And then there's the ending. Without spoiling it, suffice to say there's a major shocker that no major studio would allow today. In fact, the disc's bonus features include an alternate ending Friedkin filmed at the studio's request that, if used, would have completely betrayed the audience-and resembled every buddy-cop movie made by Hollywood since the eighties. Whatever you think of Friedkin's purported penchant for megalomania (cf. Peter Biskind's Easy Riders Raging Bulls), you have to admire his obstinacy in refusing to use the bastardized ending.

Despite some eighties trappings, Friedkin remains rooted in the styles and techniques he developed in the seventies. Shots are longer, expository dialogue is kept to a minimum, and there is an improvised quality that adds to the sense of realism (this is highlighted nicely on the accompanying featurette, in which cast members recount stories of Friedkin telling the actors they were doing a rehearsal take and then keeping it). Robbie Muller's great cinematography highlights a seedy, run-down Los Angeles that had not been seen in movies before that point (Friedkin's The French Connection did the same for New York). There are a couple of fantastic sequences: the much-ballyhooed car chase through L.A. traffic (which is thrilling, but for my money not as much so as the one in French Connection), and a bravura segment in which we see all the stages of Masters' counterfeiting process, complete with minute details such as aging the newly printed money in a dryer with poker chips (we learn in the featurette that the film had a "consultant" who let them in on the intricacies). Despite a few plot holes (why does Masters agree to deal with the undercover Chance, even though he knows Chance isn't who he claims to be?), the story is absorbing and the action brutal. It's also great to see early performances from Dafoe, Petersen, Pankow, and John Tuturro (playing a sleazy associate of Masters), as well as a nice appearance by Dean Stockwell as Masters' completely unprincipled lawyer.

The picture and sound are as good as one would expect from a major studio release, though I thought the synthesizer-dominated music was mixed too loudly (although this is probably as originally intended). The extras are good, but a little slim: we get the aforementioned alternate ending; a deleted scene between Vukovich and his estranged wife (in the introduction to the scene, Friedkin can't remember why he cut the scene and says he'd put it back in if he could); a featurette that features footage from the shoot and new interviews with director, actors, and crew members; and a feature-length commentary by Friedkin (who's always fascinating even if you have to take certain things he says with a big grain of salt).

Film: 4/5
Look/Sound: 4/5
Extras: 4/5


PEEPING TOM

One of the great things about Netflix is that it affords the opportunity to acquaint yourself with works by great directors that aren't shown on television, and you'll never see in a theater unless you live in a city with a repertory house (the list is a short one). Thanks to Netflix and The Criterion Collection, I'm acquainting myself with the works of Michael Powell, whose Black Narcissus is about the only film of his you'll ever catch on TV. I thought it appropriate to start with the film that effectively ended his career, the controversial (in its time) serial killer flick Peeping Tom.

The film begins with a rather creepy sequence in which a prostitute is stalked, approached, and then murdered in her room by the unseen John. Adding to the overall creepiness is that the scene is depicted from the point of view of the killer, who is watching the events through the viewfinder of a film camera. We next meet the killer, watching the footage and obviously deriving sexual gratification from it. He's Mark Lewis, a quiet young man who works as a cameraman at a studio and earns extra money by taking naughty boudoir photos for a local tobacconist, who sells them under the counter at his store. Lewis takes his camera everywhere he goes, and is compelled to peep on others, including the people who live in his building. He's discovered peering in on a 21st birthday party for Helen Stephens [Anna Massey], who lives in the building with her blind mother. She strikes up a friendship, and finds herself attracted to the intelligent, shy fellow who lives upstairs and turns out to have inherited the building from his father, a noted psychologist. As she gets closer to him, she finds out that his father filmed the young boy constantly, to provide a record of his development; and that he conducted disturbing experiments on the child which were designed to explore the nature of fear. Meanwhile, the murders continue, and the killing of a young stand-in on the movie set where Lewis works prompts the police to investigate the film's crew. As the police noose draws tighter, Helen comes closer to discovering the truth about her new friend.

