Movies viewed in 2009....

"He talks about an evil thing."

The Gods Must Be Crazy is a reassuringly unique and delightfully disarming little cinematic treasure. This low-budget 1980 South African comedy emerged virtually out of no-where; silently tiptoeing into worldwide cinemas to become one of the biggest international hits of the decade! Owing to enthusiastic word of mouth, The Gods Must Be Crazy broke box office records in Japan, South America and all over Europe, eventually developing into a cult favourite. Written, produced, directed, filmed and edited by Jamie Uys, this pseudo-documentary is fundamentally a National Geographic special infused with hysterical slapstick and amusing scenarios depicting culture clashes. With its light-hearted slapstick tone, inventive cinematic techniques and splendid locations, this is a sweet pleasure guaranteed to provide a wonderful evening of delightful entertainment.

In a nutshell: The Gods Must Be Crazy concerns the misadventures of Xixo (played by African tribal actor N!xau). The story begins with a soothing, oh-so-BBC narration describing the idyllic lifestyle of the Kalahari Bushmen. These people are a primitive race whose lives are simple and contented, and they are neither greedy nor cruel. They hunt for food, they share everything with each other, and their lives lack any sort of technology. Their blissful isolation and obliviousness is drastically disrupted when a careless airplane pilot tosses a Coca Cola bottle out the window while in flight above the Kalahari. The bottle spins elaborately to earth, landing near Xi during a hunting expedition. Believing it to be a gift from the Gods, the tribe employ this Coke bottle for dozens of uses: it becomes a fire-starter, a cooking utensil, a musical instrument, a patternmaker, and - most of all - an object of bitter controversy. The bottle generates jealously, greed and violence, igniting Xi's decision to return this evil object to the Gods by throwing it off the edge of the earth. Xi therefore embarks on a long odyssey, experiencing the civilised world for the very first time.

Meanwhile, journalist Kate Thompson (Prinsloo) accepts a remote teaching post in a Botswana school. Upon arrival, she's met by micro-biologist Andrew Steyn (Weyers) who immediately takes a liking for her.

There's also a minor problem with a terrorist leader and his gang of bandits who are being pursued by government militia. Needless to say, these separate stories become utterly intertwined by the time the film reaches its climax.

"He spoke long and earnestly to the baboon and explained, that is an evil thing you've got there, and it brought much unhappiness to my family and it will surely bring much unhappiness to yours unless you give it back to me and let me throw it away. He spoke so earnestly that the baboon began to take note and dropped the evil thing. He said, that is a very wise thing you have done."

To further expound upon the plot would be redundant exposition to the fans and churlish spoiling to those who haven't yet indulged in this filmic pleasure. The Gods Must Be Crazy is more than just a straightforward, brainless comedy; it delivers a unique, playful little story told in an utterly charming style with slapstick bowing deeply to Buster Keaton and lovely homespun humour. In no time a viewer will find themselves bathing in a delightful brew of sweet characters, appealing humour and innovative filmmaking techniques.

Part quasi-documentary, part farce, and part philosophical treatise, The Gods Must Be Crazy remains a highly original, offbeat and poignant cinematic gem. Writer-director-producer-editor Jamie Uys displays immense competence in the creation of sight gags and slapstick gags to die for. Remember the days of Charlie Chaplin and the aforementioned Buster Keaton, when physical gags were all the rage? This type of slapstick pervades this hysterical film. The more elaborate laughs necessitate a great deal of preparation, but this preparation pays off in spades! A number of sequences flaunting an indecisive jeep are especially notable in this category. Laughs are also generated through the sheer naivety of the Bushmen. For instance, they perceive cars as peculiar animals and the smoke behind a jet as flatulence of the Gods. Far better laughs are hidden within, but are far too delicious to spoil. Watch this little treat yourself, and experience the masterful humour first hand.

For additional laughs, Uys inserts feeble cinematic techniques (which may or may not be intentional). Clunky editing, dodgy special effects, and obvious reversing or speeding up of the film keeps an audience inside the joke. However, there are flaws - aside from the frequent technical faults, there are lethal problems with pacing. During the first 20 minutes in particular, mere narration is incapable of engaging an audience. It takes the best part of an hour for the best laughs to kick in, and the lead-up may test a viewer's patience. In addition, the Kalahari Desert tribe is a total fabrication - there was never an idyllic tribe of Bushmen untouched by technology, and they certainly aren't as clueless about the ways of the white man. In reality, South African civilisation had already invaded the desert. This fact unfortunately removes part of the film's gloss. In any case, the filmmakers nevertheless possessed the creativity to invent a tribe and employ a naturalistic approach to make it seem genuine.

"He never seen a wall in his life, now he got walls all around him. He gonna die for sure."

The star of the show is, of course, the cheerful N!xau as the bushman who finds life outside the desert strange and complicated. The late N!xau was a famous tribal actor, himself an outsider who lived with his three wives in Africa. During N!xau's screen-time he sports a grin that appears to say "I have no idea what's happening, but it's a lot of fun!"

Marius Weyers plays the micro-biologist who suffers nervous attacks whenever he's around Sandra Prinsloo's Kate Thompson. This premise leads to a few decent slapstick sequences, executed superbly by Weyers.

All in all, The Gods Must Be Crazy amorously blends Kalahari legend, an "East meets West" plot, a pleasant love story, and great slapstick. This delightful film is perhaps one of the best slapstick comedies since Buster Keaton and Charlie Chaplin. Plot elements may be slender, but the result really works! One could analyse The Gods Must Be Crazy from a cultural/sociological standpoint and discover a great deal of patriarchal and imperialist connotations ranging from docile to disturbing. If you're planning to waste time trekking down that particular avenue, good luck - I won't join you. To me, Uys' one-man-band film is a delightfully charming and low-key comedy that continues to entertain as much as it did when it first burst onto cinema screens a few decades ago.

Followed by a number of sequels, beginning with The Gods Must Be Crazy II.

"That morning, he saw the ugliest person he'd ever come across. She was as pale as something that had crawled out of a rotting log; her hair was quite gruesome, long and stringy and white, as if she was very old; she was very big - he'd have to take the whole day to find enough food to feed her."

This time, everybody's going crazier.

Following the unexpected success of the hit South African cult-comedy The Gods Must Be Crazy, a sequel was inevitable. Thus, Jamie Uys (who was responsible for virtually everything behind the camera of the original film) commenced work on the suitably-titled The Gods Must Be Crazy II. Uys was visibly determined to replicate the success of the original film with this follow-up - he reportedly spent in excess of four years developing this sequel in order to script, location-scout, cast and direct. After all this drudgery, it's quite unfortunate to behold the tragic result. The Gods Must Be Crazy II bares the strain it endured to facilitate its journey to the big screen - the film is desperately simple and not very funny. It's a pale aping of its predecessor, employing the same style and similar gags in its conveyance of a lacklustre story. Perhaps it's no shock that this sequel isn't at all fresh - the surprise is that it's a disheartening catastrophe...witless, crude, lethargic and, frankly, quite boring.

The storyline is merely a collection of three hokey subplots, much like the original film. The Gods Must Be Crazy II abides by the same formula of its predecessor to the letter - i.e. a handful of unrelated stories somehow converging by the film's end. The opening sequence is effectively a precise replica of the first film, with the same dulcet narrator providing insights into the idyllic lifestyle of the Kalahari Bushmen. The first subplot once again concerns our beloved Bushmen hero Xixo (N!xau). Elephant-ivory poachers have invaded the Kalahari Desert. Xixo's two children become accidental stowaways on a truck belonging to this pair of sinister (if somewhat incompetent) poachers. The intrepid Xi aims to save his children and sets out to track the vehicle.

Meanwhile, a New York Doctor of Law - Ann Taylor (Farugia) - travels to South Africa to deliver a paper at a seminar. But, as a consequence of some fast developments, she agrees to take a brisk aerial safari and her plane subsequently crashes. Ann is therefore trapped in the middle of the Kalahari Desert with a zoologist by her side.

As for the third subplot: an African soldier (Tshabalala) and a Cuban freedom fighter (Bowen) find themselves in an arresting stalemate when they have trouble discerning who has captured who. These two soldiers (I think) symbolise the foolishness of war.

A mindless slapstick feast ensues as these stories unite.

It seems that during the creation of The Gods Must Be Crazy II, Jamie Uys was in a state of being out of touch. The film is extraordinary short on comedy, even if filled with routines intended to be funny. Quality laughs are hard to come by in this dreary sequel. Uys' direction also lacks energy. As a result, it drags. The film is additionally permeated with Wild Kingdom footage of exotic creatures (meerkats, hyenas, etc), most of which has quite obviously been photographed separately from the actors they're supposed to be sharing scenes with. Most likely an intentional technical fault for a chortle, but it's overused...and employed poorly.

In addition, the upgraded technicals remove the raw charm of the original (by that I mean the special effects look less dodgy, and there are far more special effects). The technical improvements are for the worst, unfortunately.

The Gods Must Be Crazy II is laden with the same type of humour that filled the original film - there's plenty of slapstick, pratfalls, and film alterations (i.e. fast-motion). The comedy doesn't quite gel as well the second time around. The silent-comedy routines of the original have transformed into relentless, frequent "comedy" sequences sped-up and with stupid sound effects - it's the equivalent of watching South Africa's Unfunniest Home Videos! The over-civilised heroine also has her skirt lifted frequently. The result falls in jarring territory between Crocodile Dundee and Benny Hill.

Additionally, the romantic leads are deficient in the type of wacky, amusing, but genial chemistry that the principal actors from the first film had in abundance. The humour also seems more contrived, and while watching this flick - no matter how entertaining it gets from time to time - it still registers as just another redundant, fluffy sequel.

There are countless faults, but The Gods Must Be Crazy II certainly isn't a total disaster. It still retains a sense of fun, adventure, and breezy charm now and again, even if it has difficulty sustaining interest and engaging a viewer.

There's also great joy in revisiting N!xau as Xixo, and hearing that wonderful click language again. Even at the film's lowest point, N!xau is still most watchable.

At the end of the day, The Gods Must Be Crazy II lacks the simple warmth and delightful charm of its predecessor. The central problem here is that it employs a well-worn formula, with the same kind of comedy reapplied. Its amplified sophistry is less appealing, and in the long run the film seems a rather superfluous effort. It's moderately pleasant viewing for sure and occasionally quite amusing, but it's not a patch on the original and, in the long run, it's just a simple time-waster. As the sun sinks gradually on The Gods Must Be Crazy II, everybody shares a disappointed yawn.

Followed by a few more unsuccessful sequels.

"I see you, but you don't see me"

Hollywood's confidence in D-Tox (also known as Detox and Eye See You) was clearly lower than Ed Wood's Oscar possibilities. Filmed and completed in 1999, Universal abruptly decided to cancel the distribution a few months before the intended release and shelve the project. Three years passed, and Universal began to tire of the film - ultimately choosing to sell it and disown it (Oscar-winning producer Brian Grazer even removed his name from the credits, and Universal removed their logo from the finished product as well). The 2002 international theatrical run for D-Tox was shorter than the average life-span of a housefly. In the US it bypassed theatres and instead debuted on DVD. Typically, endless delays are an indication of an extremely poor movie. But thankfully, this isn't the case...as a matter of fact, D-Tox is a surprisingly watchable and serviceable Sylvester Stallone vehicle. Directed by Jim Gillespie, this hybrid of Se7en, The Thing and (Gillespie's own) I Know What You Did Last Summer rises above the usual standard for fluffy slasher flicks, and features Stallone in an astonishingly decent performance. It's frankly bewildering that this decent slasher affair struggled for a release while other dirge is constantly rushed into cinemas.

The story tracks FBI agent Jake Malloy (Stallone), who - upon the film's commencement - is on the trail of a sadistic serial killer exclusively targeting police officers. This murderer instigates an intense cat-and-mouse game with Malloy, eventually upping the stakes by making things personal. Grief sends Malloy off the deep end when he witnesses a personally-affecting crime scene, and his life spirals downwards into a profound depression where solace can only be found in the bottom of a bottle. To recover from these intense psychological effects, one of Malloy's colleagues (Dutton) sends Malloy to a remote detox clinic (hence the title) located in snow-covered Wyoming that specialises in rehabilitating cops. Unfortunately for the group of patients (and the crew of the facility, for that matter), Malloy barely has time to unpack his bags before the patients begin dying under suspicious circumstances. Things soon become perfectly clear to Malloy: the murderer whose actions have haunted him for months has somehow found his way into the facility, and one of the patients may not be who they claim to be. Completely isolated by an extreme blizzard, the group have no-where to run. As their numbers begin to dwindle even further, it becomes clear that in order to survive they must go on the offensive and flush out the traitor lurking amongst them...

"He's collecting trophies..."

As with any slasher flick, the plot is quite superfluous. As opposed to an actual plot, slasher flicks are generally infused with a simple set-up. Once this set-up is established, characters are slaughtered and the body count gradually continues to escalate. D-Tox is no different. As soon as the knife-bait is assembled in the isolated setting, murders begin. The real fun is then figuring out who'll be bumped off next and who is responsible for the murders. To the credit of those behind the camera, the identity of the killer is concealed quite effectively. The reveal of the killer is perhaps a bit too early, however, as it slightly lessens the tension towards the climax.

D-Tox initially appears to be another Silence of the Lambs inspired serial killer thriller (complete with an opening title sequence reminiscent of David Fincher's Se7en), but once the action shifts to the isolated rehab clinic it transforms into a straightforward slasher affair (albeit with a few twists on the standard formula). In the long run, D-Tox can probably best be described as Ten Little Indians meets Friday the 13th. Director Jim Gillespie (no stranger to the genre, having previously helmed I Know What You Did Last Summer) is a competent craftsman who builds a chilling, claustrophobic atmosphere. For generating tension, Gillespie relies on the remoteness of the film's primary location (making a good correlation with the isolation that Malloy feels) and the snowy, brutal conditions as opposed to the typical "jump" moments contemporary slashers usually employ. The solid cinematography of Australian Academy Award winner Dean Semler (who also worked on Dances with Wolves) is one of the film's highest points, and John Powell's musical score is chillingly effective without being truly outstanding. Ron L. Brinkerhoff's inane screenplay (loosely based on Howard Swindle's novel Jitter Joint), however, is a sub-par effort plagued with cookie-cutter characters and a killer sporting a deliriously shallow motivation. On a more positive note, the dialogue is restrained and believable, providing an added class which slasher films usually lack.

"You see somebody coming up them stairs... you let faith guide that bullet right through their head."

Interestingly, D-Tox exhibits all the hallmarks of a movie which has been severely cut in order to reduce the runtime. Occasionally it's quite obvious that small fragments have been omitted (editing is also somewhat choppy at times). Unfortunately, character development is purely non-existent (whether this can be attributed to the script or the cutting room remains a mystery). Few of the characters are even introduced properly (names certainly don't stick). When Stallone's Malloy arrives at the detox clinic, the film surrenders to clichés, and a pantheon of quality actors are literally wasted in a conventional fashion, becoming victims of the surrounding histrionics. It's truly difficult to categorise Gillespie's D-Tox. It's part horror movie, although it isn't very scary. It's part murder mystery, but it lacks the fun of a usual whodunit slasher. The flick also attempts to be a thriller. Fortunately it does a pretty good job of thrilling, especially during the sporadic action sequences (the climax is particularly nail-biting).

A cast of helpless teenagers (usually present in brainless slashers) has been replaced with a group of adult characters. Astonishingly, Sly is on impressive, if not career-resuscitating form. To Stallone's credit, he offers a better-than-average performance as the tortured Malloy. At one stage Malloy is faced with guilt and remorse before sinking to rock bottom, and Stallone conveys this with amazing honesty. Incredibly, the star also manages to disperse lines while actually acting. He proves that - despite all the Razzies he endured and turkeys he has previously appeared in - he can act. Sly's emotionally-shattered protagonist is an interesting alternative to the usual "female virgin in distress" that we've become accustomed to seeing in a slasher.

Alongside Stallone is an extremely able-bodied cast. Charles S. Dutton (who was also in Se7en) delivers a decent performance as Hendricks; a colleague of Malloy who sends him to the remote detoxification clinic. Inside this remote facility is a cavalcade of great actors, most of which aren't put to good use at all. Kris Kristofferson (from Blade) is quite good as the no-nonsense detox doctor, with Tom Berenger (remember him from Platoon?) appearing as the centre's handyman, and Polly Walker (whose résumé also includes such titles as 8 ½ Women and Patriot Games) playing the resident psych.

Robert Patrick (best known for Terminator 2) is a particular stand-out as a gung-ho SWAT guy, although his character's final moments are pitiful (and that's putting it mildly). Also look out for Jeffrey Wright who's convincing as a patient at the clinic who tried to shoot himself. Additional members of the cast include Dina Meyer, Robert Prosky, Courtney B. Vance and Sean Patrick Flanery - all of which are given criminally small and undeveloped roles to work with.

Despite its routine nature and lack of true cohesion, D-Tox is a surprisingly serviceable movie of the slasher/thriller variety. Gillespie's directorial style is gritty, tension is present, and Sylvester Stallone places forth a fantastic performance. The ludicrous screenplay is perhaps of the low direct-to-DVD standard, but from a technical viewpoint the film is well-handled and the acting is fairly good. And really, that's more than what can be said for stacks of unforgivable dreck that's able to warrant a theatrical release. D-Tox is straightforward, taut slasher entertainment. If you lower your expectations enough, there's a plethora of fun to indulge in. It's particularly good viewing for a rainy evening.

It'd be very interesting to see an extended cut that may perhaps restore the absent character development...

"I see you... you see this." [very gory death]

"If you're gonna get wet, might as well go swimming."

For Matchstick Men, acclaimed director Ridley Scott turns his attention away from the visceral blockbusters he's recognised for in order to deliver a finely crafted drama and character study about con artistry and family life. An adaptation of the novel by Eric Garcia, this excellent motion picture successfully combines black comedy, drama, and (most importantly) a cluster of unforseen plot twists. Matchstick Men falls into a particular sub-genre of the thriller - a sub-genre concerning conmen and their disreputable trade. Some of these movies work, while others sink without a trace. The Sting and The Grifters are examples of great additions to this sub-genre, and Ridley Scott's Matchstick Men can now be self-assuredly added to that list. Granted, this flick is a large bevy of clichés mixed together in a cauldron. However, the product is an infinitely entertaining and imaginative plot-driven little feature. With director Scott's seal of approval, a wicked little script and several utterly fabulous performances, the clichés are stylishly disguised.

Roy Waller (Cage) is an obsessive-compulsive agoraphobic veteran conman. As he describes it, he's a "con artist. Flimflam man, matchstick man, loser. Whatever you wanna call it, take your pick". Roy and his partner Frank (Rockwell) only pull off small cons; little games that earn them a few hundred dollars at a time. Their slippery antics employed to implement these little cons keep the money flowing in, especially for Roy who has built a comfortable lifestyle owing to his clever deception. But Roy has a conscience (consequently unwilling to pursue a "long con"), is a neurotic, and his personal life is a mess. His life takes a dramatic turn when he discovers he has a teenage daughter - a child whose existence he suspected but never dared confirm. 14-year-old Angela (Lohman) enters his life suddenly, becomes intrigued by her father's trade and wants in on the Roy/Frank partnership. But, with a "long con" job finally coming down the pipeline, Angela's entrance may jeopardise Roy's peace of mind, not to mention his entire way of life.

Matchstick Men is more or less two movies magnificently spliced into one; each enriching the other. Cage's character takes centre stage in the first. The focus is on his psychological problems, his misgivings about his profession, and (most importantly) his relationship with Angela. The abruptness of Angela's arrival in his life opens up a world of possibilities he hadn't ever previously considered, while simultaneously making him aware of how unprepared he is for major life-changing decisions. The second concentrates on the conning escapades of Frank and Roy. Matchstick Men moves along confidently and expertly, diving into the lives of these characters while displaying their weaknesses and fully involving us in their exploits. The one truly detrimental fault in the story is that, in hindsight, too much of it depends on sheer coincidence and chance. The film ends with a saccharine-coated conclusion that, while tying up all the loose ends, feels tacked-on and uneven.

On top of being moderately suspenseful on occasion, Matchstick Men is also imbued with a sly, biting sense of humour. Character behaviour sometimes results in decent laugh-aloud moments (although it isn't really a comedy overall even if it is billed as one...don't expect a large dosage of broad comedy and you'll be satisfied). Matchstick Men is also emotionally satisfying, with the association between Roy and Angela becoming central to the storyline. The interactions between them are spellbinding and fascinating. There's even a slight hint of discovery in this relationship. Angela is given the opportunity to live the fantasy and find out what it's like to have a real father, and Roy is provided with the chance to experience the wonders of what he missed when his wife walked out on him fourteen years ago.

Understandably and encouragingly, none of this actually feels like a Ridley Scott motion picture. Restrained in style and carefully-paced, Scott's artistry is in a more subtle mode here. The director's efforts are truly remarkable, and he never allows a viewer to foresee any of the numerous plot twists. The characters are also grounded in contemporary reality without ever falling prey to the ridiculous. Matchstick Men isn't overflowing with lavish locales or big-budget action sequences... it's a simple comedy-drama (trademark tension is a key feature, mind you). Ridley Scott has helmed character-driven features before (Thelma & Louise, White Squall), but he's never previously done anything this light. For a filmmaker with no prior experience with comedy, Scott has a deft hand. Considering his experience as a director, though, would it have been rational to expect anything less?

The script is moderately derivative and it does contain a number of customary genre clichés, but screenwriters Nicholas and Ted Griffin still manage to elicit fresh-feeling material (Scott's lively direction also contributes to this). Dialogue is witty (a rarity these days), and characters are both sharply-drawn and well-developed. The cinematography is especially excellent as well - dizzying POV shots are quite stunning; providing insight into the condition of agoraphobia (a truly marvellous creative choice). Han Zimmer's laid-back, jazzy score is the definitive ingredient; establishing the right mood during the drama and cranking up the tension as the film begins to wind down. Also included is a selection of eclectic music, consisting mainly of classics such as the work of Frank Sinatra as well as Johnny Mercer. Matchstick Men delivers plenty - emotional investment with the three-dimensional characters, a narrative which engages from start to finish, and mind-blowing plot twists.

One of the movie's greatest assets is undoubtedly the talented band of actors filling the cast. Nicolas Cage places forth a wonderful portrayal of conman Roy Waller. In displaying the traits of his character's disorder, Cage never exaggerates and consequently comes across as extremely believable. This is definitely one of the star's best performances. Alongside Cage is the always-reliable Sam Rockwell; playing the partner in crime to perfection. Rockwell's performance as Frank Mercer (the name is a tribute to Frank Sinatra and Johnny Mercer) is infused with the right mix of cynicism and sincerity. The dialogue between Rockwell and Cage crackles with wit and intelligence (a rarity in films these days), providing an exceptional dynamic that keeps the film rolling along at a satisfying pace.

However it's relative newcomer Alison Lohman who steals the show; unquestionably outshining the superb stars working beside her. Her vivacious performance infects us with her energy and enthusiasm, combining a girlish innocence with a brash worldliness. As Roy's 14-year-old daughter, she's both adorable and believably natural. Her attire and mannerisms are spot-on...which is especially commendable, because she was actually 22 years old during filming!

Actors Bruce Altman and Bruce McGill also supply top-notch support - the former taking centre stage as a psychiatrist, and the latter submitting a grimacing performance as the latest con victim for Roy and Frank.

Tucking away his visual athletics in favour of something more leisurely and subtle, Ridley Scott (one of the very best visual directors in history) proves he is more than capable of helming special effects extravaganzas and intricate dramas with equal aplomb. The actors also prove their versatility, especially Nicolas Cage who places forth one of the greatest performances of his career. Matchstick Men is a sublime example of old-fashioned filmmaking, with a script that's far too delicious and cunning to spoil. For an entertaining, intelligent, slick comedy-thriller, this is hard to beat.

Everyone is aware of Uwe Boll's reputation. I hate the man myself. But I'd been anticipating Tunnel Rats for a number of months. It looked like a genuinely decent movie. Alas, its potential was shattered following the first half an hour. This is Boll's best movie to date, but that's an awfully faint and dubious praise.

Full review coming soon...

"Careful Bill, you'll give yourself a heart attack and ruin my vacation."

Running at a hair under three hours, Meet Joe Black is a multifaceted and deeply absorbing character study as well as a ponderous, contemplative exploration of the concept of death. The finality of death is the greatest sadness faced by humanity. At any instant, any of us could cease to exist - one's life could conclude without any warning and without the opportunity to farewell those closest to you. It's a morbid and depressing reality, but every single one of us is going to die someday. Meet Joe Black explores a number of questions regarding death. If your life was to terminate in a few short days, how would you spend your final hours on Earth? Would you spend it with loved ones? Pursue the fulfilment of all your lifelong dreams? Watch your favourite movie and listen to your favourite music just once more? Give up, and simply mourn your imminent passing? The protagonist of Meet Joe Black - William Parish (Hopkins) - is faced with these questions and situations. While featuring fine performances and exhibiting excellent filmmaking, the beguiling and seemingly bullet-proof premise is transformed into a pointlessly lengthy, somewhat pretentious bore.

For Universal pictures, Meet Joe Black probably seemed like a great idea...but it gradually developed into something of a nuisance. This remake of the 1934 film Death Takes a Holiday ran over-budget and its production period was far longer than scheduled. With its overstuffed three-hour runtime, the film received predominantly negative reviews (the general opinion: "glacially slow and uneventful") and audiences generally stayed away (it wasn't an utter box office bomb, though - its budget was only about $90 million, and its approximate worldwide gross was $140 million). Meet Joe Black travels along at a fairly leisurely pace, ultimately unable to sustain a viewer's interest until the end credits. Although certainly not the worst film of 1998, the picture simply has absolutely no reason to drag out a relatively straightforward story to such a colossal, excessive length.

William Parrish is a multi-millionaire and a successful corporate tycoon on the verge of celebrating his 65th birthday. As he approaches such a considerable milestone in his life, Bill begins to question his mortality. Unfortunately, he's about to suffer a fatal heart attack. During the days leading up to his birthday, Bill begins to hear a mysterious voice in his head. After initially dismissing this as a mere hallucination, he's soon visited by an enigmatic figure - Death personified in human form, otherwise known as Joe Black (Pitt). The Grim Reaper offers the aging businessman an extraordinary proposition: he will grant Bill extra time, and in exchange he must act as Death's earthly guide as Death enjoys a self-appointed holiday. During his vacation Death learns valuable lessons about humanity, as well as learning about love as he develops strong feelings towards Bill's daughter Susan (Forlani). Death additionally learns about trust and integrity, and he realises that William Parish is a much-loved man who has lived a terrific life and has touched a great many other lives. As long as Death remains interested, his vacation will not conclude. But once he tires of life and returns to the "next place", he'll take Bill with him.

Helmed by Martin Brest, Meet Joe Black is a loose remake of the 1934 motion picture Death Takes a Holiday (itself based on a Broadway production which was an adaptation of an Italian play). After being initially intrigued by the premise of Death Takes a Holiday, Brest spent roughly 15-20 years gradually developing a screenplay with which he felt comfortable. After completing Scent of a Woman in 1992, Brest turned his attention to Meet Joe Black which was at long last released in 1998. This is a labour of love for Brest, who aimed to create a motion picture exploring all the potential of the concept. There are unmistakable divergences between Meet Joe Black and Death Takes a Holiday, primarily in regards to the setting, how the story unfolds, as well as the genre, focus and characters. Brest's movie has been strongly criticised since its 1998 release due to its decidedly slow pacing and slow-moving story, which is considerably amplified by its substantial runtime. This is a two-hour motion picture unnecessarily dragged out to three.

Meet Joe Black mainly suffers from feeble screenwriting. It seems fifteen to twenty years of script development isn't enough to achieve perfection (interestingly, Sylvester Stallone penned Rocky in a few days...and that script is far more solid). There is far too much narrative flab, for instance. An unnecessary subplot following a patient in hospital is a key example - only spawning lacklustre speeches and tedious scenarios. Inconsistencies abound as well, principally relating to Death's naivety. In human form, Death doesn't possess the expected aura of authority and seems virtually childlike in his lack of familiarity of the simplest human behaviour. Just as a viewer correctly adjusts to and accepts the kind of innocent, untutored person that Death is being depicted as, he suddenly summons the ability to converse in the native tongue of a dying woman in hospital (in the aforesaid unnecessary subplot). He seems unaware of common phrases and customary rules, he doesn't know about peanut butter, and he even has difficulty engaging in conversations...yet he's perfectly capable of concocting a plot about an IRS agent to save Bill's company! It's a challenging premise to swallow, and with these discrepancies it's doubly taxing.

"Death and Taxes."

My intention isn't to compare Meet Joe Black with the original Death Takes a Holiday as Brest's film is an independent entity - a further exploration of the fundamental concept. Yet, Meet Joe Black lacks an extremely crucial constituent in its story which was a major feature of Death Takes a Holiday - how the universe would manage with the Grim Reaper taking a vacation. The 1934 picture goes to great pains to illustrate a world with sickness and injury but without death. This fascinating aspect is almost entirely ignored by Meet Joe Black, which wastes the bulk of its duration developing a passionless romance and a corporate takeover scheme. Even the TV shows Family Guy and The Simpsons have explored this idea, albeit with a tongue-in-cheek, comic tone. The only shred of evidence of this concept being explored in Meet Joe Black is with the subplot involving a dying woman. But the dying woman's pain is superficial. She implores Death to "take" her, however this isn't developed to a more satisfying dimension - it remains a vapid inclusion.

The runtime is once more augmented by the director's tendency to force his actors to insert frequent, lengthy pauses into their dialogue. The dialogue needed to be delivered faster, with lines cut shorter. This wouldn't be as detrimental if the conversations were interesting and well-written, but unfortunately the characters predominantly say sophomoric dialogue rarely of much interest. Scenes hardly ever conclude naturally; Brest usually keeps dialogue running long past the point where the audience has lost interest. The ending is also an utter dud. Not only is this dénouement quite ambiguous, but it also takes far too long. There are farewells, reflections, confessions, reassurances, reconciliations, partings and surprises. Following all this, it's ultimately unsatisfying and hardly worth the prolonged lead-up. Instead of a poignant, powerful conclusion it ends on a boring note; failing to move on an emotional level.

Regardless of the aforementioned abundance of flaws, there is still much to appreciate in Meet Joe Black. It's perfectly passable and serviceable entertainment, albeit too long. Despite previous criticisms, this isn't an overly bloated or indulgent affair - it's merely in no hurry to examine the lives of a family. It does occasionally feel its three-hour length, but somehow it manages to frequently maintain interest on account of wonderful acting and great filmmaking. Everything looks beautiful - superb cinematography and first-rate production design are perhaps the film's chief strengths. The $90 million budget is employed effectively, creating an expansive mansion in which the characters navigate, as well as multiple other locations. A truly wonderful score by Thomas Newman is a particularly excellent contribution as well. Additionally, the subject matter isn't handled in a clichéd Hollywood fashion (it isn't as hokey as Ghost, for instance).

"I thought I was going to sneak away tonight. What a glorious night. Every face I see is a memory. It may not be a perfectly perfect memory. Sometimes we had our ups and downs. But we're all together, and you're mine for a night. And I'm going to break precedent and tell you my one candle wish: that you would have a life as lucky as mine, where you can wake up one morning and say, "I don't want anything more." Sixty-five years. Don't they go by in a blink?"

Brad Pitt's performance as Death will undoubtedly divide opinions. Pitt plays his character with great conviction, and his demeanour is beautifully understated, naïve and unique, as if he's actually experiencing life for the first time and slowly taking in all that surrounds him. To his credit, Pitt comes across as being in the world but not of it. If you can accept the premise, there'll be no trouble accepting the exceptionally engaging Pitt in the title role.
Anthony Hopkins is officially incapable of delivering a dud performance. This role affords Hopkins a number of scenes where he can convey the humanity and contemplation of a man who has lived a great life, but is forced to come to terms with the fact that it's drawing to a close. Hopkins is strong-willed as William Parrish; he's somewhat comical at times, while intimidating and chilling at other times.

Claire Forlani shows great promise as Bill's daughter Susan. She's convincing and engaging, despite zero palpable chemistry between her and Brad Pitt. At times Forlani resembles a deer caught in a car's headlights. Jake Weber is suitably contemptible as the treacherous Drew, and he's given adequate support by Marcia Gay Harden and Jeffrey Tambor.

With better editing and faster pacing, Meet Joe Black could've been a far superior film. A main subplot concerning the takeover of William Parrish's company could have been trimmed and streamlined. The film needed to stay true to its central focus - i.e. the relationships of the protagonists, and the pain the universe would endure with death on holiday. Be that as it may, there are charms to discover despite the film outstaying its welcome by a good forty minutes. Meet Joe Black is certainly worth watching for its penetrating views of mortality, its fascinating characterisation of Death, and its audacious intentions. The definitive version of Death Takes a Holiday is yet to be made, but Meet Joe Black is a solid attempt.

"Love is passion, obsession, someone you can't live without. If you don't start with that, what are you going to end up with? Fall head over heels. I say find someone you can love like crazy and who'll love you the same way back. And how do you find him? Forget your head and listen to your heart. I'm not hearing any heart. Run the risk, if you get hurt, you'll come back. Because, the truth is there is no sense living your life without this. To make the journey and not fall deeply in love - well, you haven't lived a life at all. You have to try. Because if you haven't tried, you haven't lived."

"You got my money, you leave that shit in the mailbox on your ass way out, you feel me? Some other motherfuckers let fool rob on them. I don't play scrimmage. But I don't fuck with no kids. And if that girl only hope is you, well, I pray for her, because she's gone, baby. Gone."

Gone Baby Gone denotes the auspicious directorial debut of Ben Affleck. Once undoubtedly one of Hollywood's worst actors (rapidly descending from Hollywood A-List to late-night talk show host punch-line on account of the J-Lo episode), Affleck has seemingly decided that his career has a better future if he remains behind the camera as opposed to in front of it. Based on the novel by Dennis Lehane, Gone Baby Gone was expertly scripted by Affleck and Aaron Stockard. This is a mature film, and first-time director Affleck was clearly determined the employ every ounce of his filmmaking skill in order to do justice to Lehane's source material (apparently Affleck's favourite book). The product is this gripping, densely-plotted crime thriller - a compelling drama that derives its plot twists from moral conundrums as opposed to narrative sleight of hand. Gone Baby Gone engages a viewer on both an emotional and intellectual level. As each onion-like layer of the narrative is peeled away, new ethical dilemmas are revealed that effectively compel the protagonist to question what truly is "right". An audience is invited to answer these questions beside him, and evaluate whether the outcomes of his decisions justify the choices he's made. Gone Baby Gone is a rare and unique motion picture experience that offers an uncompromising perspective of what is right and what is moral.

Full review coming soon...

"He lied to me. Now I can't think of one reason big enough for him to lie about that's small enough not to matter."

"My name is Benjamin Button, and I was born under unusual circumstances."

Throughout its undeniably lengthy 160 minutes, The Curious Case of Benjamin Button is a captivating, heartfelt, jubilant and melancholy experience - beautiful to observe and overflowing with a sense of marvel and wonder. Based on F. Scott Fitzgerald's short story, this strange, ambitious saga of a man who ages in reverse is presented in an immaculate classical style; every detail tended to with fastidious devotion. Director David Fincher has renounced the serial killer/psycho/dark side of humanity movies he's recognised for in order to undertake this stunning drama. It's Fincher's background - not to mention his reputation as a confirmed cynic - that makes him an intriguing choice of director, and the right man for the job. Some directors would have grasped the premise and crafted a hefty Kleenex workout, but Fincher infuses the film's more emotionally touching scenes with an acquiescent acceptance that life simply has its ups and downs. Screenwriter Eric Roth (perhaps most famous for Forrest Gump) uses Fitzgerald's source material as mere inspiration - taking just the idea and name. From there Roth's script follows a path divergent to the one mapped by Fitzgerald. This filmic adaptation is therefore its own entity. Flaws aside, this is one of the most engrossing, intriguing and emotionally resonant features of 2008.

During its three-hour runtime, The Curious Case of Benjamin Button takes its audience on a tour of the 20th century, although it begins in the 21st. The film opens in New Orleans. As Hurricane Katrina closes in, Daisy (Blanchett) - an elderly woman - lays on her deathbed, attended by her daughter Caroline (Ormond). Caroline begins to read the diary of a certain Benjamin Button, who grew younger as the years passed by, and whose life repeatedly intersected with that of her mother's.

Throughout the course of his life, Benjamin travels through such eras as the Great Depression and World War II. His story is no Forrest Gump journey, however - the character isn't placed in any obvious historical or pop cultural moments, nor is he ever on television or globally renowned for his uniqueness. Benjamin's life is one lived out of the public eye, as befits a man steadily growing younger as the years elapse.

Benjamin was born in 1918. His case is a curious one as he was born arthritic, deaf and withered - as if in his late eighties. Unable to cope with the monstrous appearance of his son, Thomas Button (Flemyng) abandons him. Raised under the monument of a train station clock that runs backwards (a brilliant side story, and a Fitzgeraldian metaphor if ever there was one), Benjamin is raised by a caretaker at an old folk's home as he continues to grow younger and learn valuable lessons.

Button's relationship with Daisy functions as the fulcrum on which the film rests. We observe Benjamin's journey through life as he experiences different occupations and situations, but it's his recurring bond with Daisy (whom he meets when they're both technically children) that provides the film with its heart...and heartbreak.

"And in the spring, 2003, he looked at me. And I knew, that he knew, who I was. And then he closed his eyes, as if to go to sleep."

Eric Roth's screenplay is comprised of three major segments. The first main component of The Curious Case of Benjamin Button chronicles Benjamin's infancy, when his ostensibly deteriorating physical appearance is belied by his escalating agility. Benjamin is astonishingly well adjusted considering his peculiar disability, but this is largely owing to his loving surrogate mother. The film's subsequent act transpires before, throughout, and after World War II. During this particular section, the main character enters into an affair with a middle-aged British woman (Swinton) and works onboard a tugboat (even lending a hand on said tugboat as the Pearl Harbor conflict unfolds). Upon his homecoming, Benjamin is far healthier, stronger and looks much younger. The third and final piece of the puzzle tracks Benjamin from middle age 'til his twilight years, during which he learns a number of things about sacrifice as well as redefining life and happiness. Similar to the character of Forrest Gump, Benjamin Button is an outcast of society, and history marches by him in a succession of vignettes. But director Fincher's darker side is in evidence here...

"Your life is defined by its opportunities... even the ones you miss."

The world of The Curious Case of Benjamin Button is achingly exquisite, ethereal and abundant in luxuriant visual mastery. Fincher spends almost three hours telling the story of Benjamin Button, and for the most part the time flies by effortlessly - there is little sense of dawdling, waste or indulgence (not to say there isn't...occasionally there is). It's as rich as any novel covering the scope of a man's life. Some feel the length is detrimental while others argue the length is entirely necessary to facilitate a satisfying conveyance of the life of this peculiar individual. Throughout its runtime the film evinces a steady hand that sustains narrative self-assurance, stability of tone, as well as a ripe consciousness of the mundane temperament of life's opportunities and the ephemeral quality of contentment. The frequently depressive atmosphere is occasionally lightened by humour. A recurring joke of a character being struck by lightning seven times, for instance, will definitely instigate a few giggles.

"Did I ever tell you I was struck by lightning seven times?"

The film features remarkable recreations of Depression-era New Orleans, the oceanic battles of World War II, and 1950s Paris. Director Fincher paints across the screen like a vast canvas. A sunset beheld by Benjamin and his ailing father, for example, is a dazzling portrait of light and shadow, of water vs. sky. Similarly stunning are images of destroyed battleships or of Daisy merrily dancing, silhouetted in night and fog. In these moments Fincher encapsulates the mood of Fitzgerald's prose; his visuals evoking the words in the way Fitzgerald's words so acutely created pictures.

Every scene is filled with astoundingly intricate detail, from the nooks and crannies of the sets created by production designer Donald Graham Burt to the flawless, century-bridging costumes by Jacqueline West. Alexandre Desplat's exquisite score provides divine and unobtrusive dramatic support. Fincher and cinematographer Claudio Miranda have lensed the film mainly in deep focus images to amplify the information inhabiting each frame. The depth of the blacks they achieve as a result of shooting on digital is extraordinary. In spite of the rich tapestry on offer, the film maintains a slightly remote feel. Even with so much emotional power being exuded by the actors, it is possible that the visuals may have been warmer and more accessible had it been lensed on film. Perhaps these nitpickings are a tad too extreme; nevertheless, however speculative this may be, the desired emotional impact could've been better achieved had it been committed to celluloid.

Despite its existence as a mainstream movie, The Curious Case of Benjamin Button triggers a high level of meditation regarding our own mortality and the inevitability of everyone's fate. It also presents the intriguing concept of not being scared about our own demise. "Scared?" asks a daughter to her mother on her deathbed. "No. Curious. About what happens next" is the reply. Personally, this confrontational masterpiece provoked thought in me regarding what happens after death. Will we be reincarnated? Will we never exist in any form again? Do we become ghosts, wandering the planet for eternity? No other film has ever prompted such questions with such power, nor have I ever truly contemplated the possibilities of "the afterlife" until I viewed Fincher's masterwork.

Reportedly, The Curious Case of Benjamin Button was in development for about fifteen years. Directors signed on and subsequently left, as did stars (thank God we were spared a Ron Howard version starring John Travolta!). Development was so prolonged simply because, until recently, technology has been unable to render the crippling effects of old age in the manner required for this motion picture. CGI wizards have long said that if an audience fails to notice the illusion they've created, their job has been properly accomplished. The Curious Case of Benjamin Button flaunts possibly the finest implementation of marvellous visual effects ever seen in a film. The aging techniques applied to Pitt and his co-stars throughout the film's duration are faultless. There's a wealth of top-notch CG wizardry on glorious display in this movie, but never is there a single moment when a viewer becomes aware of it. As an old man, Pitt looks the part - it's the equivalent of visiting an aged Pitt through a time portal. A most unnerving image is that of Pitt looking more or less the way he did back in Thelma and Louise (during the early days of his career). Cate Blanchett, too, is caked in make-up...yet the transformation from youthful beauty to aged woman bears no seams. With the fusion of imperceptible digital effects and incredible make-up, David Fincher has pulled off a remarkable feat.

Credit is also due to the actors, who by no means allow the make-up and digital effects to do the talking - each respective actor expertly walks in the shoes of different eras whilst maintaining the core of who they are.
Pitt inhabits the role of Benjamin Button amiably, tenderly and compassionately. The actor places forth a likable and watchable persona - someone an audience would like to spend so much time with. Cate Blanchett brings vibrancy and spirit to the character of Daisy. After brusquely revealing the egotistic impetuousness of Daisy's youthful self, the thespian fully registers both the passion and timidity of a mature woman.

The supporting cast is uniformly excellent, with performers like Tilda Swinton, Jared Harris, and Julia Ormond making the most of limited screen time. Swinton is particularly wonderful as the calculating adulteress. As Benjamin's surrogate mother, Taraji P. Henson is extremely convincing and congenial. To round out the main supporting cast is Jason Flemyng as Benjamin's biological father. Aging techniques are applied to virtually all the supporting cast, but as their respective characters age, so does their mannerisms and voice. There isn't a defective performance to behold.

The Curious Case of Benjamin Button has received decidedly mixed reviews. Certainly, there are multiple missteps. The principal flaw is the mechanism through which the story is conveyed - Daisy's daughter reading Benjamin's intimate diary to her mother on her deathbed. Not only is it clichéd, but it's a key hindrance when the audience is far too frequently removed from Benjamin's tale and placed into the hospital room. Worse, the potentially interesting fragments of Benjamin's life are entirely omitted. His final 20 years flash by in a matter of minutes. Following a ponderous and intimate examination of the protagonist's life over the course of about 150 minutes, it's disappointing to consider the exclusions. The film should've explored interesting oddities in Ben's later life - after all, he's a wise and aged soul trapped in the body of an infant. Instead of exploiting these endless possibilities, the film is limited to telling an occasionally plodding story minus any real twists. Proceedings are perfunctory from time to time as it sails towards its inevitable conclusion...and we all know its finale won't be upbeat. The film occasionally feels its 160 minutes, although it'd be erroneous to begrudge Fincher considering the meticulousness of his direction and the painstaking time the helmer has obviously pumped into this brilliantly atmospheric, eloquent, visually striking production.

It's critical for The Curious Case of Benjamin Button to be viewed on its own terms - as a fairytale - or else it utterly fails. Roth's screenplay provides little grounding for the reverse aging, and consequently it's not particularly convincing. This is a fantasy, however, and it can never be perceived as anything but. It's initially difficult to accept the premise, but once you do...the effects are utterly intoxicating.

"We're meant to lose the people we love. How else are we supposed to know how important they are?"

Benjamin Button's inverted aging process is merely a conduit; the journey down it allowing a viewer to acquire a slightly distorted insight into the process of living and, perhaps, a better understanding of human nature. To some, this may appear too much for a mainstream motion picture to achieve. The Curious Case of Benjamin Button seems to struggle in its endeavour to take an audience as far down its established path as it might hope to. Its fantastical premise may also difficult for some audiences to believe. Nevertheless, the film's power of compulsion cannot be denied, nor can the sense that it means something when the experience concludes. As it closes with a poignant montage, it's virtually impossible to not be emotionally touched. A majority of viewers will undoubtedly be entertained, rapt and moved, while some will find their intellect stimulated. F. Scott Fitzgerald's source material may be ancient, but the concept beneath The Curious Case of Benjamin Button has been effectively transported into the 21st century with enthralling results. It may be sometimes laborious, but this is an extraordinarily expressive tour de force - a stunning career achievement for director David Fincher. It's every bit as impressive to view as summer blockbusters, but there's also a genuine story to accompany the stunning visuals and potent atmosphere.

"Along the way you bump into people who make a dent on your life. Some people get struck by lightning. Some are born to sit by a river. Some have an ear for music. Some are artists. Some swim the English Channel. Some know buttons. Some know Shakespeare. Some are mothers. And some people can dance."

"You think killing a man gives you the right to negotiate with me?"

The Negotiator is of a rare breed - an action-thriller relying on suspense generated by lots of dialogue, several superb plot twists and a selection of brilliant, dominant performances rather than a surplus of explosive, over-the-top action sequences. This first-rate white-knuckle thriller is virtually a non-stop venture into tension. Once the (somewhat clichéd) set-up has been established, the film kicks into high gear and moves at an invigorating fast pace; ably keeping a viewer engrossed until its fantastic dénouement. The Negotiator adheres to the classic Die Hard formula - i.e. a protagonist trapped in a nasty situation; compelled to employ his wits and heroics. This enthralling production deserves to be considered one of the best action-thrillers since Die Hard, and is a Dog Day Afternoon of the '90s.

Inspired by a real-life case involving the St. Louis police, The Negotiator is endowed with the premise of a falsely accused man who's forced to violate the law in order to prove his innocence.
Expert hostage negotiator Danny Roman (Jackson) is a respected member of the Chicago Police Department. When he learns too much information regarding police corruption in his own precinct, Roman's partner is murdered. Subsequently, Roman is unjustly framed for the murder and framed for embezzling retirement funds. Recently married but possibly facing a lifetime in prison, Roman is desperate to prove his innocence. In a last frantic attempt to exonerate himself, Roman takes four hostages. His goal: to intimidate the guilty cops into telling the truth and clearing his name. Aware that there are heavily corrupt cops in his precinct, Roman demands to talk to hostage negotiator Chris Sabian (Spacey) who has no affiliation with his precinct and who's recognised for his anti-violence creed. What ensues is an enthralling situation as two accomplished negotiators lock in an intense battle of wits. In the midst of this, Roman endeavours to expose the real crooks and convince Sabian of his innocence.

"You want my blood? Take my blood!"

The Negotiator is a superlative, competently-written thriller, and it's elevated enormously by the two lead actors. Samuel L. Jackson and Kevin Spacey aren't just good performers; each exudes an authoritative screen presence that cannot be taught. Placing Spacey and Jackson together is a shrewd casting decision, and witnessing these two high-calibre actors share the frame is a real treat.

Embodying the incorrectly accused Everyman whose life is unfairly threatened, Jackson conveys not only the requisite rage and passion, but additionally a profound sense of humanity. He's an exceptional actor - someone who almost never delivers a defective performance. Put Jackson in a great movie, and he makes it better. Put him in a bad movie, and he rescues it. The Negotiator is a textbook case of the former.
Beside Jackson, Kevin Spacey is exceptional as the veteran hostage negotiator. In the delivery of cynical dialogue, Spacey has no rival - instead he uses his distinctive voice and rhythm to punctuate his speeches.

The supporting cast is most impressive. J.T. Walsh (in his final film) in particular places forth an excellently subdued performance as the ambiguous Niebaum. Walsh died soon after production wrapped, and the film is dedicated to the actor.

David Morse appears as the tough SWAT commander who believes Jackson's Danny Roman takes too many chances. In addition there's Regina Taylor as Roman's new bride, Ron Rifkin as Frost (Roman's friend + colleague), John Spencer as the rational Chief Davis, and finally the duel team of Paul Giamatti and Siobahn Fallon as two civilians caught up in the hostage situation - all hitting their marks impeccably. Giamatti is especially outstanding; providing small dosages of humour, but never overdoing it.

"You hurt one of them, you burn up any currency you have with me. They're all I care about. Getting you out of here alive... a distant second."

The Negotiator benefits from a perfectly-paced, fleshed-out screenplay penned by James DeMonaco and Kevin Fox (two relative newcomers). Their excellent script is beset with detail in the construction of conflict, the revelation of the villains, and the resolution of the story. Since the conclusion is fairly predictable, the real tension and hostility resides in its disclosure of the truth behind the multifaceted conspiracy of avarice and corruption. Furthermore, the minor characters are well-selected, well-conceived and (moderately) three-dimensional. In a genuine masterstroke, the film doesn't telegraph the chief villain too early. The method of the screenwriters and director F. Gary Gray makes everyone appear guilty. Excluding Roman and Sabian, no-one is above suspicion. Each supporting character is given at least one scene that suggests their possible guilt. Consequently, the big reveal of the chief villain isn't much of a surprise, but we can't say we knew all along either. Furthermore, DeMonaco and Fox's screenplay is littered with extensive research on negotiation procedures as the rulebook is constantly referenced. This is a quality rarely included in popcorn action-thrillers, elevating The Negotiator to new heights once again.

Also beneficial is the confidence displayed by the relatively inexperienced director F. Gary Gray. Working with a terrific cast and a bigger budget than in his prior movies (including Friday and Set It Off), Gray demonstrates his ability to handle a large-scale production with an abundance of action set-pieces. The helmer has fashioned a top-notch motion picture that interlaces exhilarating bursts of chaotic action with dark comedy and effective character building - all this achieved in an increasingly-claustrophobic atmosphere. He's particularly adept at managing intense interactions between the central characters. Although Gray was working from a solid script, the story is not a masterpiece of innovation or creativity. It's Gray's directorial style more than anything else that keeps viewers on the edge of their seats. He also compels us to be concerned about the characters, to share Roman's frustration and anger, and to get engaged in the delicate process of negotiations. Ace cinematographer Russell Carpenter won an Oscar for his work on Titanic, and his commendable efforts here give the film a great sheen. Locations in Chicago are wonderfully showcased in brilliant overhead shots. Carpenter also gives the film a dark, cohesive look.

"When your friends betray you, sometimes the only people you can trust are strangers."

Unlike typical summer action movies, The Negotiator isn't dependent on expensive special effects to provide its thrills, nor is it saturated with over-the-top action sequences. While action-oriented summer flicks are admittedly stacks of fun, The Negotiator offers a refreshing and satisfying option of steadily building the tension to boiling point. It's a riveting experience - one that's guaranteed to keep your eyes glued to the screen. The battle of wits that unfolds never loses its edge, although the film is a tad on the long side at roughly 130 minutes. There are other flaws present in the film - too many irritatingly melodramatic scenes are detrimental, as are a few preposterous, Hollywoodised inclusions (simply walking into the sunset after an intense hostage-taking situation would never happen). Still, the level of intelligence is higher than that of a typical summer blockbuster. Furthermore, the film is often formulaic and unoriginal - there's the mandatory wife who demands her husband to stop taking dangerous assignments, and the TV crews that supply the usual obnoxious questions. To director Gray's credit, though, it's almost impossible to notice these clichés until your adrenaline stops pumping and the film has become a mere afterthought. The Negotiator takes a hackneyed story and jacks it up various levels with Gray's craft and style.

Not often are Die Hard emulations of this high standard - The Negotiator is an intense, entertaining, incredibly gripping action-thriller. Director F. Gary Gray has skilfully crafted a deft combination of intense dialogue, plot twists and pulse-pounding action set-pieces. The film doesn't plod despite its lengthy runtime, and the masterful filmmaking guarantees quality viewing regardless of how many times you've previously seen it. The Negotiator opens with a bang, and it's exactly this advantageous energy that pervades the entire picture. Jackson and Spacey are a sublime duo, exchanging witty dialogue delivered with conviction and urgency. This cracking, slam-bang thriller simply cannot be missed!

"I'm still alive, motherfucker!"

"I blow a hole in your face and then I go in the house and I sleep like a baby."

Unofficially billed as Clint Eastwood's swansong to acting, Gran Torino is an arresting and poignant drama infused with Eastwood's brilliantly distinctive filmmaking style. Eastwood's second directorial undertaking for 2008 (previously helming Changeling) and his first screen performance since 2004's Million Dollar Baby, Gran Torino is an excellently written, well-performed character study of racism and redemption that fits contentedly beside the rest of Eastwood's cinematic oeuvre. This is a potent, effective and emotionally affecting drama - it's slow-paced yet subtly engaging, moderately unexciting yet it's virtually impossible to lose interest and it's never boring. Working from a script penned by first-time screenwriter Nick Schenk, Eastwood has utilised old-school (albeit somewhat outdated) filmmaking techniques to convey this gripping tale. Gran Torino doesn't offer avant-garde visual effects or glossy action sequences - it offers Clint "I'm still badass at 78" Eastwood, meticulous characters, and first-rate storytelling. It merges compelling drama with terrific subtle humour, and the product is simply outstanding.

Gran Torino stars Clint Eastwood as disgruntled Korean War veteran Walt Kowalski. Walt is a widower; a grumpy, tough-minded, unhappy old man whose family relationships are shaky, and who's openly racist against his Hmong neighbours - maintaining a rich passion for bigotry since enduring dark days in the Korean War. This prejudice explodes when Thao (Vang), the teenage son of the Hmong family next door, tries to steal Walt's prized possession - a 1972 Gran Torino, kept in mind condition - as part of a gang initiation. Several days later, upon observing a violent predicament concerning Thao, Walt feels compelled to intervene (in a classic Eastwood stand-off), and ultimately earns the respect of the Hmong community. Despite initially disliking the culture, this post-9/11 version of Dirty Harry Callahan warily develops a relationship with his neighbours. Walt aims to reform Thao, and soon begins taking steps to protect the Hmong family before the gang activity worsens. Serious questions soon begin to arise...questions of responsibility, of retribution...of the efficacy of blood for blood.

The majority of Gran Torino involves Walt coming to terms with his new Hmong buddies. Despite originally reluctant to befriend them due to his openly racist perspective, he eventually grows respect for them. The movie's supreme moments depict Walt finding his footing at Hmong congregations, failing socialisation prospects, but lovin' the cooking. The crux of the story belongs to Walt and Thao as they develop a special bond. The relationship isn't played for Odd Couple chortles, but as an unlikely father/son partnership with Thao learning to improve his life through gruelling work and learning to avoid the lure of crime. While Bee Vang's performance appears to lack polish, this relationship remains an absorbing central piece of the Gran Torino puzzle.

"If I have to come back here again, it's gonna get fucking ugly!"

Nick Schnek's screenplay for Gran Torino is imbued with textured Midwestern civilisation, utilising the discomfort between aged military vets who refuse to depart from their contented residences and the melting pot that surrounds them. Through this, Schnek has constructed a human story of tentative reverence and the clearing of conscience. Gran Torino doesn't present a scholastic version of race relations; however Schnek evidently understands the rancorous mentality of men like Walt who live and breathe outdated American values, and find their faith rewarded by the degeneration of respect in contemporary youth and the rise of foreign cultures in their own backyard. Schnek and Eastwood's joint efforts have turned Gran Torino into a motion picture that ponders violence, its place and its cost. Perhaps the greatest aspect of Schenk's screenplay is that it enticed Eastwood to finish his self-imposed acting hiatus and bring his unique aura back to the big screen one final time.

Gran Torino is no action movie; this is a lengthy character study that spends the majority of its two-hour runtime developing the characters through dialogue and bonding. Schnek endows his script with witty dialogue and fascinating conversations. Humour additionally plays a key role in the screenplay. However, the comedy isn't restricted to slapstick or juvenile humour...this is sophisticated humour, mainly concerning Walt's relationship with the contemporary world around him. Eastwood's snappy dialogue is guaranteed to provoke a laugh or two. Had this been a straight-up drama, the film would fail to properly engage for its duration. Had Gran Torino been imbued with an onslaught of hilarity, its impact would severely dissipate. The correct balance is achieved, which is certainly among the film's main strengths.

"Oh, I've got one. A Mexican, a Jew, and a colored guy go into a bar. The bartender looks up and says, "Get the fuck out of here!"."

Gran Torino is predominantly naturalistic and grounded as opposed to Hollywood. It eschews the proverbial clichés in favour of producing something original. The film's climax is perhaps most commendable - unconventional, unpredictable and overflowing with emotionality, yet satisfying, symbolic, haunting, and ultimately very appropriate. This is a rare movie that doesn't implode in its final reel; in point of fact its dénouement elevates the flick tremendously. It's evident both Eastwood and Schnek put much thought into the best way to construct the conclusion. It's a credit to the film's ending that Walt exorcises his demons without violence or bogus redemption.

If this were a Hollywood production, Gran Torino would conclude with the villains receiving their comeuppance by means of a violent, preposterous shootout (Death Sentence, anybody?). In a Hollywood movie Walt would also magically transform into an old softie; he'd admit his mistakes, and reconnect with his family. These clichés never surface in Gran Torino, therein lying justification as to why it's so damn excellent. By the end Walt and his neighbours share an obvious affection, but at his heart he's still the same callous, pungent, elderly badass and his loneliness is satiated. Instead of Walt becoming changed by his new acquaintances, he intends to change them by taking Thao under his wing and aiming to build character...to transform him into a proper man. It's clear Walt loves both his Hmong neighbours and his family. Nevertheless he continues to call them racist slurs - not out of malice...plainly because it's just Walt's nature. Thao and Sue manage to look past Walt's exterior shell, understanding that they're merely words. They've seen the good in him, and this outweighs the factors that make the old man such a curmudgeon. Gran Torino is NOT Hollywood...this is Eastwood.

"We shot men, stabbed them with bayonets, chopped up 17 year olds with shovels."

In the past, Clint Eastwood has earned two Academy Awards for directing - Million Dollar Baby and Unforgiven. His direction is once again sublime. Outstanding cinematography is employed, capturing the ambiance of suburbia with consummate skill. Music is applied sparingly. Barely 30% (give or take) of the two-hour runtime contains music, yet this approach succeeds remarkably. The Gran Torino song (played in full during the closing credits, with lyric-less notes used at select points throughout the film) is a poignant synthesis of beautiful singing (Clint Eastwood himself even sings!) and subtle, eloquent piano music. I continued to watch until the end credits expired...riveted, moved, and on the verge of tears. Motion pictures rarely, if ever, move me on such a profound level. Top honours to the filmmakers for pulling this off.

Envisage every unflinching, badass character Clint Eastwood has ever played. Now imagine these characters in their twilight years; wrinkled, fatigued, on death's door, and spitting in the face of death one last time in order to help a friend. Eastwood as Walt Kowalski is simply stunning; imposing, intimidating and realistic. Eastwood's raspy, growly acting denotes the actor's return to his teeth-clenched, asphalt-voiced roots - virtually an aged version of Dirty Harry Callahan. Discharging every Asian racial appellation known to man to sell Walt's cruel exterior, Eastwood assembles a character of gun-happy action, beer-soaked contemplation, and passionate defiance that could only be tackled by the screen legend.
Cocking his rifle when gang members intrude on his territory, Walt snarls "Get off my lawn" in a moment destined to become classic Eastwood, comfortably standing alongside "Make my day". Things get better when Walt confronts hoodlums playing grab-ass with Sue... "Ever notice how you come across somebody once in a while that you shouldn't have fucked with? That's me." This "me" isn't just Walt Kowalski... It's The Man with No Name taking aim in those classic spaghetti Westerns... It's Dirty Harry Callahan levelling his Magnum, asking "Do you feel lucky, punk?"... It's William Munny (Unforgiven) digging deep to note "It's a hell of a thing, killing a man. You take away all he's got and all he's ever gonna have"... It's Frankie Dunn (Million Dollar Baby) who knows "tough ain't enough".

Sharing the frame with the screen legend is a mixture of mostly first-time actors. Bee Vang and Ahney Her are watchable as Thao and Sue (respectively), but they occasionally lack a requisite spark to truly elevate their performances. However, as naturalistic actors they succeed. This isn't Hollywood material teeming with overacting...these are actors grounding their portrayals in realism. Despite terrifically playing the naturalism card, the cast do seem contrived from time to time. The worst offender here is Christopher Carley as the concerned young priest.

For Clint Eastwood fans, Gran Torino cannot be missed at any cost. If your admiration for Eastwood is based on the hard-edged characters he's renowned for playing, you'll love Gran Torino. This is a touching farewell and a hell-raising salute to every badass Eastwood character in existence. It's been hinted that this is Eastwood's final movie as an actor, and if so it's an extremely suitable goodbye to such a screen legend. This is a movie you must see - a poignant, touching, gratifying cinematic experience. Gran Torino is far smarter, broader, and funnier than it seems. This is the Eastwood we all remember in a pitch-perfect final performance. Whether you seek humour, drama or an onslaught of touching moments, this film will provide. Gran Torino - named after the 1972 car that Walt polishes like a symbol of his idealised past - is a humdinger of valedictory.

In a nutshell: Clint Eastwood went ahead and made my day.

"Jesus, Joseph and Mary. These Hmong broads are like badgers."

"The blood from your whole body goes to your head... it stops there... never comes down. But soon, it will come out of your nose, your ears, and even your eyes... and then... you will die... painfully..."

As we learn during the final showdown, the title Kiss of the Dragon is derived from a method of killing - it essentially involves the insertion of an acupuncture needle into a "very forbidden" point on the body, trapping the body's blood supply in the head which consequently triggers bleeding from the head's orifices and a very painful death via a brain aneurysm. Guess who's going to implement the Kiss of the Dragon?

Kiss of the Dragon was reportedly rushed into production due to Jet Li's fans requesting more realistic fight sequences. In the post-Matrix days of filmmaking, traditional martial arts movies are usually permeated with Matrix-style trickery to spice up action scenes. Thankfully, Kiss of the Dragon avoids falling victim to this unfortunate plague. This is old-fashioned butt-kicking martial arts material, using digital effects rarely and featuring wire-work only once. Unlike Jackie Chan who combines martial arts skills with comedic flair, Jet Li provides straight-up action minus any comedy - he's far more interested in generating an adrenaline rush. There is no deeper meaning to this particular movie; it's just professional, well-staged action filmed with a certain stylistic elegance.

Predictably, Kiss of the Dragon lacks a truly intricate story. This is a straightforward action affair, produced purely with the intention of showcasing Jet Li's talents as a martial artist. It admittedly lacks motivation and logic, but never mind. In a motion picture featuring physical action bordering on impossible, why should the plot be reasonable and credible?
Top Beijing government agent Liu Jian (Li) is sent on an assignment in Paris to assist in a drug-smuggling bust (or something of that nature...the whole plot is frustratingly vague). Not long after his arrival in France, Jian becomes the patsy when he's framed for a double murder by the ruthless French investigator Jean-Pierre Richard (Karyo), who has a limitless supply of henchmen at his disposal. Unsurprisingly, Jian escapes the clutches of Richard and goes on the run in a desperate attempt to prove his innocence. For the rest of the picture, Jian attempts to extricate himself from the (dodgy) frame-up, eventually developing a reluctant partnership with hooker Jessica (Fonda).

Kiss of the Dragon tantalisingly opens without a single drop of exposition in an energetic, sustained set-piece following Jian's initial arrival in Paris. As the plot arrives, the film grows moronic when the script refuses to explain itself. What is Richard's connection to the Chinese? Why has he bothered to abduct the child of an immigrant hooker as collateral when he kills everyone else? Furthermore, why doesn't anyone bother to dispose of incriminating evidence instead of locking it in a drawer?

Tchéky Karyo as Richard (a fundamental doppelganger of Sean Bean in GoldenEye) barely reaches the first dimension. During all his villainous acts of killing and barking strict orders, he forgets to have a motivation. What is the point of framing Jian? Why did he murder those involved in this drug ring of sorts?

As the thrilling action-packed ride unspools, the film appears to focus exclusively on the action scenes. The hero is a one-dimensional single-man army, taking on multiple brainless enemies simultaneously and always coming out on top. Horribly lazy plotting emerges when Jian and Jessica meet. We're not only expected to believe a top government agent has been framed, but also that this prostitute just happens to work the streets where Jian is temporarily residing. This is a coincidence of monumental proportions, and it's simply too ridiculous to be believed. Character development doesn't exist beyond a few cheesy emotional exchanges between the protagonists, and therefore it's impossible to get involved with the characters. Also, as Jet Li works his way through a buffed brigade of baddies with more and more elaborate martial jousting, it begs the question: why doesn't someone just shoot the trouble-maker?

Kiss of the Dragon was co-written and co-produced by Luc Besson, known for a number of past hits including Leon (The Professional), The Fifth Element, and La Femme Nikita (just to name a few). But despite the efforts of the usually reliable Besson, Kiss of the Dragon is a cookie-cutter of a script for a well-trodden genre. Clichés abound, and the whole thing is predictable from the word go. All action movies are predictable, granted, thus it's all about the execution. In this case the characters are flat, the dialogue is banal, and the gaps between action sequences continually bog.

First-time director Chris Nahon has managed to imbue the visuals with a satisfyingly dark and gritty tone; successfully utilising the Parisian locations to great effect. Veteran action coordinator Cory Yuen is responsible for the creation of a handful of beautifully choreographed and superbly performed action sequences. These fight scenes are genuine masterpieces, helped in no small part by the athletic Jet Li. The final result when stringed together, however, is watchable and exhilarating but ultimately somewhat forgettable.

Luc Besson is one of a group of French directors who believe that in order for a French movie to succeed on the international stage, it must be successful in the United States. Consequently, even though this flick was filmed in and takes place in Paris, virtually everyone speaks English. Mainstream movie-goers will therefore be none the wiser, thinking it's just another Hollywood production...which is precisely Besson's intention. It is absurd watching Frenchman and Chinese speaking English to each other, though.

Jet Li's performance is top-notch. Kiss of the Dragon seems keen to establish Li as the next big martial arts star. He oozes charisma and coolness, and he actually has acting ability (instead of someone like Steven Seagal, who's generally sluggish and might easily be mistaken for a wooden post). Not only is Li unbelievably athletic and able to perform kicks and thrusts with blazing speed, but his screen presence is likable.

Bridget Fonda makes an endearing companion who brings out Jian's humanity and becomes unintentionally involved in the proceedings. To the credit of the screenwriting community, there is no love interest developed between Fonda and Li. Also, predictably, Ms. Fonda isn't granted much in the heroics department... In fact, she's just there - a fundamental add-on with little genuine involvement with the story-line. Her screen presence is sufficiently amiable, but she more or less comes off as just a plot device to provide Li with an excuse to exercise his fighting skills for a reason other than exonerating his own name.

Meanwhile, Tchéky Karyo plays the role of the bad guy with aplomb; creating a type of bastard we'll have no difficulty despising. Burt Kwouk (of the Pink Panther fame) makes a brief appearance, and makes the most of his screen-time. Cyril Raffaelli is also given the opportunity to demonstrate his skills as a martial artist. In fact, on only one occasion were wires used for fight scenes - when Raffaelli and Li verse one another. Wires were utilised to slow down their movements as the two performers were too fast for the camera to track them!

Instead of being endowed with any real plausibility or any serious motivation for the events, Kiss of the Dragon merely offers a state of affairs whereby Li can showcase his skills as a martial artist...and he does a splendid job at it! The film's first ten minutes ran my hopes high. Had it developed a solid story, exhibited an ounce of credibility, or even delivered a quick dash of tongue-in-cheek humour, Kiss of the Dragon could have completely fulfilled its potential. Its auspicious premise instead quickly transforms into yet another action spectacle featuring comic-book heroes and sinister villains. If that's all you expected, you'll probably get a kick out of it. If you expected something more (Luc Besson did co-write the story!), you'll find Kiss of the Dragon a simple, mindless, enjoyable guilty pleasure (like I did). It gets the adrenaline rushing during the action sequences, but it's short on plot, credibility and characterisation. This is exclusively for dedicated Li fans and/or martial arts film fans.

"You know, since I've been here I've had four others like you. Strong, fast, young, they've all died, the last right in my arms. Before I go home I'd like to send one back alive."

"Okay, here we go. Focus. Speed. I am speed. One winner, forty-two losers. I eat losers for breakfast. Breakfast? Maybe I should have had breakfast? Brekkie could be good for me. No, no, no, focus. Speed. Faster than fast, quicker than quick. I am Lightning."

Considering the astronomical box office intake for every CGI-animated picture Pixar has distributed as of 2006, the revolutionary animation studio has developed into the most commercially successful studio in history. Their first six feature films (beginning with 1995's Toy Story) were extensively considered to be instant classics from the moment their first digitally-rendered frames streaked across worldwide theatre screens. Yet more than mere dollars are in consideration here - Pixar pictures are resonant works of art which shall remain watchable and enjoyable for many subsequent generations. Each Pixar masterpiece is infused with genuine heart, timeless laughs and meaningful messages. Thus far, Pixar features have given voices to bugs, toys, monsters and fish...so why not cars?

Cars arguably marks the first true Pixar misfire. In addition, this 2006 picture is debatably the weakest animated feature to emerge from the virtual drawing board at this successful company. Not to say that Cars is a total disaster - by all accounts it's bright and creative, and is pervaded with a very intriguing concept indeed. This is also one of Pixar's greatest visual achievements to date, featuring state-of-the-art CGI animation bordering on photo-realism guaranteed to astound on a very high level. However, feeble screenwriting proves injurious - fewer laughs, lots of excess, and a cumbersome, predictable story that preaches the same ol' clichéd messages. It's too long and listless, and while adults may tolerate the excessive character development, the children - with their notoriously diminutive attention spans - may grow restless. Cars is a character-driven feature, therefore including fewer action scenes than most animated films. The kinetic energy of the initial racing sequences is unfortunately not sustained.

Cars transpires in a universe dominated entirely by automobiles (without any humans or animals...even flies are tiny cars with wings).
The story centres on cocky hotshot rookie race car Lightning McQueen (Wilson). In his first year of racing, Lightning has taken the prestigious Piston Cup by storm. Locked in a battle for the championship against two seasoned pros, the final race is set to be held in California. En route across the country to compete in this final race, Lightning becomes waylaid in the small forgotten town of Radiator Springs after inadvertently mangling the main street during a police pursuit. In a subtle homage to Cool Hand Luke (starring Paul Newman, who lends his voice to the cantankerous old Doc Hudson), Lightning is sentenced to repair the main street through days of gruelling labour. As Lightning begins befriending the townsfolk (towncars?) of Radiator Springs, the conceited race car begins to realise that perhaps there's more to life than winning. The question soon arises: when he attends the big race will be maintain his newfound values or revert to his old ways?

"When was the last time you cared about something except yourself, hot rod? You name me one time, and I will take it all back. Uh-huh. I thought so.

In conveying its plot, Cars brings two well-worn clichés to the animation realm. The first is the apprehensive friendship between an elderly gent and a young hotshot. The second is the story of how a pastoral setting percolates the blood of a city boy. However, Cars isn't merely the story about one little NASCAR-type racer who becomes lost and stranded in the desert, nor is it just about a big-city hotshot who learns valuable messages. It's primarily a story concerning all the vanishing little towns in America that modern Interstate thoroughfares have bypassed and left for dead. The simple message is quite clear: life was better in the old days.

"I don't need a map! I have the GPS. Never need a map again, thank you."

For Pixar chief John Lasseter, Cars was a personal project. Lasseter had worked flat out for 10 years, and the outcome of these exertions was the first two Toy Story features. Following this extensive labour, his wife explained that his commitment to other children's happiness may cause him to miss the experience of witnessing his own children grow up. Lasseter responded to this by taking a few months off to drive his family through the backwaters of America, circumventing the interstate highways. The excursion was a revelation for the animation director - he was moved by the stories he was told about the consequences of interstates on the old Route 66 towns. Lasseter was inspired to begin penning (with the sadly deceased Joe Ranft) a story about slowing down and smelling the roses.

