DVD ROUNDUP
BUBBA HO-TEP

If you are a regular visitor to online movie-geek sites like AICN, C.H.U.D. or Movie Poop Shoot, you're already well acquainted with Bubba Ho-Tep, a microbudgeted indie film that made the festival rounds last year. Despite its lack of financial backing, positive buzz on the film reached a deafening pitch thanks to its trifecta of source material (a story by popular horror and mystery writer Joe R. Lansdale), star (Bruce "King of the B-Movies" Campbell), and director (Don Coscarelli, of "Phantasm" fame). The geek contingent stirred up enough support that the film got a limited release (it played for several weeks here in Denver), and now a rather nice DVD treatment from MGM. Those who give it a try will likely be surprised (as I was) that a film with such a genre geek-oriented premise and pedigree is actually a rather contemplative meditation on regret and redemption, despite the presence of a large Egyptian mummy who sucks the souls out of elderly people through their anuses.

To backtrack: at the start of the film, we find 70 year-old Elvis Presley (Campbell) lying in a Mud Creek, Texas nursing home, bemoaning his ill health and the possibly cancerous lesion on his member. Seems at the height of his fame, he switched places with impersonator Sebastian Haff because he could no longer stomach the intense pressures of his fame. He lived for a time in happy anonymity for a time, until he fell from the stage and broke his hip, landing him at Shady Rest. Unfortunately, the documentation of this switch was destroyed, and so the nursing home staff believes him to be a cantankerous Elvis impersonator who's slipped off his rocker. Lying in his bed, Elvis waits for death, subjected to the myriad indignities of nursing home life, not least of which is the ministration of cortisone cream to his afflicted area by a stodgy nurse. His self-pity is interrupted by some strange goings-on, including an attack by a giant scarab beetle and hieroglyphic graffiti in a bathroom stall. He forms an alliance with Jack Kennedy (Ossie Davis, fantastic as ever) another resident who claims he's actually the former president (LBJ, he explains, replaced part of his brain with sand and dyed his skin black so that no one would believe his story). Thanks to a good deal of research, JFK believes the source of the attacks is actually the reanimated remains of an ancient Egyptian pharaoh, who must feed on the souls of the living for sustenance. Together, they set about finding a way to stop the ancient evil.

Still with me? I imagine synopses like the above one turned many potential viewers off. But it's probably not the film the film you'd expect. Lansdale's premise is so wonderfully bizarre and played so straight that it's actually quite easy to go along with it. The story perfectly captures the paranoia that pervades the American popular consciousness with its conspiracy theories and the circular logic that backs up any paranoiac's worldview. As metaphor for the literal and figurative impotence of the elderly, it's quite effective. As a redemption story about atonement for a life squandered, it's surprisingly touching. As I noted above, the film has a bittersweet, melancholy tone that serves the source material well.

Much of the credit has to go to Campbell's dead-on performance. Sam Raimi's favorite leading man here goes beyond the expected caricature and finds something honest and real in a well-known figure. Even confined to a bed or struggling along with a walker, Campbell's aged Elvis shows flashes of the supercool yet down-to-earth personality that connected with so many fans even in the Vegas years. He's a man with many regrets, but he's still the King, dammit, and it's hard not to root for him when he becomes revitalized by the prospect of living out the hero fantasy that he played at in his movies. Ossie Davis too provides a perfect gravity to his role, never winking at the audience no matter how ridiculous the line. The chemistry between the two is terrific, and creates both hilarious and unexpectedly dramatic moments. As for other characters-the mummy is suitably mummy-like, and Ella Joyce has a couple of moments as the officious nurse, but this is basically a two-man show, and Campbell and Davis, along with Coscarelli's script, are game.

For a film clearly made on a shoestring budget, it looks great. Coscarelli is clearly used to working without money, and he gets the most out of a few locations and a limited special effects budget. Adam Janeiro's cinematography helps the film look like it cost a great deal more, and Brian Tyler's original music almost makes one forget that the production couldn't afford actual Elvis songs. Hopefully this film will find success on DVD and convince someone in Hollywood that imagination and commitment (along with some B-movie smarts) can produce artistic dividends from a tiny investment.