There are some things about the film that clearly don't work as well today as they did when it was released. The sexual content, of course, was much more shocking in 1960; and the psychological "explanation" of Lewis' compulsions seems laughably simplistic today. However, more works than does not-especially the shifts in tone from light to dark, as in a great scene in which the stand-in, thinking she's performing for an audition reel, does a nifty dance number which turns to terror as she realizes it's to be her last. As Lewis, Carl Boehm seems to be channeling Peter Lorre; no doubt Lorre's complex performance as a murderer of children in M is an inspiration. He shows a weird vulnerability that makes homely librarian Helen's attraction to him believable. Maxine Audley, as Helen's blind, heavy-drinking mother gets a great scene as she confronts Lewis in his darkened screening room.

Peeping Tom was greeted with such shock and revulsion by British audiences on its opening that it virtually destroyed Powell's moviemaking career. It's a shame, not just because it ruined a great director's reputation, but also because it's a good movie, and a prescient one in that it prefigured an entire genre that was to come.

Criterion's transfer is, as usual, excellent; preserving the muted colors of Arthur Lawson's London set designs cleanly and crisply. The mono sound is clean, and no doubt as clear as the source recordings allow. On board is the BBC documentary "A Very British Psycho," which details the making of the film and its reception by audiences; an audio essay by film theorist Laura Mulvey; the original trailer; a stills gallery; and the ever-handy Color Bars feature.

Film: 4/5
Look/Sound: 4/5
Extras: 3.5/5

THE COOLER
There are a few genres for which I'm a total sucker. Heist films, noirs, samurai films, and casino films all float my proverbial boat, and while I don't automatically give any film from these categories a pass, those that acknowledge and/or play with the conventions of the genre have a good shot at winning me over. Now, I may have to add a new sub-category to the casino film category-the Supernatural Luck Casino Film. First Intacto and now The Cooler treat luck as if it is a tangible commodity that can be drawn out of others by those with special abilities. Intacto's premise had "luck vampires" sucking the good fortune out of hapless victims and consolidating it within themselves. The Cooler features a similar premise, except that the titular cooler, Bernie Lootz (William H. Macy), is a luck black hole, drawing the luck out of anyone he comes into contact with and dissipating it into the ether.

This, of course, makes him valuable to casinos, and Bernie has spent much of his life in thrall to Shelly Kaplow (Alec Baldwin), manager of the Golden Shangri-La, a fading dinosaur of a casino in Vegas' Fremont district. Shelly is old-school Vegas personified, a fixer who likes to pull the strings of his underlings and isn't above busting a kneecap here and there or scoring heroin to keep his entertainers in line. But he also considers himself something of a father figure-in a memorable scene, he tries to comfort washed-up singer Buddy Stafford (a nice cameo by Paul Sorvino) with a pair of panties ostensibly flung from the crowd (he actually purchased them in the gift shop). The old ways, however, are quickly vanishing, and the casino's owners have brought in whiz-kid MBA Larry Sokolov (Ron Livingston, in full smarmy-guy mode) to oversee the Shangri-La's transformation into a family-friendly destination resort.

As the movie's action begins, Bernie is giving notice; having paid his debt to Shelly, he wants to get out of Vegas and start anew somewhere where one can tell if it's day or night. We get a taste of Bernie's sad-sack existence (cinematic shorthand: losers are always tormented by the sounds of their neighbors' noisy lovemaking), but see also that he is a good-hearted, genuinely nice guy who happens to have the worst luck in the world. Into his world comes Natalie (Maria Bello), a down-on her-luck cocktail waitress who finds herself attracted to the decent Bernie. Bernie's had a crush on her for some time, and when he finds his feelings reciprocated, his terrible luck begins to change. Add to the mix the sudden appearance of Bernie's estranged son (Shawn Hatosy) and his pregnant, coke-snorting wife (Estella Warren), who hit Bernie up for the money he's been saving to get out of town. Complications ensue.