As usual for a Pixar movie, Cars sports a strong ensemble cast, featuring the voices of Bonnie Hunt, Owen Wilson, Cheech Marin, Tony Shaloub, Paul Newman, George Carlin, and Michael Keaton (to name a few), along with a plethora of racing personalities and a few other interesting celebrities.

Owen Wilson possesses the requisite mix of brashness and congeniality, and his vocal inflections are well-suited for the egotistical little speedster. The filmmakers reportedly named Lightning McQueen after the late Pixar animator Glenn McQueen, but most viewers will most likely associate the character name with the late actor Steve McQueen (who was fond of driving).

"These are good folk around here who care about one another. I don't want them depending on someone they can't count on."

This was one of Paul Newman's final films. Newman's wise and amiable voice is perfect for Doc Hudson. Bonnie Hunt, abandoning her regular sardonic style, wonderfully mixes sassiness and heart as the sexy Porsche Sally. Larry the Cable Guy is terrific as Mater, who invests his character with charm that makes him a memorable sidekick. Additionally, authentic broadcasters and race drivers such as Bob Costas, Jay Leno, Darrel Waltrip, Richard Petty, Dale Earnhardt Jr., Michael Schumacher, and Mario Andretti lend their voices to the film in cameo appearances.

"I don't know what's harder to find: Lightning McQueen or a crew chief who'll work with him."

At a little under two hours, Cars is (just barely) Pixar's longest animated feature to date. With its first act lacking a solid hook, Cars almost certainly would've been a considerably smoother ride if the road to Radiator Springs was more streamlined. Furthermore, the majority of the laughs aren't as sophisticated as we've come to expect from Pixar. The double-underlined moral lessons and oversentimentality can also be quite ham-fisted. This is not Pixar firing on all cylinders. Judged merely as a visual exercise, Cars is a triumph. However, Pixar are usually renowned for their clever stories and great screenplays which are as deft as the animation. On account of the screenplay here being so dodgy, Cars is a misfire - visually wonderful, but still a misfire. As a piece of storytelling, Cars sometimes has a sluggishness that is all the more surprising considering it's directed by animation god John Lasseter, back behind the wheel for the first time since Toy Story 2.

"Hopeless emptiness. Now you've said it. Plenty of people are onto the emptiness, but it takes real guts to see the hopelessness."

Revolutionary Road, a cinematic adaptation of the novel by Richard Yates, is a compelling character study as well as a brutal, emotionally-straining examination of a marriage in turmoil that denounces the American Dream as a cruel charade. Director Sam Mendes, who had previously helmed the 1999 film American Beauty, returns to his roots in crafting this powerful suburban drama. Revolutionary Road is a truly extraordinary motion picture that harnesses spellbinding emotional discharge and enthralling repugnance, employing two talented and captivating lead actors (Kate Winslet and Leonardo DiCaprio, reuniting in a movie for the first time since 1997's Titanic) to bring to the screen a masterwork of domestic isolation. Bearing in mind Mendes' penchant for polished hysteria (and considering the source material), it makes perfect sense for Revolutionary Road to linger on the bubbling pot of emotive poison splashing on the marriage of the protagonists. This is a beautifully mounted voyage of discomfort, scrutinising the forever expanding line that divides two individuals who've lost interest in open communication, and who are forced to preserve their decaying lifestyle and status in the name of matrimony. Those keen to reaffirm the transforming power of love may feel like slashing their wrists after watching this bleak drama during which love turns into loathing, defiance and tragedy.

Trying their best to conform to mid-1950's standards of social grace and marital comfort, Frank (DiCaprio) and April (Winslet) Wheeler have settled resentfully into stultifying suburbia but fantasise of reclaiming their lives as free spirits. They're living the American Dream; however their lives are trapped and unfulfilled. April's acting aspirations are sunk beyond salvaging, and Frank works everyday at a job he can barely tolerate. They begin coming apart at the seams, and endeavour to rejuvenate and rescue their marriage.

Concise, carefully placed flashbacks depict Frank and April in happier times, but now they have become stagnant and indignant...at least under the surface. Outwardly the couple are still trying to be happy, impulsively deciding to take the kids and move to Paris. However, a combination of mutual loathing and growing unrest (not to mention infidelity) threatens their lives, and they begin to turn on each other with cataclysmic consequences.

The callousness which pulls Frank and April apart is where Revolutionary Road hits the hardest. Playing with steadfast gender roles and suburban complacency, the film opts to portray the slow burn path, charitably exhibiting the erosion of spirit within the two bickering protagonists. Frank and April were united by cocktail-hour flirtation and promises that were eventually broken...and now the couple are left to cope with their messy lives. They've basically declared war on each other; April's pregnancy and Frank's possible new position (at a company he detests) is exercised as ammunition to unleash staggering diatribes against each other. Revolutionary Road is bursting with searing belligerent situations, but director Mendes never permits the discontent to blur into white noise. The film instead grips tighter with every passing scene, deepening the characterisation as Frank and April challenge their borders for the first time. They slowly come to the realisation that kids, a house in a typical neighbourhood, and prearranged domestic roles have transformed them into mere rats trapped inside a cage.

Frank and April aren't the only despondent ones (as we realise through subdued moments with supporting characters), yet their unhappiness is so immense they've no choice but to lay into each other. They pictured themselves as citified intellectuals, and treated their move to the suburbs (witnessed in a sole flashback) as a grand adventure. Seven years later, however, they've inhabited lives neither of them desired, but neither knows how to escape - Frank is stuck in a low-level position at a machine tooling company (the same company his father was an employee of for twenty years), and April is a lonesome and desolate housewife. They try and fail to keep disappointment at bay by pretending that - despite their suburban address, two small children and a picture window overlooking the perfectly manicured front lawn - they aren't like everyone else... But they are like everyone else. Moreover, they're crippled by the sense that they are superior to the excruciating banality they've fallen into. In order to escape this, their European dream is conceived. They ostensibly believe their troubles will recede in Paris, and that this move would prove they're not "just another American couple". April perfectly explains this at one stage: "Our whole existence here is based on this great premise that we're...special. And superior to the whole thing. But we're not. We're just like everyone else. Look at us, we've bought into the same ridiculous delusion...this idea that you have to resign from life and settle down the moment you have children. And we've been punishing each other for it."

"I wanted IN. I just wanted us to live again. For years I thought we've shared this secret that we would be wonderful in the world. I don't know exactly how, but just the possibility kept me hoping. How pathetic is that? So stupid. To put all your hopes in a promise that was never made. Frank knows what he wants, he found his place, he's just fine. Married, two kids, it should be enough. It is for him. And he's right; we were never special or destined for anything at all."

Revolutionary Road is the type of novel Hollywood tends to botch, mainly on account of the story constantly taking place inside the heads of its characters, because the Wheelers aren't particularly affable, and because pessimism without obvious salvation is a tough sell. Considering that the story spends large sections inside the characters' heads, it's remarkable how well Mr. Mendes' motion picture adaptation is able to encapsulate the same truths about the characters. Small gestures are hugely significant, and complete sequences of emotions wash across a face within seconds. All the actors work magnificently to externalise a story all about what's never said. Frank and April lay it all out in their screaming brawls, but the true story lies within the moment Frank's face breaks during their fight, or the sceptically even tone in April's voice when she organises breakfast for him the morning after a major blow-out. In a supporting role, Michael Shannon plays John; the formerly institutionalised son of the Wheeler's realtor. Shannon (nominated for an Oscar) adds a unique energy to the movie, portraying the sole clear thinker of the story. He's a man entwined in mental illness, yet he perceives Frank and April for who they truly are. With a mere two sequences in which he features in, Shannon enriches the film with his cracked mischief, prodding the Wheeler discomfort to detonation.

With master cinematographer Roger Deakins, Mendes has fastidiously recreated suburban Connecticut of the 1950s. Production values are truly astonishing - from the immaculate costumes (drab grey suits & hats for the men, plain housewife clothing for the women) to the spot-on room decoration that creates a uniquely '50s atmosphere. The mood is even evoked through both subtle and obvious characteristics (think cigarettes). It's the equivalent of witnessing the decade through snapshots or newsreel footage. Multiple images are extremely remarkable, and shall forever remain embedded in my memory.

The screenplay (adapted by Justin Haythe) is teeming with dialogue cleverly pervaded by authentic '50s language, including adjectives (like "swell" and "quaint") and telephone numbers beginning with "Klondike 5". The dialogue is extremely well-written, delivered by a wonderful selection of actors. However, the screenplay is undermined by its abridged nature. Following a masterful prologue introducing Frank and April, the script fasts forward several years and the couple are suddenly married. Furthermore, the Wheeler offspring simply appear without an appropriate introduction, and play an unrealistically minor role in the family. The script leaves too many questions about what's behind these unhappy people, but in any case with these top-notch actors it's fairly possible to overlook this fault.

Thomas Newman's score is perhaps most spellbinding. It further establishes the impeccable '50s-style atmosphere and suitably mesmerises during the dramatic arguments. The poignant main theme (recurringly played at various points throughout the movie) is able to move a viewer to tears, especially towards the end when the combination of music and first-rate acting is extraordinary. Without Newman's eloquent music, Revolutionary Road wouldn't be half as powerful. In truth, moments devoid of music occasionally fail to engage.

"You want to play house you got to have a job. You want to play nice house, very sweet house, you got to have a job you don't like."

With its morbid and incisive portrait of a suburban marriage, Revolutionary Road perhaps isn't the onscreen reunion of Kate and Leo that most moviegoers had fantasised about. For the actors, however, it's a challenge - both stars take an audacious leap into characterisations that are emotionally raw and often alienating. They are people we may loathe as chilly and condescending, but we can nevertheless relate to them as representations of unfulfilled yearnings. DiCaprio and Winslet construct a touching portrait of a couple splitting at the seams. Both performers impart a dire quality with minimal moves; internalising the repentance and fury using excellent facial contortions. We are offered little about the marriage of Frank and April preceding their relocation to the cruelly named Revolutionary Road, yet it may not have truly existed either.

Winslet's performance is consistently on target. DiCaprio is far more memorable, though, mostly on account of his commanding screen presence and the believable rage exhibited throughout the main argument scene. It's reasonably effortless to play one emotion...in this film, however, DiCaprio is able to play several at once - hurt, furious, betrayed, humiliated - with raw vulnerability. The actors throttle the pain gently, saving themselves for eruptions of both love and hate, interpreting a marriage assembled on a fleeting memory of passion that flew the coop long ago.

"You're just some guy who made me laugh at a party once."

Completing the Titanic reunion is Kathy Bates, whose work as the Wheeler's realtor is utterly stunning. She perfectly embodies the characteristics we associate with this type of character, such as the love for chatting about dilemmas with a fellow woman and the intricate clothing with not a hair out of place.

Michael Shannon (previously mentioned) earned a Best Supporting Actor Oscar nomination for his brilliant and intriguing portrayal as the only one unafraid to speak the truth. He's a commanding scene stealer, and as he provokes Frank and April to confront the truth he never treads a foot wrong.
Other supporting actors make reasonably brief appearances, for instance Dylan Baker as an employee of the machine tooling company.

In the commercial movie marketplace, thematic dramas such as Revolutionary Road are a tough sell. Granted, this won't generate impressive box office receipts and it doesn't offer frivolous entertainment. Revolutionary Road instead offers two fantastic stars surpassing themselves (especially during those fierce confrontational scenes when their grievances turn corrosive) and first-rate filmmaking. The result, while unfortunately missing out on various deserving Oscar nominations, is another Sam Mendes masterpiece - definitely among the best films of 2008. This is a rare classy literary adaptation infused with a beating heart, and it reaches a summit of dramatic gratification and pure emotional mutilation that's utterly mesmerising. According to the women who lived during the mid-1950s, cultural markers (movies, TV, radio, advertisements) assured them happiness in domestic servitude...but they weren't happy at all. One could consider Revolutionary Road a tribute to those women.

"That's a great plan, Walter. That's fuckin' ingenious, if I understand it correctly. It's a Swiss fuckin' watch."

Honestly, what is there to say about The Big Lebowski that hasn't already been declared thousands of times before? It seems practically redundant to pen a critique of this particular motion picture. Thus, I've undertaken this review to present a different opinion - an opinion which will be grilled, criticised, and won't be widely shared...

The writer-director duo of Joel & Ethan Coen are dotingly recognised for their unparalleled ability to conceive vividly-drawn characters, beguiling stories and brilliantly peculiar cinematic experiences in general. They manage to construct inventive stories that conform to familiar generic conventions but are wrapped in outlandish and original settings, and the result entertains endlessly. The Big Lebowski is extensively regarded as a cult comedy classic - it performed poorly at the box office (scoring less than $18 million from a reported budget of $15 million), yet various viewers and critics worldwide adore it, quote it limitlessly, and worship it religiously. But alas, through the eyes of this reviewer, The Big Lebowski is undeserving of its accolades and cult status. This is a dreary, unfunny, virtually unwatchable filmic concoction. Its diminutive plot exists as a paltry excuse to showcase off-the-wall character vignettes as the actors stroll through strange scenarios. Normally, slender plots can be overlooked if there's sufficient fun to be had. In the case of The Big Lebowski, though, the film grows tedious very quickly.

Here's the essential vibe of the plot (if it can even be labelled as such):
Jeffrey "The Dude" Lebowski (Bridges) is a lowlife, unemployed slacker who loves bowling, White Russians and Creedence Clearwater Revival. A group of inept crooks mistake the Dude for a millionaire businessman, and urinate on his rug in an attempt to coerce him into paying a debt he has absolutely no knowledge of. Seeking retribution for his soiled rug, the Dude visits the wealthy Jeff Lebowski (Huddleston) and soon becomes a patsy when he's embroiled in a case of kidnapping and extortion.

"Donny you're out of your element! Dude, the Chinaman is not the issue here!"

The plot sounds slightly similar to The Big Sleep or some Raymond Chandler story, doesn't it? This is pretty much the sole running gag - it's a convoluted detective story through extraordinary eyes that concerns a congregation of lowlife characters. It's a pastiche of Raymond Chandler's proverbial labyrinthine noir, anchored not in the hard-bitten Humphrey Bogart but the quixotic pothead Bridges. A majority of the gags featured in this lacklustre creation are hit-and-miss. The eccentric supporting characters are acted with delightful abandon; yet the script never utilises them effectively. The film is also sometimes too downbeat and too serious...it's jarring. I never laughed out loud...the film merely provoked a few subdued chortles. Lines such as "Obviously, you're not a golfer" among others have become venerated by ardent fans, but they come across as random, and are desperately missing a context. Aside from a handful of amusing lines courtesy of the impeccable John Goodman, there is nothing "hilarious" about this drab, excruciating, unfunny black comedy.

"That rug really tied the room together."

The script additionally contains an excessive amount of profanity. Normally there's no problem with profanity aplenty, but it's used far too unnecessarily frequently. At one stage the narrator even asks the Dude "Do you have to use so many cuss words?". If only the Coen Brothers had taken notice of the words they had written in their screenplay...

The lack of plot or - genuine momentum, for that matter - is ostensibly concealed by drawn-out, Busby Berkeley-style dream sequences. With this in mind, The Big Lebowski is a classic exercise in self-indulgence - plenty of impressive style to behold, with zero substance to complement it. Why viewers lap up this twaddle and worship it like the second coming is possibly the biggest mystery I've encountered in all my years of movie-watching.

Certainly, The Big Lebowski isn't a total disaster. Several Coenisms (as previously mentioned) are in evidence, and the actors perfectly immerse themselves into their respective characters. John Goodman is the standout as Walter; a gun-toting, Jewish-convert Vietnam veteran with anger issues. The sole funny lines are delivered by Goodman, and frankly the film suffers whenever he isn't on the screen. Jeff Bridges looks and acts the part of the Dude, even though his occasionally monotonous line deliveries cause the film to bog. The third and final member of the main cast is Steve Buscemi (a Coen Brothers veteran) as Donny; the soft-spoken, reserved member of the group.

The secondary cast are also worth mentioning. Julianne Moore is fantastic and engaging as the pseudo-European feminist art freak. David Huddleston nails the brusque tone as the millionaire Lebowski, with the always dynamic Philip Seymour Hoffman appearing as his snivelling assistant. Sam Elliott is a treat as the narrator, Peter Stormare (another Coen Brothers veteran) is amusing as the German rocker-come-porn star nihilist, and there's also John Turturro as the convicted child-molester-turned-bowler named Jesus.

Another upside is the delightful soundtrack. In addition to Carter Burwell's excellent original score, there's a terrific brew of extra songs tossed into the mix. The film features music from Nina Simone, Bob Dylan, Captain Beefheart and Creedence Clearwater Revival, as well as including a Spanish cover (by the Gypsy Kings) of Hotel California.

All in all, the Coen Brothers missed the mark by a country mile with The Big Lebowski. Maybe I just don't "get" this type of humour, or maybe it simply isn't to my taste. Nevertheless, after three agonising viewings (and despite my love for other films created by the Coen Brothers, such as Fargo and Raising Arizona) I still can't find much value in this particular film.

"I guess that's the way the whole durned human comedy keeps perpetuatin' itself."

Jack Conrad: "You know, I don't know who you are, and I don't care. But I don't play games."

Ian Breckel: "You don't have to win... but everbody plays."

There's something moralistically baffling about a balls-to-the-wall action flick that simultaneously celebrates violence and scolds an audience for celebrating violence...

This above sentence refers to The Condemned; a WWE-produced action film helmed by Scott Wiper (A Better Way to Die is another entry to this director's CV). Borrowing heavily from Battle Royale, The Most Dangerous Game and The Running Man, it's apparent that this derivative production won't merit any points for originality. That said, The Condemned is an exploitative and entertaining action film that delivers precisely what any viewer expects: graphic violence, pulse-pounding action, and muscular performers generally beating the absolute crap out of each other. It will never receive any Oscars (or any prestigious awards, for that matter), nor will it be deemed a masterpiece. In addition, this certainly isn't the greatest action flick the industry has to offer (it's a breeding ground for clichés, for instance, and there are too many missteps that prevent it from being anything overly special). However, if you're seeking a straightforward actioner crammed with mindless violence that doesn't pull any punches, then get together a few mates, order pizza, pop open a cold one and enjoy The Condemned.

WWE wrestler "Stone Cold" (a.k.a. Steven Austin) plays Jack Conrad; an American with a mysterious past who's incarcerated in an El Salvadorian prison. He's granted a reprieve, however, when ambitious reality television producer Ian Breckel (Mammone) selects him as part of his latest project. Ian acquires ten death row inmates from various global prisons and places them on a remote island. These condemned individuals are allotted thirty hours to fight each other to the death. The sole survivor of the bloodbath will be given freedom and sufficient cash to commence a new life. In essence, Breckel's show is reminiscent of the golden days of the Colosseum when gladiators fought to the death as a form of entertainment.

Meanwhile, as the violence unfolds, the camera-infested island broadcasts the legally questionable carnage across the internet. Anyone in the world willing to pay fifty bucks can witness this live snuff film.

The Condemned can be easily recommended to action movie connoisseurs. The mayhem is brutal, hard-hitting, entrenched in realism, and (despite a sagging middle act) in abundance. A few interesting action set-pieces make for enjoyable viewing, and the island (photographed in Queensland, Australia) is a great location for the chaos to unfold. Especially during the middle section there's far too much yakking in between the action, and the filmmakers seem to believe the best way to shoot fight scenes is to make them somewhat incomprehensible. The choreography is top-notch (crafted by Australian martial arts legend Richard Norton), but nearly every violent conflict is lensed with shaky, handheld camera...it all appears to be a nauseating blur. We see people pummelling each other, and we occasionally get a sense of who's who, but we usually have to wait for the fight to conclude before we can properly comprehend what actually transpired. The frenetic editing exacerbates this problem by cutting every nanosecond or so. Rectification of this problem was staring the filmmakers in the face: why not utilise the footage Ian Breckel and his team are capturing? Why not show the majority of a battle from the perspective of a paying viewer, watching the carnage from their computer? This'd make the action far more interesting and, honestly, more edifying. Unfortunately, outside of a bar full of Jack Conrad's friends, the film never shows anyone else who paid to watch this internet blood sport.

Director Scott Wiper, it seems, isn't quite satisfied with helming a mere exploitation film. The Condemned comes armed with a message: consumers love violence. People like the odious Breckel become rich as long as viewers flock to this stuff in droves. Years ago, this may have been considered provocative; today, however, it's trite, and it disastrously decelerates the pace.

Superfluous subplots also emerge in spades, proving very harmful to the pacing. Breckel's underlings constantly bicker as they are confronted with silly attacks of conscience. There's also a love story between Conrad and a girl back home. This exists purely as a foundation on which to build a corny happy ending. Naturally, the FBI also becomes involved. This addition, however, is shallow. The FBI ultimately does nothing useful. It isn't even properly exploited (imagine the possibilities of an FBI raid of Breckel's island...), therefore coming off as unnecessary.

Despite the aforementioned criticisms, the film isn't without its upsides. The Condemned remains a fairly enjoyable romp featuring one-liners and action, even if the adrenaline stops pumping for corny chit-chat every so often. Director Wiper has made a commendable creative decision to eschew digital effects and green screen, predominantly employing the WYSIWYG (what you see is what you get) approach. As a result, the film feels far grittier.

A majority of the characters are stock personalities hardly developed past the first dimension. Character development doesn't exist beyond demonstrations of a character's fighting ability. It's extremely gruelling to keep up with who's been dispatched and who's still alive due to the congregation of mainly forgettable characters. The only truly memorable characters are Austin's Jack Conrad and Vinnie Jones' Ewan McStarley. Ultimately, after the other cookie-cutters have been eliminated in predictable ways, it's a duel between these two. Their climactic one-on-one conflict, though, is frequently baffling on account of the camera (which experiences an epileptic seizure any time there's an action sequence).

Steven Austin has a terrific screen presence owing to his hulking appearance. There's little doubt he has potential as a hero, but this is an unsuitable vehicle for the actor. Based on the evidence available here it's difficult to ascertain whether or not he's capable of delivering dialogue - aside from a few conversations (during which he's fairly soft-spoken) he doesn't have much to say.

Vinnie Jones, as always, is excellent. He's a menacing villain and certainly one of the highlights of this movie. Robert Mammone stars as the selfish reality television producer. He hits all the correct notes and comes across as pretty despicable. Other additions to the cast include Rick Hoffman (remember him from Hostel?), Tory Mussett (appearing under the name of Victoria Mussett), Manu Bennett, Madeleine West, Christopher Baker, Sam Healy, Luke Pegler, Emelia Burns and Dasi Ruz - all providing acceptable support. Most notable, though, is Masa Yamaguchi who seems extremely keen during his fight sequences.

Perhaps a re-edited version of The Condemned (removing the tedious and superfluous subplots) would accelerate the pacing and allow for more testosterone-fuelled entertainment. At two hours long, this movie is too lengthy and at times too gruelling. It needed a more concise running time, more action and less exposition. But there's still the problem of the camerawork...

For a film produced by WWE, The Condemned is better than expected...but this remains a faint praise. It's not as cheesy as John Cena's The Marine or as preposterous as Kane's See No Evil, but this had the potential to be a better movie. With a more competent director (as well as a superior cinematographer, for that matter) and a considerable trim, The Condemned could have fulfilled its potential. In the end, however, this picture gets enough right, and it's enjoyable without being too taxing.

Jamal Malik is one question away from winning 20 million rupees. How did he do it?

A: He cheated

B: He's lucky

C: He's a genius

D: It was written

Slumdog Millionaire is Danny Boyle's magnificent, elating cinematic adaptation of Vikas Swarup's prize-winning 2005 novel Q and A. Boyle's masterwork is simply the essential motion picture of 2008; an exquisite and engrossing filmic experience, infused with a searing portrait of the resilience of human spirit. It's a timeless, Capra-esque tale of adversity and rags-to-riches, told with dazzling passion and stunning visual agility. While housed in a bleak setting inhabited by a congregation of truly vile characters, Boyle's film is almost guaranteed to appease any viewer with a soft spot for beautifully sculpted contrivances. Slumdog Millionaire is a charming, uplifting tale about hope, destiny and love, and it will enrapture those who are willing to venture into its expressively-crafted world. For the record, a majority of the dialogue is articulated in English; however, some large segments are delivered in Hindi. But Boyle - in an utter masterstroke - has handled the subtitles colourfully and playfully, unlike the drab subtitles we're accustomed to reading. Slumdog Millionaire is a feverishly-paced, subtitled picture created with subtitle-phobes in mind. This is a visual and emotional journey that's brash, lively and compulsively enjoyable.

Uneducated 18-year-old Jamal Malik (Patel), a poor orphan from the slums of Mumbai, is poised to win a fortune (a staggering 20 million rupees) on the Indian version of Who Wants to Be a Millionaire?. Defying all odds and expectations, Jamal has managed to answer every question so far correctly, rapidly approaching the top prize (an unprecedented feat in Indian television history). However, some grow suspicious of how a slumdog could be so knowledgeable, and capable of answering the extremely tough questions. Accused of cheating, Jamal is arrested and brutally interrogated by the police. Proving that life experience is far more valuable than education, Jamal is forced to relive his tumultuous early years for the authorities. The result is a flashback-rich tour into the horrors of Jamal's childhood; his episodic memories relating to each seemingly impossible question put to him on the show. A recurring individual in his memories is a certain Latika (Pinto), whom Jamal is in love with but frequently torn apart from.

"A few hours ago, you were giving chai for the phone walahs. And now you're richer than they will ever be. What a player!"

The structure of Slumdog Millionaire - as scripted by Simon Beaufoy (who also wrote The Full Monty) - may be borderline contrived, but the frenetically-told story amazingly submerges a viewer into its universe and produces suspense despite the outcome being quite obvious from the onset. The point of the story isn't whether Jamal will win the money...it's if he'll get his girl. Make no mistake, there's nothing special about the fairly conventional plot, nor the way it's played out. In this sense, Slumdog Millionaire shouldn't be a great film... But it is a great film. Boyle's direction oozes passion at every turn, offering an energy which keeps the film constantly in motion. The setting in Mumbai is another stroke of genius. To the untrained eye, the location is merely window dressing. But with this dressing comes a unique exotic flavour and an open window into a fascinating culture. The story works on multiple levels - it can be perceived as a romance, a thriller, and a glimpse at the ways in which a fast-developing economy is convulsing the fabric of Indian society.

Fresh from a picture which spent almost a year in post-production in order to get the special effects right, the post-Sunshine Danny Boyle was eager to race onto a project which could be shot fast and furiously. Employing his trademark visual frenzy, Boyle ensnares the viewer in the chaotic motion of Indian street life. Filmed predominantly on bustling locations, Slumdog Millionaire whips along with unguarded authenticity and an understanding of those struggling to survive at the impoverished base of a restrictive caste system. The engaging, agile camera turns the narrow corners of the slums and flies at the high speed of a train on which Jamal and his brother hitchhike. Boyle's collaboration with director of photography Anthony Dod Mantle thrusts a viewer headfirst into the chaotic and despairing world of its three youthful protagonists, wonderfully encapsulating both the excitement of children running amok and the relentless terror they experience on the street that's triggered by authority figures on both sides of the law. Production design is absolutely top-notch, emanating authenticity at every turn. On top of the terrific location work, the set for Who Wants to Be a Millionaire? could be easily mistaken for the real deal. Not just the set design and cinematography, but the sound effects as well as the traits of the host are also spot on. Slumdog Millionaire simply looks and sounds flawless.

"When somebody asks me a question, I tell them the answer."

Movies that tend to get the Oscar community talking are usually thoughtful, introspective films with a heavy dosage of tragedy. Million Dollar Baby, Brokeback Mountain, Crash, Babel, Munich, and Mystic River are examples of Oscar contenders that refuse to leave you smiling once the credits begin to roll. Slumdog Millionaire stands out due to this. It is a movie that draws you in, makes you smile, and ends on an uplifting note. In a way, it's tough to believe a film that commences with such a brutal edge would eventually become so enriching and deliriously joyful. The opening sequence is pervaded with an ominous undertone, featuring scenes of torture taking place in the bowels of a drab police station. But Boyle's continuing sense of humour and decency buoys the moments of darkness and the eventual fairy-tale ending. Scotsman Boyle hasn't travelled to India with the intention of exposing the horrors of the slums at all... He headed to India to shoot an interesting story; one that could only take place in the ever-changing, ever-alive India. The conventional plot may not have succeeded in a more familiar setting. With Boyle's kinetic cinematic energy generating breakneck pace, and the true wonders of an exciting new culture, not to mention the stimulating and vivacious soundtrack, Slumdog Millionaire suddenly becomes sparky and vibrant. It ends predictably, but the journey to its conclusion is consistently extraordinary.

The entire cast shines. From the inexperienced Dev Patel to the veteran Bollywood star Anil Kapoor, talent is omnipresent. Patel is extremely appealing and likable as the protagonist. He's shy and soft-spoken, and we root for the poor little guy from the outset. Ayush Mahesh Khedekar and Tanay Hemant Chheda also excel as Jamal at different stages in his life. Freida Pinto is simply beguiling as Latika. Her chemistry with Dev Patel is extraordinary. Their emotionally-charged performances allow a viewer to become completely invested in their relationship...longing for them to be reunited, and becoming heartbroken when they're torn apart.

Anil Kapoor is remarkable as the smarmy, cunning game show host who patronises Jamal every chance he gets, and whose motives are ruled by his desire for ratings.

Madhur Mittal, Azharuddin Mohammed Ismail and Ashutosh Lobo Gajiwala are uniformly excellent as Salim at different points in his life.

Slumdog Millionaire contains all the necessary elements to ensure it's a winner in general release (although one of the studios set to distribute the film was unsure of its commercial worth and was considering a DTD release) as well as a major Oscar contender. It's superbly acted by an able cast, it's wonderfully photographed, and it's overflowing with rich, unconventional location work. This groundbreaking tour de force has as much heart as it does energy, and it ultimately avoids becoming as formulaic as its premise might have allowed in the hands of a lesser filmmaker. The actors' enthusiasm, coupled with Boyle's passionate exertions behind the scenes, generates pure magic out of Slumdog Millionaire. A story of coincidences, luck and eventually destiny, this is a classic, if slightly clichéd tale, and one that has rarely felt or looked so alive with such astonishing visual flair. Laden with satisfying doses of humour, romance and suspense, Slumdog Millionaire is one of the best and most crowd-pleasing films of 2008, and it thoroughly deserved the honour of receiving the Best Picture Oscar.

"Maybe it's written..."

William Burton: "What's your plan?"
Nick Cherenko: "Kill them all."

Over recent years, washed-up '80s action heroes have earned their pay-checks by starring in low-budget direct-to-DVD action flicks, most of which of an unbelievably low standard. Steven Seagal, Chuck Norris, Jean-Claude Van Damme and Sylvester Stallone (momentarily) are a few names that immediately spring to mind. In addition to these names is Dolph Lundgren, whose CV includes such titles as Universal Soldier, The Punisher and Rocky IV. However, astonishing as it may seem, Dolph appears to have the potential to rise to star status once again (perhaps Sylvester Stallone's upcoming The Expendables will prove an appropriate vehicle). After demonstrating his surprisingly competent ability as a director with 2004's The Defender, Dolph has capitalised on his strengths behind the camera in creating The Mechanik (known more commonly by the generic and lousy title The Russian Specialist). This is a fun, entertaining, old-fashioned seventies-style shoot-'em-up revenge flick (think Death Wish), as well as a tight, stylised throwback to the hard-R action flicks of old. With The Mechanik, Dolph has dived into his second directorial gig with guns fully loaded...and has delivered a thrilling, hardcore ride into admittedly conventional territory.

Dolph Lundgren places forth a fairly standard performance as retired Russian Special Forces hitman Nikolai Cherenko. During a drug deal gone wrong, Nick witnesses his family being slaughtered by Russian gangsters. He illegally immigrates to the United States in order to commence a new life (free of violence and war) as a car mechanic in LA. However, his past catches up to him when Nick is approached by a woman who offers him a large sum of money to rescue her kidnapped daughter. Initially Nick is extremely reluctant to accept the job until he discovers the identity of the kidnappers...the same Russian gangsters who had murdered his family years earlier. Nick wakes up the cold-blooded soldier inside him in order to settle the score.

The Mechanik is merely a revenge saga. It pits Dolph's Nikolai Cherenko - a stoic, wordless, physical threat - against a cabal of unsavoury Russian gangsters (lead by the nefarious and seedy Ivan Petrushinov, who's very easy to hate). Several action sequences flow from this. The fact that Nick's objective is to rescue some hapless girl is beside the point - in actual fact, beyond a handful of brief dialogue exchanges, this relationship is fairly subdued. Like most similar action films, the girl's kidnapping is a means to an end...in this case, that end is a surplus of dead Russian gangsters. What prompts Nick to saddle up for an additional round of violence is not the virtuous, innocent face of Julia (in the photograph shown to him by her mother), but the ugly mug of her kidnapper - the man who killed his wife and child in cold blood. Nothing deep is at play here; basically, it's just Dolph with a shotgun, declaring "It's on!" (This could more or less be branded as The Punisher Goes To Russia.)

While Dolph's first effort as a director - The Defender - was a fun exercise in ultra-violence, he one ups himself with The Mechanik by helming and starring in a film featuring a lead character we can actually care about. Brief time allotted to revealing Nick's background is effective, allowing a viewer to be sympathetic to his cause despite his nasty, violent ways. Nick Cherenko is fundamentally a pleasing throwback to the cold-blooded, one-dimensional action heroes of the '80s... Dutch Schaeffer. John Matrix. John Rambo. Marion "Cobra" Cobretti... Cherenko is cut from the same cloth. If you want a deep characterisation of a tortured, multi-layered hero reluctant to use firearms, watch Batman Begins. For a nourishing dosage of alpha-male shotgunning, watch The Mechanik.

Naturally, the focus of The Mechanik is not on solid characterisations or a meaty narrative...Dolph channels his talents as a director into the action sequences. However, there are commendable scenes focusing on developing the characters...a quality rarely seen in this genre. Dolph directs action with style and a refreshingly blunt honesty. The action scenes are bullet-fuelled and extremely bloody. Elia Cmiral's accompanying music is suitably intense and riveting. The music is also atmospheric, effective and low-key, occasionally reminiscent of Cmiral's work on Ronin.

Several exciting set-pieces are strung together competently, barely stopping to allow a viewer to catch their breath. It's overflowing with gory shootouts galore, culminating in a blood-soaked finale that proves a satisfying way to round out the narrative. This 20-minute final shootout is an obvious homage to the Western genre, concluding with a startling exercise in gory dispatching. However, Dolph's over-reliance on flash (most notably during the first half) is detrimental, using too much slow motion and wacky colour saturation. It ultimately comes off as gimmicky (think Tony Scott meets John Woo).

The Mechanik rises above the tragically low standard for direct-to-DVD action flicks, but it's nevertheless a fairly flawed movie. With the exception of Nick, most of the other characters are one-dimensional additions in order to offer a higher dosage of gory deaths. Also, every so often its $5 million budget (approximately) is relatively obvious. The gaps between action scenes bog on account of sluggish pacing, and therefore it fails to engage from time to time. The final climax (while still fun by all means) is far too long. A concise shootout was imperative to close the narrative, but this continued to drag out. Kudos to Dolph for exploring the possibilities of a battle in a small Russian village, but it isn't chaotic enough and it outstays its welcome. Interestingly, some of the rudimentary sound effects (city ambiance, door opening, gunshots, etc) seem cheap and recycled.

With Dolph Lundgren desperately requiring a suitable comeback to reignite his struggling career, it's baffling that Sony Pictures dumped this serviceable, entertaining actioner into the direct-to-DVD realm. Meanwhile, Sony allows nonsense such as Are We Done Yet? and Crossover to pollute theatres across the globe. The Mechanik isn't a perfect movie or even a masterpiece of its genre, but this could have been Dolph's much-awaited theatrical comeback if this film was given a bigger budget and further attention. Stallone fought his way out of the DTD plague, resurrecting his career with Rocky Balboa, so why can't Dolph be given the career resurrection he truly deserves?

Trust me: The Mechanik is far better than expected. As far as I'm concerned, Dolph Lundgren can continue churning out these ultra-violent actioners as his undemanding fans will most certainly enjoy them. With its decent script, stylish directing, above-average performances and unrestrained violence, The Mechanik supplies the best macho "you killed my family, now I kill you" experience in years. Dolph may not entirely circumvent the action movie clichés, but he's savvy enough to realise that nothing satisfies like a blood-soaked dosage of served-cold revenge yarn. While not groundbreaking by any means, The Mechanik is simply an action-packed expedition into clichéd domain.

Hollywood seriously needs to give Dolph the comeback he genuinely deserves!

Jarfe: "That's impossible, it can't be you..."

Ryde: "It's me."

As washed-up '80s action stars churn out an endless selection of below-par, low-budget, direct-to-DVD action flicks, you can at least admire them for their persistence. In recent years, Dolph Lundgren has demonstrated his competence as not only an actor but also a director. Following the astonishingly positive reception of his second directorial outing, The Mechanik (also known as The Russian Specialist), in 2005, Dolph went on to helm Missionary Man - this stylish, albeit unoriginal and mundane contemporary Western that pays tribute to such classics as High Plains Drifter and Pale Rider. It's your conventional "tough guy rides in to clean up a corrupt town" story, primarily following the DTD formula to the letter. On the cover/poster for Missionary Man Dolph Lundgren is heavily armed, there's an explosion in the background, and the tagline reads "No sin shall go unpunished" - judge the book by its cover, as what you see is pretty much what you get.

The story is set on a Native American Indian reservation where a gang of sadistic palefaces rule through violence and corruption. An enigmatic stranger known only as Ryder (Lundgren), rolls into town with a Bible and a score to settle. Ryder's character is unmistakably established as being some sort of enigmatic badass after he drinks straight tequila (no salt, no lime) and reads various verses of the Bible. His business in town is to attend the funeral of an old acquaintance known as J.J., who had recently drowned. However, J.J.'s family refuse to believe his death was an accident, and blame malicious local oppressor John Reno (Tompkins) for the murder. Ryder - the tall, blonde-haired stranger - begins befriending members of the local Indian community, and causes problems for Reno when he defeats hired hands and interferes with his underhanded practises. Tensions rise between Reno and Ryder, and the possibilities for a violent showdown continue to elevate.

Missionary Man is just a forgettable shoot-'em-up action romp, featuring an aging Dolph Lundgren taking on countless enemies (sometimes simultaneously) with unwavering efficiency. Dolph (who also co-wrote the script) unfortunately takes things far too seriously. The film aspires to be an incisive character study, but Dolph lacks the requisite skill as a writer, director and star to pull this off successfully. Dialogue is fairly humdrum, and clichés proliferate, not to mention the air of unreserved seriousness is never (purposely) breached. Silly events and corny dialogue unfortunately prompt derisory chortles. Some scenes do work, especially when the hulking Ryder (remaining nameless, in an ostensible homage to Clint Eastwood) demonstrates his ability as a fighter. The photography is also endlessly stylish (due to an error during the DVD mastering, the colours are washed-out, giving the film an almost mythical look). Nevertheless, the overall lack of unique action scenes (not to mention action scenes in general are in short supply, instead opting to develop a dreary congregation of characters) as well as noteworthy storytelling prevent Missionary Man from rising above the usual low standard for DTD action flicks.

The cinematography is of a satisfactory standard. Adhering to the widespread plague of contemporary action flicks, the camera suffers an epileptic attack whenever an action scene takes place. Shaky cam syndrome does no wonders on the cinematography front, ultimately coming across as cheap and disorientating. However, cinematographer Bing Rao's work isn't a total dud. The first ten minutes in particular is intriguingly shot, using clever camera angles and (thanks to nice lighting) usually clouding Ryder in darkness. Elia Cmiral's music to complement the photography is, of course, atmospheric and effective.

Even at 50 years old, Dolph Lundgren never fails as a badass. He certainly looks the part, donning an outfit extremely appropriate for his character. Ryder is a one-dimensional hero - i.e. he lacks a weighty back-story. What's missing is acceptable motivation and reasoning for his return to the town. Conveniently, Ryder had an altercation in the past with a few members of this quiet town and returns purely for vengeance-related reasons. But no explanation is offered regarding events that had previously transpired. An air of mystery surrounding the protagonist is usually a great decision, but at least a little motivation would've proved advantageous.

The supporting cast is generally populated by little-known actors. There's a bunch of performances of questionable quality, but they're uniformly watchable at least. Matthew Tompkins appears to give it his all as the despicable John Reno. He's the proverbial genre villain - outwardly appealing, but shady and corrupt, and has plenty of hired guns on standby to unleash upon the hero.

Missionary Man is a clear homage to the Westerns of old, communicating a contemporary version of a story wherein a stranger rides into town to save the day. Instead of horses, they ride motorcycles (at one stage Reno even tells Ryder to leave town on his "iron horse"). This isn't a necessarily bad movie...it's just a familiar DTD movie. Innovative this is not. However Dolph's religious one man army shtick is eye-catching, pairing a mainly silent performance with a charismatic swagger (the kind you generally don't witness in a mindless production like this). The only true flaws are a handful of shaky performances, the indiscriminate use of slow motion, and the fact it's bereft of anything truly worthwhile or memorable. For your basic DTD film, this isn't a total waste. The display of blood and guts is occasionally quite graphic (therefore enjoyable), and it offers Dolph Lundgren drinking tequila, riding a motorcycle and kicking ass. Let's face it: it's why you paid the money to see it in the first place.

"I can see the pieces. How they should fit. How I want them to fit."

The question of whether actor George Reeves committed suicide or was murdered has been subject to much theorising for decades, and will go down in history as one of Hollywood's great unsolved mysteries. Directed by Allen Coulter (in his feature film debut) Hollywoodland is a fictionalised account (using both apocryphal stories in addition to confirmed events) of the investigation of Reeves' death. There are three common theories in existence concerning Reeves' demise - did he commit suicide out of despondency due to his lacklustre career, was he killed by a former lover, or was he perhaps snuffed out by a studio enforcer under orders from a jealous movie bigwig? Hollywoodland cracks open this can of worms and explores all three scenarios, but, frustratingly, all it can do is observe them wriggling around. Director Coulter and screenwriter Paul Bernbaum visibly don't want to select a scenario they believe to be true and make it their pet. As an alternative, Coulter and Bernbaum present the viewer with a Rashômon-style multiplicity of possibilities. It's balanced in its presentation of evidence for and against suicide, plus - instead of being a biopic of Reeves - the protagonist is a seedy private investigator who attacks the mystery and, by chasing Reeves' ghost, finds his own path to redemption.


Full review coming soon...

"Hitler is dead. Operation Valkyrie is in effect."

Valkyrie is a solid World War II espionage thriller, conveying one of the most staggering true stories in modern history. This is a motion picture infused with a rare story regarding the German Resistance that primarily concentrates on the overlooked heroism of officers and soldiers who actively fought against Adolf Hitler and his regime from within ranks of power. Directed by Bryan Singer (a man blessed with a virtually unbroken run of impressive work; his previous films including The Usual Suspects, X-Men and Superman Returns), Valkyrie manages to thrill and entertain the mass market, but it seems hardly worth the wait and effort. Singer's film is coated in an inevitable layer of thick Hollywood gloss, and is also lacking in vital depth. Screenwriters Christopher McQuarrie and Nathan Alexander employ the historical facts of this remarkable true story (told rather faithfully) to construct the flick, but it comes across as well-oiled Hollywood entertainment rather than a sensationalist chapter of WWII. While not a bad film by any means, Valkyrie would've carried far more clout if it had emerged from the confident German film industry (with home-grown actors and a director to match) as opposed to the tired mills of Hollywood.

Sour industry buzz intensely enveloped Valkyrie as it was slammed unjustly since production commenced in 2007, facing augmented hostility that greeted the shifting release dates as well as the trailers that underlined the bewildering cocktail of British and American accents meant to represent the resistance movement inside the Third Reich. It turns out this bad press was merely conjecture; battling the odds and winning, Singer has handsomely directed this engaging, intense World War II thriller. It's not as bad as the negative pre-hype suggested, but Valkyrie still had the potential to be a superior flick.

The film covers a span of roughly 18 months, from early 1943 until the fateful final day. Valkyrie provides an examination of the workings of the German Resistance movement, wherein high-ranking officials with various levels of access to Hitler collaborate to bring to fruition a plot to assassinate their Fuhrer.

With Germany's loss in the war a predetermined conclusion to nearly everyone except for Hitler himself, these high-ranking German officers valiantly conspire to murder their leader, replace the government as peacefully as possible and implement a new regime during which they'd negotiate a peace. Consequently, a peace would spare the loss of more German soldiers and repair what's left of their country's legacy. The cunning idea is to use the German government's own emergency plan (dubbed Operation Valkyrie) against it. With each officer in the group assigned a different role, they propose to plant a bomb inside the Wolf's Lair (an enclosed bunker where high security meetings were held), killing Hitler and his staff before overthrowing the Nazi government from the inside. However, paranoia grips the schemers as success grows nearer. As anyone with a basic knowledge of World War II knows, Hitler would later die by his own hand.

"The point of replacing Hitler is to negotiate the truce with the Allies. The Allies, I suspect would be more amenable to a truce if we offer it to them before they get to fucking Berlin!"

The protagonist of the story, Colonel Claus von Stauffenberg (Cruise), initially suffers serious wounds in Africa. Despite (or perhaps owing to) his injuries, Stauffenberg is recruited into the resistance, being introduced to the secret circle of conscientious objectors. The plan itself is complicated and never clearly explained by the characters (dialogue is fairly stilted), but the basic details are straightforward enough. This is a fascinating story to preserve on film as it's all-too-often neglected. It's curious to note, however, that the film eschews the details of the most famous casualty of the July 20 assassination attempt - Field Marshal Rommel, who was mistakenly implicated and committed suicide as a result. This oversight is likely owing to time constraints, but it's an unfortunate exclusion as it would have shown how far and wide the net was spread to obliterate resistance within the military.

"We have to show the world that not all of us are like him. Otherwise, this will always be Hitler's Germany."

The extremely obvious (and well-known) outcome of the story barely affects our immersion. Director Singer competently brews a substantial amount of suspense. A chain of near misses and tense decisions pinch a viewer with anxiety. Following a fairly sluggish opening act, Valkyrie transforms into a taut assassination game, and the suspense levels continue to elevate throughout the second half when the implementation of Operation Valkyrie develops into a battle of bluff between Stauffenberg's rebels and Hitler's media machine. The performances are especially strong here; each man conflicted as they witness the monster they believe they've killed sprout another head and pursue them. The outcomes of such biographical or historical films as JFK, World Trade Center and Malcolm X are also well known but it doesn't detract from the brilliance of those films. Therefore, why should Valkyrie be held to a different and stricter standard?

One of the most widespread criticisms is perhaps the most valid; the cast never speak in German accents, nor do they speak German. Nazi officials articulate faultless English while writing in German. The problem is addressed during the opening few minutes, during which German titles transform into English titles, and Tom Cruise begins talking in German before beginning to speak English. The implication is that the characters do speak German, but for the sake of being a slice of Westernised entertainment a viewer hears them speaking English (a tactic first employed in The Hunt for Red October). Nevertheless, this is a fault too blatant and baffling, and it's consequently difficult to overlook. Once again, German filmmakers should've committed this ignored piece of history to celluloid.

"I'm a soldier, but in serving my country, I have betrayed my conscience."

In different hands, Valkyrie would've been a deep examination of the people involved, their motives and fears, and maybe even their personal lives. If Valkyrie provided further insight into the lives of these fascinating historical figures, it'd be a more thoughtful and therefore better film. Stauffenberg may have been maimed in the war, but his disenchantment with Hitler predated his injuries, and the film hardly explores this. Instead the film spends lots of time trying to prove that he's a great man. However, whether he was nice or mean is beside the point in the long view. Screenwriters McQuarrie and Alexander needed to dig into Stauffenberg's character and explore the reason why he decided to take such risks. They instead give Cruise the WWII equivalent of his character from Mission: Impossible.

Also, were the co-conspirators simply patriotic Germans, or did they have a deeper motivation for committing treason? With a few exceptions, we never really know. Valkyrie simply feels too underdone, as if heavily cut in the editing room. It seems to have been re-cut to be less of an Oscar-bait drama and more of a popcorn thriller; while serviceable as the latter, it might have been a better film as the former.

Singer dives into the material with plenty of zeal, moulding the assassination plot into an eye-catching, jaw-clenching movement of urgency, utilising the characters as chess pawns on the board game of Germany's future. Singer's work has generated a well-directed chronicle of misbegotten patriotism, with emphasis on sharply angled Nazi ornamentation, beautifully photographed by Newton Thomas Sigel. Several scenes were filmed on location in Berlin (using many locations where actual events occurred, including the Benderblock). In some instances where a certain location no longer existed, it was meticulously recreated. However, what's missing here (but effortlessly captured in films like Black Book) is any sense of the horrors of war, the maniacal evil of the Nazi regime, and the corrosive effect on civilians. The Berlin depicted here is too pristine and glossy...it's unmistakably a Hollywood production. The grittiness and brilliance of 2004's Der Undertang (Downfall) should have pervaded a film covering this source material.

David Bamber's physical resemblance to Adolf Hitler is effective enough for the few scenes in which he features, but it almost goes without saying that he doesn't come close to Bruno Ganz's astonishing portrayal of the dictator in Downfall (which was a far more gripping and riveting flick, in no small part because of Ganz).

Tom Cruise is adequate as Colonel Claus von Stauffenberg. Much controversy was sparked about Cruise taking on such a role, to the point that the German government forbade filming in their country due to his scientology cult (eventually permission was granted). Cruise is surprisingly strong, infusing his performance with a crucial level of emotionality. The actor never entirely immerses himself into the character, but his appearance is ideal. If only Cruise delivered dialogue in a more German fashion...

Once you accept English Nazis, you can easily accept the great cast - including Bill Nighy, Terence Stamp and Kenneth Branagh who play old-school soldiers with stiff upper lips. Tom Wilkinson is a slimy delight as a Nazi official who turns a blind eye to the operation as opposed to actually helping. Eddie Izzard, Kevin McNally and Christian Berkel also appear (among others), and all hit their marks delightfully.

Carice van Houten, who was so remarkable in the WWII drama Black Book, is given minor screen-time as Stauffenberg's wife. (It's worth noting that another Black Book cast member, Waldemar Kobus, also appears in Valkyrie. In the former film he played a piggish Nazi officer, and here he's a police chief who collaborates with the resistance.)

"Long live sacred Germany!"

Taken merely as a genre piece, Valkyrie is an engaging but incomplete thriller. Its illustrious cast do their jobs adequately, but the story could have benefitted from further insight into the men who tried to kill Hitler. At the end of the day it's a tense, competently-crafted thriller that accurately communicates a story of bravery and betrayal. But when Hollywood has the last word, something dies. It ultimately feels like the story has been taken advantage of, and skilfully repackaged as entertainment for money purposes.

Soldier...teacher...hero!

Detention is simply a straightforward throwback to the ridiculously enjoyable '80s action pictures of old - a generic compound of action flick clichés that gleans various ingredients from Die Hard and The Breakfast Club (an odd amalgam, I know), minus the extravagant special effects of the former and the deep characterisations of the latter. This is the epitome of absurdity; a brisk 95-minute excursion into over-the-top theatrics, conventional scenarios, gaping plot holes and teenage pregnancy. Dolph Lundgren is growing old, but in an action arena he's commendably self-assured. Detention isn't a masterpiece by any means, nor does it redefine the majestic art of bullet ballet. It's brainless to extremes, but (like all action films should) it entertains to no end. This is exactly the type of action flick that would emerge during the '80s; therefore witnessing this style of old-school action is frankly revitalising a bit over a decade since the 1980s concluded.

Sam Decker (Lundgren) is a former Special Forces operative who's haunted following a tour of duty in Bosnia. Ten years following this fateful tour of duty, Sam has become a school teacher at a tough high school. He had aimed to make a difference, but he becomes frustrated and angered by a system that doesn't appear to work. Sam submits his letter of resignation, as he's been offered a better position elsewhere. Unfortunately, on his final day (Friday) he gets coerced into staying after school to manage a detention class. Unfortunately, too, a well-organised group of gunmen invade the supposedly deserted school to use it as a base of operations for an armed car robbery. These gunmen, however, didn't expect Sam and his detention class to still be on school grounds... Cue violence and carnage.

Detention adheres to the Die Hard formula, but it isn't loaded with any intelligence. Plot holes flourish, and the silliness of the entire affair is guaranteed to trigger bucket-loads of derisive sniggers. Guns fire an unlimited supply of ammunition (pistols sometimes fire off roughly 30 rounds at a time without reloading), bad guys can never shoot straight, the hero endures a few gunshots (to the arm, of course, as bullets can never hit anywhere else) but shrugs them off, and (naturally) the cops are a bit on the corrupt side. Also, how can a criminal mastermind not anticipate any after school activities? Why would the high school have a total lockdown mode, which locks even the emergency exits (which is illegal)? What if the security guard controlling the lockdown fell asleep or was killed and was unable to switch off the lockdown? If the school is locked down, how can the characters reach the roof during the climax? But hey - who needs logic and brains when you have shell casings continually being expended and large-scale shootouts?

On a positive note, Detention is extremely enjoyable on account of the competent filmmaking on display. Director Sidney J. Furie has been in the industry for many decades, and his direction is first-rate here. The action is filmed in an old-school fashion, using wide shots and pans as opposed to shaky cam and shots lasting a nanosecond. Detention is infused with everything 80s - an 80's-style formula, 80's-style characters, and 80's-style filmmaking techniques. This is great entertainment...you just need to leave your brain at the door and suspend your disbelief, and you'll be fine. In other words, it's a guilty pleasure. And a damn enjoyable one!

Dolph Lundgren plays the typical trigger happy one-man army type very well, although he does appear to be operating on autopilot most of the time. There are a few notable moments for Dolph, especially his semi-amusing one-liners (after killing a corrupt cop, he exclaims "Now you're a deadbeat cop!")

Beside Dolph there's Alex Krazis as Chester Lamb; the mastermind behind the whole operation. The actor places forth an acceptable performance, harkening back to the golden age of the 80s. His character is poorly written, granted, but he's sinister when the occasion calls for it.

The cast is rounded out by various actors portraying the students who fight back against the troupe of gunmen. The bad guys, of course, are easy to despise.

All in all, Detention is simply a good old-fashioned, clichéd, 80's-style action flick, coated in a thick layer of cheese and silliness. From a critical standpoint this is an awful movie; however, every so often even a critic should just sit back and enjoy the ride. There's a lot of fun to be had in amongst the plethora of proficient action sequences and amusing one-liners. I enjoyed it from start to finish. If you're into bad action films, Detention is one to rent and/or perhaps add to your collection.

"When I was 16 years old, I fell in love..."

The directorial sibling duo of Bobby and Peter Farrelly earned themselves a revered place among the gurus of the comedy genre after unleashing There's Something About Mary upon the unsuspecting movie-going public of 1998. There's Something About Mary can best be described as an unalloyed exercise in gross-out humour and plain bad taste, punctuated by a surprisingly heartfelt screenplay and an intriguing plot designed to steer its characters from one gag to the next.

Without a doubt, There's Something About Mary is the best film the Farrelly Brothers have created thus far in their filmic careers. This is a gigantic step up from prior Farrelly Brothers titterfests wherein a string of extraneous gags were supplied to conceal the lack of depth (and variety, for that matter). Perhaps the brothers had just grown up by this stage, or perhaps this was the consequence of the brothers collaborating with Ed Decter and John J. Strauss to pen the screenplay. Whatever the case, There's Something About Mary is endowed with a delightful wide appeal. For sure, it's gross-out comedy to extremes, but there is a heart and a believable, grounded storyline. A plethora of explosively hilarious set-pieces such as the prom night saga have taken their place in contemporary comic history. Yet, this sequence isn't a mere succession of unrelated gags. The building ridiculousness serves as a suitable introduction to the film's central premise: a well-meaning person inadvertently inviting chaos at every turn.

"Franks and Beans! Franks and Beans!"

Ted Stroehmann (Stiller) is a metal-mouth geek in his high school days in Rhode Island. It's the lead up to his Senior Prom, and Ted is seeking a date. Enter the beautiful Mary Jensen (Diaz) who asks the bewildered Ted to be her date for the prom. Ted is amazed and overjoyed, to say the least. But the prom night ends in tears when an unfortunate zipper accident leaves Ted in hospital. Thirteen years following this episode, Ted still pines for his lost Mary, whom he considers the love of his life. Ever since the end of school, though, Ted hasn't seen Mary at all - she's disappeared off the grid. With some encouragement from a friend, Ted opts to hire sleazy private eye Pat Healy (Dillon) to track down his old flame. However, after Pat takes one look at the radiant Mary, he decides he wants her for himself. Much conniving, back-stabbing and lying ensues in order to steal Mary's affections.

The story is episodic, to be sure. It exists as a vehicle to convey masses of uproarious gags. Also, characterisation is at a minimum. However, some of the characters are satisfactorily developed through the gags. The aforementioned prom night saga establishes Ted's character, for instance. The jokes are frequently hilarious (rarely, if ever, hit and miss) and the characters are extremely endearing, and at the end of the day that's what counts in this genre. There's Something About Mary also offers something to offend almost everyone - it's politically incorrect (usage of the word "retard" is an example), outrageous, uncouth, bawdy and unapologetically lowbrow...truly nothing is out of bounds here. The true allure of the flick, however, is its sweet core - a quality the Farrelly Brothers have yet to replicate to the same effect. Some viewers may dismiss this flick as a simple gross-out comedy unworthy of a second glance, but the film's genuine charms extend beyond the repulsive jokes. Of course, it does rely on this humour heavily to entertain...nevertheless, There's Something About Mary remains an appealing romantic comedy that delivers a sweet payoff.

"Is that... is that hair gel?"

In all fairness, the Farrelly Brothers don't entirely depend on genitals, breasts, bodily fluids, or an assortment of other tasteless subjects to manufacture each joke. A group of travelling minstrels who follow Ted around, singing about his exploits in Greek chorus fashion, for instance, is a wonderful withdrawal from the lowbrow moments. This may not be subtle or intellectual humour (these two words simply don't apply to any Farrelly Brothers production), but it is less bawdy than their usual material. Similarly, the entire cast sing along to Build Me Up, Buttercup during the closing credits. There's Something About Mary additionally manages to be fairly light on emotion, yet distinctly memorable, which is a tribute to the strength of its brilliant comic structure. It wears its influences (from the Marx Brothers to Porky's) clearly on its sleeve, but is able to wrap them in a tight, original story where each joke serves a purpose.

One reason why There's Something About Mary succeeds is on account of all the actors being utterly perfect for their chosen roles. With different casting, half the jokes would most certainly have fallen flat. Ben Stiller appears to understand comedy. His lines are delivered with impeccable comic timing, and he allows a viewer to sympathise with Ted while concurrently laughing at him. Getting one's dangly bits excruciatingly snared in a zipper is a fear faced by every male on the planet, but due to Stiller's fine acting we don't feel bad as we laugh at his agonising situation.
The actors surrounding Stiller are top-notch. The vivacious and gorgeous Cameron Diaz is perfect as Mary. Not Oscar material, but she immerses herself into the character suitably and gives her character the required charm. This is proof that Cameron Diaz used to be hot. The Farrellys were so keen to cast Cameron that they delayed the filming start date in order to accommodate the film in her schedule. "Cameron is Mary," asserts Peter Farrelly. "Like Mary, Cameron seems like the ultimate woman. Every guy on the set was crazy about her."

Matt Dillon is equally excellent. He manages to build great charm, but at the same time be contemptible in his methods. Dillon is perfect in tacky clothes and a seedy moustache.

In the supporting cast there's Lin Shaye as the extremely tanned Magda, and Lee Evans as yet another man in love with Mary. Other performers, such as Chris Elliot and W. Earl Brown, are terrific. In a comedy flick such as this, actors of this calibre are required in order for the gags to work to their full potential. Thank God for this delightful bunch!

"Have you seen my weiner?"

There's no doubt about it, There's Something About Mary is one of the funniest comedies you'll ever encounter - a harmonious cocktail of over-the-top physical gags and raunchy humour. To be fair, though, the film is far from perfect. It runs a tad long at almost two hours, and (to be expected) a few of the characters aren't developed past the second dimension. This isn't Academy Award material, but it certainly achieves its evident goal: to entertain and deliver laughs aplenty. The fact that the geeky loser gets the girl - Mary predictably choosing Ted over the supposedly perfect Brett (real-life pro quarterback Brett Favre, a typical Farrelly casting) - makes this a curiously bloke-friendly rom-com. Adding to its unisex appeal (and therefore justifying its box-office success), There's Something About Mary is simultaneously one of the most romantic gross-out comedies, and one of the most gross romantic comedies. Laughter is such a blessed relief when one is in a bad mood, and this film is guaranteed to work as well as anti-depressants. After watching this hysterical gem, you'll never look at hair gel the same ever again.

"His friends would say stop whining

They've had an enough of that

His friends would say stop pining

There is other girls to look at

They've tried to set'em up with Tiffany and Indigo

But there's something about Mary that they don't know.

Mary, there's just something about Mary."

"Maria Elena used to say that only unfulfilled love can be romantic."

Woody Allen sustains his unmatchable filmmaking pace of helming at least one movie every year (keeping this up since 1982) with 2008's Vicky Cristina Barcelona; this intricate and thoroughly enjoyable examination of the vagaries of love. That the 72-year-old writer/director still manages to say something about the subject is impressive enough, but the fact that he successfully expresses himself through two young women makes this accomplishment all the more stunning. Vicky Cristina Barcelona marks Allen's fourth (and final) consecutive film shot outside of the United States (returning to New York for his 2009 release). The European locales of Allen's 2005-2008 body of work (Match Point, Scoop, Cassandra's Dream and the film in question) have given his pictures a less insular feel, and the picturesque location work of Vicky Cristina Barcelona is particularly stunning. Allen's 2008 project also succeeds due to the enchanting cast, the pleasant atmosphere, and the delightful soundtrack (consisting of lovely local music).

As the movie opens, the soon-to-be-married Vicky (Hall) and her best friend Cristina (Johansson) are arriving in Barcelona for a vacation. Not long after their arrival they meet Juan Antonio (Bardem); a charming Spaniard painter who invites the two girls to spend the weekend with him in a nearby town. Cristina - an impulsive romantic - loves the idea, whereas the more analytical Vicky - with her fiancé waiting back home - is uncertain. After some persuasion, the ladies agree to accompany Juan Antonio, and (predictably) they both quickly become enamoured with him. But Juan Antonio's fiery ex-wife Maria Elena (Cruz), with whom he has a tempestuous relationship, re-enters his life in the wake of a suicide attempt. To further complicate matters, Vicky's fiancé Doug (Messina) decides to travel to Barcelona to surprise Vicky with an impromptu wedding.

"We are meant for each other and not meant for each other. It's a contradiction."

The relationship between Juan Antonio and Maria Elena is especially fascinating. As a couple they represent a romantic cliché: the two lovers who are meant to be together, but whose relationship cannot ever work on account of tragic flaws in their personalities. As it turns out, Cristina is the element their previous relationships have lacked - she functions as an effective mood stabiliser. Thus, a threesome is created. The much-hyped liplock between Cruz and Johansson is a consequence of this...but settle down, tiger, as there's precious little making out to be found here.

Allen employs a classic "summer relationship abroad" story - what happens in Barcelona stays in Barcelona - and uses it as a platform on which to ponder what love means to each of his characters. Framed by an expository voice-over, Vicky Cristina Barcelona carries the intentional feel of a short story - a contemporary parable, perhaps - on the enduring difficulties of relationships and the pursuit for love. Unfortunately, deliberate or not, Woody Allen's checklist of clichés runs long. Both Vicky and Cristina are archetypal American travellers; one with a life and fiancé back home, the other dictated by desire and open to any experience. Enter Spaniard caricatures: the interesting stranger who opens the girls' souls to art, and his fiery ex-lover driven by fervour and insanity. The clichés are extremely detrimental. Luckily, though, the characters are beguiling nonetheless and the film entertains to no end. Allen's European postcard works as breezy entertainment and is a dosage of pure joy.

Despite the clichés, the four central protagonists do come across as actual people. It most certainly helps that writer/director Allen has amassed such a magnificent cast to bring these characters to life. There's a credible spark of chemistry between all of them, and Javier Bardem in particular is astoundingly charming. Not many men could proposition two women within a few minutes of meeting them before convincing them to spend a romantic weekend with him in an unfamiliar city. The immaculate Bardem makes this entirely believable rather than just a silly male fantasy. Vicky Cristina Barcelona is sultry without ever coming across as exploitative, and this intensity is only amplified by the sparkling wit of Allen's dialogue.

Vicky Cristina Barcelona moves at a brisk pace and is light on its feet. It engages an audience in its central discussion (about love) without ever being too overbearing about it. Most impressive about Woody Allen's more modern output is the remarkable control he exerts over his camera. His storytelling approach becomes increasingly more efficient, opting to travel down the most direct route to his destination without taking detours into superfluous exposition. In actual fact, this time Allen utilises an omniscient narrator (voiced by actor Christopher Evan Welch) to dispense explanations wherever necessary, which allows him to plunge straight into the story and move quickly over transitional moments. This enables Allen to pack a great deal of story into a tight 96-minute running time. However, the narrator is definitely overused. Half the time there's nothing insightful or witty about the disembodied observations - the narrator states the obvious! One of the most basic rules of filmmaking is "show, don't tell". Overusing the narrator allows Allen to re-write the rule as "tell, don't show". The clichés, coupled with the excessive narration, are the only missteps of an otherwise fine motion picture.

"Vicky and Cristina decided to spend the summer in Barcelona. Vicky was completing her master's in Catalan Identity, which she had become interested in through her great affection for the architecture of Gaudí. Cristina, who spent the last six months writing, directing, and acting in a 12-minute film which she then hated, had just broken up with yet another boyfriend and longed for a change of scenery."

Woody Allen has casting down to a science at this point. Javier Bardem won an Academy Award in 2008 for his performance as one of the creepiest killers ever to walk the earth in No Country for Old Men. In Allen's movie, the actor oozes charisma as the charming Spanish painter. Penélope Cruz won an Oscar for her sizzling performance here as the hot-blooded Maria Elena.

Bardem and Cruz are both spectacular! The repartee between them is energising and dynamic; the pair switching from English to Spanish (sometimes in mid-sentence) with absolutely mesmerising precision. Their relationship feels so undeniably authentic. The years of pain, anguish, understanding and love is evident in their expressions and the way they communicate.

Scarlett Johansson (Allen's latest woman of choice) appears as Cristina; an artist struggling to find her voice, flirting with poetry and photography as a replacement for filmmaking. Johansson's portrayal is convincing and perfectly subdued. The actress comes across as natural as opposed to Hollywood, and this is a quality spread across to everyone in the cast (in fact Allen is sublime at capturing naturalistic performances). Rebecca Hall (the least-known of the primary cast) gives a deep, heartfelt performance as Vicky; a grad student fascinated by Catalan culture who has decided to travel to Barcelona to absorb it firsthand. Hall's portrayal is extremely enthralling; allowing a viewer to feel for her awkward position.

Woody Allen's Vicky Cristina Barcelona doesn't shrug love off merely as an abstract destination for stock characters to chase for ninety minutes. The director is instead more fascinated by the pursuit; how it transforms and torments, and how love isn't merely an interchangeable, simply defined notion but a connection that can mean different things to different people. Allen strikes a terrific balance between light-hearted romance and an intelligent examination of the pursuit of love. He does so with a set of vividly-drawn, albeit clichéd characters brought to life by a delightful cast. Vicky Cristina Barcelona may begin as a conventional concept of a romantic summer in Europe, but it soon transforms into a delectably amusing and poignant motion picture which is just as much fun for the audience as it is for the aging writer/director. Allen's most enduring films have been clever, funny and romantic with a touch of melancholy, and that's definitely the case here. Maybe it's the foreign languages or the gaudy locations, but whatever the case Woody Allen seems to have regained his ability to make exasperating characters come off as alluring, and make an outright fantasy seem achievable. And his efforts here earned him a Golden Globe for Best Picture (Comedy or Musical).

Soldier. Fighter. Seeker. Legend.

Diamond Dogs delivers exactly what it promises - Dolph Lundgren kicking some ass! This is your standard direct-to-DVD action claptrap that strides through familiar territory. It could more or less be branded as a poor man's version of a modern-day Indiana Jones. On that note, it's endowed with a plot regarding an ancient Buddhist artefact (and the quest to find it), which adds further credence to the statement that Diamond Dogs aspires to be the next National Treasure or Raiders of the Lost Ark. It never quite reaches the level of these films it desires to emulate (not even close), but who cares? Once you learn to accept the below-par acting and the laughable plot contrivances, you can enjoy watching the Dolphster casually slaughtering bad guys. If you watch the film on its own terms, there's fun to be had - a substantial amount of it.

For this particular outing, the Dolphster is Xander Ronson; a former soldier now living in Inner Mongolia who has fallen on hard times. Ronson offers a security service, but hasn't had a client in two years and has been reduced to making money from fighting illegally in an underground fighting circuit (collaborating with a friend who bets on him to win, which he always does). Unfortunately, Ronson is heavily in debt and will be sent to prison if his debts aren't paid within a few weeks. Fortuitously for our brooding hero, he's approached by the wealthy Chambers (Shriver) - a fortune-seeking scumbag in search of an ancient (and extremely valuable) Buddhist artefact known as the Tangka. Chambers offers Ronson the job as head of security and guide for the trip, for which he will be paid extraordinarily well. Unfortunately for the whole group, not only is this bejewelled artefact supposedly cursed but a group of dastardly Russian mercenaries are also on a quest seeking the Tangka.

Diamond Dogs is primarily marred by its script, which is bereft of originality and overflowing with predictability. However, to be fair, these are no real biggies - after all, if you're in the mood for a Dolph Lundgren actioner you're obviously not seeking anything that will engage on a cerebral level. Therefore, the script is deeply flawed but considering its nature this is no surprise. However, Diamond Dogs does fail in the pacing department. The script contains usually tedious dialogue, and the gaps between action scenes are occasionally unforgivable. The lack of action is evidently due to the film's ambitions: to be considered in the same league as the Indiana Jones films, wherein exposition plays a crucial role. The story here, however, isn't interesting enough; in truth it's devoid of any possibilities for intellectual discussions or grandiose scenarios. The story also seems incomplete, as if missing a monologue concerning the background of the Tangka. This is why Indiana Jones always does it right - the protagonist knows what he's doing, and can reveal interesting trivia pertaining to the artefact in question in small bits scattered generously throughout each adventure. Diamond Dogs adheres strictly to B-movie conventions that dictate films of this disposition. In the film's defence, though, it does manage to circumvent various proverbial clichés of the genre. A young girl enters the picture, for instance, but she's no love interest.

Production for Diamond Dogs took place in Inner Mongolia, lending a strange otherworldliness to the movie. Beautiful vistas are on display as the treasure hunt transpires, and the action occurs on ideal terrain. It has also been bestowed with a certain grittiness not usually present in run of the mill DTD flicks. Unfortunately, when Ronson & company enter the ancient crypt said to contain the Tangka it lacks marvel and awe. It looks cheap, as if an old cellar populated by lawn ornaments. Elaborate booby-traps are non-existent...the only traps present are nothing special and barely threatening. The Tangka is merely glanced at, and what we see resembles cheap plastic beads glued to construction paper. Where's the shiny gold that catches our attention whenever it enters the frame? This was definitely made on the cheap!

Action sequences are somewhat competent, and are infused with Dolph's glorious directorial talents. They're very noisy and very violent. Bare-knuckle fights at the beginning are gritty, bloody and quite enthralling. The occasional shootouts are also something special. The low budget is only semi-obvious. There's enough blood being spilt and folks being violently dispatched to distract us from the evident budget problems. The body count is tremendously high, each death is exceedingly bloody, and only Xander steps out of the flames in one piece in a final scene that appears to pay homage to The Searchers. Perhaps most commendable is the lack of diabolical slow motion. I enjoyed indulging in this little guilty pleasure as the bloodshed satisfies and the action is exhilarating.

Dolph Lundgren is no stranger to this type of film as he also serves as executive producer and, to a minor extent, director (uncredited). It's difficult not to like the Dolphster as he wades through various battlefields and protects himself with an endless amount of bullets. Predictably, though, he's quite invincible and bullets magically skirt around him (even when his cover is poor).