Not to imply that this is a perfect film by any stretch. The climax in particular falls flat, as what has been a dialogue-driven film resorts to the standard action movie cliches. Coscarelli's overuse of contemporary horror movie visual tricks like flash cuts and speeded up motion becomes annoying. Overall, however, Bubba Ho-Tep is a testament to what can be achieved with dedicated filmmakers working to realize a good script. It's funny and wistful, with just the right amount of quirkiness and, most importantly, heart. Extras include a commentary track from Coscarelli, Lansdale, and Campbell; a behind the scenes featurette; clips of Lansdale reading the original short story, and a very funny commentary featuring Campbell in character as Elvis, critiquing the film.

Film: 4 out of 5
Look/Sound: 4 out of 5
Extras: 4.5 out of 5

DVD ROUNDUP
Ichi the Killer ("Koroshiya 1," 2001)

In an interview in the supplements of (if memory serves me) Dead or Alive, Japanese shock auteur Takashi Miike opines that the film of his that he'd most like American audiences to see is a little thing called Ichi the Killer. He doesn't say why; perhaps he feels it's his best work; or maybe he feels it's the most uncompromised version of his uniquely disturbed vision. More likely, he feels that this film is most likely to offend the delicate sensibilities of we Yanks. And he's probably right. Now, thanks to the fine folks at MediaBlasters and Tokyo Shock Video, we can fulfill his wish by watching it uncensored in all its blood-spewing, viscera-dripping glory.

A woman is graphically beaten and raped while the erstwhile protagonist watches, masturbating. A man is hanged from the ceiling by flesh-piercing hooks while boiling oil is applied generously to his face and back. Another is split clean in two, the halves peeling apart like something out of Looney Tunes, only with copious amounts of blood and guts. A sadomasochistic Yakuza apologizes for a mistake by cutting off something more valuable than a finger. A face, liberated from its head, slides down a wall with a somewhat bemused expression. Nipples are sliced off, skin is punctured, and limbs are ripped clean from their sockets. These sights and much more await the brave viewer who plunks Ichi into their DVD player.

This film is certainly not for everyone. In fact, it may not be appropriate for anyone. I would be truly frightened by the person that wasn't disturbed by it. Yet, for the viewer who's truly strong of stomach, there are rewards, chief among them the visceral (pun intended) joys of a gifted and innovative filmmaker at the top of his game.

There are mitigating factors that set Miike's work apart from the mindless and bloody exploitation films that have polluted our cinemas and video stores since the seventies. One is the nature of the violence. It's so outlandishly over the top that, however disgusting it is to watch, it can't possibly be taken as a realistic depiction of acts of extreme sadism. Ichi is adapted from a popular manga, and the violence accurately reflects the cartoonishly extreme violence and acts of perversion frequently featured in these Japanese comic-books-for-adults. (And yes, cyberspace Otaku, I realize that there are all kinds of manga that don't feature graphic sex and violence. But they are, on the whole, more explicit in their approach than mainstream American comics.) At one point, Ichi, a psychopath who's taken to killing Yakuza leaders, enters a roomful of gangsters. The camera stays outside the room, motionless, as blood, limbs, and organs fly out to the sounds of a cacophonous battle. It's clearly a visual quote from manga (and from the great Looney Toons skirmishes). We aren't meant to be titillated by the violence, as we are in a "Friday the 13th" movie, but neither is it completely verisimilar. It's not played strictly for laughs, yet there is often the air of slapstick about it. I suppose the closest equivalents might be darkly humourous splatterfests like Peter Jackson's Dead Alive or Romero's Dawn of the Dead. Or maybe there's an analogue in David Lynch's earlier films, where a severed ear or a dog with a human hand in its mouth are at the same time gross, funny, and symbolic. Miike doesn't want us to take him too seriously, but he also wants to push the envelope past the point where we can comfortably dismiss the images he presents as filmmaking fun and games.

Another mitigating factor is Miike's technical proficiency as a filmmaker. His output over the past decade has been beyond prolific, averaging something like ten films a year. For most, this inhuman work schedule might portend the lowest-quality dreck imaginable, but Miike has continued to progress as a filmmaker, doing more with less, coming up with imaginative solutions to restrictions of time and budget. His compositions are excellent, his camera moves inventive and eye-catching without seeming superfluous. Nobody gets better-looking results out of digital video, and I'm including George Lucas' overpriced and overwrought DV affairs. Most of all, his films are suffused with a relentless and infectious energy. Sometimes, this is to the detriment of the story, but I'll take energy over careful, by-the-book filmmaking any day.

