itbegins2005

This is the movie I have been waiting for since I first became a devoted film fanatic. It takes a perfect distillation of everything I love about truly great cinema (e.g. "the classics"- Godfather, A Clockwork Orange, Silence of the Lambs, etc.)- the depth of emotion, the layered plot, the thematic consistency, the dramatic intensity (ESPECIALLY the dramatic intensity)- and seamlessly fuses with it my favorite genre character of all time: the Batman. The result is the first film based on a superhero that takes itself 100% seriously, never condescending the integrity of its own premise and, in the process, creating a brilliant work of action, drama, and suspense, a crime thriller that just happens to center around a hero in a cape and cowl. As a viewing experience, it's a white-knuckle affair; there is really nothing to prepare you for how powerful this film is, from the shocking intensity of the violence to the dark tragedy of the characters. It's a film that wrings you out, keeping you breathing hard and bolted to your seat, and finally leaving you emotionally drained and, bizarrely, wishing for more. Picking up shortly after Batman Begins left off, we find Bruce Wayne diligently working to bring down the mob as the Batman, joining forces with Lieutenant James Gordon and the newly-elected D.A. Harvey Dent to stop organized crime in Gotham City for good. Everything seems to be going to plan, until a recent rash of mob-bank robberies brings to the attention of the mob a criminal called the Joker, a madman slathered in clown make-up who offers to rid them of the Batman once and for all. Suddenly, no one in Gotham is safe, and as the Joker's chaotic rampage through the city racks up more and more victims, Batman finds himself struggling with the moral code he's set for himself in the light of the Joker's limitless cruelty. For his second go-round as the Dark Knight, Christian Bale has got his character down pat, from the vapid playboy facade (that creates some of the lighter points of the movie) to the dark, gravelly-voiced creature that is Batman (who gets much more screen time than Wayne does, actually); but as the real Wayne, who so few are privileged to see, Bruce is deeply conflicted about his double life, torn between the desire to leave it all behind (an opportunity presented by the rising star D.A. Dent) and his need to fulfill his self-appointed mission. Things become even more complicated when the Joker turns his double identity against him, shifting public opinion against the Batman and trying to force him into turning himself in. Working with Batman this time is Harvey Dent, as played by Aaron Eckhart- a public crusader for justice who personifies the hope for a better future in Gotham City. Dent is a truly good, decent man, trying his best to do the right thing in the mire of corruption and politics, but unfortunately Dent still is just a man, and every man has a breaking point; Dent goes through a major character arc through the course of the film, twisting his ideals against themselves and transforming him into a tragic, all-too-plausible monster, and Eckhart plays the descent into darkness phenomenally. The third man of our trio of heroes in this film is Gary Oldman, back for round two as Lieutenant James Gordon. This time, his skills as an actor are put to much better use, as Gordon has much more to do here than before: he is a father, a friend, a cop, and a man of action in this film, and especially near the end his character is put through the wringer, but Oldman delivers like he always does. And then, there's the Joker. There really aren't enough good things I can say about the late Heath Ledger's turn as the Clown Prince of Crime- he IS the Joker. He manages to craft a completely unpredictable character, one that is both amazingly scary and surprisingly funny at the same time (as perfectly captured early on in the film: "How about a magic trick?"). A self-described engine of chaos, everything about him is chaotic, from his often violent actions and statements (he describes several different scenarios for how he acquired his scars, investing himself intensely into each one) to his facial tics and mannerisms; Ledger disappears completely into the role, so much so that it's hard to connect the tragedy of Ledger's death to the character when you're actually watching him (which is both a great relief for the audience and a hell of a compliment to his performance, when you think about it). Even though he has the least screen time of all the principal leads, his presence looms over the entirety of the film (kind of like Thomas Wayne's in Batman Begins, but much more potently), creating a disorienting sense that absolutely ANYONE can die at any moment. As for the rest of the cast, they are all expanded upon from the previous film, and they are ALL fantastic: Michael Caine's Alfred has the unenviable task of keeping Bruce's spirit intact through the pain he's subjected to, Morgan Freeman's Lucias Fox faces up to an ethical dilemma of his own when Batman's quest to fight crime pushes past the boundaries of basic human rights, and Maggie Gyllenhaal, infinitely more pleasant as Rachel Dawes than Katie Holmes was, is stuck in a love triangle between childhood friend Bruce and the crusading D.A. Dent. The script is tight and powerful, despite the film's long run time; there is not a single scene that could have been left out, and the intricate plot that's constructed is incredibly elaborate, thematically rich, and deeply engrossing. The character work and dialogue is fantastic: the dramatic highlight of the film would probably have to be the interrogation room scene between Batman and the Joker, in which we learn a lot about the Joker's twisted ideology and his perceived connection with Batman. The action this time around is astonishing, too; Christopher Nolan, apparently tired of complaints about the shooting style for the fight sequences in Batman Begins, now just shoots single takes of the energetically choreographed clashes, making them much more effective. The stunt work and effects are blazingly good, keeping C.G. use to a minimum to maintain maximum believability (the car chases are all pulse-pounding and visceral). The cinematography trades the golden hues of Begins for colder blue tones, which creates a bleak landscape for our heroes to fight in; the music, by Hans Zimmer and James Newton Howard, is electrifying, conjuring the twisted darkness of the Joker while holding true to the heroism of Batman and Dent. All around, the Dark Knight is a quantum leap forward from its predecessor (described aptly by some as the Godfather II of superhero films); Christopher Nolan has really stepped up his game with this one, creating for the first time a rich, deeply layered cinematic experience that centers around a superhero, albeit one that's as flawed and human as any other film protagonist. This is the first superhero film that could rightly be categorized as an achievement in film as an art form, and not simply a commercial venture, and I hope that it gets the recognition that it deserves. Frankly, my only real concern is with how Nolan is going to top it, especially without Ledger around to conjure his magically sinister Clown Prince of Crime anymore (there is no way they can recast that role), but frankly, even if this were to be the last Batman film ever produced, I think it would be a hell of a good way to go out. Ultimately, this movie is everything I've ever wanted in a film; it's as simple as that. "Why so serious?"