Everything is rolling along nicely, and we're invested enough in the characters to pull for Bernie and Natalie, even when it seems as if the deck is stacked against them. There is a nice sense of inevitability that undermines the characters' brief oases of happiness; it looks as if there can be no happy ending for any of the main characters. But the movie can't decide if it wants to be a tragedy or a fable, and the ending shortchanges us by giving us half-assed doses of both. It seems similarly undecided as to whether it's a love-letter to Old Vegas values-it seems to be nostalgic for the old ways, yet Baldwin-whose red-eyed, puffy-faced, whiskey-voiced performance makes the most of his material-is such a despicable hood one wonders why anyone would be nostalgic for a town run by violent people like him rather than the corporate types whose greatest crimes seem to be marketing to families, playing muzak laced with subliminal suggestions, and hiring Joey Fatone (who's actually pretty funny in a small role) as a showroom headliner. And we're supposed to long for the days when casino-employed goons broke legs?

Ultimately, the film's indecision detracts from Shelly's arc as well as that of Bernie and Natalie. Shelly's ultimate shot at redemption is so poorly motivated that it seems to come from nowhere, to say nothing of the plot contrivances that wrap up the movie (hey, I know it's about luck, but that's not an excuse for lazy writing). However, the film features very good performances from the leads, good atmosphere, and a captivating plot (at least for the first two-thirds). Kudos also for the brave, not-prettied up sex scenes-though a naked Bill Macy may not be everyone's (or, really, anyone's aside from Mrs. Macy) cup of tea, they reflect a raw, '70's sensibility that has been too absent from recent movies, where everyone does the nasty with their shirts on.

3.5 lounge singers out of a possible 5

DVD ROUNDUP
Swimming Pool - Francois Ozon's putative mystery feels like something you'd see on PBS, except with more nudity. Introverted mystery writer Sarah Morton (Charlotte Rampling) is at the end of her tether in London, unable to begin work on the latest in her popular series of novels. Her money-preoccupied publisher John Bosload (Charles Dance-man, has this guy ever been cast as anything other than an irredeemable creep?) sends her off to his house in the south of France to recharge her artistic batteries. It works for a time, until her peace is shattered by Bosload's daughter Julie (Ludivine Sagnier), a promiscuous free spirit who arrives without warning. At first, Morton makes no attempt to hide her contempt for the young girl, but eventually becomes interested in Julie to the point of starting a book featuring a thinly veiled fictional version of her. All is not as it seems, however, and as the two become closer, Morton becomes an accessory to a murder. Will she be brought to justice? What is the real story between Bosload and his daughter? Between Bosload and Morton? What turned the annoying but seemingly harmless Julie to an act of crime? Unfortunately for mystery fans, Ozon isn't really interested in answering these questions. Though the movie seems like an episode of Mystery (complete with cheesy "suspense" music), it's actually a meta-mystery, interested in the growing relationship between the two women and the transforming effect it has on Morton. Though it's not satisfying on a whodunit level, the story is interesting and the languid pacing feels right and is never boring. The acting is solid, and I can't argue with Ozon's decision to show off Sagnier's considerable talents as much as possible. Though the whole of the film may add up to something less than is promised, it makes for an enjoyable couple of hours, and Ozon is careful to leave ambiguities and clues (red herrings?) that keep us thinking about the film after it's ended. The extras are quite limited, with no commentaries and a small collection of deleted scenes, most of which are just extended shots. A couple of them, however, helped me make a little more sense of the characters' relationships.

