Cult Films

The reason why Battle Royale is so loved and hated at the same time is simply because it explores an idea that the human mind is almost pre-programed to fear and reject. We are thought, when we're kids, that there are two sides: 'Good' and 'Evil'. Stealing is wrong, killing is even wronger. But the pure and unquestionable truth is that any human being has the ability to take someone else's life, or themselve's for that matter. As simple as that. That's why Battle Royale has the unique and fascinating ability to shock, inlight, entertain and divide people. It's just brilliantly honest exploring that idea. How more honest could it be than putting 42 teenagers on a deserted island and making them kill each other for their own survival? If you think about it, it's not that different than a bunch of kids with guns killing everything and everyone on their way on some random american school... Is it? Of course, the probability of something like that (the 'BR' program, I mean) happening is almost unexistent. That's why the script can be a little surreal and at times silly. But guess what? I LOVED IT!



The violence, the killing, the blood... All of that loses relevance when we realize just how original and visionary (in a kind of twisted and bizarre way) Battle Royale really is. I mean, let's face it, it wasn't for the violence or the blood (seen on thousands of other, sometimes awarded, beloved films) that the film was banned from the US and almost in Japan. It was the social/polytical message. Youth has the need to be heard. As simple as that. 20, 50 years ago and now as well. When a kid is not taken seriously he makes himself heard, he asks for attention. Rebels. This may be a little 'Oprah,' but it's true. So, maybe kids boycotting their schools, writting on the board 'Today there's no class, because we don't want too!' is not that utopic... That's probably the reason why the japanese goverment didn't find it that funny.

Either way, and finalizing, I just can't help finding hilariously ironic that the same country that banned this modern masterpiece from their theatres is the same one who will remake it in 2008...

"There was me, that is Alex, and my three droogs, that is Pete, Georgie, and Dim, and we sat in the Korova Milkbar trying to make up our rassoodocks what to do with the evening. The Korova milkbar sold milk-plus, milk plus vellocet or synthemesc or drencrom, which is what we were drinking. This would sharpen you up and make you ready for a bit of the old ultra-violence."



Stanley Kubrick's A Clockwork Orange will always go down in history as one of the most polemical, violent, disturbing films ever made. A tale most vile, full of the old in-out and other such nastiness. A tale in which Alex (Malcolm McDowell), our faithful narrator and leader, is imprisoned for the accidental killing of a person and later conditioned by his government to abhor sex and violence, but also the glorious music of Ludwig Van. Sometimes karma can be a cruel, cruel mistress. Sometimes it can be poetic. But, the thing to remember, is that it's always in play.

So learns Alex after his release from prison. Cured of his predilection toward sex and violence, he encounters the victims of his earlier transgressions only to find that people's forgiveness cares little for his cure or the fact that he's paid his debt to society. The wounds Alex has inflicted are deep, so it's little surprise when his victims exact their revenge because, deep down, they are no better than Alex. Freed from restraint by a feeling of righteous indignation, they are able to expose their true selves, as dirty and nasty and vile as Alex in his prime, only now Alex has been so conditioned that he cannot even fight back. He is defenceless, begging for mercy. It's doubtful that this was a desired effect of the conditioning, so you have to wonder: if the government takes away Alex's ability to defend himself and sends him out in a society that hates his very existence and distrusts this so-called cure, does perhaps the punishment exceed the crime? Taking nothing else into consideration, possibly. But when you factor in the conditioning against the perfectly natural sexual appetite and the music of Ludwig Van Beethoven, then it's clear the government has gone too far.

There's little question that's part of the film's message, but to what end? The Prison Chaplain (Godfrey Quigley), as close to a voice of morality as A Clockwork Orange gets, argues before the review board that due to the conditioning "He ceases also to be a creature capable of moral choice." He's right, of course, as the Pavlovian approach to morality takes away the subject's humanity, reducing him to nothing more than a castrated animal. He's pitiful, really, which is a stunning turn of events considering his actions in the first half of the film. A great deal of that change relies on the acting abilities of McDowell, who's amazing in the role. His performance is often noted as one of the best to never be nominated for an Academy Award. He was also snubbed by the British Academy. The film received four Oscar nominations: Best Picture, Best Director, Best Adapted Screenplay, and Best Editing. It won zero.

Part of what made A Clockwork Orange so controversial upon its initial release - Kubrick received death threats against both himself and his family and took measures to ensure the film wouldn't be shown in Britain until after his death, which happened in 2000 - is that switch wherein Alex goes from hated to pitied. Kubrick presents us with a protagonist and narrator who is essentially an uber-villain - a gang leader who picks fights with rival gangs, beats up a homeless man, orchestrates a gang rape, and has a three-way with two teenage girls. There is no code of ethics by which he could be considered a good person. But, he is a clever and charming young man who serenades his rape victims with "Singin' in the Rain" and has a strange, unexplained fascination with Beethoven.

It's difficult to reconcile that this likeable young man could be capable of such atrocities, which is partly what Kubrick's going for here. Take Alex out of his odd white outfit and into some normal clothes and he looks no different than anyone else his age. Only at night he lets his inner demons run wild, where the rest of society has decided to suppress them. But the solution of just taking the demons away isn't a solution at all, because the demons are vital to who we are. Think of it as a ying and yang approach to the soul of man. Without that battle between good and evil we have nothing but an empty, boring wasteland. And that's not a life worth living.

A Clockwork Orange, like so many of Stanley Kubrick's films, is an acquired taste. It is a bold, daring piece of cinema that aims to provoke a reaction in the belief that it is better to be found spectacularly bad than dull. Thankfully, it is neither. Kubrick paints in broad, provocative strokes, muting nothing in the frame. He employs a broad range of colours and flourishes that give the film a vibrant and raw feel, as if you're watching the characters and images explode off the screen. Alex mentions during one of his sessions that "the colours of the real world only seem really real when you viddy them on the screen", so Kubrick does his best to make them seem really real, from Mum's hair to the red outfit of the woman being raped to the flashing lights of the record store. Couple that with the wide-angle lenses Kubrick is fond of, the slang bordering on gibberish, the numerous phallic symbols, and the occasional intention continuity error and the entire film is a bit disorienting and unnerving. It's designed to put you slightly on edge.

Of course, A Clockwork Orange isn't for everyone. It's an X-rated film that contains rape scenes and torture and pretty much anything that could make someone uncomfortable, but it's also a brilliant film with grand ambitions. Sure the film's message gets a little muddled near the end, and it isn't always clear what the intention is, and it tends to occasionally lose its way, but that isn't a reason to discount it. Thanks in large part to Kubrick, A Clockwork Orange feels like jazz, and because of that it feels alive, and a flawed film that feels alive is always preferable to a by-the-numbers one that's dull, especially when it's directed by a genius.

First of all, what people need to understand and have in mind (I saw some comments here that blowed my mind), is that this was made in 1968... 1968! You have to understand that number. That's almost 40 years! What we need to ask ourselfs, and try to answer truly, is that if we could possibly have the vision to do something like this in that time. And the answer is obviously NO! I don't have the slightest doubt when I say that this film is one of the greatest achievements in Cinema history! The way Kubrick imagined the 'future', 2001, our present (or past), is brilliant and fascinating. Technicly the film is flawless, considering it's time, and there are moments, scenes that I actually didn't believe that that was made in 1968! Of course I understand people who say it's boring. As a classic has to be recomended to anyone who loves Cinema, but it's not for those who expects action and dumb entertaining. What I would say is that this is one of the most 'difficult' films to wacth and analyse. It just can't be watched if you're sleepy, as simple as that... Anyway, I said it and I say it again: this is one of the most important achievements in the history of Cinema! That's why it's one of the few that deserves 5 stars...

"He said war was too important to be left to the generals. When he said that, 50 years ago, he might have been right. But today, war is too important to be left to politicians. They have neither the time, the training, nor the inclination for strategic thought. I can no longer sit back and allow Communist infiltration, Communist indoctrination, Communist subversion and the international Communist conspiracy to sap and impurify all of our precious bodily fluids."



Widely hailed as the greatest black comedy ever filmed, Dr. Strangelove or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb is Stanley Kubrick's subversive take on a common Cold War theme. Deranged General Jack D. Ripper (Sterling Hayden) has sent his squadron of planes an order to attack the Soviet Union as they held at the fail safe point, and subsequently made it impossible for anyone other than him to call the planes back. When news of this reaches Washington, President Merkin Muffley (Peter Sellers) calls his advisors to the war room, where General Buck Turgidson (George C. Scott) suggests the best plan of action may be to back the planes up with a coordinated all-out offensive that's sure to cripple the Soviet forces and limit American casualties to twenty million, tops. But the Russians, to everyone's surprise, have just completed a "Doomsday Machine" designed to destroy all plant and animal life on the planet, and even they cannot prevent it from retaliating.

Combine the plot details with Kubrick's direction, and it's probably safe to assume that few people in 1964 automatically assumed Dr. Strangelove would be a biting political satire. But on second thought, maybe they did. In retrospect, Dr. Strangelove feels like a departure from Kubrick's normal fare, like 2001, A Clockwork Orange, The Shining, and Full Metal Jacket, but Dr. Strangelove pre-dates them all. So a comedy doesn't seem like a Kubrick project to us, but it makes sense when you view it in context. This is a man who had done several self-produced projects, which he had parlayed into the Kirk Douglas war film Paths of Glory. When Douglas couldn't get along with Anthony Mann, he replaced Mann with Kubrick for Spartacus, primarily to serve as a figurehead through whom Douglas could operate. Naturally, this didn't work. Kubrick took over, then made Lolita, a 'light-hearted' version of the Vladimir Nabokov novel that featured a supporting turn by Peter Sellers. All this is to say that when you view Kubrick's career in that sequence, a Peter Sellers dark comedy isn't all that unexpected. In fact, it's a rather natural progression.

But enough history, let's look at the film itself. The primary settings for Dr. Strangelove are deceptively simple: the interior of a plane, the War Room, and General Ripper's office. Apart from a few others, that's pretty much it. A knowledgeable audience member realizes that much of the film is shot on sound stages, but a couple of choices in staging and camera work gives the impression of so much more.

The plane interiors are filmed as if the camera is being operated by one of the crew. There are no long tracking shots or wide establishing shots. They are instead framed in a way that at no time are we given the feeling that the production has taken out a chunk of the plane so that the camera can get the perfect angle. This gives the scenes a cramped, uneasy feeling further heightened by the borderline mental instability of the pilot, Maj. T.J. "King" Kong (Slim Pickens). Our level of closeness to him and the rest of the crew is uncomfortable, especially when you consider the nuclear bombs stored below. Contrast that with the scenes in the War Room, where Kubrick goes to great lengths to show us just how big it is.

He seats all the advisors around the type of enormous round table you only see in a film, with a circular florescent light hovering overhead. Behind them is the "big board", a large map of the Soviet Union with lights indicating the position of the planes. The room itself is so big that even the widest wide-angle shot cannot show it all. Clearly rooms of this size do not exist, but Kubrick uses it to remind us of the great power the men in this room hold, but at the same time, he often puts them in the lower part of the frame, an indication that despite all their power, there is little they can do in this situation.

And the one man in the room who should be able to prevent a nuclear holocaust, comes across as the most ineffectual of them all - President Merkin Muffley (Peter Sellers). Originally conceived by Terry Southern as a character with a bad head cold, the President is shocked to learn that not only has someone authorized an attack, but that there's no way to bring them back. And to top it off, the bill that enabled such a bizarre scenario is one that he approved. It is a politician's worst nightmare.

Of the three characters Sellers plays in the film (Muffley, Group Captain Lionel Mandrake, and Dr. Strangelove), this is the most memorable, or at the very least my favourite. His telephone conversation with the Soviet Premier ranks as one of the best comedic exchanges in all of cinema, and it's all that more impressive that we can only hear one half of the call. The Premier is drunk, so Muffley must explain things to him multiple times and deviate from a very important issue to reassure this man that "Of course I like to speak to you! Of course I like to say hello!" The three-pronged performance by Sellers is clearly one the best from this comedic genius. Much of Muffley's scenes are played against Gen. 'Buck' Turgidson (George C. Scott), a military advisor a little too enamoured with the business of war and highly distrustful of the Russians.

Scott, a criminally underrated actor, is perhaps the best thing in the film. Chomping violently on multiple sticks of gum, he's all big movements and facial contortions, ready to fly off into a rage at a moment's notice. Secretly he's thrilled with the turn of events and a little perturbed that he must waste valuable time convincing this damned politician to launch a coordinated attack. Acting-wise, Scott is off in his own little world, but it's important to note that even as he launches nearer and nearer to madness, he stays firmly grounded in the reality of the film. Few actors can chew the scenery with such vigour without detracting from the film. It's a fine line, and Scott walks it perfectly.