Existential comedy. It sounds like a contradiction in terms, when you think about it- people contemplating the vagaries of existence hardly sounds like the makings of a laugh riot. And an existential comedy based on Hamlet, one of the most famous stage tragedies in theatre history, sounds even less feasible. But somehow, probably due to the incredible wit of writer-director Tom Stoppard and the fantastic pairing of Gary Oldman and Tim Roth, Rosencranz and Guildenstern are Dead manages to overcome its potential shortcomings, achieving a level of philosophical sophistication that is belayed by its lighthearted sense of humor. From seemingly out of nowhere, we are greeted by two riders, Rosencranz and Guildenstern- friends who find themselves wandering aimlessly with no memory of who exactly they are (or more specifically, which is which), where they've come from, or where they're going. Finally, they come across a rabble of traveling actors (slash prostitutes), or "Tragedians", led by a nameless Player, and shortly thereafter are stranded in the castle of Elsinore, watching as the events of the play Hamlet unfold mystifyingly around them (and trapped within the span of those events) while the Player alludes to truths that neither man can understand- that they aren't the architects of their own fate, and that they are simply bit players in a far grander story. Rosencranz and Guildenstern are a comic duo who are a lot like Laurel and Hardy, Ren and Stimpy, or, most accurately, C-3PO and R2-D2 (inconsequential characters weaving through an epic tapestry). Rosencranz (or Guildenstern), played by Gary Oldman, is an innocent, simple character, taking simple pleasures out of his situation and never really looking past the immediate (though he often shows startling flashes of insight that catch us off guard, such as with his preponderance of death at the end of act two). He's sort of a childlike character, and the fact that Gary Oldman is able to channel that so convincingly is astonishing (especially considering the number of evil bastards he's played); he really keeps the film from getting too morbid and serious. The straight man to Oldman's clown, Guildenstern (or Rosencranz), played by Tim Roth, is a more analytical, hot-headed guy who finds the inexplicable nature of their situation infuriating and is consistently exasperated by his more obtuse companion. While it's not as fun of a part as Rosencranz (or Guildenstern), Roth does get some good bits as the brighter of the two wits, and all of the dramatic beats originate with him (especially by the end). The pair find themselves subject to the whims of a reality that they have no memory of or control over, forced to take their situation for granted in the hopes of finding a deeper meaning to their presence or, at least, a way out of it all. The key to this would seem to be the mysterious Player, played by Richard Dreyfuss, a burlesque character who mocks their search for truth and seems to be the orchestrator of their situation (even if he, too, is bound by his own part- or parts- in it). Dreyfuss is fun as the all-too-knowing showman whose whole existence is defined by his craft (hence his lack of a proper name), a seemingly obscene character (especially after his first scene) who is blunt and uncaring- representative, maybe, of an indifferent world. The funny thing is that the play (upon which this is based) seems to tackle the idea of "what do Rosencranz and Guildenstern do between their scenes in Hamlet" from a sort of ironic standpoint- that what their doing between their Hamlet scenes is trying to justify their own existence until another scene crops up (in which they are suddenly playing the parts assigned to them naturally and unquestioningly). The fact that these are characters defined solely by what's been written about them makes it interesting when they become befuddled by the gaps in their information (such as who is Rosencranz and who is Guildenstern, since, in their Hamlet scenes, they are virtually interchangeable) and question exactly where it's coming from. The script is unbelievably good, filled with machine-gun dialogue that toys with the basic structure of language with zeal and wit; it poses some heady philosophical points wedged between almost incomprehensibly fast games of Questions between our heroes. Technically speaking, Rosencranz and Guildenstern are Dead is a simplistic film: while a lot of the film is shot on location, the sets stand out when they do appear (particularly the boat set at the end of the film) as, well, sets- the film feels enclosed at times, like it's on a soundstage. Also, the few effects that pop up are far from convincing, but then, that's probably not the point (we see during the Tragedian's faux-Hamlet performance how even the most rudimentary effects can be effective). The cinematography is pretty decent, playing very naturalistically (firelight is the only noticeable source for any non-daylight); the compositions are also decent, sticking to standard two-shots and close-ups (it's actually quite proficient, considering that this is playwright Tom Stoppard's directorial debut); editing-wise, the use of juxtaposition is excellent, especially to show the jump between performance and "reality". Overall, it's sort of a bittersweet tale, which skirts the edge of tragedy and comedy at the end, but its very premise makes it impossible to feel too disheartened when the inevitable finally happens (after all, it's in the bloody TITLE- it shouldn't come as a big surprise), because, as the film establishes, neither Rosencranz nor Guildenstern really have a life outside of the one Shakespeare created for them, and technically they are reborn each time someone watches the play/movie- which, considering the sharp, clever humor at work here, should be quite frequently. It's a thinking person's comedy, a self-referential exploration of the nature of life and death itself. That, and it's damn funny.