Film: 3.5/5
Look/Sound: 4/5
Extras: 2/5


So Close - Looking for a film that'll let you turn off your brain, enjoy some cartoonish action fun, and return to the heyday of Hong Kong action cinema? Look no further than this film from HK hot property Cory Yuen, known to US audiences for the largely forgettable actioners Kiss of the Dragon and The Transporter. Yuen opts for maximum eye-candy in this story of two sisters, Lynn and Sue (the gorgeous Shu Qi and the equally attractive Zhao Wei) who work as high-tech assassins. A high-profile job brings them to the attention of police detective Hong Yat Hong (Karen Mok), who gets ever closer to her targets thanks to her no-nonsense approach (and mind-boggling martial arts skills), even as she feels a growing admiration for her quarry. It's a high-gloss affair, with all of the requisite HK touches: protagonists on opposite sides of the law, lots of slo-mo, horrible synthesizer music, and a plot thinner than Kleenex. The film features some inventive set pieces and truly eye-popping action. Despite the lack of a good, scenery-chewing villain and the addition of an insufficiently motivated attraction between Sue and Hong, it's good fun. Looking great on a budget probably less than Charlie's Angels' craft-services spending, films like So Close make me wonder why Hollywood has such problems delivering good, dumb fun. Knock points off for Yuen's hammering to death of the song "Close to You" and his replaying in its entirety an important scene for maximum tear-jerk value. The disc doesn't have a lot of extras, but its huge selection of languages and subtitles is quite fun, and should be de rigueur on all DVDs. You can try to identify the differences between Cantonese and Mandarin, brush up on your French or Spanish by turning on subtitles, and test the hypothesis that sexy women are even sexier when they're speaking French. Or maybe that's just me.

Film: 3/5
Look/Sound: 4/5
Extras: 2.5/5

Posted by alangton at 4:12 PM MST

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THE BEST FILMS I SAW IN A THEATER THIS YEAR
Full Disclosure: I have not yet seen Spellbound, Lost In Translation, To Be and To Have, Capturing the Friedmans, or The Fog of War, films that are appearing on many critics' best-of lists. Dirty Pretty Things and City of God have 2002 release dates according to IMDb, but did not screen in Denver until this year.

8. A Mighty Wind (Christopher Guest) - Some seemed to resent that this was not the nonstop yuk-fest that Best In Show was. However, I (and quite a few others at the showing I attended) laughed consistently, if not uproariously, throughout. I found the characters to be drawn with a bit more humanity than in Guest's previous efforts, and the relationship between Eugene Levy's whacked-out Mitch and Catherine O'Hara's Mickey genuinely touching. And the songs are even more dead-on than the ones in This Is Spinal Tap.

7. Dirty Pretty Things (Stephen Frears) - A film with a social conscience that never gets preachy. A thriller that makes you genuinely concerned for the fate of the characters. A romance that never goes in the direction you've become conditioned to expect. Stylish without being flashy, and with an unexpected dose of (black) humor, Stephen Frears proved why he's one of the absolute best non-auteur directors working today. And Chiwetel Ejiorfor's turn as a Nigerian doctor forced to work several menial jobs in London's underbelly is simply astounding.

6. City of God [Cidade de Deus] (Katia Lund, Fernando Meirelles) - As was the case with Kill Bill Vol. 1 (a very different kind of film), many critics seemed to resent the sheer style and balls of the filmmaking technique present in this film. I was enthralled, not just by the great camerawork, but by the way all the film's technical elements came together to make a whole that keeps you riveted to the screen. Yes, the story is nothing new, but (especially in the gangster genre) it's really all about the telling, which I found compelling. Yes, we occasionally get seduced by the excitement of the violence-isn't that the point? The directors' work with a cast comprised largely of non-actors is remarkable. This film (along with others from emerging film markets such as South Korea) is proof that movies can look and sound great, entertain the masses, and even make serious money without catering to the lowest common denominator. Are you paying attention, Hollywood?