I won't go into the plot; you already know if you want to see this film, and I wouldn't try to talk anyone into checking it out for fear of being branded a sicko. Storywise, it's actually one of Miike's more straightforward efforts. Miike fans will notice themes common to many of his films, chief among them the notion of transgressive behavior as liberating force for those not at home in normal society (though I have to suspect that the transgressive behavior depicted onscreen is symbolic of something less, well, criminal--I can't believe that Miike is suggesting that literally killing and abusing other humans is the way to find inner peace). There's some good acting, especially Tadanobu Asano as the sadomasochistic gangster Kakihara, whose iconographic blond 'do and slit and pierced cheeks are referenced by Tarantino in Kill Bill V.1. There's a cool score, clever use of CG effects, and lots of visual jokes: my favorite involves the classic shot of the gangster posse in their trenchcoated finery striding down the street in slow motion--except one of the henchmen is struggling to keep up as Kakihara has just plunged a large steel needle into his foot. It's not my favorite Miike film; I prefer the restrained suspense (for the first 3/4 of the film, anyway) of Audition and the straight-up weirdness of Happiness of the Katakuris. Ichi is a worthy and thought-provoking addition to his resume, however, and those who dare to watch will not be disappointed. For my part, I have resolved to seek out Midnight Eye.com founder Tom Mes' Miike monograph, Agitator, to see if he sheds any light on the film's abrupt and cryptic ending.

MediaBlasters' presentation of Ichi the Killer is anamorphic widescreen with 5.1 English and Japanese tracks and optional subtitles. The picture quality is very good, as is the sound. One quibble: why on earth does the disc default to the English dub? It's not a horrible dub by any means, but I think the audience for this disc would be fans of cult Japanese cinema who prefer to watch in the original with English subtitles. There are no extras, save for previews of other recent releases from the company. A word of warning: there appears to be an R-rated cut of Ichi in release. The copy I obtained from Netflix was the original unrated cut (as is their policy--and the reason I will stick with them despite their recent rate-hike). My guess is if you want to see this film, you don't care to see a watered-down, censored version of Miike's original vision. So caveat emptor when you're buying or renting this at the local retailer.

Film: 4 (If you're a fan of Miike or early Jackson); 0.5 (if you have a relatively normal tolerance for onscreen violence)
Look/Sound: 4 out of 5
Extras: 1 out of 5

KILL BILL VOL. 2
After watching the first part of Tarantino's epic revenge pastiche, I wondered in this space whether there wasn't a great movie to be had by trimming and condensing the two parts into one. Now comes word that Tarantino plans to show a combined cut at Cannes and at a few theatres in the States (and which will no doubt appear on a DVD double dip at some point in the future). I doubt this will be the great single movie I had envisioned; to make the two parts a cohesive whole, there would have to be some serious rejiggering. And it doesn't appear as if QT has much interest in cutting anything; Kill Bill Vol. 2 features no fewer than three credits sequences at the end (including a noir tribute clearly intended for the beginning of the film which has been slapped on the end as if QT couldn't bear to part with it).

And, as it turns out, that's OK. In its current incarnation, the two parts are so tonally disparate that one almost buys Tarantino's ridiculous statement that he intended the thing to be two parts all along. Where Vol. 1 was a nonstop barrage of action and pop-infused eye candy, Vol. 2 is almost ruminative in parts-if the inspiration of the first part was Eastern action cinema, the Western (by way of Leone) aesthetic guides the second. There is more of Tarantino's distinctive dialogue, and on-screen action is kept to a minimum, with the exception of a bang up brawl between the Bride (Uma Thurman) and Elle Driver (Darryl Hannah) in cramped quarters that rivals the visceral kick of the knife fight that kicked off the first film (or the train compartment fight in From Russia With Love, my personal gold standard for cringe-inducing brutality).

A somewhat tangential note on Tarantino's distinctive dialogue: someday, someone will write a great monograph on Tarantino's strength as a writer/director, which seems to be knowing exactly how his dialogue will sound on-screen. I read some of the script for Kill Bill (this was before it was split, and I stopped after the first three chapters to preserve the surprise of the movie), and the dialogue looked absolutely awful. I wondered if Tarantino had lost or squandered his gift. Yet on the screen, it seems natural (in his heightened, movie-cool way) and every bit as snappy as in his earlier efforts.