Al Pacino and Robert DeNiro- two of the greatest actors of their (or any) generation, performing opposite one another for the first time on screen (the only other film that featured them both at the time, The Godfather part II, kept the two chronologically separated). That alone would probably have guaranteed interest in this film. But Heat is more than just the first time DeNiro and Pacino did a scene together, and it's more than just another run-of-the-mill cops and robbers crime thriller- this is some serious, heavy-yet-entertaining drama, which explores the more intimate notion of what it's like to live as a criminal or as a cop- lifestyles which, according to the film, are actually quite similar, in that both avocations lead to cold and distant relationships that never seem to work out... not to mention the high likelihood of getting shot while on the clock. The main characters of the film, a career criminal and the cop who's out to bring him down, are shown to be driven, intelligent men who stop at nothing to achieve their goals, who are both ruthless and cunning- they're two sides to the same coin, separated only by a minor shift in ideologies and strangely dependent on one another to justify their own existence. The film concerns Lt. Vincent Hanna, an LAPD detective who's called in to investigate a series of high-profile robberies, the work of career criminal Neil McCauley and his group of professional bank robbers. When Hanna starts to get wind of who's behind the thefts and McCauley realizes his group's been made, it becomes a tense battle of wits to see who can stay one step ahead of the other until they finally collide in an intense cat-and-mouse finale. Al Pacino plays our hero, Lt. Hanna, a man who sees the darkest side of urban life every day on the job, and as a result he erects an emotional barrier between himself and others that keeps anyone from getting to close, including his (third) wife Justine (Diane Venora) and her daughter Lauren (a fourteen-year-old Natalie Portman in her post-Léon, pre-Star Wars days). Pacino always tends to alternate between over- and underplaying his parts, and here he kind of does both, punctuating his cop dialogue with sudden, violent outbursts ("Because she's got a GREAT ASS!") and becoming a sort of larger than life (if a bit unsavory) personality while on the job, but playing the part of husband and stepfather with a less energetic, more bitter mentality; Hanna is only really alive when he's on the hunt for a criminal, but his obsessive desire to bring justice to the crimes he sees drains him of his soul, leaving him hollow and detached when he comes home to his wife and ultimately destroying his marriage. His devotion to his job is echoed powerfully by McCauley, who, played by Robert DeNiro, is a man who lives only for his profession, living by the credo that he shouldn't have anything in his life that he can't walk away from in 30 seconds or less; but when he meets a young woman named Eady and starts a relationship against his better instincts, he finds himself torn between the possibility for personal happiness and the strict code that he's set aside for himself. DeNiro brings to the part his signature charisma and intensity, crafting McCauley into a disciplined and unyielding man who is willing to kill at a moment's notice if necessary, and I would actually have to label this as the last of his really great performances before he started sliding into comedy and self-parody (well, either this or Ronin). The highlight of the film has to be the beautifully underplayed scene where Hanna and McCauley have coffee together in a small diner, talking about what they do for a living and sort of just shooting the shit. Surprisingly, they understand each other's problems and have a lot in common, and you get the idea that, were they two different people, they might have been good friends; underneath all that, though, there is a current of tension and suspense that runs through the scene as we see our hero and villain confront each other for the first time and make a respectful, civilized declaration of intent before the chaos finally erupts. Working with McCauley is Chris Shiherlis, ably portrayed by Val Kilmer. Chris needs the money from the scores he takes down to cover his bookies, which leads him to take unnecessary risks; his spouse Charlene (Ashley Judd, of all people) is sick of it, threatening to leave him and sleeping