5. Return of the King (Peter Jackson) - I may be the only person on Earth that enjoyed The Two Towers best. Nevertheless, the trilogy's finale definitely upped the emotional ante, and showed that great epic films are successful because they have a heart, focusing on the small touches as well as the broad strokes. All right, let me get the following off my chest. I have more problems with this film than the other two: the pacing in the first third is way off, the intercutting between the storylines seems at times quite arbitrary, Frodo collapses about three times too many on his way up Mount Doom, Jackson relies too much on Elijah Wood's limpid eyes to fill in for things that were difficult to translate to the screen, and (and this is a problem I've had with the entire series) there is an appalling overabundance of close-up shots of one character screaming to another who's in mortal peril ("GAAAAANDAAAAALLLF!!!! NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!" Yeah, we get it already.) These factors were enough to keep the film out of my number one spot, but not off this list altogether. On its own, the film stands as a thrilling, moving epic; as a whole, the trilogy represents a monumental achievement in filmmaking. Time will tell how the films will weather; I think they'll eventually stand alongside David Lean's best as examples of how to make an epic film.

4. Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World (Peter Weir) - Despite what the publicity machine might tell you, this film is nothing more than a good, old-fashioned popcorn-munching adventure yarn. Perhaps it's a sad comment on the state of Hollywood movies that I enjoyed it as much as I did. As with the great adventures of decades past, it delivers spectacle without relying on it to do the work of the writer and director. It delivers believable relationships between characters without resorting to tedious explication and backstory. It has great performances from its leads as well as from the large supporting cast. And it paints a convincing portrait of shipboard life. I've never read Patrick O'Brien's novels, so I can't comment on the success or failure of the translation to the screen. As a movie, however, Master and Commander is an unqualified success, even to the point that I'm excited for the inevitable sequel.

3. Whale Rider (Nikki Caro) - Without Keisha Castle-Hughes' incredible performance, this would still have been an engrossing indie film about the struggle of an indigenous people to retain their identity in the modern world. The script is tight and believably written, and there's great character work by Cliff Curtis, Rawiri Paratene and Vicki Haughton. But first-time actor Castle-Hughes raises this film to the level of something truly special. Shame on the MPAA for slapping a PG-13 rating on this for (I can only guess) a brief shot of a pot pipe; this is a family movie in the best sense of the term-a movie you can not only enjoy with your family, but will make you feel closer by the end.

2. The Station Agent (Thomas McCarthy) - I've reviewed the film elsewhere in this blog, so I won't rehash the whole thing. In a nutshell, the premise of the movie sounds like everything that's wrong with indie cinema (i.e., self indulgent quirkiness for quirkiness' sake), but instead it proved to be everything that's great about indie cinema. Its story blossoms thanks to the limitations of its budget because its focus stays small, allowing the characters to take center stage. There is emotion and loss, made more potent by a refusal to go the route of overdramatic histrionics. Of course, none of it would work without fantastic performances from the leads; the work of Patricia Clarkson, Peter Dinklage, and Bobby Cannavale is as good as anything you're likely to see this year...or next, for that matter.

1. American Splendor (Shari Springer-Bergman, Robert Pulcini) - This film has it all: comedy, drama, documentary, innovative visuals, good storytelling, great acting, a (somewhat) uplifting ending that doesn't feel like a betrayal, even R. Crumb. I laughed throughout, admired the acting of Paul Giamatti and Hope Davis, and was ultimately moved by the notion that even a misanthropic curmudgeon like Harvey Pekar can find his place, and some degree of happiness, in this world. And, folks, that's about all anyone can expect from a movie. I haven't seen this one on a lot of critics' top 10 lists (though it gets props on just about everybody's 'almost top 10' list), and I'm not sure why. Maybe it's because I feel a bit of an affinity with the Pekar character, maybe the material connected a bit more strongly with this lifelong comics fan--I'm not sure. But this was hands-down the best time I had at a movie this year.

Honorable Mentions (along with a brief explanation as to why they didn't make the top tier)
Kill Bill, Vol. 1 - As much as I enjoyed the film, it just doesn't stand on its own as a complete film. Hopefully, 2004's list will see the completed work on it.

Pirates of the Caribbean - More fun that it had any right to be, Pirates finally ran out of steam with a ho-hum finale and unnecessary coda.

The Good Thief - This remake of the seminal Bob Le Flambeur was also surprisingly good, with an effective change in tone from its noir forebears. Neil Jordan gets a great performance from Nick Nolte; I just wish he'd included subtitles so we could know what the hell Nolte's saying.