The plot is so simple it obviates description. It continues the Bride's quest to "get bloody satisfaction" by killing each of her former partners in the "Deadly Viper Assassination Squad" of high-paid, super-skilled killers for hire, who murdered her wedding party and left her for dead some four years prior. We meet Bill's brother Budd (Michael Madsen), who has left the squad, lapsed into alcoholism, and lives with a sense of the grim inevitability and deservedness of his death. There's a flashback to the Bride's training in China by the rather sadistic martial arts master Pai Mei (Gordon Liu, who played the leader of the Crazy 88s in Vol. 1), which goes a long way toward explaining (again, in movie-sense) how the Bride got to be so damn tough. There's a showdown with Elle Driver (Darryl Hannah), and the final reunion of the Bride and her former lover and master Bill, who has a surprise for her in the form of BB, the child she'd long assumed was dead.

As in Vol. 1, there's not much to redeem the pervasive violence. Some critics have taken the film to task for this, believing that the film would have been better as a serious exploration of the moral ambiguity of revenge and the ultimate meaninglessness of violence. I've got news for them-nobody's going to top Hamlet for that. This just ain't that film, folks--it takes place in a world of filmic construct where the only meaning is provided by the violence. It's not an examination of the world in which we live, it's a celebration of the movie world that exists and ferments inside Tarantino's head. Just as the "Our Feature Presentation" clip before Vol. 1 signaled the audience's entry into this world (and, as a film-loving child of the 70's, that scratchy clip with the funky music caused my heart to beat double-time), Vol. 2 begins with an obvious black and white process shot of the Bride driving to meet her destiny as she recaps the past film in overblown movie trailer style. Though parts of the film feel more grittily realistic, they're no more "real" than this shot. It's all part of my world, says Tarantino, from the Leone homage at the El Paso wedding chapel to the grainy stock and crazy Shaw Bros. zooms of the Chinese training sequence. Jackie Brown was a mature, adult film by Tarantino. Kill Bill is something else entirely, a labor of, and about, love-love of movies of all kinds and the worlds to which they transport us. I'll take Tarantino's patently unrealistic revenge fantasies over the manipulative pseudorealism of Man on Fire any day.

As in the first part (and, given Tarantino's track record of getting unprecedented depth out of his actors, I have no idea why this would continue to be the case), the biggest surprise is the acting. Uma Thurman continues to impress with her awesome physicality and note-perfect line readings. Madsen is perfectly sodden and puffy, with the tired resignation of a man who's given up on living but isn't quite ready to die. David Carradine is a wonderfully noble shambles. He knows he's a bastard, but can't help himself. He destroys the Bride's life because she has broken his heart; we come to understand the depth of his heartsickness during a nicely played scene in which Bill appears at the chapel before the massacre. I admit I had my doubts going in, but Carradine is fantastic in the part. Tarantino originally wrote the part for Warren Beatty, and in some of Bill's more conspicuously "cool" dialogue (especially in Vol. 1) you can hear Beatty's voice. But I doubt Beatty would have managed to be as genuinely touching in the part-a mean sonofabitch to be sure, but one who sought only to preserve his "family" through whatever means necessary.

In the end, the themes of motherhood, love, and regret give Vol. 2 a poignancy that's absent from the pure adrenaline high of the first part. But I'm not holding my breath for the haters of Vol. 1 (and there were many) to hop on board with this one. Many were quick to jump on the "Tarantino's lost it!" bandwagon with the release of Jackie Brown, a film that most of its initial detractors admit has aged well and is better than they originally gave it credit for being. I suspect that in a few years--who knows how many, given QT's glacial filmmaking pace--when we're able to view it in the larger context of his oeuvre, this film will be respected for what it is. Maybe we'll get that reedited masterpiece that I suspected might be possible. Maybe not. For now, I am grateful to have been given a movie that seems to have been engineered to tickle the pleasure center of my brain (and this is both Tarantino's great gift and the reason for his divisiveness), rekindling that joy I felt at an afternoon matinee as a kid. It's a good time at the movies, and, given the current state of commercial moviemaking, that's more than enough for me.