The cast is filled with mainly disposable actors, with few exceptions (Dolph being one of them). Perhaps the biggest shock to me was how much I came to like the slightly effeminate William Shriver as Chambers. He's wholly believable in his role; coming across as a character from an 80's action flick (you know you love them). Every other member of the cast is quite talent deficient, however, especially Nan Yu as Chambers' step-daughter.

All in all, Diamond Dogs is among the better additions to Dolph Lundgren's résumé. Not as good as The Mechanik, but not as poor as Missionary Man. This is a fairly enjoyable, albeit clichéd action-adventure film. There are too many sluggish points with an inadequate amount of quality action to compensate, but this is still sufficient for wasting time while enjoying pizza and beer. Diamond Dogs was reportedly intended to be the first movie in a trilogy of films chronicling the escapades of Dolph Lundgren's Xander Ronson. The second film even entered the planning stages with Dolph attached to direct and star...however, the production of Diamond Dogs was beset with a huge manner of dilemmas, resulting in the script being retooled and Dolph Lundgren stepping in to direct (relieving credited director Shimon Dotan) after only a few days of filming! This ultimately prevented the trilogy from materialising.

While Diamond Dogs has its lethal flaws (including the fact the word "assistant" is consistently misspelled as "asstistant" throughout the end credits), it's still an entertaining diversion.

"I let them down. I let down my friends, I let down my country, and worst of all I let down our system of government, and the dreams of all those young people that ought to get into government but now they think; 'Oh it's all too corrupt and the rest'. Yeah... I let the American people down. And I'm gonna have to carry that burden with me for the rest of my life. My political life is over."

Frost/Nixon is Ron Howard's cinematic adaptation of Peter Morgan's hugely successful Broadway play of the same name. Morgan (who also penned the screenplay for this motion picture appropriation) based his production on the series of television interviews featuring British journalist David Frost and disgraced former president Richard Nixon (conducted in 1977). Judging from this premise, one would likely expect a dry, historical and contrived drama... But Frost/Nixon is instead a delicious contest of wits, complemented with top-notch acting and a narrative which is both gripping and dramatic even despite the foregone conclusion. Director Howard has crafted a powerful, compelling duel involving two iconic figures, which (in spite of liberties taken with well-known facts) offers multiple hard-earned truths and an intricate portrait of one of the most controversial Presidents in American history. It'd be easy to demonise Nixon, especially in today's political climate, but the makers circumvent this lazy pathway. Howard and screenwriter Morgan have transformed this fascinating tale into something more than an embellished re-telling of modern history. Nominated for five Oscars (Best Picture, Best Actor, Best Adapted Screenplay, Best Editing and Best Director), Frost/Nixon can definitely be counted alongside 2008's best films.

There's so much more to this dramatisation of Frost's televised interviews with Nixon in '77 than one would realise. Beginning with the President's resignation after the Watergate fiasco, the film tracks Frost as he puts his entire life and career on the line to execute the greatest television accomplishment of his career. Howard's picture also pays close attention to the power plays and behind-the-scenes machinations that went into making these interviews which became the most-watched in TV history at that time.

The movie opens in August 1974, presenting a series of news reports and interviews as United States President Richard Nixon (Langella) announces his resignation. For the better part of three years, he remained in exile, disgraced by the Watergate conspiracy which brought down his presidency. Up until 1977, Nixon shunned the media and refused to give interviews. But in this year, David Frost (Sheen), a British talk show host longing to return to his glory days, is given the chance of a lifetime when Nixon agrees to appear in a series of interviews regarding aspects of his presidency. For Nixon, these interviews are seen as an opportunity to rehabilitate his image in the eyes of the American people, and gambled that Frost would only lob him softballs. David Frost, however, perceived the interviews as a chance to establish his credibility and make headlines, especially if he could manage to coax an apology or an admission of guilt out of the former US President. Gathering a squad of investigators (portrayed by Macfadyen, Rockwell and Platt), Frost begins planning his verbal offensive. As the cameras began to roll, a charged battle of wits ensued. Frost finds Nixon (also known to many as Tricky Dick) a shrewd man capable of controlling any room he enters with aplomb. After three catastrophic interview days, Frost fears ruin, but it was in the final day that the foppish interviewer managed to force a moment of honesty in which Nixon gave the confession and apology the public hungered for.

"You have to set up that he has an anti-democratic personality. There's a reason they call him Tricky Dick."

In adapting his own play (not an overly difficult job, as this was a very cinematic script to begin with), screenwriter Morgan wisely converts the direct-to-audience monologues into documentary-style direct-to-camera interviews. Ron Howard is not a director one might consider for this type of material, but he navigates Morgan's script with proficiency and precision. The result is this crisp motion picture; a literate, riveting vocal tango that successfully examines a well-worn historical footprint without ever feeling fatigued. The power of the close-up is something Howard evidently appreciates, and this sole factor alone deems this cinematic adaptation necessary. On stage, small details aren't visible. On film, the camera can capture every brilliant facial expression which conveys a story in itself. It's Howard's willingness to let his camera linger and capture every bead of sweat that affords Frost/Nixon a great deal of its impact. He guides the film with an inspired smoothness that renders the picture quite digestible, even despite the labyrinthine historical backdrop of Watergate which is not sufficiently explained (indeed, one will want to constantly pause the film in order to research facets of the Watergate cover-up, and it will only run incredibly smoothly to an audience with extensive knowledge on the topic).

Approximately 50% of the picture is recreated material from the 1977 interviews, which have been shifted, shaped, and edited to augment the drama. Obviously, a great deal had to be cut given that the broadcasted version of the interviews spanned about six hours (with several additional hours of footage not shown). Howard wisely focuses on the segments that are most remembered and/or that made history. The verbose, dynamite interview portion makes up the film's final hour, and the psychological nuance is simply spellbinding. Most commendable is Howard's ability to engage without much assistance from Hans Zimmer's music. It's during the film's concluding moments in particular (as Frost at last decides to take the interview seriously) that director Howard ratchets up the intensity, slamming home his movie's place in the 2008 Oscar race. Howard's extraordinary work earned him an Academy Award nomination.

In one of the film's most dramatically potent scenes, Nixon calls Frost in his hotel room late at night on the eve of their final on-camera confrontation. For this scene, Frost is depressed over the failure of the interviews thus far, and Nixon has downed a few drinks. As the former President begins to talk, he starts drawing parallels between his inquisitor and himself in regards to their backgrounds and struggles. During this scene he's more or less taunting Frost...but Nixon's motivations are brilliantly vague. Morgan's exceptional screenplay suggests that Nixon was pushing Frost to amp it up...that somewhere deep inside his dark psyche, Nixon wanted to confess, and when he realised that Frost wasn't working hard enough to elicit this confession from him, he pushed the naïve talk show host. According to many sources, this phone conversation is pure fiction...but at least it's compelling fiction.

Peter Morgan's script does deviate from reality on several occasions, and there are a few major instances worth mentioning. Nixon's controversial view on presidential power ("When the President does it, that means it's not illegal!") was not part of the Watergate interview (this was apparently uttered in an earlier interview) as portrayed here. Reportedly, the climactic Watergate interview was also not interrupted in exactly the manner depicted in the film. Granted, it'd be impossible for Morgan's Oscar-nominated script to be completely accurate, but the movie would be superior if the screenwriter didn't take these particular liberties.

"You have no idea how fortunate that makes you, liking people. Being liked. Having that facility. That lightness, that charm. I don't have it, I never did."

Truly a tale of two verbal gladiators facing a critical moment of professional and personal candour, Howard's film is right at home with Frost and Nixon as they enter the gladiatorial arena of public scrutiny and face off over several days. The smartest creative decision was retaining Michael Sheen as Frost and Frank Langella (who won a Tony for his performance in the play) as Nixon. Both are magnificent, and make for absolutely riveting opponents. These actors never try to mimic the real Frost and Nixon, but to instead embody their respective characters through sheer force of performance.
While there are issues with Frank Langella's physical appearance as Tricky Dick, his body language is truly mesmerising, and he creates a Nixon of media charisma who's constantly at war with his abrasive instincts. The character is not predicated on surface imitation or caricature. Instead, Langella undergoes an amazing transformation during the film. Especially during the interviews, we feel as if we're seeing Nixon...not an impersonation. In order to make his acting easier, Langella never broke from character on-set and asked the crew to call him "Mr. President". He whole-heartedly deserved the Oscar nomination for Best Actor.
It's extremely tragic that Michael Sheen wasn't given any recognition at the Oscars. The actor's performance is every bit as brilliant as Langella's. Sheen also transforms himself, but his direction is one of cocktail-hour discontent as his character of Frost confronts his own issues of integrity and financial pressure. He portrays David Frost as a playboy and as a dabbler; he's obsessed with celebrity culture and disinterested in politics. Thankfully, Sheen possesses the boyish charm to effectively pull this off and present Frost in the classic role of the underdog. Frost's naiveté allows him to be outmatched in the early rounds of the vocal gladiatorial match, but Nixon's overconfidence ultimately paves the way for his own downfall.

The supporting cast is filled with some of the best character actors working today, such as the impeccable Kevin Bacon as Nixon's post-resignation chief of staff Jack Brennan. Playing David Frost's team of researchers is Sam Rockwell, Matthew Macfadyen, and Oliver Platt, all of which are uniformly superb. Rebecca Hall (who earned a Golden Globe nomination for her role in Woody Allen's Vicky Cristina Barcelona, also released in 2008) is first-rate as Caroline Cushing, Frost's love interest.

The tone of Frost/Nixon is extremely staid, as befits a movie covering this subject matter, yet there are compelling dramatic currents beneath the sometimes calm surface. This is a gripping, unrelenting motion picture that convincingly travels back in time and recalls (albeit imperfectly) how a national nightmare finally faded. Movies for mature adults these days are few and far between, so when a film as stimulating, witty, and smart as Frost/Nixon is released, attention should be paid. Equal parts entertaining and engrossing, masterfully acted, excellently directed and exceptionally well-written, Frost/Nixon is one of the most extraordinary films of 2008; a modern masterpiece laced with tension and potent human drama.

"Sometimes you find your destiny on the road you took to avoid it."

A dubious international bank with unethical practises lies at the centre of this cracking action-thriller that draws evident inspiration from such films as Michael Clayton and the Jason Bourne series. Helmed by German director Tom Tykwer (to date probably best known as the man behind the acclaimed high-voltage thriller Run Lola Run), The International commences as an intriguing slow-burn thriller before deflating in its closing act, and ultimately not quite delivering on its potential. Despite the reshoots that brought about a major release date shift (from August 2008 to February 2009), Tykwer's crisp thriller is too flabby; fundamentally playing out as a string of well-shot but usually uninvolving dialogue scenes interspersed with an occasional exhilarating action set-piece. First-time screenwriter Eric Singer is unable to suitably handle the fantastic premise, discarding imaginative ideas in favour of lazy, generic plotting. This "relevant" picture possesses the look and feel of a thriller, but not the heart or soul of one. The excellent trailers implied a product considerably superior to the disappointing final result. Viewers seeking an intelligent break from Bourne-style action-oriented thrillers will have to search elsewhere.

In The International, dedicated Interpol agent Louis Salinger (Owen) suspects deadly dealings at a high-profile Luxembourg-based financial institution known as the IBBC (International Bank of Business and Credit - a ficticious creation, of course). Louis collaborates with Manhattan Assistant District Attorney Eleanor Whitman (Watts) following the murder of their mutual colleague. The two become determined to bring the IBBC to justice as they uncover illegal activities including money laundering, arms trading and the destabilisation of governments. However, the bank is prone to assassinating those who get too close to exposing its profitable warmongering. As the investigation intensifies, the protagonists quickly become the next target of the IBBC which is additionally taking steps to dead-end the search.

The International should have been an intelligent, timely thriller that entertains as much as it rivets. However, requisite character development is absent and it consequently isn't alluring enough. On a positive note, Tykwer is a competent director. Tykwer's camera angles perfectly capture the intricate sets, and Frank Griebe's exquisite cinematography additionally takes advantage of the atmospheric European locales. Virtually every scene has a lively visual quality, and the director's stylistic touch is this film's greatest asset. Tykwer has a terrific eye for framing, but unfortunately he has a tin ear for dialogue. The characters inhabiting the well-composed shots speak in lumps of banal exposition, their faces unflatteringly set in frowns. As a cerebral thriller (something this production evidently aspires to be for the most part), The International lacks appeal.

The film's centrepiece is undoubtedly the elaborate shootout in Manhattan's Guggenheim Museum. This lies at the heart of the film's marketing campaign, and for good reason. This sequence was added after-the-fact on account of poor test screenings in order to increase the action quotient. While it's the action highlight of the movie, don't let the trailers fool you into watching the movie on the promise of gunplay alone.

For the spectacular Guggenheim Museum shootout, a convincing full-size replica of the building was constructed on a German soundstage. This sequence transforms the modern architectural wonder into a large-scale shooting gallery, leaving the place riddled with bullet-holes, broken glass, blood, dead bodies and expended shell casings. Preposterous, yes, but it's a masterpiece of contemporary action cinema. The cinematography is outstanding, as is the music, sound effects, special effects and acting. The International is a rare animal in this age of cinema - an R-rated picture. The blood spilt during the Guggenheim sequence is frankly astounding, resulting in an action scene that's about as breathtaking as it is dramatically unnecessary. Its inclusion indicates the filmmakers' tacit acceptance that the predominantly cerebral thriller is a dying breed. With this in mind, it's probably no surprise that Tykwer's effort is struggling to earn back its $50 million budget at the box office.

In addition to the Guggenheim shootout, The International is infused with suspenseful chases and a thrilling execution. But a few scenes subsequent to the Guggenheim shootout, the film hits a speed bump and clearly has no idea where to go. For such an intricate plot, the conclusion is anticlimactic. The flick fails in its resolution because it reduces all the subplots and developments to the simplest of equations: one man pointing a gun at another. For a production that wishes to be more than an ordinary thriller, The International finishes on an all-too-familiar note. The ending is also too frustratingly perplexing and ambiguous. It merely satisfying the audience's desire for bloodlust, and solves nothing. Perhaps most disappointing is that it probably could've been fixed. With snappier editing and a stronger sense of finality, The International could have been tagged with a far more satisfying conclusion.

Green screenwriter Eric Singer is simply the wrong man for the job. His script fails to offer insight into the bank's unethical practises, instead wasting its duration generating subplots concerning the investigation behind the bank's latest assassination and the pursuit for said assassin. For 90 minutes, The International is a great thriller despite some lengthy, draggy sections. But Singer has no idea where to go past these first 90 minutes; clueless as to how he should appropriately end this thing.

Jonas Skarssen: "What do you want?"

Louis Salinger: "I want some fucking justice."

As for the cast, the always-reliable Clive Owen displays great acting skills, reminding us that he'd be a terrific James Bond. Owen seems right at home as the hot-headed, passionate Interpol agent Louis Salinger. He ably delivers as both an action man and as a smart operator with a patent sense of right and wrong. Owen is nicely countered by Naomi Watts as the pragmatic Eleanor Whitman. Watts is criminally underused, however. Her character is not only underdeveloped...she's entirely undeveloped. The actress is far too good for this underwritten supporting role, as she stands around and functions as a liability.

The extraordinary Armin Mueller-Stahl is the most memorable performer for his stillness in a role of great intensity, depth and resonance. Mueller-Stahl is a truly inspired piece of casting. There's also the adequate Ulrich Thomsen as cold and callous bank chief Jonas Skarssen.

For all its serious intent, Tom Tykwer's The International proves to be a perilously naff thriller. It's an exquisitely-filmed and crafted flick, but the script is problematic. The screenplay is filled with clunky dialogue and ludicrous plotting, not to mention it also lacks the vital wit and depth which would allow it to be a topflight thinking-man's thriller. Tykwer's flick additionally contains characters too dull, not to mention most of the suspense falls flat. This could have been 2009's Michael Clayton, but inexperienced scripter Singer is no Tony Gilroy. I really wanted to love this movie, but the final quarter is far too detrimental. Mark this one as a missed opportunity.

"My name is Harvey Milk and I'm here to recruit you!"

Gus Van Sant's Milk is an incisive and stirring dramatisation of the heroic life and violent death of 1970's gay activist Harvey Milk. Van Sant's magnificent biopic of indelible power is infused with a masterful and vibrant recreation of a tumultuous era that throbs with heart, humour and anguish. This engrossing, multi-layered history lesson concerning the turbulent political situation of the '70s couldn't have been delivered at a more appropriate time - for it to arrive in cinemas in November 2008, at the time of Barack Obama's successful presidential campaign as well as the passing of Proposition 8, is almost unbearably poignant. Dustin Lance Black's script (which won an Oscar for Best Original Screenplay at the 2009 ceremony) closely sticks to the facts of Milk's political career, and Van Sant employs plenty of stock footage (as well as still photographs) from the 1970s to effectively amplify the period verisimilitude.

The framework of this biopic consists of Milk sombrely speaking into a tape recorder, preserving his story and his feelings in the probable event of his assassination. The picture covers Milk's tale from his sexual liberation up until his dying breath. Milk is accessible, enthralling and edifying - it's a penetrating chronicle of big-city politics and a touching portrait of a warrior whose passion was equalled only by his generosity and good humour.

Approaching the age of 40, Harvey Milk (Penn) realises he hasn't done anything in his life he can be proud of. To transform his life, he moves to San Francisco with young lover Scott (Franco) to open a camera shop in Castro Street, quickly making countless friends within the burgeoning gay community. Assuming a place of leadership in the neighbourhood, Milk decides to run for office, hoping to secure civil rights for homosexuals in America. In 1977, following several unsuccessful attempts at office, Harvey Milk finally wins a political seat, much to the mortification of fellow supervisor Dan White (Brolin). Achieving a revered place in the history books as the first openly homosexual man in America elected to public office, Milk takes the city by storm, seeking a better world for his gay community while dealing with such people as Anita Bryant as well as her endeavour to outlaw homosexuality across the country. Milk overthrows the iniquitous Proposition 6 and is on his way to achieving civil rights for gays, but this success was not to last... Milk was assassinated, along with San Francisco mayor George Moscone (Garber) by Dan White in 1978. (This can't be considered a spoiler as these deaths are a well-known historical fact, and a news-clip of Diane Feinstein announcing the assassination is presented early in the film.)

"All men are created equal. No matter how hard you try, you can never erase those words."

Milk is a riveting and important motion picture; it's a story which needed to be told on film, and it has been brought to life with craftsmanship of the highest order. The film's greatest achievement lies in Van Sant's meticulous recreation of San Francisco during the rolling '70s where homosexuality was a focal point in the culture. Throughout the film, Van Sant and expert cinematographer Harris Savides (who also helped director David Fincher encapsulate the same city and general era in Zodiac) employ a free-wheeling and intimate visual style to great effect; skilfully interweaving photos, archival footage, and excellent camerawork to evoke the Castro of the early 70s. The Castro has even been recreated in the precise storefront location it occupied at the time. Milk submerges a viewer into the era, skilfully moving back and forth between fact and fiction. Danny Elfman's elegant score is another key feature, augmenting the film's power during crucial sequences. Naturally, the finale is gripping, tragic, and (in the outpouring of grief) strangely triumphant.

Yet Milk has unfortunately been written with a focus on politics over personality. As a study of the protagonist's political career this biopic is remarkable, but as a story of Milk's personal life it's extremely lacking. We can understand his fight but are less enlightened about the man. Alas, it's a portrayal that errs towards hagiography. What also undermines this excellent work is that Milk, especially during its first half, is more of a polished re-enactment than a drama. Van Sant and writer Lance Black evidently want Harvey Milk's story and the history of the gay movement to be as accessible as possible, and the product is a didactic, by-the-numbers approach to his numerous tilts at elected office.

Harvey Milk's struggle with the rise of the Proposition 6 anti-homosexual movement across the country makes up the majority of the film's second half, permitting little room for Dan White's story which is so integral to any discussion regarding Milk's life. Only the poignant epilogue points out White's mental issues that are curiously omitted from the film, and the characterisation consequently feels hollow and oddly insignificant. While White's side of the story clearly just wasn't in Van Sant's field of vision, the lack of a proper psychological calibration is disappointing.

"A homosexual with power... that's scary."

Milk demonstrates how political movements can be born of frustration, and how unproblematic it is for groups of strangers to find unity and strength in numbers. A magnetic Penn leads a powerful ensemble. Penn's portrayal has been constantly praised and rightfully so, and it also earned the actor a much-deserved Academy Award. The actor's usual dedication is present here; delivering a chameleonic, utterly endearing performance. Penn's intensity and energy are in force, while additionally offering an unusual exuberance, playfulness and warmth. His attention to Milk's body language and speech patterns is absolutely remarkable. A warmly sexualised, comedic, reverential portrayal, Penn grabs Harvey Milk with both hands, and functions as the guide rails for Van Sant's hospitable direction.

Extra zing is added by the other performances, none of which can match Penn's titanic stature but all of which are nevertheless absolutely stunning. There's sharp support from Emile Hirsch (star of Penn's 2007 masterpiece Into the Wild) who brings spirit and energy to the role of Milk's protégé Cleve Jones. Josh Brolin as Dan White is a standout; delivering a nuanced, hugely sympathetic performance in a role that would be pure villain in most other hands. Brolin is exceptional here, and it's a genuine shame that his character isn't developed properly. James Franco also submits a terrific performance as one of Milk's lovers. Alison Pill as Anne Kronenberg is whip-smart and constantly engaging, while Denis O'Hare is extremely convincing as loathsome State Senator John Briggs who spearheaded Proposition 6. Also look out for Diego Luna in a ridiculously underdeveloped role as another of Milk's lovers, as well as Victor Garber who's utterly amazing in the role of Mayor Moscone.

With respect to American President Barack Obama, Milk also highlights just how little things have changed on the political front. Thirty years following Milk's tragic assassination, America's gay community still continues to fight for its civil rights. The passing of California Proposition 8 - which eliminated the rights of homosexual men and women to marry - proves that there's a long way to go before Milk's ambitions are at long last realised.

The essential story of Milk is composed of various rudimentary elements: the triumph of the underdog, David vs. Goliath, and the tragedy of a strong voice silenced too soon. Being fully aware of the story's conclusion merely emphasises the importance of the steps leading up to that point. Van Sant has frequently practiced a type of detached romanticism, allowing his stories to unfold matter-of-factly while infusing them with touches of melancholy beauty. And here he is helped by Danny Elfman's graceful score in addition to the expressive cinematography of Savides, not to mention the fine work of editor Elliot Graham whose adroit use of documentary footage compliments the immediacy of Van Sant's direction. One of the greatest aspects of Milk lies in its uncanny balancing of nuance and scale, as well as the ability to contain just about everything - love, death, politics, sex, etc - without ever losing sight of the intimate particulars of the story it's telling. Milk represents a thought-provoking, cathartic, and predominantly true saga of politics and courage.

" I ask this... If there should be an assassination, I would hope that five, ten, one hundred, a thousand would rise. I would like to see every gay lawyer, every gay architect come out - - If a bullet should enter my brain, let that bullet destroy every closet door... And that's all. I ask for the movement to continue. Because it's not about personal gain, not about ego, not about power... it's about the "us's" out there. Not only gays, but the Blacks, the Asians, the disabled, the seniors, the us's. Without hope, the us's give up - I know you cannot live on hope alone, but without it, life is not worth living. So you, and you, and you... You gotta give em' hope... you gotta give em' hope."

"I can't live without you. The thought of leaving you kills me. Do you love me?"

The Reader is one of those motion pictures which feels specifically tailored for a December release. An adaptation of Bernhard Schlink's 1995 international bestseller, this is a mature historical drama laced with nudity, compelling themes, suppressed emotion and a few twists. It's quite telling that producer Harvey Weinstein rushed the film's production to ensure its place in the 2008 Oscar race. At any other time of the year, such a movie would frankly feel out of place. Directed by Stephen Daldry (his first feature since 2002's The Hours), The Reader is blatant Oscar bait, but the makers' overconfidence in their product is palpable from the outset...and the result is closer to a near miss than a rousing success. While Daldry's Oscar-nominated film is brimming with emotion and provocative moral ambiguity in the context of a melodrama, The Reader is an unrelenting journey into dreariness and one-note drama with thinly-drawn characters. This is strictly by-the-numbers, conventional Oscar bait which quickly descends into abject boredom. Not skilful enough to be genuinely engaging, and truly lacking in substance, this is a cold fish of a film which falls short of the greatness for which it strives. It's even strangely detached from emotion when it should've been brimming with poignancy. The Reader is not a particularly bad movie per se...it's just an average, boring one. It's frankly bewildering that this film was nominated for Best Picture at the Academy Awards.

The mainstay of the story begins in Germany in 1958, when 15 year old Michael Berg (Kross) falls ill on the street and is comforted by a stranger named Hanna (Winslet). Months later, after he overcomes his grave sickness, Michael returns to thank Hanna for her kindness. But the young man finds himself attracted to this older woman who willingly beds the overeager virgin. This brief, sensual, passionate affair combines sex with foreplay during which Michael reads passages of literature to Hanna. It is throughout this section that the film alternates between chapters and sex, sex and chapters. This leads to the inevitable heartbreak when, despite their intense bond, Hanna mysteriously disappears. Eight years later, and Michael is a student at law school. Through a coincidence barely allowable in a movie like this, his law class is given the chance to witness a Nazi war crimes trial...and Hanna is one of the defendants. Michael figures out a secret which would exonerate his former lover, but is too embarrassed to share it. The story unnecessarily stretches into Michael's adulthood (now played by Ralph Fiennes) when he has become a man plagued by relentless regret and shame.

The Reader is notable for its first-rate performances, the handsome photography, and the elegant music. The preceding praise may sound generic, but so is the movie. Production values are admirable, and everything is brilliantly subdued, but nothing pierces, shocks, engages or challenges. The interesting undertones and themes are occasionally compelling, but for the most part everything interesting dissolves into disconcerting blandness.

If there was any real passion or feeling behind it, The Reader might've felt like more than a mere space-filler on the inexorable march towards Oscar night. Despite the best efforts of the three talented main actors and a competent director, The Reader just lies on the screen demanding the audience to care and engage but never offering them much to grasp onto. Daldry also appears to have a difficult time with the film's tonal shifts. The director makes a peculiar choice to paint Michael's raw sexual awakening on a dull palette of bleached, muted colours. Regardless of all the nudity and constant love-making, The Reader is about as sexy as a brick wall. The tone additionally contradicts Kross' openhearted, wholly amorous performance as the smitten teenager. The picture is also structured in a pointlessly choppy and non-linear fashion, losing momentum and focus once the proceedings move beyond the trial. The segments taking place in the '90s lack the foundation of the preceding chapters. A viewer can understand that as an adult, Michael is still obsessed with Hanna, and his obsession isn't healthy, but that's virtually everything we manage to glean from about 40 minutes worth of film. Ralph Fiennes is a fine actor (who also starred in 2008's In Bruges and The Duchess), but his portion of the film is let down by the screenplay.

Reportedly, The Reader is a predominantly faithful adaptation of Bernhard Schlink's book when it comes to major plot points (and it gets points for it), but the devil is in the details. Intricacies and nuances that exist in the novel and which can be presented in the first-person narrative are absent from this more straightforward motion picture.
The first two thirds of The Reader are by far the strongest. These scenes (which chronicle the affair and the impact the revelations about Hanna's past have upon Michael), provide rich drama and pose some troubling philosophical questions, even if Daldry grossly mishandles the material (why he was nominated for a Best Director Oscar for this film is a mystery for the ages). It has to be said that the slow pace of the film also allows an audience to realise the gaping plot holes. (An illiterate person able to work as a ticket checker on a tram?)

As stated previously, producer Harvey Weinstein forced director Daldry to rush the production. At times, this intensified schedule shows in the finished product. A lot of the dramatic transitions aren't as tightly focused as they should be. The giant leaps between timelines are baffling, particularly the initial transition from 1995 to 1958. Character motivations are seldom explored in David Hare's shallow script (also curiously nominated for an Oscar). The characters are therefore presented merely as two-dimensional caricatures. Hanna is just a horny male's fantasy, while Michael is merely a horny teenager. Both of the aforementioned choose to withhold crucial information in fear of embarrassment. As we can't understand the motivations of the characters, we don't understand why Hanna chooses to face a lifetime in prison when a simple piece of humiliating information could soften her sentence. Crucially, we don't care either. A suicide also happens towards the film's dénouement, but why this character chooses to take their life is unknown. Most of these faults are due to the film's faithfulness to its source material, but this doesn't excuse them.
What does work is the stunning cinematography by Roger Deakins and Chris Menges (the latter coming onto the feature after the production schedule was changed by the producer and the former suddenly dropped out due to scheduling conflicts). The cinematographers were nominated for an Academy Award for their great work.

Both Kate Winslet and David Kross commit unequivocally to their roles. Winslet plays the character of Hanna throughout the entire movie; going through a gauntlet of old age make-up in the process. Winslet's Oscar-winning portrayal of Hanna is note-perfect, but she's unable to overcome the thinly-sketched nature of her character - the actress is adrift with no coherent character to grab onto. Kross and Ralph Fiennes are engaging enough, but the character of Michael Berg isn't much more interesting than Hanna; the transition from callow youth to guilt-ridden man never made clear.
In a supporting role, Bruno Ganz is authoritative as the law professor who poses pertinent questions to Michael about the human condition. Hannah Hertzsprung is also marvellous in the small but pivotal role of adult Michael's daughter. The acting across the board is great, but the contrivance inherent in playing this German tale in English for an international audience detracts from its authenticity. It isn't as affecting as, say, The Lives of Others or Downfall.

The weakest addition to the 2008 Oscar race, The Reader is a plodding, meandering drama plagued by a glacially slow, shallow screenplay. Still, there's enough intelligent material here to make it worthwhile as a meditation about the post-World War II implications of the Holocaust upon the German psyche. It also works as a tale of the tragedy suffered by one man because, at a young, vulnerable stage time of his life, he fell in love with the wrong person. While never making excuses for those who committed atrocities in the Holocaust, The Reader becomes the latest Nazi-related feature to question whether redemption is a possibility for a person responsible for monstrous acts. The stylish cinematography, coupled with Nico Muhly's florid, somewhat overbearing score makes this motion picture seem like the type of movie one ought to take seriously. Don't be fooled by the elegant exterior, though, as The Reader never fulfils its promises of relevance and depth. R.I.P. Anthony Mingella and Sydney Pollack.

"I'm not frightened. I'm not frightened of anything. The more I suffer, the more I love. Danger will only increase my love. It will sharpen it, forgive its vice. I will be the only angel you need. You will leave life even more beautiful than you entered it. Heaven will take you back and look at you and say: Only one thing can make a soul complete and that thing is love."

You messed with the wrong country and you fucked the wrong President!

In an era of political unrest and global chaos, it's a small comfort - but a comfort nonetheless - that superstar Dolph Lundgren is still around to keep the world safe. For The Defender, Lundgren not only stars but also directs... And you know what? Despite the odds stacked against him, this flick doesn't suck, nor does Dolph's surprisingly decent direction. Certainly, The Defender is brainless, unrealistic and riddled with clichés...but it doesn't suck. In fact, this is an endlessly entertaining, straightforward shoot-'em-up action movie. It's overflowing with violence, shootouts and blood; reminding its target audience as to why we loved the brainless action films of the 1980s. Perhaps it comes as no shock that Lundgren's directorial debut is a low-budget direct-to-DVD affair, but - even for a picture inhabiting the suicidal DTD realm - The Defender looks surprisingly self-assured. With its top-notch action sequences and satisfactory acting, Lundgren's first effort as a director has a lot going for it. But alas, it's ultimately hamstrung by preposterous plotting.

As for the storyline: it's a tense time for the United States and its allies as they wage the War on Terror. The President of the United States (played by Jerry Springer...yes, that Jerry Springer is the President) has launched a new Peace Initiative. Unbeknownst to the general public, the National Security Advisor (Lee-Johnson) is making a secret trip to Romania to negotiate a peace agreement. To ensure this meeting runs smoothly, Gulf War veteran Lance Rockford (Ludgren) is employed as head of security, leading a few disposable agents. As the enigmatic meeting plays out, a group of armed militants attack Rockford and his team. The assault is relentless and never-ending (a little reminiscent of Assault on Precinct 13, actually), putting Rockford to the test as he works to protect both himself and the National Security Advisor.

Sidney J. Furie (the man behind 2003's Detention) was originally attached to direct The Defender, but fell ill during the pre-production period. Since Dolph Lundgren had worked closely with Furie beforehand (as well as a handful of other directors, ranging from John Woo to Roland Emmerich), and because the actor had worked with the screenwriter during development, the producers asked Dolph to step up and direct the picture. A few too many gimmicky shots and too much slow motion notwithstanding, Dolph has proved an excellent director with his first effort. The Defender is easily one of the most action-saturated shoot-'em-up action flicks of late. It's also leaps and bounds above anything Van Damme or Steven Seagal has featured in recently. After about twenty minutes of admittedly slow exposition, the flick goes balls-to-the-wall. Once the enemies fire their first shot, respite is infrequent as the movie propels through action sequence after action sequence.

This is hard R material as well. Massive kudos to Dolph for being unafraid to craft gritty, brutal, very violent shootouts! Bullets hit their targets, blood flows in torrents, necks are snapped and squibs detonate like crazy. The final hour is more or less an extended action sequence, and the action is simply sublime. Maxime Alexandre's wonderfully crisp and intense cinematography places a viewer in the action. There's also tight editing and great pacing as the kinetic energy barely lulls. The sound effects are also outstanding; easily one of the flick's biggest assets. However, one downfall is the dreadful music courtesy of Adam Nordén. The music reminds the audience they are watching a DTD affair. It's occasionally tense but at other times the music is grating for the ears.

Bolstering the exhilarating on-screen happenings is an unfortunately (yet quite unsurprisingly) trite story. Lots of questions go unanswered in the first hour; pretty much leaver a viewer in the dark. We have no idea what the meeting is for and who the National Security Advisor is meeting. For the first hour, a viewer can't help but be riveted as they await all the answers. However, when the revelations are finally unveiled they almost entirely nullify the prior plot developments. The whole point of the operation is absurd and on the verge of anticlimactic.

There are also a few too many overly dramatic moments scattered throughout the 90-minute duration. In addition, the film doesn't allow an audience to become attached to the characters. The protagonist is uninteresting and we simply don't care about him, nor do we care when a minor character is killed. The Defender is ultimately an action story that's solid on the action, but unrewarding on the story.

Cast-wise, things are fairly standard. Dolph Lundgren places forth a solid performance, although the part never calls for any overwhelming acting skills. Dolph enjoys wading through the scenarios, barking commands ("Open fire!" for instance) and saying clichéd things. Of course, in this particular production Dolph isn't the only big star. Jerry Springer stars as the President of the United States. Mercifully, Jerry is given less than 10 minutes of screen time (still enough to garner second billing, though). Surprisingly, Jerry makes for a moderately convincing presidential figure, although he hardly seems like a popular candidate. There's also Caroline Lee-Johnson as the National Security Advisor. Not a bad actress per se, but nothing special.

The rest of the cast are pretty much just the constituents of Dolph's team. Shakara Ledard, Thomas Lockyer, Gerald Kyd, Ian Porter, Howard Antony, etc. As a team they share adequate chemistry, exchanging occasionally witty banter.

As a shoot-'em-up actioner, The Defender is an enjoyable time waster. While nothing groundbreaking for action cinema, Dolph's first directorial outing is a success! If the plotting was a little less absurd and more substance was present, I'd be recommending this film to no end. As it stands, though, The Defender contains a lot of fun mayhem with the absurdity meter shooting up to 11 (like when a sniper is shot from afar with a Beretta pistol despite being, you know, a fucking sniper). It's painful to admit, but I really enjoyed this film despite its shortcomings. As long as Dolph continues to direct new movies I'll continue to watch them.

It was truly great to witness Dolph Lundgren and Jerry Springer featuring in a movie together...up next is Steven Seagal and Dr. Phil.

"As the 21st century began, human evolution was at a turning point. Natural selection, the process by which the strongest, the smartest, the fastest, reproduced in greater numbers than the rest, a process which had once favored the noblest traits of man, now began to favor different traits. Most science fiction of the day predicted a future that was more civilized and more intelligent. But as time went on, things seemed to be heading in the opposite direction. A dumbing down."

As Idiocracy commences, we're presented with a fairly convincing theory regarding the future of the human species. For centuries, science fiction stories have usually portrayed a future world as a crisp utopia of science and advanced learning with flying cars and phenomenal technology. The future has also been illustrated as a desolate post-apocalyptic wasteland. These are perfectly believable theories. However, Idiocracy - a film helmed by Mike Judge, a man also responsible for Beavis and Butt-Head and 1999's Office Space - tosses these theories in the toilet and offers an alternate vision of where mankind is headed. According to Judge, in the future humans may have a lower IQ than a muffin.

Judge's theory may appear outlandish, but think about it... the Jackass flicks are able to reach #1 at the box office while intelligent, provocative movies such as Michael Clayton and Children of Men perish at the box office (still earning a modest profit, but very slowly). One factor Idiocracy brings to the fore is that destitute, dim-witted families screw and breed like rodents while smart, well-off families restrict themselves to one or two offspring. Hence, the smart population may develop into an endangered species before ultimately becoming extinct. Judge's savage attack on American idiocy (which went through many title changes, originally being known as 3001 and Amerikwa) takes the form of an eye-wateringly hilarious hybrid of sci-fi and comedy. Judge's script is pervaded with endless wit and creativity, never becoming preachy in its depiction of the future but ensuring it'd be quite possible to ponder Judge's message about modern man. Mike Judge is simply the perfect guy to produce a movie about a future overrun by morons, as his entire career is built on mining the stupidity of North America for laughs. Idiocracy is loaded with a frighteningly realistic concept...but it's in an amusing wrapper.

"The years passed, mankind became stupider at a frightening rate. Some had high hopes the genetic engineering would correct this trend in evolution, but sadly the greatest minds and resources where focused on conquering hair loss and prolonging erections."

Private Joe Bowers (Wilson) is the dictionary definition of an "Average Joe". So incredibly average, in fact, that the Pentagon selects Joe to be a guinea pig for their latest experiment - labelled the "The Human Hibernation Project" which will test whether the best men in the military can be frozen indefinitely until they're needed the most. Joe - along with a hooker named Rita (Rudolph) - are cryogenically frozen for the military experiment...only to wake up to a 26th century in which morons have inherited the planet. Suddenly it's discovered that Joe is the smartest person alive, and is recruited to solve all the world's stupidity-caused problems.

"Comin' up next on The Violence Channel: An all-new "Ow, My Balls!""

When Idiocracy is boiled down to the essentials, it's an uproarious comedy and a potent bitch-slap of a social commentary. After initially conveying the alarming concept that America's future has fallen into the hands of the moronic and irresponsible, Judge's script begins to attack not only America's commercial sponsorship culture, but the entertainment tastes of the citizens as well. In this future the most popular show on television is called Ow! My Balls!, which is precisely what you'd expect - a string of scenes showcasing a character being repeatedly hit below the belt. Everyone's favourite channel is The Masturbation Network. Winner of eight Oscars in 2505 (including Best Original Screenplay) is Ass - which is just 90 minutes of a flatulent bare butt.

Judge also proceeds to criticise Gatorade (labelled "Brawndo" here), using the general futility of sport drinks to accentuate the misleading nature of predatory corporations as well as the gullibility of consumers who will believe anything they read. Conversations are now sponsored as well. 2505 is a world where it has become commonplace for citizens to be named Hormel and Beef Supreme. Starbucks is now an establishment that only sells hand-jobs, Butt-F**kers is a restaurant which hosts birthday parties for children, and if a topic doesn't pertain to sex, balls or farting, nobody wishes to discuss it. Idiocracy eventually ventures into the political realm, transforming a presidential address into a wrestling main event and revealing that positions in the White House can be won in competitions! As a satire, Mike Judge's gem is a cold steel blade to the gut. Judge is a brilliant satirist, relishing his opportunity to expose our insatiable need for stupidity.

This tour de force of satiric savagery is bitingly hysterical, shooting arrows at the Jackass crowd and highlighting the general dumbing down of humankind. Once a viewer tunes into Judge's jaundiced wavelength, one will recognise how drop-dead hilarious this flick truly is. There are levels to the humour here - broad + subversive, and scatological. These two levels are incredibly proficient in allowing a viewer to accept the premise. When, say, a fart joke occurs, the real gag isn't the actual passing of gas but how funny the stupid population finds it. Virtually every scene is full of genuinely hilarious moments, not to mention it's packed with little details, from hairdos to the colossal futility of the law system in 2505 to the latest technological advancements. Subtle visual gags are also hysterical - unfinished highways where cars keep driving off before piling up at the bottom, appalling misspellings everywhere, and a Costco the size of a city. Stupid characters are usually a turn-off, but Idiocracy features characters so completely and surrealistically brainless that it's practically impossible not to laugh.

"Don't worry scrote. There are plenty of 'tards out there living really kick ass lives. My first wife was 'tarded. She's a pilot now."

Luke Wilson's laidback style has never suited him better. As the poor schmuck accidentally sent five hundred years into the future, Wilson is impeccable and oddly appealing. His introductory scenes - establishing him as the laziest, most under-achieving average bloke in the army - are some of the best-written segments of the screenplay. Dax Shepard is also excellent as Joe's astonishingly dumb, dim-witted best friend Frito. It's hysterical watching Dax giving Joe a look of total vacancy. Even Maya Rudolph, who usually signifies the end of all things good (Duplex, American version of Kath & Kim), is a riot as a hooker from 2005 who's convinced her pimp will manage to come forward in time and kick her ass.

Terry Crews, as well, is an absolute hoot as President Camacho. Also look out for cameos by Judge regular Stephen Root, and even Justin Long.

As enjoyable as Idiocracy is, it most certainly isn't without its faults. The low budget couldn't accommodate state-of-the-art special effects...and the film is stuck with awful, cartoonish CGI creations (interestingly, some of the special effects were done for free by Robert Rodriguez). The low budget is frequently obvious. Despite being enjoyable, the film is also unable to conceal the almost lethal plot holes. In the future, the technological advancements are frankly amazing; from identities tattooed onto citizens to gigantic cars with advanced gizmos, and even special effects in television programs...not to mention televisions are huge and impressive. But this begs the question: with the world populated entirely by idiots with no knowledge of how to create such technology, how the hell could these technological advancements have occurred? And how could they be so widespread when the morons wouldn't know how to manufacture more of them, let alone repair them when one is broken? In addition to these faults, there are some minor pacing issues. There's also too much narration which indicates plain lazy filmmaking.

"Unaware of what year it was, Joe wandered the streets desperate for help. But the English language had deteriorated into a hybrid of hillbilly, valleygirl, inner-city slang and various grunts. Joe was able to understand them, but when he spoke in an ordinary voice he sounded pompous and faggy to them."

Here's what happened to Idiocracy: Fox test screened the movie with a reportedly catastrophic reaction. Unsure with what to do with Judge's little film, Fox granted it a tiny theatrical release - not even bothering to create posters or a trailer - before dumping it on DVD (even though legions of Mike Judge fans were highly anticipating it). As audiences began watching it on DVD, conspiratorial murmurs were sparked, talking about how good the movie is and that the studio just didn't get it. Or perhaps Fox grew nervous on account of Judge skewering big commercial industries. Fox is the pet of Rupert Murdoch, after all, who's the captain of industry and baron of big business. Nevertheless, studios release dozens of indefensible films every single year. Especially when compared to some of the diabolical dirge rushed into cinemas each year, Idiocracy was undeserving of its treatment. It isn't the unfunny flop one would expect...the jokes are usually dumb, but the final result is subversively intelligent. Funny? Yes, and it's also a potent wake-up call to a very probable future. Be sure to stay until the end of the credits.

"Now, then, ladies and gentlemen, do you see this gun? It fires 750 rounds of 9-millimeter ammunition per minute. In other words, if all of you simultaneously were to rush me, not a single one of you would get any closer than you are right now. I do hope I've made myself understood."

The type of gritty, ruthless thriller that could only emerge during the '70s, Joseph Sargent's classic subway suspenser The Taking of Pelham One Two Three is a total hardboiled treat! This culturally influential production (Quentin Tarantino used the concept of colours as codenames for Reservoir Dogs) mixes tense action, cat & mouse mind-games, sly political satire and New York atmosphere, spawning a competent genre movie that never forgoes respect for the intelligence of its viewers. Screenwriter Peter Stone (basing his script on John Godey's novel of the same name) has penned a terrific gem of an action movie - it's intelligent, credible and exciting, and (best of all) it gets right down to business. When the movie opens we're thrust directly into the intense hostage-taking situation without a great deal of explication preceding it. The true genius of this riveting picture is that the characters are developed adequately as the story quickly progresses.

Pelham 123 - a New York City subway train - becomes the focal point of an audacious terrorist attack. A tense situation unfolds when four armed men step aboard this train and hijack it, taking hostage the eighteen passengers from the first carriage (plonking said carriage halfway between stations). The established leader of the group - an ex-mercenary known only as Mr. Blue (Shaw) - demands a million dollars for the release of the hostages, allowing precisely one hour for the money to be delivered...and a hostage will be shot for each minute the money is late. The Transit Authority, the NYC Police Department, as well as the Mayor and his colleagues are sent into a frenzied but coordinated action, rushing to meet the rapidly-approaching deadline...

Lieutenant Zachary Garber (Matthau) undertakes negotiations with the cold, calculating Mr. Blue.

"Please inform the mayor that we demand one million dollars cash for the release of the car and all the hostages, right?

The time is now 2:13. The money must be in our hands not later than 3:13 - one hour from now. Now, if the money is not in our hands, we'll kill one hostage for every minute you're late."

The Taking of Pelham One Two Three wastes no time at all. Rather than expending two reels detailing the heist, the film commences the instant the caper is executed. The swift, brisk pacing is the pinnacle of perfection for this genre - it never plods and never hurries too much. It engages a viewer from the very first minute, riveting through a stack of twists and lots of nail-biting tension. Furthermore, there's hardly an implausible step in the entire picture. Peter Stone's screenplay is infused with realism as well as being laden with witty, clever dialogue and a subtle sense of humour. It triggers a great deal more laughs than one would anticipate. A lot of Noo Yawkese talk is also present in the script (lots of curse words), with main star Matthau delivering lines with a heavy NYC accent.

Most action movies have an unfortunate tendency to waste time and have its length extended by filling the screen with unnecessary car chases, explosions, and general mayhem. Joseph Sargent's masterpiece contains none of this. What needs to be spoken is articulated... No flab is appended during the hasty, heart-pounding journey towards an exhilarating climax (a conclusion some will hate, but I adored). The Taking of Pelham One Two Three features honest storytelling and compelling drama fuelled by sublime acting. No gimmicky special effects, no big explosions...just a straightforward story supported by Sargent's top-notch direction and David Shire's spellbinding score, not to mention great editing and terrific cinematography.

If there is one blunder, it's that the passengers of the train are too thinly drawn and stereotypical - ranging from a mother with two bratty children to a streetwise pimp and a wise old man. They're too clichéd to be an accurate depiction of the general public, and far too one-dimensional for us to genuinely care about them. Also, inevitably, there are some technical imperfections. These slight faults, however, hardly injure this incredible exercise in thriller-making.

"The guy who's talking's got a heavy English accent. He could be a fruitcake."

Walter Matthau's best caustic energies are discharged as the Transit Authority lieutenant, and the script is loaded with dialogue just right for the star's benign bad temper. No-one can play this role as perfectly as Matthau, whose comedic instincts are as delightful as his tense negotiating. The very last shot of the film (featuring the actor) is utterly precious, concluding the film on a fitting comedic tone. Robert Shaw and Martin Balsam - one endowed with calm brutality, the other glazed with obvious regret - are credible as train hijackers. Shaw (R.I.P) is particularly excellent as the cold-blooded central villain... his steely performance simultaneously fascinating and frightening. This is another in the actor's gallery of memorable antagonists, coolly flicking through the pages of a puzzle book whilst bargaining with people's lives. The core relationship of the picture - between Shaw's intimidating English killer and Matthau's wisecracking cop - is terrifically etched even though the two communicate solely via radio. The editing back and forth during their conversations is sharp, accentuating the two strong performances and adding to the suspense.

On top of this, the supporting cast is great! Lee Wallace makes a pleasing, indecisive slob of a mayor. Tom Pedi is particularly good as an outraged official who is unable to tolerate a mess in the subway. Hector Elizondo and Earl Hindman are great as members of the gang of hijackers, and Jerry Stiller has a minor role as a Transit Authority official.

Interestingly, The Taking of Pelham One Two Three reportedly did terrific box office in New York, Toronto, Paris and London (all cities with subways) but flopped in other parts of the world. This timeless action picture presents a skilful combination of hilarious black comedy, nail-biting tension, gripping drama and gritty action. On top of this, the underlying premise is a perfectly plausible event. In fact, the only element of fantasy is the implication the city's departments could function so smoothly together. Director Joseph Sargent may have helmed some turkeys in his career (Jaws: The Revenge, anybody?), but he at least was responsible for The Taking of Pelham One Two Three - this remarkable, exciting '70s crime-thriller, and one of the only action pictures in cinematic history to be endowed with a rousing plot.

The film was remade for TV in 1998, and again in 2009 (this time a theatrical summer picture, directed by Tony Scott and starring Denzel Washington).

I am not under any orders to make the world a better place.

Written by Helen Childress and helmed by Ben Stiller (his directorial debut), Reality Bites focuses on Generation X and effectively encapsulates the era of the early nineties. From the word go it was clear this nostalgic romp would cart a viewer down a dull river of Gen-X blues, concentrating on the depressing career and lifestyle choices confronted by these specific youths. Stiller's first effort as a director is a straightforward, independent-style movie about a love triangle that seems keen to impart a strong message: life is dismal and tough when you're young. The picture emphasises this message, but with such a bleak tenor it doesn't even offer a glimmer of hope. Time has been surprisingly good to Reality Bites; its themes still potent and music still beguiling (at least in my eyes). At the end of the day, however, stripped away of its hyped relevance the film possesses little to make it superior to your average, generic rom-com. Interestingly, the title of Reality Bites is irritatingly ambiguous: does it imply that life bites or does it purport that small bites of reality are presented within?

Reality Bites primarily concentrates on four Gen-X youths fresh out of college (three graduating, one not). Lelaina (Ryder), more or less the main character, is a disillusioned young girl in the process of making a pseudo-documentary on the lives of her friends that focuses on post-college life. She acts as an intern for the insufferable host of a Good Morning programme, but her aspirations are far higher. Troy (Hawke), a grungy, unemployed slacker who failed to graduate from college, is her best friend who moves into her apartment after being fired from his latest job. Also living with Lelaina is Vickie (Garofalo); a woman who has disregarded her morals and has become manager of The Gap, but who's also paranoid she might have AIDS. Then there's Sammy (Zahn) who's confused about his sexuality.
Lelaina meets a tense young studio executive named Michael (Stiller) who takes an immediate shine to her. But Troy doesn't approve of this relationship as he harbours unspoken feelings for Lelaina underneath his slacker veneer. As a love triangle forms, Lelaina must choose which she values the most - an affluent life of materialism with Michael, or a possibly unstable life of philosophical musings with Troy.

By its conclusion, Reality Bites is unsuccessful in demonstrating any positive outcome one can experience in life, even if it means one has to place their ego aside momentarily. Michael offers Lelaina a wonderful opportunity, and I personally feel she should have accepted it. But no - the ending is instead a big dud.

Director Stiller and screenwriter Helen Childress (who was 19 when she completed the script) endeavoured to capture the lives of Gen-X youths with brutal honesty in this film, and they succeed. The lives of these young people are actually quite mundane, however. Granted, Gen-X youths lived mundane lives, but these characters are feebly written. The four friends living together speak in confusing, poetic riddles. Some lines are quotable ("There's no point to any of this. It's all just a random lottery of meaningless tragedy and a series of near escapes"), other instances are unnecessary and ultimately seem forced ("You've reached the winter of our discontent"). In addition, the characters are very poorly delineated. The heroine comes across as whiney and full of contradictions (she's valedictorian of her college class, yet isn't able to continue her speech with palm-cards missing, not to mention she's curiously inarticulate and embarrassingly coy on dates). Troy is the ultimate definition of a lay-about loser (he didn't even graduate from college!), but he spouts wisdom incessantly. Despite a charismatic portrayal courtesy of Ethan Hawke, he appears to be the character we're supposed to hate. On the other hand, the guy we're supposed to hate (Ben Stiller as Michael) is the only likable guy in the film! By the film's end, Steve Zahn's Sammy and Janeane Garofalo's Vickie also seem merely perfunctory and redundant.

"You can't navigate me. I may do mean things, and I may hurt you, and I may run away without your permission, and you may hate me forever, and I know that scares the living shit outta you 'cause you know I'm the only real thing you got."

Various critics found the characters inhabiting Reality Bites to be predominantly cookie-cutter and therefore boring. But to me this seems deliberate in order to capture the era faithfully. Gen-X youths were cookie-cutters. In Roger Ebert's review for this production, he discussed the poor filmmaking skill of Lelaina whose footage is frequently nauseating. However, again, this seems deliberate to me, and at no stage does the film attempt to make us believe that Lelaina is a genius of verité cinema. After all, her footage is frequently rejected by professionals, and ultimately made commercial by Michael's company in order for their target audience to enjoy it. On that note, Reality Bites is an insightful picture...it offers an extraordinary glimpse of the cultural mentality of Gen-X and how it plays out in practise.

In his directorial debut, Stiller appears to go to great lengths to satirise MTV Programming (In Your Face TV!) as well as other culture points, slyly nodding at everything from the Big Gulp to The Gap. Thrown in the mix are also the spectres of AIDS, homosexuality and parental divorce (at an early age), not to mention there's a lot of on-screen smoking. On top of this, Reality Bites is infused with a satisfying cocktail of classic songs. It has everything from Peter Frampton to Alice Cooper to Crowded House to U2 to The Knack (My Sharona). Perhaps one can look upon this movie as horribly dated as everything is essentially eighties and nineties, but it can also be perceived as an authentic window into an era which is long behind us. Reality Bites is, however, much more than this. It's a genuinely enjoyable and engaging slice of cinematic entertainment. It provides a few great laughs (Lelaina goes out with a side-splitting bang from her job) as well as poignant, absorbing drama.

Before Winona Ryder hit the media on account of her kleptomania, she was a stunning actress. Reality Bites features one of the finest performances of her career. All those years ago she was beautiful and possessed fine acting skills. In this movie she's impeccable - cute, funny, exasperated and tortured in all the right ways. The standout of the cast, however, is Ethan Hawke as the overplayed Gen-X character that's smart yet down on the world and against conformity. Hawke inhabits his character with eye-opening realism, and is perfect for the role (some predicaments with the writing of his character notwithstanding). Director-star Ben Stiller has offered a few fascinating comments in relation to his onscreen antagonism with Hawke mirroring their offscreen relationship. Stiller delivers a heartfelt, sincere performance as Michael, sometimes raising questions as to whether this yuppie is a better choice for Lelaina. It's a shame, though, that Stiller's great comedic talents have gone to waste here.

In the supporting cast, Steve Zahn and Janeane Garofalo turn in terrific early performances. Also look out for Renée Zellweger in her feature film debut. Members of director Stiller's family also make appearances - his sister Amy voicing a psychic phone friend, and mother Anne playing the character who asks Winona's Lelaina to define "irony".

All things considered, Reality Bites is a movie not for all tastes. For me, Ben Stiller's feature film debut as a director can be labelled as perfectly acceptable entertainment. It's a fresh, unique comedy-drama (with an awesome soundtrack) and an incisive examination of Generation X that depicts these youths as intricate human beings. It may not be the definitive document of Gen-X, but Reality Bites is a touchstone for anyone fresh out of college and stuck with more ideals than job prospects. It's worth 95 minutes of your time.

"Kids these days. They just don't get scared like they used to."

Remember life as a little kid, when you feared the monsters living in your closet or under your bed? Remember your parents assuring you that monsters don't exist? Monsters, Inc. verifies what every child really knows - the things that go bump in the night are more genuine than adults truly realise. Brought to the big screen by Disney & Pixar, Monsters, Inc. - the fourth offspring of this marriage (following Toy Story, A Bug's Life and Toy Story 2) - is a triumph of animated cinema. Co-directed by Pete Docter, David Silverman and Lee Unkrich (with Pixar guru John Lasseter serving as executive producer), this lively and endearing slice of animation is everything we come to expect from a product of the Disney/Pixar axis - it has an enchanting, imaginative premise as well as sumptuous computer animation, brilliant gags for every age, and a mouth-watering voice cast. Yet, this motion picture is a fresh and unique beast. Instead of taking place in the real world, Monsters, Inc. introduces an entirely new universe in which the marvellously-rendered CGI characters can live and flourish.

Behold Monstropolis - a thriving city populated by monsters of all shapes and sizes. Instead of coal or nuclear power, Monstropolis' power supply is derived from the screams of children. This means the scariest (and bravest) denizens of the city are employed by Monsters, Inc. (the largest scream processing factory in Monstropolis) to venture through closet doorways and elicit screams by scaring children all over the globe (these screams are then converted into electricity). However - as children are becoming more sophisticated and consequently more difficult to frighten - severe power problems are affecting the city, with "rolling blackouts" predicted throughout this serious scream shortage. The responsibility of harnessing sufficient electricity falls on the broad shoulders of the leading scream producer - a big blue monster known as Sulley (Goodman), ably assisted by his wisecracking pal Mike (Crystal). It's business as usual for Sulley & Mike until a young, curious human child (Gibbs) boldly goes where no human has gone before...into a closet, and onward into the monster universe. In this world, however, it's the monsters who are afraid of the children (believing them to be toxic and deadly). Pandemonium ensues as Sulley & Mike work to return the child home, in the process uncovering a sinister plot to rid Monstropolis of its power issues...

"There's nothing more toxic or deadly than a human child. A single touch could kill you. Leave a door open, and one can walk right into this factory; right into the monster world."

Monsters, Inc. is an enchanting animated picture which plays on childhood fears in a totally delightful, nonthreatening fashion. Familiar Pixar themes of childhood worlds of imagination are revisited, and on top of this it's a joyful celebration of the power of make-believe. Monsters, Inc. succeeds on two levels - as fast-moving, energetic fun for children and as slyly written, visually impressive entertainment for adults. The plot, however, is probably a bit too straightforward, and - even at a brisk runtime of 90 minutes - it feels slightly padded out, not to mention sluggish from time to time. The second act also tends to bog, with the single-note joke growing pretty old fairly rapidly. This is a fairly predictable affair as well; its conclusion quite foreseeable from about 20 minutes in. With the exception of a few twists and turns, the film traverses through by-the-numbers territory. These complaints are quite minor, however, as Monsters, Inc. remains an enjoyable, imaginative adventure.

Granted, Monsters, Inc. does lack the complexity evident in Toy Story and A Bug's Life, but this isn't necessarily a bad thing. What it lacks in depth it makes up in boundless creativity. Two forms of comedy are on offer - simple laughs for the kiddies, and more imaginative gags aimed at adults. Pixar movies are generally overflowing with such humour, thus parents can watch a Pixar masterwork with their kids, aware that they'll also get a laugh. The cinematic references and in-jokes present in this film are terrific. There's the little girl referred to as "Boo", the Monstropolis/Metropolis angle, and a clever allusion to The Right Stuff. Most audiences will snigger at the "Stalk/Don't Stalk" street sign and a tabloid newspaper called The Glob, but only adults will chuckle at a club named "Harryhausen's" (for those unaware, Ray Harryhausen is a renowned animation pioneer). Some of the humour is hit-and-miss, though, with the occasional gag falling flat. Adults may find the script a few jokes short of true classic status.

Advances in computer graphics since Pixar's first feature-length endeavour (1995's Toy Story, six years earlier) are frankly staggering, and these advancements are on glorious display here. Each new Pixar movie raises the bar a little higher, and in this case the artists have become capable of animating fur. The animators have pulled out all of the stops to make Sulley look realistic...and their objective is completed astonishingly. In terms of richness of design and background detail, the animation present in Monsters, Inc. is truly a triumph. Pixar have keen eyes for detail, ensuring everything on-screen looks completely authentic.

The animation of Mike is particularly interesting due to the fact that the animators had so little to work with. Instead of a full face, Mike is merely an eyeball. Luckily, this eyeball has an eyelid, and thus the artists were able to provide the character with every facial expression a monster would ever need. It's a tour de force!

Probably the most entertaining sequence in the entire movie is a climactic scramble through a labyrinth of closet doors - each one containing another world. It's a breathless action-comedy set-piece which moves along at breakneck speed (although it is drawn out a bit). Another of the film's greatest assets is Randy Newman's superb, zippy score which was nominated for an Oscar. The film's excellent closing song (performed by Goodman and Crystal) earned the film its only Academy Award (an Oscar well earned!).

Pixar creations are always greatly elevated by the remarkable vocal talent they continue to attract. With computer-animated films grossing hundreds of millions of dollars at the box office, big-time actors are far more eager to get involved in such a lucrative industry. In the case of Monsters, Inc., the cast is lead by the duo of the always-reliable John Goodman and the impeccable Billy Crystal. In an unprecedented break from tradition, Goodman and Crystal recorded their dialogue together (rather than separately). As well as voicing their respective characters, their screen personas are also drawn upon.

John Goodman is an ideal choice for Sulley. His deep voice suits the build of the character, and conveys a gentle-giant tone. Under Goodman's watch, Sulley becomes a big lovable teddy bear. Billy Crystal is his usual chaotic self as Sulley's one-eyed assistant Mike. Crystal steals the show and provides a large amount of the comedy.

The villain for the heroes to contend with is a reptilian creature named Randall, voiced by the terrific Steve Buscemi. As the diabolical villain, Buscemi is almost unrecognisable...and it's all the better for it. His usual quirky voice would never suit the character. The far more sinister voice he offers here, however, is a perfect fit. Jennifer Tilly is a great fit as the feisty love interest for Mike. The venerable James Coburn is suitably dignified as Mr. Waternoose; the owner of Monsters, Incorporated. Also in the cast is Mary Gibbs whose baby-talk makes Boo all the more adorable. In addition, Bob Peterson is hilarious as the tough-as-nails Dispatch Manager (Peterson's voice was apparently only temporary, but deemed such a success that it was kept in the final film), Franz Oz is very amusing as Randall's squirrelly accomplice (known as Fungus), and then there's John Ratzenberger (who stars in every Pixar film) who makes a side-splitting cameo as the Abominable Snowman.

The year 2001 saw the release of two greatly successful computer-animated features - Pixar's Monsters, Inc. and Dreamworks' Shrek. While the latter earned the Best Animated Feature Oscar and is by far the hipper of the two flicks, the former is still cheerful, creative, high-energy entertainment with a large supply of gags and a lot of heart. Judging by the box office results of Monsters, Inc. and Shrek, it seems the future of animation lies with computer-generated creations. Traditional animation may fast become extinct. As long as computer-animated films maintain this high level of quality, its ascendance to king of the animation realm can only be perceived as a positive thing. Monsters, Inc. reaffirms the fact that a good animated movie can be every bit as stimulating and satisfying as a live action endeavour. This is an easy recommendation.

"Just think about a few names for a second: Bigfoot. Loch Ness. The Abominable Snowman. They all have one thing in common, pal: Banishment! We could be next!"

"An attack on one is an attack on all of us."

Twenty-three years in the making, director Zack Snyder's ambitious and audacious cinematic rendering of the acclaimed Watchmen graphic novel (by Alan Moore and Dave Gibbons) is a dense and visceral exercise in the liberation of the conventional superhero movie. Moore's original 1986 effort was a nihilistic satire which deconstructed and intensely studied super heroes in a real world setting, begetting an adult sensibility and a mature approach to what had (up until then) been commonly dismissed as a medium aimed at kids. Loyal almost to a fault, director Zack Snyder's Watchmen grasps Moore's subversive magnum opus of comicdom and brings it to the big screen in a visually astounding, multi-layered filmic experiment guaranteed to divide audiences. Never straying too far from the material, Snyder's compelling motion picture is infused with sound and images combined to generate a unique visual experience that commendably evokes the atmosphere of a graphic novel. Watchmen is a bold, bizarre and breathtaking slice of cinema arguably for both newcomers and fans alike.

In a masterfully implemented opening credits sequence (set to Bob Dylan's The Times They Are A-Changing), the complete history of masked vigilantism is displayed - from its quaint beginnings in the forties to its eventual outlawing in the seventies. This title sequence introduces a viewer to the world in which the proceedings will transpire. The execution is simply faultless; mind-blowing tableaus and short scenes are rendered perfectly to convey the story so far. It's simply one of the greatest title sequences this reviewer has ever beheld.

Watchmen takes place in an alternate reality in which superheroes have become part of the fabric of everyday society. However, these costumed vigilantes have been outlawed, and those still in operation are working for the government. It's 1985, and Richard Nixon is serving his fifth term as President of the United States. The Vietnam War was won by America, and now they're on the brink of nuclear war with Russia.
In his high-rise apartment building, an amoral former superhero known as The Comedian (Morgan) is brutally murdered. This triggers an investigation by washed-up, mentally unstable vigilante Rorschach (Haley) who becomes convinced the crime was not random, and that someone may be bumping off the last of the costumed crime fighters. As Rorschach's investigation intensifies, it grows clear that a far more diabolical plot is poised for execution...a plot which could mean cataclysmic consequences for the entire world. With this at stake, Rorschach reunites with his former colleagues - Nite Owl (Wilson) and Silk Spectre II (Akerman) - who don their costumes once again and leap into action.

"Watchmen. One of us died tonight. Somebody knows why. Somebody knows."


The plotting probably sounds complex...and it is! Moore's Watchmen ran for twelve issues, and sufficient material was conceived for practically double that amount. Concerns regarding the translation from book to film were more than justified. There is far too much content in the original series, ergo it'd seem virtually impossible for said content to be faithfully crammed into a single movie. Thus, as directors came and left the project and as the production was mired in development hell, questions were raised in regards to how much of the comic book would reach the big screen and what sort of liberties a filmmaker might take. Within a running time bordering on three hours, Snyder has been successful in keeping large segments of the graphic novel intact. Considering the time constraints (not to mention the studio pressure for a concise runtime) and how much one single film can contain, Snyder has done a laudable job of generating a tremendous sense of fidelity to the source material. Granted, various elements have reportedly been removed altogether, others have been condensed and the end has been slightly changed, but a lot of the film is lifted directly from the comic (Snyder has promised a Director's Cut, featuring more of the excised subplots). In fact, Watchmen is probably far too reliant on its source material, never convincingly developing into its own entity. David Hayter and Alex Tse's screenplay also struggles to compact the graphic novel into coherent storytelling - some of it is garbled. But the non-converted (this reviewer included) are offered enough character development and explication to bring one up to speed. Interestingly, with the script conforming to the graphic novel so loyally, the movie also lacks a sense of urgency as well as - above all - a solid driving force behind the plot.

For those unfamiliar with the source material, don't be deceived by the intense trailers. A few violent, hard-hitting action sequences here and there notwithstanding, Watchmen is no action film. Snyder's previous cinematic creation, 300 (also a graphic novel adaptation), was an action film plagued with historical inaccuracies and irritating, excessive slow motion. Snyder's Watchmen (taking heed of Moore's graphic novel) eschews frequent action, instead presenting a 160-minute examination of the human (and not-so-human) psyche. It provokes a stimulating question: who would be crazy enough to don a costume and battle crime? The heroes inhabiting Watchmen are murderers, sadists, rapists, sexual deviants and emotionally-detached maniacs. This troubled congregation of heroes have their back-stories revealed over the film's lengthy duration. Graphic violence (we're talking buckets of blood!) is contrasted by sensual sex scenes and the emotional pathos of unexpected relationships. The film commences with a murder - walls are smashed, furniture is broken, knives are flung, glass is shattered, blood is spilt and a body is tossed. This gritty, brutal tone (as well as the energy in the visuals) is sustained throughout the entire flick - this is perhaps Watchmen's biggest asset.

Snyder knocks this one out of the park. His direction exudes a certain maturity; his shots framed to resemble illustrations present in graphic novels. Over the decades, a variety of directors (including Terry Gilliam, Paul Greengrass and Darren Aronofsky) have become involved but backed off when confronted with the sheer enormity of the task at hand. But Snyder eventually stepped up to the task, helming an extraordinary motion picture worthy of several viewings. However, the director's trademark slo-mo action nonsense is on display here, along with occasionally jarring editing. The slow motion hardly works, ultimately coming off as gimmicky. Yet, it would be iniquitous to begrude Snyder's astonishing, meticulous work as a whole.

The film's R-rating (from the MPAA) is very much merited. The gore quotient is frankly astounding! Bones are crushed, blood sprays everywhere, people explode...there's visual excitement of every cinematic kind! Rapes occur, as do sex scenes. Heavy thematic material is also in play, which is hard to stomach (misogyny is certainly present). This is a dense work filled with so many layers. Its deeper meanings are almost impossible to entirely absorb on a single viewing (reviewing the film is therefore a daunting prospect).

With Larry Fong's magnificent cinematography and Alex McDowell's amazing production design, the noir-ish, rain-soaked mid-80s depiction of New York City is effectively realised. Garish, colourful costumes are also present, which are similar to those within its literature counterpart. Staggering visual effects and near-perfect CGI are in play here. The characters literally descent off the pages, and the appearance of the world takes its cues from the original illustrations by Gibbons. It's easy to immerse yourself into the eloquently-executed world of Watchmen with technical proficiency of this standard. On top of this, the music is exceptional, as is the use of opera throughout the dramatic lead-up to the shocking finale. Not only is Tyler Bates' original score utilised here...an unforgettable selection of covers also pervade the soundtrack, most notably The Sound of Silence.

"We can do so much more. We can save this world... with the right leadership."


The cast do an exemplary job of inhabiting their characters, with special recognition going to Jackie Earle Haley as Rorschach. Haley's face is mostly obscured by a balaclava, therefore he can only convey emotions through his voice, and he does so very well. Rorschach is more or less a violent version of Phillip Marlowe with a gruff voice that's surprisingly comprehensible (take notes for your next Batman outing, Christian Bale). With his hat, overcoat and an ever-changing balaclava, he's the ultimate noir anti-hero; an unbalanced detective with his own brand of demented justice. The film is told through Rorschach's journal entries, with Haley presenting utterly perfect narration throughout. Haley's performance is the best in the entire film. Beside him, Patrick Wilson wholly encapsulates Nite Owl. The actor looks perfect in both civilian clothing and his superhero costume, while also giving the character a sense of humanity. Billy Crudup is unexpectedly engaging and a constant source of fascination - an awesome visual effect of a naked, blue-tinged superman.
Jeffrey Dean Morgan places forth an excellent performance as The Comedian. There's also Matthew Goode and Malin Akerman as Ozymandias and Silk Spectre II, respectively. They've been perceived as the weakest links of the cast, but I disagree. Akerman is appealing and truly beautiful, whereas Goode is sapped of emotion yet engaging.
Outside these actors there's an enormous supporting cast, all of which turn in great performances.

Watchmen has been frequently branded as the 'unfilmable' graphic novel. It was created with the specific intention in mind of underlining the restrictions of cinema - its boundless artistry seemed impossible to bring to life. Alan Moore and Dave Gibbons' graphic novel was a sprawling twelve-issue series that satirised the superhero genre, held a confronting mirror up to society, mutated events of the past and set the bar for "mature" comics of the future. Watchmen possibly is unfilmable, but Zack Snyder's attempt is monumental and commendable nonetheless. Strokes of brilliance (in the dialogue, special effects, acting) are united with occasionally garbled storytelling, producing an altogether worthy cinematic appropriation of the graphic novel. Never mind the sometimes laboured screenplay as this is riveting viewing. Snyder's remarkable picture is a ballsy, brainy, entertaining and thoroughly bloody examination of human nature, pop culture, and the "good old days" that never were.


The world will look up and shout "Save us!"... And I'll whisper "No."

"So what do you have to do to get forty million dollars?"

Duplicity - this incredibly witty, intelligent comical crime caper concerning two professional spies with pronounced mutual trust issues - is the second directorial outing of acclaimed screenwriter Tony Gilroy (the man who also scripted the Jason Bourne films). Merging the cold corporate intrigue of Michael Clayton (the writer's Oscar-nominated debut as a director) with the suave, globetrotting antics of the Ocean's trilogy, this effervescent, meticulously plotted heist thriller is dazzling entertainment for a mature audience. The title of Duplicity (meaning deceitfulness) is extremely appropriate for such a twisty motion picture. Rest assured that with Gilroy serving as both writer and director, plot twists are frequent and (similar to Michael Clayton) concessions are rare for those who refuse to pay close attention. Luckily, Gilroy's film is an ultra-slick cinematic creation bursting with intrigue and visual elegance, not to mention it also features an outstanding cast...we're hooked from the very beginning.