There's little doubt that Dr. Strangelove serves as the high-water mark for anti-war films, but it also ranks alongside not only the best comedies ever made, but also the best films. For such a timely film, it feels as fresh today as it did in the Cold War. But what's most remarkable is that it was even made at all. Imagine the modern equivalent: a dark satire about terrorism featuring the melody "We'll meet again" playing over footage of the explosion. It's the sort of bad taste no one would permit, but when you have people as bold and talented as Stanley Kubrick and Peter Sellers, they find a way to make it work. In their able hands, the gruesome becomes absurd and the horrific becomes somewhat campy and sweet. It is, hands down, one of the greatest and most brilliant things ever put on film.

The horror classic of horror classics. I'm one of the few, privileged people who can say they watched it in the theater. It was at a special screening on a horror film festival I went to a couple of years ago and I can honestly say it was one of the film experiences of my life.

Would certainly rank very high (quiçá #1) in a hypothetical "Most Watched Films of All Time" list of mine.

The majority of the 'general' western audiences knows Lady Snowblood as one of the most significant inspirations for Quentin Tarantino (and Uma Thurman) in the creation of the Kill Bill films and the character of The Bride itself. In one scene in particular from Vol. 1 - the "Showdown at the House of Blue Leaves" chapter - this is more than obvious. Anyway, I won't mention Kill Bill and Tarantino again, I promess. Lady Snowblood, although made more than 30 years ago, is a masterpiece in its own right.



This incredibly stylish film (check out all the shots that mix blood on white, whether snow or kimono) is a little known entry in the niche of female samurai films. The protagonist is a woman and a deadly one at that. Of course, she is stunningly beautiful, just in case one is not entirely captivated by her sword-wielding skills. With a great story, well-done action sequences, and talented acting, the entertainment value of Lady Snowblood could not be ruined even by the awfully cheesy 1970s Western music.

For those familiarized with Japanese history, the year is Meiji 6, and the country reels after the dissolution of the 300 year old Tokugawa shogunate. The empire is undergoing the first stages of militarization, which involves the first ever compulsory draft. Some unscrupulous shady characters run a "get out of the draft" scam, which involves spreading rumors that people dressed in white are government secret agents. The ruffians brutally murder a teacher on his way to the village where he is to work (he wore white), dispatch his son, and rape his wife. The wife manages to take revenge on one of the attackers but is arrested and thrown in jail before she could finish her task. In jail, she seduces every guard in sight in order to bear a child to complete her vengeance. This "child of the netherworld" is Yuki, Lady Snowblood (Meiko Kaji), and the film is the story of her cold revenge that takes place twenty years later.

The film is suffused with impressive imagery, and the narrative has several unexpected twists and turns. All for the better, as it keeps the story interesting beyond the visual candy, of which there is plenty. The blood and gore are also well-done, even if blood tends to spurt as if from a well-shaken Coke can. Most definitely a tad above the other (more famous) swordplay films, Lady Snowblood is a sight to behold. There's also a sequel, Love Song of Vengeance, which is not as good, but for Toshiya Fujita and Meiko Kaji fans, a must-see nevertheless.

Francine: "They're still here.
Stephen: They're after us. They know we're still in here.
Peter: They're after the place. They don't know why, they just remember. Remember that they want to be in here.
Francine: What the hell are they?
Peter: They're us, that's all, when there's no more room in hell.
Stephen: What?
Peter: Something my granddad used to tell us. You know Macumba? Voodoo. My granddad was a priest in Trinidad. He used to tell us, "When there's no more room in hell, the dead will walk the earth."



After the much-talked about Night of the Living Dead came out in 1968, George A. Romero took a 10-year break from zombies, but not from the genre. He put out The Crazies in '73, as well as the failed Hungry Wives. He then took a stab at the vampire genre in '77 with Martin before returning to the sub-genre that he started. It was the year of 1979 (although the film premièred in Italy in '78) that saw the return of Romero's zombies for U.S. audiences with Dawn of the Dead, a film that was on a much bigger budget and scale compared to the first. Some people argue that Romero's Night is one of the highest-grossing films of all time: it cost $120,000 and there is no way of knowing exactly how rich it made Romero in the box-office. As for Dawn, it cost a bit more, $1.5 million, and it grossed at least $45 million world-wide.

That's not really important, except to show the level of amateurism - in a good sense - there was in that first film. Romero was 28-years-old, a kid, and that film was pretty much a dream put in action by a bunch of other kids from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, and yet, it would forever change the horror genre. Dawn of the Dead is an obviously more crafted film (you don't get the feeling that you're watching something extremely raw and ground-breaking) and, while Night still is one of the greatest American horror films ever made, Dawn is my favourite instalment of the "Dead" series, and most definitely my all-time favourite horror film. I remember seeing it when I was but a wee lad, probably around the 100th time it was on TV. I was repulsed, I was disgusted, I was shocked, but most of all I immediately became a zombie/Romero fan for life.

Following in pace with its predecessor, Dawn of the Dead begins with an epidemic of zombies killing everyone. It follows two Philadelphia SWAT team members, a traffic reporter and his girlfriend as they seek refuge in a secluded shopping mall. Dawn of the Dead is a horror comic book come to life, with the challenge being survival. Imagine if you will, the dead are rising from their graves with no certain reasoning but that they are hungry to fest on the flesh of the living. And everyone they kill becomes like them, a mindless zombie surviving on instinct and hungry for the warm flesh of living mankind. The dead are everywhere. There's so many of them. The entire world is at war with the dead. So much as a vicious bite tearing into your flesh can spread the disease. The armies are over run. Towns are put into a state of warfare; there is seemingly no hope. And this is where the story of Dawn of the Dead begins.

The mall is the first of Romero's reversals. Night's would-be survivors were trapped in a rural farmhouse, and their only hope for survival was represented by the hope for escape to the City. Like much of America in era, Dawn's pampered protagonists abandon the unpredictable, ethnically diverse city in favour of the comforting anonymity of suburban USA - specifically, the suburban mall at which they land and eventually inhabit. Romero's distinctly Pittsburghian sensibilities can't be underestimated when explaining Dawn's appeal; the Monroeville Mall perfectly evokes the feel of a hollow monument standing at the centre of a community that couldn't be bothered to define itself any more distinctively than could be represented by their choice between Florsheim or Kinney's shoes. The mall, in essence, shoulders the burden of their identity.

Once the four make unto themselves an idyllic paradise inside the mall, cleansing it of zombies and sealing if off for themselves, they inevitably cave in to the buyer's delight, so buried in furs, guns, diamonds, and leather (and, ludicrously, cash) that they ultimately end up oblivious to the approaching motorcycle gang that threatens to crash the party. Eventually the gang breaks through the barricades (and, somehow, the moat of zombies still drawn to the mall because, according to one character, it reminds them of something they used to need) and anarchically turn the film upside down, transgressively taunting the zombies, stealing their jewellery, smashing their pusses with cream pies, and chopping their heads off for sport, not survival. Again, the way Romero portrays the roving gang is a distinct retraction from how, for instance, he painted Karl Hardman's Harry Cooper character in Night. As least in the first film, opposition didn't equal antagonism. Here, Romero's world contains strains of humanity that, as demonstrated by their lack of respect for the zombies, could be justifiably considered "worse" than death.

Dawn of the Dead features make-up/special effects by the wizard of gore himself Tom Savini. Savini is a long time partner of Romero's and this was his biggest task to that date. By today's standards, and Tom Savini's standards most of the zombies are fairly tame looking in the film with skin discolouration being the most obvious visual disfiguration. But what you have to realize is that there was no previous standard before this. Night of the Living Dead had only one flesh eating sequence, which was more than enough to freak audiences out in 1968, but Dawn of the Dead is where is got messy. The open sequences feature a raid on an apartment complex infested with the living dead. And is loaded full of gunshots and flesh tearing. The end sequences are amazingly blooding as the zombies overcome and tear victims apart. Tom is a huge contributor to this film as well as the zombie and horror genre. He designed the zombies for Dawn, and perfected the look in Day of the Dead.

Dawn of the Dead is a dated film. It takes place in the seventies, feels like the seventies and makes social commentaries on the issues of that day, including the women's liberation movement, war, foreign affairs and even economy. There's seemingly danger in every aspect of the world. So if you're in the situation of our main characters with really no hope and survival being all that you can live for then the idea of holding up in an abandoned shopping mall could be the greatest salvation. There you have access to endless supplies, temporary shelter and a place to secure a plan. Problem is it's infested with zombies. And even if you re-kill all the zombies and board up the doors you're still sitting on one of the greatest bulk of supplies available and a prime target for other survivalists and small armies. Again no hope is in sight.

Romero directs with a real kinetic charge and Dawn of the Dead is the most out-rightly action-oriented of his films. What turned the film into a real cult hit and inspired a whole new generation of Italian filmmakers though is the splatter effects. The film's entire raison d'être is often the inordinate delight that Romero and Tom Savini find in the number of ways that people can be mutilated and killed on screen. The film really gets quite creative in this regard - shotguns blowing heads off at point blank range, the top of a zombie's head sliced off with a helicopter blade, dispatches via a screwdriver twisted into a zombie's ear, zombies biting chunks of flesh out of victims' shoulders, people held down and their intestines ripped out and devoured by clambering zombies. Upwards of 200 hundred killings take place on screen and any scene, from any film, shot after 1978 approaching those descriptions drew inspiration from here. Allow me to exemplify: Edgar Wright's Shaun of the Dead may have the single most impressive on-screen disembowelment in recent cinematic history, but it's only because Romero paved the way for filmmakers like Wright, Robert Rodriguez or Danny Boyle to rip our guts along out with some luckless character's entrails 30 years ago.

In the U.S., Dawn of the Dead was released uncut rather than face the choice of either cutting the gore down or receiving the dreaded X rating. An unrated film is usually considered commercial suicide, with many newspapers refusing to carry advertising for such films, but despite this Dawn of the Dead nevertheless became a cult success. It is my favourite horror film and it played a big role in why I started to be obsessed with films in the first place.

Dawn of the Dead explores the end of mankind, being destroyed by mankind physically represented by zombies. Romero's 'message' (if you wanna call it that), for those who assume there isn't any, is quite simple: man vs. man and how we deal with our own mortality and the horror of becoming mindless and uncontrolled. Or maybe it's just the coolest zombie flick ever made, period. Either way. Everything I learned about zombie films I learned from George Romero. Everything I'm still learning about zombie films I'm still learning from George Romero. Shopping malls in the '70s had ice rinks and gun shops. Romero zombies are slow moving and weak (they're dead, remember?) but there's an endless number of them.

I never feared for my safety walking through empty parking lots, darkened rooms or deserted alleys after watching any horror film made after I was born, but every night when I turn out the light after watching Romero's film, I wonder if somewhere in the shadows of my apartment there isn't a cold hand creeping up to grab me from behind. Dawn of the Dead illustrates the difference between old and new school horror: namely, that effective thrills come from giving life those mysterious things that go bump in the night, not simply shining the light in their direction when they leap out from the darkness.

I guess there's no real point in going on and on about how much - or why - I worship this film and the man behind it so much... I just do. I'll keep wearing my Dawn of the Dead t-shirts like I have for years and my Collector's Edition - The Original Director's Cut DVD will always be one of the pieces on my collection I'm the most proud of. I wouldn't sell it to you for all the money in the world.

Dr. Millard Rausch, Scientist: "This isn't the Republicans versus the Democrats, where we're in a hole economically or... or we're in another war. This is more crucial than that. This is down to the line, folks, this is down to the line. There can be no more divisions among the living!"

David Lynch in its more raw and natural state. A film that has haunted me profoundly (in the most positive way possible) since the first time I saw it. A work of rare genius and real bravery. A stream of subconsciousness work of art in surrealism and abstractness. Eraserhead, ironically, for being Lynch's first and most honest, even 'naive' film, ends up being the one that can get you the closest you'll ever be to understand his world, to see through his mind. It's a film that seems to require interpretation. Answers, however - and this really is what stops any human being from enjoying Lynch's work - are so distant that you'll wonder if they are even intended. May very well be the greatest debut by an American director after Welles' Citizen Kane.

The classic of the 80s classics. The reason, in the end, why The Goonies is so loved is the fact that it helped us to grow. What Mikey, Mouth, Data and company got to live was basically everything we dreamed of. The adventures in caves and pirate ships, the mysteries, to find a treasure map, run from bad guys and never get caught like we watched Indiana Jones doing... we forgot for a few moments that we would never do those things. We did them, execept in front of the TV. We lived the adventure through them. An eternal childhood favourite.

A childhood favourite! There were many christmas' and birthdays when all I wanted was a Gizmo. I think I still do.

A film made by a thinker, to thinking audiences. A lot of intelligent people will no doubt suffer during its viewing, but Waking Life is everything but pretensious. It's as honest and relevant as a film can get, while incenting people to think and question issues like life, reality and human existence. How can that be pretensious? That's human nature its more raw state.

Bill: "Do you find me sadistic? You know, I bet I could fry an egg on your head right now, if I wanted to. You know, Kiddo, I'd like to believe that you're aware enough even now to know that there's nothing sadistic in my actions. Well, maybe towards those other... jokers, but not you. No Kiddo, at this moment, this is me at my most... [cocks pistol] masochistic."