5 out of 5

DVD ROUNDUP
Bad Santa (2003)

Having enjoyed Terry Zwigoff's previous directorial efforts, the documentary Crumb and the Daniel Clowes adaptation Ghost World, I was curious yet apprehensive about his first foray into mass-appeal filmmaking. I wondered how Zwigoff's dry yet skewed point of view would translate into a Christmas movie (albeit an extremely dark one), and how much the studio would soften up his ascerbic nature. Turns out, not too much. Dimension Films, the film's distributor and a relative of the Disney family, backpedaled a bit when audiences complained that they took their kids to this movie (more evidence that the MPAA's ratings system is completely irrelevant) and were shocked--shocked!--to see a beloved icon drinking, smoking, swearing, urinating on himself, etc., etc. The controversy quickly calmed when the movie performed better than expected, becoming a modest hit.

The good news is that the powers that be have done nothing to soften Zwigoff's cynical worldview. The bad news is that isn't a good thing across the board. Billy Bob Thornton's Willy, a miserable drunk safecracker who partners with an African-American little person named Marcus (Tony Cox) as a department store Santa and elf. They case the joint during December, then rip off the store's safe and merchandise on Christmas Eve. Willy sets a new gold standard for self-loathing characters on the screen; his drinking and depressive sexual escapades are on a par with anything in Leaving Las Vegas, and he surely sets the record for most uses of the "F" word in a Disney movie. Over the course of his latest job at a mall in Phoenix, Willy becomes involved with a bartender with a Santa fetish (Lauren Graham), and an obese kid (Brett Kelly)--who might be mildly retarded or perhaps, as they say down on the farm, "just ain't right"-- who, despite all evidence to the contrary, believes Willy is actually Santa Claus. As Christmas draws near, the pair's scheme is complicated by a store detective (Bernie Mac) who wants in on the heist, and what might be twinges of a vestigial conscience in Willy stirred by his new "friends."

Much of the movie's humor involves the irony of a guy in a Santa suit doing repulsive things like puking, pissing, cursing, and having nasty sex with plus-sized store patrons. While I admit to laughing at many of these scenes, the constant barrage of transgressive St. Nick moments becomes tiresome over the course of the film. The Coen brothers get a producer credit on the film (and reportedly gave the script a rewrite), and I would have liked to see what their self-consciously quirky sensibilities would do for the material. As it is, Zwigoff doesn't bring much visual flair or eccentricity to the proceedings. The supporting characters are mostly wasted; the appealing and comedically gifted Graham is reduced to a (how to put this delicately?) receptacle for Willy's gratification; Bernie Mac is given little to do; and the late John Ritter, as an uptight store manager, has a couple of funny moments but disappears halfway through the film. I assume this is due to the actor's untimely death, but the disappearance is strange and should have at least been explained away somehow.

Thornton, however, does good work as Willy. He's thoroughly disgusting, and yet manages to be somewhat sympathetic. By the end of the film, he's softened a bit, but not so much as to betray his characterization from the rest of the film. Cox is quite good as Willy's long-suffering partner Marcus, who struggles to keep Willy from blowing the gig and to keep his wife (TV show King of the Hill's Lauren Tom) happy by stealing her extensive Christmas wish list from the store's inventory. Somehow, Kelly's hapless Thurman Merman, with his blank gaze and monotone delivery, managed to move me. I couldn't help but feel for this sweet-looking (in a weird way) kid, who's constantly dealt unfair blows by life but trundles on with an innocent's view of the world.

In the end, however, Bad Santa is little more than an amusingly foul diversion, something to watch with your buddies as an antidote to the pervasive sap of the holiday season. I can't comment on DVD extras, as my screener was devoid of supplements. An unrated director's cut is apparently in the works--I'm not sure which version I saw, but it's tough to imagine what could possibly have been cut out, or what might be improved by its reintroduction.

Film: 3 out of 5
Look/Sound: 3 out of 5
Extras: N/A


Kill Bill Vol. 1 (2003)

My thoughts on this film are detailed in my first post on this blog; therefore, I'll keep it short. I'll say that I enjoyed the film even more on successive viewings; familiarity with the material adds to enjoyment--the little Tarantino touches are easier to spot, and things that might have seemed arbitrary or silly make more sense. As Vol. 2's release approaches, I'll go on record as saying that I'm a bit offended by Miramax and Tarantino's splitting the film in two; with the front-loaded action of the first part and the reported talkiness of the second, I can't help but think there might have been a truly great film to be had if the makers were willing to better edit themselves. Nonetheless, Vol. 1 remains great fun, and serves as a reminder of why Tarantino is held in such high regard by many film aficionados: his obvious passion for the material and willingness to let the audience in on it. He's not just a gifted pasticheur; he's a technically accomplished filmmaker in his own right, and forms his myriad influences into a cohesive whole. Because of its "love it or hate it" characteristics, I'd like to think of the film as a litmus test for folks' taste in movies, but it just doesn't work; perfectly reasonable people with generally good taste in movies disagree vehemently on this one.