The grim depredations of the corporate world may lie at the centre of Gilroy's film once again, but he manages to have loads of fun with them this time. Gilroy establishes the comical tone brilliantly with a slap-happy opening credits sequence featuring two titans of industry (Wilkinson and Giamatti) battling one another (in exaggerated slow motion) on an airport tarmac before their respective private jets as their aghast entourages observe the situation.

The less you know about the plot, the more enjoyable your viewing experience. In a nutshell: the story follows two lovers - CIA agent Claire Stenwick (Roberts) and MI6 agent Ray Koval - who become caught up in a feud between two multinational pharmaceutical companies which threatens to tip over into outright war. With one cosmetics company on the verge of announcing a lucrative, earth-shattering new product that will give them an edge in this battle, Claire and Ray spot an opportunity to strike it rich. They quit their jobs and plan to infiltrate the two organisations with the intention of obtaining the special formula for this new product.

Naturally, not everything goes to plan (it would be less interesting if everything ran perfectly), which amplifies the suspense tenfold in the lead-up to the climax. Viewers will be constantly kept on edge of their seats as the central relationship wavers, and alliances change (as do plans). Who is playing who?

"You on one side, me on the other. It's perfect."

Throughout Duplicity, nothing is as it seems. Characters play each other and plot twists unspool at an alarming rate. All this game playing provides Gilroy with the chance to refashion the debonair, sharp banter of 1930s romantic comedies; updating it to suit a darker, harder edged contemporary context. Accomplishing this tricky high-wire act is nothing short of incredible. Gilroy's dialogue is sizzling and witty. The timeline is very jumpy - leaping from "Five Years Later" to "Ten Days Ago" - and it takes the best part of an hour for all the puzzle pieces to very slowly begin assembling themselves. Gilroy also infuses the drama with an impressive array of surveillance techniques that the two companies utilise in order to pry into the other's business. Whether these methods are true or not remains a mystery, but they're wholly believable in context (as is the unreserved corporate avarice). Interestingly, unless you're very savvy with the film's premise, it may take a while to grasp aspects of the plot. For instance, it isn't made blatantly obvious until the heist occurs that the competing corporations are actually cosmetics companies who employ professional spies in order to get ahead of their competition!

Gilroy directs with elegance; drip-feeding plot details to his audience until the big picture is finally revealed. When he does reveal the product the entire scam concerns, it's frankly absurd. However, Gilroy probably understood that anything would seem silly after all the effort expended, thus he chose a MacGuffin so ludicrous that it's almost a sly wink to an audience.

Duplicity is a deceptively lightweight thriller that will hardly appeal to the masses. While trailers advertised the film as perhaps another Italian Job or Ocean's Eleven, the product is in fact far more sophisticated and slow-paced. No action, no car chases, no shootouts, no explosions...just a well-written story with great actors. Gilroy eschews spy action in favour of verbal gunfire, with colossal chunks of the film devoted to the fine art of banter. Those with a short attention span are advised to look elsewhere. Those willing to indulge in ultra-slick, mature, smart entertainment have come to the right place.

Duplicity isn't necessarily faultless, mind you. There are slight hindrances in Gilroy's screenplay that keep it out of the same league as, say, his own Oscar-nominated Michael Clayton. The major problem is in regards to the sheer ingenuity of the screenplay. Gilroy concentrates on the superb plot twists to such an extent that the complexities of the story prevent it from being genuinely involving.

The two main story elements crammed into the 125-minute runtime are the caper itself, and a romance story between the two leads. Duplicity unfortunately focuses too much on the latter - becoming bogged down during the saggy, plodding middle section which flashes back a bit too frequently to plug into the relationship between Ray & Claire. The protagonists' romance truly needed to be adequately developed for sure, but this overkill hampers the far more interesting main plot. Thankfully, as soon as the film shifts its focus to the caper during the final act, things hit top gear. Gilroy manages to ratchet up the tension and intrigue extremely well here. This tension is skilfully maintained; expertly wringing maximum suspense out of mundane details (a nail-biting hunt for a photocopier, for instance). It's relieving that the sluggish middle act eventually gives way to a rewarding payoff.

Tony Gilroy's films are always ultra-slick, and Duplicity is no different. Robert Elswit's stylish photography as well as James Newton Howard's vibrant, nicely spiced musical score enhance the tactile pleasure of this picture. Craftsmanship is of the highest level. From Kevin Thompson's lavish production design that complements the various locations to Albert Wolsky's smooth costume design, Duplicity is - in every aspect - a film created with complete assurance. Best of all, Gilroy had the flick shot, edited and scored like a sexy '60s caper picture - conga drums & horns, spy jargon and tense moments when a single misplaced step could terminate the entire operation. The fast-paced interaction between the actors, and the usage of split-screens in transitions give Duplicity a lively, hip retro feel that also greatly adds to one's overall enjoyment of the film (once you get past the initial barriers, that is).

At the end of the day, Duplicity - with its knotted narrative and sassy attitude - is more or less a good excuse for Clive Owen and Julia Roberts to engage in some verbal tango for two hours. How you feel about the movie will greatly depend on how you feel about the actors. Reteamed after working together in 2004's Closer, Roberts and Owen generate terrific chemistry as they endearingly steer through their respective characters' insecurities and foibles. The title of Duplicity is particularly fitting on account of the nature of their interaction, as Claire is continuously deceiving Ray and trying to ruin his undercover operations.

Clive Owen, fresh from the similarly globe-trotting The International, serves up yet another taste of how the actor might have played James Bond. Owen's character of Ray is probably the closest he's played to his own real-life persona as he's less angst-ridden than his usual roles. Julia Roberts is back playing the type of character that highlights her strengths as an actress. Think Ocean's Eleven and Twelve.

Tom Wilkinson and Paul Giamatti are perfect casting decisions. Both the actors are delicious as competing, hate-fuelled kings of industry with cutthroat mentalities and egos that know no bounds. Giamatti is particularly excellent; demonstrating the sordid audacity that comes with feeling impervious (most evident in a rousing speech presented to his company's shareholders). Wilkinson is the quieter, almost effeminate head of the opposition. His performance is a standout. The actor was nominated for an Oscar for 2007's Michael Clayton, and he works his magic here once again (despite his role being fairly small).

While Roberts and Owen are apart, they have equally terrific scenes with a wonderful array of supporting players. Roles are filled by strong character actors such as Dennis O'Hare and Tom McCarthy, both of whom played small parts in Michael Clayton. In addition to these actors, Carrie Preston plays a woman from the secretarial pool tricked into helping Ray.

Cramming in enough upscale locations, narrative switchbacks and romantic intrigue to keep an audience fairly rapt, Tony Gilroy's Duplicity is an enjoyable, droll, smart Hollywood escapade. It's hard to believe this is only the writer/director's second directorial undertaking. Gilroy may have taken his time honing his voice as a filmmaker, yet at this stage he appears to have the art down to a science. This heist thriller may not be an award-winner at year's end, but for adults seeking a movie that treats them with genuine respect, there are few films that better fit the bill. Neither a generic spy flick nor a conventional romantic comedy, Duplicity is a satisfying unification of the two genres that's very enjoyable, sophisticated and witty. It may be a frustrating motion picture, but it does - with its conclusion of sheer marvel - ultimately reward you for battling through the saggy middle of the film.

"Every story has an end. But in life, every ending is just a new beginning."

More or less another tired take on the old Odd Couple formula, Uptown Girls is an uneven, clichéd, saccharine-coated blend of comedy and drama. Ostensibly aimed at a teenage female audience, Uptown Girls is a sterling example of Hollywood craftsmanship gone wrong. Both critics and audiences have perceived this fluffy filmic creation to be among 2003's worst movies, and, frankly, you'll be hard-pressed to feel to the contrary. A host of continuity problems, lack of proper direction, sloppy screenwriting and stereotypical characters aside, the picture is simply tedious. Saturated in corny cuteness by the committee of screenwriters (Julia Dahl, Mo Ogrodnik and Lisa Davidowitz) and glossily directed by Boaz Yakin, it's a cotton-candy confection that's far too superficial and mannered. Can't say you weren't warned, though, as the picture is named after a Billy Joel song...a song which is never even featured on the film's soundtrack!

As for the plot: Molly Gunn (Murphy), the free-spirited daughter of a deceased rock star legend, has lived a carefree, frivolous life without responsibility. Using the multi-million dollar inheritance left to her by her parents, Molly has never been required to hold down a job, and has successfully delayed the onset of adulthood. When her late father's financial advisor flees with the remainder of Molly's fortune, she's left bankrupt, heavy in debt and evicted. With no alternatives, the rock star princess sets out to find a job. Molly is hired to serve as a babysitter for precocious, obnoxious spoiled brat Ray (Fanning). Predictably, Molly and Ray's interaction is life-changing for both souls. Honestly, who didn't see that coming? More importantly, who cares?

Unevenly pitched between scatterbrained humour and transparent tugs on the heartstrings, Uptown Girls is fundamentally a silly fairytale set in a real-world setting. While the performances are fairly appealing and the filmmaking is adequate, the screenplay is woeful. The central criticism of this abysmal screenplay is simple: it seems to faithfully adhere to the formula of 2002's About a Boy, to the extent that About a Girl is probably a more appropriate title, and this movie was in all likelihood green-lit to capitalise on the success of the aforementioned British gem. Both movies feature immature adults and intelligent but maladjusted children who all come of age through their interactions with each other. They both even have the same climax; a child performing in front of a crowd, which apparently solves everything.

"Fruit punch? Why don't you just drink cyanide? At least it's quick."

Fanning's Ray (while undeniably cute) is one of the least likeable kids in cinematic history. She's mean-spirited and obnoxious, and has the emotional depth of a tax attorney. Murphy's Molly, on the other hand, is a detestable, ditzy hippy. The script is also loaded with horrible dialogue. It contains an inordinate amount of annoying catchphrases which are apparently supposed to be cute. Common phrases are even over-abused, with characters constantly uttering "Oh my God" among other things. It's difficult to fathom how it took three writers to pen this script. They appear to spend so much time bolstering the characters up, and succeed only in making you want to strangle them. On top of this, there are the irritating on-again, off-again antics of Molly and her love interest Neal (Spencer). Not long after meeting, they're in the sack. And before a relationship has even been established, both of them have already prepared break-up speeches. From there the relationship yo-yos back and forth with no rhyme or reason (except to deliver ersatz moments of drama), culminating in silly plot turns such as Neal's recording of a song destined for death in the bargain bin.

With a bundle of egregiously flagrant film flubs, Uptown Girls may also be one of the sloppiest movies in history. Virtually all movies, even great ones, contain a few minor mistakes, but Uptown Girls features several unforgiveable doozies. The electricity in Molly's apartment has been disconnected, for instance, yet her television miraculously still functions. She's also unable to pay her phone bill, yet her answering machine still receives calls. In one of the film's most crucial scenes, Neal displays his uncanny ability to sing and play his guitar while his mouth is shut and hands are clapping.

Not to mention the script is also plagued with inconsistencies in relation to Ray's character. Ray chastises Molly for touching her toys, for example, yet doesn't really seem to mind a pig traipsing around her room. Another head-scratcher: Ray must wipe the top of every new bottle she drinks from, but allows Molly to sleep in her bed after she has submerged herself in a creek filled with raw sewerage. Convincing development of character relationships is another thing Uptown Girls is deficient in. Emotional details appear to be missing. From time to time it seems as if an important, full scene has been excised, and crucial developments have occurred off-screen.

"Act your age, not your shoe size."

However, Uptown Girls is infused with a minor charm, and the source of this charm is the nice cast. The irresistible Brittany Murphy is appealing for such a shallow character. The actress again demonstrates her ability to handle ditzy comic roles with ease. Young Dakota Fanning is gorgeous and believable as the neurotic Ray. Her character's nature notwithstanding, Dakota is moderately charming in her role, and provides the film with its only genuinely amusing moments.

Australia's Jesse Spencer also places forth a credible, appealing performance as a dubiously talented British musician. Other members of the cast include Marley Shelton, Donald Faison, Austin Pendleton and Heather Locklear, all of which do an adequate job with the dismal script.

Precisely which demographic the filmmakers were trying to reach remains a real mystery. The situations are generally too adult (lots of sexuality is on display), thus the film is inappropriate for younger children (in spite of the feel-good marketing campaign which appeared to suggest that the film is a worthwhile family fare). On the other hand, a majority of Uptown Girls is far too juvenile for most adults who'll hardly be entertained. With its standard chick-flick music montages depicting Murphy's silly antics, and yet another stereotypical heart-throb for the romantic lead, there is also little appeal for a male audience.

In 1989, Boaz Yakin witnessed his first screenplay hit the big screen in the form of The Punisher. Fourteen years later, in a strange twist of fate, Yakin has become The Punisher! Uptown Girls is an awful movie in almost every aspect. It seems unconcerned with painting a realistic world, alternatively resembling some ludicrous fairytale environment.

The "jokes" are poorly timed and frequently unfunny, the screenwriting is inept, and the film suffers from a distinct lack of direction. Fortunately, the performances (in particular the superbly caustic Fanning) manage to keep the sentimental script afloat. Maybe it will appeal to teenage girls seeking a movie to watch during a party due to the nice performances, but it's bona fide junk for everyone else. A truly loathsome experience!

"Well, you guys are fucked!
They wanted to give you 30 days in jail. But I worked my magic on the judge and instead over the next 30 days you have to log 150 hours of community service."

A fresh take on the standard buddy movie formula blended with sharp, irreverent writing and tight plotting, Role Models is a solid comedy carried by a steady stream of laughs, plenty of heart, and a cast that works incredibly well together. In this era of crass R-rated comedies, humour is generally subjective and reviews of modern comedies merely need to stretch "it's hilarious!" into multiple paragraphs (a sentiment not shared by all viewers, mind you). Fortunately, 2008's Role Models is more than your typical profane comedic trash - it's a good-natured, crowd-pleasing, fun and goofy comedy that merits a look beyond the sheer number of laughs. With competent direction by David Wain (also responsible for 2001's Wet Hot American Summer) and a clever, well-written screenplay, this flick is both eye-wateringly hysterical as well as sentimental without being overly saccharine-coated.

Danny (Rudd) and Wheeler (Scott) are representatives for the Minotaur Energy Drink Company. The two men travel to high schools promoting this caffeine-loaded energy drink as part of a "say no to drugs" program. Wheeler is the simple type who still enjoys empty one-night stands and loves his (dead-end) job. Danny, on the other hand, is a miserable, bitter, cynical bloke annoyed by everyone and everything. After a personal problem throws him off the deep end, Danny goes on a minor rampage which results in the duo's arrest. To avoid 30 days in prison, Wheeler & Danny are forced to perform 150 hours of community service at a charity - a big brother-style program called Sturdy Wings. They subsequently become mentors for troubled children. Their subjects: a foul-mouthed kid named Ronnie (Thompson), and a socially inept nerd named Augie (Mintz-Plasse) who wears a cape and participates in LARP (Live-Action Role-Playing).

Role Models doesn't reinvent the comedy genre or even the buddy movie genre; as a matter of fact, it adheres to the same old trite formula to the letter throughout its runtime. Most conventional is the concluding third which contains hackneyed musical montages (crammed with lamenting) and a predictable coming together in a triumphant event that proves the immature protagonists have changed for the better. Every puzzle piece (and the way they interlock) will be familiar to anyone who's seen this type of mainstream comedy before. Role Models is extremely formulaic, and the outcome is predictable from an early stage. However, a massive credit to the screenwriters (four all told, including director Wain in addition to actors Paul Rudd, Ken Marino and Timothy Dowling) is due - Role Models may be clichéd, but it's also hilarious and plenty of fun, and dull moments are at a minimum. Frequently amusing and extremely enjoyable, this is a great example of familiar comic material made fresh with affectionate irreverence.

The screenplay is a real winner. It's obvious this material was written with Rudd and Scott in mind (Rudd did co-write the thing) as the jokes are fine-tuned towards the stars' comic sensibilities. Role Models is permeated with the type of humour that will definitely offend some people. It may be particularly shocking to those who mistake this flick for a family-friendly comedy about two loveable guys mentoring two young rascals... This is instead a good-natured comedy saturated in raunchy humour and R-rated language. At the same time, though, it ain't all sex jokes and sophomoric locker-room banter, because Role Models additionally delivers a certain sentimental feel good-ishness that prevents it from being mere juvenile comical rubbish.
This picture also does a commendable job of not making LARPing appear totally un-fun. People really do spend their days dressed up like medieval warriors and battling each other, and the film is smart enough not to alienate or offend those involved in the activity it is eagerly lampooning. Sure, those involved in LARPing are just extremists deserving of ridicule, but the screenplay remains decidedly pro-nerd, which makes it seem genuine, and the whole thing is ultimately far more fun.

Another secret weapon of Role Models is the editing. The flick runs a sleek 100 minutes, and there isn't much fat. Mega-producer Judd Apatow's "everything-and-the-kitchen-sink" trademark has led to a number of overstuffed comedies (Knocked Up, Pineapple Express, Superbad, Walk Hard), but Role Models remains rather succinct. The film also doesn't linger on certain jokes. With this clever approach the gags are more understated.
This comedy does, however, hit a rough patch during its midsection where it lags, lacks laughs, and succumbs to screenwriting 101 templates to push it to the finish line. Fortunately, it finishes strongly (unlike, say, Step Brothers) and leaves us smiling when the credits begin to roll.

The screenplay and the direction work to make Role Models an entertaining comedy, but the cast bring everything to life. Every actor in the film brings a certain magic to their role, elevating the clichéd characters and making them seem like actual people. It's fantastic to see Paul Rudd top-lining a comedy after placing forth so many memorable supporting performances in films like Anchorman, Forgetting Sarah Marshall, and The 40-Year-Old Virgin. His Danny is a wonderfully realised contemporary misanthrope. Rudd's deadpan approach and his natural charisma save Danny from being a totally unlikable creation. Seann William Scott is perfectly at home with this form of comedy. He's able to tap into the strong material and enhance it with his own comical talents; mixing charm, bewilderment, and stupidity into an amusing cocktail. Rudd and Scott have great chemistry, and play extremely well off of each other. But the duo are also sublime in their pairings with Christopher Mintz-Plasse and Bobb'e J. Thompson. Thompson and Mintz-Plasse match their (more experienced) co-stars every step of the way, with Thompson in particular developing into a genuine scene stealer. Mintz-Plasse has all the sincerity of a real LARP nerd, chuckling over silly jokes like "the whispering eye", and being deadly serious about the battles he and his "kinsmen" are due to fight in.
Best of all, though, is Jane Lynch's Sweeny who is a tad too proud of her formerly sleazy life and never misses an opportunity to mention it in conversations. Elizabeth Banks is also great as Danny's girlfriend, although she's fairly underused.

American comedies these days owe a huge debt of gratitude to Judd Apatow. Not only has this guy brought back the beloved R-rated breed of comedy, but he's scored multiple winners infused with heart and gags. Comedies like Forgetting Sarah Marshall and The 40-Year-Old Virgin have paved the way for similar films to follow. In fact it's surprising that Apatow's name isn't attached to Role Models considering its foul nature and R-rated language (speaking of Apatow, this film also contains many of his frequent collaborators). Even more surprising is that David Wain's movie is a case of playing Apatow's game better than he ever did it. Role Models is fun, witty, concise and funny, and it has stacks of heart. It's just a shame that there are too many clichés, and the stale formula remains unchanged. Fortunately, though, there are plenty of laughs to conceal its lack of originality...to an extent. Role Models remains a heartily funny diversion, served with believable characters and a few masterful KISS jokes.

"This guy is like the Terminator!"

Action movies are generally split into two categories - smart actioners, and dumb guilty pleasures. Overblown and ridiculous in every conceivable way, The Marine fails to meet the criteria for either category. This second movie offering of WWE Films (See No Evil, starring Kane, was the first) is so indescribably awful, inept and downright stupid it may actually cause brain damage. Far too mindless to be considered a smart actioner and not fun enough to be considered a guilty pleasure, The Marine is one of this decade's worst action movies. In interviews, WWE superstar John Cena has compared this cinematic abortion to 1985's Commando (featuring Arnold Schwarzenegger). Sure, both pictures are stunt spectacles in which everything blows up, but Commando is at least mildly respectable...The Marine, on the other hand, is poorly made, detrimentally unoriginal and appallingly acted, not to mention the sheer level of stupidity also prevents the film from fulfilling its primary objective of entertaining. It clearly strives to be a serious 80s-style action/adventure with humorous undertones, but instead the entire flick is unintentionally hilarious. This utter garbage could've been so bad that it's good. Instead, Cena's film debut is so bad it's just really, really bad.

In a standard action movie opening sequence, Sgt. John Triton (Cena) - a US Marine - disobeys a direct order and rescues some captured comrades. His superiors aren't fond of his gung-ho style, however, and he's honourably discharged before being shipped back to the US. It's a tough break for John who immediately accepts a job as a security guard. But more over-eagerness on John's part results in his sacking (on his first day of work). Following this second tough break, John decides to embark on a romantic getaway with wife Kate (Carlson).

Meanwhile, the ruthless Rome (Patrick) and his gang of thieves implement a diamond heist in the most conspicuous way possible - people are shot (including two police officers), a cop car is blown up (exploding in a 20-foot ball of flame), and the gang wield massive weapons on the street in broad daylight. Since tough-guy ex-marine John Triton needs someone to kill, the script throws these diamond thieves in his direction. John's wife ends up being taken as a hostage by these criminals (for absolutely no discernable reason). John wants his wife back, so he pursues these diamond thieves through a crocodile-free (but alligator-infested) South Carolinian swamp.

What ensues is a totally unbelievable action romp. Lots of bullets fly (the bad guys are unable to aim a gun properly, of course), everything in sight explodes, and the good guy kills the bad guy. Whoops, was the ending just spoiled for you? Or did you realise (through common knowledge) that the good guy was going to win?

The whole movie is laden with winks (Robert Patrick starred in Terminator 2 and John Triton is compared to the Terminator), tossed in a smorgasbord of a screenplay that gives one of Rome's henchmen a fear of rock candy and a moment where (in mid-threat) Rome answers a phone call to discuss his cable TV options. Couple that malarkey with the fact that Triton survives multiple big explosions (including three building explosions) and an impossibly lenient detective with sketchy motives. Everything in The Marine is pumped up to deafening proportions, from Cena's physique to sports cars for South Carolina state troopers. Continuity errors abound and impossibilities flourish throughout this tedious star vehicle.

The Marine is also infused with a sickening (almost insulting) level of American patriotism. Cena is introduced wearing Marine garb during the opening credits sequence, and he's standing in front of an American flag! Cena looks like a total moron, and these few seconds are enough to elicit derisive chortles. After this despicable sequence, Cena's John Triton proceeds to save US soldiers who have been captured in Afghanistan. Triton is a perfect marksman of course, and those he's battling appear to opt for hand-to-hand combat instead of just shooting the trouble-maker. Cue vomit-inducing, cheesy patriotic music. Oh yeah, and a Russian helicopter arrives to extract the soldiers from the battlefield. After this military propaganda video (that's also very disrespectful to the whole Iraq/Afghanistan situation), the movie gets right down to business...exploring John Cena's two facial expressions.

Modern action movies are normally overwhelmed by unconvincing CGI. Therefore, in theory, an actioner containing traditional stunt work and old-fashioned pyrotechnics should be refreshing and exciting. But it isn't - CGI is eschewed, but the approach is marred due to the fact that realism is thrown to the wind very early into the movie. During the film's main car chase, for example, roughly 300 bullets are fired into a sports car, none of which manage to hit John Triton who's behind the wheel. Tyres are visibly shot, but are perfectly re-inflated in subsequent shots. As the car chase ends, this car flies off a cliff and explodes...and John survives by leaping out of the flaming wreckage to safety. How do the thieves not notice John jumping out of the car when he's in plain sight?!

WWE director John Bonito tries very hard to pump up the excitement factor with this movie...but he fails. The Marine is more or less an extended trailer...90 minutes of fireballs, failed one-liners and fight sequences which are both poorly choreographed and incompetently shot. Dallas Puett's editing is frenetic, jumpy and downright terrible. Another of the production's biggest blunders is trying to pass off Australian locations as South Carolina. Big fail. There are also countless errors in military attire and hand-to-hand techniques, not to mention the politics behind John Triton's discharge is nonsense. Writing and filmmaking can't get much worse than this.

John Cena is a complete dud. In The Marine he's just an unstoppable, invincible action hero; more or less a cyborg impervious to injury. After he miraculously manages to survive a few explosions and hundreds of bullets, the film can no longer be taken seriously. The main problem with Cena's acting goes far beyond his easily spotted first film jitters. He's a mountainous man, but he looks more like a construction worker than a US Marine. Cena is also cursed with the vocal authority of pubescent 16-year-old. This guy has no business trying to pass himself off as a one-man army similar to Arnold Schwarzenegger or Sylvester Stallone. At least Schwarzenegger was a hard-ass of the highest order, complete with an intimidating voice. Mired by a PG-13 rating that dampens the mood by placing all the violent money shots off camera, Cena comes across as a bland action figure who's ready to feature in any movie the WWE sends down the pipe for him, but who lacks a zesty charisma that could make him a genre icon. Beside him, Kelly Carlson is very forgettable as his kidnapped wife.

At least Robert Patrick brings a little bit of class and star power to the project. He's easy to watch as the goofy, sarcastic leader of a wacky crew of lunatic diamond thieves. Unfortunately, every other member of the cast is unbelievably awful, including a comical black man with a girly voice and a fear of rock candy.

It should come as no surprise that The Marine is a bad movie. If you had high expectations for this second WWE Films production, you're either a deluded wrestling fan or you just haven't been paying attention. If you've decided to give this dirge a shot, one should be completely aware of what they're walking into. Those who defend this awful movie state that the bad acting and weak plot can be overlooked because there's a lot of action to enjoy. I tried to enjoy the action...I really tried. But this dredge failed to entertain me.

"I know how this sounds, but I've mapped these numbers to the dates of every major global disaster from the last 50 years in perfect sequence. Earthquakes, fires, tsunamis... The next number on the chain predicts that tomorrow, somewhere on the planet, 81 people are going to die, in some kind of tragedy."

Knowing is Alex Proyas' take on the typical end-of-the-world disaster movie formula, infused with an intriguing assortment of additional genre elements, including ghost stories and conspiracy thrillers with a dash of science fiction. Director Proyas (back on the sci-fi chain gang, following Dark City and I, Robot) has taken what begins as a fairly straightforward sci-fi premise to heights of psychological and visceral bravado. However, Knowing is a classic case of a movie that's crammed with interesting ideas but is unable to explore them in an overly satisfying fashion. It undertakes too many genres, resulting in a unique mishmash which never quite gels satisfactorily. For its first two thirds, Knowing is a riveting M. Night Shyamalan-esque thriller capable of engaging a viewer on account of Proyas' masterful storytelling and the outstanding premise. The final third, however, gives into lazy genre clichés before imploding during the ultimately unsatisfying closing minutes. A lot transpires during the film's two-hour duration, and while not all of it may hold up under careful scrutiny, Knowing stands up as a solid escapist cinematic experience enhanced by its chilling symbolism, and filled with tension, thrills and marvellous visual effects.

In 1959, an elementary school in Massachusetts commemorates its official opening by burying a time capsule underground which will remain sealed until the school's 50th anniversary in 2009. Students are asked to submit a drawing for this time capsule; a drawing of their vision of the future. Troubled young Lucinda Embry (Robinson) scrawls down a series of mysterious numbers for her submission to the time capsule...

Half a century later, the time capsule is exhumed and the current students of the elementary school are each given a drawing to study. Young Caleb Koestler (Canterbury) receives Lucinda's seemingly random succession of numbers. This sheet of paper triggers the interest of his father, widowed astrophysicist John Koestler (Cage), who examines the numbers and realises a pattern of chilling historical relevance: it's a cryptogram that faultlessly lists all the world's worst disasters for five decades in consecutive order...and three future catastrophes are also listed.

"What happens when the numbers run out?"

Initially, Knowing appears to be in standard Hollywood sci-fi or psychological mystery territory - and even this ambiguity is enthralling. The elementary school's fifty-year time capsule is opened, and one is already uncomfortable due to the behaviour of little Lucinda who - instead of a drawing her vision of the future - has almost obsessively written out a full page of numbers. Gibberish or code? If code, of what? Why? Proyas' filmmaking competency is on full display here, provoking a never-ending stream of further questions. Who are the enigmatic whispering men in black? Why is the temperature climbing so high? What is the importance of black stones? Proyas makes us care about and ponder all these things. Questions become building blocks of tension as the narrative thrusts into second gear and all the small touches of extraordinary begin to amass into a tsunami of mysteries.

The central question of Knowing is whether the universe is deterministic: are we here because of a meticulous grand scheme, or is our existence on Earth pure chance? For a while, Knowing deals with some fascinating concepts, including questions about fate, chance, and predestination. Also, there's the perception that numbers form the ultimate underlying foundation of the universe - a belief shared by a number of mathematicians and spiritualists alike. Unfortunately, despite the screenplay spending an inordinate amount of time with numerology and questions about destiny, these elements aren't relevant to the narrative's final trajectory. They are, to quote James Berardinelli, "tangential obfuscations" - that is, ways to mislead a viewer and make the resolution "surprising".

Without spoiling much, the final occurrence listed on the numbers sheet is an interesting beast. To the typical movie-goer it may come across as downright terrifying and thought-provoking. To real astrophysicists it may come across as silly and impossible. As this reviewer is uneducated in astrophysics, I am unable to make an educated comment, but would be very interested to hear a professional opinion.

The two (heavily promoted) disaster set pieces of Knowing, in which John's frantic decoding takes him to the sites of a plane crash and a subway accident (events he's attempting to prevent), are the two key components that make this film worth seeing. Alex Proyas - a meticulous visual stylist - knows how to the turn up the tension knobs with proficient camerawork and a blaring Herrmann-esque score from composer Marco Beltrami to complement the mayhem. The disaster sequences are extremely well staged, especially the plane crash which is filmed in a single tracking shot that trails John as he wanders through the wreckage; both thrilling and haunting. These scenes connect (even with a few special effect blunders, like fire touching John's limbs but leaving no burns) because they plug directly into the film's cracking premise as a chest-tightening disaster picture. However, the heavy reliance on CGI is evident. Make no mistake, the visual effects look decent, but they appear to lack a definitive polish and consequently come off as incomplete. The train crash is the worst offender; it's less convincing than, say, Die Hard: With a Vengeance (wherein practical effects and traditional stunt-work was employed to remarkable effect).

Interestingly, Knowing was filmed in Australian locations (mainly in Melbourne) to double for Boston. Believe it or not, the Melbourne locations are quite convincing (this is arguable, though, as Boston's inhabitants may find Melbourne a poor substitute).

For the disaster sequences, tone is the one area where this movie excels. The crashes are deeply disturbing (how this got past the MPAA with a PG-13 rating is a mystery), and it will remind people of 9/11, but Proyas isn't exploiting these sequences for fun or action. Proyas' intention is to make you as shaken as John is, and he succeeds. Knowing is also frequently chilling. When John searches the home of Lucinda (author of the time capsule numbers sheet), the revelation uncovered may be fairly obvious, but it's tremendously creepy. Likewise, the inclusion of mysterious, pale-skinned men in black coats is wringed for a couple of disturbing moments on account of their iris-free eyes and unblinking stares. If Knowing had fulfilled its potential, Proyas might have made one of the year's best sci-fi films as well as one of 2009's best horror films in one fell swoop.

The reliance on CGI grows more detrimental as the picture progresses, concluding with an unnecessarily spectacular FX sequence where something simpler and less ostentatious may have been more poignant (the final 60 seconds should definitely have been removed). During the final third, the tonal change is jarring. What begins as an intriguing mystery/thriller transforms into Close Encounters of the Third Kind combined with Deep Impact before culminating in an unsatisfying conclusion. Alex Proyas and three additional writers reportedly worked on the script, but creativity is at a minimum during the final third. After the meeting with Lucinda's daughter (Byrne), the writing suddenly becomes too lazy, Hollywood and conventional. The problem with such a superb premise is simple: how the hell do you end it? Not enough talent was involved in the creation of the screenplay, unfortunately, and the picture all in all is merely good when it had the potential to be excellent. Tragic, really.

Nicolas Cage is in manic, pseudo-action hero mode. Cage looks the part, but his acting is fairly wooden and he never radiates a genuinely profound sense of humanity. We recognise that his character loves his son because the screenplay spells it out, not because Cage sells it. Nevertheless, Cage is acceptable in the role even if he isn't outstanding. For the most part, he and young Chandler Canterbury make a terrific father and son team, and the picture relies on this equation for much of its emotional punch.
Rose Byrne has an appealing screen presence as Diana Wayland, the grown up daughter of the troubled Lucinda. Believe it or not, it's actually easier to empathise with Byrne than with Cage. Fortunately, the film doesn't attempt to force an inappropriate romance between Cage and Byrne. Youngsters Chandler Canterbury and Lara Robinson (doing double duty; playing Abby and young Lucinda) both have a natural presence despite a few wooden moments, and their uncluttered performances assist in keeping the film grounded. However, the characters occasionally do stupid things. The protagonists leave their cars with the engine turned on and the keys in the ignition at least three times, for instance.

All things considered, Knowing is a solid science fiction thriller with a lot on its mind. By daring to not explicitly answer its various questions regarding destiny and free will, it allows for debate and discussion. Alex Proyas is brilliant at the helm; injecting immediacy, artistic imagination and a looming sense of foreboding into the flabby, disappointingly generic screenplay. What could have been a tight, exciting 100-minute thriller is inflated to 120 cumbersome minutes, force-feeding a sub-standard climax that doesn't fit the tone at all. A broad, leisurely hodgepodge of Hitchcock-style suspense architecture, M. Night Shyamalan-style atmosphere and overblown Michael Bay-esque special effects, Knowing is an adequate apocalyptic thriller which had the potential to be better.

"He handed us fiction after fiction, and we printed them all as fact. Just because we found him entertaining. It's indefensible."

In 2003, Stephen Glass - a disgraced former hotshot journalist - published his first novel, entitled The Fabulist. In this novel, Stephen detailed his experiences writing for The New Republic...or, more accurately, fabricating stories for the respected magazine. Shattered Glass is an excellent, predominantly faithful retelling of Stephen's days working at The New Republic before the falsity of his stories was finally uncovered. Written and directed by Billy Ray, Shattered Glass is an incisive, intensely engaging drama as well as a brilliant exposé of the pressures and politics of journalism. Carefully combining the facts with a pinch of artistic license, Billy Ray's extraordinary motion picture caters for both those familiar with the story as well as the newcomers. Frankly, though, if you're in the dark about the Stephen Glass fiasco, you're in for a terrific story made all the more compelling by writer-director Ray's understated approach to the material.

After starting out as a promising journalist for The New Republic (the "in-flight magazine of Air Force One") and rising to meteoric heights in his early 20s, Stephen Glass (Christensen) is on his way to the top of the journalistic profession. Seeking a short-cut to fame, Stephen began using fiction in his work; concocting sources, quotes and even entire stories. Consequently, his articles are cutting-edge; drawing on a seemingly endless supply of insider contacts and informants. His deception, however, did not slip under the radar forever...

Stephen Glass' world begins to unravel when the popular editor of The New Republic, Michael Kelly (Azaria), is sacked due to complications with his superiors (mainly due to his tendency to defend his staff). Replacing him is the unpopular Chuck Jones (Sarsgaard) who isn't prepared to show these writers the same respect.
A lowly internet journalist (Zahn) is suspicious of Stephen's latest article about a pubescent hacker from the suburbs hired by a major software company, and begins to do some digging. As accusations begin to pour in that this story is phoney, Chuck (unwilling to overlook these claims) makes it his duty to thoroughly investigate the situation. This sets in motion a chain of events that ultimately exposes the years of deceptiveness perpetrated by one of the publication's star writers. All told, 27 of Stephen Glass' 41 articles were found to be either wholly or partially fictional. This shocking revelation shook a successful journalistic establishment to its core, and forced considerable revisions of codes of ethics and proof reading procedures. That for so long he managed to avoid being found out is astonishing considering the outlandish nature of his stories.

"The New Republic, snobbiest rag in the business, the in-flight magazine of Air Force One... and their star goes out and gets completely snowed by a bunch of hackers. I mean, God couldn't have written this any better."

This dynamite character drama predominantly concerns the confrontation between the appealing, unscrupulous Stephen Glass and the pedantic, solemn Chuck Lane, and the two drastically different types of journalism they embody - one is committed to entertainment, and the other to truth. When these two men come into conflict, they both stand their ground with the staunch obstinacy of heroes in a Greek tragedy until compromise becomes unattainable, and disaster (for at least one of them) is inevitable. The product is a genuinely gripping story overflowing with strong, flawed characters and compelling drama.

Shattered Glass, the feature film debut of screenwriter Billy Ray, meticulously chronicles the rise and fall of the protagonist. Among other things, the film shows how Glass ingratiated himself with his co-workers, as well as how he constantly squirmed, connived, and deceived to elude the ever-tightening noose. It's clear that Glass is mentally messed up - he takes night school, has serious personal problems and ended up in therapy for several years. Stephen is also a brilliant manipulator, which is evident in his interactions with the staff. Playing innocent, Steve constantly protests "I didn't do anything wrong". Writer-director Ray is careful never to demonise Steve. This portrayal isn't one-sided, but his actions and accountability speak for themselves. Complimenting a secretary about her lipstick does not counterbalance falsifying stories. However, Ray's script falters in terms of depth; it fails to shed sufficient light on Stephen Glass' motives & methods - i.e. the "why" and "how" has been excluded. The film never truly gets inside Glass' head; therefore as a character study it isn't effective enough.

One must always bear in mind that Shattered Glass is based on a true story. Stephen Glass, Chuck Lane, Michael Kelly and various other key characters all exist, although Stephen's editor-girlfriend Caitlin (Sevigny) and perhaps a few others are merely fabricated composites of real people. Glass' actual articles also appear in Ray's film. Even the dialogue is reportedly extremely accurate (some scenes virtually verbatim). The dialogue can only be an approximation of what was really said at the time, but writer-director Billy Ray (striving for the highest level of authenticity) conducted extensive interviews with the main players, and even allowed the real Lane to examine the final script (according to Lane, the scene in which Lane confronts Glass in front of the TNR magazine covers is practically a precise retelling of the actual events). The film itself is therefore the very compromise its characters so glaringly fail to achieve, generating a terrific story without sacrificing its integrity or authenticity...and it remains remarkably entertaining.

This riveting drama is bolstered by incredible performances by both Hayden Christensen and Peter Sarsgaard. Christensen (actually on his way to redeeming himself for Attack of the Clones) is impeccable as the consummate conman, manipulating his peers and superiors by telling them what they want to hear as well as exuding innocence. His juvenile refrain "Are you mad at me?" is so disarming one almost wants this guy to succeed in his lies...almost. The actor perfectly presents the character as a wide-eyed and seemingly naïve kid with many childish mannerisms, and an almost pathological need to be liked. Played with a skilfully handled combination of insouciance, charm and indefatigable conceit, Christensen places forth his best work to date.
Christensen may be exceptional, but it was Sarsgaard who was the breakout star of Shattered Glass, earning several awards (including a Golden Globe nomination) for his portrayal as an editor who slowly grows furious at the lie that has been pulled on him and the magazine. His work is subtle and keenly-observed. It's the type of acting that's so natural one gets lost in it; losing sight of the actor as an actor and only seeing the character he's embodying. Chuck is a character under pressure from everywhere. His allegiance to Michael Kelly is tested, his integrity is questioned, his colleagues dislike him, his young star is under fire from a rival publication, and the whole reputation of The New Republic itself is on the line. It'd be easy for an actor to mismanage these threads and overplay crucial moments. Sarsgaard, however, never falls victim to this... not even for the briefest moment. His performance is unreservedly perfect. Why he was overlooked by the Academy Award committee is frankly bewildering.

But Christensen and Sarsgaard aren't the only ones submitting remarkable performances, as the movie also boasts a plethora of supporting talent. Chloë Sevigny (still recovering from the Brown Bunny fiasco) and Melanie Lynskey are superb as loyal co-workers manipulated by Glass into acting as his mother hens. Steve Zahn (known for his comedic work) is confident and compelling in a more dramatic role as the determined online editor who brings the scandal into the open, and he's supported by the capable Rosario Dawson. Hank Azaria is also sublime as Stephen Glass' first editor who adamantly defends his staff and demands the highest level of journalistic honesty. Most of Glass' fabricated stories, however, were published when Kelly was editor of The New Republic...the appeal of the young man blinded his editor. There is not a single weak spot in this cast.

Shattered Glass is amazing for its faithfulness and accuracy, and (most shockingly) it proves that Hayden Christiansen can actually act (erasing awful memories of his soulless performance as Anakin Skywalker in Attack of the Clones). Writer-director Billy Ray's incredible motion picture pulls no punches and makes no villains out of anyone. Shattered Glass is an incredibly spellbinding film that pulls you in from the very first frame with characters that seem instantly familiar. Most of these actors (all of whom are uniformly excellent) will never be better than their performances here. This is an outstanding first directorial effort from Billy Ray. Utterly suspenseful and strongly paced, Shattered Glass manages to build a sense of dread and anxiety that's exceptional considering the ending is obvious and well-known. Although the film lacks a certain depth as a character study, this transfixing, claustrophobic drama proves that a good story and a subtle approach can be just as effective as any SFX-loaded blockbuster. A fascinating, highly mesmerising morality tale!

"You already cheated death by walking off the plane. Now you gotta out when and how it'll come back at you. Play your hunch, Alex. If you think you can get away from it. But beware the risk of cheating the plan, disrespecting the design... could initiate a horrifying fury that would terrorize even the Grim Reaper - and you don't even want to fuck with that MacDaddy."

By the year 2000, the slasher genre seemed to have utterly run out of steam given the disappointing final instalment in the Scream trilogy. Final Destination, however, ably proves that there's still life and originality left in the ailing sub-genre. Not a genuine classic by any means, and it's essentially B-Grade horror schlock infused with genre conventions and endowed with A-Grade production values, but this first chapter in what promises to be another never-ending horror saga is superior to your usual horror outing. Blending intriguing supernatural elements with spine-chilling moments and general gory carnage, Final Destination is an extremely entertaining, inventive Friday nighter. Stylishly filmed and tautly directed, this flick deals with a variety of fairly heavy topics which are discussed candidly by teenage characters (in accurately written "teen-speak" as opposed to highly intellectualised dialogue even Harvard scholars wouldn't use), all the while developing into a darkly foreboding, eerie suspenser.

The main story is built on a simple question: what if you cheated Death, but the Grim Reaper still demanded his due?

Alex Browning (Sawa) is a senior French high school student about to embark on a class trip to Paris with his fellow peers. At the airport prior to departure, everything seems a little off. Upon boarding the plane, Alex suddenly has a vision that the plane will explode after takeoff. His vision is so vivid and intensely real that it provokes a violent reaction. This causes a disturbance, and Alex is consequently booted off the plane along with a few other students as well as a teacher. They're furious with Alex's behaviour...but this emotion quickly changes when they witness the plane promptly exploding moments later, killing all on board. However, the seven who stepped off the plane have cheated Death, and Death wants to balance the ledger. Alex and his friends begin to be methodically hunted down by the forces of the Grim Reaper who's intent on collecting the souls of those who cheated him.

"In death there are no accidents, no coincidences, no mishaps, and no escapes."

After this set-up is established, the film indeed turns into a slasher movie, albeit a more thoughtful one than usual. Nobody takes their clothes off, and the usual invincible knife-wielding monster is replaced with the never-seen granddaddy killer of them all, the Grim Reaper. Final Destination doesn't use Death as a killer with superhuman abilities who must be overthrown by the protagonists...it's a truly unstoppable supernatural force instead. However, Final Destination succumbs to far too many genre clichés. The FBI agents are, of course, completely useless in the proceedings, and the adults are equally hapless. Also thrown in is an all-knowing mortician who babbles on for two minutes about "Death's design" (portrayed by none other than Tony Todd of the Candyman fame). The protagonists occasionally do boneheaded things (some characters practically walk into their death as opposed to being alert), and they usually act antagonistic towards one another for forced "tension". On top of this, the standard chase finale is silly, and it lacks intensity from time to time.

The mediation on fate found within the concept of Final Destination would most likely seem more appropriate for a foreign art film as opposed to a teen slasher flick. These provocative questions about premonitions and destiny are employed merely as a hook. The point of the film has nothing to do with the survivors coping with guilt and uncertainty (a potentially fascinating premise). It instead has other things on its mind: concocting graphic bloodbaths, and proving that death cannot be cheated. Final Destination is certainly serviceable as a teen slasher flick...but it's too clichéd, and the premonition aspect is barely touched on. Interestingly, the story was originally the concept for an abandoned X-Files episode.

At least the kill sequences are imaginative and enjoyably gory; evoking the spirit of Rube Goldberg. X-Files alum James Wong directs with style and flair, usually judging the timing of the shocks flawlessly (one particularly nasty road accident will leave audiences gasping with surprise), and in the opening 20 minutes he delivers one of the most devastating air disaster sequences ever committed to celluloid. However, Wong occasionally falters when the death sequences are elaborately built up. This is a fault of both those that choreographed these sequences as well as Wong's handling of the material. The kills are constantly far too elaborate to be believed, and the foreshadowing fails in building sufficient suspense. A "less is more" approach could possibly have proved more effective here. To the credit of everyone involved, though, the "don't go in there" syndrome never kicks in when a character is due to die.

"We're all on the same list."

It comes as no surprise that the "teenage" portion of the cast look more like adults in their mid-to-late twenties as opposed to 18-year-olds. As Alex Browning, Devon Sawa is appealing and subtle. Despite not looking like a teen at all, Sawa offers a certain believability that's beneficial during the film's key moments (after his initial premonition, he looks genuinely terrified). As Clear (the object of Alex's affection), Ali Larter is extremely effective. Ali is undeniably beautiful, but Final Destination never exploits the females of the cast, therein lying one of the best creative decisions of the entire film.

As the movie's resident asshole, Kerr Smith stars as Carter Horton. Alongside him, Seann William Scott places forth a surprisingly decent and charismatic performance as one of those who survives the plane disaster. He's the sort of person who gets inadvertently caught up in awful situations. He's also the only student not to leave the plane voluntarily. The rest of the cast is competent at best, including the requisite adult role (Kristen Cloke).

True fans of the horror genre will realise the characters are named after famous horror icons. For instance: Alex Browning (Dracula director Tod Browning), Larry Murnau (Nosferatu director F.W. Murnau), Agent Schreck (Nosferatu star Max Schreck), Agent Weine (Cabinet of Dr. Caligari director Robert Weine), Billy Hitchcock (Psycho and Rear Window director Alfred Hitchcock), as well as a few others.

In a genre normally devoid of wit, intelligence and originality, Final Destination is a diamond in the rough. Director James Wong's horror movie has the ability to shock (although these moments lose their effectiveness after repeated viewings) and surprise - two qualities rarely found in modern horror flicks. It's ultimately let down, however, by excessive genre clichés and some bad judgements on the part of the filmmakers in relation to some of the death sequences. Instead of a dark horror flick, Final Destination is unfortunately more of a teen slasher. Enjoyable as the latter, but it may have been a superior experience as the former. In spite of a few irritating shortcomings, this is probably the most innovative addition to the genre for years.

Followed by multiple sequels, beginning with Final Destination 2 in 2003.

"Look, I know this sounds crazy but... you guys all heard about Flight 180, right? The kid who got off the plane? Well, it happened a year ago, today. My premonition was just like his."

According to the Hollywood rulebook, a commercially viable motion picture should be succeeded by a sequel in order to capitalise on this success. The original Final Destination - a cult horror film about the Grim Reaper finishing his ghoulish work after a group of teens cheat death - contained no visible killer, as well as a tonne of creative, gory death sequences. The bearers of this franchise, realising a wallet-stuffing film series could be on the horizon (ala Friday the 13th, A Nightmare on Elm Street), consequently green-lit this inevitable follow-up. Virtually none of the main characters from the first film lived to appear in the second, but this isn't a problem...the filmmakers merely needed to create a new batch of victims.

Less of a sequel, more of a retread...2003's Final Destination 2 adheres to the template of the original to the letter, replaying all the riffs and rhymes of its predecessor, from the wonderfully orchestrated deaths to the in-jokes (a few character surnames are again those of horror movie icons, such as Tim Carpenter and Kimberly Corman). This sequel to the 2000 horror sleeper actually works, however, emerging as a slick and downright enjoyable entry to the world of blockbuster cinema.

On the first anniversary of the Flight 180 tragedy (that transpired in the first Final Destination, for those unaware), a group of teenagers are driving to Daytona for Spring Break. Driving along Route 23, everything seems rather off (like the beginning of the first film). Kimberly Corman (Cook) then experiences a vivid vision of an apocalyptic pile-up. Petrified by her intensely real vision (or was it a premonition?), Kimberly uses her car to block traffic, which prevents the queue of motorists from being involved in this catastrophic road accident. Lo and behold, the pile-up actually occurs. By blocking traffic, Kim has caused another "rift" in Death's design. As the survivors come to terms with their lucky escape, Death begins to methodically pick them off and complete his work... In desperation, Kim turns to the sole survivor of the Flight 180 tragedy: Clear Rivers (Larter).

Those familiar with the original Final Destination will recognise this set-up. Final Destination 2, as previously stated, is extraordinarily derivative. The central concept - a string of precise, domino effect deaths - is starting to look tired. The unoriginal screenplay is additionally beset with hokey dialogue as well as being anorexic in the plot department. Unfortunately, as well, the characters are without adequate development. It's therefore quite difficult to genuinely feel for the characters (with the obvious exception of the three protagonists, purely because they're allotted the most screen-time) when they're stalked and dispatched by the Grim Reaper. The characters also arrive at conclusions about things far too quickly, the premonitions occur conveniently (eventually the sheer number of premonitions is ludicrous), and there are some pretty sappy moments throughout the flick.

On a positive note, Final Destination 2 surpasses its predecessor in one aspect - the kill sequences. The original Final Destination featured intricate, Rube Goldberg-esque deaths. For some of these sequences, the elaborate disposition made them truly preposterous. Several minutes were dedicated to building up the imminent death...and as a consequence, the actual death lost it shock value as it was no longer a surprise. Final Destination 2, on the other hand, offers far less complicated killings. In this sequel the whole domino effect technique is retained, but it's under normal circumstances that things go haywire, resulting in eventual deaths. Yes, these kill sequences are generally built up (the hospital, for instance), yet director David R. Ellis is a superior suspense-builder, and the eventual death remains unpredictable which in turn makes them more shocking. Once again, the filmmakers make no attempt to personify Death. Instead, the Grim Reaper remains a supernatural force capable of manipulating anything and everything. There's also a mind-blowing twist; tying the characters into the events of the original movie.

In the capable hands of first-time director Ellis, Final Destination 2 effectively elicits thrills at every turn. Ellis directs with flamboyance and assurance, utilising his experience as a second unit director to craft this slick horror/thriller. His compositions are inventive, slick and spectacular, hitting the ground running by kicking into high gear with a superbly-staged freeway pile-up (a true action tour de force). This jaw-dropping, chaotic motorway sequence has appeared on several "best car crash/accident" lists, and even acclaimed director Quentin Tarantino was quoted as calling it a "magnificent car action piece". For the death sequences the stunts are incredible, the special effects are marvellous, the CGI is seamless and the make-up department...had a proverbial field day. Exertions in all departments come together, conjuring up nail-biting tension. The competent filmmaking almost counterbalances the feebler moments.

The cast is once again comprised of young actors in their mid-twenties trying to pass themselves off as teenagers. And once again, the cast don't even bear a slight resemblance to actual teens.
Ali Larter reprises her role of Clear Rivers from the original film who's recruited to find a way to cheat Death's design for good. Like the first film, this actress is a saving grace. Her acting is solid, and she's very appealing.
In the new cast there's the extremely charming & beautiful A.J. Cook as the premonition-seeing Kimberly, and Michael Landes as a charismatic but generic police officer on Death's list. These two share adequate chemistry, but their eventual romance seems contrived and clichéd. Of the new cast, only Landes, Cook and T.C. Carson (as an uptight black man) bring any depth to their characters. The rest of the cast are quite cardboard, and they lack diversity. A more diverse congregation of actors, and perhaps a better-written group of characters would've made Final Destination 2 a real winner.
CineSchlockers will snap to attention nearly an hour into the movie when Tony Todd (of the Candyman fame) returns to reprise his role from the 2000 original. Todd is memorable as he delivers cryptic prognostications about Death's doings, generating a brilliantly dark mood.

For all its flaws, Final Destination 2 is a slick-looking and well-paced horror sequel. This violent, brutal genre schlock knows precisely what its target audience wants...and delivers it with cleverness and playful exuberance. Granted, the ending is silly, the novelty factor has diminished, there's little substance and plot is at an all-time low...but we don't seek logic or deep characterisations in a horror flick - we want to see people being killed on the most inventive and disgusting scale imaginable. On these terms, Final Destination 2 succeeds. Frankly, this sequel is about as good as its predecessor - equally as flawed, yet equally as enjoyable.

Followed by Final Destination 3 in 2006.

"A rollercoaster is just elemental physics, a conversion of potential energy to kinetic energy."

By this entry in the Final Destination series, the central premise - the unstoppable force of the Grim Reaper stalking and slaying those who've evaded his scythe - had grown more than a little tired. Fortunately, the pleasure of these flicks has never had much to do with the story, but rather the visceral thrills they serve up - a new selection of spectacular, gory death sequences ensuring each entry to the franchise is as enjoyable as the one preceding it. Fortunately, too, each sequel thus far has belied its generic storytelling with advantageous upgrades in the filmmaking department. Final Destination 2, for instance, contained slick direction, marvellous visual effects and more believable death sequences. Final Destination 3 ups the ante in the gore department once again, as well as delivering a more appropriate, believable and all-round superior dénouement.

If you've seen the first two Final Destination flicks, you'll know the drill - an unsuspecting teen foresees a horrible disaster, takes steps to avoid this nasty end, and in the process saves a few lives. As a consequence, Death gets annoyed that his design has been messed up, and sets about offing those who cheated him. Final Destination 3 is no deviation from this template.

This time around, the Grim Reaper comes calling at an amusement park where a bunch of high schoolers are celebrating graduation. While climbing aboard the rollercoaster, young Wendy Christensen (Winstead) experiences a vivid, violent premonition of the rollercoaster running off the rails. In a fit of panic she disembarks the ride with a few others, and they all watch in horror as the rollercoaster actually malfunctions, running off the rails and making mince meat of those onboard. One-by-one, the Grim Reaper then begins to pick off those who cheated death in a string of elaborate "accidents" leading to an assortment of inventive violence and gratuitous female nudity.

The mythos of the Final Destination franchise has now grown quite stale, and Final Destination 3 feels like a redundant instalment of this now-thrice-told joke. A third entry to the series could have been an opportunity to solve the irritating mysteries surrounding these films, but once again it leaves us with more questions than answers. Where do the premonitions come from? What's so special about the people experiencing these visions? Is it possible to permanently cheat death? Final Destination 3 stubbornly refuses to expand the mythos and address these queries; using a large amount of gore as compensation. Not even Tony Todd returns to star as the enigmatic mortician again, which a true shame as Todd offered tantalising explication in the preceding instalments. Todd does, however, star in voice-only form during key scenes at the beginning and end, making him the only actor to be involved with all three instalments so far.

With the Final Destination blueprint growing sour, the creative team behind every instalment are required to push the envelope in new and inventive ways. For Final Destination 3, James Wong (who helmed the first entry) made a return to the director's chair. The script is also the joint effort of Wong, Glen Morgan and Jeffrey Reddick (all of whom penned the original film).

The premonition set-piece is yet another spectacular disaster; definitely on a par with those crafted in the previous films. Final Destination 3 also benefits from an element absent in the two predecessors: the innate creepiness of a carnival. The title sequence features images of out of control rides, a mechanical fortune-teller, and a chilling montage of sideshow attractions (upon close scrutiny, one will realise this sequence also foreshadows impending deaths). The swirling strains of a pipe organ set the stage for an uncertain experience, establishing a fitting atmosphere.

Final Destination 3 has been composed with tremendous skill. There's legitimate tension built up during the pre-death scenes, for instance. There is a formula associated with how the death scenes develop, but the fun lies in figuring out how a character's grisly demise will play out. The film's greatest assets are definitely Wong's skilled direction and Robert McLachlan's sublime cinematography. For the opening disaster sequence, McLachlan provides excellent POV imagery and intense shots of the rollercoaster as the chaos unfolds. Employing remote-control power pods with affixed mini-cameras, the cinematographer captured actual movement in the practical shots of the cast on the rollercoaster, resulting in an experience more frighteningly realistic and riveting than anything stationary cameras could deliver. Director Wong additionally insisted upon using the actual actors in as many of the action sequences as possible, thus presenting an audience with a more honest depiction of the horrifying events that befall the characters. Granted, some of the CGI shots are slightly sub-par (mainly suffering from poor contrast matching), but these are minor killjoys of an otherwise skilfully crafted sequence.

Without a doubt, the real stars of this franchise are the effects. Wong and McLachlan have skilfully taken the delivery of gore to a new level, showcasing gruesome deaths in excruciating detail. It's refreshing to see that some filmmakers understand the appeal of practical effects. The sole drawback of these sequences is that the deaths are occasionally CGI enhanced, and the CGI blood is usually quite obvious. Nonetheless, the killings are spectacular. Delivering creative, gory kills at every turn, this series caters to its target audience without insulting them - and that's probably why these flicks are so successful at the box office. At least the Final Destination films are more inventive than, say, the Friday the 13th series which stopped being interesting after the very first movie!

The central fault of every Final Destination film so far is simple: the characters are stereotypical cookie-cutters. Predictably, Final Destination 3 is no different. Although the two main characters (one male, one female) claim to not like each other, they naturally grow a bond and are virtually ready to proceed into romance territory. The high school conventions also come out to play: there's the egotistical jock, the completely air-headed girls, and the Gothic couple. Virtually none of these characters are developed past the first dimension, and little character development means they come across as caricatures rather than people. They're all interchangeable characters; included to provide the Grim Reaper with some folks to off. Just like the previous films, some of the characters are named after famous horror icons - Lewis Romero, Jason Robert Wise, etc.

No characters from previous Final Destination films make an appearance in this third film (except for Death of course), although there are multiple references to the events in the forerunners. Naturally, a good-looking girl is essential for films of this type. For Final Destination 3, Mary Elizabeth Winstead carries out the duties as the smart, attractive female protagonist. Young Winstead is a competent actress whose emotions seem genuine. Her hysteria after experiencing the premonition is frighteningly believable. She's definitely one of the more convincing horror movie heroines of recent memory. Winstead's male cohort is Ryan Merriman, whose prior acting experience is mainly in television. He's a generic young male, and the limits of his talent are never truly tested by the screenplay. The rest of the cast are decent without being remarkable, and they effectively carry out their primary function - i.e. moving the plot ahead to the next gruesome death sequence. There aren't any breakout performances in this film, but that isn't why you're watching this flick in the first place.

This is Sequelcraft 101 - if you enjoyed the first two Final Destination films, you'll most likely enjoy this one too. Final Destination 3 is enjoyable and technically sound, but the formula has been wringed too much and there isn't a slight trace of originality left in the plot department. If this series is going to continue, the filmmakers need to introduce something new into the tired formula. Nevertheless, for a sequel to a sequel, Final Destination 3 still doles out the goods in fine form. Not a perfect movie, but very tolerable and one helluva ride (c'mon, you knew that pun was coming). And think about it: how many Part 3s turn out to be anything besides awful?

Followed by The Final Destination in 2009. (Interestingly, Final Destination 3 was meant to be filmed in 3-D but the process was deemed too complicated. For the fourth film, however, the filmmakers ultimately decided to use 3-D technology.)

"What came first, the music or the misery? People worry about kids playing with guns, or watching violent videos, that some sort of culture of violence will take them over. Nobody worries about kids listening to thousands, literally thousands of songs about heartbreak, rejection, pain, misery and loss. Did I listen to pop music because I was miserable? Or was I miserable because I listened to pop music?"

As the title implies, High Fidelity is a quirky, humorously philosophical romantic comedy driven thematically by music - in other words, music matters to the protagonists and more or less defines them. Containing over 50 credited songs, this is a pop-music-soaked study of failed relationships (and the obsessive elitism of pop-culture fanatics) through the eyes of a music geek. This filmic appropriation of Nick Hornby's 1995 novel probably seemed like a daft idea on paper, as the setting was altered from London to Chicago and the decidedly British tone would be difficult to retain. Yet, against all odds, director Stephen Frears and co. have crafted an appealing, engaging, witty, smart meditation on the prattles of sex; retaining the attitude of the novel and adding a broader, more accessible feel. Hornby's amusing and undeniably honest insights into the male condition remain intact in this cinematic adaptation as well. High Fidelity is also extraordinarily well-crafted - it entertains from the very first shot 'til the closing credits, the script is terrific, performances are zingy all-round, and Frears' direction is inspired.

"John Dillinger was killed behind that theater in a hale of FBI gunfire. And do you know who tipped them off? His fucking girlfriend. All he wanted to do was go to the movies."

The story primarily concerns reflection, self-discovery and realisation about the nature of love. It additionally concerns (and is in a way for) those obsessed with pop culture - books, music, movies, etc.

Rob Gordon (Cusack) is an underachieving former DJ seemingly cursed with a romantic hex. Ever since a brief liaison under the football benches as a kid, his love life has been catastrophic. Speaking directly to the camera, Rob takes us on a guided tour of his life; mulling over his favourite music and the bittersweet history of his romantic failures. Rob is a downright music enthusiast - his apartment is lined with shelves of coveted vinyl records, and he owns his own (failing) record store 'Championship Vinyl'. He begins going through a crisis of self-confidence when his latest girlfriend Laura (Hjejle) dumps him. Rob proceeds to recount his top five most memorable break-ups of all time, reflecting on his romantic troubles to determine why his relationships are so luckless.

To capture the freewheeling style of Hornby's book, director Frears is heavily dependent on direct-to-camera addresses and voiceovers which are initially jarring. However, with Cusack's eminent amiability functioning as a conduit, one can eventually slide into the movie's rhythms and get drawn into Rob's little universe. Not a lot actually occurs throughout the course of the film, and it can't eschew the clichés, but it's the way director Frears tweaks it that makes it seem fresh and welcome. In a meandering fashion that could easily alienate an audience accustomed to action pictures and broad comedy, High Fidelity takes us inside Rob's struggling record business; cinematographer Seamus McGarvey's camera spending a great deal of time tracking events occurring inside the store. Rob specialises in vinyl records of pop music, and his two workers Dick (Louiso) & Barry (Black) are willing to work voluntarily for twice the time that they were hired to do. The comedy succeeds because the makers are aware that they must create well-drawn characters a viewer can come to care about in order to stage a successful humorous situation. High Fidelity finds the delicate balance between hilarity and dramatic resonance, without ever resorting to character caricaturisation or going over the top in its depiction of true-to-life situations (perhaps once, granted, when three different takes are presented of a confrontation between two characters).

"I can't fire them. I hired these guys for three days a week and they just started showing up every day. That was four years ago."

High Fidelity pays particularly astute attention to the typical life of an aging Generation-X male in contemporary society; absolutely nailing even the smallest details of his existence with droll, sagacious charm, such as those cruel, nagging phone conversations between mother and son. From its observant take on late twenty-something romance, to its faultless recreation of the record store set and music scene (not to mention the terrific portrayal of the denizens dwelling within), High Fidelity does virtually everything right. There are countless wonderfully original, touchingly funny scenes. The humour is wry and clever, and the movie maintains a generally upbeat tone. It also occasionally toys with the significance of pop music to a person's psychological development. There's even a slight hint of Woody Allen in the project (from the neuroses of the protagonist to the Annie Hall-type dissection of a dud romance), but without the stigma some movie-goers attach to Allen's excellent oeuvre. Due to its quirky characters, smart dialogue, and sporadic bursts of incisive humour, High Fidelity stands out as a small movie that deserves wide exposure.

The distinguishing point of High Fidelity is that it's much closer to the authentic feel of British films as opposed to the crisp perfection of Hollywood. All of the characters come across as actual people not unlike those you'd encounter in a record store. The first-rate screenplay was written in part by John Cusack who also stars as the protagonist. Cusack is an apt choice; admirably pulling off Rob as both a character and as a narrator. The "breaking the fourth wall" technique seems completely natural. He constantly addresses the audience via narration or speaking directly to the camera, but it never feels excessive thanks to his boundless geniality. Cusack's character is clearly miserable, yet he never craves too much sympathy - he recognises our intelligence. Your tolerance of High Fidelity will most likely depend on your tolerance of the lead actor.

While Cusack is excellent in the title role, there's a gallery of supporting actors who wonderfully make their mark. Jack Black and Todd Louiso absolutely steal the show as two socially-inept clerks working at Rob's vinyl shop who live and breathe pop music, and spend their days arguing about pop trivia while comparing various "top 5" lists. These guys have their music aficionado characters nailed down to a tee. Jack Black is a particular stand-out; his characterisation of Barry is full of energy and attitude, and he imbues every line with comic punch. One of the film's best scenes features Barry ferociously telling off a middle-aged man looking to buy I Just Called to Say I Love You for his daughter.

Relatively unknown Danish actress Iben Hjejle is believable and likeable as Rob's latest girlfriend. Despite little experience as an actress in American movies, she's clearly mastered her American accent. Beyond these characters, there's merely a bunch of cameos from a variety of actresses. Catherine Zeta-Jones is the most memorable for fairly obvious reasons. Lisa Bonet is also appealing for every frame in which she appears, and John Cusack's sister Joan (a frequent guest in her sibling's movies) is predictably good as Rob's pal Liz. Look out for Tim Robbins as well, who's visibly enjoying himself (this is contagious).

High Fidelity is a charming, whimsical little film that perfectly captures the temperament of retail folks who are both knowledgeable and passionate about their product, and who prefer discussing their commodity as opposed to being paid for it. This is a fantastic flick; an excellently-constructed romantic comedy for the pop generation. The characters inhabiting the picture are believable and very well developed, and the performances are strong. The humour is sharp and witty; never feeling forced. The accompanying soundtrack is scene-appropriate and extremely enjoyable. It even rightfully recognises Evil Dead II as the cinematic classic it truly is. On top of this, a boundless energy pervades the movie - there's hardly a dull moment at any stage during the 110-minute runtime. High Fidelity also succeeds because it deeply taps into the male psyche with an emotional honesty that anchors the drama and ensures the characters (Dick and Barry included) are never treated as caricatures. It's fairly clichéd, but Frears' terrific direction strongly distracts us from the unoriginality. All things considered, High Fidelity is high value cinema and it's simply a delightful way to spend a couple of hours.

"It would be nice to think that since I was 14, times have changed. Relationships have become more sophisticated. Females less cruel. Skins thicker. Instincts more developed. But there seems to be an element of that afternoon in everything that's happened to me since. All my romantic stories are a scrambled version of that first one."

"I'd rather die than to stay away from you."

Twilight, a cinematic appropriation of Stephanie Meyer's best-selling novel of the same name, is a sloppy, anaemic tale of forbidden teenage love. Unfortunately, this filmic adaptation is damagingly reliant on its source material, and while its reverential nature will likely satiate the pre-converted (a predominantly feminine fan-base of all ages and lung capacity), it leaves the uninitiated on the outside looking in. As a standalone flick it's detrimentally incoherent, condensed and streamlined - characters are undeveloped, the plot hardly exists, and story intrigue is at a minimum. The most important thing to realise about Twilight is that it would be exactly the same movie with or without vampires. Those seeking bloodsucking action will be disappointed - the vampiric themes are merely a gimmick as the central focus of the plot is instead a cheesy, insipid romance story. This isn't an especially good movie, but neither is it an abomination. The dialogue is at times downright appalling (crammed with cheese), the acting is flat, there are a bunch of secondary characters who serve no real purpose (their existence will presumably have a point in future instalments), and the pace is uneven. Nonetheless, as the momentum builds, it's hard not to find the film at least a little entertaining.

Teenage romance tales usually begin with the protagonist moving to a new school and struggling to cope with this change. Such is the unenviable situation when Bella Swan (Stewart), an introverted 17-year-old girl, relocates after her mother hits the road with her new husband. Moving in with her father Charlie (Burke), Bella slowly adjusts to her new life at a new school, developing a tight-knit group of friends despite her inescapable self-consciousness and awkwardness during social interactions. Another cliché surfaces in the form of Edward Cullen (Pattinson). He's the typical bad boy archetype; he keeps to himself, and no girls are good enough for him. Predictably, Bella develops an incurable crush on this elusive, dashing young man...and the feeling is mutual. But as their tenuous courtship begins, the reason for Edward's mysterious, withdrawn disposition is revealed: he's a vampire. However this won't stand in the way of a passionate romance, of course. As the relationship progresses, however, Edward feels he is further putting Bella at risk.

"The hunt is his obsession. He's never gonna stop!"

A love story is hardly sufficient to sustain an entire two-hour motion picture, however. At about the 80-minute mark, some antagonists are finally introduced: an unfriendly pack of vampires who (for absolutely no reason, other than to lead the plot somewhere) decide to hunt Bella.

It takes an inordinate amount of time for Twilight to hit its stride. It merrily rattles along for the best part of an hour as futile ancillary characters are introduced, and Bella and Edward trade bad dialogue as they gaze longingly at each other.

With book sales so massive the publishers are filled with envy, and a massive fan-base completely prepared to lap up anything pertaining to this beloved franchise, it was only a matter of time before Twilight and its multiple follow-ups were adapted as movies. Mind you, the powers that be aren't funding these adaptations because the target audience wants to see them - these films are being green-lit because the fans PAY to see them. Otherwise everyone involved would be stepping up to ensure Meyer's work of fiction was translated well to celluloid. As it is, Twilight appears to be a commercialisation of the source material - compressing things for the sake of time and incorporating plot points that don't flow naturally which have been included to be faithful to the novel. Meyer herself had the final say in the editing room, so she is perhaps to blame for most of these nitpickings. This reviewer has never read any of Meyer's novels, and has no interest in starting now judging by the quality of this feature - Twilight is merely a trip to Dullsville on Nosferatu's ratty wings.

Devoid of the book's constant first-person narration, the chain of events served up in Melissa Rosenberg's adapted screenplay - like Edward's initial and inexplicable hostility towards Bella, his tendency to save her from contrived endangerment scenarios, revealing his identity as a self-controlled but still-lethal bloodsucker, and the protagonists mutually surrendering to their feelings - proceed with no logic. Furthermore, even with the occasional emo-ish voiceover at her disposal, director Catherine Hardwicke is unable to truly get into the head of Bella Swan; consequently, her decision to get involved with a lethal vampire comes across as stupid and ill-considered. The result is a supernatural romance in which both the supernatural and romance elements feel rushed, unformed and insufficiently motivated, leaving viewers with little to do but shrug and focus on the eye candy. I hope the source material is more fleshed out than this, as it's hard to justify the worldwide hype with what is presented here.

Edward Cullen: "I don't have the strength to stay away from you anymore."

Isabella Swan: "Then don't".

With a bigger budget and a more competent creative team, Twilight could've been transformed into an amazing standalone feature. Unfortunately, the film was backed by a reasonably small budget...and the result feels more like a pilot for a television series than a cinematic experience. Why Catherine Hardwicke was selected to fill the director's chair is truly a mystery for the ages. A film of this scope and sensual edge required a director able to communicate thick torrents of romance as well as dark, violent undertones mixed together to form an arena in which the characters can work out their angst. Twilight is marred on the directorial front; Hardwicke's sheer inexperience with fantasy and horror very evident from the outset. The special effects and CGI are merely average instead of remarkable. When Edward tree hops with Bella one can virtually see the wires. The depiction of vampires in direct sunlight (sparkling like diamonds) is even worse. The filmmakers turned to ILM for this effect, but - despite their best efforts - Edward's skin looks unconvincing and artificial. Creating sparkling skin tones is a difficult task, mind you...consider the Arnold Schwarzenegger/Mr. Freeze fiasco back in the late 90s (in Batman & Robin) or the three-year journey required to create the Silver Surfer.

For her novels, Meyer rewrote the vampire rulebook to suit her desires. Meyer's vampires don't have any lethal problems with sunlight, crucifixes, stakes, garlic or holy water. They don't have fangs either. But they still drink blood, not to mention they're also ultra-fast, super-strong, and their skin is ice-cold. Twilight reinterprets archetypal vampire lore through almost superhero eyes. The vampires here have more in common with X-Men than they do with Nosferatu. At times Edward seems somewhat celestial in spite of his constant proclamations to the contrary.