Quentin Tarantino has never hid his love for 1970s exploitation and asian/kung fu genre films. His occasional film festivals have often featured forgotten and nearly-forgotten grindhouse fare and his "Rolling Thunder" distribution company (named after the 1977 revenge flick) has brought back into circulation b-films such as 1975's Switchblade Sisters (from blaxploitation director Jack Hill) and Takeshi Kitano's 1993 gangster film Sonatine, which was the first Kitano feature to be shown internationally and one of Taratino's inspirations for Reservoir Dogs (this
photo, Tarantino himself admited, being an actual tribute to that film and to Takeshi "Beat" Kitano). But with Kill Bill, Volume 1 (and later Vol. 2) Tarantino has taken all of his grindhouse and kung fu inspirations, filtered them through his own particular vision and created a masterpiece that is more than the sum of his influences.

Uma Thurman is The Bride, a member of the elite Deadly Viper Assassination Squad. When she decides to quit the professional assassination business to settle down and marry, leaving without a word after discovering she's pregnant, the other members of the team show up at her wedding - at the wedding rehearsal, actually - killing everyone present and putting her in a 4-year coma. Understandably enraged at having had four years of her life, her planned future and her unborn baby all taken from her, The Bride sets out to extract her revenge on her former team mates (Vivica A. Fox, Lucy Liu, Darryl Hannah and Michael Madsen) and their leader, the enigmatic Bill (David Carradine). Volume 1 sees the Bride start out on her quest and her encounters with a now turned suburban housewife Fox and Tokyo organized crime head Liu before ending on an emotional cliffhanger leading to what would be the concluding installment, one year later.

Even with Tarantino's trademark non-linear storytelling, the plot is strictly fairly linear, in much of the style of the many of the kung fu auctioneers released by the Hong Kong based Shaw Brothers Studio from the '60s to the early '80s. Tarantino is plundering much of the same source material that Ang Lee did for 2000's Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon. But where Lee concentrated on themes of love, honor and duty, Tarantino is more concerned with vengeance, a much rawer and bloodier business.

When I first saw Vol. 1, I believed Tarantino was - besides making a film he always dreamed of - baiting us to cheer for vigilante justice and excessive bloodshed. But having seen the whole thing now, I see that this takes place in a fantasy world, a police-free universe, in which the Bride represents the struggle of a sinful woman to break free of her chains, rid the world of her devilish master, and make the world safe for herself and whoever might come after her.

Make no mistake, Kill Bill is a violent picture, which obviously put some audience members off (members who shouldn't even be watching it in the first place, for it simply wasn't made for them) and even had the audacity to call it overrated. But the violence almost transcends itself at points. Tarantino (along with fight choreographer Yuen Wo-Ping) stage the most violent and lengthy segment ("The Showdown at the House of Blue Leaves") almost as if it was a dance number, with long flowing shots that showcase the fighting skill of all involved. At one point Thurman and several opponents square off in silhouette backlit by blue light recalling An American In Paris.

Kill Bill wears its inspirations on its sleeve. It opens with the title card "Filmed in Shaw-Scope" that graced the opening seconds of many Shaw Brothers pictures. The flashback describing fellow assassin O-Ren's background is done in Japanese animation style. Living legend Sonny Chiba, star of the Streetfighter series of films in the '70s, appears as Hattori Hanzo, a master forger of samurai swords, former Shaw Brothers star Gordon Liu (1978's 36th Chamber of Shaolin) is Johnny Mo, the head of Lucy Liu's army of black-suited yakuzas, "The Crazy 88", and the - at the time - 19-year-old Chiaki Kuriyama is the insanely psychotic and sexy Gogo Yubari (aka coolest body guard ever created) who, from the moment she appeared in cult films as Battle Royale and Ju-on, obviously got Tarantino's attention.

While many may pick up on the Bride's yellow track suit as a tip of the hat towards Bruce Lee's Game of Death (1978), many may not get the finale to the House of Blue Leaves fight as being visually inspired by the Shaw Brothers production Lady Snowblood (1973). Still, one doesn't need to know that Darryl Hannah's character is inspired in the main character of the Swedish film Thriller (aka They Call Me One-Eye, 1974) to enjoy Kill Bill any more than any other filmgoer. It's certainly fun to discover those little details, but they're just an extra. Kill Bill owes its masterpiece title to itself and, although Tarantino takes many inspiration from all those films, his outdoes most of them, which would be expected.

This same philosophy seems to have directed Tarantino's choice of music for the film's soundtrack. Here he's utilized tracks like Al Hirt's "Green Hornet", Isaac Hayes' "Run Fay Run", Argentinian master Luis Bacalov's "The Grand Duel" (from 1972's Italian Spaghetti Western of the same name) and Nancy Sinatra's cover of "Bang Bang (My Baby Shot Me Down)" (originally recorded by Cher in 1966). This is not the first time that he's cannibalized another film's soundtrack. Jackie Brown opened with the theme from Across 110th Street from the 1972 crime-drama of the same name. Tarantino makes the most of these selections, cutting images to the music's rhythm for maximum impact.

But Kill Bill - contrary to many's belief - isn't just a triumph of style, there's plenty of substance also. These characters know they're part of a cycle of violence that they may not be able to break free from. Early in the film the Bride regrets that Fox's 4-year-old daughter discovers the end result of their confrontation and tells her "If when you grow up, if you're still raw about it, I'll be waiting". When The Bride defeats Lucy Liu's O-Ren, there's not a sense of accomplishment, but one of remorse, knowing that O-Ren's life was forged from a similar experience of violent loss that has set the Bride on her own path of retribution. Whether or not the Bride can break free of this cycle of violence, especially in light of the film's final line of dialogue, would remain a doubt until April 2004, when the much expected Volume 2 came out.

Bill: "[about B.B.'s pet fish] She told me later, that the second she lifted up her foot and saw him not flapping, she knew he was dead. Is that not the perfect visual image of life and death? A fish flapping on the carpet, and a fish not flapping on the carpet. So powerful even a 4-year-old child with no concept of life and death knew what it meant. Not only did she know Emilio was dead, she knew she had killed him. So she comes running into my room, holding Emilio in both of her little hands - it was so cute - and she wanted me to make Emilio better. And I asked her, why did she step on Emilio? And she said, she didn't know. But I knew why. You didn't mean to hurt Emilio, you just wanted to see what would happen if you stepped on him, right?"



Quentin Tarantino's homage to 1970s exploitation, grindhouse and martial arts cinema concludes with the second installment of his Kill Bill saga.

Having dispatched with two of her would be killers in the first volume, The Bride (Uma Thurman) continues on her "roaring rampage of revenge". But before she confronts Bill (David Carradine), the man who ordered her death, she must first defeat two more of her former teammates. However, when she finally faces Bill, she learns what we the audience did at the end of the previous film - the daughter she thought was dead is still alive.

Where the first film packed a wallop from its visceral and often brutal fight sequences, Volume 2 delivers a more emotionally charged punch. Kill Bill, Volume 1 was a story of revenge that relied heavily on the inheritance of blaxploitation and kung fu films. Volume 2 owes more to Japanese samurai films and spaghetti westerns with its stronger emphasis on the psychological aspects of revenge and retribution.

The assassins that the Bride goes against in this installment are stronger, more complex characters. Bill's brother Bud (Michael Madsen) is tired of the death that defined his life and has seemingly exiled himself to a beaten-up trailer home in the desert. He realizes that there is a price to be paid for the life he has lead. "I don't dodge guilt", Bud explains to his brother when informed that the Bride was on her way. "She deserves her revenge, and we deserve to die", being one of the film's most famous lines. Darryl Hannah - playing what is perhaps my favourite character of the saga - deliciously shades the hatred Elle Driver holds for the Bride with just the right air of respect for her skill and power as a fighter - something that is very much a part of Asian culture, but not so much of Western one. When the two finally square off, it was the film's most intense and personal battle: brutal and desperate.

David Carradine has the role of a lifetime in Bill. A man who exudes a hypnotic, deadly charm, like the poisonous snakes he uses as codenames for his assassins. It's easy to see from the writing why Tarantino's first choice for the role of Bill was actually Warren Beatty. However, the casting of Carradine was perfect The film's opening sequence between Bill and the Bride conveys volumes of their history not through expository dialogue, but through subtle shadings of their line delivery. It's great work (storytelling work, not style or choreography) and serves to set up the film's climactic confrontation between the two. Even when we see Bill playing with the Bride's daughter B. B. an undercurrent of quietly restrained menace lies behind his loving father exterior. Not many actors can do that.

Quentin again utilizes many old genre stars in small roles, this time Swedish actor Bo Svenson (Walking Tall Part II, 1975), stuntwoman Jeanne Epper and Sid Haig (Coffey, 1973; The Devil's Rejects, 2005) in small roles. Hong Kong martial arts star Gordon Liu returns (after playing Johnny Mo in Vol. 1), this time playing one of the saga's most beloved characters, kung fu master Pai Mei. Liu literally grew up in the Hong Kong cinema (his first film work was at age seven) so he knows intimately the type of character Pai Mei is. The character feels transplanted directly from a Shaw Brothers film. Also returning from the first film in a new role is Michael Parks, playing a Mexican pimp who can direct the Bride to Bill.

While the conversations may not be as witty or as wise as those in Pulp Fiction and Jackie Brown, they do help flesh out these characters, their worldviews, and their motivations. But what makes Vol. 2 even more worth listening to is its music. This film is every bit Pulp Fiction's equal as a fusion of film and song-oriented soundtrack and surpasses the first film's music, which was pretty darn good. From the spooky retro-pop-jazz of Shivaree's "Goodnight Moon" to Robert Rodriguez's Spanish guitar stylings and Ennio Morricone's evocations of Sergio Leone films, it's a dazzling tour of music and light. In one of the film's most emotional - and, yes, human - scenes, there's an irresistible remix by Malcolm McLaren of the Zombie's brilliant '60s hit "She's Not There" that is as memorable as Mia Wallace's famous solo dance to "Son of a Preacher Man" in Pulp Fiction. One of my personal favourite soundtracks, that I proudly own and that I've listened to countless times these past few years.

But the film's chief virtue is one of performances. For the first time, Tarantino has drawn out a lead performance that overshadows his aggressive stylistic flourishes. Uma Thurman deserved an Oscar for the versatility of her work here. It is a rare wonder to see an actor commit themselves so whole-heartedly - and so whole-bodily - to such a demanding role. Robert DeNiro (Raging Bull) and Jim Caviezel (The Passion of the Christ) come to mind. Thurman makes the Bride soft, hard, funny, bitter, brave, sad, and terrified. Her tough vigor, for me, surpasses even legendary action hero performances like Bruce Willis' or Harrison Ford's in the Die Hard and Indiana Jones films. We believe that she can do anything, which is a greater achievement because... well, she's a woman.

Surprisingly, or maybe not, Tarantino doesn't tie up all his loose ends. He's made no secret of the fact that he plans to make a third volume some time in the future - I've read somewhere that he once had the idea of making it with the two little girls (B. B., the Bride's daughter, and Nikki Bell, Vernita Green's daughter, who watched her mother with a knife on her chest as a result of the Bride's revenge, as the two main leads) which means he'd have to wait ten years - and he has plenty of material to work with although, I suppose, the title would be irrelevant at that point. The Tarantino style has been copied a thousand times over since Pulp Fiction, what Kill Bill, Volume 2 proves is that he's still the man.

David Lynch's most complete and perfect film!

One of the strongest and most affecting films ever made. Horrifyingly honest, mesmerizing, scary, raw, romantic, sad and devastatingly effective. Conveys, visually, sonically and dramatically, the siren call of addiction like no other film has to date. A phantasmagoria of self-destructive obsession that is so visually astounding it becomes literally painful to watch. And yet, you can't look away. A spiritual nightmare. One very worth having. Has everything a cult film is supposed to have: innovative visuals, a haunting score, undeniably courageous performances from all of its leads and a consistently gripping narrative. A masterpiece.

"Let's deflower the kid."

Almost Famous is Cameron Crowe's pet project, a heavily autobiographical tale based on his mid-'70s adventure as a fresh-faced teenage journalist on tour with the Allman Brothers, which produced a Rolling Stone cover story that kick-started his career as a rock writer and, eventually, as a filmmaker.



The average film gives me 90-or-so minutes of mindless satisfaction. I sit in darkness, munching on some snacks staring straight ahead at the screen. Chomp, blink, sip, stare. Lots of films entertain me, but few entertain and inspire me. Almost Famous was, for me, one of the first films to accomplish both. It's an honest and touching look at many big themes such as family, friendship, love and fame, any one of which could have made for a great film. Yet, like the large cast, Crowe managed to give balance to all without shorting anyone, including the audience.

