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.

DVD Notes
Anyone considering making films ought to see Melville's 1970 film Le Cercle Rouge (Criterion DVD)for two reasons. First, the cinematography is simply outstanding. Melville just knows how to frame a shot, and there is nothing extraneous included. And what use of color! In an era where every big budget film seems to slavishly imitate the overblown Ridley Scott cinematographic style, Rouge's washed-out, bluish tint perfectly suits the film's atmosphere of cool inevitability.

Second, would-be moviemakers would do well to study the way in which Melville unspools his story. He doesn't bore us with endless backstory about the characters. He doesn't worry about explaining every motivation. He simply shows us only what is absolutely necessary to the story, adding to the sense of intrigue. Plotwise, there's nothing especially novel in the film: Heist man is released from prison with news of a "can't miss" job that only he can pull off. He pulls together a crew of honorable criminals to do the job, but is pursued by both police and his former crime boss. Will they succeed and make off with the loot? Anybody that has seen a French crime film knows how this will play out. In fact, Melville even appropriates the extended silent heist scene from Jules Dassin's Rififi for the centerpiece of his film. The film's greatness is in the telling--it's never less than engrossing. On the recent DVD release, Criterion has done its usual superb job with the transfer and thoughtfully collected extras.

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

Apparently not many people got a chance to see John Malkovich's directorial debut, The Dancer Upstairs, based on Nicholas Shakespeare's novel about the search to capture the leader of a Shining Path-like terrorist movement in an unnamed South American country. I wish I could say that's a shame. Malkovich does display a natural ability with the camera, and a sure touch with the actors. He seems, however, to have missed any lessons on pacing from his many years on movie sets. The film's middle drags mercilessly, and the "romance" between Javier Bardem's police detective and his daughter's ballet teacher is set up so poorly that one knows it only exists to provide a "twist" at the end. Still, Bardem (looking a bit like a Latin Stacy Keach) makes a sympathetic and engaging leading man, and the film does an excellent job of capturing the sense of terror created by seemingly random acts of extreme violence. Malkovich should be commended for avoiding the traditional thriller conventions (contriving to put Bardem's family in predictable danger, for example), but somebody should have reminded him that thrillers do need to find a way to thrill from time to time.

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

Some belated thoughts on Kill Bill Vol. 1
Talking to people, I have found it's impossible to defend this movie to those who hate it. It's the flimsiest thread of plot, gilded to the point of absurdity with serious sound and fury. It has no emotional core, and leaves no lasting emotional effect on the audience. The dialogue is--on those rare occasions when there is dialogue--generally pretty silly. I can't argue with these accusations. But I can attempt to explain why I loved the movie anyway.

There seem to be many misconceptions about Tarantino's body of work among the critical community. I am sick of hearing his past films described as being hyper-violent. Though violence always lurks on the periphery of his films, he (up till now, anyway) got a great deal of mileage from implying, rather than graphically depicting, violence. Probably the most violent onscreen moment in Pulp Fiction is the plunging of the adrenaline syringe into Mia Wallace's chest, a life-saving act. The scene is so expertly executed that each of the three times I saw it during its initial theatrical run, the audience's reaction was the same--loud gasps, followed by relieved nervous laughter when she pops upright. I find it impossible to believe that Tarantino did not intend this exact reaction to the scene. In his new film, Tarantino delves enthusiastically into a bit of the old ultraviolence, but it is all directed toward the single purpose of placing the audience in an intricately constructed world, one that bears certain resemblances to ours, but is markedly different in other respects. In this world, there are three different types of blood that gush from wounds; a person's limbs can be severed without them bleeding to death as they thrash in a pool of gore, and airplanes are equipped with holder's for passengers' samurai swords. This trope is really no different than that of his other films; common elements such as character names and prop details connect all of Tarantino's films. In Kill Bill, the violence is explicit-almost as if the unapologetically bratty QT is saying to his detractors, 'You accuse my films of excessive violence-I'll show you violence!" (In the same way, he seems to have answered other criticisms: Robert Richardson's gorgeous photography seems a response to those that have criticized the cinematographic shortcomings of his earlier films; Tarantino's elimination of his trademark snappy banter might be intended to rebuke those who cite this as his pony's single trick).