A Decade Under the Influence - A nice examination of a very important time in American filmmaking from the people that were involved. One can almost forgive the hagiographic tendencies of the filmmakers...almost. But, as Peter Biskind's book Easy Riders Raging Bulls pointed out, part of the fun of the 70's films is that they were made by deeply, unapologetically flawed people who got to run the show for a short time.

Cowboy Bebop: The Movie - I'm a huge fan of the original television series, sue me. While the movie didn't make good on the larger philosophical themes present in the series, or wrap up its lingering questions, it stands as a love letter for the fans. It has the characters we love, eye-popping art, action that seems like it should be impossible for an animated movie to achieve, and of course the irresistible genre-hopping music of the incredible Yoko Kanno.

THE LARA CROFT: TOMB RAIDER AWARD FOR WORST MOVIE OF THE YEAR:
Tomb Raider 2: The Cradle of Life
While Charlie's Angels: Full Throttle may have signaled the death of American cinema as we know it, at least it looks like they had fun making it. Nobody on this pile of pure cinematic excrescence, from the writers to the director to the actors, looks like they could be bothered to even pretend they're in it for any other reason but the money. This film wasn't even funny-bad; it was just plain bad. Jan de Bont: please, please go back to being a cinematographer!

The Last Samurai
Director Edward Zwick seems so enamored of the notion of men bravely marching to their deaths in a hail of bullets (remember Glory?), it's a wonder he didn't wrap up his TV series "thirtysomething" by shredding Michael and Elliott with automatic weapons fire. He pulls the same heartstrings of noble sacrifice near the conclusion of his new film, The Last Samurai. The thing is, had he ended The Last Samurai at that point, it would have been a much better movie. As it is, Zwick has to follow the climactic battle with a preposterous scene wherein Tom Cruise's Nathan Algren bursts uninvited into the court of Emperor Meiji and presents him with the sword of the fallen leader of the Samurai rebellion, causing the emperor to reconsider a weapons trade agreement with the US (which Zwick indicates is clearly evil, though it's never explained why). Add to this yet another coda, complete with sappy voiceover narration, and we are left with the feeling that this is a movie that's outstayed its welcome by a good fifteen minutes.

The story begins in post Civil War America, and war hero Algren is making a living hawking Winchester firearms. He's also a self-hating drunk, haunted by memories of his participation in the slaughter of Native Americans by General Custer. Algren is recruited by an old army buddy (a wasted Billy Connolly) to travel to Japan to train their military in Western warfare at the request of Emperor Meiji (Shichinosuke Nakamura) who, under the influence of his cabinet, wishes to modernize Japan. There, under his former commander, the bloodthirsty Colonel Bagley (played with moustache-twirling one-dimensionality by Tony Goldwyn), Algren is ordered to lead his unready forces against a group of Samurai who have rebelled against the country's westernization. Algren's troops are swiftly dispatched by the Samurai, but Algren is saved by their leader, Katsumoto (Ken Watanabe--superlative in the role), who admires Algren's fierceness in battle and wishes to better undersand his new enemy. Taken back to the Samurai village, Algren comes to appreciate the life of the Samurai and its devotion to honor and the pursuit of perfection. Eventually, he joins the rebellion in a last stand against the vastly superior weapons of the newly formed Japanese army.

Essentially, that's the whole story. Not a bad idea for a solid Samurai movie, but everything about this film screams "Epic!" from the get-go. We linger over long panoramic vistas; the action frequently has a way of going into slow motion; and the pacing slows from deliberate to downright leaden during some of the scenes. Someone needs to tell Zwick and screenwriter John Logan (who was responsible for Gladiator-another one-dimensional story masquerading as an epic-and the execrable Star Trek: Nemesis) that epic stories generally need more than one simple plotline.