Almost Famous' opening credits are dazzling. A hand writes (just as our upcoming boyhood hero) furiously into a notebook. Then it takes us to 1969, William Miller (played by Michael Angarano as the young William) and his mother Elaine (Frances McDormand) are walking home from the movies after seeing To Kill a Mockingbird (on the marquee it reads Don't Look Back, D.A. Pennebaker's rockumentary on Bob Dylan and Truffaut's Stolen Kisses, which was a major influence on this for autobiographical reasons - Truffaut based himself as Antoine Doinel as played by Jean-Pierre Leaud).

No doubt Elaine plants these ideas of becoming an honest lawyer into William's head. She is a very hard woman, sweet under a rough exterior, a vegetarian college professor who forbids rock music into the house. William's sister Anita (well played by Zooey Deschannel) sneaks Simon & Garfunkel's Bookends album under her coat but Elaine catches her. She moves out to become a stewardess using Simon & Garfunkel's "America" to explain her reasons why and leaving William all her albums. (Beach Boys' Pet Sounds, Dylan's Blonde On Blonde, Rolling Stones' Get Yer Ya-Ya's Out!, Led Zeppelin's II, Joni Mitchell, etc. and most importantly, The Who's Tommy, with a note: "play Tommy with a burning candle and you will see your future"). End of prologue.

It is 1973, William is 15 and a senior, he's not well-liked at school, all he does is write and listen to rock music. He meets his hero, Lester Bangs (played to perfection by Philip Seymour Hoffman). Bangs is a real-life character - he was editor of Creem magazine and Crowe's real-life hero. His knowledge scattered through the film is worth the price of admission alone. His rants in the radio station, cafe, on the sidewalk and particularly end monologue in his home (the "uncool" one) are all some of the best dialogue and knowledge I've ever heard of. Anyway, Miller sends Bangs some of his writing journalism and Bangs puts him on assignment. He has to go to a Black Sabbath concert and write about it. He is to be paid $35.

He goes to the concert with strong discouragement from his mother ("Don't Do Drugs" is her constant motto) and meets a group of groupies ("a group of groupies", ha!) played by Bijou Philips, Anna Paquin, Fairuza Balk and most importantly Kate Hudson, as Penny Lane. Penny revolutionized the role of the groupie. She calls them "Band Aides", as they're there for the music and not for the sex with someone who's famous. Miller can't get into backstage with the groupies - a huge guard won't let him - so he gets backstage with Stillwater, a rising rock band. They are: audacious, arrogant lead singer Jeff Bebe (Jason Lee), drummer Ed Vallencourt (John Fedevich) and bassist Larry Fellows (Mark Kozelek) - both real-life musicians, not really actors - and finally the star, Russell Hammond (Billy Crudup). He is, as Jeff describes him, "the guitarist with mystique" and the only who really befriends Miller.

Rolling Stone then hires Miller to write a piece on Stillwater on the road. He is to be paid $1000, and have a trip not to forget. He is only to be gone for a few days and not miss one test at school but as it turns out, he stays longer involuntarily and misses graduation. The trip changes his life. He loses his virginity in a tastefully done, mirage-like threesome, falls hard in love with Penny and really hurts when married Russell uses her for sex. This develops an interesting love triangle: there's Miller who is affectionate for Hammond but falls for the first time in love for Penny who is his really around his own age, Lane, confused, is sweet and nice to Miller but cares for Hammond whom she thinks she's in love with. There are some flashes of the two in genuine love but nothing comes into fruitation. Russell, however, with his hard exterior, looks like he cares for Penny but also sells her for $50 and a case of beer in a poker game, to which she gracefully replies, in an absolutely heartbreaking scene, "what kind of beer?" It was Heineken.

The band, the Band Aids, William and his dysfunctional family, the staff at Rolling Stone - there's a large cast to keep track of. With so many characters and so many areas of potential conflict, it would have been easy to gloss over certain aspects or only go half way with the entire film. Instead, everyone is given an equal voice and the opportunity to show growth. This is an ensemble cast where everyone shows up. While Hudson, Fugit and Crudup may be standouts, that's not to mean that the rest of the cast slacks off. Besides McDormand, Hoffman, and Hudson's fellow groupies, there's also fine work by Noah Taylor as Stillwater's manager, and SNL's Jimmy Fallon, unrecognisable in a beard, as the smarmy half-manager that comes into the picture when Stillwater gets a little success.

Being a CC film, one of the its primal strengths hinges on its use of some absolutely incredible music. The soundtrack periodically drifts in and out, flooding scenes with heartfelt emotion and feeling. Many of the film's best moments are marked by a silence accompanied by several moving rock classics (the bus scene, at the sound of Elton John's "Tiny Dancer", being my favourite). Crowe knows that something special was going on in the '70s and he takes every opportunity to show his love for the period. Almost Famous is as much about music and rock as it is about growing up. Luckily, it manages to succeed without being cheesy or melodramatic. Instead, it's filled with honest moments of love and frustration as we watch a young, talented man slowly coming to terms with his youth and becoming the man who'd eventually go far and accomplish great things - including writing and directing Almost famous

Using personal and professional discovery as a frame for his film, Crowe shows a maturity of his own. Several of his prior films, such as Say Anything... and Jerry Maguire, have touched on similar themes but neither has quite the same 'real' feeling Almost Famous has. This is, of course, due to how autobiographical the film is, although I'm sure many things were the product of his imagination (I'm not sure if the fact that he might have lost his virginity with three groupies makes me admire him more or envy him to death). By making such a personal film and getting his life out and onto the screen, Crowe appears ready to tackle subjects outside his safe zone. After watching Almost Famous for the fourth time, I'm once again inspired to politely nod at my nay-sayers and hit the road (symbolically speaking) to chase my dreams and challenge my own safety zone.

To put it simply, Almost Famous made me want to live in the '70s. Just like Truffaut and Kubrick's films make me dream about the '60s. It made me want to listen to old Led Zeppelin and Black Sabbath albums that were now just collecting dust. Crowe has accomplished something enormously special here, something that can't be undervalued. He's told a story that is both simple and complex, fictional, but believable, funny, yet heartbreaking. Will always remain one of my favourite films from one of my favourite filmmakers.

"If you think that Mick Jagger will still be doing the whole rock star thing at age fifty, well, then, you are sorely, sorely mistaken."

One of my personal favourite films. A captivating, sensitive and perfect capture of life's essence. A picture whose charm, meaningfulness and perceptive intelligence is big enough to fill every one of Earth's oceans with. A film I personally connected beyond words with, and one that is likely to be appreciated by anyone who is still 'searching' for themselves. Whatever that means or how much of a cliché it might sound. The kind of film I dream of making one day.

One of the most important and influential animated films ever. Burton's dark and fascinating universe - drawings and stories - packed in not much more than an hour. A Christmas classic!

Quite possibly one of the most important and influential independent films ever made. A living proof that money is completely secondary when it comes to making good cinema.

To say that Run, Lola, Run is an original or unique film is almost like an euphemism... I mean, more original has to be close to impossible. But the truth is that this new age, modern masterpiece deserves so much more!



It's simply one of the greatest, craziest, fastest rides you'll ever have in front of a screen! You almost feel like you're inside of a videogame, of how brilliantly real it is. I feel tempted to say that perhaps perfection in the art of filmmaking was actually reached here by Tom Tykwer. Technically one of the most amazing films I've seen to date! If there's an ideal film to be shown in any film school this is the one. Everything there is to know about Filmmaking is here. Every single technique (speed-up, instant replay, black and white, animation...) all mixed with the perfect Soundtrack. All of this put together shows perfectly Tykwer's vision. What exacly in our lives is controled by us? Can one single decision change them forever? Is there something close to faith? It's not like it's the first these concepts are put on film. Memento andThe Butterfly Effect both did it as well, with the same brilliance, but both were slow paced, thoughtful films. Lola takes you out of your seat, grabs you by the neck and only puts you down when the credits roll! Those 80 minutes just fly! We feel like it could go on for the next couple of hours. I know I wished... How many films do that? A film that will serve as an inspiration for future generations of filmmakers. Visionary!

Jim: "Do you know what I was thinking?
Selena: You were thinking that you'll never hear another piece of original music ever again. You'll never read a book that hasn't already been written or see a film that hasn't already been shot.
Jim: Um, that's what you were thinking.
Selena: No. I was thinking I was wrong.
Jim: About what?
Selena: All the death. All the shit. It doesn't really mean anything to Frank and Hannah because... well, she's got a Dad and he's got his daughter. So, I was wrong when I said that staying alive is as good as it gets.
Jim: See, that's what I was thinking.
Selena: Was it?
Jim: Hmm. You stole my thought.
Selena: Sorry.
Jim: It's okay. You keep it."



Whatever people say, Danny Boyle's 28 Days Later IS a zombie film. It's the sum of Boyle's and Alex Garland's B-influences and inspirations - namely George A. Romero's Dead trilogy (Night, Dawn and Day) and Boris Sagal's The Omega Man. Actually, the most accurate way to describe it is probably by calling it a "21st century zombie film". It's both a replicate and an inversion of Romero's Dawn of the Dead. The similarities between the films are obvious - the differences are subtler, and more important. Both films provide apocalyptic scenarios, often ignoring the patterns of the traditional horror flick - instead, these films examine the collapse of civilization, and the trouble of rebuilding it. 28 Days Later and Dawn of the Dead are more in tune with Lord of the Flies than Sam Raimi's Evil Dead trilogy.

Most importantly, both films share a common thesis: humanity is ugly. In both Dawn and 28 Days Later, it is the humans, not the zombies, who pose the greatest threat to their fellow humans. The films' theses diverge, however, when they examine how these villainous humans relate to civilization. Since Romero's Night of the Living Dead (1968), the zombie sub-genre has been an unlikely catalyst for thoughtful filmmaking. Chills and cheese comfortably share the screen with grander subjects (proving that horror films can be the most interesting films of all). In Night, the subject is familial structure. In Romero's sequel, Dawn of the Dead, the subject is societal structure.

After a theme-setting beginning, 28 Days Later's action primarily surrounds a bike messenger named Jim (Cillian Murphy). Being comatose after a brain surgery, Jim slept in a locked room for the first 28 days of the outbreak of a contagion that turns ordinary humans into rage-infected zombies communicable by blood or saliva with a maximum of a ten second incubation period. Confused and frightened, Jim hobbles through an empty London looking for answers, finding instead the aforementioned Zombies wanting to bite the hell out of him. This set-up of a new player, thrust into a developing situation allows the film to have someone to explain things without sounding patronizing to an audience hopefully smarter than your average zombie.

The explanations come from Selena (Naomie Harris) and Mark (Noah Huntley), two uninfected survivors who have been through 28 days of pure Pandemonium in a post -apocalyptic London controlled by the infected. Along the way they face death, undeath, new travellers, fires, corporate greed, humour, new death, new undeath, and Britain's finest officers of the military, all of which combine to show a bleak present and a scary as hell road picture which isn't afraid to have more than two acts.

Both Dawn and 28 Days Later are stories of survivors. In Dawn, these survivors take refuge in an abandoned shopping mall. There, they find all the tools and necessities of civilization - food, weapons, energy, entertainment, etc. They slowly begin to rebuild, keeping their enemies (the zombies) in permanent check. This lasts for several months, and they slowly regain the sanity and satisfaction they knew before the zombies. Their plans go awry, however, when a nomadic biker gang invades, looting the mall and destroying their homes. They are forced back into the wilderness, where they must find another haven and start again.

In 28 Days Later, the opposite occurs. It is the wanderers, and not the builders, who are the heroes. They do not seek to recreate society so much as reconnect with humanity - they are more concerned with family than with civilization. In their struggle to survive, they discover an entire brigade of soldiers who've shielded themselves against the infected. These soldiers have made plans for reconstruction, including the reorganization of agriculture, the reinstitution of government, re-population, and (above all) "the answer to infection."

The soldiers quickly prove to be more dangerous than the infected. Their plan for re-population includes taking advantage of Selena and the young Hannah (Megan Burns), and stopping anyone who voices the slightest moral protest. Their strategies of defence are based on the crudest definitions of what is and is not "human" (while Jim hesitates to kill an infected, and feels remorse afterwards, the soldiers don't think twice about the implications of their nightly shootings). In 28 Days Later, civilization is founded on humankind's ugliest characteristics. Cold necessity, and not familial warmth, is the bedrock of human society.

In Dawn, it is the survivors in the mall, and not the wandering looters, who express remorse for the necessary killings. For Romero, order and humaneness are connected. The bike gang observes none of the conventions of civilization - within their brotherhood, chaos and amorality abound. Only within the organizing principles of society is goodness and sanity achieved.

In 28 Days Later, it is the organizing principles of society that produce evil and insanity. This is implicit in the film's first shots, which portray riots and equally violent riot-control. These images are being shown to a chimpanzee that has been infected, by scientists, with the deadly virus. This virus does not exist in nature, but is a creation of medical science (think Frankenstein, another horror sub-genre of fascinating depth). The virus is forcibly given to apes in inhumane animal testing facilities - the virus is unwittingly released by animal rights activists whose hearts are in the right place, but whose actions are devastating. The message here is clear - civilization is a mess; humans can't do anything right.