And let me say this about the violence: I had doubts about QT's ability to pull it off convincingly-but there's never a moment where the fight choreography is anything less than thrilling. Unlike the recent spate of CGI-enhanced fight sequences (cf. the Matrix sequels and Blade II), which seem like nothing so much as intricately wrought dance sequences, the fighting in Kill Bill is alternatively nail-bitingly realistic (the opening knife fight between Thurman and Vivica A. Fox's Vernita Green) and chop-socky far fetched (Thurman's dispatch of the Crazy 88 at the House of Blue Leaves), but it never pulls the audience out of the moment, makes them ponder the craftsmanship rather than enjoying the visceral thrills.

Speaking of visceral thrills, a number of critics (most notably the New Yorker's David Denby) have taken issue with the lack of emotional impact in the movie's formidable body count. Come on. When Bruce Lee takes out a bad guy, it doesn't have an emotional impact on the viewer; it isn't supposed to. We're supposed to root for the hero to dispatch the clearly deserving villains. Now, I'll entertain arguments as to whether movies that treat death and killing with more gravitas are inherently more worthy, but don't try to tell me that Kill Bill represents some kind of new trend toward cheapening the value of human life in our eyes.

Having said that, I will agree with Denby that Tarantino makes a misstep in the scene where the Bride kills Green in front of her young daughter. The reveal of the daughter sets up a real "Oh, shit!" moment, which Tarantino cheapens by denying the daughter any emotional response to the horror she has just witnessed. Tarantino might say that such a moment has no place in the world he's created, and I suppose that's right. But in that case, he should have written the scene differently, not setting up the expectation that a character might react in a way more true to real life and then pulling the rug out from under our feet. Simply put, to include such a moment in a film where the violence is so cartoonishly over the top is a cheap shot.

But the things I loved about the movie far outweighed the things I didn't: the aforementioned cinematography, the perfectly employed music (as I type, that damned theme from Twisted Nerve is going through my head), the fantastic set for the House of Blue Leaves, the Toho set of Japan, Sonny Chiba's dignified performance as a retired master sword smith, the anime "Origin of O-Ren Ishii" chapter, everything about Chiaki Kauriyama, the red cross on Darryl Hannah's eyepatch, and on and on. It's been a long time since I've sat through an entire movie with a ridiculous grin on my face, and for that Tarantino is worthy of praise.

Also praiseworthy--well, downright incredible, actually--is Tarantino's continued ability to get the absolute best work out of his actors. Uma Thurman (other than her work in Pulp Fiction) has never particularly impressed me as an actress, yet she is utterly convincing as the revenge-driven Bride. Ditto Lucy Liu, who has played the "tough chick" before, but never as believably. Sonna Chiba's too-brief cameo evinces nuance one would have not thought possible from the star of the Street Fighter series. I am excited to see what Tarantino can wring from the leathery hide of David Carradine in Vol. 2.

Movie Poop Shoot's Jeffrey Wells said it best when he noted that (I paraphrase) Kill Bill's sense of cool is all-inclusive. You're not better off knowing each and every pop culture reference that Tarantino sprinkles into the mix. You needn't have an encyclopedic knowledge of obscure movies to enjoy the film (another spurious criticism often leveled at Tarantino films), just a willingness to jump on board and enjoy the ride. QT makes you feel as though you're in on it with him from the appearance of the "ShawScope" logo to the closing credits. I might not have left the film pondering weighty questions about the nature of existence, but rarely have I left feeling so good simply because of the balls-out fun of a movie (and by fun, I mean something other than the cynically manipulative "fun" we are supposed to have at your average Jerry Bruckheimer production). The film is a straight-up blast, and that's worth something to me.

4 out of 5 Hattori Hanzo katanas. I will reluctantly leave it off my year-end top 10 because I can't judge it as a complete film. But expect to find it there next year, unless Vol. 2 really drops the ball.