No doubt due to multiple double-dips planned for future release, this version, hurried to DVD to whet appetites for Vol. 2's theatrical release, is pretty bare-bones. All we get is a "behind the scenes" featurette, which doesn't depart much from the standard self-congratulatory fare. It's always great to hear QT (at least when he's not rambling drunkenly on late night talk shows) holding court on his inspirations, and he illuminates several of the more obscure references for those who aren't quite as familiar with the grindhouse, yakuza, and giallo genres. Other than that, we get foreign language tracks, previews for all of Tarantino's films (including a very cool 70's grindhouse-style "Bootleg Trailer" for KB), footage of the 5,6,7,8's performing on the House of Blue Leaves set, and 5.1 and DTS audio tracks. Here's where the disc's presentation really shines. No matter what your opinion of the film, I think everyone will agree that it's criminal that the film wasn't even nominated for a Sound Design Oscar. The sound is simply amazing (there's a lot of documentation out there on the brilliant sound design, which goes to the extent of signifying QT's genre influences by the sound of a particular punch or sword thrust), and the disc does it justice: effects are clean and clear, and well placed in the stereo picture. Even at low volumes, everything comes through perfectly clear. The dialogue, too, is perfectly audible throughout (my major DVD pet peeve is the trend toward mastering effects and music at eardrum-piercing levels while the dialogue is virtually inaudible). Bravo, Miramax!

Film: 4.5 out of 5
Look/Sound: 5 out of 5
Extras: 2 out of 5

DVD ROUNDUP
RIPLEY'S GAME (2002)

Surprisingly, this adaptation of the Patricia Highsmith novel (which has a previous incarnation in 1977's The American Friend with Dennis Hopper as genteel psychopath Tom Ripley) never received an American theatrical release, even after the relative success of Anthony Minghella's version of The Talented Mr. Ripley, which even garnered some Oscar nominations. As a fan of Highsmith's novels, I appreciated the languid Mediterranean atmosphere of Minghella's version and thought that Jude Law was perfectly cast as slumming rich boy Dickie Greenleaf. The film was undone by the casting of Matt Damon as Ripley. Even though the story concerns the "making" of the adult criminal, Damon was too rough, too unrefined, too American (yes, the character is a Yank, but he aspires to Old World refinement) to be convincing. The insertion of a homosexual subtext, too, was all wrong: Ripley wouldn't be above leading a man on to achieve his ends, but he's primarily in love with himself.

John Malkovich makes an excellent Ripley. His studied movements and theatrically nonaccented accent are perfect for a guy who's essentially a blank, able to transform himself into whatever he wants others to see. He delivers his lines with a touch of the dilettante, always talking down. There's a great sense of ennui in his delivery. "I don't think anyone will catch me," he says at one point, "because I don't think anyone's paying attention." When he kills, he invests the act with the same gusto that made him such an enjoyable baddie in films like Dangerous Liaisons and In the Line of Fire. And who else could pull off a jaunty black beret without looking like a sissified Frenchman?

After a brief prologue, we meet Ripley living la dolce vita in a luxurious Italian villa with a beautiful musician (Chiara Caselli). He's more or less retired from criminal exploits, until Reeves (the always magnetic Ray Winstone), a criminal associate from his past, appears at his door and attempts to enlist Ripley to get rid of his competition. Ripley wants no part of the job, but thanks to a chance occurrence, he tells Reeves he has idea for a suitable replacement. He's just been to a party thrown by his neighbor, Jonathan Trevanny (Dougray Scott), an expatriate Brit who's struggling to make ends meet as a frame maker. Trevanny, it turns out, is dying of cancer, and worried about how his wife and young child will get along after he's gone. At the party, Trevanny makes the mistake of insulting Ripley's taste in restoring the villa (nothing pisses Ripley off like someone acting superior, especially an Englishman), which sets the game into motion. Ripley, knowing that Trevanny is desperate, puts him in touch with Reeves. He also knows that Trevanny is essentially a good man, and will be destroyed by the guilt of his actions. The first hit goes off without a hitch, but Reeves knows he's got Trevanny on the line, and tries to use him to get rid of a Ukrainian mobster who's horning in on his territory. Ripley has a change of heart and decides to help the unfortunate Trevanny. As Highsmith's readers know, Ripley's kind of "help" is best avoided-- things don't go exactly as planned, leading to disastrous results.