28 Days Later works well on its own merits. The long silences between bursts of violence allow empathy for the film's characters (always reliable Irish actor Brendan Gleeson is particularly touching as a teddy bear father-figure). Like all good horror films, when one of the heroes is struck down it actually means something. If 28 Days Later has one major fault, it's the use of digital video. Certain action sequences morph into abstract blurs where it's near impossible to tell what's happening. Still, this problem is relatively minor considering the hard-driving intensity of 28 Days Later. The Rage virus feels particularly topical in our angry modern times. But maybe the more appropriate metaphor is that anyone who has struggled through a grouchy, apocalyptic mood during 28 days of nicotine/drug/alcohol withdrawal will find their hostile sentiments reflected in this anger-fuelled nightmare odyssey. A future horror classic.

Classic? A film that had to be done in BW because there wasn't enough money, and still won pretty much every award it could around the world. There's no need to talk about the story or the 'substance', 'cause it's pretty much unexistent. Just an ordinary day in the life of two clerks. And still, brilliant. I still say Chasing Amy is Smith's most accomplished work, but Clerks will always be Clerks...

After reading a couple of reviews of some of some Flixster friends of mine and some other 'strangers' (who probably only wrote them because of The Departed) I just had to write one myself! First of all, you can't compare both films, period! It's the same thing as comparing American and Asian Cinema, which doesn't make any sense. That's a mistake that lots of people are making. American Cinema tends to be more facilitated, with more easy and accessible material, less complex. In fact, I read here more than once that certain people were confused. Guess what? That was the point! There lies the main difference between both films, I think.



I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm no fool. I know perfectly that The Departed, cinematographically speaking, is as good, perhaps even better than Infernal Affairs. Pretty much perfect in almost every aspect. The acting is flawless, the direction is, as Scorcese himself, brilliant. Only the thing is... I'm still one of those (apparently few) people who believe that a film, before being a way of making money, is the result of a solitary act of creation and inspiration. An expression form. Which normally results in a screenplay. That's why (no matter how good William Monahan's adaptation is) I could never consider The Departed better than Infernal Affairs. Could never deny it's a huge cinematographic achievement, Scorcese's best film since Goodfellas and probably the best american remake ever (like my ****½ rating proves), but I could never consider it 'perfect'. Not when it's purely an 'americanization' of something that was already perfect.

"Immature poets imitate, mature poets steal."

T. S. Eliot

The definition of clever comedy. Edgar Wright and Simon Pegg's tribute to one of their obsessions (Horror/Zombie films) and one of the most original, hilarious and brilliant comedies ever made. The kind of film that only the Great Britain can make. Bloody brilliant! - literally.

A simply stunning debut! It's kind of impossible to pull off a better first picture then the one Rian Johnson did. A brilliant way of converting the cryptic communication and obligations of high school into an amazing mystery. A fusion between a '90s teen drug drama and a '30s noir. Fantastic!

Another film that was destined to divide people from the start. I'm glad to say I'm on the side of those who managed to see the real brilliance of Match Point. This film is just so many things at once... A brilliant study of the the role of luck in life, a dark tale of societal comfort and class distinctions, a chilling psychological thriller and a simply sublime look at human nature. Diabolically clever, gripping, sexy and, for anyone who still doubted that Scarlett Johansson is Marilyn Monroe reincarnated, an ultimate doubt-shatterer. Woody Allen's best film since 1986's Hannah and Her Sisters.

One of the most honest and socially relevant films of the decade, perhaps ever made. Strange and unexplainably funny look a man's death under inhumane and indignifying conditions and a harsh, important critique of the modern medical system that some countries unfortunely have. Seemingly artless, documentary-style mise en scène, with the characters followed by a shoulder-mounted camera. Cristi Puiu is the only filmmaker I know who has such a compassion for human behaviour and a tight grip on realist, documentary-style filmmaking at the same time. The kind of film that transcends borders and can talk to people worldwide.

THIS IS A REVIEW OF THE DESCENT's 'ORIGINAL UNRATED CUT' DVD.

Rebecca: "This isn't Boreham Caverns, is it, Juno?
Juno: Holly was right! Boreham Caverns was a tourist trap!
Holly: Don't try to pin this fucking shit on me!
Rebecca: So where ARE we, Juno?
Juno: It hasn't got a name. It's a new system. No one's ever been down here before. I wanted us all to discover it.
Rebecca: So, this isn't caving. This is an ego-trip!"



I originally caught The Descent at a 24-hour film marathon a couple of years ago. All the films were secret so everything was a surprise, and this film was the biggest of all. Being a self-confessed fan of (good) horror, I can be overly critical towards this genre, considering my desensitization over the years very little scares the fuck out me anymore - the latest exception is a Spanish film called [Rec], which I already had the chance to praise here. Especially the current crop of horror (if you can call it that) films that seem to resort to cheap scares, obviously lead-you-in-the-right-direction, build-up music and quick cuts, these gimmicks are lame and furthermore an insult to any intelligent audience. Which is why if I ever have the chance to meet Geordie Neil Marshall, I'd proudly shake his hand, maybe even give him a friendly hug for creating such a fantastic horror film that's actually horrific, has some interesting characters that you care about and creating an overall sense of tension and dread which he manages to sustain throughout the entire film without having to cheapen out on us. Phenomenal work mate!

I hadn't been genuinely freaked out by a horror flick in a while, and this truly was an edge-of-your-seat experience about a group of six female adventurers that go on a caving expedition. Because that's what hip 20-something British chicks do! They get stuck in an uncharted cave system and discover a bunch of freaky Gollum-looking monsters, called crawlers that begin to hunt them down systematically. Oh yeah, these things are also blind and hunt with sound. The point is that Marshall actually came up with a decent script, an original idea and a believable story.

The film doesn't really get going until about 30 minutes in, Marshall gives you ample time to get to know the characters, six women, Sarah (Shauna Macdonald), Juno (Natalie Mendoza), Beth (Alex Reid), Rebecca (Saskia Mulder), Sam (MyAnna Buring) and Holly (Nora-Jane Noone), who will likely appeal to many different people, I certainly have my favorites. We are provided an opportunity to explore their personalities and of course the usual set-up for the story. Sarah has recently suffered a tragedy, her husband , Paul (Oliver Milburn) was impaled in a car accident, Sarah witnessed this from the passenger side seat. This turned out to be a traumatic experience that hasn't left her the same since. A year later, her friends arrange an adventure trip to explore some caves.

The main reason, the way I see it, as to why The Descent works so well is the cave structure the women find themselves trapped in. It creates an appropriate sense of claustrophobia that provides the drive for most of the tension built up during the course of the film. Marshall utilises several techniques to give the audience the jumps - which are literally hundreds. He plays with darkness extremely well, lighting these caves practically with whatever the girls have on them: helmet lights, flashlights, flares, fire and glow sticks. Sam McCurdy's cinematography is not only realistic but allows Marshall to use the darkness as a tool to scare the viewers into not knowing what's going to happen around each corner and crevasse. I've seen a few horror films with rather impractical lighting that ruins the atmosphere and The Descent took a rational approach to it and managed to pull it off.

Sound is also used to maximum effect; imagine being stranded in a dark cave and all you can hear are drips of water, the occasional echo of one's voice interrupted by the snares and grunts of creatures hiding in the dark waiting to get you. Well, you don't need to imagine that, Marshall and crew created that environment with an equal balance of tried and tested film techniques. Which is yet another impressive aspect of this film, no CGI. That's right, a modern horror film without the aide of computer generated monsters and all that bullshit, everything you see on-screen are actual sets (with the occasional extension) and real monster make-up for the crawlers - the main one played by Craig Conway. This makes for a nice change of pace.

Unlike other films in this genre, the music is something largely overlooked, usually relegated to the standard creepy strings with stab-like effect or heavy metal track, an orchestral score seems to have gone the way of the dinosaur with horror but Marshall resurrects it with a thrilling score by David Julyan that heightens your tension, keeps you on the edge of your seat and creates an appropriate sense of menace without ever pandering to the audience. I hate it when the music gives away a scare, let silence do the work, and Marshall knows when to use music and for that I am grateful.

On the script level, Marshall - who wrote as well as directed - proves himself a master of genre film, hitting all the right notes while also showing himself willing and able to go the extra mile. With this sort of film he could probably have gotten away with writing very simple characters and going straight for the gore but his refusal to do that elevates Marshall's work above the genre pack. He builds a deep relationship between his characters, particularly between the central three, layering in depths of meaning and subtext with subtlety and grace, and those extra grace notes go a long way towards selling the story once the more extreme elements kick in. And as for those more extreme elements, Marshall simply nails them.

As for the cast, the entire group is strong with Shauna MacDonald turning in a particularly strong performance in the lead, and most emotionally demanding role. Group dynamics are a hard thing to get right, particular in a group this size made up almost entirely of people who are supposed to have been close friends for years, and this group makes it look effortless. All of the players do a fine job when it comes to selling the more physical elements of things and, let's be honest here, who doesn't love the sight of a blood drenched woman bashing in the skull of an underground ghoul with the thigh of some long dead animal?

And finally, the execution. Marshall is simply dead solid behind the camera. He shoots gorgeous film and paces things beautifully. He shifts gears seamlessly between moods and always knows when to tease and when to deliver. He establishes his mastery with a pair of early sequences. He uses the opening three minutes of the film - a river rafting sequence revolving around the central three characters - to instantly and easily establish the relationship between the three while also delivering the tragedy that will drive MacDonald's character through the rest of the film with casual, ruthless efficiency. And again, when the film jumps forward in time a year to get us to the larger group, Marshall needs just a few minutes to establish and link each of his six characters. With just a few minutes we easily understand each of them and their relationship to one another. That he can pull this off so easily is no small feat. And Marshall's not just good with character, he is a maestro at manipulating tension and sending in the gushes of blood.

The Descent is one hell of a ride into the depths. Neil Marshall has created something quite important and possibly revolutionary for the horror genre: a menacing horror film that doesn't resort to cheap shots, and one of the most effective, oh-so-fucking-brilliant endings I've ever seen. If you're a horror fan, if you already haven't, you must lay your eyes on this film and your hands on this disc.

Girl in Cafeteria: "What are you writing?
Alex: Uh, this? It's my plan.
Girl in Cafeteria: For what?
Alex: Oh, you'll see."



Gus Van Sant's Elephant, at first blush, seems on an inexorable path to controversy. The film that put a stop to the nine-year absence of American cinema from the list of Palme d'Or winners, it is a quietly horrifying, fictional exploration of a Columbine-like school shooting... but one with little - or absolutely no - moralizing about its subjects. The film projects a cavernous, labyrinthine American educational system that has little understanding of the deeper social forces affecting its students. Perhaps most provocative, the two male killers share a pre-annihilation kiss. Add political fire-storm, mix well, and serve.

These details, however, misrepresent the undeniably compelling nature of Van Sant's mesmeric film. Told in sparse, improvised dialogue that erupts between longer, langorous passages of time, Elephant strips the tragic sentimentality from this particular social catastrophe, allowing viewers to look reflectively at a larger context. It is moving, yes, and sad too. But it's also fine, magnificent work that makes one re-consider preconceived notions about Columbine?s massacre and its causes. It is important, timely, and visionary cinema.

Considering that Van Sant revelled in unchecked sentimentalism when he directed another story about two mixed-up boys (Good Will Hunting), the cool, even tone of Elephant is refreshing and unexpected; it is, perhaps not surprisingly, the best film of his career. His cast, comprised of over a dozen untrained teenagers in Portland, Oregon, reach astonishing heights under his direction, inhabiting their high-school trajectories with disarming honesty and adolescent ritual. Improvised dialogue can often be indulgent and grating, but here the cast?s personal experiences imbue it with a clarity no screenwriter could have attained. Particularly outstanding are John Robinson as a social butterfly who must care for his alcoholic father, and Alex Frost as the social outcast who takes solace in classical piano and internet gun websites.

Unhurried and unconstricted, Van Sant follows a very particular and personal vision, reflected most exquisitely in the cinematography of Harris Savides. The camera floats ethereally around the campus, a seemingly endless connection of nondescript hallways, vacant gymnasiums, and personality-beige classrooms. Savides fills each frame with a classical grandeur, a rolling beauty that underscores both the banal commonality of high school life and the missed opportunities in every moment. It is as if the camera is telling us that life is precious... and no one is there to listen. Savides' images are complemented by an outstanding score - a collection of songs chosen by Van Sant himself - that enhances the elegiac quality of the filmmaking. The music of Beethoven, in particular, resonates superbly in the film's atmospheric aura.