As a matter of fact, Twilight has fundamentally pussified the undead. Instead of badass creatures of the night constantly hunting for blood, they casually stroll around during cloudy days and are far too sensitive to bite open the neck of a helpless young girl. There are a few evil vampires in the story, but given the limitations of the PG-13 rating (and considering the target audience) they aren't frightening or even memorable. Ingrained bloodsucker cinema logic is disposed of, as are most concepts of spatial relationships, character motivations, and romantic chemistry (sorry, but siblings have more sexual heat than Bella and Edward). Twilight just dances where it wants to, assuming a viewer is filling in the blanks on their own. This culminates in an exhaustively moronic final act, during which the characters suddenly pinball around the country with minimal explanation before arriving at a mirror-filled final showdown arena straight out of the directing 101 handbook.

"I'm the world's most dangerous predator. Everything about me invites you in. My voice, my face, even my smell. As if I would need any of that. As if you could outrun me. As if you could fight me off. I'm designed to kill."

A major negative of Twilight is the woeful casting. Robert Pattinson is dull as Edward Cullen. Judging by Pattinson's performance and the nature of his character as presented here, it's difficult to fathom why the world's female population swoon whenever Edward's name is mentioned. Pattison's acting is completely soulless and awkward. He may be portraying an emotionless vampire, but he's too uninteresting...which is a major problem considering Bella is instantly attracted to him. The only cast member keeping Twilight afloat is Kristen Stewart. The Into the Wild and Panic Room star (clearly well-tutored by former mentors Sean Penn and Jodie Foster) makes Bella come across as earthly, beguiling and slightly withdrawn, and her keen intelligence prompts a mature performance. Yet the awkward interactions between Bella and Edward feel particularly forced (the chemistry between the stars is extremely underwhelming instead of explosive), and the script gives Kristen Stewart no chance to convince the audience of her transcendent love for a guy who'd just as soon drink her blood as jump her bones.

No-one else in the cast merits much attention. The film's sheer volume of characters leaves smaller roles without much dimension, and the actors portraying these characters are consequently quite forgettable. Most characters have probably been shortchanged in the interest of time, but the cast is nevertheless far too overcrowded.

Thankfully, Twilight isn't a total catastrophe. It's a sleazy flick, yet it is undeniably enjoyable. The moody, washed-out colour palette is also very impressive, and Hardwicke's regular lenser Elliot Davis makes the most of the beautiful Oregon locations. Best of all, though, is the exceptional soundtrack. From the piano music used in certain sequences to the assortment of groovy songs played throughout, Twilight never treads a foot wrong on the music front. It's adequately engaging with these positives in play, and the film consequently never traverses into abject boredom territory. As for everything else...sound effects are quite competent and the editing is decent without being truly outstanding.

It's hard to deny the commercial success of Twilight ($380 million worldwide from a $37 million budget is nothing to sneeze at), which was mainly thanks to the lonely dateless tweens and college gals who've embraced Meyer's feminised wish fulfilment universe. Yet this franchise is definitely nothing to get too excited about. It's just a cheesy, silly, derivative contemporary story of love featuring vampires. What's the big fuss all about?

This filmic version of Twilight is riddled with secretive passages intended only for the lovers of the novel. To the outsiders, the entire experience alternates between embarrassing cheesiness and outright boredom; witnessing a promising concept for teen Romeo and Juliet-style escapism turn into big screen triviality, with a horde of flat actors delivering bad dialogue and director Hardwicke trying to pull together everlasting love with limited artistic means. A viewer will make up their own mind as to whether they'll see the film, so it'd be redundant to make a recommendation - either one loves the novel and wishes to witness the page-to-screen translation, or curiosity (based on the hype) will merely get the better of them.

Followed by multiple sequels, starting with The Twilight Saga: New Moon in 2009.

"About three things I was absolutely positive. First, Edward was a vampire. Second, there was a part of him, and I didn't know how dominate that part might be, that thirsted for my blood. And third, I was unconditionally and irrevocably in love with him."

"When you're young everything feels like the end of the world. But it's not... It's just the beginning."

Imagine a feeble, generic screenplay (mixing equal parts of Back to the Future, It's a Wonderful Life as well as Big) and mediocre acting. These are the basic constituents that make up 17 Again; a by-the-numbers teen comedy ostensibly green-list for the sole purpose of spotlighting Zac Efron. The teen heartthrob wants to break out of his High School Musical niche...but apparently not too far out of it. In 17 Again he plays a teenager who's the star of the school basketball team. He even dances a little (no singing, though). At 21, young Efron still has ample time to make the transition from teen idol to adult star, which is a relief because this lethargic comedy is a shaky start. The blame for this film's failure rests solely on the shoulders of writer Jason Filardi and director Burr Steels who employ a promising premise - middle-aged screw-up reborn as his teenage self - and misfire at every turn. The target audience for this mess is roughly the same as Hannah Montana: The Movie, and the quality is similar as well.

Mike O'Donnell (Efron) is the star of his high school basketball team. As the film opens, it's 1989. 17-year-old Mike is about to play a crucial basketball game which will determine the course of his life. But Mike ruins the opportunity to play and, in doing so, renounces a potential scholarship. Fast-forward several years, and Mike (now played by Perry) is living a miserable life - a divorce is on the horizon, his job situation is awful, and his kids hate him. (We also know Mike is miserable because he tells his spouse "I'm extremely disappointed with my life"...in case you haven't realised, writer Filardi tells more than he shows.) Frustrated, he audibly wishes that he could reboot his life and elect a different route. Lo and behold, this wish is granted...Mike soon wakes up as 17-year-old Efron. Over the course of the next few weeks, Mike keeps an eye on his family and tries to sort out his life. Oh, and during this time no-one ever wonders where (adult) Mike has disappeared to. Some additional ludicrous twaddle is also thrown into the mix about a spirit guide entering the picture in the form of the magical high school janitor (ugh, that old device?).

Very little creative energy was expended in the creation of this movie, which is modelled after the body-swapping comedies of the 70s and 80s, one of which is even called 18 Again. Screenwriter Filardi - whom one can assume is an expert in contrived, formulaic comedy, having previously written Bringing Down the House - has simply mashed together a string of clichés, and director Steers hasn't done much to improve it. It's all extremely conventional and it's nothing we haven't seen before. 17 Again treads no new territory, and trudges through familiar territory with a slack disregard for its own quality. It more or less reiterates messages stated in It's a Wonderful Life; this time aiming at a more modern audience familiar with the concept of a miserable middle-aged man whose life has crumbled apart due to decisions made during teenage life.

Unfortunately, the humour frequently relies on the satirisation of contemporary teenage life, referencing such things as cell phones and YouTube for laughs. However, these gags (which are considered amusing in 2009) will prevent 17 Again from developing into a timeless classic as the relatability of its depiction will eventually dissolve. See, instead of encapsulating the era it merely satirises it...and only those inside the joke will laugh at the gags. That said, there are small things to enjoy in 17 Again. Thomas Lennon is the by far the most enjoyable; playing a nerd whose home is overloaded with nerdy memorabilia (from Star Wars and The Lord of the Rings). The scenes involving Ned add nothing but padding and clichés to the central plot, but they're easily the funniest parts. How can the movie get one thing so right while getting other things so wrong? It's disappointing.

All of the characters (even Ned to an extent) are unable to escape from his or her caricature orbit. They're a bunch of stereotypes and, for the most part, their one-dimensionality makes them uninteresting. The film's buoyant comedic tone sometimes seems strained as well, tossing in a lightsabre duel and an Efron dance number for no real reason other than to keep the audience awake.

Workable ideas are often poisoned by trite, unfunny humour and zany scenes that drag on for far too long. Some of the humour relies on Mike getting entangled in situations that are awkward on account of his secret status as an adult. A sex-ed lesson in health class, for instance, soon takes a downward tumble when Mike begins lecturing his fellow students about abstinence. It's awkward, but, crucially, not very funny. The film is rife with situations like this, including the inevitable moment when Maggie - Mike's own daughter - puts the moves on him (a dull homage to Back to the Future). The moments that do generally succeed, however, come as a result of the PG-13 rating which allows for more risqué sex jokes, even if they are quite tame compared to most contemporary American sex comedies.

Filardi's screenplay also contains gross errors in chronology. For instance, in one of the 1989 scenes Mike is referred to as "Vanilla Ice" by his coach. That's peculiar considering Vanilla Ice didn't become famous until 1990. More importantly, if Scarlett fell pregnant with Maggie in early 1989, Maggie should be almost 20 years old by now and therefore not a high school student. Confusions also arise in regards to the number of years Scar and Mike have been a couple, as characters say different things at different times. I'm guessing these errors are because the film was scheduled to be released last year and was probably meant to be set in 2007, not 2009. Nevertheless, when the adult Mike is introduced the title reads "Today". A good way to confuse the audience, lads!

At one time or another, adults probably fantasise about reliving the glory days of their youth. It's an unfortunate but true fact that only time imparts the wisdom to realise what has been lost. 17 Again endeavours to express this, but the message is hindered by the execution. The film doesn't spend enough time in the company of Matthew Perry as the adult Mike. In all likelihood, the filmmakers frantically rushed through Perry's scenes to return Efron to the screen as quickly as possible...thus botching the crucial setup. At no point does Perry's portrayal of Mike achieve a semblance of humanity. When teenage Mike is on screen, the "hook" for the omniscient audience is that he's a middle-aged man trapped in the body of his high school self, but neither the script nor Efron effectively sell this premise. Quips and moments are included to remind us, but there's a difference between being told something and actually believing it. Since adult Mike is given such a small amount of screen-time, we're not familiar with how he acts, and therefore it's impossible to find comedy in Efron's impersonation.

It's telling that the film's strongest scene is its opening sequence. 17 Again subsequently crashes once old Perry transforms into young Efron and almost immediately dives into the business of repairing his family life. Shouldn't he be relishing the opportunity to relive his teenage years? No use is made of such potential; the film instead comfortably plods towards the inevitable, clichéd ending. The plot concentrates on Mike's befuddled path to salvation, but the movie appears more infatuated with Efron and his performance elasticity.

Both Efron and Matthew Perry are forgettable in their respective roles; Perry not given sufficient time to make an impression and Efron is simply disposable. Efron's job is to look pretty and give the girls around him a reason to hit on him. To the teenage girls, mission accomplished. To the male population and critics, it just isn't good enough. The heartthrob has yet to submit a breakout performance that displays his versatility and talent as a performer. Leonardo DiCaprio made a solid impression during his transition to adult star with What's Eating Gilbert Grape, for instance. Efron needs to take a big step away from Disney and genuinely test his limits as an actor.

As said before, Lennon steals the show as Ned. He's the only purveyor of decent comedy in this disappointing flick. Leslie Mann also appears as Mike's fed-up (soon-to-be-ex) wife. She's strong and appealing, and another highlight of this otherwise flimsy comedy.

It's inexplicable that 17 Again works from such an awful script, especially given that other movies have employed an almost identical premise and eventually became classics. Your tolerance of this Zac Efron vehicle will mainly depend on your tolerance of the young High School Musical star. This reviewer can barely tolerate Efron, but his presence was merely the tip of the iceberg. There's nary an ounce of originality (a deluge of 70s/80s films exhausted the concept), the humour is lazy, plot holes flourish, it isn't particularly clever, and director Steers barely manages to keep the film afloat. Still, it's far more bearable than I expected, mainly on account of Thomas Lennon as Ned.

"Become the animal. Embrace the other side."

Let's face it: we pay to see summer movies for the explosions, the fight scenes and the action in general. They aren't required to engage us on a cerebral level; they merely offer an abundance of action during which we're required to suspend our disbelief. X-Men Origins: Wolverine, however, is definitive proof that a plateful of action is not enough to create a satisfying summer movie. For a film to attain the status of an excellent popcorn-munching cinematic experience, it's required to pay at least some attention to narrative coherence and character arcs, not to mention the action has to occur in an actual context. In Wolverine, the action sequences just...happen. To arrive at an action sequence, one has to suffer through badly-paced scenes of trite dialogue and terrible acting. Plot holes also flourish, logic is quickly discarded, and it leaves too many things unexplained. Instead of a deep character study, X-Men Origins: Wolverine is merely an action film masquerading as something more. There's no human drama (ala Spider-Man) or witty dialogue (like Iron Man). Even the other X-Men movies had a political resonance to them which isn't retained here. This is Hack Filmmaking 101!

X-Men Origins: Wolverine was ostensibly a labour of love for poor Hugh Jackman who also served as producer, but unfortunately his efforts didn't pay off. About a month before the film's scheduled release, an incomplete workprint was leaked online. As it turns out, though, this leak was the best thing to happen to the film industry during 2009. Those eagerly anticipating the movie (this reviewer included) were given the opportunity to see how awful it truly is. Fox immediately attempted to cover their blunder by claiming footage from the reshoots was missing from the workprint (fourteen minutes in total, apparently). Curiously, closer to the release date, Fox's story changed: ten minutes of reshoots are missing from the workprint version, and these ten new minutes are replacing ten particular minutes which have been removed from the final cut. However, the workprint was indeed the final cut sans finished special effects, sound effects and music. The alleged "missing footage" never existed...it was a lie manufactured by Fox in a frantic attempt to convince audiences to go see the completed movie. But those deceptive chairmen at Fox couldn't manufacture a lie to cover one particular fact: Wolverine is completely beyond salvation. No amount of reshooting could salvage this mess. Nothing short of a total remake - with a completely new script and plotline, and a bunch of new actors - could rescue this awful film.

In a failed attempt to distance the franchise from 2006's X-Men: The Last Stand, Fox green-lit this prequel instead of another sequel. Wisely, Wolverine was selected as the focus of this first origins adventure...yet this motion picture fails to illuminate the breadth of Wolverine's tale. His back-story is complex and lavish, traversing over many centuries and veering off into numerous sub-plots (and countries), all the while navigating through various relationships with an assortment of characters. This is all condensed into about 105 minutes, and it falls apart in less than a fraction of that time. No-one cares about where Wolverine got his jacket - a Wolverine-centric spin-off following the main character kicking butt in Japan would have been far better!

The film opens in Canada in 1845 (which is very strange, considering Canada wasn't established 'til 1867) when a young James Howlett first discovers his bone claw abilities. A few deaths occur, and James goes on the run with his half-brother Victor. This prologue, however, is very rushed; it's more confusing than compelling. Following this, a montage is presented as Wolverine and Sabretooth (Jackman and Schreiber, respectively) fight alongside each other in every major U.S. war. Never mind that it's impossible for these two to always be assigned to the same unit, as this indiscretion is reasonably minor compared to the other sins of logic to be found within. For instance, they're also Canadian... I guess no-one checked their papers when they enlisted in the U.S. Army...

After their experiences in Vietnam, the brothers are recruited by William Stryker (Huston) to be part of a team of mutants assigned to carry out missions in third world countries. Off-tangent sub-plots then appear in abundance; the main one concerning Wolverine seeking revenge after his lady friend meets with a violent end. Some betraying also occurs, more mutants are introduced, and this culminates in an endlessly silly climax. Instead of one solid plot, Wolverine is merely a tonne of sub-plots mashed together.

"All the horrible things in your life... Your father, the wars, I can make all this go away. You can live knowing that the woman you loved was hunted down, or you can join me. I promise you will have your revenge."

It's hard to begin detailing exactly what's wrong with this movie, because the truth is, it's just about everything. X-Men Origins: Wolverine is a disaster of monumental proportions.

The first major problem is the screenplay. It's a string of well-worn clichés we've seen a million times before - including not one, but two "don't do it, you'll be just as bad as him" moments as well as a conventional, cheesy, embarrassing romance subplot which concludes on the most clichéd note possible. Dialogue is another issue: it's AWFUL! I have no idea what's worse; the dreadful dialogue or the abysmal way the actors disperse it. The script also skims through crucial character development and more or less eschews Wolverine's origins entirely. If it's truly an "origins" tale as advertised, where are the explanations? When initially introduced to baby Wolverine, he's already a mutant with bone claws. How did he get them? The best we can assume is his biological father was a mutant, although the implication is irritatingly vague. These things are brushed aside in a hurry in order to dive straight into the action. The screenwriters never considered, however, that an audience needs a reason to care for the characters that are stuck in the midst of the action (only small-minded, ADD-inflicted individuals will overlook this). Another thing regarding the action: virtually all of the characters are invincible, which jettisons all hope of any emotional investment with them. When Wolverine and Sabretooth battle pointlessly over and over again, we know neither of them will die and the fight will conclude with them just walking away. Why should we care?

Wolverine is never given an opportunity to come to terms with his mutations. Even after his skeleton is coated with Adamantium, he's automatically cool with it all...except for the customary "looking at self in mirror while testing abilities" (TM) scene which lasts one or two minutes. Another major gripe: the name "Logan" is never justified. In the original comics, Wolverine was a Samurai and he was given the name Logan. In this muddled mess of a movie, the name Logan just...appears. We have no idea where it came from...he's just named Logan for no reason, and other characters mysteriously pick this up.

Neither does the script justify why Sabretooth becomes Wolverine's sworn enemy. Reasons for other happenings in the story - such as Sabretooth killing a perfectly harmless mutant, and beginning a Watchmen-style elimination of all mutants in his former team - also never become clear.

"I'm coming for blood. No code of conduct, no law."

The script is beset with absolutely preposterous moments. Like there's a high profile facility on the mysterious "Island", and Wolverine is able to simply stroll through the front doors. No security? No locks? And when mutants are escaping, a grand total of four armed men try to stop them. The cages containing the mutants are also just metal wire fences. Some mutants have powers to cut through these wires easily, like Cyclops who can slice through bricks. On top of this, Stryker is so dumb he decides to erase Wolverine's memory after coating the guy's skeleton with Adamantium, making him indestructible. Characters also pop up at the most appropriate time (an entrance from a particular character during the final showdown is embarrassingly terrible and way too convenient...it will elicit groans). Wolverine is beleaguered with logic problems, primarily from the "Why don't you just...?" variety and the "That's just totally stupid / What the fuck?!" range (like the aforesaid examples). One should suspend their disbelief for a comic book movie, but this takes things to the next level. It's worse than your usual brainless summer actioner. The film's concluding 10 minutes in particular are absolutely retarded. On top of this, the continuity of the entire series is wrecked. Certain conversations in the other X-Men films now make no sense (like Stryker telling Wolverine he gave him claws when in reality Stryker just strengthened the claws).

A plethora of infamous Marvel characters are dispatched not long after their introductions. Virtually every single character is flat; appearing in name-only form to entice fans. Deadpool's treatment is most heartbreaking. Perhaps Ryan Reynolds was behind the workprint leak after he viewed the incomplete version and realised the gross misuse of Deadpool. The character's appearance is no more than a cameo. Don't get too attached to other much-hyped characters such as The Blob, John Wraith, Agent Zero and Bolt, as (like Deadpool) their appearances amount to a mere cameo. Team X is formed at the film's beginning, but after a brief first mission Wolverine has a stroke of moral conscience and leaves the group. Why Wolverine and Sabretooth are so willing to join Stryker in the first place is a mystery. Due to the rushed nature of the opening twenty minutes, there's no way we can get emotionally attached to the characters. A lot of potential is wasted.

Most jarringly, this film clearly wants to be separate from the comics as it takes a separate path, yet if you're not acquainted with all these Marvel characters you won't care about those who appear and won't understand what they're doing here. The story isn't deep enough to provide the uninitiated with requisite information about everything (the title of 'Team X' isn't even mentioned...if it was it certainly wasn't a memorable moment), and it isn't loyal enough to satiate the fanboys.

Director Gavin Hood previously helmed 2007's Rendition as well as Tsotsi (which won an Oscar for Best Foreign Language Feature in 2006). Hood's inability to direct a genuinely enjoyable and resonant motion picture surfaces here again. Wolverine is a concatenation of action movie clichés, not just from the hackneyed screenplay but also the selection of shots. Like a shot of the protagonist setting off an explosion and walking in slow motion towards the camera, as well as the customary situation of the hero walking away from the bad guy he's decided not to kill, only to turn back slowly as said bad guy dramatically reveals something.

The action sequences are frequently marred by slo-mo shots, whereas other action sequences can't be enjoyed because of the invincibility of the characters, and as for the others...there's no context. An action scene involving Wolverine taking down a helicopter is admittedly awesome to watch, but within the story it makes no sense. Stryker is trying to kill the creature he just created at great expense, and sends his right-hand man to do the job...knowing fully well that bullets made of Adamantium are the only thing that can take down Wolverine. That's just the first of many irreverent action sequences. Others include a boxing match between Wolverine and The Blob that happens for no reason, and even a large-scale battle against Gambit - a mutant who's actually on the same side! For the climax, an unfinished genetically enhanced weapon is unleashed upon Wolverine, when once again Stryker has a full gun of Adamantium bullets at his disposal...and nothing else can kill the (anti)hero. Nothing in this film deals with the immortal characters in a meaningful or interesting way, and no amount of impressive fight choreography can provide the action with genuine tension. The special effects are also quite shonky, and an appearance of a CGI Patrick Stewart is absurdly unconvincing. The pacing, as well, is awful, as spaces between the action sequences are unforgivably sluggish, and this is due to Hood's incompetent direction. Bring back Bryan Singer!

Hugh Jackman has endless charisma as an actor, but his performance here is hamstrung by the badly drawn character. Wolverine is meant to be a badass anti-hero, but he's toned down for the sake of toy sales and the target audience. All Jackman does is strike poses and deliver dismal dialogue. Meanwhile, Liev Schreiber just alternates between sassy one-liners and open-mouthed rage. Luckily, Schreiber is actually a brooding villain, even if his motivations are never explored.

Ryan Reynolds is good as swordsman Wade Wilson (a.k.a. Deadpool), but he's lost far too early into the movie. His screen-time is exasperatingly brief, as is that of Dominic Monaghan whose character of Bolt has an appealing sadness. Taylor Kitsch is a soulless Gambit with a terrible, false accent. Perhaps Lost's Josh Holloway would've made a better Gambit (he was offered the chance to briefly appear in X-Men: The Last Stand as the character, but declined). Not worth mentioning anyone else, as they're all forgettable, especially Danny Huston who isn't at all sinister as Stryker.

X-Men Origins: Wolverine eventually turns into a confusing hodgepodge of uninspired, clichéd fight scenes and loud explosions. The other X-Men films focused on Wolverine at certain times, and he was more or less the central character. You'd think this "origins" tale would, ya know, reveal his origins...but it doesn't! It's just an action film with Wolverine at its core and mutants surrounding him, not unlike the other X-Men flicks. As a whole the film feels very rushed - it's too short to be considered an epic Marvel feature. The action is occasionally impressive, granted, but the whole falls below the sum of its parts. Good action does not mean an excellent movie.

All superhero films are advertisements for their merchandising departments, but Wolverine is more obvious than most, with product placement substituting compelling characters and an engaging storyline. Combined with limp direction and unimaginative special effects, and there's little to recommend. Even Jackman's natural charisma can't rise above the material...but he sure can strike a pose, doing so in every action sequence to ensure the toy department have a field day. No longer will people have to refer to the Spider-Man 3 fiasco - now Wolverine will be the target of conversations concerning bad Marvel movies. Even Brett Ratner's X-Men: The Last Stand is more enjoyable.

"If you save a life, you must take responsibility for it."

In making Defiance, director Edward Zwick (whose résumé boasts such titles as The Last Samurai, Blood Diamond and Glory) turns his attention to World War II; helming a loose adaptation of Nechama Tec's novel which chronicled the true-life experiences of the Bielski partisans who waged a vicious guerrilla campaign against the Nazis. This historical action-thriller is a Holocaust movie with a twist - while films like Schindler's List focus on the extermination of the Jews in countless harrowing ways, Defiance concentrates on Jewish resistance fighters who slaughter their Nazi adversaries and generally kick ass (on that note, the Knocked Up boys would love this film). There are a number of battle sequences, but Zwick's film spends the majority of its runtime exploring the difficulties of surviving as fugitives in the midst of a harsh Soviet winter. Defiance is meticulously crafted, sincere and admirable, but while the facts are fresh, the execution (particularly the structure) is exceedingly familiar. The extraordinary true story has also been altered in a typical Hollywood fashion; coming across not as a fascinating history lesson but as a melodramatic, occasionally gripping historical action-thriller. It's certainly solid as the latter, but (considering the facts of the real story) a superior film could easily have been delivered had it been more faithful to the source material.

Set in Nazi-occupied Eastern Europe of 1941 during the Holocaust, the story tracks the Bielski brothers - Tuvia (Craig), Zus (Schreiber), Asael (Bell) and Aron (MacKay) - who manage to escape the slaughter of the Jews and take refuge in a dense nearby forest they've known since childhood. Before long the brothers encounter a growing number of refugees fleeing from the savagery that's being unjustly inflicted on the Jews. In this Belarussian forest a makeshift village is established with its own rules, rituals and internal politics wrapped around one question: can the brothers afford the luxury of revenge on the Nazis, or should they lie low and concentrate on protecting the lives they've already saved?

Out of the Bielski brothers, Tuvia and Zus are the key players, and their intense relationship - beset with sibling rivalry - is as central to the drama as the appalling events of the war itself. The brothers' parents were slain by local police under orders from occupying Germans, and in no time Tuvia has summarily executed the murderers. Indeed, the film's secondary theme primarily concerns the brutalising effect of war on all involved. As the seasons change, the Bielski brothers are tested by the hardships of starvation and enemy patrols; hopeful they can survive the war without losing their humanity. By the war's end, in spite of the incredible hardships the partisans encountered, roughly 1200 people had miraculously survived in the woods.

"We are the Bielski's and we WILL be back!"

Defiance is an amazing motion picture, endowed with excellent craftsmanship and a compelling story of remarkable endurance, courage and unlikely hope. It's an extraordinary tale, and one that deserves to be committed to celluloid. As to be expected, there is violence as the ever-growing assemblage of fugitives struggle to survive against all odds. Animosity flares and tempers fray as the pressures of hunger and sickness begin to set in while relationships start to evolve amidst this chaos as well. Zwick - a sturdy, competent director with a desire to illuminate long-shadowed stories - spent over a decade trying to bring this cinematic adaptation of Nechama Tec's novel to fruition. Yet in the long run, Defiance doesn't go beyond the usual hackneyed narrative of valour and endurance. It's also frustrating to consider how much more dynamic the story could have been with a few narrative tricks, such as flashbacks to reveal the back-stories of the four Bielski brothers. By narrowing the film's focus, Zwick is left with a formulaic tale of survival; the community-building elements of classic Westerns mixed with the guns-and-grit morality of every other World War II movie ever made. On top of this, the historical reality is vastly simplified, telling an abridged version of the story which has been crammed into a very recognisable structure. Defiance is an incredible motion picture, but it's unable to find the perfect balance between telling a story faithfully and ensuring an audience will be kept rapt.

The battle sequences are extremely skilful, and contain a sufficient amount of uncertainty to make them both genuinely exciting and riveting. But one should expect nothing less from Zwick; a director who has also overseen Civil War engagements (in the Oscar-winning Glory) as well as Japanese conflicts (in 2003's The Last Samurai). More gripping than the spectacular action is the drama involving the formation and preservation of the Bielski partisans' refugee camp located deep in the Belarussian forest during one of the most inhospitable times of the year. Not only do they encounter problems with famine, but an outbreak of typhus also spreads throughout the community. Zwick recreates each new crisis with utter immediacy while never bypassing other less threatening elements of life, such as faith in God under trying circumstances, the friction between the Bielski group and other partisans in the vicinity, as well as love, sex and marriage. At first glance, Defiance appears to centre on a series of guerrilla attacks against the Nazis. But in reality these moments are merely a small segment of the wider tapestry director Zwick has stitched together out of a mixture of history and dramatic license. The various central themes are tough and substantial, and Zwick treats the subject matter with the gravitas it deserves.

Eduardo Serra's stunning, gritty cinematography of the Lithuanian woods (filmed approximately a hundred miles away from the real location of the Bielski brothers' camp) is a particular highlight of Defiance. The landscape under a thick blanket of snow is captured with commendable brutality and harshness. James Newton Howard's elegant score (nominated for an Academy Award) also adds a stylish texture to the proceedings.

To the film's credit, the actors speak in European accents, and lines are occasionally delivered in foreign languages (like Russian). The authenticity of the picture is elevated by these small factors. Perhaps it's ridiculous for English to be spoken at all throughout the picture, but the approach as a whole is far better than that which was employed for Bryan Singer's underwhelming Valkyrie (also released in December 2008, and contained Nazis speaking English in British and American accents). An undeniable layer of Hollywood gloss envelops both features, but Defiance feels more authentic and gritty.

One of the main flaws of Defiance is that some of the high-minded sentiments articulated by Tuvia in his flowery speeches seem too contrived for the circumstances. Inconsistent accent and general stiffness aside, there isn't much specifically wrong with Daniel Craig's performance, but it's a little difficult to accept the actor as a Jew.
Central to the movie's effectiveness is Tuvia's transformation from idealist to pragmatist. He never quite reaches the level of callousness displayed by Zus, but events force Tuvia to reconsider the price of showing clemency. We can believe this interior struggle and the actor seems quite passionate, but this isn't Craig's best work. It's Liev Schreiber who turns in the best performance here - a memorable portrayal as the least idealistic of the Bielski brothers, and who constantly howls for Nazi blood. Admittedly, Craig and Schreiber have nice chemistry and their brotherly interactions are credible.
Jamie Bell meanwhile exhibits the makings of leading man here. Young Australian actress Mia Wasikowska also continues to display her top-notch acting talents; submitting a well-nuanced and believable performance...and Mia was only 17 years old when production began!
It's difficult to keep tabs on the rest of the cast. Most are quite memorable but (let's face it) names are hard to catch in a movie of this nature.

"Nothing is impossible, what we all have done is impossible!"

A respectable attempt at a Holocaust story with uplifting qualities and plump moral questioning, director Edward Zwick's Defiance is a handsome historical thriller which unfolds in a conventional, old-fashioned way of storytelling. Defiance begins ponderously but steadily grows more engrossing. This is a compelling, absorbing action-thriller with enthralling battle sequences, elevated by the briskness and focus of Zwick's direction. It's hampered, however, by superfluous sentimentality, a few awkwardly-handled love stories, and a bunch of trite ancillary characters (including a clichéd bespectacled intellectual as well as a cynically philosophical rabbi). The themes at the film's core have also been truly done to death. As a heroic drama, Defiance has its clichés and narrative hiccups. As an examination of the cycle of violence, however, this film is utterly harrowing.

"The boy they brought back is not my son."

An ambitious historical drama helmed by the legendary Clint Eastwood, Changeling is without a doubt one of the best pictures of 2008; a thoroughly engrossing, powerful film able to entertain as much as it provokes. Eastwood's latest masterwork is based on a true story, and it chronicles the appalling events surrounding the Wineville Chicken Coop Murders that occurred between 1928 and 1930. It must be stressed that this feature isn't just a simplistic story of a mother's heroic quest for truth... Beneath its exterior, it's an excellent exposé of crime and corruption during the early 20th Century. Changeling is the first of Clint Eastwood's two 2008 productions (the brilliant Gran Torino being the other), and it is a mature, mesmerising saga made far more compelling by the director's masterful handling of the material. Eastwood has employed the same sparse, unadorned yet exceedingly watchable filmmaking style throughout his several decades as a director, and this style is prominent here. His films rarely drag as well - they're lean and efficient; rarely wasting energy or becoming bogged down in sentimentality. Considering the subject matter, Changeling could've been created as a maudlin, melodramatic mess with exaggerated performances and telegraphed emotion. Under Eastwood's direction, however, it is none of those things. Changeling is unforgettable... It's unforgettable for its extraordinary story, for the cinematography of ethereal beauty, for the haunting performances and for Eastwood's stylistic directorial style. But most of all, Changeling is unforgettable for its sheer impact. This is a devastating and touching story which has been beautifully told by a filmmaker who remains at the top of his game.

The story commences in 1928 Los Angeles. Hard-working single mother Christine Collins (Jolie) returns home from an impromptu shift at work to discover that her 9-year-old son Walter (Griffith) has mysteriously vanished. Five months after Walter's unexplained disappearance, the LAPD - anxious to get some good publicity to help their tarnished image - insists they've found Christine's son. Delight soon turns into horror, however, when Christine lays eyes on the young boy the police have found and instantly realises it's not her child. But the LAPD, worried about further bad press, arrogantly refuse to admit their mistake. As she questions the tactics of the police on an escalating scale of hysteria, the LAPD attempt to silence Christine through iniquitous methods and begin using the press to discredit her claims. But when a campaigning clergyman named Reverend Gustav Briegleb (Malkovich) comes to Christine's aid, the whole rotten system of lying officialdom is tackled and they begin to expose the LAPD's epic web of deception. As the mystery of her missing son deepens, Christine is forced to face an awful possibility about what might have actually happened to Walter...

During 2008, Eastwood turned 78 and still shows no sign of stopping. Most people in any trade retire at 65, but Clint was merely warming up; going on to produce some of the finest work of his directorial career (Oscar-winning films like Million Dollar Baby, Mystic River and Letters From Iwo Jima). The esteemed actor-director has effortlessly segued into a no-nonsense, old-fashioned filmmaker in the mould of John Ford, Sergio Leone, and (his mentor) Don Siegel.
For Changeling, Eastwood allows the events to unfold slowly and quietly without resorting to the over-the-top performances or a roaring soundtrack a lesser director would have employed to highlight the drama - Eastwood recognises that this tale requires no exaggeration. Put simply, Eastwood is the best classical filmmaker working in contemporary Hollywood: his pictures are never flashy or gimmicky, as he recognises these as distractions from his primary job, which is to pay service and respect to a story. However, the man is not a simplistic filmmaker either. Here, Eastwood has crafted a motion picture that moves with ease and grace from potent drama to dark thriller to a tale of corruption echoing such films L.A. Confidential and Chinatown. The ability to work on various levels and shift gears with such skill comes from years of practise...Changeling represents another career high point of one of this generation's finest directors.

Historical relevance notwithstanding, Changeling emerges as a contemporary morality tale as well. After all, Walter is abducted when Christine agrees to work on her day off (a day that she promised she would spend with Walter). By agreeing to work, Christine not only chooses her job over spending time with her son, but she also breaks a promise. The consequence of this decision is that she loses her young boy forever. The film is possibly making a statement regarding single mothers, as well as reasserting that nothing is more important than family and moments spent away from children are moments lost forever.

"I used to tell Walter, "Never start a fight...but always finish it." I didn't start this fight... but by God, I'm going to finish it."

No original book or magazine article exists detailing the Christine Collins case. Screenwriter (and former journalist) J. Michael Straczynski had to conduct meticulous research, developing the story using newspaper files and old records (from city hall, the courthouse, and the city morgue). The extraordinary story of Changeling starts as a flapper Erin Brockovich before turning into Silence of the Lambs by way of L.A. Confidential. Truth is stranger than fiction, as they say. The fact that Eastwood's flick manages to morph from one genre to another is a measure of how truly unusual the story is. It can certainly keep an audience off balance...there are a lot of surprises. Admittedly, Changeling boasts a story far better than the screenplay, as Straczynski's inexperience as a feature film writer is occasionally evident. The one fault of the script is simple: the dialogue sounds a tad too contemporary from time to time. The period detail mixed with this modern-ish dialogue can be very jarring. Dialogue aside, though, Changeling is pervaded with an immense emotional weight that consistently feels earned and sincere as opposed to cloyingly manipulative.

The most striking element of Changeling is the look of the film. With top-shelf production values and excellent visual effects, Eastwood's feature is imbued with an evocative mood of Depression-era L.A. without missing a beat. The digital recreations of 1920's Los Angeles are marvellous, and there are moments when it looks as if Eastwood managed to get his cast and crew into a time machine. Every cent of the $55 million budget (estimated) is used sparingly and put to great use. Tom Stern (Eastwood's expert cinematographer since 2002's Blood Work) paints a muted palette of dehydrated colours reminiscent of the 1920s, punctuated with subtle splashes of colour (like Jolie's red lips) as beacons of hope.
Not only does the aging Eastwood direct his pictures, but he also produces and carries out several additional duties (hence the astounding low-budget nature of his films). Changeling has been beautifully scored by the director himself with lilting pianos and blustery strings. This sweetly melancholic music subtly comforts our souls.
If there's one thing to savour about Changeling, it's the graceful way it transports the audience, taking them back in time to this famous era with traditional Eastwood ease. The 140-minute runtime (approximately) may seem daunting, but it never really seems that long. All pieces of the puzzle merge together, forming a remarkable motion picture which rarely feels its tremendous length.

Clint Eastwood has the ability to coax the best from his actors. Changeling is propelled by an array of wonderful performances, headed by Angelina Jolie whose shattering portrayal of Christine Collins was deservedly nominated for an Academy Award. Choosing to underplay her character's rage and sadness, the actress escapes into her role, painting Christine as a determined woman whose sombre and steadfast nature in the wake of her son's disappearance occasionally gives way to an incendiary temper... Jolie brings every ounce of motherly love and anguish to this part. Appearing in most scenes and carrying the emotional weight of the entire picture, Jolie gives one of the most nuanced performances of her entire career.
There is scarcely a bad performance in the entire film. Jeffrey Donovan is arrogantly loathsome and slimy yet entirely credible as Captain Jones, who seems bereft of humanity as he tries to defend the inexcusable behaviour of the LAPD in unacceptable ways. Playing his superior with gusto, Colm Feore's Chief Davis is equally adamant to push the dirt under the rug without any regard for justice or for Christine. Also first-rate and suitably hateful are the actors portraying the unscrupulous doctors supportive of the corrupt cops - Denis O'Hare as the psychiatric hospital's nasty head doctor, as well as Peter Gerety and John Harrington Bland. Michael Kelly is an especially memorable addition to the cast playing the detective who investigates the dreadful Wineville Chicken Coop Murders. As the psychotic Gordon Stewart Northcott who executed these murders, Jason Butler Harner is exceptional. The moderately unknown actor paints one of the most skin-crawling portraits of pure evil in recent cinematic memory.

John Malkovich is a particular standout as the crusading clergyman who uses Christine's plight to further his own agenda. He's understated and terrific, bringing considerable authority to his character of Reverend Briegleb who's armed with a radio station microphone and rants against the corrupt cops of Los Angeles.

Changeling is one of 2008's best movies. What begins as a simple mystery-thriller soon takes a number of devastating twists and turns, bordering on noir before dipping into dark, bloody horror, and culminating in a courtroom drama for the well-paced and tense climax. Changeling travels to dark places, with scenes and circumstances that will haunt you long after the credits expire. It's not exactly an easy movie to watch, but it's very classy and it adroitly avoids exploitation for the sake of drama. The muted colours, the simple but effective period design and the plot-driven editing grab our attention and emotions with a firm grip as Eastwood tells this elegant story. Changeling is visually sumptuous as well; both its cinematography and art direction were justly nominated for Academy Awards. As long as Clint Eastwood continues to make new movies, this reviewer will continue to pay to watch them. This is a gorgeous, underrated masterpiece and a perfect example of fine art...how the Academy overlooked this tour de force for Best Picture is simply beyond me.

"Mustang V8 Fastback. Took the best, made it better. Now we had some fun customising a personal protection package - three quarter inch steel plate, front and sides. Bulletproof glass will be here, here and there. And in the rear...a six inch solid steel shield we call the Tombstone."

A brisk, bone-crunching modern re-imagining of the 1975 Roger Corman B-Movie classic, Death Race delivers precisely what its title promises: cars and carnage. There are a lot of things for serious critics and film-goers to hate about this film - it's a loose big-budget remake of a true grindhouse classic, there's plenty of gory violence for the sake of exploitation, it's undeniably sleazy, and it pretends to be a social commentary - but (in a very tangible way) this is truly missing the point, as Death Race was created to revel in meaningless sadism. Director Paul W.S. Anderson has assembled a fun, hardcore action flick that's weak in terms of plot and characterisation, but strong in the visceral action sequences (something the target audience will likely be seeking). Screenwriters Robert Thom and Charles Griffith bring the vehicle combat of Corman's Death Race 2000 into a penal environment where hardened criminals race for a shot at freedom. Pedestrian bystanders (which were run down by the drivers for points in the original) are removed from the equation entirely - drivers are instead required to just eliminate their adversaries. In this regard, only the very basic premise and the names of the two main drivers are carried over from the 1975 film (a few other sly references are also thrown in, though).

Death Race is set in the year 2012. With America's economy in tattered shreds, unemployment rates through the roof, crime rates on the rise, and gladiatorial sports growing more popular, the corporate forces managing the penal system devise a brilliant plan to raise funds and efficiently deal with the inordinate amount of criminals overcrowding the country's prisons - armour-plated cars are rigged with machine guns (as well as an assortment of additional weaponry), convicts are placed behind the wheel, and these prisoners strafe their way around the deadly track for a chance to earn their freedom. It rapidly becomes an internet pay-per-view sensation, overseen by the prison's icy warden (Allen) and featuring a bunch of colourful drivers. But the most popular participant of the Death Race, Frankenstein (Carradine, who played the character in the original film), is unfortunately killed following his latest race.
Framed for the murder of his wife, Jensen Ames (Statham) is sent to Terminal Island prison where the Death Race takes place. He's given the opportunity to partake in the brutal sporting event, racing in the place of the deceased Frankenstein. Given a kick-ass car armed to the teeth with a variety of weapons and defensive gadgets in order for him to commit vehicular destruction on a massive, chaotic scale, Jensen races for victory and his freedom.

Let's be realistic - the plot is worthless. Death Race is all about hard driving, bullets and mega explosions, of which there are plenty. Each vehicle (the designs reminiscent of Mad Max II) is equipped with a variety of Gatling guns, missiles, napalm, oil slicks, swords, flame throwers and every other weapon imaginable. The drivers do everything possible to inflict life threatening injury on the other competitors using said weaponry. For good measure, the warden also throws in a number of obstacles intended to cause widespread destruction to the Death Race participants.
After introducing all the disposable characters and setting up the paper-thin plot over a half-hour, the race commences. As one would expect, there are several mini-climaxes as Jensen faces off against a motley assortment of scumbags, including the vicious Machine Gun Joe (Gibson). The climax is a tad unexpected and slightly unconventional, although it is telegraphed pretty early. The conclusion is perfunctory and, surprisingly, doesn't offer the true satisfaction some might desire.

"You wanted a monster? Well, you've got one."

Roger Corman's Death Race 2000, while being hilariously entertaining, set its satire gun on the American public's lust for violence. With Death Race, director Paul W.S. Anderson takes plenty of stabs at the requirement for ratings, sensationalism, and pay-per-view sports (slightly reminiscent of The Condemned as well as Arnold Schwarzenegger's The Running Man). This satirical edge is underwhelming and dull, however, largely due to the fact that the flick is so claustrophobic. The makers place so much emphasis on the races and the pay-per-view setup that no viewers outside of the prison are ever shown. There is so much talk of ratings, of millions of viewers paying to watch, and yet the film never offers any images of families crowding around their televisions lusting for blood. But can we really expect a feature of this nature to present a clear and effective social commentary? After all, the more you ponder the picture and its premise, the more plot-destroying questions you stumble upon - for instance, if the majority of Americans are poor and jobless, how can they afford to spend $250 to watch the Death Race?

Of course, Death Race is all about the testosterone. The well-choreographed action is the real reason to watch this flick, and it's accompanied by a head-banging musical score courtesy of Paul Haslinger. The film is a noisy hard-R affair that pours the action on thick and violently at the 30-minute mark and never looks back. The usual Paul W.S. Anderson rapid-fire editing still remains, but it's not as pronounced or as distracting as one might expect. While it's true the cars are far less imaginative than those in Death Race 2000, they're still pretty cool in that fetishistic Mad Max kind of way. None of the vehicles are slick or sleek - they're armed and armoured tanks. While the scenery gets a bit drab after a while (the racing always occurs on the same track, whereas Corman's original had bright, picturesque locations), interesting gimmicks are introduced in each new race to prevent us from getting bored. Director Anderson's adherence to practical stunts and effects as opposed to cartoonish CGI results in some impressive, intense, thrilling races punctuated by gunfire, fireballs, rolls and spectacular collisions. These effects are refreshing to say the least, and lend a gritty feel to the movie. They're also extraordinarily violent, as drivers (and their female navigators) are splattered at high speeds; ripped to shreds by bullets or buzz-saws, or atomised by enormous explosions. It's not called Death Race for nothing!

Director Paul W.S. Anderson has Mortal Kombat, Alien vs. Predator and three Resident Evil films under his belt (all video game adaptations), but Death Race is more like a video game than all five of 'em combined! The cars even have power ups! These deadly cars are armed to the teeth, but the drivers are unable to unleash any firepower without driving over a sword-shaped icon on the racetrack. Their defensive gear - smoke bombs, oil slicks, etc. - will only kick in after driving over a shield icon. There are even death icons, which trigger a lethal object to rise out of the track and destroy the doomed car. All that's missing is a health bar in the corner.

An impressive cast has been assembled for Death Race. Apart from the eminently likable Statham, Tyrese Gibson plays the villain, and (to the horror of film critics everywhere) Joan Allen also appears.
Jason Statham has rapidly ascended to star status over recent years. Such films as the Transporter trilogy, Crank, Cellular and War have established the actor as a charismatic action star. In Death Race, his appealing mixture of toughness and sympathy gives us a hero worth rooting for amidst the otherwise one-dimensional selection of characters. Meanwhile, Tyrese Gibson appears in the role of Machine Gun Joe - a character originally growled by a young Sylvester Stallone in the original 1975 flick. Gibson is a stereotypical, customary action movie villain who detests the hero and is willing to kill even members of his own crew.
For someone of Joan Allen's stature to appear in this movie is simply baffling. She adjusts herself well, however, presenting Warden Hennessey as a badass in a skirt and high heels - the type of woman viewers love to hate. Her profane diatribes are quite amusing. In the supporting cast, Ian McShane comports himself appropriately as one of Frankenstein's mechanics. And that's about it when it comes to the main cast. There aren't any truly stand-out performances here, but everyone does an adequate job of allowing the film to move smoothly from A to B.

"Now that's entertainment."

An ambitious combination of The Condemned, The Running Man and Mad Max, Death Race is just an enjoyable, fast-moving exploitation action flick, which (against all odds) is superior to the 1975 Roger Corman classic on countless levels. Characters are barely developed, and the script avoids creating meandering subplots, so the flick just screams along for a brisk 95 minutes. The runtime is probably longer than it should be, but the pacing is rapid and there's hardly a dull minute. There's nothing even remotely original about the story (with a wronged, vengeful hero, some one-note villains, an obligatory romance, etc.) and the satire aspect is fairly dull, yet Anderson has still crafted an entertaining guilty pleasure - exactly the type of film he wanted to deliver. Let's face it...an action flick with the title Death Race was never going to appear on any annual Top 10 lists or anything. This is just a big, loud, gloriously dumb action romp overflowing with over-the-top vehicular slaughter. It ain't a particular great movie, but the mayhem is highly enjoyable. Sometimes that's good enough.

"As the cars roar into Pennsylvania, the cradle of liberty, it seems apparent that our citizens are staying off the streets, which may make scoring particularly difficult, even with this year's rule changes. To recap those revisions: women are still worth 10 points more than men in all age brackets, but teenagers now rack up 40 points, and toddlers under 12 now rate a big 70 points. The big score: anyone, any sex, over 75 years old has been upped to 100 points."

A treasured cult classic from much-loved B-Movie producer Roger Corman, Death Race 2000 can be described as a lot of things - it's cheesy, it's overwrought, it's stupid, it's campy, the special effects are appalling, the plot is idiotic... And it's great fun! The average viewer or critic will almost certainly look distastefully at the film's low production values and the poor acting, and dismiss the flick entirely (Roger Ebert did award it zero stars). To the less cynical, however, this is top-notch campy filmmaking; taking a low budget in exchange for absolute freedom to be as ridiculous and unconventional as possible. With its absurd premise, a macabre sense of humour as well as its dizzying combination of racing and pure ultra-violence (of the bright red tomato sauce variety), Death Race 2000 comes off as a mindlessly entertaining '70s exploitation romp...the kind of fluff one would watch at the drive-in cinema all those decades ago.

Set in the far flung future of the year 2000 (well...it was far flung back in 1975), Death Race 2000 presents America as a fascist empire now run by a powerful dictator after a major global turmoil leaves the world in dismal shape. The ultimate sporting event is now the Transcontinental Death Race - a futuristic annual road race during which skilled drivers gun their customised four-wheeled killing machines from one side of America to the other, and contestants can score points by murdering innocent pedestrians (the more helpless the person, the more points the driver receives). This year, the formidable and popular champion Frankenstein (Carradine) has a new challenge in the form of arrogant rookie driver 'Machine Gun' Joe (Stallone). A twist at this year's Death Race also comes in the form of an organisation trying to bring an end to the immoral sport.

"I have made the United Provinces of America the greatest power in the known universe."

Death Race 2000 is wonderfully compact at a meagre 80 minutes, resulting in a fast-paced, darkly funny comic-book action film. Like most of Roger Corman's movies, Death Race 2000 was quite obviously shot on the cheap. Corman (who served as producer) had a talent for making the most of a restricted budget, and by the time Death Race 2000 entered production he had more experience making successful low-budget movies than anyone else before him. Corman's talent really pays off when it comes to films like this. The cars (though they just look like plain old consumer vehicles given minor body work) look fairly convincing as the speedy, pedestrian-slaughtering station wagons of death. Certain things, such as the futuristic backgrounds at the beginning of the movie, look extremely fake and unbelievably cheesy. This is not necessarily a bad thing, though, as this constitutes half the film's appeal. In traditional with this type of cinema, there's also a sleazy satirical subtext beneath the on-screen violence.

Despite some ham-fisted moralising about violence in American culture, Death Race 2000 is by no means a serious movie - it's infused with Corman's trademark brand of black humour. People get run over in hysterically fake ways (resulting in bright red ketchupy splats), and doctors even wheel the elderly out to the middle of the road for the drivers to hit. It's not the (distinctly lacking) plot or the creative ideas that make Death Race 2000 so enjoyable, but the characters and the cheesy action. The campy qualities of this flick simply cannot be overstated. It's almost impossible for an audience to feel sorry for the innocent pedestrians who are killed mercilessly because it's so entertaining to watch them die! The appalling special effects, the disjointed editing and the shonky film adjustments (when shots are sped up, it's very obvious) make Death Race 2000 a downright hilarious watch. Like most of Corman's work, this has become a cult classic for a good reason.

"Which only goes to show that even the fearsome Frankenstein has a one hundred percent red-blooded American sense of humor."

Director Paul Bartel attempts to compensate for a noticeable lack of plot by throwing in an assortment of colourful oddball characters and moments of comedy, but the frequent narrative lulls become more and more problematic as the film progresses. In fact, the entire story is a one big mess, not to mention the screenplay is fundamentally a congregation of lousy dialogue, shallow characters, a muddled plot and traces of a deeper social meaning. Death Race 2000 is simply so awful that it's good. Only über-producer Corman could produce rubbish of this surprisingly watchable standard.

Face it: you didn't settle upon the decision to watch Death Race 2000 hoping to witness some true acting talent. The movie is crammed with barely passable acting, which is to be expected for a film of this ilk.
Sylvester Stallone's typical tough-guy persona serves him well here as the aggressive Machine Gun Joe. This is one of Sly's earliest performances (in his late twenties here), and he bellows out each line as if he's drugged on PCP. As you'd expect from an action film, Stallone's performance is watchable but very contrived. Oddly, for such a manly man he's clad in an astonishing amount of pink. At the opposite end, David Carradine appears as Frankenstein; a scarred road warrior in a corny costume of a black leather suit and cape (the production values are painfully evident while observing this campy outfit). Where Stallone delivered his dialogue like a kid on a Trix high, Carradine's Frankenstein is more of an anorexic Darth Vader. He ominously mumbles and grumbles as he disperses cryptic musings.
Meanwhile, the other three competitors of the Death Race appear in the form of Mary Woronov, Roberta Collins and Martin Kove - all of whom are forgettable.

Low in budget, high in chutzpah - Death Race 2000 is '70s schlock exploitation filmmaking at its finest. It's a fun, thoroughly campy piece of work let down by the terrible script and a distinct lack of plot. Yet, it isn't difficult to understand why the movie has endured over the years, particularly given the unabashed violent tendencies and the genuinely thrilling racing sequences. The greatest thing about Death Race 2000 is that it's very short, succinct and entertaining. There's plenty of cartoonish action to enjoy, and even when the racing pauses there's gratuitous nudity as well as the spacious, orange-décor hotel suites to keep one rapt. The goofy narrative also concludes satisfactorily. The combination of slapstick humour, satire, and plain camp ensures this movie a place among Corman's finest.

Followed by Death Sport. A re-imagining (not exactly a remake as only a few character names and the general premise are retained) was also released in 2008.

"A lot of people told me that I'd never wrestle again and that's all I do. You know, if you live hard and play hard and you burn the candle at both ends, you pay the price for it. You know in this life you can loose everything you love, everything that loves you. Now I don't hear as good as I used to and I forget stuff and I aint as pretty as I used to be but god damn it I'm still standing here and I'm The Ram. As times goes by, as times goes by, they say "he's washed up", "he's finished" , "he's a loser", "he's all through". You know what? The only one that's going to tell me when I'm through doing my thing is you people here."

A gritty, compelling character study fuelled by passionate performances, The Wrestler signals a stunning comeback for Darren Aronofsky. The director, whose prior movies have been visually experimental, is surprising here in his superficial restraint - relinquishing the overwrought stylisation he's recognised for in order to helm a raw, straightforward human drama permeated with emotion. The Wrestler is a true tragedy. It aims to bruise the soul and achieves this, primarily because it features a superlative performance by Mickey Rourke that firmly grounds the picture, pushing through the story's inherent melodrama to construct a meticulous portrait of a character an audience can empathise with. It's the role of a lifetime for Rourke who enthusiastically grabs onto the character with both bloodied hands, imbuing Randy "The Ram" Robinson with lashings of anger and self-loathing while also retaining his sense of dignity and humanity throughout. Certainly not an easy motion picture to absorb with a single bite, The Wrestler is a pummelling filmic experience of raw intensity which orbits around the incredible Rourke; his performance a superb presentation of wounded ego within a movie of remarkable observation. An elemental story conveyed simply and exceptionally, Darren Aronofsky's fourth feature film is a winner in limitless aspects.

The Wrestler concentrates on wrestling superstar Randy "The Ram" Robinson (Rourke). Desperate to maintain his career as a professional wrestler after his golden years of the '80s have long passed him by, Randy takes all the work he can get on the small-time amateur circuit; earning money but putting his aging body through severe punishment. Following a particularly brutal match, Randy suffers a heart attack which forces a sudden end to his wrestling career. Randy then attempts to come to terms with a life outside the ring - he takes up a full-time job at a grocery store and tries to repair his relationship with the daughter he abandoned (Wood) while also trying to form a closer bond with a stripper (Tomei) whom he harbours romantic feelings for. However, Randy is incapable of threading together a life of normality, and he's compelled to re-assess things... Is life without wrestling - even for what passes as wrestling at this late stage in his career - any kind of life at all? While pondering this question, Randy is given the opportunity to partake in a high-profile rematch against his wrestling nemesis from the '80s.

The crux of the story concerns Randy's attempts to cope with what he has become and the delusions that keep him going. His sincere but flawed endeavours to reclaim a place in his daughter's life are heartbreaking. As a character study of a despondent soul, The Wrestler is one of the most powerful and compelling motion pictures of 2008. Aronofsky's feature is meticulous in its examination of Randy's tragic life; an examination filled with verisimilitude and lacking in cheesy melodrama. The film additionally provides a profusion of fascinating information regarding behind-the-scenes goings-on at professional wrestling matches, most notably that the violence may be choreographed but is often in fact real. Even if this depiction isn't 100% accurate, it's absolutely convincing.

Rourke as Randy "The Ram" convincingly comes across as an actual wrestler. The man takes the punches, he discusses how a match will play out with his opponent, he cuts himself on the forehead to draw blood (apparently Rourke actually cut his own forehead for added realism), and even takes staples to the chest. Another subtle highlight is how well Rourke gets into the mind of a professional wrestler. Because he's been caught up in the grind for twenty years, not only is he unsure of how to act around his daughter, but a lot of what he does in everyday life also reverts back to his wrestling persona. The Wrestler is definitely not a cheery cinematic experience. The camera follows Rourke's Randy Robinson as he endures some odious practices merely to keep up his appearance. From being pummelled with chairs to using steroids, these are all a major part of the business. Randy is unable to find solace - he is forever at odds with his personality. The man is destructive both emotionally and physically, and both in and out of the ring. He's a wrestler at heart, but his heart is unable to endure it.

After Darren Aronofsky's last film, the ambitious experimental fiasco known as The Fountain, it's a pleasure to witness the director further challenge himself with the low-tech grit of The Wrestler. Superbly crafted with low-key cinematic tools, Aronofsky excels behind the camera; his aggressive, stalwart direction perfectly matching the subject matter. His directorial style is simple and spare, with no attempts to convince us he's a master of his craft. This straightforward approach works best, evoking the down-to-earth nature of a documentary. Shot in a rough, grainy handheld style on the Super16mm format by cinematographer Maryse Alberti, the immediacy is almost unsettling at times. The film is shot mostly from Randy's perspective; the camera usually positioned a step or two behind him. Aronofsky draws a viewer into the life of Randy and one can viscerally experience the man's pains, particularly during one brutal match (in a way it's ironic that one can feel a person's real pain in a "fake" sport). With the increasingly arty characteristics of Aronofsky's previous movies stripped away, The Wrestler is infused with clarity and simplicity, and the dialogue in Robert D. Siegel's first-rate script is inflected with the poetry of the everyday. Clint Mansell's transcendent score also hits all the right notes, the application of 1980's rock music (namely Guns N' Roses) is marvellous, and Bruce Springsteen's song (written for the movie) impeccably closes the feature.

Mickey Rourke makes this a triumphant comeback to remember. Most of Rourke's performances over the past few decades have been total duds, with only a few notable exceptions (such as Sin City). Randy "The Ram" Robinson is Rourke's first fully three-dimensional individual in years. The anguish, pain and inability to adjust for Randy is conveyed in this superlative performance with a fine emotional edge that should have earned Rourke an Academy Award (the Oscar was instead given to Sean Penn for Milk). Rourke fits effortlessly into Randy's faded tights; his muscled, brawny body and mangled face easily embodying this tragic protagonist. This is one of the greatest performances of 2008, featured within a motion picture not about wrestling but about a man whose life is drained and empty. There's not a moment or a single false beat where the spell of Randy Robinson is broken by contrivance. Rourke's commitment to genuinely becoming this gnarled soul is phenomenal, reaching into a nest of frailty to communicate Randy's humiliating ordeals (including a catastrophic part-time job behind a deli counter) and mounting fears.

Randy's only real connection with the world outside wrestling is a stripper named Pam, whom he visits regularly and plies with dollar bills. Marisa Tomei is truly a revelation; really shining here as a stripper past her prime and beginning to truly feel it. Tomei is endearing yet guarded; reluctant to let her sympathetic feelings for Randy become clear. The only hint of a weak link in the cast is Evan Rachel Wood who does what she can, but is ultimately given a fairly thankless role (one of the only sour notes of Siegel's screenplay). Admittedly, Wood never comes off as contrived...she's very convincing...but she's just a thinly-sketched caricature as opposed to a person.

The conclusion of The Wrestler has (expectedly) triggered much controversy - some viewers will definitely dislike the film's abrupt conclusion. Irritatingly, there's no definite closure (we're required to draw our own conclusions), but for this reviewer the ending is fitting, moving and provocative. Randy's final decision (which may likely bring about his death) is a poignant footnote of this remarkable character study. In considering whether Randy's choice is ill-advised or apt, one is asked to glance inside themselves and think about their own mortality. Bear in mind Randy has suffered a sad, brutal life outside of the ring...barely a life worth living. So ponder the question: is it better to live a long, unhappy life or to die happy?

Aronofsky's film is perhaps a bit too straightforward and generic, and it feels overly abridged as well. The director leans so heavily on Mickey Rourke and realises the magic of the performance, but he forgets to infuse the picture with much else. While the wrestling aspect is excellently handled, this indie melodrama also contains a father-daughter relationship which fails to have the reach it ought to.

The Wrestler is undoubtedly one of the best movies of 2008. The main performances are excellent, and they help shed a much-deserved light on two misjudged professions. The filmmaking is focused and evocative, with Aronofsky appearing to be on an impressive trek to discover his humanistic filmmaking reflexes. The Wrestler is an astonishing accomplishment of tone as well as emotional richness and resonance to be pored over long after the credits expire (WWE superstar Roddy Piper reportedly broke down and cried in Mickey Rourke's arms after attending a screening). This is grandstanding stuff, and Aronofsky should continue to mine such rich territory as the results here are utterly riveting.

"Jesus, what a clusterfuck!"

For the Coen Brothers, Burn After Reading is a refreshing departure from the brooding, staid tone of 2007's No Country For Old Men (a superb movie that earned the twosome a handful of Oscars). Such a searing thriller as their 2007 Best Picture winner is a hard act to follow. As is often their style, the filmmaking duo elected to go in another direction with their follow-up film - delivering an absurd, Coen-esque black comedy. Burn After Reading can best be described as either a thriller with a high quotient of comedic elements, or (if you prefer) a dark comedy with a high quotient of thriller elements. As is frequently the case with features created by Joel & Ethan Coen, this is a difficult film to categorise, but it doesn't make it any less enjoyable.

Burn After Reading is definitely not for the cynical film-goer - it's fundamentally without a plot as it's mainly concerned with presenting various amusing character vignettes. Not even the Coen Brothers themselves would be able to tell you the point of their 2008 project, nor could they clearly outline the plot. To quote Ethan Coen, the film is more or less about "the covert world of the C.I.A. and internet dating". And to this formerly untapped mixture of indolent espionage and modern internet dating, they also add '70s conspiracy thriller elements and personal training, not to mention sexual deviancy as well. In a career steeped in peculiarity, this is another classic example of the Coen Brothers' penchant for tossing an assortment of wacky ideas and movie references into the blender to see what flavour materialises.

Burn After Reading spotlights a collection of characters too wrapped up in their own vanity to take even the slightest notice of their outlandish actions. At the centre of the story (if it can even be called as such) is Osbourne Cox (Malkovich), a C.I.A. analyst who quits his job in a fit of pique when the agency demotes him. The disgruntled Cox then decides to write a tell-all memoir, but a disk containing a copy of these hastily-penned revenge memoirs falls into the hands of two unscrupulous gym employees: Linda (McDormand) and gung-ho personal trainer Chad (Pitt). The witless duo, believing they've found something of great value, attempt to turn this disk into cash, blackmailing Osbourne into paying them for the return of his memoirs. When Osbourne refuses to pay for the disk's return, Linda and Chad set out to steal more and sell it to the Russians. Also in the mix is Harry (Clooney); a married Treasury agent who's having an affair with Osbourne's wife (Swinton) while also cheating on his mistress with Linda. A few additional melodramatic subplots are also included for best effect.

"I have a drinking problem? Fuck you, Peck, you're a Mormon. Next to you we ALL have a drinking problem!"

As you'd expect, the Coen Brothers continue to pile it on, deepening the plot and incorporating a number of shock moments made all the more effective due to the matter-of-fact way in which they are delivered. The screenplay (also penned by the two directors) never takes itself too seriously, with comedic moments scattered around haphazardly. Some of these are merely amusing, others are clever, and the rest are just downright hilarious. A pair of conversations between two C.I.A. honchos (played by David Rasche and J.K. Simmons) are by far the funniest scenes the film has to offer (at one point Simmons even tells Rasche to report back to him when everything makes sense; a bit of a reflection on the script). A back-stabbing, double-crossing, exhaustively absurd caper with black comedic enrichments, Burn After Reading is a beauty; an electric symphony of impetuous idiots left to their own devices, leaving behind a trail of violence and bewilderment with every move they make. Backed by an enchanting score from Carter Burwell and lensed by ace four-time Academy Award winning cinematographer Emmanuel Lubezki, this Coen Brothers production fearlessly dives into a dense mess, keen to capture every single beat of surprise.

An intriguing combination of Fargo, Raising Arizona and The Big Lebowski, Burn After Reading is one of the better films from the mind of the Coen Brothers (unquestionably better than the dire Intolerable Cruelty). In a nutshell, the film is an odd screwball comedy concentrating on a group of idiots who engage in idiotic conversations and make utterly ridiculous decisions. None of these clowns ever truly think about what they're doing, and watching them being forced to deal with the consequences of their silly actions is absolutely delicious. The material allows the directors to play to their strengths, i.e. their sense of devious comic timing. The script's witty dialogue is often hysterically funny as well. There's also a fair amount of violence thrown in for good measure, but said violence is usually brutal and unsettling to the point of distraction. The use of such brutal violence in a light-hearted comedy is jarring...it kills the laughs. The film is hampered by this serious fault. The overall plot also lacks both real direction and an anchor, which is another drawback of an otherwise solid movie.

The kinetic and inventive visual style of the Coen Brothers as well as the precision of their writing is frequently discussed, but the directorial duo's greatest gift may lie in their ability to assemble an impressive ensemble cast and coax remarkable performances from the entire ensemble. The casting for Burn After Reading is pitch perfect, and virtually all of the characters were written with these precise actors in mind (Tilda Swinton is one of the only exceptions). By employing members of their large acting family in addition to able newcomers to the Coen universe, the brothers ensure there isn't a weak performance to be found. The star-soaked ensemble cast is huge, but there is no main star - screen time is split fairly evenly between John Malkovich, George Clooney, Brad Pitt, Frances McDormand, Tilda Swinton and Richard Jenkins, with the hysterical duo of J.K. Simmons and David Rasche thrown in from time to time to give the film its standard Coen Brothers tone.
Brad Pitt steals the show with his high energy performance that borders on self-parody. With the exception of Pitt's character (who's energetic and enthusiastic about everything), every character is struggling with some form of misery. Frances McDormand (Joel Coen's wife) places forth a mesmerising performance as Linda, who's worried about her appearance and is longing for plastic surgery. Frances does excellent screwball work alongside George Clooney, who turns down the charm and enhances the sleeze in the unusual role of a sex addict. Watching Clooney interact with Tilda Swinton is terrific, especially considering that they played rivals in 2007's Michael Clayton. The bristling John Malkovich does what he does best - acting weird before eventually losing it. Malkovich is truly impeccable as he angrily shouts at his co-stars (one of the funniest aspects of this feature).

Returning to the sharp comedy that has defined most of their prior features, which is accompanied by a crime-laced plot that also recalls several of their past films, the Coen Brothers take absurdity to a new level with Burn After Reading. Watching the film's eccentric characters bumbling about is nothing short of a wildly entertaining experience, with a supporting turn by J.K. Simmons as the perturbed head of the C.I.A. nearly worth a viewing in itself. The portrayal of the C.I.A. as a clueless agency that doesn't appear to take intelligence very seriously makes Burn After Reading more of an espionage spoof than anything else. This story of spies, personal fitness workers, and their diverse struggles through middle life, encompassing blackmail, perversion, death, and infidelity, is the darkest of comedies, and is an easy recommendation for any fan of the Coen Brothers who'll effortlessly embrace the film. Absurdity rules supreme in Burn After Reading, and that is exactly why this flick is so refreshingly enjoyable. It's merely a quirky tale about unintelligent intelligence...that's the Coens for you.

Oskar: "Are you really twelve?"
Eli: "Yes. It's just I've been twelve for a very long time."

An assuringly unique and refreshing vampire story from Sweden, Let the Right One In is a motion picture of extraordinary mood and imaginative directorial potency. Instead of a customary genre feature, this Swedish sleeper is in fact a hushed, gentle tale of provisional friendship, the ordeal of adolescence and the curse of vampiric immortality. A spellbinding motion picture from start to finish, Let the Right One In is a marvel; an ingenious horror film able to frighten and disarm in the same instant, and one of the most resonant, haunting cinematic experiences of 2008. And it has already been targeted for a Hollywood remake...

During 2008, movie-goers greeted two similar vampire movies, both of which partly focused on adolescent love but each with a different marketing strategy. Twilight, based on Stephanie Meyer's best-selling novel, takes the simple approach - aiming to entice a teenage audience with a hackneyed romance parable featuring one-dimensional, condescending characters merely required to look pretty. Let the Right One In (also based on a novel) by contrast targets a mature audience with a deep, amazingly original coming-of-age tale about a prepubescent child's love for a member of the undead. Forget the disposable Twilight...in ten years, this Swedish feature will be remembered as the real deal (and the right one, if you will).

Written by John Ajvide Lindqvist (adapting his own novel), this film tells an absorbing tale which transpires in Stockholm during the 1980s and which centres on a morbid child named Oskar (Hedebrandt). Bullied unremittingly at school, Oskar is a socially and emotionally withdrawn boy who spends his free time collecting and reading newspaper articles about murders. Things take an uplifting turn for Oskar one night when he meets an enigmatic young girl named Eli (Leandersson), who is in fact a carnivorous vampire. Oskar is oblivious to Eli's blood-drinking habits, but he's perfectly happy to overlook her peculiar behaviour as the two tweens strike up a hesitant friendship. They playfully communicate and bond, eventually clinging to each other in the hope of staving off their crushing social isolation.

Let the Right One In is no standard horror-fest; it has greater ambitions. The vampire subplot lurks in the shadows while the film conveys a story about the camaraderie and empathy that develops between two of society's misfits. And this isn't an overblown, melodramatic romance - there are elements of a burgeoning love story, but they are tentative and lacking overt sexuality. The film isn't endowed with the cheesy gothic romance of Stephanie Meyer's Twilight series or the humour of Buffy the Vampire Slayer (and its offspring). Let the Right One In alternatively strikes a low-key melancholy tone, bolstered by both the location and the effective de-dramatised approach. Admirably, the feature doesn't beat a viewer over the head with Eli's history and it only permits brief glimpses stemming from vampire lore. Not only does this aspect make the film intriguing, but it becomes easier for us to lose ourselves within the story.

Rest assured that Let the Right One In doesn't leave out the genre elements, though...it contains a fair amount of violent blood-draining scenes. Blood looks good on the Swedish snowscape, and the instances of horror violence are nearly as impressive as the subtler moments. A miscalculated ending is one of the movie's sole drawbacks - it's a gory, competently-handled vampire attack let down by its clichéd nature.
Unlike what you'd expect in a Hollywood vampire movie, at no stage does Oskar research the details of vampiric etiquette as it simply isn't necessary. Everyone knows the basic powers and limitations of vampires, and the creators are intelligent enough to realise this. Eli's brand of vampire adheres to a lot of the ground rules established in Bram Stoker's Dracula. We never learn whether a stake through the heart will kill Eli or whether she can transform into a bat, however - there are no opportunities to test such myths. The brilliance of Let the Right One In is that events and scenes serve the story and characters, with no scenes included merely to exploit vampiric abilities (unlike Twilight). But there are minor flaws in pacing, with a bit too much time spent with some of the locals who become Eli's supper.

Director Tomas Alfredson accomplishes lots through images and sound, and he very rarely relies on dialogue. The cinematography is extraordinary; each frame is a work of art and the stylish camera angles quietly ensnare a viewer. Alfredson renders the crisp stillness of a Swedish winter nicely, letting the landscape evoke a multiplicity of feelings. Let the Right One In is consumed with mood; it's filled with long takes and features action staged around stark snowscapes which is photographed with brilliant menace by cinematographer Hoyte Van Hoytema. The camera moves languidly; observing but never intruding, and only moving in close to capture moments of vulnerability.

The camerawork also adds to the mystery. Shadows conceal objects and characters until the exact moment we're required to see them, for example, which allows for amplified shocks. There's a great deal of mystery to be explored in Let the Right One In, and it progresses without feeling the need to explain everything - gruelling explication and back-story is virtually non-existent (such things will no doubt accompany the American remake). With sparse dialogue, Alfredson skilfully refrains from answering some of our questions. For instance, who is the older man travelling with Eli and what is their relationship? Why does Eli continually insinuate that she isn't a girl? Why are Oskar and his father so distant? Apparently some of these questions are answered in the novel, but Alfredson (and screenwriter Lindqvist) show great judgment by omitting these answers. With their exclusion, the ending can either be perceived as happy or tragic.