Some reviewers seem to have a problem with Zwick's fetishizing of the Samurai, which were, after all, a generally reactionary and violent lot by all accounts. I don't really have a problem with that; the old, honorable ways of a culture being replaced by the new is a common theme throughout many great movies. My larger problem is the presence of Algren altogether. Cruise does his usual workmanlike job in the part, and is generally believable (though the speed of Algren's mastery of Japanese has to be some kind of record) throughout. Why, when there is the perfectly interesting story of old versus new at hand, must the filmmakers drop in a white guy for us to identify with? I know, to sell movie tickets. But I wish they had found another way to incorporate a big star into the story without turning it into a "star vehicle." And the ending is just plain ridiculous.

Still, there is quite a bit to like about the film: the cinematography is beautiful, the action is thrilling, and it does manage to make us care about the characters and envy the purity of the Samurai life. Perhaps the best thing about the film is Watanabe, who commands the screen with a presence that calls to mind the great Toshiro Mifune. He definitely has the potential to break out as a star in world cinema, and I am anxious to see what he brings to subsequent performances.

I recently saw an interview with Zwick in which he name-checked Kurosawa as an inspiration for his filmmaking career. Nothing wrong with that, I suppose, except the implicit comparison between this film and those of the master. For anyone wishing to see how he approached the theme of the last days of the Samurai, get thee to the video store and rent the Criterion release of Seven Samurai. Those who have a craving for epic battle scenes should check out Ran; both these films feature action, great cinematography, true emotional weight, and nary a token Hollywood pretty boy to be found.

3.5 kimonos out of a possible 5.

The Station Agent
I had put off going to see The Station Agent. Something about the premise made me think, "typical indie movie more concerned with its own quirkiness than with telling a compelling story." I mean, come on. A loner dwarf inherits a train station in a small Jersey town and befriends a woman who is mourning the death of her son. Ho-hum, right? I couldn't have been more wrong.

Indeed, my one-sentence description contains virtually the entire plot of the film, but director Tom McCarthy uses the plot as a jumping-off point for a wonderful meditation on isolation and friendship. McCarthy is to be congratulated for his understated script, surehanded direction, solid visual sense, and most of all for maintaining the perfect tone throughout; wistful without being self-absorbed, funny without making fun, and moving without stooping to melodrama. There are many ways this film could have gone off the tracks, yet McCarthy's confidence in the material and actors is so strong that nothing about it feels contrived or unnecessary.

That said, this movie would be nothing without the remarkable performances of its three leads. Peter Dinklage is terrific as Finn, the diminutive inheritor of the station house. He never lapses into caricature, creating a believable portrait of a man who has his reasons for being a loner, but who can't but help gradually warming in some small part to the friendship of kindred spirits. Patricia Clarkson (whom you've seen many times before in smaller roles-you'll remember her name after seeing this film), creates a similarly authentic portrait of Olivia, a woman whose grief has caused her to retreat into isolation. Fortunately, the film isn't interested in using her personal tragedy as a springboard for Hollywood-style manipulative histrionics; rather, it informs the character, hanging on in the periphery as tragedy often does for real people. As in life, it's just there-we rarely have the luxury of a nice, neat catharsis to wrap things up for us. And Bobby Cannavale is winning as Joe, the garrulous Cuban-American exiled to the sticks to care for his sick father. Joe, in his desperation to have someone (anyone) to talk to, becomes the catalyst that sparks the friendship between Finn and Olivia. Joe, too, is transformed by his friendship with the other two-he starts the movie as the kind of guy that talks just to hear the wind whistle through his ears. While Finn and Olivia are drawn ever so slightly out of their isolation, Joe learns how to take some pleasure in silence. All three performances are great, not in the showy, theatrical way of "big" movies, but in their nuance; a look, a reaction, a physical choice here and there make all the difference.

Those seeking denouement will be disappointed; the film's ending is somewhat open-ended. Each character has made a small movement toward healthier relationships with other humans, and that's enough. To go further would be to betray the modest goals of a film that, as it is, precisely hits the target at which McCarthy is aiming. One of this year's best films; I give it 4.5 HO-scale trains out of 5.