Much was made of the details of the story, where controversy would always find plenty to rear its ugly head about. The final strength of Elephant, however, is not in these particular plot points, but in its steady, sharp focus on the larger picture. The murders, we all know, are horrific. But the blissful, unaware hours that precede them - which make up the majority of the film - are even more so. The minutiae of high school life becomes electrically charged by the misery we know is imminent, but Elephant never tips its emotional hand to exploit this. The tension stays firmly in us, and not the students - they are dramatically unprepared for cataclysm when it occurs. When tragedy finally does arrive, even we who knew what was coming are unprepared for its impact. What in the hands of a lesser director might have become overwrought or maudlin is instead a cool, dispassionate sadness at the inevitably of a culture gone awry.

Elephant's greatest achievement is to remove the veil of history from these events, making the unreal real again. Great art undoes its viewer, in order to remake us. On that score, Van Sant has scored an unreserved triumph. And I'm sure that Béla Tarr was proud to have influenced such fine cinema.

"So foul and fair a day I have not seen."

Enid: "Josh.
Rebecca: Josh.
Enid, Rebecca: Josh!
Enid: God, I'll bet he's in there jerking off.
Rebecca: I'll bet he never jerks off.
Enid: Yeah, he's beyond human, and stuff like that.
Rebecca: Should we leave him a note?
Enid: Sure. You got a pen?
[Rebecca pulls out a pen, Enid takes it]
Enid: [writing] Dear Josh, we came by to fuck you, but you were not home. Therefore... you are gay. Signed Tiffany, and Amber."



Based on the acclaimed, cult graphic novel by Daniel Clowes (who co-wrote the screenplay with director Terry Zwigoff), Ghost World is the most accurate account of contemporary teen life ever filmed. It joins American Graffiti, Dazed and Confused, and The Graduate as a love letter to that time in one's life when the security net of school is pulled away, and The Great Beyond looms ahead. But unlike such previous coming-of-age films, Ghost World feels like something from the new millennium, a time when honesty seems truly extinct.

Like the cynical teenage perception it illuminates, Ghost World is a film which never quite lets you figure out what it's about. It's always shifting focus and viewpoint reflecting that phase in human life which characteristically is about finding a path and finding something reliable to depend on or believe in at a time when everything is changing and nothing is really what it seems. At the beginning we think it's about two very alienated teenagers graduating from high school looking at a not very inspiring range of choices of future. What initially seems to be an unshakeable alliance in disgust between Enid (Thora Birch) and Rebecca (Scarlett Johansson) at the conformity and posing they see around them quickly starts to disintegrate once they leave the familiar milieu of school.

Finding they don't fit in at school is easy. Their non-conformist role helps them identify themselves at least by what they don't relate to. Their jaded revulsion for all the posers who have apparently successfully adapted to the superficial world of strip malls, fake theme franchises and Barbie doll values leads them to pick on specific targets to torment, losers who have no hope of fitting in. At least some sense of power and superiority results. Rebecca has always attracted the boys because of her blonde natural beauty, and has never needed to play up to get their attention. Darkly intense Enid is more likely rudely to put those boys down, revealing an inner insecurity while denying secretly being in love with one of them, Josh (Brad Renfro), a local convenience store clerk who fancies Rebecca. Enid unsettles people she doesn't like by a deliberate non-responsiveness, doing the opposite of what is expected.

What becomes more difficult when they leave school is a divergence of personality brought about by their changed environment. Rebecca seems content to work in a coffee bar, saving to get their own apartment. Enid, on the other hand, finds herself unable to conform to the fake, happy, up-selling salesperson persona demanded by her employer and is fired during her first day. Enid accuses Rebecca of selling out to false societal values. Rebecca can no longer understand Enid's apparently universal negativity and is impatient with her self-absorbed unreliability.

What is diverting Enid from her alliance with Rebecca is that a prank which she perpetrates with Rebecca and Josh, falsely answering a personal ad by Seymour (Steve Buscemi) in order to exult in his humiliation, backfires. Perhaps it is because something in Seymour's lonely outcast status resonates within her that she follows him to his home. Finding him to be a passionate vintage blues record collector she gradually becomes his friend, discovering a similar love in herself for the authenticity of the voice of legendary blues great Skip James. Rebecca is astonished. "You actually like that guy?", she asks. Enid replies, "Well, he's the exact opposite of everything I hate."

Seymour's visual unpretentiousness appeals to Enid. There's a purity about him - a realness - that she finds attractive. Could it be that Seymour is Enid's ticket back into the human race? The two hang out together. At a blues bar, Seymour complains when the roar of televised sports coverage interrupts a guitar-strumming blues musician. "Turn off their stupid sports until he's done playing," the purist protests. Later, when a blaring, commercial party band called Blues Hammer takes the stage, Seymour makes a hasty run for the exit. "I can't relate to 99.9% of humanity," Seymour complains to Enid after their escape. "Give most of these people a pair of Nikes and a Big Mac, and they're happy."

It's here that the true heart of Ghost World is revealed. The film's characters are caught in a battle between honesty and survival, between holding true to their beliefs and selling out. The "ghost world" in question is a nameless town inundated by mini-malls, coffee shops, film theatres, and people desperately and hopelessly trying to get rid of yesterday's stuff. Enid can't bring herself to sell a toy during a yard sale not necessarily because the potential buyer is a perceived "loser" but because it's easier to keep it than to perceive someone else reinventing the life of something she once held dear.

Ghost World is a teen film only in the sense that the two main characters happen to be teenagers. Other than that, it shares nothing in common with the glut of teen films that have filled the screen in recent years. Many of these films have been amusing and entertaining, but too often they are vapid affairs that have little interest in their characters and how they fit into a commercialized world. More than anything, Ghost World stands apart because it is a striking film about the difficulties of asserting individuality, particularly for young people who are on the cusp of adulthood and must begin to define themselves outside of mocking the realm of adolescence that has consumed them for the past decade. The constant danger for Enid and Rebecca is that they are always on the verge of becoming the very losers that they define themselves by ridiculing. With little in the way of prospects ahead of them, the film's humour is constantly tempered by the fact that they may be the young version of all that they hate in adulthood.

The performances are electrifying. Thora Birch, two years after American Beauty, is absolutely brilliant, effortlessly combining the featureless of the cartoon character of the original Ghost World comic with a deeply layered portrayal of a complex, introverted teenager. Her reactions have all the more impact for her stillness. Fifteen year-old Scarlett Johannsson, playing an 18-year-old with confidence, delivers her lines with conviction and matches Birch absolutely. Steve Buscemi is riveting as Seymour, his energy, body language and posture conveying a hopeless resignation that Enid refuses to accept for her own future.

The film is visually impressive. Brilliantly evoking the satirical premise of Ghost World, Zwigoff's direction is never intrusive or showy and we don't get excessive camera movement or quick-cuts, or little visual hiccups and burps to accentuate how cool and hip the film is supposed to be. The dialogue and performances are all uniformly terrific. Zwigoff's comic timing is miraculously dead-on in all but one short scene (an over-the-top character does a slapstick kung fu type of routine early on in the film - which actually almost pays off at the end). Zwigoff's timing (visually, in the edit room and with his actors) and instincts are so perfect that the quirky and unique material is not just sporadically funny, but consistently amusing and affecting. You'll be laughing out loud many, many times during the film.

The music is a mixture of punk, new-wave, traditional jazz, blues and pop that is part of the fabric of the film and never substitutes for or tries to dishonestly short-cut a response from the audience. Even when the characters are listening to specific music, we are still more caught up with them and what they are doing then with the music. That doesn't happen very often.

If you try to say Ghost World is a little bit like... say Rushmore or Clueless, or maybe Welcome to the Dollhouse or American Beauty, you don't come close at all to describing what it really is - only what it isn't. Ghost World isn't like any other film you've seen. It's hilariously funny and depressingly grim, endlessly original and strangely familiar and real. It's all too appallingly real. An astonishing film, graced with one of the most beautiful, haunting, hopeful, and magical endings I've seen in a long time. A remarkable achievement. The stuff that great American cinema should always be made of.

Rebecca: "So, what do you do if you're a Satanist?
Enid: Sacrifice virgins and stuff.
Rebecca: I guess that lets us off the hook."

Von Trier's most complete work! Amazing film! Great performance by Nicole Kidman!

Szofi: "[at subway vending machines] Nice place. Come here often?
Bulcsú: Only when I really want to impress a girl."



An enormous crowd pleaser at several 2004 film festivals throughout the world - picking up the "Prix de la Jeunesse" (Award of the Youth) at Cannes - and young Hungarian-American Nimród Antal's film début, Kontroll is one of the most creative and original films I've ever seen. Part black comedy, part action/thriller and part allegorical tale of redemption, it mixes elements from standard American urban thrillers with the feverish, dreamlike distortions of classic Eastern European art cinema, played out in the labyrinthine tunnels of the Budapest subway system, the world's second oldest.

There's something very appealing and appropriate about subway systems as an outsider film location, underworlds in which those who do not fit in or have rejected the values of society above can feel at home, subsections of society in which small pockets of precariously maintained civilisation are connected by a large network of dark tunnels that could house just about anything, areas into which no sane person would venture without the protection of a big metal underground train. Antal takes full advantage of that evocative locale by setting all of Kontroll down there - shooting the entire film at night in the stations and tunnels of the Budapest Metro - with the world outside and above never glimpsed, except as a distant hazy light just above the topmost stairways. The result: a highly exciting, visually alive thriller that stands as one of the most promising débuts in recent film history.

Kontroll opens with a message from the director of the BM, stating that the film we are about to watch is a work of fiction - which, therefore, has to be seen symbolically and not literally - and that the employees of the Metro don't behave as shown. We then understand why. According to Antal's vision, the Budapest subway system is the kind of place where people threaten each other with Gypsy curses and dirty syringes, amateur welders work on the rails, and even the white-collar business travellers don't bother buying a ticket. Administered by a Kafkaesque bureaucracy, the system employs five-member crews of ticket collectors - controllers - to ensure law, order, and proper payment of fares.

This is the story of one group, an unkempt unit already on probation for breaking the rules. There's the leader - our protagonist - the mysterious and damaged Bulcsú (Sándor Csányi) who never goes above ground, the elegant and middle-aged Professor (Zoltán Mucsi), the belligerent, slightly insane Muki (Csaba Pindroch), Lescó the narcoleptic (Sándor Badár) and the new boy, Tibi (Zsolt Nagy). They're the kind of group fused together by foul working conditions, general anarchy, and the hate of the general public. They're also the kind of guys who routinely wake up smeared with blood, ketchup, or something worse, and it's somewhat normal for them to walk through a door into a fight with pipe-wielding, face-painted hooligans. (The existence of these gangs is never explained; they're just there.)

Bulcsú's motley crew are constantly faced with public contempt, erupting hostility, wild chases and violence on their daily rounds - complicated by the insolent cheats (including their nemesis, a fast punk called "Bootsie" who wears a CD headset and often sprays paint in the controllers' faces); the callous indifference of their subway system bosses; the contempt of a rival, slicker group of inspectors; and the assaults of a mysterious, hooded serial killer who has been terrorizing the system, randomly pushing passengers off the platforms into the paths of oncoming trains.

One of the problems I have with leading characters in many Hollywood films is that, even those in the most grubby and punishing jobs, don't look like the people who actually carry out these tasks, but good-looking actors pretending to be them. In Eastern European cinema the opposite occurs. There's not a face in Kontroll that doesn't look like it has wandered in from the back streets of Budapest, and the film is all the better for it. Hollywood relies on the recognition factor for character engagement - oh look, it's Tom Cruise, I know him, therefore I know the character - but in Kontroll you engage with the characters in part because the faces so perfectly fit. You feel you know them precisely because, in a way, you do - you've met them, worked with them, are related to them. Perhaps you even are them.

It helps, of course, that they are genuinely funny people, or at least funny to us - they have a somewhat negative world view arising from working in a largely thankless job that offers the thin illusion of power to those who would otherwise never command it. Their authority is tenuous at best - the controllers are identified only by a simple armband pulled over their regular clothes, their slovenly attitude and scruffy appearance making it all too easy for those they confront to ignore, argue with or even attack them. It is these very confrontations that provide some of the funniest moments, and if a couple of these groan under the weight of painful stereotyping - the smiling, camera wielding Japanese family, the outrageously camp predatory gay - many of the others are inventive and wittily handled, and in one case involving a syringe and a saw, borderline surreal.

The great unspoken question of the film is this: why is Bulcsú down there? He doesn't just work in the subway - as we find out in the opening scene, he lives there 24 hours a day, sleeping on benches and empty platforms after the last train stops running. In one scene, we find that Bulscú has left a job - not named, though his former colleague's words and possessions make either architect or mathematician seem the most likely possibilities - at which he was quite good, and which surely was more profitable than his current job.

Antal's messages are so subtle you don't even notice they're under your skin until they're already there. Bulscú relishes the loner mentality he can cultivate in the subway, and Antal's crafty direction heightens that feeling of isolation to the point where it becomes incredibly ominous. The contradiction between the closed-in world of the underground and the wide-open way in which Antal frame it is a brilliant representation of Bulscú's mindset - the underground may be a finite network, but to him it represents more freedom than the surface world ever did.