The relationship between Oskar and Eli is another aspect communicated without many words. Alfredson instead employs gorgeous, soft-focus close-ups in addition to Johan Söderqvist's delicate romantic score to convey the developing intimacy. He's also aided (in no small degree) by great performances from first-time actors Kåre Hedebrandt and Lina Leandersson. Hedebrant, with his blonde hair and pale skin, is an excellent Oskar. He exudes pure innocence and looks the part of a societal outcast while also making the character seem remote, withdrawn and a tad creepy. Alongside him, Leandersson possesses an alluring charisma and comes across as an individual both mysterious and compelling. She's a standout in the challenging part of Eli, capturing both the weariness of an ancient vampire and the sweet vulnerability of a young girl. Unlike Tom Cruise or Brad Pitt, her vampire portrayal is smelly and grotty, and with the awkwardness of a pre-teen. These two leading performances give Let the Right One In true heart...something beyond the fangs and wooden stakes that usually define the genre.

Grotesque, unnervingly gentle, delicately forbidding and ethereal, Let the Right One In manages to reenergise modern vampire cinema. This Swedish masterpiece observes naïve sensuality involving pre-teens, treats death with a frightening visual poetry, and is directed with superb tonal control by Alfredson. Let the Right One In can technically be classified as a horror movie, but it's more of a coming-of-age story. The blood and gore isn't excessive as director Alfredson is more interested in touching emotional chords. The story unfolds gradually and this slow pace may prove maddening for some viewers, but this rare blend of art house and horror is both entertaining and unusually affecting.

"Doubt can be a bond as powerful and sustaining as certainty. When you are lost, you are not alone."

Written and directed by John Patrick Shanley, Doubt - an expert screen adaptation of Shanley's own Pulitzer Prize and Tony Award winning play - is a complex and uneasy moral thriller shaped by words and characters that relays a story of doubt and certainty in direct conflict. This intellectually and emotionally fatiguing experience is a drama of the highest calibre which concerns a nun and a priest caught on opposite sides of an alleged scandal. This sets in motion an inquisition of morals, values, character, and faith - not just faith in God, but in themselves as well. It's also a tale that enters a moral quagmire from which it never fully emerges. Films often provide resolution and catharsis, but these are qualities rarely uncovered in real life situations, and this is mirrored in Shanley's screenplay. With enough dramatic meat to chew on for days, one is likely to finish watching Doubt pondering the plethora of evidence found within the movie but will be no closer to truth than any of the characters. With assured direction, a superior script, and staggering performances, Doubt isn't a comfortable experience, but it's certainly an engrossing one.

Set during the mid-60s at a Catholic School in New York, Doubt centres on the charismatic Father Flynn (Hoffman) and the strict, poisonous Sister Aloysius (Streep). When the naïve young Sister James (Adams) communicates to Sister Aloysius her guilt-inducing suspicions about the possibly inappropriate bond developing between Father Flynn and the school's sole African American child (Foster), the elder nun embarks on an unrelenting personal crusade to expose the truth. Without a single shred of evidence to corroborate her suspicions, Sister Aloysius locks in a battle of wills with Father Flynn as his sanctity and integrity as a priest is brought into question. Based on merely circumstantial evidence and her innate distrust of Flynn, Sister Aloysius first obliquely then directly accuses him of sexually abusing the boy.

The fundamental question at the core of Doubt relates to the nature of the relationship between Father Flynn and Donald Miller (the African American boy). There are several possibilities, and Shanley supplies evidence to support virtually every one of them. Shanley doesn't stack the deck and, crucially, he refuses to present the definitive truth. (Would anyone expect anything different from a movie titled Doubt?) The picture is also set in an era when priests were trusted implicitly but during which such trust was abused in certain cases (according to court cases, news reports, etc).

Lensed with arresting autumnal weight by cinematographer Roger Deakins, Doubt generates an overpowering religious grip immediately, taking the viewer into a Catholic church divided where the line of power was drawn only by gender. Shanley's feature is thinly plotted and is marred by the occasional narrative lull, but it's nonetheless enthralling. Doubt asks a simple question: did Flynn molest the boy? Writer-director Shanley employs the hook of curiosity to keep an audience riveted as the script examines the bigger picture, tackling the responsibility of power and the struggle of faith. This is packaged elegantly, but not easily. Shanley is wise enough to keep building up apprehension as Aloysius insists herself further into the fray, and while Flynn guards his innocence with less power and more desperation as the conclusion draws nearer (an ending which presents new and enduring conundrums).

"You just want things to be resolved so you can have simplicity back."

Red herrings are plentiful in Doubt. Sharp framing as well as other sly cinematic devices are employed to spawn an aura of suspicion surrounding everything. Curiosity is piqued, creating a feeling of discomfort in which the viewer questions every little detail. What did that facial expression mean? Why did that character say that the way he said it? Different viewers can process this information in different ways and reach a different conclusion. This is the beauty of the screenplay and the masterful acting - it does not dictate, but instead asks each viewer to draw their own conclusions. Some may call this approach unsatisfying and manipulative...this reviewer calls it brilliant. Doubt does falter in one aspect, however. Religious allegories are overused, and eventually become intrusive. For instance, Aloysius' light bulb dies during a verbal gladiatorial match and the weather radically changes from time to time.

The world of Doubt is excellently enclosed, and separate from goings-on beyond the boundaries of this Catholic School. With a few minor exceptions, the film plays out entirely within this primary location. It certainly helps that production values are top-notch and the atmosphere is impeccably established. Deakins' cinematography is particularly mesmerising, while Howard Shore's brilliantly gentle, sparsely-used score is the icing on the cake. Shanley is skilled enough to ensure music is an ancillary device to generate power as well...the camerawork and the stellar cast are his primary tools.

Father Flynn: You haven't the slightest proof of anything!
Sister Aloysius: "But I have my certainty! And armed with that, I will go to your last parish, and the one before that if necessary. I'll find a parent."

To say the acting in Doubt is first-rate could be perceived as an insult; the work here is perfection. This is a showcase for the four main actors, all of which were nominated for Academy Awards.
Doubt features yet another superlative performance courtesy of Meryl Streep. The actress always takes the time to understand every character she plays. As Sister Aloysius, Streep is in fine form. She vanishes into her role, and everything - including posture, body language, mannerisms, physical appearance, accent, etc - is nailed by the award-winning actress. Philip Seymour Hoffman is one of the very few actors capable of holding his own in a scene with Streep, and that's precisely what he does. His portrayal of Father Flynn is strong and self-assured, displaying compassion and depth while his characterisation also keeps us wondering. Streep and Hoffman in particular make the film's runtime fly by with their spellbinding vocal combat, yet the interactions involving the supporting cast are equally mesmeric.

Caught in the middle of the verbal battle between the two protagonists is Amy Adams as Sister James. Shanley extracts a truly remarkable performance from Adams. Her role is less showy and more subdued, displaying credible wisdom and despair. The fourth brilliant performance is that of Viola Davis, who is simply a marvel during her 10-minute appearance. She plays the extremely minor role of Donald Miller's mother with such courage and candour that she changes the complexion of the story during the course of ten minutes.

Doubt is a powerful, provocative motion picture...undoubtedly one of the greatest movies of 2008. Vehemently a cautionary tale, it warns of the dangers of blindly following unsupported assumptions as well as displaying the serious outcomes of following such assumptions. Those who enjoy moral dramas not wrapped up in absolutes will adore mulling over what they've seen; ultimately unable to determine the best conclusion. Writer-director John Patrick Shanley's goal was to foster doubt, and he has succeeded tremendously.

Not another shallow Hollywood movie. [This is a real tagline! Both the tagline and the title are spot-on!]

If Judd Apatow is the Jesus of modern cinematic comedy, Jason Friedberg and Aaron Seltzer are the Anti-Christ. Disaster Movie, the latest Friedberg/Seltzer "effort", is not only the worst film of 2008 (dethroning the pair's own Meet the Spartans for the dubious honour), but it's also a contender for the worst film in history! Yet another bottom-feeding cash-grab that exploits current events, takes cheap-shots at pop culture and ridicules recent movies, Disaster Movie is obnoxiously unfunny, poorly-paced, cheap, stupid garbage which defiles the very medium of cinema. If peeking into the toilet after taking a dump makes you laugh at least a little, you'll have double the entertainment value that's provided by this excruciating spoof. The title is indeed unbelievably ironic, especially when it comes to the Unrated "Cataclysmic Edition" (it's actually called that, honest!) which manages to be marginally worse than the theatrical cut.

In a nod to Cloverfield (I think), Will (Lanter) endeavours to save his ex-girlfriend Amy (Minnillo) while their city is being hit by asteroids and maybe being attacked by a monster... (A tornado even makes an appearance. Maybe they were trying to parody Twister?) For his quest, Will is joined by his friend Calvin (G. Thang), Calvin's girlfriend Lisa (Kardashian), and (for absolutely no reason) a Juno imitator (Flanagan). Eventually the plot transforms into Indiana Jones when a Crystal Skull randomly enters the equation...apparently it's the cause of this Armageddon and it has to be returned to its cushion to end the rampant destruction (seriously, the film is so low-budget that the skull rests on a fucking cushion).

As you've probably ascertained from the (very short) story outline, there isn't much to Disaster Movie. It's a five-minute-long story pumped up to 75 gruelling minutes, using the same ol' tired formula to pad out the runtime. Granted, the plot doesn't matter in a spoof movie, but there needs to be something funny going on (Airplane!, The Naked Gun! and Top Secret! are examples of spoofs with a shallow plot but are made enjoyable with constant clever laughs). In Disaster Movie there is not a single mildly amusing gag to behold. Practically the whole film involves Will's group watching someone from a movie or from popular culture being imitated while something colossally unfunny goes down. If you've endured the prior instalments of this horrific "Movie" franchise, you know the formula: introduce a character who has no reason to be there, make a joke, overexplain the joke through close-ups and dialogue clarification, and then introduce a predictable gag to get rid of this character (Hancock flies upwards into a street light, Indiana Jones swings out of a conveniently-placed window, and so on). Friedberg and Seltzer cling to this simplicity for dear life. Words do not exist in the English language to express how bad and agonisingly unfunny Disaster Movie truly is.

The title would likely lead one to believe that this flick is actually a spoof of, you know, disaster movies. Of course, it'd be stupid to think such a thing (about as stupid as deciding to watch this train wreck). Friedberg and Seltzer instead do precisely what they did for Date Movie, Epic Movie, and Meet the Spartans - they spoof unrelated blockbusters and reference pop culture regardless of how it fits into the title concept. Thus the movie provides imitators of Iron Man, Batman, Hellboy, the Incredible Hulk, Beowulf, Juno, Hancock, Indiana Jones, Prince Caspian, the Superbad guys, the kids from High School Musical, the gals from Sex in the City and more, which are blended with spoofs of Wanted, The Day After Tomorrow, Night at the Museum, Cloverfield, 10,000 BC and The Love Guru (and more) before mixing in Justin Timberlake, Amy Winehouse, American Gladiators, the Macbook Air, Facebook and Hannah Montana. God, even Michael Jackson shows up! This nonsense is brought to life using downright illiterate filmmaking. Sadly, none of this spoofing results in anything even remotely funny. Laughs are non-existent, and nearly every scene suffers from repulsive slapstick humour or primitive dialogue. Whether it's an Amy Winehouse lookalike burping for about a minute, Dr. Phil trying to get laid at a party, the Hulk losing his pants or a Juno wannabe beating a male Carrie Bradshaw, the list of dire moments is endless.

When Seltzer and Friedberg run out of movie trailers to quote, they toss in some really long and utterly pointless scenes to extend the film to its contractually mandated minimum runtime. One particularly painful sequence rips off Alvin and the Chipmunks and is bloated with three songs before they go rabid and gnaw on our heroes' balls. This abovementioned sequence could be the worst five minutes in cinematic history. There are countless moments, including the High School Musical dance number and the Kung Fu Panda fight, during which I temporarily departed from my physical body and entered a sort of limbo for an indefinite period of time before re-entering my skin and thinking "It's still going?". At least this Fresh Hell breaks at the 75-minute mark (not counting the fucking woeful closing credits, which are played over an incompetent song & dance sequence as well as a bunch of boring outtakes). As this tosh plays out, there's a cast one genuinely pities. Their performances once again lower the bar - each joke is poorly delivered, and all that's missing is a corny wink.

No longer housed at Fox, and taking up residence at the much smaller Lionsgate, Friedberg and Seltzer worked with less backing here. The lack of budget is highly evident as this slapdash motion picture looks as if it was filmed on a vacated condo. The picture looks enormously amateurish, with pathetically inept versions of Iron Man, Batman and the Hulk. Alvin and the Chipmunks are turned into dime-store hand puppets and Kung Fu Panda is a man in a cheap fluffy costume that a usual costume shop would be embarrassed to stock. There's an obvious allergy to special effects as well, leaving inert spoofs of Night at the Museum and 10,000 BC looking bizarre and conceptually embarrassing.

Disaster Movie is godawful. It's not deep or profound or memorable or even slightly entertaining, and it caters to the lowest common denominator. To Jason Friedberg and Aaron Seltzer, all one needs in order to make a great spoof is a list of summer blockbusters and a subscription to a monthly gossip magazine. With a continuous stream of pop culture icons stepping in front of the camera to say their name before either farting, burping or getting crushed by something, creativity is at an all-time low. Portraying Amy Winehouse as a sabre-toothed alcoholic is not funny. Saying Sarah Jessica Parker looks like a man is not funny. Puerile beyond all comprehension, the only thing this dross gets correct is the title. A horrific waste of time, money and oxygen, Disaster Movie is unquestionably the worst movie I've ever subjected myself to (coming from someone who has endured multiple Uwe Boll films). Fortunately, the film flopped in America (only $14 million domestically), meaning we might - might - be spared of further spoofs.

"Jerry Shaw, you have been activated. Your compliance is vital."

Initially conceived by Steven Spielberg over a decade prior to its eventual release, Eagle Eye is a highly derivative action-thriller that combines WarGames, Nick of Time and Enemy of the State. Spielberg was originally attached to direct the movie, but was compelled to surrender the position due to scheduling issues. D.J. Caruso instead took the helm (with Spielberg serving as executive producer), reuniting with star Shia LeBeouf after their collaboration on 2007's Disturbia. Caruso drew inspiration from Alfred Hitchcock for Disturbia, but it appears Caruso doesn't wish to follow in Hitchcock's footsteps after all...with Eagle Eye, it seems he's vying for the title of the next Michael Bay. This is a big-budget, explosive Hollywood blockbuster filled with everything except common sense and believability. Caruso has designed an actioner that discards logic, physics, and reason to generate a nonsensical blur of hyper-stylised explosions and overclocked jabs at tension. An implausible action film beset with the type of visual diarrhoea typically associated with Jerry Bruckheimer and Michael Bay, Eagle Eye is smart in concept but overproduced and absurd in execution. It's certainly entertaining, but be sure to leave your cranial luggage at the door.

The story centres on amiable slacker Jerry Shaw (LeBeouf) and single mother Rachel Holloman (Monaghan). Following the funeral for his recently-deceased twin brother, Jerry discovers his bank account stuffed with thousands of dollars and his little apartment packed with a wealth of terrorist equipment...and federal agents are on their way. Contacting him on his cell phone is a mysterious female voice (an uncredited Julianne Moore) with specific instructions for his escape. With a bang, Jerry is off and running for his life, soon crossing paths with the frightened Rachel as they're guided through a series of perilous situations. The voice on the other end of the phone line can not only control Jerry's phone connection, but seemingly every other piece of technology on the planet as well...

From there, Eagle Eye is one long hyperkinetic chase across the country. The film starts with great promise with its first act introducing plenty of intrigue, passable characterisations and a few pulse-quickening developments. Yet things rapidly crumble as soon as the central plot twist is finally revealed. Once the identity of the female caller is disclosed, Eagle Eye takes a massive nosedive. Needless to say, the actual 'Eagle Eye' of the movie isn't as fearsome or as devious as it should be...it's laughable. The motive is even more unbelievable. Eagle Eye tests a viewer's tolerance for enduring blundering stupidity when the payoff is hardly worth the wait. Director Caruso does an acceptable job of attempting to hide the script's stupidity by keeping the pace fast and furious. In reality, though, the chase sequences are pointless as they never advance the plot - the characters are mice on a treadmill, endlessly running but not getting anywhere. Did Caruso truly think the fast pace would prevent someone from realising the sheer absurdity of the story?

The premise hinges on our advanced world of mobile phones and surveillance cameras, and how this invasion of privacy could be used against us by any force, be it friend or foe. The brain-dead screenplay - stitched together by a quartet of writers - plays on the fears of a post-9/11 society made skittish by the government's increased intrusion into private communications. Jerry & Rachel are pestered by an assortment of mundane technologies, such as electronic billboards and GPS systems, as they're pushed and pulled in various directions while always being closely watched. It's a chilling thought.

Artificial Intelligence is a primary part of the premise as well. However, we've seen movies warning us of the dangers of Artificial Intelligence before, one of which even starred Shia LeBeouf (2004's I, Robot). The plot even seems to borrow countless ideas from Stanley Kubrick's 2001: A Space Odyssey. Perhaps ten years ago when Spielberg conceived the story, the film's message would've been somewhat timely. All these years later, however, it's merely a trite reiteration. It's a shame Spielberg's story was on the backburner for so long.

The key flaw of Eagle Eye (one of several) is not difficult to discern. If an entity has the ability to access and control all networked computers and electronic devices worldwide, why does it need a couple of humans to do its bidding? Furthermore, if it chooses to use them, why send these humans on an unbelievably long and convoluted wild goose chase when the same end could be accomplished more simply? This large issue is impossible to be ignored by anyone who allows a thought to pass through their mind while watching the flick. The word "preposterous" is too moderate to describe Eagle Eye as it contains barely a single mildly plausible moment. For instance, somehow a computer system can remotely disconnect power lines! Ripples in a coffee cup are even monitored in order to listen to a conversation at one stage. The film commences on a ridiculous note as well. For said opening, a spy plane in the Middle East spots a suspected terrorist leader and military computers calculate there's a mere 51% probability it's the guy they're looking for. Instead of waiting for the suspect to head back out into open spaces, they bomb an entire village and kill hundreds of civilians! Eagle Eye is aimed at the brain-dead and the catatonic.

With its contrived message about the dangers of modern technology, Eagle Eye could easily be misinterpreted as an understated, intelligent thriller. Instead, it's an action fiesta. Caruso, who hadn't previously directed a pure action film, feels confident enough here to try a plethora of big-budget stunts. Unfortunately, the Disturbia director isn't interested in breaking new ground - instead he sets up a formulaic game of cat-and-mouse, stealing from the Michael Bay book of blow-'em-ups to lazily engage the audience. Caruso manages to pull off a perfect imitation of a Bay action flick, complete with the irritating, pointless shaky cam technique which wastes potentially interesting stunts by failing to film them correctly. Caruso lacks both the instincts and the subtlety to engage an audience using this technique as he simply shakes the camera for no reason other than to disorient a viewer. Happily, though, a great deal of the stunt sequences were executed with very little CGI. The pace is also brisk and the suspense is admittedly nail-biting, even if the action grows tiresome.

As for the cast, Shia LeBeouf manages to hold his own as the hero at the core of the film. Yet the star continues to play characters within his comfort zone without ever truly testing his limits as an actor. In Eagle Eye, he's the same sort of character we've seen him play in such recent titles as Transformers and Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull. How boring. Michelle Monaghan's natural charisma is useful here, but she's predominantly forgettable. There's nothing wrong with her performance in particular...the problem is that she's just playing a bland, standard "girl in a Hollywood thriller" role. Monaghan was much better in the brilliant Kiss Kiss Bang Bang.
Billy Bob Thornton and Rosario Dawson appear to be on hand merely to pick up paychecks. It's particularly disappointing to see Thornton in such a thankless role considering his excellent work in recent years (Bad Santa, Monster's Ball, Sling Blade, etc). Michael Chiklis is mildly memorable as the Secretary of Defense, and Anthony Mackie is terrific when thrust into the spotlight for the climax.

Eagle Eye is a big disappointment, taking a topical subject and turning it into action tosh for an action-saturated market. It's comatose and predictable, not to mention it's also a facsimile of nearly every action film from the past decade (right down to a multitude of repetitive, zoom-happy car chases). The film shows all the earmarks of a once substantive script that was endlessly prodded and cut until all intelligence was wrung out of it. It's still possible to see the cautionary message it tries to convey, however - something about the danger of giving computers too much control. But this done-to-death topic has formed the fulcrum of countless sci-fi stories over the years, like the Terminator series, The Matrix, and WALL-E (arguably 2008's best movie). Admittedly, though, the constant action is well staged and somewhat exhilarating, and the whole production is slickly produced. It remains an enjoyable guilty pleasure guaranteed to satiate action fans as it packs quite a wallop. So really, it's not awful - it's just empty-headed.

"Nobody knows this mall better than I do."

Prepubescent twelve-year-olds who laugh at well-worn fat jokes may be amused by Paul Blart: Mall Cop. Those of us with decent taste in comedies, on the other hand, can happily avoid the obnoxious, laugh-free antics of an overweight misfit security guard and his mall-dwelling compatriots. Kevin James, who starred alongside Adam Sandler in the abysmal I Now Pronounce You Chuck and Larry, rides solo in this shockingly amateurish and single-note action-comedy for which the main star also co-wrote and co-produced. The movie - a curious amalgam of Home Alone and Die Hard - clearly has one consistent strategy: capitalising on Kevin James' adeptness at hurling around his sizable bulk. Pardon the expression, but this is an extremely slim approach. Witless, slow and tonally uneven, Paul Blart: Mall Cop merely offers a blend of painfully predictable slapstick comedy, tacky sentiment, and over-the-top action.

The premise ostensibly spoofs Die Hard, with bumbling hypoglycaemic security guard Paul Blart (James) as the "man on the inside" who's forced to defend a New Jersey mall on Black Friday when a group of high-tech thieves seize control and take hostages. Paul rides around on a Segway, whereas the (acrobatic) thieves navigate the shopping centre on skateboards for no real reason apart from the fact that twelve-year-olds - who clearly represent the target demographic of this dire PG-rated endeavour - tend to like them. Prior to this takeover, Paul sets his eye on Amy (Mays), who staffs one of the new mall kiosks. Predictably and inevitably, she's among the hostages who are taken, which prompts the obese security guard to devise creative ways to defeat the bad guys (who, fortunately, only appear to carry guns when they have no opportunity to shoot at him).

Paul Blart: Mall Cop is what Die Hard might have been like if John Candy was the star. There's some good energy once the actual robbery plot takes centre stage, but it's tough to accept Paul's sudden transition to John McClane since the bumbling idiot never does anything right until the shit hits the fan. The movie dwells far too long on Paul's self-loathing tendencies as well as his vain attempts at trying to win over Amy before the story finally rouses to life. Roughly half an hour is allotted to adequately establishing Paul's character, as well as his delusions of grandeur (he rides his Segway like it's his stallion, he takes the mall gig way too seriously) and how little respect he commands (evident in the run-in with an old man in a wheelchair). Yet this set-up is awfully dull, and Paul is a mundane character who frankly isn't worth spending time with. He could be established in less than half the time to the same effect. Not to mention the attributes intended to make Paul a "lovable loser" are either creepy or genuinely sad. The actual heist is overflowing with fat jokes, predictable pratfalls and forced dialogue as Paul taps into his inner Bruce Willis to save the day. The movie eventually ends with a Home Alone-style resolution, with the S.W.A.T. team and the cops bundled outside due to some silly plot devices, and Paul left alone with a mall full of resources to thwart the baddies.

To slow the pacing tenfold, the film continually depicts Paul becoming entangled in ridiculous situations that go too far in an attempt to generate cheap laughs. For instance, Paul is at one stage called to the Victoria's Secret store to resolve a conflict between two women fighting over the shop's last push-up bra. There are several funny ways the conflict could go down, but the film elects the annoying one - Paul ends up engaging in physical combat with an overweight woman (whose shirt is even removed during the conflict for "comedic" effect).

There's a predictable reliance on tedious fat jokes as well. Annoyingly and bafflingly, the film asks us to laugh jeeringly at Paul's weight regularly while also demanding us to feel bad for the poor guy when people ridicule him for his weight. This is a very poor proposal. The film's worst scenes are those that attempt to milk humour from Paul's weight. See the fat man competing in a nacho eating competition! See the fat man trying to play a video game (which requires physical activity) and failing!

Given its setting (a particularly ironic location considering current economic woes), Paul Blart: Mall Cop could've been comfortably retitled Product Placement: The Movie as product placement is worked into nearly every shot. It's as if production placement is the sole reason why the flick was green-lit because it certainly wasn't green-lit for the dire jokes. Directed by Steve Carr, who's responsible for many flavourless family films (Daddy Day Care, Are We Done Yet?), Paul Blart: Mall Cop is a lazy, sloppily created comedy. The editing is so shoddy that there are glaring gaps in the action, such as a chase sequence that begins in the mall before suddenly and inexplicably winding up on the roof. The schmaltz gets laid on pretty thick too. The "Blart is sad" scenes are underscored with shamelessly treacly music.

The flick was shot at Burlington Mall near Boston, and apparently the mall was not shut down for particular scenes. During these scenes, real people walked and shopped, and sometimes the director had to cut when some of the passers-by became curious and stared into the camera. The film crew and the Extreme Sports athletes may have taken control of the mall, but they can't commandeer the movie...this is Kevin James' film. The actor possesses an affable Teddy Bear charm, but he'll need stronger material if he's going to make the leap from TV star to movie star without needing a bigger name co-star beside him.

The romantic element of the feature misfires majorly - the character of Amy is one-dimensional, and Jayma Mays' acting is consistently lacklustre. Kevin James tries to make this fraction of the story work, but clichéd, predictable writing and a dubious choice for the female lead ultimately handicap it. The supporting performances are blander than vanilla, though some of the stunt work is at least visually impressive (if unnecessary).

Paul Blart: Mall Cop is a juvenile movie designed for a juvenile audience which doesn't offer much beyond the expected. For its January 2009 release, the film became an unexpected hit despite competing with Oscar bait at the box office (far surpassing expectations). Audiences were probably enraptured by the film on release due to the promise of slapstick humour and family-friendly laughs. It's a shame the gags aren't actually funny, though. It's also a shame that it fails to be something more than a collection of glaringly foreseeable gags and some uncomfortable moral lessons about standing up for yourself. Admittedly and surprisingly, however, Paul Blart: Mall Cop is curiously watchable and somewhat appealing, and these factors save it from hopeless disaster.

"Nobody calls Han Solo a bitch!"

From the outset, Fanboys wears its Star Wars fandom visibly on its sleeve, right down to a familiar opening scroll that's even prefaced with the title "A short time ago in a galaxy not so far, far away..." Immediately, it's obvious you're dealing with passionate fans, and that the experience to follow will be endearing, goofy and fun. Shot in 2006 before subsequently becoming the victim of a heated post-production war, Fanboys at long last rises out of Harvey Weinstein's dust-laden vault to satiate the devoted who hoped to one day enjoy this carousel of Star Wars references and male bonding humour. The makers of Fanboys aimed to provide a love letter to fanboys and fangirls worldwide - i.e. to those who devote themselves to an aspect of pop culture and often endure ridicule for their passion. Unfortunately, while this tribute to fandom has its moments of sheer brilliance, it is primarily a conventional road trip feature that doesn't manage to rise above the standard for typical entries to the tired genre. There's a selection of very funny moments and sly references, but it ultimately ends up feeling clichéd and shallow. In the hands of more adept storytellers, this could have been a far deeper, more thoughtful movie.

Fanboys is set in 1998, and the countdown to the highly anticipated release of Star Wars Episode One: The Phantom Menace is intensifying. The story tracks a group of Ohio's biggest Star Wars fans - Eric (Huntington), Linus (Marquette), Hutch (Fogler) and Windows (Baruchel) - who live and breathe everything Star Wars and believe six months is too long to wait for the prequel. Three of these protagonists are also stuck in perpetual adolescence: they work in a comic book store, still live at home and are hopeless with the opposite sex. As for the fourth protagonist, he has grown up and works at his father's successful business. However an awkward reunion at a Halloween party reignites these old friendships. When it's revealed that Linus is dying of cancer and won't live long enough to witness the premiere of The Phantom Menace, the boys devise a plan to travel to the Skywalker Ranch in San Francisco where they'll break in and steal an unfinished copy of the much-anticipated flick...

See, since this is set before George Lucas released the dire prequels, these guys genuinely believe the new Star Wars film will be worth all the trouble...

It's fair to say that The Weinstein Company, who distributed Fanboys, treated the film abominably. It was originally due to be released in late 2007, but reshoots, re-edits, and marketing uncertainty forced the release date to shift multiple times before it was finally dumped into a small number of theatres in February 2009. Fanboys was beset with controversy because the Weinsteins re-edited the movie in order to eliminate the subplot about Linus being terminally ill. It'd be interesting to find out how close the film's theatrical cut is to director Kyle Newman's original vision, especially considering that Stephen Brill (the guy behind Without a Paddle) conducted the reshoots of which Newman took absolutely no part in.

As for the cancer subplot, it gives the plot momentum and it provides the characters with further motivation. However, the fact that it could be so easily excised indicates how little it is actually touched on. Linus never talks about his sickness, and he rarely even seems sick. His cancer is only mentioned at the beginning before resurfacing once the film begins to wind down. There's a lot of potential here that's never fully realised. Newman and the writers tread lightly around the subject of mortality and the real reason for this cross-country adventure. They instead maintain a light tone, keeping the focus on pop culture references as well as the wacky situations the characters become entangled in while on the road.

It's probably best to consider Fanboys an affectionate ode to the adventure of geekdom, and how pure the feeling of Star Wars idolatry was back in 1998 (before the Jedi nation was forever divided upon the release of The Phantom Menace). Fanboys plays out more or less as one would expect from a road trip picture. The characters interact, meet quite a number of strange people, and reach their destination only after some unexpected detours. Like most movies of this ilk, there are segments of the film that work better than others. One of the better scenes depicts Hutch taking a detour in order to go to Captain Kirk's Iowa hometown and harass some rabid Star Trek fans. In fact, the Star Wars vs. Star Trek war rages on throughout the course of Fanboys (fairly ironic in 2009, as the latter franchise just became cool again thanks to a big-budget revival). This particular subplot is the film's finest touch, permitting the two rival factions to slap each other around for a number of good laughs.
The characters' final arrival at Skywalker Ranch - complete with ninja outfits, grappling hooks and Star Wars props galore - is a fitting finale that suits the movie's silly, warm-hearted tone.

Most of the characters are treated merely as caricatures, defined only by their obsession and complete inability to relate to anyone outside of their small, insular circle of fan-friends. Not to mention the film is also overflowing with clichés. The dialogue is admittedly quite flat at times, and the raunchiness is tame (due to the docile PG-13 rating). Fanboys could have used some Kevin Smith or Judd Apatow-style moments to increase the laugh quota and make it a tad more daring. The dialogue is even so clichéd that towards the end, after their quest is over, Linus explains "It was never about the movie..." How's that for subtlety?

The filmmakers certainly do an excellent job of honouring fandom. The extensive list of cameos is very impressive, and there are endless Star Wars references. In terms of cameos, there's Danny Trejo, Kevin Smith, Jason Mewes, Danny McBride, Ethan Suplee and even William Shatner (whose appearance is hysterical). Seth Rogen even appears, playing not one but three roles: a bucktoothed Trekkie, a Trek conventioneer dressed as a monster, and (most hilariously) a Las Vegas pimp! Amazing, Rogen steals the show from the lesser-known actors and manages to pull off actual characters rather than thinly veiled versions of himself. Star Wars alumni Billy Dee Williams and Carrie Fisher both make cameos, as well as Ray Park who's given a small role as a security guard at Skywalker Ranch. On top of this, scenes and situations from the original trilogy are even recreated. The obvious missing cameo is George Lucas, but the man did give the film his blessing. Consequently, familiar sound effects are used here and there as Lucas granted the filmmakers the rights to the Lucasfilm audio library.

Sam Huntington, Chris Marquette, Dan Fogler and Jay Baruchel all place forth energetic performances as the four protagonists. They're a very watchable gang. Meanwhile, the eternally-charming Kristen Bell makes an appearance as a geeky young girl who joins the boys for their quest. Her reappearance at the halfway point gives the picture a welcome jolt of life.

Fanboys is not a Phantom Menace-level disappointment, but it remains a generic comedy. On the other hand, it's a very enjoyable, fun flick, and the humour is occasionally quite clever. The final sequence is particularly apt - when our heroes are camped in lines outside a theatre for the premiere of The Phantom Menace. In this single scene the filmmakers manage to accurately capture the tremendous anticipation for this particular movie event as well as the dedication of the fans. This is followed by a sly last-minute jab at the quality of the first Star Wars prequel. These moments, as well as other isolated scenes, are pure brilliance within an otherwise by-the-numbers motion picture.

The film jokingly and affectionately makes fun of fanboy culture, employing clichés to build the characters as well as their circumstances. While only a few fans will see a replica of themselves in one of the protagonists, all those who identify with the label "fanboy" will almost certainly see some representation of their passion on the screen. Fanboys is just really good, fast-paced fun, and it's easy entertainment.

"If the Earth dies, you die. If you die, the Earth survives."

A botched, superfluous modernisation of Robert Wise's timeless science fiction gem of the same name, The Day the Earth Stood Still is an overdone and super-sized special effects extravaganza as well as a prime example of cinematic blasphemy. Instead of the 1950s mindset which pervaded the original feature (Cold War, fear of aliens, fear of nuclear attack), this remake has been resettled into a 21st century mindset (concentrating on environmental issues), and the result is a blockbuster poorly masquerading as an important "message" film. In the end it's extremely familiar, not just due to its nature as a remake but also because it's a fundamental duplicate of every global disaster/alien epic from the past decade (from Independence Day to The Day After Tomorrow to Deep Impact). The Day the Earth Stood Still is a CGI-laden retread chock full of clichés and stock characters (government officials, frazzled scientists, a kid etc.). Both the director (Scott Derrickson) and the main star (Keanu Reeves) of this remake are self-proclaimed fans of the 1951 original, but their collaboration is utterly soulless. Worse, The Day the Earth Stood Still lacks the simplicity, elegance and intelligence of the earlier film, employing special effects and pointless action scenes to replace passages of dialogue.

Following barely a few minutes of generic character development, Astrobiologist Helen Benson (Connelly) is abruptly plucked from her everyday life when the American Government summons a group of scientists for a top-secret matter. As it turns out, an object from outer space is on a collision course with Earth and the point of impact is projected to be Central Park in Manhattan. The object turns out to be a massive glowing sphere, and from it emerges an alien ambassador named Klaatu (Reeves) who assumes human form to communicate with the citizens of Earth. Klaatu is interrogated by United States Government officials, and he reveals that he has an important message for the planet but will only speak to the United Nations. He is denied of this, however, and goes on the run with Helen and her stepson (Smith) as the fate of the planet gradually becomes clear.

The Day the Earth Stood Still opens in 1928 and attempts to establish some back-story that was absent from the original movie. During this opening sequence, a nameless character portrayed by Keanu Reeves is shown on an expedition on a blizzard-infested mountain in India and stumbles upon a glowing sphere. This scene ostensibly serves the purpose of explaining how Klaatu looks a lot like Reeves in his human form. You see, apparently modern audiences are unable to use their imagination to figure out why an alien would resemble a human. But not knowing Klaatu's origins in the 1951 movie generated an effective, intriguing mystery. On top of this, the landing of the sphere in Central Park in this remake lacks the emotional charge as well as the jaw-dropping nature that Wise captured so excellently all those decades earlier. In the original film, there was a far greater feeling of confusion and excitement during Klaatu's arrival, but this is hopelessly lost here as Hollywood excess is in full display, showing the re-imagined Gort emerging from the glowing sphere. Neither the sphere nor the larger Gort are as impressive as their simplistic counterparts from over fifty years ago. Most disappointingly, The Day the Earth Stood Still lacks unique, defining imagery.

After a strong, fast-paced beginning (albeit with zero characterisation), the flick veers off course throughout its second half with clichéd "character building" sequences, pointless pyrotechnics, and a lot of running around in the backwoods of New Jersey. Klaatu is given inane abilities, such as being able to interfere with technology and the ability to revive dead people. As the film draws to a close, clichés are in abundance. The ending is also extremely rushed and unsatisfying, as well as lacking the ominous and downbeat warning of its predecessor. Another of its major crimes is displaying nations using stereotypes. The film is ambitious in scale, unsuccessful in execution. Australia is shown briefly, for instance...the postcard-style image depicts a couple overlooking the Sydney Harbour Bridge and the Sydney Opera House. London also looks as if it's stuck in the '50s! Egypt and Middle-Eastern countries are shown as primitive civilisations who ride camels. In addition, the main action taking place in New York is an inexcusable cliché. It's as if Roland Emmerich directed the flick!

The original film offered an anti-war message - the human race needed to be eliminated in the flick because advanced weaponry posed a threat to alien worlds. Back in 1951, a handful of years after World War II, the message was timely. In 2008, global warming has become a major issue and it's addressed in this remake. Klaatu states his case for genocide: Earth is too valuable to allow its indigenous human population to destroy it, and therefore humans must be eliminated. The Day the Earth Stood Still conveys the message that humans are destroying Earth with industrialisation, cars and our thirst for electricity, but these messages are merely a plot device. Frustratingly, The Day the Earth Stood Still could be successfully updated to suit contemporary issues, but, with the story traded in for special effects, this remake is just an uninspired mockery of Robert Wise's original film. What a wasted opportunity!

The Day the Earth Stood Still is technically proficient with some terrific special effects, fantastic cinematography, and a pulse-pounding score. But all of the Hollywood magic on display cannot hide the fact that the entire film lacks soul and fails to engage on an emotional level. The effects themselves are hit-and-miss, mind you. The giant alien spheres are stunning to behold, and the large swarms of bugs are spectacular, but most of the effects integrated with the real actors look quite weak. Anything involving Gort looks absurd, and he's the film's least convincing visual element. Most of the big "money shots" (there are a lot) were used in the trailers as well, so you won't be missing much if you skip the movie. Surprisingly, Peter Jackson's Weta Workshop worked on the project. It's a shame that this is one of their most subpar efforts.

The film works better when it focuses on the drama involving the protagonists as this is when a viewer feels most engaged. Unfortunately, though, once Klaatu changes his view on humankind's potential to transform itself, it's unconvincingly motivated and it seems like the aliens didn't even do their homework before deciding to eliminate the human race.

The famous quote from the original Day the Earth Stood Still - "Klaatu barada nicto" - has become a cult sci-fi phrase over the years, held in the same esteem as "May the Force be with you" (from Star Wars) and "Live long and prosper" (from Star Trek). This remake of The Day the Earth Stood Still apparently contains these beloved words, but they're irritatingly inaudible.

Keanu Reeves is emotionless and wooden, as befitting a naïve humanoid alien not accustomed to a human body. Considering his impassive acting style, Reeves is a decent choice for the role of Klaatu, but his performance isn't anything special and lacks a requisite zing. Jennifer Connelly is merely serviceable in the fairly thankless role of Helen Benson. She's not memorable, and all the emotion she attempts to bring to the role barely registers.
Jaden Smith (Will Smith's son) appears as a child who's a frequent source of irritation. Jaden's performance is fine, but his character is a stereotype - an infuriating stereotype as well. He starts out as the stepson of a woman he calls Helen, but by the end the two have bonded and he refers to his stepmother as "Mom". Along the way he's on hand to be a general pain in the arse.
Veteran actress Kathy Bates also chews up a few scenes as the Secretary of Defense. John Cleese, however, makes the biggest impression, delivering the best performance in the film in what amounts to a mere cameo. Cleese's character presents an impassioned case to Klaatu, telling him why humankind should be given a second chance.

In order for a remake to be successful, it has to traverse a difficult path. It must honour the original while bringing something fresh, interesting and intelligent to the project. This remake of The Day the Earth Stood Still fails a little in both categories. The need to be a CGI spectacle trumps the desire to be smart and thought-provoking, and this is detrimental. In the end it feels too much like a generic disaster feature not unlike those released during the last ten years. The Day the Earth Stood Still is certainly entertaining and technically extraordinary with acceptable performances, but it simply fails to connect emotionally and it's too shoddy to ever be considered a classic in its own right.

"She is the love of my life. And I am her spirit."

Prior to helming The Spirit, a screen adaptation of Will Eisner's comic book series, Frank Miller had scripted the woeful RoboCop III and had co-directed the extraordinary Sin City (with Robert Rodriguez). Merely a few minutes into The Spirit, it's agonisingly clear who the real cinematic talent behind Sin City was. Miller (himself a legend in the realm of graphic novels) directs solo for the first time for The Spirit, and the product is this definitive showcase of what can go wrong if a comic book artist seizes the reigns of a celluloid production. For Miller's directorial debut, the sense of visual style becomes so pervasive that it overwhelms everything else, especially (and most detrimentally) plot. Alas, the eye candy grows stale and repetitive, unlike Sin City which coupled the mind-blowing visuals with engaging, fast-paced stories. The visuals cannot be faulted in their execution, but there's little holding the film together - The Spirit is just pretty pictures connected with tin-eared dialogue and cardboard characters. Frank Miller deserves credit for being a comic book visionary, but - to quote Dirty Harry - a man's got to know his limitations. Due to the quality of this tosh, Miller may not direct a major studio film on his own ever again. The Spirit is a mess - it's hollow, directionless and self-indulgent. It seems that in order to keep a film tightly-plotted and well-paced, Miller needs a guiding hand.

The story takes place in the dreary, crime-riddled Central City. Denny Colt (Macht) was one of the metropolis' finest cops until he was killed in the line of duty before being reborn as the enigmatic masked avenger known as The Spirit. He's seemingly indestructible as his body regenerates upon sustaining injury, but the same is also true of his nemesis The Octopus (Jackson). The Octopus aims to wipe out The Spirit's beloved Central City while he also pursues the blood of Heracles which will make him immortal. Caught up in this battle is sultry jewel thief Sand Saref (Mendes) who shares a past with Denny Colt.

The Spirit simply has no idea what it wishes to be as it erratically veers across the tonal spectrum. Part neo-noir, part acid trip and part black comedy, this feature is like Dick Tracy, Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow, The Phantom, and the '60s Batman TV series rolled into one...but minus their respective charms. Goofy slapstick punctuates the action, and the gorgeous CGI-augmented visuals (which evoke Sin City) are at odds with the awful campy approach. Samuel L. Jackson as The Octopus wields a large pipe-wrench, traps The Spirit in a toilet (complete with a lame one-liner) and melts a cat down to a couple of eyeballs. There's a scene featuring Jackson and Scarlett Johansson dressed as Nazis - for absolutely no reason - that drags on for ten minutes straight, and The Octopus hates eggs. The guns resemble something out of the Looney Tunes as well! This is also a PG-13 film, meaning intense violence is out. If Miller had crafted either a hard-edged Sin City-esque noir or a straight-up campy parody, then The Spirit might've worked. As it is, this nonsense fails as a film noir, a comic book movie, and as a dark comedy.

In cinematically adapting Will Eisner's acclaimed comic book series, director Miller has opted to employ techniques similar to those that were used so effectively in Sin City - i.e. the majority of the film was shot in front of a green screen. By working with a digital set, Miller is able to craft a motion picture that looks almost identical to its comic book equivalent (even occasionally copying specific shots from the comic). There's a lot of computer generated imagery and animation here, with silhouettes and shadows playing a big part in the visual palette. The digital format suits the source material, allowing the filmmakers to combine the fantastical with gritty hyper-realism. However, the green screen noir visuals no longer sparkle as much as they did in Sin City; feeling imitative as opposed to innovative. It seems Miller is so focused on bloating his flick with one-note characters and stabs at slapstick that he neglects story and pacing. Consequently, there's no sense of forward momentum. The overacting, the bland story and Miller's tepid direction prevent pulses from speeding up as well. The visuals are impressive, but there's just no story to serve them. Scenes just happen, often with no clear beginning or end.

The dialogue is utterly atrocious, the acting is embarrassing, and the drama is corny to the point of laugh-inducing. And this kills any element of suspense or tension. There's a certain artistry in crafting crime dialogue, and Frank Miller has shown he can successfully pull off such dialogue as his Sin City graphic novels are perfect examples of the form. However, Miller's gifts aren't palpable while watching The Spirit. Lines such as "My city screams. She is my lover and I am her spirit" are delivered with gusto but sound awful. Admittedly, some of the levity is in place on purpose, but Samuel L. Jackson's over-the-top monologues probably aren't meant to be worthy of chortles. The Octopus is not sinister...he's silly! As for The Spirit...he's far too dull and personality-deficient to be able to hold together an entire movie. He's easily the least interesting of all the main characters, unfortunately. Miller uses roof-running as a substitute for action, and the film misses much of the quirky charm and humanity of the Will Eisner comic book series. Ultimately, this grossly mishandled adaptation lacks emotion and is hollow at its core. It's just plain boring.

The Spirit is a movie without a direction, a vision, or a definitive path - it's all over the place! Frank Miller is even unable to commit to a time period to set the film in. Characters look and dress as if they're living in the 1940s, and talk as if this is a Double Indemnity parody. They also drive classic automobiles straight out of the 40s. In addition, women run their own hospitals and perform complicated surgical procedures. Every office has a Xerox machine, ostensibly in order for Miller to concoct a scene in which Eva Mendes photocopies her rear end (bear in mind the Xerox machine wasn't invented until the 60s, conflicting with the 40s atmosphere). This eventually leads to a cheesy double entendre.

Gabriel Macht's performance, much like the film's tone, is all over the map. The blame should lay with the director rather than the actor in this case, though. He's a dark avenger one moment, a snappy-talking noir character the next. And he's always - always - monologuing! Miller aimed to bring all the comic book thought-balloons to life using constant monologues, but it gets very tired very fast. And as for Samuel L. Jackson playing The Octopus...he has never been hammier.
At the other end of the spectrum are the femme fatales, all of which are attractive but vapidly performed. There's an almost unrecognisable Scarlett Johansson as The Octopus's number one henchman, and Eva Mendes as a bad girl obsessed with shiny things.

2008 was an above-average year for comic book movies (Iron Man, The Dark Knight) until The Spirit reared its ugly head. The critics had a right to pound this one into the ground. While Miller's directorial debut is watchable on account of a few rousing scenes (the initial five minutes foster the false impression that greatness will ensue) and technical competency, the negatives far outweigh the positives. Miller simply lacks the chops as a filmmaker to handle a motion picture on his own. The Spirit is indefensible; a ridiculous mishmash of random, disconnected scenes and boring speeches. The action lacks excitement, the humour is too campy, and the drama is half-baked. Stick with Sin City.

"In seven days, God created the world. And in seven seconds, I shattered mine."

Every frame of director Gabriele Muccino's Seven Pounds feels manipulatively engineered for one purpose: tear-jerking. On an emotional level, one could decree that this motion picture is satisfying as it indeed contains powerful moments. Yet on an intellectual level, the film is disappointingly shallow as it shamelessly defies logic with ridiculous plot contrivances and unconvincing character behaviour. Seven Pounds is a strange little movie - it's part romance fable, part maudlin study in grief and part puzzle, and it visibly hopes to grab the attention of the Oscar committee. The film is intended to be somewhat depressing in order to move on an emotional level, but as a result of the deliberate pacing and the hollow core (seriously, what was the point of the movie?) it's ultimately a depressing, notoriously unenjoyable cinematic snooze-fest. Seven Pounds suffers from being too earnest and sentimental as well as overdone and grim...even when it's supposed to lift our spirits. As a love story it's substandard and as a redemption story it's pretty ridiculous.

The basic story of Seven Pounds, beyond the narrative shuffle and existential pondering, is fairly interesting. But not much of this plotline can be revealed because the movie has been foolishly designed to make the most fundamental plot point a spoiler!
At its most rudimentary level, the story concerns IRS agent Ben Thomas (Smith) who sets out to help the lives of seven strangers in a journey of personal redemption. Flashbacks gradually reveal why Ben has become so bizarre and solitary, and divulge the true nature of Ben's mission. But all the narrative trickery and emotional manipulation only place Ben further out of the audience's reach as he moves through the plot like an indomitable Terminator devoid of palpable motivations. Seven Pounds is not easy to predict, but the ambiguity of Ben's quest erodes the effectiveness of the overall experience as Ben's enigmatic misery and unclear motivations trigger head-slapping frustration. Eventually the story grows stale and is unable to generate sufficient intrigue as the film progresses. With Ben's motives left in the dark until the end, not everyone will have the patience to stick with the film to learn the answer to its riddle.

Seven Pounds conveys its story in a non-linear and seemingly haphazard manner, confounding and confusing as a means to conceal the "twist" until the final act. Unfortunately, the filmmakers miss their mark - anyone with a brain will be able to decipher the film's final trajectory within the first thirty minutes (particularly because the movie commences with one of the last scenes). Probably the biggest problem is that it's impossible to easily accept Ben's behaviour. Guilt may be a powerful motivator and the quest for redemption can be obsessive, but Ben should pursue his objectives with more believable human behaviour patterns. As it is, his behaviour is downright silly (similar to a lot of the film's contrived proceedings).

By any standard, Ben Thomas is not a nice person. He invades the private lives of critically ill people and collects their personal information under false pretences. Ben runs little con games on these people before judging them, and this is both intrusive and morally dubious. On top of this, his unexpected relationship with Emily is dishonest - he refuses to divulge any information about himself. Seven Pounds also ignores the fact that meddling with the lives of strangers incurs responsibilities. At one point Ben gives his expensive beach house to an abused woman (Carillo) and her young children as a gesture of charity. Ben chooses this beneficiary on the basis of a few endorsements and a brief, unproductive meeting. It may seem like a nice gesture, but this would be doing more harm than good - the woman has no way of paying the taxes on the house, nor will she have money for the house's upkeep. She'll likely run into hassles with suspicious neighbours, lawyers, and perhaps even Ben's family. Chances are the house will be taken away from her, and Ben's gesture will be in vain. On top of this, in a symbolic, stupid subplot, Ben somehow acquires a box jellyfish (!) that lives in a tank filled with tap water (!!) until it's required for its intended purpose.

Here's the unforgivable problem: Ben forces his help on people without their consent or even their knowledge. He gives some of these people gifts that would be morally unacceptable under normal circumstances. Ben's selfless altruism is conceived on the basis of simple math: if you break seven bottles, you must replace the seven bottles. This is, of course, utter simplistic nonsense. One should act out of moral commitment as opposed to some crazy notion of guilt. But more importantly, the "terrible event" that haunts Ben's past was an accident. He was careless, yes, but no more culpable than any other person who does something foolish. Seven Pounds wraps up with a heart-wrenching (or at least they're supposed to be) series of overly mawkish soap-opera epiphanies. The last moment of the film, during which two people are seemingly drawn together by Ben's acts, is extremely tacky - sentimentally flawed and ethically questionable. Unfortunately, the first half of the movie hasn't earned the investment required for a big emotional finish as it's far too boring, and the ending falls flat.

This is Will Smith's second collaboration with director Gabriele Muccino (the brilliant Pursuit of Happyness being their first) who continually plies heavily dramatic performances from the actor who's famous for featuring in comedic roles. Smith is an accessible and likeable performer, but his charisma seems somewhat forced here...and he looks more constipated than tortured from time to time. Rosario Dawson, playing alongside Will Smith, is fairly credible and natural. But Dawson's character, a terminally ill yet full-of-life patient, is familiar in the cinematic realm of tear-jerkers, and it's hard to find something new to engage with. Woody Harrelson is given a small but crucial role here, and he's fairly memorable. Also look out for Barry Pepper who makes the most of his restricted screen-time.

Muccino and screenwriter Grant Nieporte clearly strived to create an uplifting motion picture, but in the long run Seven Pounds is uncomfortable and depressing. Although initially involving, the story's big reveal occurs too late, and even the most determined viewer will have trouble maintaining interest. Seven Pounds is more exasperating than riveting. While it's refreshing to behold a star vehicle that demands patience and attention, even an extremely enjoyable film needs to be succinct. Seven Pounds is an exercise in self-indulgence - it's a collage of melodramatic scenes (emotion is amplified by intrusive music during these scenes as well) followed by an ending that fails to deliver a big emotional payoff.

"We don't remember anything from last night. Remember?"

In the simplest of terms, The Hangover is flat-out hilarious and thoroughly entertaining. Directed by Todd Phillips (Old School, School for Scoundrels), this above-average comedy is endowed with a premise bursting with comedic possibilities...and just about every single one of these possibilities is exploited in highly hysterical and satisfying ways. With a brisk runtime of less than 100 minutes, The Hangover is furiously-paced and teeming with gags, and none of these gags are unnecessarily drawn out. In an age of overstuffed, excessively vulgar comedies, this flick is a breath of fresh air - a reassuring mixture of genuine wit and shrewd laughs within side-splitting vignettes. Yet this is also a skilful picture, blessed with an ingeniously-constructed narrative that manages to keep an audience engaged while taking full advantage of the gifted cast and their individual comedic mojo. Shot in fifteen days on a modest $35 million budget, The Hangover is one of 2009's best comedies, and the unexpected commercial success affirms this sentiment.

The Hangover centres on a group of four friends. Doug (Bartha) is due to be married in a few days, and travels to Las Vegas with his groomsmen for his bachelor party. Unfortunately, the night does not go according to plan...
Following a short set-up, the action commences when the trio of extremely hungover groomsmen wake up in the apocalyptic wreckage of their highly expensive hotel suite. There's a tiger in the bathroom, an abandoned baby in the closet, and a chicken on the loose. They have absolutely no memory of what happened during the night...and Doug, whose wedding is in 24 hours, is inexplicably missing. After this point, the film transforms into a twisted, unbelievably hilarious detective story as the three hapless men attempt to piece together the events of the previous evening, track down the missing groom, and get to the church on time.

On its surface, The Hangover doesn't seem overly brilliant or original since the "bachelor party gone wrong" scenario is a well-established comedy subgenre. However, a majority of the clichés are astutely avoided, mainly because the movie begins where most comedies of this ilk finish: in the aftermath of the crazy party. Skipping the gratuitous party scenes is not just clever, but it's also an intrinsic aspect of the narrative since (thanks to a self-administered drug that turns out to be Rohypnol - the date rape drug) the main characters are as oblivious to the events of the previous night as we are. Exhibiting an ingenuity one wouldn't expect from the guys also responsible for Four Christmases and Ghosts of Girlfriends Past, screenwriters Jon Lucas and Scott Moore supply one hilarious pay-off after another as the protagonists frantically scramble to retrace their steps in order to reconnect with the misplaced groom. This central mystery, and the genuine concern the guys harbour for the well-being of their friend, provides the film with an excellent, frenzied momentum.

Discovering evidence to suggest what random (and somewhat disconcerting) events occurred during the previous night generates a lot of the comedy (such evidence includes a used condom, a police car, etc). Hysterical vignettes (such as those featuring the hilarious Ken Jeong) and incredibly witty dialogue constitute a lot of the humour as well. There are also amusing references to Rain Man and A Beautiful Mind, but they aren't as funny as the inclusion of the clichéd notion that there's nothing as hilarious as a pratfall by a fat man. Most commendably, The Hangover is the furthest thing from a Judd Apatow-style comedy (the style which appears to be a popular trend in contemporary Hollywood). There is profanity and crude humour in this unapologetically R-rated laugh-fest, but there's more of an assortment of gags...the makers don't rely solely on vulgarity. Heart is not sacrificed in the pursuit of laughs as the film manages to include plenty of the former and a super-abundance of the latter.

One of the only real failings of The Hangover is that there are one or two lulls during which the laughs aren't as frequent. And the characters finally realise where Doug has ended up on account of a play on words during a random dialogue exchange. This is way too easy, as if the writers were seeking a quick, lazy way to proceed into the final act. Thankfully, however, the concluding act is loaded with comedic energy, culminating in a series of photographs guaranteed to have audiences howling riotously throughout the end credits. The Hangover does occasionally lack originality, and the ending is pretty conventional...but the conventions are a given. And who really cares when the clichés can generate a movie this infinitely enjoyable?

It's especially refreshing to behold a legitimately hilarious movie that's free of most Judd Apatow regulars (Paul Rudd, Seth Rogen, Jonah Hill, and so on).
The comedic trio of actors taking centre stage in The Hangover are impeccable. Bradley Cooper plays the likable leader of the pack. He generally avoids the "asshole" vibe given off by characters in similar films, thus making Phil an extremely appealing individual. Beside him, Ed Helms and Zach Galifianakis deliver excellent performances, coming across as completely natural while conveying the quirky mannerisms of their characters. While Helms is highly amusing, Galifianakis is the scene-stealer here as the socially awkward Alan who asks inane questions like "Did Caesar really live here?" as the gang check into Caesar's Palace. Galifianakis is an utter riot, whose one-liners and facial expressions are constantly hilarious. And as the missing groom the trio are searching for, Justin Bartha is terrific.
The Hangover is of course populated with plenty of other weirdos...and each new person the boys encounter is weirder than the one before them. Heather Graham (in career-resuscitating mode) stars as a hooker while Mike Tyson briefly appears as himself. The always-endearing Jeffrey Tambor also delivers a few amusing lines. Out of the supporting cast, Ken Jeong is the most hilarious and quotable as a Chinese gangster.

Quite frankly, the less written about The Hangover the better. This is a movie that needs to be experienced, not spoiled. It's best valued as an extended surprise, with the hilarity significantly enhanced by an atmosphere of the unexpected. Every once in a while, one needs to just sit back and enjoy an effortlessly hilarious film. The Hangover is the right film for the job and it's destined to become a cult comedy classic. You'll be laughing about it for weeks.

"Space: the final frontier. These are the voyages of the starship Enterprise. Her ongoing mission: to explore strange new worlds, to seek out new life-forms and new civilizations; to boldly go where no one has gone before."

Materialising in the shadow of such cinematic reboots as Casino Royale and Batman Begins, J.J. Abrams' Star Trek is a dynamic resurrection of the decades-old franchise of the same name. The studio heads at Paramount Pictures clearly perceived the Star Trek property as a cash cow, and to capitalise on this money-making potential they elected the most popular path for franchise revivification. This Star Trek reboot is therefore a fresh start, disregarding prior instalments and introducing new players on both sides of the camera. Furthermore, 2009's Star Trek has been designed with the lofty goal in mind of retaining current fans, repatriating lapsed fans as well as opening up Gene Roddenberry's Trek universe to a new generation of film-goers. A well-crafted blockbuster, Abrams' motion picture is incredibly ambitious in scope while also being concerned with intimate details of the relationships at play. Star Trek is packed with vibrant action sequences, immaculate special effects and well-defined characters. However this isn't a cerebral experience. The movie isn't exactly empty-headed as it indeed has its smarts (although there are some barely acceptable contrivances), but the high-mindedness of the Roddenberry years is ostensibly disregarded.

Star Trek simply chronicles the early days of the crew aboard the U.S.S. Enterprise, functioning as a proverbial origins tale that reveals the genesis of the franchise's trademark characters. The story mainly focuses on the undisciplined young rebel James T. Kirk (Pine) who enlists in Starfleet, following in his father's footsteps. Spock (Quinto) is another prime focus, and the complex relationship between Kirk and Spock lies at the heart of the story. The major narrative thread of the movie, however, concerns the confrontation between the U.S.S. Enterprise and a Romulan spaceship headed by Captain Nero (Bana).

To reveal further facets of the plot would unfairly spoil half the surprises to be uncovered within. Unfortunately, Abrams' film stumbles in the narrative department - the plot is a total mess. It's a complicated plotline which requires substantial exposition merely to keep it barely comprehensible. Despite the well-scripted character interactions, there's a distinct lack of edge-of-your-seat tension. Never is there a sense that the crew are in genuine peril, which is probably because Nero's evil plans are unclear. As an action movie, Star Trek lacks dramatic momentum and frankly doesn't make a whole lot of sense. Crucially, the flick is visually impressive but emotionally hollow.

Similar to most origin pictures, Star Trek displays a few narrative cracks as it goes through the obligatory process of assembling the characters, providing each character with a perfunctory back-story, and generating a suitable story which can facilitate space battles as well as action in general. Like all movies tasked with reworking established universes, it's disappointing that the characters only seem primed to move in new and interesting directions once the film concludes. The work of Abrams and his screenwriters (keen Trek fans Roberto Orci and Alex Kurtzman) is hindered by the constraints of the "origin" format, and the material feels rushed from time to time. Nevertheless, the characters remain extremely well-developed and the dialogue is explosive. There's a fortunate shortage of unnecessary melodrama as well. Refreshingly, this is also primarily a character-driven feature. As a result, you'll never confuse a supporting player like Leonard "Bones" McCoy (Urban) with some incidental background character.

With plenty of focus on the action, Star Trek is an agile action-adventure guaranteed to satiate the modern cinematic marketplace and appeal to those unfamiliar with the franchise. J.J. Abrams' film cuts to the chase from frame one, galloping through necessary origin tales while embarking on an amazing visual odyssey. This is clearly an action-oriented motion picture, yet the writers have the good sense to delicately establish the characters before sending them into action. The pace is blistering, and there's plenty of eye candy in the form of expertly-realised space battles. There are also chases, fight scenes, shootouts, and all the other staples one expects from an action-adventure, and it's all packed efficiently into a two-hour runtime. Star Trek has never looked better, with the budgetary restrictions of the prior movies (which limited the action scenes) no longer an issue. The special effects are unreservedly amazing. The spaceships are awesome constructions, with top-notch CGI for the exterior shots and impressive sets for the interior sequences. In fact, the use of extensive interior sets gives the film a more organic feel. Michael Giacchino's score is also suitably zippy, melancholy and grand. Star Trek is a reminder that a Trek movie can be fun, entertaining and slightly thoughtful without being ponderous.

However, the camerawork is distracting during the major action sequences. Abrams rarely inserts crucial establishing shots (or wide shots) into these sequences as he favours the shaky cam/close-up approach, creating a feeling of disorientation as opposed to exhilaration. After an incredible space battle during the film's initial ten minutes, the plot begins to bog down in its labyrinthine narrative and one's mind starts to wander. Star Trek is never boring, but it never takes off in a way that is seriously exhilarating or electrifying. It's superbly cast, and it's loaded with great character interaction in addition to genuine humanity, but it's hampered by a badly conceived storyline and the occasionally humdrum action sequences.

The heart and soul of Star Trek is the duo of James T. Kirk and Mr. Spock. Chris Pine and Zachary Quinto immaculately suit their respective roles. Despite this being both actors' first big movie, they're engaging and natural. Pine looks and sounds nothing like William Shatner (who originally played James T. Kirk), but his performance is not meant to be mimicry. He instead nails the essence of Kirk's character with a combination of charm and cocky arrogance. This is mixed with endearing humour and welcome humanity. Zachary Quinto is equally excellent. His thoughtful performance effortlessly conveys the dichotomy that makes Spock such a fascinating character - his frustratingly logical surface persona concealing a barely suppressed well of emotion. Star Trek is an action-adventure at its core, yet ample time is allotted for Kirk and Spock to engage in verbal battles, founding their friendship in a charming glue of muted aggravation and burgeoning respect.

Amazingly, Leonard Nimoy returns to reprise his iconic role of Mr. Spock (an aged version). Even if he only appears in a few scenes, the aging actor does a tremendous job. It's astounding that after a gap of almost two decades, Nimoy is able to return to the character without missing a beat. The supporting cast is enormous! Simon Pegg, Anton Yelchin and Karl Urban are particular standouts here; making the biggest impression with their limited screen-time. Eric Bana is underutilised and flaccid as the villain of the picture. Meanwhile, a plethora of other names are also in the service of the new crew. Such actors include Christopher Pike, John Cho, Zoe Saldana, Ben Cross, Christopher Hemsworth and Winona Ryder - all of whom hit their marks.

When the end credits begin to roll, we're left with the sense that Star Trek represents a great new beginning. As a film tasked with bringing together all the characters and rebooting the timeline, Star Trek works. It has its flaws, but J.J. Abrams' big-budget revival of a dormant saga is one of the best films of the '09 summer season.

"Live long, and Prosper."

"Jason. My special, special boy. They must be punished, Jason. For what they did to you. For what they did to me. Kill for mother."

Yet another classic horror franchise is resurrected and rebooted by Platinum Dunes (Michael Bay's production company) with 2009's Friday the 13th. Not really a remake, and by no means an actual sequel, this particular addition to the Friday the 13th saga is more or less a mash-up of the first few films in the blood-soaked franchise - a "greatest hits" compilation, if you will. For die-hard fans of the series, this new movie is ideal - it unapologetically delivers the proverbial blood and gore as well as the breasts and the beautiful women. In comparison to the early Friday the 13th movies, this 2009 re-imagining is also slick and well-produced. Gore effects are captured with a great deal of filmmaking skill, the pace is fast, and (as long as you absorb the on-screen material without contemplating it too much) it's definitely fun. However other cinematic reboots (Batman Begins, Star Trek) introduced some innovation to their respective franchises. Friday the 13th, on the other hand, is well-made but has absolutely nothing fresh or exciting to add to the series. To be fair, though, any actual invention could risk alienating original fans. Nevertheless, straightforward rehashing grows stale, especially since slasher enthusiasts will be able to predict every beat. As the film haphazardly doles out cliché after cliché, it gets a tad tiresome.

It'd be redundant to outline the plot. This is Friday the 13th, after all. But for those unaware of the standard formula: a bunch of horny young adults travel to Camp Crystal Lake for the weekend and encounter Jason Voorhees (Mears) who carves them apart one by one. Oh, and a last-minute scare moment is thrown in just prior to the end credits. And voila - there's your Jason slasher flick.

Friday the 13th opens with a bang - a high-energy prologue that compresses the mythology of Jason Voorhees into a few short minutes. Recapping the events of the first film takes no more than five minutes as a viewer is clued into how Jason has grown into a bloodthirsty creature of legend. Once the film accepts the events of the 1980 original as its back-story, it embarks upon a new course. Following this opening, Jason offs a group of knife-fodder in a sequence which establishes the character's abilities (leading to a series of thrilling, gory kills). The film subsequently settles down before adhering to the time-worn Friday the 13th structure. Had the rest of the picture sustained the quality of the rousing prologue, there'd be far more to recommend. Alas, the central narrative is a mess. The clichés are also firmly in place, the characters do stupid things which lead to their inevitable demise, and there's no mystery as to who'll survive until the final act.

There's plenty of bloodletting, yes, but an effective slasher should work on another, slightly higher level. The best slasher flicks are able to generate a level of almost unbearable tension (think Scream or Halloween), but within Friday the 13th there's little tension (although the opening sequence is suspenseful and the climax is admittedly quite nail-biting). Character identification is a requirement when it comes to generating effective tension...all the characters in this production are one-note caricatures lined up for the slaughter. There's the token black guy, an Asian stoner, a few pairs of large breasts (there's a lot of skin in this film), an asshole who's guaranteed to get killed...it's all agonisingly by-the-numbers. Director Marcus Nispel (who directed the 2003 remake of The Texas Chainsaw Massacre) and the screenwriters (Damian Shannon and Mark Swift, who also penned Freddy vs. Jason) pack this feature with too many clichés. With lights being knocked out, cell phones dying, cars that won't start and characters running off in separate directions, it's all quite hopeless. The days during which filmmakers spent time and effort on a horror movie screenplay have passed.

The backdrop for this reboot isn't Manhattan or Hell or the furthest reaches of outer space. Jason is instead back at Camp Crystal Lake, and he's killing people because they're invading his territory (First Blood, the first Rambo movie, was apparently inspiration here). Unsurprisingly, Friday the 13th ignores logic. How could anybody live in the old Camp Crystal Lake campground undetected for decades? How does Jason manage to dig an extensive labyrinth of tunnels under the old camp without anybody noticing? Why haven't the police caught on yet with so many people going missing in the area? As always, Jason also has the uncanny ability to be everywhere at once. Aside from these nitpickings, the new and improved Jason is one aspect the film gets right. He's fast, agile, shows vulnerability from time to time and appears to be smarter. Derek Mears has a strong screen presence as Jason Voorhees, and there are plenty of opportunities for him to rush teens with his machete raised. Plenty of classic '80s-style lurking is included for good measure as well. On top of this, some of the kills are pretty killer (excuse the pun). They're technically proficient and fairly creative, although there's nothing here that rivals the cleverness of the 1980 original. Interestingly, the less elaborate kills are usually the most satisfying (like a screwdriver through the head). Nispel is skilled at building an atmosphere of dread, even if the payoffs are fairly pedestrian - the kills are more gory than genuinely scary.

Naturally, the actors are all very attractive and every performance is standard stuff. Jared Padalecki, Danielle Panabaker and Amanda Righetti are the trademark heroes, but the trio aren't anything overly special. The only real standout is Aaron Yoo, who delivers a few mildly amusing one-liners even in the face of danger. Julianna Guill is certainly memorable...but she only distinguishes herself from the other actresses on account of her sensual dancing and a sequence in which she bares her "stupendous" breasts (as one character describes them).

Only the adequate performances and the competent gore effects demonstrate improvement over the earlier Friday the 13th films. Sadly, both of these factors are wasted on a story not worth telling and a movie not really worth making. This new Friday the 13th is derivative and sorely lacks novelty, but at least it reiterates the old material with top-notch production values and an awesome soundtrack. There are certainly worse slasher movies than this Friday the 13th re-imagining, but it nonetheless remains forgettable, disposable and unnecessary. It's gruesome, exploitative, watchable fun, but we've seen it all before.

"It's a game! The only way to keep her alive is to do exactly what I say when I say it! If you're still standing after twelve rounds, you'll have won her back."

Wrestler-turned-actor John Cena returns to the big screen under the guidance of venerable action director Renny Harlin with 12 Rounds. Enjoyable, brainless and completely pretension-free, this fast-paced action-thriller is fundamentally a mishmash of Die Hard: With a Vengeance and Speed, and it's a blast of pure fun as long as you can suspend your disbelief. Unfortunately, the title star's lack of range as an actor makes Arnold Schwarzenegger seem nuanced by comparison. WWE Wrestler John Cena made his acting debut in 2006's The Marine - a woeful dumb-as-rocks actioner that lacked both style and kinetic energy. One could consider 12 Rounds to be a duplicate of The Marine, but it'd be erroneous to believe such a thing. After all, why would Cena traverse through the same territory twice? In The Marine, Cena played an unstoppable marine whose wife is kidnapped by a bunch of bad guys. And in 12 Rounds, Cena plays an unstoppable police officer whose girlfriend is kidnapped by a bad Irishman. Completely different! Oh, wait...

During the opening moments of the film, New Orleans cop Danny Fisher (Cena) captures Miles Jackson (Gillen) - a notorious terrorist and arms dealer. In the process, however, Jackson's girlfriend is killed. One year later, the criminal mastermind escapes from prison with plans to enact his revenge, taunting Danny with a series of twelve challenges which the policeman must successfully complete in order to secure the safe release of his girlfriend (Scott).

Designed to keep your pulse rate pounding non-stop, this action-packed thrill-ride contains a plot best described as a chess game on speed. With the reliable Renny Harlin at the helm, you should know precisely what you're in for. Harlin delivers an onslaught of booming stunts as well as a watchable protagonist with everyman qualities (ala Die Hard). 12 Rounds makes no apologies about the type of film it is. Rather than attempting to integrate a surplus of exposition, the plot throttles forward at breakneck speed, introducing familiar genre archetypes such as partners, cops, and pain-in-the-ass FBI interference. This is also a stunt-happy picture, and it's refreshing to witness practical effects as opposed to the modern CG-enhanced approach. Structured litigiously like Die Hard: With a Vengeance, Harlin's 12 Rounds rarely stops to breathe and is forever on the hunt for a dilapidated New Orleans location to blow up or to find another way for Danny to evade assured doom.

The titular rounds permit director Harlin the opportunity to concoct a number of compelling action set-pieces, some of which are slightly marred by the frenetic camerawork, the bland dialogue, and the wooden acting. The action usually involves chases and general destruction as Danny attempts to quickly travel from location to location or stop a reckless vehicle. With all the non-stop mayhem, this is the perfect video game movie. As 12 Rounds is an action flick of this current cinematic era, the editing is hyperactive and the camera is pretty shaky. Fortunately and surprisingly, however, Harlin is skilled enough to ensure the cinematography isn't overly distracting. Harlin's direction is extremely slick as well - so slick that the film hurtles between action sequences with boundless energy. Frankly, this is more or less an extended trailer.

12 Rounds sorely lacks intensity, however. The screenplay is overflowing with clichés and cheesy dialogue. It's also predictable from the word 'go'! 12 Rounds is competently shot and edited, but every time Danny's life is in danger it's obvious he'll live through it. The intensity is severely lessened by the docile PG-13 rating in particular. In the Die Hard movies, John McClane (the protagonist) ends up being covered in blood, cuts and bruises during every adventure, not to mention each challenge he faces is nail-biting. In 12 Rounds, Danny faces surprisingly mundane challenges. For amplified intensity the film needed profanity and intense dialogue, of which it has practically none in its current state (everyone seems a tad too calm, delivering flat dialogue). The PG-13 rating also robs the movie of the opportunity to keep an audience entertained with some good old-fashioned exploitation. 12 Rounds is too generic, and because it's a clear hodgepodge of bygone action films it's tough to fully enjoy it despite the fun action set-pieces.