The film is well directed by Lillia Cavalli (The Night Porter), who injects some hilarious moments of black comedy into the proceedings. It's beautifully photographed, with exterior shots bathed in a desaturated yellow light that seems to echo the opulence gone decadent of old Europe. There's even a catchy score by the Old Master himself, Ennio Morricone. It's not a perfect thriller--there is some clunkiness to the pacing, which slows to a trickle between flashes of action; the motives of Reeves and his antagonists are never explained. Nonetheless, it's involving and well acted, with Malkovich providing an irrepressible streak of fun to his character. Just like the characters in the film, you shouldn't like this guy, but you just can't help yourself.

Why, then, did this film never make it to the States, where it almost certainly would be well received by the art house crowd? Moviepoopshoot.com's Jeffrey Wells suggests that FineLine may have gotten cold feet after opening the film first in Europe to worse-than-expected box office; they may have decided to save the budget for prints and marketing and release the film direct-to-video. Unfortunate, because it deserved a better fate. It also deserves a better fate on DVD-the transfer is fine, but extras are limited to the trailer.

Film: 4 out of 5
Look/Sound: 4 out of 5
Extras: 0 out of 5


MELVIN GOES TO DINNER (2003)

The advent of Digital Video may be a boon for aspiring filmmakers with good, talky, low-budget scripts. Or it may open the door for every would-be Woody Allen who can afford a Sony Digicam. Judging from films like this one and Roger Dodger, there are some good scripts out there that might not otherwise get made. Melvin Goes to Dinner, a surprise hit at Sundance, was directed by comedian Bob Odenkirk, one of the folks behind HBO's hit series Mr. Show. Fans looking for that show's brand of raunchy, offbeat humor may be disappointed. Written by Michael Blieden (adapted from his play, "Phyro-Giants!"), the movie consists primarily of a dinner conversation between four thirtysomethings seemingly thrown together at random. Melvin (Blieden), has gone to meet an old friend, Joey (Matt Price who, through no fault of his own, is very reminiscent of Friends' Matthew Perry) for dinner. He arrives late and finds Joey has been joined by a friend from business school, Alex (Stephanie Courtney), who's in town for one day on business. Alex has bumped into a friend of hers, Sarah (Annabelle Gurwitch) and dragged her along. As the evening wears on, the conversation jumps from topic to topic, touching on such matters as religion, sex, ghosts, mental illness, and infidelity. The conversation progresses, and we become aware that each of the characters has been holding back a secret that causes us to reinterpret all the action that's come before.

The good: Blieden's script is quite funny and most of the conversations have the aura of authenticity. The acting is good all around, particularly Courtney and Gurwitch. Odenkirk has reassembled the cast of the original play, and it shows-the actors are all extremely comfortable with their characters. There are also nice cameos from Maura Tierney and Odenkirk's Mr. Show compatriots David Cross and Jack Black. The DV look of the film (as in Roger Dodger) adds a documentary feel to the film; we feel like we're spying on private moments, reality TV-style. Michael Penn's sparse score is perfect (I'm sorry that his career as a rock star flopped back in the day, but Penn seems to have found his true calling scoring films).

What doesn't work so well: it's adapted from a play, and it feels like it. Odenkirk has added some cinematic touches, mainly flashbacks, to flesh out the story; these work with varying degrees of effectiveness. Some genuinely add to the overall effect, but most seem inserted to make the thing look like a movie. The dialogue, while funny, occasionally seems stagey; big revelations aren't motivated or justified. Some viewers may have a problem with the fact that none of the characters are especially likeable-for me, that's not a problem. It makes them more empathetic for me (and maybe that's my problem).

Extras are not exhaustive, but there are a couple of good ones. Along with a commentary track from the cast and director, there's a couple of scenes from the original production of Phyro-Giants! and a bizarre yet hilarious mockumentary of the group's trip to the world's smallest film festival--the Frank Film Festival-hosted entirely within the house of a movie geek named (you guessed it) Frank. There's also a copy of the script in PDF format.

Film: 3.5 out of 5
Look/Sound: 3 out of 5
Extras: 4 out of 5

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