He has a different take on the underground. For him, it's not just a workday hell, as it is for his co-worker-mates; it's a source of magic, adventure, athletic triumph (he's a crack tunnel-racer) and romance. Bulscú's world-view starts to shift with the introduction of Szofi (Eszter Balla), a pretty, weird girl who rides the subway dressed in a teddy-bear costume. Representing the good side of human nature, she is a stark contrast to the faceless killer's random attacks. In the end, Bulscú must come face to face with both.

Many people have described Nimród Antal as the Hungarian Danny Boyle. With the film's slick, jazzy aesthetic and high beats per minute, it's relatively easy to notice how Kontroll resembles Trainspotting - the weird little guy (Badár) even looks a little like Robert Carlyle's Begbie - although it also reminds Doug Liman's work. Point is: Antal has talent. And he obviously knew where to draw inspiration from. As for the acting, Sándor Csányi is a marvellously magnetic actor, and he inhabits the whole Brando-Dean-De Niro-Pacino persona with impudent skill and deep inner emotionality. The ensemble is a fine one too, salty character actors with pungent faces and lines. But the truest star of Kontroll, of course, is the Budapest underground itself, which I very much hope to visit one day.

Vilmos Zsigmond's apprentice DP Gyula Pados' fulsome cinematography makes of the underground sets the kind of textured iconographic landscape of Wim Wenders' late American films. A dream (paced by electronica group Neo's rowdy, fantastic score), in which Bulcsú finds himself crawling through something like an endless vaginal tunnel, is the moment when Kontroll comes fully alive: it's the juncture between metaphor, craft, and narrative - and for almost all of its final hour, the film maintains an unbelievably high level of invention and insight. It's a great Sci-Fi piece, a razor-sharp satire, a horrific thriller, a lyrical fantasy and an impressive calling card for an emerging Hungarian cinema. Fantastic!

"What else are you gonna do on a Saturday? Sit in your fuckin' armchair wankin' off to Pop Idols? Then try and avoid your wife's gaze as you struggle to come to terms with your sexless marriage? Then go and spunk your wages on kebabs, fruit machines and brasses? Fuck that for a laugh! I know what I'd rather do. Tottenham away, love it!"



The most realistic, focused look at football hooliganism since Alan Clarke's The Firm. Very unlikely to be enjoyed by anyone who doesn't appreciate football (and I mean, Football, the most popular sport in the globe, not that thing with fucking helmets) and doesn't understand the hooliganism phenom. The point wasn't to glorify it (how could anyone?), it was to show it for what it really is: working class lads who have nothing to look forward to in their lives but a football match on the weekends. Rough, dirty, and ugly. And Danny Dyer is one of the coolest mothherfuckers around.

One of the first asian horror films I watched in the theater. Back when Hollywood didn't buy and destroyed creativity and originality so often...

Another example of the new school of filmmaking that focuses on a certain event involving several characters whose lives intersect and tells that event through those characters' different perspectives. Probably deserves a place in film trivia history because the entire film takes place over just half an hour, with the action continually flashing back to follow another character's point of view. As such, it's a tightly constructed, sharply written film with several enjoyable pay-offs as the script deftly balances shocks and surprises with moments that are laugh-out-loud funny. The superb ensemble cast has a lot of fun with their quirky characters. Hilary Swank is hilarious as witted store clerk Buzzy (the part was originally written for a man but was rewritten specially for her). Swank and Rachael Leigh Cook are the obvious stand-outs but there's strong work from Ben Foster, Colin Hanks, Shawn Hatosy and Patrick Swayze. There's also a catchy score by Clint Mansell and writer-director Greg Marcks ensures that the action moves along at a cracking pace. A hell of a fun film!

Medical Deputy #1: "You know, Fred, if you keep your sense of humour like you do, you just might make it.
Fred: Make it? Make what? The team? The chick? Make good? Make do? Make out? Make sense? Make money? Make time? Define your terms. The Latin for 'make' is facere, which always reminds me of fuckere, which is Latin for 'to fuck', and I have been getting jack shit in that department as of late."



The secret to a successful viewing of Richard Linklater's A Scanner Darkly is not to put yourself in a drug-addled state, regardless of how many other benefits that may have, nor is it to ready yourself for another one of Keanu Reeves' Sci-Fi films or to listen to the new Thom Yorke album on repeat or read as much Philip K. Dick as you can get your hands on. The secret is to get used to the animation as quickly as possible.

A film like this is usually destined for a small embrace among a more specific audience, and even Linklater himself has stated that he had no delusions about A Scanner Darkly being mainstream. It would be an optimistic moment for the industry and audiences if a film this smart and thought-provoking somehow broke through and became a success. A Scanner Darkly is daring and complex, the exact sort of singular filmmaking Linklater has gained a strong reputation for. To stumble - occasionally - across something this fresh and ambitious in theatres is gratifying in itself. This is a film about ideas and themes (it is Philip K. Dick after all), and Linklater has the audacity to challenge the audience with layer upon layer of dense storytelling.

In the not too distant future, the war on drugs is lost and society is greatly affected by it. A new drug, called Substance D, is addicting people right and left, causing mass confusion, paranoia, and death. Or should I say, doom, despair, desolation, and death. What's interesting about this not-too-distant future society, is that the implication seems to be that everyone is hooked on this drug, whether they realize it or not. Substance D is not only a complete release from reality, it's control, manipulation, and oppression. Which, of course, are the common themes of Philip K. Dick's body of work. To combat this drug, undercover police officers called "Scanners" use the newest advances in technology to uncover and arrest the dealers. This technology includes 24-hour surveillance and a uniform called the "scramble suit" which conceals your true identity by constantly blinking into millions of different faces.

Fred (Keanu Reeves) is one of these Scanners, and he's assigned to follow the daily activities of Robert Arctor, who is considered to be a supplier of Substance D. What's interesting about this assignment is that Arctor is in fact Fred, so he ends up investigating himself. Arctor and his friends Barris (Robert Downey Jr.), Luckman (Woody Harrelson), Freck (Rory Cochrane), and girlfriend Donna (Winona Ryder) are major abusers of Substance D, to the point of hallucination, depression, and ceaseless paranoia.

Much of the film is spent with circular, bizarre conversations. These sequences are not exposition, but strange and disjointed conversations by people who can't quite tell whether or not things are real or imaginary. This goes for us - the audience - as well. A Scanner Darkly has an appropriately hallucinative atmosphere that questions the nature of reality. The fascinating rotoscoped animation gives the film an unsettling and dangerous edge, perfectly matching the disturbing nature of the story.

This film deals with several powerful thematic elements, from the aforementioned and classical Sci-Fi concept of questioning reality, to issues of privacy and terror, to anti-establishment, government controlled manipulation. The plot doesn't truly reveal itself until the last half, but it's not with a common, unsatisfying shocker gimmick that has plagued certain films in the past. Like many of Dick's novels, the final layers of control are unveiled late in the story, for the bleakest and most depressing effects. A Scanner Darkly isn't afraid to explore the darker problems within our society, and that ambition is most definitely notable.

The animation is less exaggerated here than in Linklater's previous rotoscoped feature, Waking Life, but it is crisper and more detailed. Rotoscoping isn't the most easily accessible visual style, but it works extremely well with A Scanner Darkly's not so easily accessible content. The Scramble Suit is an incredible image - one that displays the mighty fine work these animators accomplished with this film. Rotoscoping itself has advanced drastically since the work of Ralph Bakshi, and Linklater found an intriguing way to match it with the right material. Most admirable about this technique is how Linklater has reinvigorated the animated film for adult audiences. Animation isn't restricted to a family demographic (which is already a known fact in Asia, since there are cartoons made only for adults) and Linklater proves how artful and sophisticated it can be. A Scanner Darkly, like Waking Life, is an intellectual work meant for adult audiences - only those audiences.

The entire cast does fine, fine work here. Keanu Reeves gives his best performance since The Matrix, holding his own against the flamboyant Robert Downey Jr. Woody Harrelson and Wynona Ryder are terrific, and Rory Cochrane almost steals the show as the paranoid, delusional, Freck. The actors have great dialogue to chew on, and they make the most of it. Downey gives one of his most entertaining and comedic performances - which is saying a lot. Another excellent role for him following Kiss Kiss Bang Bang. It's a great cast doing fantastic work. Even with its dark thematic elements, A Scanner Darkly is often times hilarious, and the smart screenplay and lively performances provide a great deal of laughter. Of course, that's Linklater. He understands how to strike the perfect balance of humour and drama.

It's all of these elements wrapped together that make A Scanner Darkly such a unique and defying experience, a blurry combination of reality and fantasy, comedy and tragedy, the future and the past, sobriety and intoxication. This is one of Linklater's finest achievements - a demanding work of intelligent, challenging fiction that is sure to place highly among the notable Sci-Fi films of recent years. Hell, it wouldn't be too risky to call it one of the best since Blade Runner.

Painfully strange. Even more strangely fascinating.

Perry: "My $2000 ceramic Vektor my mother got me as a special gift. You threw in the lake next to the car. What happens when they drag the lake? You think they'll find my pistol?! Jesus! Look up "idiot" in the dictionary. You know what you'll find?
Harry: A picture of me?
Perry: No! The definition of the word idiot, which you fucking are!"



In the 1980s and early 1990s Shane Black was the go-to man if you needed a buddy action film written - Lethal Weapon being the most famous one. He was as endowed as he was wealthy - his expertise was in crowd-pleasing and profanity, over-the-top action sequences and homophobic humour. Then, something very common in Hollywood happened: he just disappeared, making way for a hundred overexcited hacks to find employ on every 'blood and bullets' escapade that followed. Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang is his return - as a writer - and debut - as a director. It could very well have a 'What I learnt in Hollywood' tagline. From the in-jokes to the character stereotypes, nonsensical action sequences and sardonic outline - Black's seemingly yanked every memory of his Hollywood years from his head, put them down on paper and taken a Nikon to it. The result? A blast - and there are no explosions.

The film opens at a Hollywood party held by sleazy studio executive Harlan Dexter (Corbin Bernsen), where we're introduced through narration to Harry Lockhart (Robert Downey Jr.). Explaining how a guy like him got where he is now, Harry leads us into a flashback. During a failed robbery of a toy store, his friend gets killed, and Harry busts into a screen test while hiding from the cops. Playing along in hopes of avoiding suspicion, his emotional stress actually ends up getting him the part, and next thing you know he's living the Hollywood movie star lifestyle. Harry ends up befriending - sort of - a detective/film advisor named Perry (Val Kilmer), who happens to be gay, hence his nickname Gay Perry. When his childhood friend Harmony (Michelle Monaghan) ends up in a spot of trouble, Harry enlists Perry's help, and the two of them try to solve a murder case without contacting the police. But every move they make end up getting them deeper and deeper into trouble, and Lockhart begins to revive some serious feelings for Harmony in the process.

The plot flirts with being incomprehensible, in the tradition of the greatest of the genre - Howard Hawks' The Big Sleep, Billy Wilder's Double Indemnity, Carol Reed's The Third Man - and this allows all manner of freedoms for the filmmakers. We're required only to sit back and accept what we're seeing, even if it's Downey Jr. talking over the on-screen action, changing tack and rewinding the film, skipping ahead, or whatever. This is post-modern film noir, and it works, it truly does. Black clearly loves this style, and despite having fun with its conventions, he scatters many references to the old masters throughout - the use of chapter headings all sourced from Raymond Chandler novel titles is the most obvious, but there are several, more subtle, homages within.

The film is based on author Brett Halliday's novel Bodies Are Where You Find Them. Like most Shane Black scripts, this one is just plain fun. It's one of those films that follows a familiar formula, but never takes itself too seriously. In fact, Black takes several opportunities through the narration to flat out poke fun at Hollywood films in general and Hollywood itself. The character of Harry Lockhart is likable, but extremely flawed. He's not smooth, nor is he all that smart. In many ways he's a terrible hero, but that's part of the charm that makes it work so well.

Robert Downey Jr. is terrific in the role, using every opportunity to build on the character's inadequacies. Val Kilmer - who, before this, was certainly among the less probable actors to play a gay character - is very good as well as 'Gay Perry'. This film is 99% dialogue - brilliant dialogue - and most of the film's highlights (which are hundreds) come from some of the hilarious jokes that his character constantly shoots at us. Most importantly, his character isn't insulting for a second and isn't overplayed like it easily could've been. Truth be told, he's used rather sparingly, which gives his presence more of an impact when it's there. The real co-star here is Michelle Monaghan, who despite her initially smart introduction, is in many ways just as screwed up as our hero. It's nice to see a fresh, talented face - while certainly still hot - in the female lead, as opposed to the "flavour of the month" female. These three carry the film in style and intelligence and complement the screenplay in a brilliant fashion.