Predictably, this WWE-produced John Cena actioner is incredibly stupid. It's not as bad as The Marine on this front, but there are massive problems with the film's believability. As Danny's set of challenges begin, his house is blown up. First of all, how could anyone plant explosives inside the man's house without anyone noticing? More importantly, a large amount of explosives within one's own home would be easy to spot!
Danny's indestructible tendencies become apparent when he rappels down a high-rise building and is eventually forced to jump, falling several metres onto wooden scaffolding which then collapses. But the man endures no broken bones or scratches. He's even unaffected after copping a bullet in the shoulder! On a bus at one stage a woman is wearing an explosive vest. Even though she's wearing clothes over this vest, it's glaringly obvious she's wearing it...but no-one notices. On this (full) bus it's also pretty silent, and Jackson talks to Danny about the explosive vest in a loud voice. Any bystanders with ears would be able to hear them. But there's no panic...apparently no-one hears them. Everything is normal. During the climax, there's a conveniently-placed swimming pool on the roof of a tall building right below a malfunctioning helicopter containing the hero who's in peril with his girlfriend. Such contrivances are difficult to digest. All things considered, 12 Rounds is a pretty moronic action film.

The film's intensity is further diminished by John Cena's charisma-free acting. His career as a wrestler for the WWE prepared him for roles in which he can take physical punishment, but his acting skills are not up to scratch for the rest of this Die Hard clone. His character's girlfriend has been kidnapped, yet Cena never seems too concerned about the whole situation as his facial expressions are hardly convincing. He's the Jean-Claude Van Damme of the PG-13 generation - an action hero with a bulky physique who's let down by poor vocal authority and the inability to convincingly act. Bruce Willis and Samuel L. Jackson lit up the screen with unbelievable chemistry and explosive intensity in Die Hard: With a Vengeance, whereas Cena and those around him are just too dreary. To the wrestler's credit, however, he does remain watchable.
Aiden Gillen tries his best to channel Hans Gruber from Die Hard, and the results are somewhat underwhelming. His role of Miles Jackson isn't particularly frightening with messy hair, a wispy beard and a very plain outfit...he's more of a coffeehouse folk singer than a criminal mastermind. And Ashley Scott as Danny's girlfriend is more of a function in this story rather than a flesh-and-blood character.

Back in the early 1990s, 12 Rounds would've been a top-notch, R-rated action movie featuring someone like Bruce Willis or Sylvester Stallone. In 2009, however, this is just a PG-13 rehash of every action movie of the last decade starring a pseudo action hero. It's pretty much a mosaic of every customary '90s action movie plot element. Smooth-talking Eurotrash villain? Check. Cat-and-mouse game? Check. Kidnapped love interest? Check. Hero precariously hanging off of various vehicles? Check. If you can cope with the shaky camera work, the rapid editing and its derivative nature, 12 Rounds is an entertaining, chest-thumping thrill-ride, particularly if the side of your brain that does all the thinking craves a rest.

"It started in 1945. The Nazis were conducting experiments in psychic warfare, trying to turn those with psychic abilities into soldiers. Lots of us died. The war ended, but the experiments never stopped. Other governments around the world set up what they called "divisions", trying to do what the Nazis couldn't, to turn us into weapons."

Push is of a rare breed - it's a comic book-style action-thriller modelled from an original concept not directly based on any comics or graphic novels. Director Paul McGuigan has managed to fashion a fresh, effective superhero adventure (with a small budget of approximately $38 million) complete with an interesting mythology, hinting that additional instalments/spin-offs are to come. As this is a visible attempt to birth a new franchise, plot threads are purposely left without closure, ideas feel underdeveloped, and several possibilities are skimmed over. Unfortunately, while this isn't a screen adaptation of any particular comic book, Push is a Frankenstein's monster - a jumbled collage of narrative clichés supplemented with elements stitched together from various other sources (hints of X-Men and NBC's Heroes are undeniable). Push has inevitably been compared to 2008's Jumper since both movies are clearly designed to be the first chapter in a multi-part saga. Push is similarly flawed of course, but as a whole this is a far more entertaining and satisfying experience.

In the world of Push, an array of humans with abnormal abilities are scattered throughout the general population. These gifted individuals are given single-word titles to describe their skills, ranging from "Movers" (those with telekinesis) to "Watchers" (those who see into the future) to the titular "Pushers" (telepathic individuals). The government are aware of these capabilities, and have set up a department (known as the "Division") to weaponise them. The story takes place in Hong Kong and centres on a Mover named Nick (Evans) who teams up with a Watcher named Cassie (the delightful Fanning) who's trying to free her mother from government custody. Their path intersects with that of Nick's former lover - a high-level Pusher named Kira (Belle) who's being hunted by the Division. Nick, Cassie and Kira (with a few other powerful allies) aim to take down the Division, while a powerful Pusher named Carver (Hounsou) is working to recapture Kira. An Asian group of super-humans are also thrown into the fray.

Director Paul McGuigan provides Push with a frantic pace that keeps the energy level high while also obfuscating the film's logical flaws. ("Screamers" attack using sound, and sound is just air being pushed. Why can't the Movers deflect the sound?) Plot holes and logical flaws only come to light while examining the film in hindsight, and don't majorly effect the average viewer's enjoyment as the story unfolds. To the credit of McGuigan and screenwriter David Bourla, Push is fairly unpredictable, and for that reason it only occasionally drags during the two-hour runtime. With all of the subplots and badly-defined characters, the plotline - in spite of possessing a reasonably simple trajectory - is confusing and doesn't make a lot of sense. Push is unbelievably convoluted - the dense narrative is teeming with unfamiliar terms, unexplained powers and undefined allegiances. The filmmakers should have toned down the intricacy in order to make this action-thriller more palatable.

Though the script is mediocre at best, Push fires on all cylinders in every other aspect. The film plays out in the breathtaking city of Hong Kong, which is a welcome change from the Hollywood tradition of setting every story in Los Angeles or New York. With the film set in this grand Asian city, McGuigan is able to pack the screen with the bright colours of a different culture. The results are magnificent. McGuigan and cinematographer Peter Sova create fine, richly-textured images, allowing a viewer to get lost in the pictures and not worry about the film's convoluted plotline. Interestingly, due to budget constraints and the impossibility of controlling Hong Kong streets, the majority of the film was shot "guerrilla style" - hidden cameras rolled while the actors did their scenes in one take on the crowded streets. As Push was intended to mark the commencement of a new franchise, it concentrates more on the character element, and it's worryingly low on thrills as a result. Happily, however, the action sequences are nonetheless terrific, especially the final battle which functions as a showcase for the characters' super-human abilities. The special effects during these battles are amazing considering the budget McGuigan had to play with.

The lead performances by Chris Evans and Dakota Fanning are solid, and precisely what a feature like this truly needs. Evans, whose prior films include Cellular and Fantastic Four, is fun to watch and manages to bring amiable human qualities to the occasionally ridiculous material. Dakota Fanning, however, is the standout performer here - she owns every frame. Young Ms. Fanning is clearly setting a course for a post-adolescent career, sinking her teeth into her punk-edged role with tremendous zeal. Push is worth seeing for the fact alone that we get to see her drunk at one stage, and toying with firearms on another occasion. Faring less well on the acting front is Camilla Belle, who appears to sleepwalk rather than act. The romance between Evans and Belle is an even bigger miscalculation - the actors share no chemistry whatsoever. Luckily, Dakota is always there to fall back on (she turns up drunk immediately after the typical PG-13 sex scene between the couple).
Djimon Hounsou is a chilling villain. The actor avoids going over-the-top, and his calm, subdued performance is more menacing as a result. The supporting cast includes the always sublime Cliff Curtis in addition to Ming-Na and Nate Mooney, all of whom play sympathetic individuals with powers who support Nick's quest.

There's an ambitious back-story behind Push, and if a sequel materialises the filmmakers will have no difficulty electing new avenues to explore. In fact, this movie is almost too short. Given another 15 or 20 minutes, subjects could have been expanded and ideas could have been better mined. Just like Jumper, there's untapped potential within the concept begging to be delved into.
Thanks to its Hong Kong setting, Push is bestowed a unique personality and frenetic energy. The film may be a jumbled concoction of everything from X-Men to The X-Files to the TV show Heroes, and its story is incomprehensible at times, but it's nevertheless a fun romp. A blah script aside, there's plenty to like about Push - it's a worthy attempt at a new comic book mythology, especially since it wasn't based on any particular comic.

"Our church is at war. We are under attack from an old enemy. The Illuminati. They have struck us from within and threatening us all with destruction from their new god Science."

Three years after the screen adaptation of Dan Brown's The Da Vinci Code stormed the box office and became one of the decade's most profitable movies, the inevitable sequel Angels & Demons (also based on a novel by Brown) steps up to bat. Brown's Angels & Demons novel was written as a visceral and concise action-thriller, directly contrasting the more famous but ponderous Da Vinci Code. With the filmmakers able to infuse this Angels & Demons adaptation with suspense, thrills and a larger scale, the novel was certainly a more Hollywood-friendly property. It seems the filmmakers have also learned a number of lessons from the significantly-panned Da Vinci Code film - Angels & Demons is a tighter, more agreeable, more widely appealing and all-round superior mystery thriller with more action and less exposition. Screenwriters Akiva Goldsman and David Koepp thankfully aren't as bound to the literary word for this sequel, streamlining a lot of the narrative's notable excesses in order to produce a more digestible film. Yet there are still inherent flaws due to Brown's writing style: plot heavy and with little characterisation, the film has no real weight beyond its on-screen occurrences. The absurd nature of the prose has of course been carried over as well.

Interesting fact: since Dan Brown's Angels & Demons novel was published prior to The Da Vinci Code, it is supposed to be Robert Langdon's debut adventure. Alas, Hollywood has reworked the facts and Angels & Demons has become the follow-up.

We learn at the beginning of the film that the Pope has died, and officials within the Vatican are ready to begin the process of determining his successor. Harvard symbologist Robert Langdon (Hanks) is recruited by the Vatican when an ancient secret society (known as the Illuminati) delivers an ominous threat. Determined to disrupt the post-mortem search for a new Pope, Illuminati agents kidnap the four 'preferitti' (primary hopefuls for the new Pope), and steal a canister containing antimatter which is planted in a hidden passageway under Rome. Robert Langdon is accompanied by a physicist named Vittoria (Zurer) as he busily dashes around the labyrinthine city with only a single evening to carefully decipher a series of puzzles while mangled corpses are delivered on the hour in the lead-up to the possible annihilation of Vatican City.

Howard engages in suspense mode from the very beginning as the story delivers kidnappings, poisonings, Illuminati gunplay, split-second decoding, the occasional burst of violence, and above all an energetic chase all over Vatican City as Robert and Vittoria sniff out clues amongst the religious paraphernalia. With the ticking clock being the fading battery on the antimatter bomb to ratchet up the tension, Angels & Demons is enjoyably spry, even with shovelfuls of exposition powering the story's increasing absurdity. But Howard is able to sell the premise effectively, and for the average film-goer the holes in the story will only become clear while examining the film in hindsight. Lacking the verbosity of The Da Vinci Code, Howard and company have adapted Brown's novel the way it was intended to be - as a beautiful, big-budget Hollywood action-thriller. Angels & Demons is a fairly adult-minded movie-going event, and a fulfilling one at that. It's similar to National Treasure, except more mature and without the snarky comedy. This is also a hard PG-13, with a surprising abundance of disturbing imagery and blood. Five minutes were reportedly trimmed from the theatrical cut to avoid an R rating.

Angels & Demons is visually compelling and narratively engrossing without ever being genuinely breathless. Ron Howard directs with total conviction, with Hans Zimmer's grand score extremely befitting of the breathtaking imagery. A highlight of Angels & Demons is the convincing recreation of Vatican City. The production crew were banned from filming on location and were forced to create virtually everything on soundstages, though you'd never know it (minor location filming was conducted using a fake working title, though). With luxury cars speeding through Rome's crowded streets, the movie alternates between location shooting, CGI-enhanced vistas, and intricately detailed film sets with speed and elegance, creating the illusion that the characters are actually inside the grand European city. Cinematographer Salvatore Totino generates a strong European visual aesthetic and the editing is energetic. On the whole Howard's film is nail-biting for the majority of its runtime, but it's frequently mired by its flawed script.

Unfortunately, none of the characters inhabiting Angels & Demons possess any degree of depth - they're empty ciphers who journey from A to B. The first 90 minutes of the film deliver a portion of "treadmill proceedings" - i.e. the characters are always moving but get nowhere. During this period Langdon uncovers improbable clues that lead to further clues instead of leading directly to the solution. Even if one misses a few chunks of exposition, the plot-by-numbers storyline is quite simple to follow. For the perceptive film-goer, the big "twist" ending can be easily deciphered by about an hour into the picture. And when the niceties of the overall conspiracy are finally revealed, it's pretty underwhelming - we were originally led to believe it would be more fascinating. The whole conspiracy doesn't make much sense either if you think about it. By all means, Angels & Demons is absurd as well - the conspiracy was masterminded by two evil characters devoid of clear motivations, one of which is a solitary hitman (Lie Kaas) able to pull off crimes even a big organisation wouldn't have the manpower to commit. Running at about 135 minutes, Angels & Demons becomes cumbersome, especially during the final act. Nevertheless, director Howard is a master of his craft, and the film is technically competent. It's a testament to Howard's cinematic skills that he's able to make this ludicrous story work as an engaging thriller.

The conflict of science vs. religion lies at the centre of Angels & Demons. This commentary is an essential component of the narrative, and the screenplay imparts a perspective for both minds. The film is not an exhaustive mental exercise, but the debate prevents the material from slipping into a dull routine of peril and tongue-twisting monologues.

Tom Hanks submits a solid, confident performance as the film's central protagonist, but he's unable to escape the formulaic nature of the enterprise. The supporting players are unhelpful idiots included to keep the plot stirring. Ayelet Zurer plays Vittoria Vetra; a physicist with smarts and charm. Her character is undermined by lack of development, however, and she's forgettable as a result. Ewan McGregor's portrayal of Camerlengo Patrick McKenna is bursting with charisma. Again, it's an underwritten part, but McGregor continually commands the frame. Stellan Skarsgård is suitably menacing and effective as the head of the Vatican security apparatus, while Armin Mueller-Stahl exudes authority in a key supporting role. As the mysterious assassin, Nikolaj Lei Kaas does a decent job.

This sequel to 2006's The Da Vinci Code offers a heightened sense of danger and another self-assured performance courtesy of Tom Hanks. Angels & Demons is a well-paced and serviceable action-thriller dressed in religious mumbo jumbo. Due to its absurd nature, the film relies on continuous forward momentum to ensure an audience hasn't much time to ponder it too deeply. Aiming to engross more than provoke discussion, the film is admittedly entertaining as it throttles towards a predictable conclusion. Since this is one of the highest grossing films of 2009 (in excess of $450 million worldwide), it's likely that another Robert Langdon adventure will materialise.

"His name's Bison. I've tracked him through eleven major cities on four continents and never come close, not once. This guy walks through the raindrops. Anybody that's against him is either dead, or on their way."

Street Fighter: The Legend of Chun-Li is not only a compelling early contender for the worst film of 2009, but it's also a contender for the worst film of all time! This second attempt at a screen adaptation of the revered Capcom video game series is unbelievably awful in every aspect. Generic action sequences, atrocious acting, cringe-inducing dialogue and lacklustre filmmaking are all combined, resulting in an hour and a half of pure cinematic torture. The first time the Street Fighter video game empire was adapted for the big screen, it concerned (a cartoonishly costumed) Jean-Claude Van Damme and Kylie Minogue trying to rescue the world from the evil clutches of (an infirmed) Raul Julia...and the film tanked! Now in 2009, fifteen years later, we've been given Street Fighter: The Legend of Chun-Li - a production armed with a few clumsy television actors, Chris Klein, and a member of the Black Eyed Peas. This is not progress! With Andrzej Bartkowiak at the helm (who also directed the awful film adaptation of Doom), this feature is incredibly inept, and even that's putting it lightly. Most disheartening is that this dreck is unable to deliver the barest of bare-knuckle guilty pleasures promised by the genre. So what's left? Absolutely nothing.

At least 20th Century Fox were aware of the dud they had on their hands - they didn't screen the movie for the critics, and apparently most of the theatres showing this reel of used toilet paper only screened it once or twice a day. Why does this movie even exist, anyway? The Street Fighter video game series peaked in the '90s, which justifies the Van Damme movie. This latest rendition, however, is unjustifiable.

The plot concerns Chun-Li (Kreuk) who travels to Bangkok after receiving an enigmatic scroll (oddly enough, this scroll literally looks like a piece of paper that has been shoddily glued onto a piece of cheap cardboard). The streets of Bangkok are ruled by a crime syndicate called Shadaloo, headed by criminal mastermind Bison (McDonough) and his right hand man Balrog (Duncan). It seems Chun-Li battles this crime syndicate to save the city and because they kidnapped her father when she was a kid. Meanwhile, Interpol Agent Charlie Nash (Klein) is equally passionate to stop Bison and take down Shadaloo.

The story does not make much sense. Street Fighter: The Legend of Chun-Li simply limps along from one poorly-staged set-piece to the next, climaxing with a whimper rather than a bang. It lacks both coherence and flow. This 2009 picture is distinctly different to the catastrophic 1994 movie failure, exchanging the cartoon atmosphere for a grittier tone that concentrates on revenge scenarios rather than a world domination plot. Justin Marks' script is surprisingly straight-faced...far too serious for its own good. It's also just really badly written. When a character seeks information on Shadaloo, they simply use the internet. No secret is safe from the internet, after all. When Chun-Li needs to know about a secret shipment, she finds a random guy on the wharf and breaks his arm to extract the relevant information. With the help of a guy named Gen, Chun-Li is trained to become a supreme master of kung-fu. This transformation from naïve fighter to highly skilled warrior takes all of five minutes, and mostly involves marbles being pelted at her.

Here's the big problem: both Street Fighter films have next to nothing to do with the actual video game. The basic concept behind Street Fighter is gloriously simple: two fighters face off in the ring, attacking each other with a variety of kicks, punches and special moves until one is beaten into submission. A serviceable film adaptation could be derived from the same formula (maybe a tournament movie like Bloodsport?), but both attempts so far work from a needlessly complicated and ridiculously silly story (in this case a meandering crime syndicate tale which takes forever to unfold). The Legend of Chun-Li is much further removed from the video game than the Van Damme vehicle preceding it. This is only a Street Fighter movie by name, and because a few classic characters have cameos. Chun-Li at one stage fights Vega (one of the video game's coolest characters), but he gets a minute or two of screen-time and just seems like a poor imitation of Wolverine with his giant metal claws.

At its core, Street Fighter: The Legend of Chun-Li is a martial arts demonstration reel, but it's an extremely unimpressive one. For a big studio release, the technical accomplishments are extremely subpar. The strictly ordinary choreography during the fight sequences is captured with scarcely a modicum of skill - some clumsy cinematography which is amplified by the choppy editing. It's impossible to lighten up and embrace the violence when it's just a blur occasionally punctuated by a famous Street Fighter finishing move. These are just silly wire-work sequences during which no-one ever seems to get hurt, and one is unable to get any sense of a character's brute force or skill. The gun battles are just routine, PG-13 filler. In fact, so is the entire movie as it lamely lurches from conflict to conflict in a programmed manner. Some of the gun battles do look mildly cool, but these are unfortunately few and far between. The Legend of Chun-Li cannot be considered a movie - it's a God forsaken tragedy! It reels in some of the most pathetic actors in the industry who are aching for their existence to be acknowledged, and gives them a vastly stupid script to regurgitate.

The acting is atrocious right across the board. Chris Klein delivers one of the most laughably awful screen performances of the decade, making Van Damme seem Oscar-worthy in comparison. His portrayal of Nash is beyond awful - not only can he not act, but he was probably drunk during filming. The performer (calling him an actor would be a questionable compliment) assumes a strange mix of Clint Eastwood and metrosexual paedophile as he desperately tries to come across as a tough guy. It's frankly hilarious to observe his cheese, especially in the presence of the other actors who seriously look as if they're holding back giggles. His character also favours a pistol over hand-to-hand fighting, so why is he even included in the film?! Throughout this cinematic abomination, I was actually missing the acting skills of Jean-Claude Van Damme...
And as for the rest of the cast... Neal McDonough might've fared better had he not used such a goofy Irish accent (Bison is a quintessential Irish surname, after all). One-time Oscar nominee Michael Clarke Duncan is reduced to playing the character Balrog, while a host of other actors (Robin Shou, Josie Ho and the attractive Moon Bloodgood) are unfathomably woeful as the one-dimensional stock characters. Kristin Kreuk is hot, but it seems she was deceased throughout the filming period as she boasts just one expression and one tone of voice. She also does a thoroughly awful job of faking martial arts moves before her stunt double steps in.

Street Fighter: The Legend of Chun-Li is tiresome, brain-dead and ill-considered. It'd be impossible for anyone to have a legitimately enjoyable time watching this awful motion picture which delivers nothing apart from an inconsistent crime plot. Unfortunately, the makers behind this Street Fighter movie are unable to put together a martial arts scene that's worth a damn. Not even morbidly curious film-goers should give this one a shot unless they also have masochistic tendencies.

Bambi Meets Godzilla! The title outlines the plot of this very short 90-second cartoon quite efficiently, thus reiteration would be redundant. It's basically 10 seconds of actual action sandwiched between the opening and closing credits.

This is a classic cartoon unmatchable for its sheer audacity and imagination. I mean, who would've thought anyone would ever make a movie about a Walt Disney character coming across the mammoth creature of myth!? It's just totally out of the blue and random, and in turn utterly brilliant. The artist behind this exceptional creation apparently made this little film for a school project when his originally-planned live action movie was not going to be completed on time.

In 1994 this hilarious gem of a film was voted as #38 of the 50 Greatest Cartoons of all time by members of the animation field. This was very well deserved. Surely you can spare 90 seconds of your time watching this concoction of subtle comedy ("Bambi's wardrobe designed by...") and just good old-fashioned laughs. One shot, one main gag. Nuff said.

You'll find it right here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tAVYYe87b9w

In 1999, another artist created a sequel - Son of Bambi Meets Godzilla.

"Now if we don't find a viable means of stopping this fucker, Sharkzilla is gonna own the sea. You own the sea, you own the world. Limeys and the spics got that right. What? I'm an equal opportunity racist."

The critical mind boggles when one is faced with the task of reviewing a film entitled Mega Shark vs. Giant Octopus. The title itself reveals everything you need to know about this B-Grade monster schlock - the plot, the major set-pieces, and above all the genre. Cinematic schlock is created when a preposterous concept is meshed with an inept approach, generating a perfect storm of celluloid patheticness that guarantees plenty of laughs (intentional or otherwise). There are instances when sheer filmmaking incompetency produces a deliciously awful experience - such movies triggered the creation of the term "so bad it's good". Lovers of such lunacy will adore Mega Shark vs. Giant Octopus; this low-budget creature feature filmed in twelve days and completed barely four months afterwards. With its sloppy CGI, uproariously ridiculous plot points and lame acting, Mega Shark vs. Giant Octopus is an instant camp classic as opposed to a standard cinematic stool sample. It's certainly bad, but deliberately so - winking at the audience frequently along the way. Expecting anything from this feature apart from a good time revelling in awfulness would be setting yourself up for disappointment.

Now, the plot... Wow, this'll be easy. A Megalodon shark and a gigantic octopus were frozen in mid-combat back during the Ice Age. Millions of years later, the glacier containing these prehistoric combatants melts, reviving the creatures. After these monsters wreak havoc on the world and inflict massive casualties on the human populace (mostly off-screen, which is unfortunate because what we do see is hilariously awesome), a marine scientist (Gibson) along with her newfound Japanese counterpart (Chao) and daffy Irish mentor (Lawlor) are brought in to assist with the situation. Initially the scientists try to capture the gargantuan animals, using pheromones as bait. (Of course, no-one is concerned with how the fuck they'd be able to keep these specimens alive for research...logistics is never an issue for the characters.) But predictably, this plan fails, so it's time for Plan B: lure the two creatures away from civilisation and allow them to fulfil the prophecy of the film's title.

We're subjected to a clichéd "laboratory scene" while the characters are trying to figure out how to kill the titular creatures, wherein the scientists make weird faces, mix coloured liquids in beakers for no reason, look through microscopes and scribble down notes. Lots of jargon is thrown into the script in an attempt to make the military sound authentic as well - plenty of "Plan Delta" and "Zero One Niner". There's even a Japanese submarine supposedly in Japan that's inhabited by a crew who speak perfect English without the slightest hint of a Japanese accent.

Mega Shark vs. Giant Octopus opens with an assortment of inexpensive stock shots of snowy mountains punctuated with inexpensive stock shots of the sea. A helicopter apparently drops some sort of sonic wave thingy into the sea since he's on some kind of top-secret government mission. Be aware that we never actually see said helicopter flying over the water...we're just shown footage of it flying amongst the clouds. The one shot of the helicopter flying is reused about three or four times before the shot is flipped to show the helicopter flying in the opposite direction which is then reused a few times.

The highlight of this motion picture is undoubtedly the hilarious sequence during which the Mega Shark attacks an airborne passenger plane...the shark literally leaps thousands of feet out of the water and grabs the jet with its mouth. Never mind that the impact upon landing back in the ocean should kill the shark. In addition to this, the film's "Money Shot" moment shows the Mega Shark taking a chomp out of the Golden Gate Bridge. Meanwhile, the Giant Octopus swats planes with its tentacles and dismembers an entire oil rig. Absurd and unconvincingly executed, yet it's glorious! Absolutely glorious! The epitome of bad monster movie awesomeness!

See? It's awesome!

Jack Perez writes and directs under the pseudonym of Ace Hannah (I shit you not), loading the screen with overinflated dialogue, well-worn clichés and laughable action sequences. Due to this, you'll be giddily awaiting to see where he'll take this mess next. One assumes Perez billed himself as Ace Hannah to make his name sound more B-Movie-esque. However it's more likely that the man was mortified by what he'd created and desperately wanted to distance himself from it.

Mega Shark vs. Giant Octopus is unmistakably fun, but it's also underwhelming. While there are some awesome moments of Mega Shark and Giant Octopus mayhem guaranteed to tickle your B-Movie funny bone, one will be yearning for more. The film unfortunately fails to deliver a truly epic duel between the gigantic sea monsters. The concept is definitely too ambitious given the budgetary restrictions, though every penny appears on the screen. The computer animation looks cheap and is never realistic, but it isn't brutally bad either. The actual fight between the shark and the octopus sadly looks more like a bizarre mating ritual. They bump into each other, and then it appears that the octopus is humping the Megalodon. Perhaps the pheromones made an impact and the thing is trying to fuck its opponent to death.

The filmmakers cut corners whenever possible. Certain computer-animated shots are repeated a lot, including one sequence which features the very same shot three or four times during a ten second period. The shark vs. octopus encounter itself is just the same few shots on a loop. Although the shots are hokey and the repetition is glaringly obvious, they do the job at least, and all the fakery adds to the film's charm. The standard studio sets are also quite comical. Look out for the interior ship set - it's used twice as two different US battleships and once as a Chinese submarine, and it's very obvious as well. Again, it adds to the charm. The editing is pretty shoddy as well. Some live action shots are reused a lot, for instance. On top of this, at one stage the pilot of a jet radios a mayday about being knocked out of the sky before he's actually knocked out of the sky. The same type of thing also occurs during the shark/plane sequence. Once again, this is all part of the charm.

In the cast you'll find former singer Debbie Gibson as the female protagonist and Vic Chao as the Japanese associate - both are hilariously awful. Lorenzo Lamas delivers an expectedly wooden performance with crummy dialogue to match, but he can be forgiven due to his use of the term "Sharkzilla". However, it seems Lamas doesn't actually know what type of film he's making as he appears to take everything a bit too seriously. Alongside these "actors" is Sean Lawlor (whose filmography also includes Braveheart) who at least looks like he's trying. Every piece of bad, laughable dialogue is delivered with straight faces by these performers.

Mega Shark vs. Giant Octopus is gormless, unrealistic, cheesy, and great! The budget doesn't allow the film to fulfil its potential (a big-budget Hollywood remake should be in order), but the 'fun factor' is firmly in place. God knows there are countless criticisms you can throw at the movie, but the enthusiasm cannot be denied. Just watch the film in context and remember exactly what it is. If you like good old-fashioned schlock, this fast-paced 85-minute B-Movie bonanza overflowing with campy glee will bring a smile to your face.

"Michael Riggins. Ex Marine Corps. Weapons transporter. Honorable Discharge. Prison time. Solitary. Guy's a goddamn out of control mercenary! This is worse than we thought!!"

Direct Contact is just another standard "if you've seen one, you've seen 'em all" direct-to-DVD action flick. Aging action star Dolph Lundgren is this picture's focal selling point - without a performer like Lundgren, there'd be nothing of any interest to anybody since the cast is filled with small-time actors no-one gives a damn about. To the credit of director Danny Lerner and writer Les Weldon, Direct Contact assuredly entertains with a non-stop string of incredibly violent action sequences. As long as you're prepared to suspend your disbelief (describing this film as preposterous is an understatement) and overlook general filmmaking incompetency, this low-budget actioner delivers precisely what you'd expect. Direct Contact was purportedly a mere stepping stone for the Dolphster - he was compelled to appear, and the production company (Nu Image) in return allowed him to direct and star in Command Performance.

The protagonist here is Mike Riggins (Lundgren); a lethal black ops soldier caught smuggling and dumped in a Russian prison for perpetuity. He lands a Get Out of Jail Free card when an American diplomat (Paré) negotiates his release, offering Mike freedom and $100,000 to rescue a woman named Ana (May) who was kidnapped by a ruthless war lord in Eastern Europe. Mike promptly carries out his orders, but after killing a bunch of incompetent soldiers and saving Ana, he realises he's been snookered. Both Ana and Mike are then hunted by tonnes of seriously ill-tempered, heavily-armed bad guys.

The story is strictly well-worn territory. The plot is also thin, incredibly lazy, and non-existent yet unfathomable at the same time. Nothing is ever set up, and plot elements are just glossed over. It seems everything apart from the action is an inconvenience to the filmmakers. This story is a trite waste of time driven by plot holes and unbelievable contrivances.

The characters are all clichéd and one-dimensional. Gina May's performance is easier on the eyes than the ears - she's a woeful actress whose performance is complemented with horrid dialogue. The film's villainous cohorts are tediously contrived and evil in the most stereotypical of ways. Michael Paré has become an Uwe Boll regular, thus for the performer to feature in a low-rent actioner is forgivable. James Chalke is notably awful; awkwardly fumbling around, playing one of the worst screen villains ever committed to celluloid. At least Dolph Lundgren manages to provide his fans with a few thrills. He's a pretty stoic performer, but Lundgren packs a serious punch for a guy in his fifties. Director Danny Lerner isn't exactly known for high-calibre screenplays (he has penned a few Steven Seagal films) or top-quality features (he directed Shark in Venice and Raging Sharks), so it comes as no surprise that Direct Contact is pretty bad. He simply can't pry decent performances out of his actors, and he's unable to write dialogue that doesn't sound forced and/or clichéd. Even worse, Lundgren and Gina exhibit zero chemistry, and it's disconcerting to portray the two of them in a romantic fashion considering that they could pass off as father and daughter.

Direct Contact is at least very violent, and the main bad guy succumbs to a legendary death sequence. When the Dolphster is granted the opportunity to fire upon his enemies with an array of firearms, loaded blood squibs explode with reckless abandon. This is an unapologetically hard-R picture, gleefully embracing its hyper-violent late '80s action pedigree. Sinew blasts from the ruined uniforms of soldiers during the rampant gunplay exchanges, bringing back memories of Arnold Schwarzenegger's Commando in several ways. The majority of the budget was clearly blown on both blood squibs and pyrotechnics. Even the abandoned building in which the climax takes place is packed with a convenient stash of gas barrels just lying around, waiting to explode. Direct Contact is incredibly stupid as well, with Dolph's Mike Riggins walking out into the open during multiple action sequences when he has guns trained on him! Throughout virtually every action sequence, soldiers have clear shots at their target but conveniently miss. The only hit Mike ends up sustaining is a conveniently-placed flesh-wound which is used to create a tired set-up for a love scene later in the film.

The action is thankfully more 'old school' - it's devoid of silly split-second editing that plagues most action films of the current era. While the imagery is admittedly infused with at least some degree of flair, the filming/editing collaboration is simply woeful, generating constant continuity errors. Probably the worst action sequence in the film occurs at a stadium - choppy beyond all belief. The car chases are also a bit too standard and lack energy, not to mention a lot of the footage has quite obviously been sped up. The result is a merely watchable actioner.

Fundamentally an amalgam of Commando and the Dolphster's own The Mechanik (a.k.a. The Russian Specialist), Direct Contact is a flawed but enjoyable action film. It's taut and brisk at about 85 minutes, and it provides bagfuls of blood and gore, but all elements of this film are mediocre at best. Still, Dolph Lundgren kicks things up a notch and holds your attention with a kung-fu grip. The aging but still awesome Dolph partaking in some entertaining action sequences makes Direct Contact exciting enough to ensure it's at least worth watching.

"The dead have a lot of unfinished business, which is why we're still here."

Co-written and directed by David Koepp, Ghost Town is a pleasant little cinematic gem which perfectly balances romantic comedy and light-hearted ghost story. Despite being a commercial underperformer (only just regaining its budget at the box office) and suffering a short theatrical run, this is a genuinely funny rom-com elevated by a top-shelf cast and a sharp script. Thankfully, Koepp's feature never goes big - there are no over-the-top comedic set-pieces, and the filmmakers never hurl fistfuls of money at the screen to distract with ornate sets or excessive CGI. Ghost Town isn't weighed down by too many characters or dangling subplots either, so it's therefore able to focus on making us laugh and tugging our heartstrings (which it does well). The film's sense of humour is dry, quippy, and superbly understated, while at the same time there's a sweetness and vulnerability on the flipside - this is a movie with a big, beating heart.

The protagonist here is a misanthropic dentist named Bertram Pincus (Gervais). The man hates people, and he chose his profession because he doesn't have to talk to his clients. During a routine colonoscopy, Bertram unexpectedly dies for bit less than seven minutes. Following his brief departure into the afterlife, Bertram is gifted with the ability to see and interact with ghosts wandering the streets of New York City, specifically those with unfinished business from their former lives. Unfortunately for the socially awkward Bertram, the ghosts begin pestering him non-stop, seeking his help to finish their unfinished business. Bertram soon meets a recently-deceased businessman named Frank (Kinnear) who promises to get rid of the ghosts forever if he does him a favour. Frank's widow (Leoni) is about to be remarried, and Frank wants Bertram to break it up.

Writers Koepp and John Kamps never bog down their screenplay with superfluous subplots, nor do they introduce a gaggle of characters merely for a laugh - the screenplay is instead remarkably sleek and efficient. Ghost Town is essentially a three-character piece: it focuses on Frank, Frank's widow Gwen, and the misanthropic Bertram who's inadvertently caught in the middle. The first half of this feature is a blend of amusing situations and droll dialogue as Bertram comes to terms with his new ability. A hilariously tempestuous relationship also develops between Bertram and the ghosts during this period which erodes the dentist's patience. Once the comedic and romantic elements are established, Koepp reaches for the heartstrings during a few poignant sequences. This mawkish aspect is surprisingly well-handed, although the tonal shift is a bit abrupt. During the final forty minutes, the screenplay unfortunately descends into a mire of familiar rom-com clichés.

Bertram is a snobbish antisocial asshole, and from the outset it's obvious he'll be redeemed by the film's dénouement. The problem is that the movie is devised to be a romantic comedy, and it's difficult to embrace the romance if one half of the couple is unlikeable. Because the dentist is so horrible to Gwen initially, it's also difficult to accept the fact that she falls for Bertram...it's the quickest "frenemy" conversion in movie history.

The core of the story is not otherworldly exploration, but Bertram slowly adjusting to the world of communication with other people. The ghosts are mainly a MacGuffin - they help Bertram realise his hollowness, and place the man on a path to redemption. Ghost Town thankfully avoids addressing concepts of spirituality and God, therefore never becoming needlessly preachy or provocative, and it's far more enjoyable as a result. However, the script stumbles in its depiction of ghosts - they can walk around on the solid floor, they can sit in seats, they can lean on walls and obviously have some form of physical presence...yet they can walk through things as well (Frank clearly moves from room to room without using a door). This aspect is ultimately confounding, and the duo of writers should've included a brief explanation. After all, explaining the abilities of ghosts in this sense is a concept overflowing with comedic possibilities.

Ghost Town is ultimately elevated by the well-developed characters and the witty, well-written character interactions. Director Koepp handles the material with great skill, displaying a sleight-of-hand that can be funny, surprising or touching. The combination of Koepp's delicate direction and a wonderful soundtrack ensures that Ghost Town engages and entertains from the very first frame.

Ricky Gervais pulls off the lead role with unique self-assurance. He is the exact opposite of a romantic lead - short, middle-aged, and ordinary in appearance - but he perfectly matches the character of Bertram Pincus. Gervais never forces his lines or overacts - his humour is instead dry and understated, yet caustic. Greg Kinnear is equally excellent, taking his sleazy, determined ghost role and infusing it with a convincing, regretful sense of humanity. Kinnear and Gervais play off each other wonderfully whenever they share the frame. Thanks to these endearing actors, a viewer can become comfortable with the concept of a man talking to ghosts, and therefore get comfortable with the characters. Alongside Gervais and Kinnear, there's a very watchable Téa Leoni.
Kristen Wiig (who previously featured in Knocked Up) is given a tiny role as a meek surgeon, and provides some of the movie's biggest laughs. There's some impeccable back-and-forth between her and Gervais as she desperately tries to cover up gross malpractice.

With Ghost Town, David Koepp grasps a familiar framework and does something remarkable with it. The writer/director's approach is understated yet devastatingly hilarious, and with a lot of heart to boot. Ghost Town may not burn up the box office, but this perfectly entertaining effort entertains and disarms with an impeccable mix of humour and pathos.

"I'm writing a story. I work for the National Desk okay, and it's gonna run tomorrow, and it's gonna say among other things that you are a CIA operative and that you went on a mission, a fact-finding mission to Venezuela."

Nothing But the Truth is rock-solid entertainment devised by adults, starring adults, and intended for adults. The opening moments of this riveting journalism drama emphasise that it's merely inspired by (but not based on) a true story. The plot is a moderate reworking of an event that occurred in 2005 - New York Times reporter Judith Miller served time in gaol for refusing to reveal her source for a story that exposed the identity of CIA operative Valerie Plame. For Nothing But the Truth, details of this true story have been altered (Iraq is changed to Venezuela, 9/11 is changed to an attempted Presidential assassination), but the broad strokes are there. Writer-director Rod Lurie employs the true story's basic elements to craft this compelling political thriller. And in doing so, Lurie has created a powerful examination of the fragility of Constitutional rights as well as the consequences of journalistic integrity. In a contemporary cinematic climate of kid-friendly and action-drenched multiplexes, Nothing But the Truth stands out as something rare - a top-flight drama for grownups. One of the most overlooked and unappreciated movies of 2008, this is an intelligent motion picture which centres on smart characters.

In this loose retelling of the 2005 Miller/Plame affair, an ambitious Washington journalist named Rachel Armstrong (Beckinsale) writes an article that divulges incriminating evidence about the United States government. This article also reveals that a local suburban woman named Erica Van Doren (Farmiga) is a covert CIA operative. The axe falls immediately - Rachel's story triggers a swift reaction from the government, who demand to know who gave the reporter confidential information. However Rachel refuses to reveal the identity of her source, and consequently she's thrown in gaol by smooth-talking US prosecutor Patton Dubois (Dillon). As days turn into weeks, and weeks into months, Rachel refuses to talk, which brings about dire consequences for herself and her family.

Director Lurie manages to keep the gripping narrative throttling forward at a brisk pace. The speed and force with which the government come down upon Rachel is as abrupt and startling to the characters as it is to a viewer. As the plot progresses, Lurie continually adds more nuance while also offering a thoughtful commentary on several things - the fleeting media attention for Rachel's plight, the shifting public perception of the media, and even sexism (in the form of criticism against Rachel for remaining in gaol instead of being with her son). These elements culminate in a terrific speech delivered by Rachel's attorney (Alda) at a US Supreme Court hearing. Nothing But the Truth concentrates on Rachel's dilemma while simultaneously displaying the aftershock for CIA agent Erica Van Doren. As Erica is continually grilled by her superiors (who believe that she is either the leak or has carelessly disclosed her identity) and Rachel is threatened with prison time, it becomes possible to sympathise with both of these women.

Lurie's screenplay deviates considerably from the Miller/Plame affair that inspired the film in order to critique the American government and a modern society. One of the picture's strongest points is that those unfamiliar with the real-life story will be easily sucked into the film's narrative, and the movie doesn't contain many exaggerations to distract those acquainted with the story. The filming style adopted by Lurie and cinematographer Alik Skharov is tremendously gritty, and the immediacy is downright staggering from time to time. The thoughtful script is also well-written - heated conversations between the characters are intense instead of over-the-top - and the central narrative is wrapped up with a clever, unexpected plot twist. The film is sharply edited thanks to editor Sarah Boyd as well, and everything is topped off with a powerful, evocative score courtesy of Larry Groupé. Nothing But the Truth has its faults - it's underwritten (more character development would've been beneficial), the politics of the knotty case are oversimplified, and the subplot about Rachel's husband is a dead end (both emotionally and structurally) - but it's nevertheless a masterful effort, and these faults aren't enough to outweigh its abundance of strengths.

One of the strongest points of Nothing But the Truth is the cast, led by Kate Beckinsale who submits one of the best performances of her career. Through Beckinsale we can see Rachel Armstrong's ambition as well as her love for her son, and her shock and outrage at the treatment the FBI subjects her to. Director Lurie relies a lot on close-ups, and this style is advantageous because the myriad of emotions conveyed by Beckinsale are brought out.
As the explosive CIA operative Erica Van Doren, Vera Farmiga is downright excellent. The conviction and indignation that Farmiga manages to bring to her character is startling. Matt Dillon is impeccably nuanced as Patton Dubois. Dillon's restraint in the role (he never plays Dubois as an antagonist) makes it easier to see things from his perspective.
The supporting cast is equally remarkable. Angela Bassett conveys grave authority in her role as Rachel's editor, while Noah Wyle does an excellent job as the newspaper's hot-headed legal counsel. Alan Alda is terrific as the overly dapper but committed attorney, bringing a great degree of gravitas to this challenging role. Meanwhile, David Schwimmer submits understated, engaging work as Rachel's embittered husband.

Unjustly ignored during its brief period in theatres, Nothing But the Truth is a crisply-shot political thriller that's definitely worth checking out.

"You ain't nothin' but a hound dog, cryin' all the time. You ain't never caught a rabbit, and you ain't no friend of mine."

Deborah Kampmeier's much-hyped Hounddog premiered at the 2007 Sundance Film Festival to a disastrous reception. Following its derailment at the festival, the film was subsequently recut and revised before being given a brief, unsuccessful theatrical release almost two years afterwards. But make no mistake...even the amended version of this humid drama is thoroughly awful. Although writer-director Kampmeier tried to get this project off the ground for a decade, Hounddog - unofficially known as The Dakota Fanning Rape Movie - feels tailor-made to be a vehicle for young Dakota Fanning who clearly desires to transition from kid roles to more dramatic material via this controversial drama. Unfortunately, this is just a heavy-handed, overwrought feature that isn't nearly as powerful or as provocative as it clearly strives to be. Hollow, unbelievably clichéd, unappealing, and unable to convey a worthwhile message, Hounddog is a handsomely-produced but unintentionally risible film.

Taking place in Alabama (although it was filmed in North Carolina) during the late 1950s, the story follows a precious young free spirit named Lewellen (Fanning). A pre-teen on the verge of womanhood, Lewellen is unaware of her burgeoning sexuality as she attracts the attention of lecherous boys while attempting to sort out her domestic troubles. The troubled 12-year-old girl only finds solace from her abusive life through blues music - namely Elvis Presley, whose songs she keenly sings and dances along to.

If there's one thing Hounddog does correctly, it's the recreation of the American South during the 1950s. The striking visuals are evocative of rural living, and the soundtrack (alive with the sounds of locusts and grasshoppers, in addition to a cocktail of classic music) are able to pull a viewer in. Unfortunately, though, Kampmeier has no idea what to do with an audience once they've become immersed in her world. The key flaw is that the story doesn't have anything valuable to say. Moreover, Lewellen never acts like a prepubescent girl - she's a writer's construct as opposed to a living, breathing human being.

Essentially a coming-of-age tale, Hounddog is an extremely episodic drama that bounces all over Lewellen's world in increasingly irritating and unintentionally funny ways. The loss of innocence is supposedly the main vein of thematic exploration for this feature, but Kampmeier simply isn't focused or talented enough to effectively pull it off as she struggles to cover the large canvas of Lewellen's family woes. Clichés plague the screenplay as well. With plenty of painfully "symbolic" snakes, a jovial African American who can offer homespun wisdom at the drop of a hat, and predatory boys who rape young girls, it's doubtful there's a Southern cliché that the writer-director misses!

The first two thirds of Hounddog are incredibly unfocused and grow increasingly boring. Kampmeier continues to throw in pointless distractions rather than focusing on developing a semblance of a narrative. Such distractions include the arrival of a snobby rich girl, as well as the tragedy that befalls Lewellen's father when (in an unintentionally comic moment) lightning strikes his tractor and he's turned into a childlike invalid. Eventually those who know what's coming will find themselves in the decidedly peculiar position of impatiently awaiting the rape of Lewellen, hoping the scene will get things moving. The rape scene arrives after roughly an hour, and is shown with sufficient restraint to deflect a lot of the criticism it received. There's nothing gratuitous or exploitative about this particular scene; it's presented as tastefully as possible while still conveying the horror of the act. (Kampmeier does cross the line, however, with a silly Jesus reference: Lewellen's palm is cut by a nail).

After the rape scene, Kampmeier's movie stumbles from one unlikely story development to the next, and is packed with further distractions (such as the return of a character who wants custody of Lewellen). There's no compelling portrait of Lewellen as she struggles to deal with the trauma. The film never deeply explores the character...she's ashamed and her spirit is broken - that's about all we get. An unnecessary plethora of subplots are added instead - there's some mystical mumbo-jumbo involving snakes, and an all-knowing Negro who soothes Lewellen's spirit with his words of healing and blues music. How does that solve the problem? At the end of the day, Hounddog is just utterly uninvolving and asinine.

More than anything else, Hounddog is a film that allows Dakota Fanning the rare opportunity to convey a tremendous range of emotions in an Oscar-baiting performance. Fanning is the best thing about this otherwise cold fish of a motion picture.
The only other actor worth mentioning is David Morse as Lewellen's father. Morse, already a cringingly limited actor, just does his best Forrest Gump impression after his character is struck by lightning. He ludicrously overplays his character's mental reduction, to the point that one will likely be reminded of Robert Downey Jr.'s speech in Tropic Thunder regarding the perils facing an actor who goes "full retard."

Hounddog is merely a string of vignettes - there's no coherent or compelling story, and it loses power as a result. The controversial rape scene is the only moment in Hounddog that's genuinely effective because it is the only time that writer-director Deborah Kampmeier had a solid idea of what she wanted to say. In spite of a few scenes of utter greatness, this motion picture as a whole is an unmitigated mess. If there was genuine heart and passion behind this film, Hounddog could've become the genuinely moving and powerful drama that it wanted to be rather than the maudlin, silly mess it ended up becoming.

"Give a guy a gun, he's Superman. Give him two and he's God."

John Woo's Hard Boiled is a scrumptious feast for action lovers - an explosively visceral, operatic tour de force of amazingly choreographed violence and blistering pyrotechnics that's iced with Woo trademarks. At its core the film is a fairly standard cop drama with a limp emotional hook and cardboard characters, but with action extraordinaire John Woo at the helm, Hard Boiled is pumped up several notches. Woo grasps the conventional framework of an over-the-top action-thriller before adding a dense layer of visual artistry which is supplemented with meticulous choreography and the visceral punch of innocents in harm's way. Altogether, it's the perfect recipe for a John Woo actioner, and if this isn't his masterpiece then it certainly represents the director well enough.

Hard Boiled introduces us to tough-as-nails Hong Kong inspector 'Tequila' Yuen. At the beginning of the film, Tequila loses his partner in a shootout with a ruthless local triad gang. Determined to settle the score with these gun smugglers, Tequila reluctantly partners up with undercover police officer Tony (Leung) who has infiltrated the Hong Kong Triads. As Tony and Tequila work to crack the gun-running case, there are countless chest-thumping gun battles mixed with some halfway decent character development on top of an interesting subplot concerning paper cranes.

More than anything else, Hard Boiled is anchored firmly in place by the jaw-dropping action. Countless bullets are discharged throughout the film as the duo of heroes battle literally hundreds of henchmen. The key action sequences in Hard Boiled can be instantly recalled just by naming the location in which they transpire (the tea house, the warehouse, and so on). The shootouts never lack energy and never fail to astonish - the opening gunfight itself would be a worthy climax for any American actioner. The entire final half an hour of the feature is one long, breathtaking action set-piece within a hospital which moves briskly from one tense confrontation/shootout to another. There's one particularly stunning shot during the hospital sequence that lasts almost three minutes and follows Tequila & Tony as they dispatch a multitude of henchmen. In excess of 100,000 rounds of blank ammunition were reportedly expended during the production of the film. Interestingly, even despite the nonstop gun battles, we hardly ever see any characters reloading...

Director Woo employs close-ups, quick cuts, slow-motion, and insane tracking shots to weave in and out of the action. As a result, a viewer can easily become enthralled by the intense carnage. Unlike most other action directors, Woo understands one crucial thing - the geography of an action sequence. Woo's cinematography is smooth and steady as opposed to over-edited and shaky (like the director's successors). Meanwhile the score is both eerie and adrenaline-pumping, and the editing is sharp. Credit is also due to those who designed + created the sets - every location which houses an action sequence is blown to pieces for our viewing pleasure. The mayhem is simply awesome! On top of the competent craftsmanship, there's some sly humour tossed into the mix as well. A special mention should be made about the body count for this flick - according to multiple websites, Hard Boiled dishes out 307 bodies in total (146 during the hospital sequence alone).

Woo has two exceptional actors in Chow Yun-Fat and Tony Leung, who help prevent the film from diving into deep melodrama. Hard Boiled is marred by one factor, however: Tequila is never developed as a flesh-and-blood character. Tequila is just Chow Yun-Fat, the Asian Arnold Schwarzenegger - he's a mere cardboard cut-out with nothing more behind him. Were it not for the fact that Tony Leung's character is thoroughly developed and that the action truly kicks ass, Hard Boiled would just be another disposable actioner.

Prior to director John Woo's Hollywood conversion (resulting in excellent films like Face/Off, as well as duds in the form of Paycheck, Windtalkers and Mission: Impossible II), the man crafted a number of classic action films. Hard Boiled is arguably the best of the bunch. It's thin on plot, it's definitely silly, and it lacks an emotional hook, but it's the action and the top-notch filmmaking that deserves recognition here. From start to finish, dull moments are few and far between - and at over two hours in length, that's quite an achievement. Hard Boiled is also an essential motion picture which helped revolutionise the action genre for the subsequent generation - films like The Matrix owe their success and superb shootouts to this John Woo classic. You're simply not an action enthusiast unless you're familiar with Hard Boiled.

"I got to fucking do something about this. I can't have the kid fucking talking to the cops. You understand me? The fucking gun is on the street. This whole fucking goddamn thing is about to fucking blow up. If fucking Tommy or any of those fucking guys find out about it, I'm a dead man. You got to fucking help me."

Taking a heavy dose of influence from 1970's cop flicks as well as employing elements of modern action films (with a bit of Grimm's Fairy Tales also in the mix), Wayne Kramer's Running Scared is a hard-hitting, visceral, over-the-top extravaganza of blood and bullets that never lulls for a moment. With his second major movie, writer-director Kramer has delivered a non-stop action powerhouse packed with brutal violence, nightmarish caricatures, gun-toting kids, washing machine cunnilingus and enough f-bombs to make Martin Scorsese blush. It's also laden with pointless-yet-cool camera tricks and a crazily contorted plot structure. In a nutshell: Running Scared is an outrageous catalogue of action movie tricks presented by a director who's clearly having fun sampling from the genre salad bar. This ain't a movie for squeamish or those sensitive to gratuitous violence, but Running Scared is highly recommended if you have a taste for stylish filmmaking and gritty realism - it will leave you breathless.

The less written about this film's storyline, the better. In the simplest words possible, the story concerns a low-level gangster named Joey Gazelle (Walker). Following a botched drug deal that results in the deaths of several corrupt cops, Joey is tasked with disposing the guns used during the shootout. But before he can dispose of the guns, one of them is stolen by a young boy named Oleg (Bright) who uses it to shoot his abusive father (Roden). This gun becomes a MacGuffin which sets things in motion. Throughout the course of one night, Joey has to find the gun as well as Oleg. What follows can be described rather accurately as a feverish fairy tale told in the backdrop of a nihilistic and violent underworld.

Running Scared begins with an eye-popping, violent action sequence that's part True Romance, part Lethal Weapon and part The Matrix. With frenetic camera work, quick edits, slow motion and blood aplenty, this is an ardently visual sequence. Action fanatics will certainly be pleased with this opening which also establishes a fitting "anything can happen" atmosphere. After this shootout, the story slows down in order to develop the characters. Once Oleg uses the gun, however, the film detonates with an exhilarating, kinetic energy. From there, Running Scared becomes a succession of encounters, each one growing more bizarre and overblown. Much of this flick exists in an almost dream-like state, with sequences bordering on surrealism. The screen drips with sweat and blood with scene after scene of relentless brutality. Joey and Oleg's trip down the rabbit hole (if you will) is a despairingly dark odyssey of crime and suspense that culminates in an amazingly violent climax for which all bets are off.

Writer-director Wayne Kramer previously directed the somewhat low-key 2003 film The Cooler, hence Running Scared is a surprise in terms of style. For this film, Kramer adds a multitude of visual tricks that amplify the nightmarish atmosphere. Jim Whitaker's cinematography is equally astounding - with a desaturated colour palette of rich, grimy lustre and a number of magnificent, digitally-enhanced images, the filmmakers have achieved a true comic-book mood in the vein of Sin City and Kiss Kiss Bang Bang. This is all topped off with Mark Isham's top-flight score. Director Kramer also truly tests the boundaries for his film's R rating - on top of the orgy of ultra-violence, profanity is plentiful and there are a few full frontal nude shots.

Running Scared is not without its faults, however - the storyline is confusing, with plot holes and unbelievably contrivances galore. The dialogue alternates between outrageously profane and unbelievable, and a lot of the characters are cardboard. Kramer also employs pretty much every crime film cliché in existence. But the visuals are so enthralling, the pacing is so frenetic and the action is so involving that the film only falls apart in retrospect. There are probably too many endings as well, but Running Scared nevertheless remains a deliriously off-beat, psychotic action flick that entertains mightily.

Paul Walker is one of the movie's greatest strengths. The hard-edged, scared-to-death persona of Joey perfectly suits Walker - he does plenty of running, jumping, shooting and swearing with grit and believability backing up his actions. Even better, the actor manages to sell panic better than one would expect judging from his past work (movies like The Fast and the Furious).
The children (Cameron Bright and Alex Neuberger) submit solid work, while the villains (such as Chazz Palminteri, Karel Roden and Johnny Messner) exude malice. As the ever-devoted wife of Joey, there's Vera Farmiga who steals every scene. She even gets a subplot of her own - one which clearly indicates that Running Scared is more of a pulpy comic book or a grim neo-fairytale.

Running Scared is best described as an adult fairytale since writer-director Wayne Kramer blends conventional action-adventure aesthetics with the fantastic and the mythic. So much crazy stuff occurs during the course of Joey's outlandish night that the film frequently feels like a "greatest hits" collection of action flick lunacy. Best of all, Running Scared moves at such a lightning pace that one can easily overlook the preposterousness of the whole enterprise.

"Fate rarely calls upon us at a moment of our choosing."

Bigger and more overblown in every aspect (except where it's needed), Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen represents Michael Bay at his most unrestrained and confident. Bay and his trio of screenwriters (Ehren Kruger, Roberto Orci and Alex Kurtzman) have slathered this sequel with unrelenting excess, particularly dumb humour and an overwhelming amount of CGI. There's no coherent story here - just an arbitrary collection of explosions, robot battles and machismo posturing that's tagged with an awkward conclusion. The endless excitement is downright boring: there's no sense of anticipation, no tension, and no downtime...it's on all the time, like being stuck on a bus with a screaming baby. The movie, all 150 goddamn minutes of it, is just an audio-visual assault on all senses (including common) that mimics storytelling without understanding it. With the keen urge to bypass all traces of logic, reason, character development and depth, Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen is an utter mess of an action opus.

Now...the story? Yep, that's horrible as well. Sam Witwicky (LeBeouf) is departing for college, and the Autobots are busily hunting the remaining Decepticons. When Sam conveniently finds a shard of the Allspark in his jumper, his brain is flash-loaded with ancient symbols pertaining to the location of a deadly machine that will let the bad guys destroy our sun (for reasons too stupid to explain here). Megatron (Weaving) is hauled out of his deep sea tomb (where the government dumped him as part of their military strategy to set up the sequel) and revived before being placed in the service of the Fallen - i.e. "The First Decepticon": a being so important that nobody bothered mentioning him in the first film. The plot more or less just has Sam becoming all spastic as the symbols overwhelm his brain while the robots engage in fight sequences. Sam and his pals also meet Agent Simmons (Turturro), and they all travel to Egypt where the pyramids are...because that's what happens when you give $200 million to a bunch of idiots who failed geography, and allow them to make a blockbuster.

The straightforward plot is padded out to an unholy two-and-a-half hours, which means the whole thing is packed with dreadful filler. For instance there's a subplot in which Sam and his girlfriend are too nervous to say "I love you" to each other...until, of course, the finale, because that's how it's done in Screenwriting 101. By the time the all-in rumble between the Autobots, Decepticons, Otherbots (?) and the US Army finally arrives, one will be too numbed and fatigued to actually give a damn about how it all ends.

The blunders of the first film have been accentuated rather than expunged, while the very limited charms of the predecessor are gone, leaving nothing to recommend. For Revenge of the Fallen, Bay indulges in so much excess that he delivers the cinematic equivalent of snorting cocaine off a hooker's arse. The "money shots all the time" approach robs the action of weight and coherency.

For reasons that escape this reviewer's mental perimeter, Bay and his writers place greater emphasis on comedy for this sequel. The dead space between the action is therefore reserved for rear nudity from Turturro, jive-talkin' Autobots (triggering uncomfortable memories of Jar Jar Binks), extended time with Sam's stridently unfunny parents, and a Decepticon spy with leg-humping tendencies. Does the concept of a robot humping a woman's leg seem funny to you at all? Bay seemed to think it was so hilarious that he also threw in two scenes of dogs humping each other as well. Transformer testicles also make an appearance, and there's an exceedingly long gag involving Sam's mother tripping out on pot brownies. And slutty chicks can transform into robots too, because the film patently refuses to make sense. If Bay had another ten million to spend, he probably would've tossed in a musical number as well.

When the characters aren't engaging in embarrassingly witless dialogue or doling out tiresome exposition, they're running away from explosions in slow motion (although outrunning an explosion is physically impossible). Meanwhile the "action" is relentless in its monotony. Robots pound on robots, humans launch rockets and missiles at robots (though never in the history of the sci-fi genre has artillery ever actually harmed aliens), robots wipe out humans, etc. This stuff goes on and on - far beyond what's necessary for a brain-dead, CGI-laden motion picture. Worse still, there are over forty Transformers in this film (most are interchangeable cannon fodder). Unfortunately the Transformers are all similar in design, not to mention they're poorly defined and make absolutely no visual sense whatsoever (a car can transform into a robot a few storeys tall?!). Combined with the director's typical hyper editing and close-ups, it's impossible to tell who's who during the battles. Bay is unable to keep his camera still for a second to allow a viewer to actually watch the combat, instead opting for dizzying camera patterns. In the long run the action becomes a nauseating, incomprehensible blur of confusion. It's frustrating and burdensome, and one will struggle to figure out what's happening instead of relaxing and enjoying. Revenge of the Fallen is just sensory white noise that beats its audience into either submission or boredom. It's like watching paint dry while being whacked over the head with a frying pan!

Naturally, Bay has less luck with the humans - his characters range from obnoxious to pointless. Every character is a bland cipher who either yells at the top of their lungs or runs away from explosions in slo-mo. Megan Fox's character is particularly superfluous - she serves no purpose in the story, and is there just because she's hot. The camera spends so much time ogling her torso that one will wonder if Bay allowed a 13-year-old boy to operate the camera. At the end of the day, the characters are all just stereotyped caricatures and there's no anchor among them - there are so many characters but no-one is in the centre to root for.

The CGI work courtesy of ILM is strangely mixed. On the one hand the facial expressions of the Transformers have more range, but on the other hand the integration with the live-action footage is less smooth and more cartoonish. There's also no sense of physics or gravity to these creations - the giant robots are just tossed around without any weight or inertia.

No Bay movie would be complete without the director's disturbing sense of reality. The women are all supermodel hot, and they love to spread their legs for geeks. Minorities are best used as comic relief, and conform to every stereotype imaginable. Oh, and a scene set in a foreign country must depict the country's clichés (just in case the under-titles don't make it clear which country we're in) - snails & mimes in France, and camels in Egypt. And of course, the American Armed Forces are fetishised - the final act more or less serves as an army recruitment commercial.

Perhaps more than anything else, Revenge of the Fallen is about Michael Bay's love for Michael Bay. He accomplishes this in countless ways; most overtly by placing a large poster for Bad Boys II in Sam's dorm room, and more subtly (but not really subtle) through visual homages (including a shower of fiery objects destroying buildings in Paris which causes a tower to collapse that's taken directly from Armageddon, as well as the destruction of an aircraft carrier which is an obvious nod to Pearl Harbor).

Fans of this woeful picture can only say a couple of things in the film's defence: it's entertaining and the special effects are amazing. But the latter is arguable, and the former is merely a subjective opinion. Every summer blockbuster has big special effects and action...Revenge of the Fallen is just a tired rehash of summer action movie conventions. Why bother?

Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen perfectly embodies every negative aspect of summer blockbusters. It's a big lumbering idiot of a movie that substitutes noise and movement for any type of emotional connection. Bay simply trudges through his hoary, heavily rehearsed motions of explosions upon explosions, and reduces the globetrotting plotting to a repetitive yawn. It's an unforgivably long, obnoxiously unrewarding and brutally tiring experience. Look, I understand the original Transformers was a colossal box office hit, and this sequel is doing just as well. I also understand there's a market for this sort of brain-dead blockbuster. The Transformers films may be popular, but so is junk food - and they both poison your insides and rot your brain.

At one stage John Turturro asks of a Transformer in relation to the current crisis "Beginning. Middle. End. Facts. Details. Condense. Plot. Tell it." - I'd like to ask the screenwriters the same thing.

Oh, and you know what? Michael Jackson saw this movie on opening night. Next day, he was dead. Coincidence?

"The era of "yes" has begun."

More than anything else, Yes Man is an opportunity for Jim Carrey to reclaim his bygone slapstick glory days following a fleeting, unsuccessful venture into drama (The Number 23) and a restrained period in animation (Horton Hears a Who!). Carrey harkens back to his usual tricks here, making us laugh the good old-fashioned way in this screen adaptation of the novel of the same name by satirical writer Danny Wallace (who makes a brief cameo in the film). The primary narrative of Yes Man - a man who decides to change his life by saying "yes" to everything - is more or less a retread of another successful Jim Carrey vehicle: Liar Liar. Unfortunately, too, every plot-related aspect of Yes Man - the construction of the story, the set-up, the pay-off, the conflict and the resolution - is the very definition of predictability. But it's Carrey's oddball performance, the laughs and the genuinely engaging romantic subplot that makes the stale material feel fresh and renewed. This is not a masterpiece by any stretch, but it is a heart-warming, pleasant diversion worth a few hours of your time.

The story tracks a lonely, miserable corporate drone named Carl Allen (Carrey). Due to his depression following a fairly recent divorce, Carl has given up on life and says "no" to every opportunity to do anything apart from sitting in his apartment watching movies and being unhappy. When an old acquaintance (Higgins) urges Carl to attend a seminar, however, he ends up enrolling in a personal development program based on a very simple principal: say "yes" to every opportunity that comes your way. Carl finds his existence transformed, leading to some startling changes. He develops a relationship with a musician/photographer/aerobics instructor named Allison (Deschanel), and is unexpectedly promoted.

Once Carl swallows his pessimism, Yes Man switches into slapstick overdrive, observing the pickles that Carl gets himself into as a "yes man". The challenges he faces range from hilarious (Norman's Harry Potter party) to downright icky (accepting a sexual favour from his elderly neighbour). But eventually the film descends into familiar territory, culminating in an extremely clichéd final act. The laughs come to a dead halt once the narrative becomes trapped in a mundane break-up subplot and Carrey is forced to claw his way out of the trite distraction.

The messages behind Yes Man are simple: get the most out of life, and be nice to your peers. This Jim Carrey vehicle does borrow heavily from a great number of films (not just the aforementioned Liar Liar but also The Bucket List and more or less every generic romantic comedy in recent memory), but there's nothing wrong with borrowing if it works, and Yes Man works pretty well despite a large offering of formula.

Yes Man supplies some big laughs, a few good chuckles, and a bunch of mildly amusing moments. A lot of music is provided by an alternative Pop/Rock group known as the Eels, while some of the songs are performed by Zooey Deschanel and her band in the film (Munchausen by Proxy). The songs are truly excellent here, offering a terrific oddball feel. At the helm of the picture is Peyton Reed who provides plenty of energy and generates a glorious fast pace. Yet the concept of Yes Man provides a serious narrative problem - if saying "yes" to every situation improves Carl's life, there's no conflict. There's some wasted potential here too, let's face it. Carl could have gotten himself into a great number of additional scenarios (like those from Danny Wallace's novel), but disappointingly few are exploited.

For his performance, Carrey is a bit more restrained than usual, and his character comes across as a genuinely likable guy. His rubber face and manic energy are welcome here, with his enthusiasm helping to sell the weaker jokes. After beginning with a few nods to his "old self" (the man we saw throughout most of his '90s output), Carrey settles down to play a straightforward romantic comedy protagonist. Meanwhile the impossibly gorgeous and lovely Zooey Deschanel is the film's secret weapon. She avoids overacting - she's low-key and lets her expressive eyes convey her character's emotions. Her singing voice is also utterly angelic. The success of a romantic comedy depends on the two leads. Fortunately, even despite an 18-year age gap, Deschanel and Carrey have it - the chemistry necessary for the romantic aspect of the movie to gain traction. Their nice chemistry is assisted by Deschanel's disarmingly off-kilter line readings and abundant charisma.
The supporting cast is just as good - Rhys Darby is a particular standout as Carl's boss/buddy, while Terence Stamp is terrific during his brief screen-time, and Bradley Cooper does his best with an underwritten best friend role.

Yes Man is an amiable and entertaining feel-good romantic comedy. It never grows tedious, and it's never coated in too much saccharine. The characters are endearing, the premise is intriguing, the laughs are amusing, and it encourages us to get the most out of life. Sometimes that's enough to warrant a recommendation.

"Vassup?! I'm Brüno!"

A full frontal (excuse the pun) cinematic assault on homophobia and celebrity culture, Brüno gives Sacha Baron Cohen the opportunity to bring another of his misfit characters to the big screen in this follow-up to the hugely successful Borat. After achieving worldwide notoriety with Borat, it'd seem impossible for Cohen to anonymously deceive people with his provocative candid-camera antics once again. But lo and behold - the devilish actor has pulled it off thanks to a fresh new guise, and has found a new group of unsuspecting people to exploit for laughs. Cohen, who seems to have a pathological hate for America, has again proved that the US is indeed home to the dumbest, most screwed-up people on the planet. Brüno is a worthy successor to Borat - it employs a similar tactic of exploiting the idiocy, ignorance, and prejudice present in American society as a form of satire and social commentary while offering scripted comedy and mockumentary-style gags. But that's its only real weaknesses - Borat was so fresh and bizarrely unprecedented, while Brüno feels like more of the same.

As expected, plot is at a minimum as this is just a loosely connected chain of skits that allow the filmmakers to pierce something with their satirical knife (and turn the blade in the wound). The title character, Brüno (Cohen), is a homosexual Austrian fashion reporter whose television show (Funkyzeit) has established him as an icon in fashion circles. But a catastrophic incident at a fashion show leads to Brüno becoming fired, which ruins his reputation. Accompanied only by devoted assistant Lutz (Hammaresten), Brüno travels to America with plans to become "the biggest Austrian superstar since Hitler." The exiled fashionista apes the headline-grabbing antics of stars such as Angelina Jolie and Madonna in his single-minded pursuit for fame.

Brüno doesn't contain a rigid structure - it merely establishes a sense of purpose for our Austrian hero to go fourth and spread his unique brand of cheer. Using the central character's homosexuality as the bayonet on the film's rifle of satire, Brüno is more concerned with provoking violent responses through offensive material than trying to stitch together a coherent feature film. The film eventually sheds all dramatic pretences in order to run free in the fields of Cohen's disconcerting imagination, placing the character in interesting situations of conflict to capture the priceless reactions of unwitting victims. Brüno doesn't just cross the line...it crosses the line, laughs at the line, makes a new line, crosses that line, and then rapes the new line. If the nude wrestling sequence in Borat was too much for you...well, you ain't seen nothing yet.

While the laughs aren't as constant as one would anticipate, Brüno does deliver comedy in spades (as long as you're not easily offended). The feature fails to break new ground for Cohen and his comic impulses, but it certainly gives him welcome room to play. Borat was hardly restrained or in good taste when it came to sexual gags, but the seriously questionable taste of Brüno makes its predecessor seem like a morality play in comparison. Brüno was initially slapped with an NC-17 rating by the MPAA before Cohen removed several minutes in order to acquire an R rating for its theatrical release. But what remains is still incredibly hardcore and disgustingly explicit. Its rating is deserved!

When it comes to the unscripted skits, Sacha Baron Cohen has two primary targets - homophobia and celebrity culture - and he ain't shy about attacking either of them. The film is ripe with excessive homosexual stereotypes, with much of the humour derived from the clueless bystanders' reactions to the flamboyant Brüno.

The novelty factor of Brüno is lessened because the style is no longer fresh. It doesn't help that the film rehashes the basic plot of Borat: a foreign TV personality and his loyal sidekick depart from their homeland and embark upon a quest, along the way exposing the prejudices of the unsuspecting people they encounter. Unfortunately, too, Brüno feels far more manufactured. While the roughness around the edges of the video and audio make everything seem real, it's difficult to subdue the suspicion that some of the victims were primed to perform. In the end, Brüno isn't funny enough either; the juicy belly laughs are few and far between. Cohen usually forces gags instead of allowing the humour to emerge organically.

Sacha Baron Cohen's performance as the homosexual Austrian is expectedly terrific. Like Borat, the man hides behind an unrecognisable screen persona and immerses himself into the role 100%. Cohen is clearly prepared to do an array of preposterous things for the sake of amusing footage. The entire film is just a game of chicken that's played to see how far Sacha Baron Cohen will go to annoy people and get laughs. If the man has limits, none are in evidence. Cohen may have many things - a wife, money, fame and success - but shame is a virtue he doesn't possess.

Look out for cameos from countless celebrities as well, including Harrison Ford (the funniest ten seconds of the movie), Paula Abdul and Ron Paul. During the closing credits, Brüno also records a charity song with such celebrities as Bono, Elton John, Snoop Dog and Sting.

In the long run, Brüno achieves its goal - it provides a social commentary using guerrilla tactics, and it's quite funny. It's narratively structured exactly like its predecessor and it treads similar satirical ground, but it's still enjoyable. Sacha Baron Cohen may be a one trick pony, but he knows how to give an audience (*ahem*) a good ride. Just like Borat, some will praise this film a masterpiece of its genre while others will demonise it as unfunny, offensive pornographic excess. If you're part of the latter camp, I suggest you lighten up.

"You probably think this world is a dream come true... but you're wrong."