Action film producer extraordinaire Joel Silver helped get this film made, at an impressively low-budget of $15 million. It's impressive because this film looks every bit as good as most big-budget studio spectaculars. They've done a lot with a little here, and it proves you don't have to break the bank to make a solid action film. Shane Black succeeds behind the camera, and directs this flick with every bit as much style as some of the bigger names we'd expect to see on a film like this. His cavalier attitude toward the script and characters is so great that just about anyone could find something to enjoy here.

The film also manages to pull off some cool twists and turns that the average filmgoer won't see coming. The plot runs a little close to being too complicated, but the witty narration by Downey Jr. covers for it, practically reading our minds as we watch the events unfold. Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang May - and this would be a bold statement in any other occasion - is one of the best and smartest comedies I've ever seen, and for unusual reasons at that. It's so similar to great action films that have come before it, and yet so unique in its own way. Surely a future cult classic.

Perhaps the easiest way to express how good KKBB is would be to say that it was received with a standing ovation when it premièred at the 2005 Cannes Film Festival - and anyone who knows Cannes knows how rare that is. But to truly appreciate it, you have to watch it over and over again. This is one of the coolest and most memorable films of 2005. This review was written after my 3rd viewing and I already want to see it again. I'm sure I will, very soon.

Harry: "What is it out here with these women?
Harmony: Oh please, Harry, they're no different from anywhere else.
Harry: Yes, they are. These are damaged goods, every one of them, from way back. I'm telling you, you take a guy who sleeps with 100 women a year, go into his childhood - dollars to doughnuts, it's relatively unspectacular...
[putting a cigarette in his mouth] ... Now, you take one of these... gals, who sleeps with 100 guys a year, and I bet you if you look in their childhood, there's something rotten in Denver.
Harmony: Denmark.
Harry: [closing his cigarette lighter] That too. But it's abandonment, it's abuse, it's "My uncle put his ping-ping in my papa!"... and then they all come out here!
[continuing] I mean, it's literally like someone took America by the East Coast and shook it, and all the normal girls managed to hang on.
Harmony: OK, everyone who hates Harry raise your hand!
[all the girls in the club raise their hands]
Perry: See that? Obedient little bitches too.
[girl screams "Fuck you!" and throws a glass, which he dodges]"

One of the most strange, messed up, trippiest and fascinanting things I've seen in my life. I will never look at spirals the same way again. Do NOT watch under the influence of psychotropic substances...

One of the most purely enjoyable films I've seen in my life. The ultimate proof that you can make a family film that's alive, well acted, smart, perceptive, funny - and that rocks. Jack Black plays the most fun and personal character he'll ever have the chance and the kids just rock. A princeless, immensely enjoyable film for anyone who loves good old Rock 'n Roll.

Bertolucci's affectionate homage to cinema, goofy youthful exuberance, romance, innocence and the student revolt of May '68. A film so physically beautiful and ardent that it can make you fall in love or lust against better judgment. Eva Green, Louis Garrel and Michael Pitt are probably the most gorgeous love triangle in modern cinema. Green will, if she hasn't already, make you fall for her the minute she first appears on screen.

Suicide Club (literal translation: Suicide Circle) is a very Japanese film. Written and directed by Sion Sono as part of a trilogy of three independent films, and hailed the "Most Ground-Breaking Film" at the Fant-Asia film festival, Suicide Club lived up to this lofty expectation. Painted in the somewhat questionable media of cult-horror, Suicide Club evokes a message of identity, alienation, and connection between individuals, their families (related, or not related) and themselves.



The film starts in a commuter train station where people are patiently waiting for the next train. Everything seems to be going like clockwork when a group of 54 teen school girls, with the average age of fifteen, all grab hands, step to the edge and jump in front of the speeding train at the same time. This effectively kills all of them and, naturally, sprays the other commuters with blood and body pieces. The opening credits begin to role as you take in what just happened and realize Suicide Club will be an awesome, gory flick.

While investigating the mass suicide, some in the police department do not think it is anything other than a suicide pact or club that does not denote any criminal activity. During a break on the roof top at a local school, a group of teenagers are discussing the suicides. Soon there are about 20 or so students that step onto the ledge at jump off. Again there is a lot of blood and guts splattered around.

When strategically placed clues begin to show up, two of the police detectives want the investigation to be made criminal but the remaining detectives still see no reason. So, Detective Kuroda (Ryo "Aoyama" Ishibashi) and Detective Murata (Akaji Maro) take it upon themselves to do some outside investigating. Mitsuko (Saya Hagiwara), a young student, is walking to her boyfriend's place when he suddenly falls on top of her from his roof. He is critically injured, later dying, and she is determined to spend her time trying to understand why he did it.

Filmed at a time when the suicide rate in Japan had reached almost epidemic levels, Suicide Club is Sion Sono's meditation on suicide from his own perspective. He began writing the script after a close friend of his killed himself with absolutely no explanation as to why. Sono gives just enough information to allow the viewer to contemplate the subject matter; no more and no less. This may lead to some frustration, but it also makes us desperate to watch the second part of the trilogy, Noriko's Dinner Table, which I actually heard is a superior film.

Anyone who has seen Takashi Miike's Audition will immediately recognize Ryo Ishibashi as Detective Kuroda. Again, Ryo does an excellent job with character realism. You witness his frustration and sorrow and really begin to feel for him. Akaji Maro - Boss Ozawah in Kill Bill Vol. 1 - is also great at creating a believable character. Unbelievably, this role in Suicide Club was young Saya Hagiwara's first acting part, and she has only done one other role since. She is outstanding.

Suicide Club isn't, in the end, so much about suicide as it is about relationships: relationships with your family, relationships with your friends, and most importantly, relationships with yourself. "Are you connected with yourself?", the film continually asks. Is life worth living without these relationships? This film stays with you long after you finish watching it, forcing you to evaluate your society and most importantly, yourself. While it may appear to be more suitable for a Japanese audience, anyone can identify with some of the issues is brings us. Recommendable for the story, acting, directing and gore value. Plus, there's cute Asian chicks.

Far from what Ritchie can and has done, but at least focused on what he's good at, and no Swept Away nonsense.

"I'm not here to fight, I'm here to play football!"

Some say the main purpose of the cinematic medium is to entertain. This result can be achieved in many ways, and in a film like Shaolin Soccer, it can be achieved in just about all of them at once. It can because it merges the two most popular forms of entertainment on our planet - films and football - and has a brilliant man named Stephen Chow behind it. Chow pays homage to classic martial arts films, fumbling underdog sports films, and even Hollywood musicals in an attempt (a successful one) to create one of the most clever and fun films to grace a film screen in quite some time.



This is essentially the kind of loopy, crazy, and infectiously fun film that Jackie Chan used to do before he went to the States and started making crap. I mean, how can you take anything too seriously in a film where the rivals are simply known as "Team Evil"? Beginning twenty years earlier, we're introduced to Team Evil's future coach, Hung (Patrick Tse) - who hires a mob to break the leg of his rival, "Golden Leg" Fung (Man Tat Ng) after Fung blows a critical shot and loses a championship match. Back in the present, Hung is rich and famous, while the crippled Fung has been reduced to his lackey. Disgruntled over his treatment, he leaves to try and start his own team, but quickly settles into the life of a drunken bum.

He discovers a second chance, however, when he comes across Sing (Chow). Sing is also a bum - but one with amazing dexterity and one hell of a kick, one that can practically send balls into orbit. It turns out that Sing is a former Shaolin monk, with several brothers who have all fallen into dire straights financially. Although their abilities have grown rusty from disuse, Fung still recognizes their potential and sets out to whip them into shape as a team that can stand up to Team Evil. Meanwhile, Sing has his eye on Mui (Vicky Zhao), an awkward girl who happens to be a kung fu master in her own right, her skills wasted on making sticky-sweet buns for a living. The mystical way she can handle a ball of dough is the only hint you need in order to know that she'll be crucial to our hero's victory in the third period of the third act's big match.

The real highlight to all of this is, of course, the actual football matches. The Shaolin team use their martial artistry to send balls flying at ridiculous velocity, creating shock waves and flames and all sorts of other fantastic special effects in the process. It's really impossible to describe, and it's definitely worth the price of admission just to see the matches being played. Sure, the structure defies all logic and rules of play - whole teams line up to take shots on a single goalie in a brilliant homage to Bruce Lee, while his teammates are nowhere to be found, not the mention the fact that nobody calls offsides either - but it's amazingly fun stuff to watch and you'll be too busy laughing your ass off and being wowed at the special effects that you won't care.

And like I said before, it's chock full of homages to both Eastern and Western cinema. This is definitely a film made by a film buff. For the most part, it's a big-time martial arts flick wrapped up with a sports gimmick, but there are all sorts of elements that help complete it. Characters stop what they're doing to line up in elaborate musical sequences that would be impossible in Asian cinema a couple of decades ago. There are allusions to Spielberg's work in a few spots as well: a ripple in a glass of water jumps right from the frames of Jurassic Park, and Sing says to Mui that she "looks like E.T."

Not only do I find Shaolin Soccer to be a fresh breath of new air for Hong Kong cinema, it's also martial arts comedy that has some true heart and a message to deliver. You can tell from the very beginning that not only was there a lot of time and effort put in to conduct a genre film of this calibre in terms of special effects, casting and story, but there is a certain amount earnest and seriousness that definitely rings throughout the picture. The first inclination of this has to be Stephen Chow's remarkably straight-faced, Woody Allen-esque performance as Sing.

What makes Sing so lovable is Chow's raw ingenuity for exaggerated pantomimes. His facial expressions declare a particular innocence that becomes heart-warmingly recognizable, as if each wink and blink, and every stupid grin he throws at you becomes a form of cinematic flirtation. His delivery in his lines pay homage to Jerry Lewis, Richard Pryor, Mel Brooks and even Mr. Allen himself as each sentence that comes out of his mouth is followed by the slight chin dropping and curious stare waiting to be recognized and given attention to. But I'm not going to rule out the great supporting cast that makes up Sing's fellow Shaolin brothers that form the rest of the team. Casted from the crew of Chow's own company, the Shaolin brothers range from a Bruce Lee look-a-like goalie to a break dancing player. And I can't mention enough how many times I died laughing at the character of First Brother and his unattractively droopy face and his "Iron Head" antics.

The cinematography is rich in providing the epic style feel to the film and broadening the scope of the picture. Within the hands of cinematographer Kwong Ting Wo, Shaolin Soccer delivers some of the most dynamic camera movements anyone has seen in Hong Kong cinema in recent times. The raw ingenuity and the gorgeous movement of the balls as the camera wraps around the burning, racing speed of the CG ball is quite an extraordinary feet in preparation and execution. One amazing shot in particular had the camera follow the ball across the field from a bird's eye view closing in on each pass to follow up and then out again to where Chow does a super flying dragon kick at the ball. It really is amazing.

Probably the one thing everyone will be talking about for a long time after watching this film are the utterly amazing and inventive special effects. Created by Centro Digital, the same special effects company that engineered the magical wizardry and electric Shaolin martial arts effects of The Storm Riders and Kill Bill, Shaolin Soccer not only becomes a comedic spectacle, but a Kung Fu marvel as well. Though it may be easy to say that the special effects have a certain amount of exaggerated direction, the nuances are what make them exciting to watch. The subtle detailing of each glowing and beautifully sculpted effects are reminiscent of Japanese anime in the sense of style and ambient flavour. A good example of this is in the scene where the Evil Team blocks Chow's first kick, where the ball starts out as a burning sunspot and into a flaming, roaring panther.

And, in the end, if you really think about it, the basic story of the film is very spiritual. In all actuality, Sing is really a Messiah, so to speak. And all he really wants to do is spread the word of Shaolin: "The Truth lies within us. The way of life is Self-discovery." Football then becomes the metaphor for the Earth because of the fact that it is the most viewed sporting event in the world. And finally it can even be moving, because it is a nostalgic recognition of how money-obsessed modern China has become, and how its glorious traditions have become a subject of mockery and dismissal. Therefore, the next time someone tells me that Shaolin Soccer was a good film but had a weak storyline, I'm going to tie them up and make them watch Ladybugs back to back for a month straight just to make a point that Shaolin Soccer not only rocks, it rocks and teaches ignorant kids a thing or two.

It's a cult classic, there's no point in fighting it.

A modern day cult classic. A film that inspired anything made after 1971 with the 'black comedy' or older-woman-younger-man friendship label attached to it. Eccentric, bizarre, morbid, suicidal, twisted, romantic, quirky, whimsical, sweet, hilarious and ultimately brilliant. I dare anyone to name any other film that can be described with each and everyone of those adjectives. The two lead performances are simply wonderful and immaculate. The disquieting uneasiness of young Bud Cort, unpolished yet still magnificently manifested. And Ruth Gordon, touching and eloquent, is fully vivacious and her calm quietude and approach makes her character flawless. Together they make one of the most unique, unexpected and disconcerting on-screen love stories ever seen. The most charming film about death ever made. A treasure of American cinema to be discovered.