A screen adaptation of the 2002 novella of the same name by Neil Gaiman, Coraline signals Henry Selick's long-overdue return to the realm of stop-motion animation (after The Nightmare Before Christmas and James and the Giant Peach). In an era dominated by computer-animated movies (courtesy of Pixar, Dreamworks, etc), stop-motion puppeteers are few and far between, which makes Coraline an enchanting breath of fresh air. Better yet, the film doesn't rely on toilet humour, blatant morals or hackneyed plotting. Just like The Nightmare Before Christmas, Selick's latest effort can be absorbed by both kids and adults - kids can admire the luxurious visuals, while adults can absorb the themes and enjoy the scares. Coraline is a gorgeous motion picture, but it lacks substance, and the visuals often overwhelm basic storytelling requirements.

Fundamentally Alice in Wonderland reconfigured for David Lynch fans, this eerie-yet-elegant tale sets its sights on an adventurous young girl named Coraline (voiced by Dakota Fanning). Having moved with her family to a remote apartment building in Oregon (far away from her friends), Coraline is bored with her new home and annoyed by the inattentiveness of her workaholic parents. One day Coraline discovers a hidden door that turns out to be a portal which transports her to a bizarre alternative dimension that contains an idealised version of her home. But the time-honoured cliché applies: if it looks too good to be true, it probably is...

As the animation realm gradually becomes dominated by computers, Henry Selick seems wholly content operating in the world of stop-motion. It's impossible to deny the visual mastery of Coraline when it's a proud member of the stop-motion club; relinquishing routine CG sheen for breathtaking textures and luscious artistry that can be delivered only through this painstaking process. Selick's amazing visual style is almost smooth enough to be mistaken for CGI, but there's a distinctive appearance to this approach that reveals itself as something more laborious. Selick additionally explores Gaiman themes of heroism and magic while furthering his own interest in spooky creatures and surreal Burton-esque production design. Coraline has been tagged with a well-earned PG rating as it definitely falls on the dark side of the fairytale spectrum. It isn't an excessively violent movie, but there are a few intense, frightening scenes.

The plot, while admittedly rather slim, is involving from start to finish, and the narrative trajectory is rather unpredictable in spite of the incorporation of familiar elements. The key problem with Coraline is one of pacing - the story progresses at one pace throughout, and never heats up. Meanwhile (and there's no other way to put it), the film is gorgeously off-putting - a considerable achievement of visual dread. In the end it's pretty blah, yet (even without a story worth telling) the visual panache is compelling.

In a post-WALL-E animation market, a movie must come armed with insight into the world at large. In this respect, Coraline contains solid ruminations on parenting, individuality, and (most brazenly) the bond between mother and daughter. The voice acting is solid as well. Dakota Fanning is unrecognisable yet instantly likeable and boundlessly appealing as the feature's titular character. The rest of the vocal performers are equally unrecognisable. Teri Hatcher has no difficulty with her role as Coraline's two mothers, seemingly channelling the Wicked Witch of the West for her verbal performance as the Other Mother. Ian McShane does solid work as the Russian who runs a mouse circus upstairs, while Jennifer Saunders and Dawn French voice Coraline's strange downstairs neighbours. There's also Keith David as a prophetic black cat who plays a vital role in the story.

Though a few of the more perverse concepts from Neil Gaiman's Coraline novella have been excluded, the author's talent for dark and lively imagery has been translated with gravitas by Henry Selick. Despite a well-worn message (the grass is always greener/be careful what you wish for) and the fact that this enchantment runs out of steam before it ends, Selick's latest project remains a laudable accomplishment in animation and imagination - lean, funny, and entertaining. You don't have to be a child to be enchanted by it.

"You should've chosen my sister. You're already dead."

District B13 is unadulterated action porn. It's a series of kinetic action sequences tied together by an incidental plot and a forgettable script. Directed by Pierre Morel and produced by French super-producer Luc Besson, this is an adrenaline-pumping blast from start to finish that's loaded with style, wit and jaw-dropping acts of physical prowess - and although it's light on plot, it never slows down to let viewers notice. For those unaware, Luc Besson has produced an array of satisfying action films, ranging from the Transporter series to Jet Li vehicles (Kiss of the Dragon and Unleashed, for instance). If you're familiar with the aforementioned movies, you should know precisely what to expect from District B13 (originally titled Banlieue 13). For genre fans seeking solid entertainment, Besson has served up another spry, sleek winner.

The future of Paris envisioned in District B13 sees the worst districts surrounded by isolation walls, effectively cutting off all inhabitants of these areas from the rest of society and keeping the crime rates under control. The denizens of these slums are forced to live without education, proper utilities and police protection. The main story takes place in the 13th district during 2010, and a stolen neutron bomb is in the possession of the district's most powerful drug lord: Taha (Naceri). An undercover police officer named Damien (Raffaelli) is tasked with the assignment of finding the stolen nuclear weapon which will detonate in 24 hours. To be his guide inside the most volatile section of Paris, Damien recruits a man named Leito (Belle) who has his own score to settle with Taha.

District B13 is merely a torrent of action sequences tightly packed into an 85-minute runtime. It doesn't take long for the film to kick into high gear, and once the action begins it only occasionally lets up for brief scenes of exposition. There's not a boring moment at any point during the film as it throttles forward at breakneck pace from one high-flying action scene to the next. Better yet, the death-defying stunts were done primarily without the aid of wires or CGI. And unlike their Hollywood counterparts, French filmmakers know how to shoot and edit these sequences. They don't rely on close-ups or shaky cam, nor are these scenes over-edited to the point of indecipherability.

For the film's opening sequence, David Belle employs his own philosophy of Parkour - i.e. the art of navigating urban spaces quickly and gracefully by overcoming physical obstacles in the quickest and most direct manner possible. The man races across rooftops, slides down railings and crashes through a miniscule window above a door - just to name a few of the eye-popping stunts - as he evades a group of gun-wielding enemies (and it was mainly done for real). But his co-star Cyril Raffaelli is not to be outdone - the former circus acrobat and martial arts champion has plenty of his own moments to shine. Raffaelli's stunts are all about the fighting as he punches and kicks; disarming enemies in the most efficient way possible. Belle and Raffaelli (both of whom had a hand in creating the stunts and action scenes) make an excellent duo. It's during the film's second half that these two stars team up to crack some skulls, and that's when District B13 truly kicks into overdrive.

But the slender screenplay (written by Besson with colleague Bibi Naceri, who also plays Taha) is plagued with contrivances barely acceptable for an action film like this (the reception for Damien's mobile phone when he needs to diffuse the bomb, for instance). The characters are pretty one-dimensional as well.

For those concerned with having to constantly read subtitles (the film is in French), have no fear - District B13 is far from dialogue-driven, and it's simple to follow. Do yourself a favour and check out this incredibly visceral action film in which the on-screen action is dripping with the blood and sweat of real stunt work. The plot can be forgiven as the action is energetic, the athleticism is astonishing and the soundtrack is pulsating. A terrific way to spend 85 minutes!

"You can open the safe with your balls or without 'em."

For fervent action buffs, Joshua Tree (also known as Army of One) is a definite must-see - it stars action icon Dolph Lundgren, and it's directed by legendary stunt coordinator Vic Armstrong. It's a breathless exercise in hardcore action violence, and it moves at such an exhilarating pace that its stupidity and conventionality can be easily overlooked for the sake of entertainment.

In Joshua Tree, the Dolphster plays former race car driver Wellman Santee. With his racing days long behind him, Santee's livelihood is now transporting exotic stolen cars. During a run-in with the police, however, his partner (Foree) is killed along with a highway police officer in a shootout, and Santee is framed for the policeman's murder. But while being transferred to prison, Santee escapes. He abducts a young woman named Rita (Alfonso), unaware that his hostage is actually a deputy sheriff. What ensues is a variety of action sequences as Santee struggles to clear his name.

Logic is disposed of fairly quickly into this feature (as is any sense of originality). For instance Rita looks surprisingly calm considering she has been kidnapped. She's also given endless opportunities to escape or turn the tables on her abductor, but she rarely capitalises on these opportunities. There's also the fact that police officers are unable to shoot properly (despite, you know, being trained to use firearms). During an encounter with Chinese gangsters at one stage in the film, cliché after cliché is doled out - the gangsters are incompetent shooters while Santee is a perfect marksman, and guns even run out of bullets at the most convenient of times. Stupidity really kicks in when the climax comes around. Said climax features a series of brutal hand-to-hand combat battles, but the combatants never succumb to any serious harm despite being pounded with fists and inanimate objects continuously. Some of the protagonists are shot too, but bullets don't seem to faze them. However, as these things are virtually unwritten requirements for action films of the '80s and '90s, they're somewhat forgivable.

Joshua Tree was written by Steve Pressfield, who had previously penned the Steven Seagal vehicle Above the Law. Pressfield takes a formulaic tale of dirty cops and a man out for revenge, and constructs a fairly involving narrative. The trajectory of the plotline is the very definition of predictability, but it's the action and the decent dialogue that hold our interest. Plus, we've come here to see the Dolphster kicking some butt...and in this respect, it delivers in spades! Another unwritten law for action films is one-liners - since a lot of actioners are hilariously ridiculous and tongue-in-cheek, humour is often employed to match the tone. Screenwriter Pressfield delivers in this aspect too.

With renowned stuntman and action director Vic Armstrong at the helm (a man who handled the stunts for the Indiana Jones films, a lot of the James Bond films, Starship Troopers, Patriot Games and Universal Soldier, just to name a few), one can expect Joshua Tree to deliver oodles of satisfying action, which it does! Armstrong delivers breathtaking, over-the-top action set-pieces, ranging from a John Woo-esque shootout in a warehouse to a high-octane car chase featuring a Ferrari and a Lamborghini. Blood squibs explode left, right and centre...this is an unapologetic R-rated action film. To top everything off, Joel Goldsmith has provided a terrific score - it features atmospheric background music for the quiet sections, and chest-thumping music for the action. But the editing is occasionally very choppy, and there are a number of technical faults in general.

Due to the excessive violence of Armstrong's directorial debut, the censors went bonkers and the film was edited down for a number of countries (like Britain, where it still received an '18' rating even after the graphic violence was toned down). Bizarrely, three different endings exist for this flick. Unfortunately (as of 2009), the version of the film containing the best ending (which wraps up everything) is yet to be released on any format (be it DVD or Blu-ray).

Dolph Lundgren earned his chops as an action star after his appearance in Rocky IV opposite Sylvester Stallone. Although Lundgren never truly acts much during the film (he merely says lines instead of meaning them), he's perfect for the role of Santee - he has the physique of an action hero, and he knows his way around an action sequence. Best of all, he's competent enough to hold our interest. Alongside the Dolphster is the duo of George Segal and Beau Starr as the main villains of the picture. It's easy to hate these guys, which makes Santee's plight easier to sympathise with. And as the trademark woman of the picture with the perfect body, there's Kristian Alfonso. Naturally, her character gets naked at one point (laughably gratuitous) and she ends up becoming the Dolphster's love interest.

At the end of the day, Joshua Tree is just a disposable '90s actioner that remains essential viewing for genre aficionados. This ain't anything groundbreaking, but it's definitely an entertaining distraction best enjoyed when the thinking side of your brain craves a rest.

"Ol' Jack always says... what the hell?"

An outlandish, uncategorisable blend of John Ford (and, by extension, John Wayne) and cornball Chinese mysticism, John Carpenter's Big Trouble in Little China is a hokey martial arts adventure flick with limitless appeal. The characters are both endearing and witty, with the actors hamming it up to extremes. Meanwhile Carpenter provides directorial genius, suspenseful set-ups, edge-of-your-seat action and a signature musical score. Big Trouble in Little China is simply a delightfully absurd action movie that never takes itself too seriously, although it isn't for all tastes.

In his fourth collaboration with director Carpenter (after Elvis, Escape From New York and The Thing), Kurt Russell plays an imitable, good-natured truck driver named Jack Burton. During one of his trips to San Francisco, Jack's truck is hijacked and he's unwittingly swept up in a universe-bounding plot to kidnap the fiancée of his friend Wang (Dun). The whole situation concerns warring gangs that dwell in the Chinatown underground, and an ancient supernatural spirit named Lo Pan (Hong). But Jack couldn't care less about any of this...he just wants his truck back.

This is not your ordinary kung fu flick, to say the least. The slender plot is virtually indecipherable; merely providing a reason to showcase lots of things happening in colorful settings for no reason other than to have lots of things happening in colorful settings.

Alas, character development is slim and an audience isn't given much of a chance to become acquainted with the characters before they're sent into action. However the dialogue never fails to sparkle and the endearing characters will win you over anyway. Big Trouble in Little China mainly works so well due to Carpenter's stylised direction and the breathless pacing. We're taken from one chase to another; Carpenter continually removing his characters from the frying pan and throwing them into the fire. This ever-escalating chain of events always keeps things moving forward, and never allows the movie to bog down (even the few expository scenes necessary to fully outline Lo Pan's dastardly scheme are brilliantly terse). Carpenter's willingness to let ridiculous, unexplained things fly in out of left field is another masterstroke. The character of Margo (Burton) at one stage likens this peculiar adventure to Alice in Wonderland.

The subterranean lairs which accommodate most of the action are great - hokey enough to emphasise the film's camp appeal, but not so hokey that they look like sets. Big Trouble in Little China features plenty of special effects too - and the somewhat dated effects add to the enchanting flavour. Carpenter always respects his influences. He maintains the B-Grade spirit of Hong Kong cinema while also fusing it with his own style and satirising it with a unique campness. From the score's synthesis of Eastern music and Carpenter's trademark synth to the arcade-style battle between two characters and the villain being defeated with a simple bowie knife to the head instead of a grand duel, Carpenter nails the tongue-in-cheek kung fu comedy genre. One definitely needs to be in the right mindset for this movie.

Kurt Russell as Jack Burton is priceless - he's a witty, tough-talking everyman hero in the mould of John Wayne. Unlike John Wayne, however, Jack is not immune from screwing up. Jack has a knack for getting into extreme situations, he believes he has everything figured out, he constantly messes up, and he makes a lot of grand pronouncements and wisecracks (he even talks about himself in the third person a lot). Russell's Jack Burton will definitely win you over with his cheesy bravado. Interestingly, he ain't the real driver of the plot - he's Wan's sidekick and he's just there to find his truck. Jack is, however, the true star of the show

Just like John Carpenter's The Thing, Big Trouble in Little China performed poorly at the box office upon its initial release but has grown vindicated in the years to follow; earning a legion of fans who understand what Carpenter was trying to do. Ancient Chinese mysticism and kung fu is expertly blended with good old-fashioned American gunplay to produce this high-energy mélange of action sequences. You know what ol' Jack Burton would say at a time like this? Jack Burton would say "see this movie!"

"Pain don't hurt."

Road House is the very definition of a guilty pleasure - it's packed with rousing action, a ludicrous story, a great soundtrack, gratuitous nudity, huge bare breasts, monster trucks, sex in strange places, roundhouse kicks and a great lead performance from Patrick Swayze in his prime. There isn't much weight to Road House, nor does it have any lofty ambitions, but it's a very enjoyable, breezy romp, and a perfect late night "guy flick".

Inimitable '80s leading man Patrick Swayze stars as a legendary über-bouncer (or "cooler") named Dalton who has a philosophy degree and a black belt to boot. Dalton is recruited by club owner Frank Tilghman (Tighe) to clean up a rowdy bar. He accepts the job offer, thinking he'll be able to just swoop in for some easy money. But when the town kingpin Brad Wesley (Gazzara) takes an interest in seeing Dalton fail, he faces an adversary far tougher than any bar souse. Dalton initially tries to avoid conflicts, always maintaining his business philosophy of "be nice", but when Wesley threatens those closest to him, the reluctant pugilist realises he'll have to take action (and perhaps even be mean) in order to preserve the peace.

It isn't long before Road House degenerates into a nonstop string of fistfights. There's also a wispy subplot involving a flat romantic interest for Dalton (played by Kelly Lynch) who turns up with thick glasses and her hair in a bun. The plotline is incidental and silly, and it's virtually impossible to make good sense out of it, but this film knows how to entertain. Thus one should just sit back and enjoy the primal savagery of good vs. evil carnage. With emphasis on action, cheesy one-liners and histrionic characterisations, Road House is a celebration of '80s Hollywood excess and the art of visceral entertainment for entertainment's sake.

Road House is such a manly movie that the film stock practically has whiskers growing out of it. The whole thing is so rowdy that the director is a man named...Rowdy! Happily, director Rowdy Herrington knows how to shoot a brutal fight scene. He eschews anything resembling subtlety in favour of larger-than-life action set-pieces and characters that are either ridiculously ethical or flat-out evil. A massive kudos is also due to the screenwriters (David Lee Henry and Hilary Henkin) as well as director Herrington for inserting not one but two huge explosions into a movie about bar fights.

Patrick Swayze was just coming off the high of Dirty Dancing when he starred in this actioner. Swayze carries the film perfectly, emanating loads of charisma, machismo and intelligence. He truly had the chops to be a big '80s action star, and should've further exploited this potential. His character of Dalton is a masterfully-rendered protagonist, cut from the same cloth of anti-heroes like Clint Eastwood's laconic Man With No Name, but polished with the sheen of an erstwhile '80s superstar.
Swayze is also surrounded by a terrific supporting cast. Ben Gazzara as Brad Wesley hits all the right notes - he's an incredibly nasty, over-the-top villain. It's easy to hate Gazzara's scumbag of a character. The always capable Sam Elliot is perfect as Dalton's best friend and mentor Wade Garrett. Elliot (one of the industry's best character actors) is given the opportunity to be a complete badass, and capitalises on this opportunity at every turn. Meanwhile there's Kelly Lynch who's given a thankless "guy flick" role - in no way is she supposed to be complex or nuanced...she just needs to look good naked, which she does. The rest of the cast all seem very comfortable with their respective roles.

A tremendously enjoyable slice of romanticised fisticuffs, Road House is just a Western without the Stetsons and six guns. The film attempts little else than to provide its mostly male target audience with a thrill a minute. There is no pretence in Road House - it's just a bad film that you love to watch repeatedly in spite of your better judgement. What separates this balls-to-the-wall '80s actioner from more modern action duds (xXx, The Marine, The Fast and the Furious, and so on) is simply respect for the genre. A true action movie should be excessively violent if the subject warrants it...not neutered in order to attract a pre-teen audience for greater box office earnings. This is a prime example of how much fun an action film can be when filmmakers aren't trying to cater to the widest demographic possible. It's the type of action film best enjoyed with beer, pizza and friends.

"I used to fuck guys like you in prison."

"I desire the SOUL of Christine Brown. We will FEAST upon it while she festers in the grave!"

Easily the purest Sam Raimi movie since Evil Dead II, Drag Me to Hell is a triumph - one of the best movies of 2009. This horror tour de force is precisely the movie needed to revitalise the genre after a string of superfluous remakes (The Grudge, One Missed Call) and torture porn features (Saw, Hostel). Best of all, Drag Me to Hell allows Raimi the opportunity to reawaken his visceral horror instincts that were mummified by the big-league, big-budget Spider-Man trilogy. Even with the teen-friendly PG-13 rating in place, this is classic Raimi. So why is this PG-13 horror romp a rousing success while other modern horrors fall flat? Two factors stand out - Raimi's respect for his audience, and his desire to make horror fun again. In trademark Raimi style, Drag Me to Hell lurches from wild laughs to beautifully choreographed scares with a steady sleight of hand. The story is basic, the gimmicks are familiar and the mythology is laughable, but Raimi is highly confident with what he's presenting. This is a movie which demands to be seen with a large audience, milking every gasp and laugh for the best experience.

Drag Me to Hell begins with the decades-old Universal Studios logo, establishing a sense of nostalgia to get the audience in the mood for what follows. This old-fashioned exercise in terror transports an audience back to an era when horror was all about providing a fun, suspenseful carnival ride of fright flick...before torture porn tendencies clogged up vital artistic arteries.

Following an insanely atmospheric pre-title sequence, we're thrust right into the primary story. Christine Brown (Lohman) is a bank loan officer vying for a promotion against a brown-nosing colleague (Lee). In order to receive this promotion, she's told she has to be able to make the "tough decisions". Thus, when the normally soft-centred Christine is approached by aging gypsy Mrs. Ganush (Raver) who asks for a third extension on her mortgage payment, she denies the request. And for this, there is literally hell to pay. Things slowly go downhill for Christine from there as she finds herself the recipient of a supernatural curse placed on her by Mrs. Ganush. The shadowy demon haunting Christine begins toying mercilessly with her, and after three days she'll be dragged down to Satan's dominion.

Drag Me to Hell provides a thin membrane of a plot, quickly setting up Christine's workplace ambition and demonic dilemma which leaves plenty of time for Raimi to torment his heroine in creative ways. Naturally the film is more about the tour de force terror sequences, of which there are plenty. The film's biggest blessing is its humour, which ranges from one-liners to a hilariously awkward dinner scene during which Christine meets her boyfriend's parents. But the best moments occur when the horror elements combine with this humour, and you begin laughing in a combination of terror and delight. If you're not laughing with every scream, you're only getting half the experience. Raimi has an uncanny knowledge of what his audience really wants, ratcheting up the tension when necessary and keeping things moving at a perfectly brisk pace. He even has the good grace to add an extra scare when the pace slows down. In the tight 95-minute running time, not a moment feels wasted.

Raimi isn't too interested in extravagant bloodshed as he frequently uses booming sound effects to generate a mood of inexorable unease instead. This isn't a lazy director hitting the cheap scare button...this is Sam Raimi, and he's a horror maestro. Anyone concerned that Raimi didn't go all the way with this one due to the big studio backing - and worse, the dreaded PG-13 rating - can easily put their fears to rest. There's less blood, but there are some gruesome moments and the bodily fluids flow freely, not to mention the scares are continually thrown at you. Drag Me to Hell is one of the loudest movies of recent memory. Raimi wants the viewer to experience Christine's physical torment through the raucous soundtrack, giving the director a chance to spotlight his Evil Dead roots. The grandiose score courtesy of Christopher Young is the cherry on top.

Most welcome is Raimi's refusal to turn Drag Me to Hell into a CGI-fest of a horror film, instead relying on more traditional effects. It's amazing how much mileage Raimi is able to get out of an acrobatic camera, canted angles, old-fashioned make-up effects and a couple of shrieking possessed people suspended on wires. It's exciting to behold a film released in 2009 that benefits from the vitality of practical effects along with the judicious use of digital effects when appropriate. The CGI is admittedly a tad cheesy, but intentionally so - it adds to the camp appeal.

Although this isn't a message film, Drag Me to Hell can be perceived as a cautionary tale about the perils of greed (rather similar to Raimi's own A Simple Plan). Christine's one concession to ambition is enough to damn her to a horrific ordeal. The film's release is rather timely - with the world in an economic crisis, audiences can be expected to enjoy watching a banker suffer.

Alison Lohman stepped into the shoes of Christine Brown when Ellen Page dropped out during pre-production due to scheduling difficulties. Lohman is no Bruce Campbell, but she nimbly succumbs to a Raimi horror beatdown (being tossed around like a projectile ragdoll time and time again) while retaining much of her natural charisma. She does an amazing job with what is usually a thankless horror victim role, managing to be both in on the joke and sincere without tipping her hand either way.
As the vengeful gypsy women, Lorna Raver is disgusting and formidably menacing. Justin Long is also good as her comic relief boyfriend, while new faces like Dileep Rao leave a big impression. Character development is a huge positive factor here - all key characters are fleshed out and developed wonderfully, which is amazing for a horror film. Granted, the acting is somewhat hammy and the dialogue can be tin-eared, but this suits the film's style.

Some simply won't get what Sam Raimi was trying to do with Drag Me to Hell. For everyone else, this is an absolute blast. You'd have to be crazy to pass up the opportunity to see this nuanced symphony of the macabre. The trailer was correct about one thing: this is a return of true horror. It's also the return of true Raimi, and it's great to have him back.

"I never went in for embroidery, just results."

The Dirty Dozen is a quintessential man's movie - a blokey salute to courage, determination and true grit. Director Robert Aldrich seizes a traditional World War II adventure tale and cleverly blends it with anti-authoritarian attitudes that were flourishing in America by the late 1960s (as the unpopular Vietnam War continued to escalate). Amazingly for such a beefy two-and-a-half-hour movie, The Dirty Dozen is nimbly paced and not a moment feels inessential. It's unable to hold a candle to the visceral war films of later decades (like Saving Private Ryan), but The Dirty Dozen remains undeniably enjoyable and captivating.

Set just before D-Day, the film involves a cynical army major named John Reisman (Marvin). As a prelude to the Normandy invasion, Reisman's superiors order him to carry out a classified mission: recruit and train twelve army prisoners (who are condemned to either death or life imprisonment), and lead them behind enemy lines to destroy a Nazi chateau. This chateau houses a variety of high-ranking German officers, and killing them could disrupt the enemies' chain of command. Reisman's twelve soldiers (known as the Dirty Dozen because they were stripped of their bathing privileges as a form of punishment) will be granted a full pardon if they return from their suicide mission alive.

The story is straightforward, but our intimate involvement with the characters carries this simple story a lot further. The Dirty Dozen fleshes out its characters as much as the story demands without resorting to meandering bonding scenes or dated montages. Even despite the fact that some of these characters are alleged murderers, they're wonderfully humanised and likeable.

The team of misfits initially detest one another, but they're brought together through their hard, laborious training. By the third act the twelve soldiers share a unique brotherhood, but this is not long-lived. The climax may not be the most spectacular combat sequence in history, but the film's brutal honesty in displaying the systematic elimination of members of the Dirty Dozen is astonishing. Normally in mainstream cinema, the heroes survive and save the day. But in The Dirty Dozen, the heroes learn a cruel reality of war: people die.

The Dirty Dozen is based on the novel of the same name by E.M. Nathanson. Neither the book nor the film has any particular historical antecedent, though it was common practice in wars to send criminals into battle with the promise of a full pardon if they survive. Those who are sticklers for detail will find a lot to nitpick about The Dirty Dozen - its depiction of the military and of military procedures is slipshod, the wargames sequence is at times absurd, and its set-up of the climax (with guards in short supply) is contrived. The biggest flaw, however, is that the Nazis are written as too conveniently stupid. Had they been that dumb in real life, the war would have been won in a matter of days. These problems don't interfere too severely with one's overall enjoyment of the film though, which is a testament to Aldrich's directorial skill.

The Dirty Dozen was created during an era before computer-generated special effects became an integral part of the moviemaking process. Therefore a significant portion of the budget for this film went towards constructing an actual mansion for the final battle. The pyrotechnics and practical effects in general are refreshing in an age of CGI-overwhelmed blockbusters. The climax itself is an impressive action sequence brimming with nail-biting intensity. It definitely lacks a certain visceral punch in terms of gunshot wounds (those who are shot just fall to the ground without any palpable injury), but it nevertheless remains an incredibly entertaining sequence...the half an hour just flies by.

While it can be perceived as fairly tame, The Dirty Dozen was edgy for its era and hit a nerve with audiences upon release in 1967. The film isn't weighed down by messages or moral lessons, but it was one of the first motion pictures in history to display the darker side of war - that the best soldiers are often societal outcasts who murder and rape. War is hell, it ain't civilised, and it brings out the savage in everyone.

Aldrich's film provides a cynical view of the army, of authority and of the mission the dozen are asked to execute (after all, why couldn't they just bomb the chateau?). The fact that the mission seems suicidal and unnecessary is deliberate, as Aldrich's primary target was military idiocy. Throughout the course of the film he even takes swipes at the death penalty and race relations. The Dirty Dozen also became the first major mainstream movie to acknowledge that atrocities took place on both sides during World War II. The film's protagonists kill plenty of Germans (some of whom are innocent civilians) in cold blood. Arriving on screens in the middle of the increasingly ostracised Vietnam War, The Dirty Dozen broke a barrier, blurring the line between the "good guys" and the "bad guys".

One of the most distinguished aspects of this ensemble action flick is the cast. Lee Marvin and Charles Bronson are major badasses, and their characters are representative of their own personalities. John Wayne was apparently considered for the part of Major Reisman but he declined in order to make The Green Berets, and Lee Marvin stepped into the role instead. Marvin is excellent; portraying Reisman as an unflinchingly authoritarian. Other standouts in the cast include John Cassavetes, who earned an Oscar nomination for Best Supporting Actor for his work as the most outspoken and toughest of Reisman's convicts.
As for the rest of the cast, there's Ernest Borgnine, Jim Brown, Richard Jaeckel, George Kennedy, Trini López, Ralph Meeker, Robert Ryan, Telly Savalas, Donald Sutherland, Clint Walker, Robert Webber, Tom Busby, Ben Carruthers, Colin Maitland, Stuart Cooper and Al Mancini among others - every one of whom hit their marks.

The Dirty Dozen even influenced numerous films, ranging from made-for-television sequels to movies which employ a similar premise and modify it (Quentin Tarantino's Inglourious Basterds, Sylvester Stallone's The Expendables, and so on).

Sure, The Dirty Dozen is flawed and it's more of a macho male's fantasy than a realistic war film, but it remains an eminently watchable 145-minute cinematic experience. This is just a good old-fashioned manly movie. Not to be missed.

"I'm the following sea, man. I'm the one you need to watch out for."

It seems the older Clint Eastwood becomes, the more mileage he can extract from his age and the more his aging persona appears to fit him. Embodying everything one could love about the movies, Clint is an everyman, an action hero, a tough-talker, a girl magnet and a keen-eyed detective all rolled into one. On top of this, he's also a masterful filmmaker. And for a man in his 70s, that's a tough act to beat. It's disappointing to report, then, that 2002's Blood Work (while well-crafted by director Eastwood) is such a routine, predictable and sometimes perilously naff thriller. In a sense, this movie is a bit like eating a meal you've already devoured hundreds of times before - familiar, fairly uneventful and boasting no real surprises, but tasty and inviting nonetheless.

In Blood Work, Eastwood continues his exploration of the aging action hero and takes it to the very brink of logical conclusion. Here the actor plays a retired FBI profiler named Terry McCaleb. Two year prior, he was working on a case concerning a serial killer renowned for leaving codes at every murder site. Flash forward to the present, and McCaleb is recovering after a heart transplant. A woman named Graciella Rivers (De Jesus) soon contacts McCaleb, asking him to investigate the death of her sister who was shot dead during a convenience store robbery. McCaleb reluctantly agrees to the assignment when he finds out that he received the heart of Graciella's sister.

Blood Work commences with a jazzy score that plays during the opening credits - an old-fashioned piece of music which establishes the picture as a throwback to an earlier era of more laid-back mystery thrillers. It's therefore a shame that Eastwood fails to capitalise on the film's potential. The script (penned by Brian Helgeland, who adapted Michael Connelly's novel of the same name) is pedestrian, while the plot is pure mechanics, with the wheels grinding at a pace so leisurely that it isn't difficult to predict the twists. The clues McCaleb unearths are so obvious that any half-thinking viewer will have solved the "whodunnit" of the film early into the proceedings. Once one determines the identity of the killer, the "why" of his actions isn't hard to deduce, and thus the majority of the movie is reduced to pointless running around. It's a bad sign if an audience can figure everything out before the characters, which makes them seem frustratingly slow and daft.

For the first hour of its runtime, Blood Work is a compelling thriller despite a painfully obvious plot trajectory and a few silly moments (an early foot-chase feels awkwardly tagged on and is quite laughable). Beyond the first hour, the film quickly falls apart. The proceedings become either clichéd or cringe-worthy (the relationship between McCaleb and Graciella reaching the bedroom, for instance). Blood Work is also quite lazy and poorly constructed, with the camera inexplicably lingering on things that will obviously have relevance later on and characters not mentioning small details which would clearly help solve the case. Aside from the clumsy screenplay, there are other annoyances associated with the flick. Characters possess a tendency to utter irritating and inappropriate wisecracks, for example, and the climax is far too Hollywood.

At least Eastwood's direction is top-notch (even if he falters when it comes to hiding future plot twists). Without ever feeling the need to indulge in the flashy editing techniques or the gimmicky camera work that disguises a lack of imagination in younger directors (such as Michael Bay), Eastwood handles Blood Work with smooth and precise skill. He's simply the best old-fashioned director of the 21st Century. And in front of the camera, the actor still emanates a gripping screen presence. Eastwood evokes his Dirty Harry image here; giving us an aging, flawed version of his most celebrated role. However the character of McCaleb is in some aspects unlike the heroes Eastwood has played in the past - he's not too physical, but more of a thinker. It's a pity the material fails to serve Eastwood's perfectly nuanced performance.

Blood Work is one of Eastwood's weakest efforts to date; suffering from exaggerated action, plenty of clichés and too many preposterous moments. But with the behind-the-scenes expertise of a director who cares about the art of filmmaking, this thriller is easily far more entertaining than it should have been. There's something about the flavour of Eastwood's work that allows a viewer to overlook the flaws and tiresome material...at least for a little while.

"What if the cops can't handle this, Jack?"

1974's Death Wish (which initially went by the apt working title of The Sidewalk Vigilante) was released at the pinnacle of Hollywood's obsession with anti-hero movies. This screen adaptation of Brian Garfield's 1972 novel is functionally simplistic, lowering itself to the cerebral level required for straight-up exploitation (though it contains a slight trace of a social commentary). The formerly timely message of this gritty actioner, along with the solid production values and Herbie Hancock's remarkable score, render it able to hold up rather confidently all these decades later. Upon release in 1974 the film was a commercial hit - it earned about $22 million at the box office (from a mere $3 million budget).

Set in New York City, Death Wish introduces Charles Bronson's signature character: a respected architect named Paul Kersey. One afternoon Paul's idyllic life is shattered when a group of street thugs (among which is a young Jeff Goldblum, in his film debut) break into his apartment, leaving his wife dead and his daughter in a catatonic state. The family is shaken to its very core after this attack. Once Paul steps onto a shooting range during a business trip intended to keep his mind off things, his vengeful instincts are awoken. The police are unable to find the hooligans that attacked his family, so Paul takes to vigilantism. He begins prowling the mean streets of New York City at night, killing all the street criminals he encounters.

Charles Bronson certainly isn't noted for his acting skills (or lack thereof), and Death Wish has no real emotional punch as a result. While the man is fairly watchable, he's so emotionless and stale, and eventually we're left wondering what really makes Paul tick. Also, the attack on Paul's wife and daughter would've been more effective if a viewer had been given the chance to know them intimately as characters. Alas, they're merely thinly-sketched narrative tools used to send Paul into vigilante mode. Other parts of the movie, however, are thoroughly effective. Director Winner stages each of Paul's confrontations like a showdown between jaded civility and total depravity. The final half of the flick mostly consists of Paul shooting criminals, but each confrontation is staged with visceral effectiveness that'll get your blood pumping (even if the silliness of the whole affair is sometimes hard to overlook).

In adapting Garfield's novel for the screen, screenwriter Wendell Mayes (who also scripted The Poseidon Adventure) altered the narrative's ultimate trajectory. Moreover, vigilantism is seen in a negative light in the Death Wish novel whereas the film unmistakably romanticises Paul's choice to take the law into his own hands. The fact that those Paul kills are portrayed as soulless criminals only adds to the attractiveness of his vendetta. This allure is further compounded by the fact that the police develop a hesitative admiration for the media-dubbed "Vigilante", and the mayor notices that Paul's activities cause the mugging rate to decrease by about 50%.

At its most basic level, Death Wish is a simple-minded vigilante fantasy and no room is left for any intellectual defence of its ideological standpoint. However the film's stance is more or less identical to that which is taken by most Westerns. Charles Bronson dispensing justice on the streets of New York is hardly unlike John Wayne or Clint Eastwood carrying out the same task in frontier outposts of the Old West. Most Western heroes are sheriffs, but they rarely operate totally within the realm of proscribed law. One could contend that times have changed, but this doesn't deflate the mythological undercurrents of "righteous justice" that transcend the slow bureaucratic processes and give both Westerns and vigilante movies their undeniable kick. The central message of all these narratives is that desperate times call for desperate measures, and sometimes a lone outsider is the only one who can get the job done. The Western likeness of Death Wish is further reinforced when Paul at one stage witnesses a mock gunfight at a reconstructed Western frontier town that's often used as a movie set (in Tucson, Arizona).

Ideology aside, Death Wish is nothing but a specific product of its time. The late '60s was a period in which street crime reached near epidemic proportions, and Hollywood retorted with reactionary films like Death Wish, Dirty Harry, and The French Connection. Characters such as Paul Kersey fill an entrenched fantasy that most people are wise enough not to try to fulfil themselves. Paul and similar characters are the epitome of cathartic excess in cinema; a means by which viewers could fleetingly revel in the delight of seeing a badass punish the wicked with righteous intensity. Director Michael Winner's tale of an epic skewing of the moral compass laid the groundwork for the dozens of films following it that had revenge as a crucial plot point. Death Wish is an excellent capsule of 1970s filmmaking - it's thrilling and thought-provoking, and it sends us off with a wink at the end.

Followed by four sequels, beginning with Death Wish II in 1982.

"I was raised on a farm in Morrisville, Indiana. My mama ran out on us when I was three, my daddy beat the hell out of me cause he didn't know no better way to raise me. I like baseball, movies, good clothes, fast cars, whiskey, and you... what else you need to know?"

Public Enemies is an excellent slice of mature entertainment, and a welcome alternative to the silly, overblown blockbusters of the dire 2009 summer season. This predominantly factual retelling of the descent of John Dillinger is a synthesis of an irresistible triad of elements: a stylish director (Michael Mann), an incredible actor (Johnny Depp), and a great American myth (Dillinger and the golden age of bank robbers). Public Enemies has inevitably been tagged as Michael Mann's Heat in a Depression-era setting, and the similarities are numerous; from the languid cityscapes to an extended street shootout, and even the basic premise. In a modern cinematic marketplace dominated by brainless, action-saturated blockbusters, Public Enemies is brilliantly unique. It's a grand, challenging crime epic that demands multiple viewings in order to fully absorb everything it has to offer. It's also a summer movie for which you don't need to switch off your brain...and you don't want to!

The opening title card reveals that it's 1933, it's the fourth year of the Great Depression, and it's the golden age of the bank robbery. Out of the bank robbers of this period, none were as notorious as the charismatic John Dillinger (Depp), whose gang plied its trade with cunning efficiency. His lightning raids made him not only an admired folk hero to the downtrodden public, but also a target for the Bureau of Investigation. Top G-Man Melvin Purvis (Bale) is assigned to head a special unit in Chicago with the primary directive of tracking down Dillinger. It was during this period that Dillinger also became involved with a coat-check girl named Billie Frechette (Cotillard).

Once the central characters and their respective missions are established, Public Enemies becomes a string of explosive confrontations between government agents and Dillinger's gang, with the two sides engaging in a variety of shootouts. At times the narrative feels genuinely unfocused, and some aspects of the story feel either a tad abridged or foolishly excluded. But with so much packed into one movie, it's forgivable that a few story threads feel underdeveloped.

Mann is wise enough not to overglamorise the bank robbing lifestyle, though he distinctly depicts the difference between how Dillinger is perceived by law enforcement officials (as a criminal who needs to be stopped) and how he's viewed by the public (as a Robin Hood-like figure). Mann even finds time to insert a sly nod to America's fascination with the lurid - a massive crowd congregates once Dillinger is shot dead.

At the centre of the picture lies a question Mann and Depp are trying to solve - what motivated Dillinger? Public Enemies is a motion picture probing the icon of Dillinger and how we all respond to that icon, and the film therefore never get inside the rogue's head. A typical origins story is merely brushed over, with Dillinger already a fully-formed criminal at the beginning of the movie. Armchair psychology is happily eschewed as well, forgoing flashbacks in order to tightly focus on exploring a distinct period in Dillinger's life. What truly made the man tick remains the film's biggest mystery, but no-one really knew in real-life either. Public Enemies never pretends to know the truth.

Bryan Burrough (author of the non-fiction novel Public Enemies: America's Greatest Crime Wave and the Birth of the FBI, 1933-34 which inspired the movie) has stated that, although it takes a certain amount of artistic license with history, Public Enemies is to date the most factual retelling of Dillinger's story to appear on screen. The screenplay (penned by Ronan Bennett, Michael Mann, and Ann Biderman) uses Burrough's novel as its backbone, although the writers occasionally manipulate the facts to better suit the film dramatically. (For example, while the gaolbreak at the beginning in fact took place, Dillinger was locked up at the time and was not involved in it. Also, Pretty Boy Floyd was killed three months after John Dillinger but is shown being gunned down by Purvis early into the picture.) Public Enemies will receive criticisms for its inaccuracies, but this is too nitpicky - after all, Bonnie and Clyde is hailed as a masterpiece when it's a very inaccurate retelling of its story. Besides, most of Dillinger's story is unknowable (particularly the details of his death - to this day, some still assert that it wasn't Dillinger but a lookalike who was killed that night in Chicago, and there are conflicting stories as to if Dillinger actually pulled a gun before he was gunned down).

Several of the film's major set-pieces were shot in the actual locations where the same events took place some seventy-five years prior - Depp breaks out of Dillinger's actual gaol cell, fires through the same windows and runs through the same forest at Little Bohemia, and lies on the same segment of pavement in front of the Biograph Theatre. It's excellent!

Evoking his experience as an action director, Mann crafts a number of thrilling action sequences. The bank robberies are gripping and taut, while the prison break sequences are equally exciting. Most impressive, however, is the riveting Little Bohemia Lodge shootout. The killing of Dillinger (while a foregone conclusion) is also a suspenseful and moving sequence. Nitpickers complain about the high-definition digital photography, but this (along with the exquisitely-detailed sets and the effective shooting style) adds a sense of immediacy to the movie, with naturalistic lighting and colours. The soundtrack, too, is masterful - natural rather than exaggerated, with the gunshots very loud and the voices quite subdued. Elliot Goldenthal's score is evocative and touching, while the use of '30s-style music heightens the film's authenticity. Never before has a period piece been created with this level of immersion.

John Dillinger was killed after watching a screening of Manhattan Melodrama, and the definitive masterstroke of Public Enemies is milking this for its movie-ness (if you will) - parallels are drawn between the movie and Dillinger's life brilliantly.

Johnny Depp avoids theatricality in his portrayal of John Dillinger, and nails everything from the accent to the mannerisms. He's simply the best actor to play Dillinger to date. The spotlight is often stolen by Marion Cotillard whose portrayal of Billie Frechette is so beguiling that it's easy to understand why a hard-bitten man like Dillinger would be attracted to her. The scenes between the two, especially the early ones in which Dillinger is attempting to woo Frechette, are given the crackling snap of the movies of that era with sharp, fast dialogue.

Christian Bale submits a top-notch performance as lawman Melvin Purvis, the film's primary antagonist, though he ultimately isn't allowed enough screen-time to fully develop his character. Billy Crudup's supporting performance as J. Edgar Hoover is brilliant - he masters the accent. The rest of the actors mainly appear in glorified cameos, ranging from David Wenham as Dillinger's mentor to Channing Tatum in a blink-and-you'll-miss-him turn as Pretty Boy Floyd. Giovanni Ribisi fares better as robber Alvin Karpis, while Stephen Graham is an absolute scene-stealer as Baby Face Nelson.

Public Enemies is a powerful, amazing, mesmerising depiction of the final months of one of the most infamous criminals in American history. Although viewers will be left wanting to know more about the iconic bank robber, Public Enemies is clearly intended to just be a slice of the gangster's life. In the film Dillinger is depicted as a man who lives for the moment; unwilling or unable to consider the future, and with little use for the past. This is Mann's credo as well - he places us in the moment just as Dillinger chose to live his final year. Mann's latest masterwork won't work for everyone, but it remains a visually enthralling crime-thriller.

"You believe in Jesus? Well, you're gonna meet him."

Death Wish II arrived eight years after 1974's Death Wish (a smash-hit which apparently reduced the crime rate in New York City during its theatrical run!), and this sequel was clearly green-lit for the sole purpose of cashing in on the success of its predecessor. This is fundamentally a shameless rehash of the original Death Wish that's packed with gratuitous violence and rape. Where the first film presented Charles Bronson's character of Paul Kersey as a victim of violence pushed to breaking point, this follow-up finds Paul in John Rambo territory - he has become an apathetic iconoclast bent on revenge. The underlying moral debate of the first film has vanished, and has been replaced with unhealthy blood-lust. The product is a serviceable actioner that most audiences will find unbearably repugnant.

This follow-up is a complete break from the Brian Garfield novel series on which the original film is based. Garfield's second novel (entitled Death Sentence) was unused in the creation of this sequel, but was eventually adapted for the screen in 2007 (directed by Saw creator James Wan).

In what is essentially Death Wish revisited, we find Paul Kersey (Bronson) who's turned loose on the creeps of Los Angeles. The health of his catatonic daughter Carol (Sherwood) is improving, but tranquillity in the family was not destined to be long-lived. Five street punks (one of which is a young Laurence Fishburne) break into Paul's home and assault everyone in sight, resulting in the death of both his daughter and housekeeper. Paul, shaken up and deeply pissed off about the event, plots revenge and begins to methodically hunt down each of the five thugs.

Where Death Wish persuaded a viewer to support the protagonist's crusade, this support is taken for granted here. Unlike its predecessor, Death Wish II spends no time watching Paul contemplate his actions before turning to vigilantism - he simply goes to work, rendering himself a stoic killing machine. The punks are unimaginative and soulless caricatures, conceived for the purpose of showing how awful the underbelly of society truly is. The portrayal of street crime is so one-dimensional it practically borders on parody. There are literally thugs on every street block, and they're all unmistakable due to how they dress. While admittedly entertaining, Death Wish II is desperately underwritten and underplotted, alternating between violent action, gratuitous rape scenes and banal dialogue passages.

At the tip of the iceberg, the story of Death Wish II has little credibility - the chances are slim to none that Paul Kersey would suffer two such horrendous experiences during the course of a few years. Credibility is further disregarded during the first ten minutes when a visibly aged Charles Bronson is portrayed as an adept hand-to-hand combat fighter even while battling more agile opponents. One sequence even shows Paul winning a fight with a thug who easily fought off a dozen cops just a few scenes earlier. It's just ridiculous. Death Wish II has no intention of pursuing the interesting themes of its forerunner. Michael Winner dedicates this film to an audience hungry for exploitation.

Director Winner does stage a number of exciting shootouts, however, though the film as a whole sorely lacks both artistry and style. The pace for this tight 90-minute flick is incredibly brisk, but that comes at the expense of interesting characterisations. On top of all this, former Led Zeppelin guitarist Jimmy Page (who was Winner's neighbour in the '80s) provides an adequate score.

All things considered, Death Wish II is enjoyable but thoroughly disappointing, and it was made purely for box office returns. It's routine, lazy and silly. A bunch of entertaining action sequences provides the only reason to watch this sequel. Those who seek more weight and/or gravitas with their action films, however, should avoid this empty-headed actioner at all costs.

Followed by Death Wish 3.

"A .475 Wildey magnum is a shorter version of the African big game cartridge, it makes a real mess."

By 1985, the movie-going public had been subjected to a new breed of action filmmaking: the "one man army" genre. Character development and logic are of no concern to such actioners since their prime focus is instead on a lone hero annihilating as many bad guys as possible (think Rambo: First Blood Part II and Commando). Death Wish 3 (the second sequel to 1974's Death Wish) employs this particular template. It discards the gritty drama and interesting themes of the original movie (which spoke about the urban condition of its time) in favour of simple, orgasmically satisfying violence. Death Wish 3 is a bona fide guilty pleasure - it isn't a particularly good movie and it recycles every '80s action movie cliché in existence, but it's a highly entertaining product of its time.

As expected, the plot of Death Wish 3 is as thin as they come. Paul Kersey (Bronson) departs from Los Angeles and travels back to New York City to visit a friend. His buddy (who resides in a bad neighbourhood) is killed by local gang members, and Paul is mistakenly arrested for the crime. The local police captain (Lauter) recognises Kersey from his earlier vigilante adventures, and sets him free under the condition that he tidies up the streets. Living in his late friend's apartment and amassing an arsenal of weapons, Paul rages war on the local gang, much to the happiness of the law-abiding citizens of the neighbourhood. The movie of course eventually builds to a crescendo in which the neighbourhood is reduced to a massive war zone.

Death Wish 3 is just a 90-minute turkey shoot - a madhouse of rape, torture, violence, brutality, explosions, and savagery. Attempts to justify the violence and mass-murder are perfunctory for this instalment. The dialogue is frequently awkward and the proceedings are generally silly. The street creeps are cardboard caricatures that in no way resemble genuine criminals of 1985, not to mention the main gang is portrayed as more of a cult - they dress in strange break dance fashion and wear identifying marks on their foreheads.

Throughout most of the movie Paul merely lures out his victims with the promise of an easy steal before hosing them down with hot lead. At no point does he ever seem in genuine peril. On top of everything, there's a romance subplot that's cumbersome and random. To set up an incredibly violent climax, Paul has to endure some form of emotional turmoil, and that's where this romantic subplot comes into play (though after his girl is killed, he doesn't give her a second glance before he returns to whatever he was doing). When all's said and done, Death Wish 3 exists to showcase gratuitous violence...and it delivers in spades. It's impossible to keep up with the amount of people who are shot, blown up, stabbed, beaten, pushed off rooftops, or just plain maimed during the climax. The whole thing is so violent that it was initially hit with an 'X' rating by the MPAA, though this was successfully appealed. Death Wish II was also a repellent, exploitative actioner, but this third movie surpasses its predecessor because it has more style and a greater entertainment value.

Charles Bronson remains shockingly one-note for all of his screen-time. Even when people close to him are killed, he doesn't seem too fazed. His dialogue is restricted, and his most complicated deliveries come in the form of providing rundowns of the weapons he receives in the mail. Just like the second Death Wish picture, credibility is a key issue - despite looking so old, Bronson's Paul Kersey is able to run down opponents on foot and is a perfect marksman while the young hooligans can't shoot for shit (even when Paul is in the open).

Kersey's .475 Wildey Magnum is probably as much the star of the movie as Bronson. Hilariously (and perhaps alarmingly), the creator of this handgun (Wildey Moore) admitted in an interview that there is a spike in sales of the .475 Magnum every time Death Wish 3 appears on television.

Bronson tore Death Wish 3 to pieces in later interviews and ended his professional partnership with Winner after the film was released. Bronson was reportedly dissatisfied with the script since production commenced, and at the time he was far more concerned about the health of his wife (Jill Ireland) who was diagnosed with cancer. In any case, Bronson still starred in the film. His performance may not contain much heart, but his rugged demeanour is nonetheless compelling. Death Wish 3 (Roman numerals weren't used in the title like the second film because most Americans are unable to decipher them) fails as a serious crime/drama, but it works marvellously as an entertaining, balls-to-the-wall '80s action film.

Followed by Death Wish 4: The Crackdown.

"I'm Death!"

It's risky business getting close to architect-come-vigilante Paul Kersey (Bronson), whose family and friends all seem to have a drastically reduced life expectancy. Death Wish 4: The Crackdown is the third sequel to 1974's Death Wish, and it signals a substantial decline in quality for the series. This isn't quite the same kettle of fish as its predecessors - the concept is tired, Paul has lost his inimitable zing, and a new director is behind the camera. In the end, Death Wish 4 is merely a careless, low-budget money-grab.

Now that Paul Kersey's entire family has been wiped out (with the exception of his stepson who curiously disappeared after the first film), additional loved ones need to be introduced in order to bring out Paul's vigilante instincts - for this outing, he's dating a woman and she has alive family members.

In Death Wish 4, Paul has returned to Los Angeles and is dating attractive reporter Karen Sheldon (Lenz) who has a teenage daughter named Erica (Barron). They all live together happily, but this wouldn't be another Death Wish sequel unless this solace is shattered. One night Erica dies of a drug overdose, and in retaliation Paul begins to punish the city's major drug dealers. But even an unstoppable vigilante like Paul Kersey needs some support, and here it comes from publisher Nathan White (Ryan) who's determined to avenge the drug-related death of his own daughter. White hires Kersey to kill the key players within two rival drug dealing organisations and thus instigate a war between them. Of course, the police get involved with some reluctance...but are utterly useless in the grand scheme of things.

The original Death Wish effectively spoke about the urban crime epidemic of the 1970s, but the sequels substituted this societal commentary with bloodletting and exploitative action. Death Wish 4: The Crackdown continues this tradition with thinner plotting and thicker action. It's filled with laughable contrivances, unclear motivations, one-dimensional characterisations and an almost indecipherable plot. Unlike the preceding sequels, Paul Kersey now targets drug dealers instead of street punks. The film tries to deliver a timely message about the dangers of drug use, but it lacks the gritty realism required to send home a clear message, and it's clearly interested in just one thing: exploiting violence.

Charles Bronson was apparently displeased with Death Wish 3, and terminated his creative partnership with director Michael Winner as a result. J. Lee Thompson instead parachuted into the director's chair (his prior films include Cape Fear and Guns of the Navarone, and such Bronson films as The Evil That Men Do). The series' distributor (Cannon Films) was on the verge of bankruptcy by the time Death Wish 4 came down the pipeline, and the company were accordingly cutting back on budgets. Thompson's work is visibly marred by budgetary restraints - camera movements and set-ups are basic, and there are a bunch of technical goofs (one explosion looks incredibly fake and was obviously superimposed). The action sequences do remain enjoyable, but one has to overlook a number of contrivances while watching them (people with clear shots at Paul always delay their firing, giving the protagonist a chance to notice their position).

The aging Charles Bronson was no spring chicken when Death Wish 4 entered production, and he sleepwalks throughout the film as if someone was always dangling his paycheck just out of camera range. It's gotten to the point where the vigilante just isn't motivated anymore. At least Bronson does deliver some great tough guy dialogue, mind you. As with prior instalments, credibility is frequently an issue - how can an aging Paul continue to fight and win against more spry opponents? Oh well, it's an action film of the '80s...who cares about logic?

As long as you disable your brain before viewing and temper your expectations, Death Wish 4: The Crackdown is a serviceable entry to the stale Death Wish series. In the end it's just too predictable, too naff and too by-the-numbers.

Followed by Death Wish V: The Face of Death.

"No judge, no jury, no appeals, no deals."

With 1994's Death Wish V: The Face of Death, architect/vigilante Paul Kersey (Bronson) further confirms that he is the single most unlucky man on the planet. This fifth and final instalment in the long-running Death Wish film series arrived on the twentieth anniversary of Paul's first attempt to stifle crime on the streets of New York City (or preferably blow it away), and it represents the last screen appearance of the legendary Charles Bronson.

One seriously has to wonder about the mortality rate of Paul Kersey's loved ones. In this sequel Paul once again enters a relationship with a woman about twenty years his junior (the sort of woman that would likely give him a heart attack if they did anything in the bedroom together). His girlfriend this time - a woman in the fashion industry named Olivia (Down) - is involved with the mafia, and dies horribly as a consequence. Kersey is less than pleased about his fiancée's death, bringing about a pertinent question from the police: "You're not thinking about going back to your old ways, are you?"

Of course, asking Paul such a question in a Death Wish movie is akin to asking "Is the sky blue?"

Death Wish V: The Face of Death (reverting back to Roman numerals in the title for reasons unknown) drifts further away from the original Death Wish, dishing up an abundance of action violence (capitalising on Paul's potential to be the next Rambo) rather than providing a societal commentary. Moreover, the Death Wish sequels all unmistakably advocate vigilante justice rather than condoning it, and they continually reiterate the message that the law system doesn't work. It's rubbish. And it's moralistically fucked up.

The problems with Death Wish V mainly stem from the elementary screenplay. The dialogue is flat and the film is packed with clichés (ranging from corrupt cops to a villain who has most of the city on his payroll). The straightforward revenge scenario is stale, and the one-man army formula is preposterous because Paul is so damn old (Bronson was at a ripe old age of seventy-two during filming). The set-up preceding Olivia's death is somewhat extended, as if the screenwriters were trying to establish some form of genuine emotional connection between Paul and Olivia to make her demise more devastating. Yet in the long run, the relationship is too naff and uninteresting. The actors share no chemistry.

The action set-pieces are directed with a certain degree of flair by newcomer Allan A. Goldstein, though everything is fairly pedestrian. Meanwhile (some quotable tough guy dialogue aside) Bronson phones in his performance here, and there's an air of embarrassment accompanying his arthritic manoeuvring during the action sequences. It's unintentionally hilarious watching Bronson leap here and there while the armed villains (who are usually less than three metres away with a clear shot at the man) are unable to hit him. Furthermore, Paul Kersey no longer uses a badass pistol to dish out punishment - now he murders his victims using poison, remote-controlled soccer ball bombs and dry-cleaner's plastic. Bronson is not the face of death in this film...he's the face of old. If another sequel materialised, it probably would've been set in a retirement home.

At its most basic level, Death Wish V: The Face of Death is a watchable action film. If you're seeking violence served up by the shovelful, this movie will scratch that itch (it has a fair amount of action and cool deaths). If you want a further exploration of the fascinating underlying themes of the original Death Wish, however, you shouldn't be watching the sequels. It's difficult to recommend this fifth instalment unless you're a completist. It's depressing that such a low-grade actioner became the final theatrical film of Charles Bronson (who appeared only on television in the years leading up to his death).

Death Wish 6 was apparently considered, but this idea was canned. The quality could have only declined further with a sixth film, so consider it clemency that the planned fifth sequel was never brought to fruition.

"If anyone's going to bring in Albert Johnson, it's going to be me - not some bounty hunter or some flyboy buckin' for promotion."

Loosely based on a true story of a manhunt that took place in Depression-era Canada, Death Hunt denotes the ambitious re-teaming of two of cinema's most manly actors - Charles Bronson and Lee Marvin (they previously appeared together in The Dirty Dozen). Fans of these respective actors as well as action enthusiasts in general will discover plenty to like about this nail-biting action-adventure, which is essentially a Western transplanted into an icy Canadian backdrop with the undertones of a morality play.

The story takes place in the remote snowy wilderness of Yukon Territory (Canada) in 1931. A grizzled loner named Albert Johnson (Bronson) is attacked by a group of hillbillies, and in self-defence Johnson manages to kill one of them. Infuriated, these hillbillies accuse Johnson of murder. Sergeant Edgar Millen (Marvin) of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police suspects that Johnson's actions were out of self-defence, but is compelled to pursue the accused murderer regardless. While Sergeant Millen has his experience and the resources of the RCMP on his side, Johnson has the skills, endurance and experience of mountain living to elude his pursuers. To make things more complicated, the local hillbillies place a sizeable bounty on Johnson's head.

Johnson and Millen are worthy adversaries who clearly possess no animosity towards one another - Millen is carrying out his duties in accordance with his job, and Johnson just wants to stay alive and be left alone. In real-life, it wasn't clear whether Johnson was actually guilty. In this motion picture adaptation, however, he was unmistakably the victim of false charges. Perhaps it'd make for more riveting viewing if the film's standpoint on Johnson was ambiguous instead.

Usually in '80s action films of this ilk, set-ups are shortened in order to dive into the nitty gritty as quickly as possible. Death Hunt is different - the premise is established at a relaxed pace, which allows for a decent amount of character development before things kick into high gear.

Rest assured that once the premise is instituted, the chase that ensues is thrilling and the body count is substantial. As the film progresses, Johnson constantly manages to outmanoeuvre Millen's men as they attempt to catch him, albeit just barely in some instances. He also makes mincemeat out of the hicks who are hunting him (who are interested in collecting the bounty on the man's head). Ironically, Johnson's pursuers perceive their hunt for him as the titular "death hunt", but at the end of the day it is their own deaths that make it a death hunt.

As a retelling of the story of the real Albert Johnson, Death Hunt fails since the screenwriters took a number of liberties with the facts in order to create a more romanticised tale. But as a gritty '80s action-adventure, Death Hunt works - it's an excellent slice of manly entertainment. The photography of the forbidding icy landscape is breathtaking and atmospheric. And with Peter Hunt at the helm (a veteran of the early James Bond movies as both an editor and a director), there are a bunch of well-handled action sequences to behold, although the film does suffer from being choppy and disjointed from time to time.

On some levels Death Hunt does falter. It feels a tad underdone, and needed more depth since a lot of the characters are hollow stereotypes. A bunch of typical '80s conventions are occasionally used as well. For instance during a few of the shootouts Johnson stands still and is out in the open, but his opponents never manage to hit him (whereas Johnson manages to fire a number of well-aimed shots). Taking these credibility issues further, Millen's men use a cluster of dynamite to blow up Johnson's cabin. An enormous explosion is the result, but Johnson (who is inside his cabin at the time) emerges totally unscathed.

At its core, Death Hunt is an acting duel between Charles Bronson and Lee Marvin (although they only engage in one dialogue scene together). Both of these actors were clearly aging by the early '80s, but they bring incredible conviction to their respective roles. Bronson employs his distinctive quiet fortitude while Marvin offers a rugged disposition. This is a fine vehicle for these two badass leads.
Angie Dickinson briefly appears as the love interest for Marvin's Sergeant Millen. The brief scenes between these two performers begin to effectively flesh out the character of Millen, showing a sad adherence to duty that he's unable to drop. Death Hunt marked the final cinematic pairing of Dickinson and Marvin (the two other films being The Killers and Point Blank).

With a manly cast (boasting such names as Bronson, Marvin, Carl Weathers and Ed Lauter), an engaging narrative and picturesque locations, Death Hunt is an essential '80s actioner. A few faults aside, this tense flick is solid entertainment from start to finish.

"We've been hunting a man who knows how to live off the land and use it to reign."

"Murder is only killing without a license."

The Mechanic can best be described as an investigative character study of a "mechanic" (or hitman, as they're more commonly called). This second creative collaboration of Charles Bronson and director Michael Winner is a tense 1970s action-thriller that excites with tenacious stunt-work and engrosses with a restrained screenplay. It's also a fairly smart motion picture which delves into the sacrifice, methodology and motivation of being a hitman, in addition to exploring the mindset required for the procedural execution of a target and the dangers inherent in the work.

The movie begins with a glorious fifteen-minute sequence that's completely dialogue-free and establishes a cinematic tension that's adhered to throughout. For this opening sequence, the camera observes hitman Arthur Bishop (Bronson) as he strategically carries out the elimination of a mark. Once Bishop's (flamingly successful) mission is complete, the film explores the day-to-day workings of the protagonist. Bishop is a very meticulous contract killer; he approaches each new assignment with detailed precision to ensure the cleanest outcome. Into his guarded, isolated life enters young Steve McKenna (Vincent); the son of his latest target. The mechanic reluctantly accepts McKenna as his protégé, but the mob that Bishop works for is not happy about an outsider being recruited without their consent.

The Mechanic is a steadily paced action-thriller that leisurely develops its characters (mainly through showing, not telling) while offering chest-thumping sequences of confrontation and chase. Director Winner (who later collaborated with Bronson for 1974's Death Wish) was often criticised for his savage staging and vulgar sensibilities. All these decades later, however, these aforementioned elements generate a brilliantly authentic, visceral edge. Winner handles the material with tremendous zeal, staging slick action set-pieces that range from high-speed pursuits to explosive shootouts before the movie eventually culminates in a terrific double-twist ending. In addition to this, the pair of cinematographers (Richard H. Kline and Robert Paynter) pull off outstanding work. The exquisitely-photographed opening sequence is a triumph, and there are several memorable images throughout the film as well. However the movie isn't deep enough to be an effective character study. It delves into the hitman professional adequately, but we remain less enlightened about the man pulling the trigger - Bishop's motivations and desires are too vague. Crucially, there isn't enough action for the movie to be considered a pure actioner. Ultimately the fusion of action and character study is somewhat ham-fisted.

At the centre of the film is Charles Bronson, and he submits one of the best and most nuanced performances of his career. Bronson brings a tough guy physicality and stoic silence to his role, making us believe he can kill targets with ease. Alongside Bronson is Jan Michael Vincent. His delivery may be rather stiff, but he possesses an excellent natural arrogance. One should also keep an eye open for Jill Ireland (Bronson's wife) playing a hooker who gives Bishop an artificial bond which lets him believe he's tenderly loved.

All in all, The Mechanic is a satisfying offering of action and thrills. It's an economic blend of cool characters, great outbursts of action and an intriguing plotline. It falls short of greatness due to the characters being fairly underdeveloped, but it remains entertaining enough. The film was remade in 2010.

"Nikko was easy. Now it's your turn. One night you'll close your eyes, and when they open I'll be there. It'll be time to die."

Chuck Norris, it would seem, is America's leading brand of all-purpose pest control. Whether it be Russians, mobsters, thieves, ninjas or Satan himself, the bearded superhero possesses the ability to save America from every threat that rears its unpleasant head. 1985's Invasion U.S.A. is a prime example of what the Chuckster can achieve when left to his own devices. Utilising an impressive array of weaponry to dispense his own patented style of vigilante justice, the lethal hero works to protect America from hundreds of heavily-armed Russian soldiers who have unexpectedly stormed the country's sandy shores.

Following the plot (if you will) of Invasion U.S.A. shouldn't be difficult whatsoever. It's as basic, generic and pedestrian as they come, allowing even the terminally stupid to enjoy the proceedings without ever being required to overexert their limited intelligence.
Basically, an army of Russian terrorists led by Soviet agent Mikhail Rostov (Lynch) invade America. Meanwhile, Mr. Norris stars as ex-federal agent/karate expert/alligator wrangler Matt Hunter who's asked to take down Rostov and company by the agency he formerly worked for (leading to a "We really need you this time" scene). Initially he declines, but (as you'd expect from a mid-80s action flick) the bad guy makes the common mistake of taking a bazooka to Hunter's home and killing his friend. Thus, the stage is set for one man against hundreds...and this is fine, because it's 1985 - it's the time of Stallone, Schwarzenegger, and the one-man army genre.

What ensues is a full-scale (in Miami at least) attack on American civilians as Rostov's troops take to the streets with weapons aplenty (their preferred choice of human destruction being the trusty rocket launcher). The National Guard eventually shows up to control to the civil unrest and defend the streets (though not effectively). The backdrop of Invasion U.S.A. is the grand standoff between the USA and the USSR, but the story more or less only amounts to a local mano-a-mano grudge-match between Hunter and Rostov. The thought-process behind Rostov's decision to seek vengeance upon Hunter is murky, but it has something to do with Rostov being unable to get a good night's sleep.

Did I mention Hunter is psychic? I should have, 'cause he is. Whenever the terrorists are about to strike, Hunter shows up to spoil their efforts and kick ass. The script (co-written by Chuck himself) provides an ample amount of these situations, with the simplicity of the plot, characters, and production values reflected in Hunter's terse catchphrase "It's time to die." For sure, Invasion U.S.A. is astonishingly bare-bones, but it's entertaining to watch while the film alternates between scenes of terrorist nastiness and of Hunter doing cool, manly things. Norris occasionally speaks ("If you come back in here, I'm gonna hit you with so many rights, you're gonna beg for a left"), but the film's key focus is on the action set-pieces. Shit continually explodes and the body count continues to rise, reaffirming that Chuck Norris - and, by extension, America - is not to be fucked with.

The consistent tactic of Invasion U.S.A. is to build sympathy for helpless stock characters (like two lovers on the beach or a family erecting their Christmas tree on an idyllic suburban block) before they're mercilessly slaughtered by the terrorists. Therefore when the Chuckster kills the terrorists responsible for this massacre, we cheer and applaud.

By the time he starred in Invasion U.S.A., Chuck Norris had appeared in movies for over a decade. However, he still hadn't picked up on the whole acting thing yet. The key requirement for a one-man army is to not only remain calm & confident under pressure, but to be careful not to demonstrate a huge array of facial expressions - one expression does nicely, and two is a bit of a stretch. For most of this film, Norris sports a very bland facial expression. He only smiles twice - when he sees his pet armadillo acting stupid, and when he's watching an old black and white film on TV (a 1953 sci-fi picture called...Invasion USA!).

The plot's straightforward nature is also mirrored by Chuck Norris' wardrobe. He's simply a bearded action hero dressed in blue jeans, a low-buttoned denim shirt, duel leather shoulder holsters, black gloves and (most importantly) an Uzi for each hand.

Richard Lynch seems to be having a blast playing the mastermind behind the slaughter; delivering a thick layer of faux Russian cheese that will either leave you amused or offended.

Now...flaws? Sure, there are heaps. Invasion U.S.A. had the potential to be a truly epic action film, but budgetary constraints mar this potential. Trucks are shown heading to several American locations, yet the action is restricted to Miami. The abrupt ending will leave you wanting so much more. Naturally the dialogue is usually flat as well. In addition, the whole thing is cheesy, stupid, preposterous and often hilarious (intentional or otherwise).

As the decades roll by, there will always be a place for gormless action movies like these. They act as fun reminders of an era during which the intellectual appetites and expectations for Hollywood actioners were at an all-time low. Invasion U.S.A. is a perfectly entertaining guilty pleasure. They just don't make ambitiously cheesy movies like this anymore.

"People aren't always what they appear to be. Don't forget that!"

Directed by John McNaughton (who arrived on the scene in 1989 with the low-budget shocker Henry: Portrait of a Serial Killer), Wild Things is a twisty, lurid Southern noir tale of sex, scandal and devious plotting. It doesn't take itself too seriously (ala Showgirls), but neither does the film sink into complete camp. Wild Things instead resides somewhere in the middle, and the product is amusing, shocking, erotic and inarguably engrossing.

Because the plot secrets are key to the movie's enjoyability, only a brief outline of the basic set-up will be included in this review.

The story unfolds in the South Florida town of Blue Bay, and centres on a high school guidance councillor named Sam Lombardo (Dillon). Sam's life is turned upside down when he's accused of rape by manipulative rich girl Kelly Van Ryan (Richards) and trailer-trash bad-girl Suzie Toller (Campbell). Since these two girls are established enemies at school and couldn't have conspired together, the case seems airtight. But is it?

The case goes to court (with Billy Murray starring as Lombardo's cut-rate attorney), but with the case ostensibly solved at the halfway mark, one can be sure nothing is as it seems. After the trial, Wild Things spirals into a web of deceit, murder, and double and tripe-crosses. The screenwriter (Stephen Peters) juxtaposes passion and ambiguity, and he becomes so delighted with the power of an expected twist that he endlessly doles them out throughout the film's final half hour. The story eventually becomes so complex that the movie backtracks during the closing credits to provide an explanation of how key moments transpired. Even the most meticulous road map of the story will lead one hopelessly off-course - it's not that the script cheats, but it provides sufficient information to let us to arrive at the wrong conclusion. On top of all this, Peters manages to continually pull the rug out from under the audience without the twists ever feeling contrived.

If there's one aspect where Wild Things falters, it's in the writing of the characters. The actors themselves are exceptional, but the on-screen individuals they're playing are superficial creations devoid of genuine depth. The movie feels underdone at a sleek runtime of roughly 105 minutes, and it would've been beneficial if the lead-up to the preliminary rape allegation was padded out with additional character development.

Because Peters' script contains no shame and no pretensions, director McNaughton is free to take the material to its limits. A screenplay like this deserves the full treatment, and McNaughton comes through - any opportunity he's given to be overtly sexual or leeringly sensationalistic, he goes for it. Elegantly shot by cinematographer Jeffrey Kimball and magnificently scored by George S. Clinton, Wild Things is afforded a glossy, unreal quality that nicely dovetails with the pulse of the drama.

Of course, the primary draw of this film is the girl-on-girl action courtesy of Denise Richards and Neve Campbell. It's cinematic bliss. Richards (previously seen battling bugs in Starship Troopers) is an actress of decidedly limited range, but she can act sultry and seductive without destroying the illusion that she's a seventeen-year-old. The fact that an adult can pass convincingly as a teen is key to the movie's success. Campbell is sublime; turning in a flawlessly nuanced performance as a dark, rebellious teenager. She sadly had a no-nudity clause in her contract, though, which cuts down the impact of one of the film's key sequences (it's also just plain irritating that we don't get to see her naked).

Matt Dillon and Kevin Bacon constitute the other two key members of the cast. Dillon is perhaps too handsome to be taken for a high school counsellor, but he's nonetheless effective as Sam Lombardo. Our sympathies are with Dillon from the outset, and these emotions come into play when the film begins to throttle towards its climax. At the opposite end of the spectrum, Bacon as the suspicious detective is nothing short of outstanding. Finally, there are supporting roles filled by Robert Wagner, Theresa Russell, Jeff Perry and Bill Murray. Murray is particularly hilarious as Lombardo's lawyer: he's both very sleazy and more competent than his modest office might suggest.

Wild Things is more or less Double Indemnity with a young cast which features undercurrents of erotica, black comedy and noir. This is a terrific film, and it's a lot of fun watching the story reveal the characters' complex machinations. Much fuss has been made about the nudity, but none of it feels gratuitous because it's all in keeping with the sordid, ugly and immoral constitutions of the characters. The narrative is so engrossing that one will care more about the storytelling than the sex. If you can tolerate a bit of artful sleaze, you can't do much better than this.