with another man behind Chris's back (Hank Azaria, of all people). For Chris, though, the sun rises and sets on her, and so he goes ahead with the big job McCauley orchestrates (despite the cops who are after them) in the hopes of squaring things at last and making up with Charlene; he represents the fears that McCauley harbors about getting involved with other people- a hardened criminal whose only vulnerable point is the woman he loves. The rest of the cast is a veritable who's-who of familiar faces: Jon Voight as McCauley's fence Nate, Tom Sizemore as accomplice Michael Cheritto, Danny Trejo as other accomplice (and aptly named) Trejo, Ted Levine as detective Bosco, William Fitchner as corrupt businessman Roger Van Zant, Kevin Gage as psycho loose-end Waingro, Henry Rollins as bodyguard Hugh Benny, Wes Studi as Detective Casals, Jeremy Piven as Dr. Bob- the list goes on and on. The script (written by director Michael Mann), while a really freaking long and complicated one, leaves no loose ends, tying the winding plot together by film's end (though it leaves a few of the resolutions intentionally ambiguous, such as what happens to Chris or whether Justine and Vincent stay together); the dialogue is crisp and authentic, never coming off as forced or clichéd (a big problem in crime films). The action is absolutely riveting, coming in a sudden, explosive crescendo after the litany of character and plot development, driving the film into high gear. While it may try the patience of some with its nearly three-hour long run time, I savored each minute of this film, taking it in like a fine wine. Heat is a brilliant film, perfectly encapsulating all that is great about crime thrillers (without resorting to using the Mafia, which I liked), bringing a star-filled cast to bear in the best way possible and creating a classic crime movie in the process. Of all the spectacular films they've ever appeared in, it's actually this one that made me really like both Pacino and DeNiro most; you have to admit, the two work well together.

That's the thing about good ideas- sometimes the timing just isn't right. Take, for example, the Flash, a television show that was at LEAST ten years ahead of its time. To better understand what I mean, just break it down to the core components: the story concerns a SUPERHERO who, for a day job, is a CRIME SCENE INVESTIGATOR. If that isn't a dynamite recipe for creative synergy, I don't know what is. Had the Flash been conceived in, say, 2003 or 2004, it would have tapped into a HUGE fan-base established by C.S.I. and the emerging superhero movie boom. Instead, it came out in 1990, trying (and failing) to ride the wave of hype generated for Tim Burton's Batman, and was ultimately felled in one season by another new program running in the same time slot: namely, the Simpsons. But the Flash, while it wasn't horrible, wasn't a perfect show, either, as is perfectly exemplified by the pilot movie that launched the series. It displays more than a few shimmers of inventiveness and creativity, and it's an entertaining way to spend two hours, but it's bogged down by a cheese factor and a lack of subtlety that crops up unexpectedly and kind of kills the mood, making it something of a mixed bag. The story concerns Barry Allen, a forensic criminologist caught in a freak lab accident (the chemicals he is working with are struck by LIGHTNING and explode in his face) who finds himself suddenly able to move with incredible speed. At first seeking a cure for his "ailment" (enlisting the aid of metabolic specialist Dr. Tina McGee), Allen decides to use his abilities to fight crime after a motorcycle gang led by a psychotic ex-cop murders his police officer-brother (in an obvious attempt to re-use the revenge theme of Batman for another superhero). Portraying our hero, Barry Allen, we have John Wesley Shipp, who plays the character as a likable everyman (despite his soap-opera good looks and rippling muscles) with a chip on his shoulder. Born into a family of cops- his dad was a cop, and his brother is a cop (well, for a while, anyway)- he has something of an inferiority complex about "only" being a police scientist, which drives him into workaholic tendencies and, eventually, vigilante activity. The problem with Shipp's Allen is that he's never really believable as a studious, intellectual scientist, mostly because he behaves so melodramatically emotional that it's difficult to see him as a rational person sometimes. As a superhero, though, he does seem to fit the bill, even if he's more stoic and angry than the Flash usually is, and the ripped musculature of his costume looks preposterously bulky on his already athletic frame (another touch of Batman- the dark, brooding hero in the sculpted muscle suit). This implausible outfit is provided for Barry by his specialist and accomplice, Tina McGee (played by Amanda Pays), a British scientist working for state-of-the-art S.T.A.R. Labs who happens to be the only person that knows of Barry's condition. Pays plays McGee as a much more believable scientist than Shipp does, even if the science she practices is more sci-fi than anything else. The two have a good, subtle chemistry, but Pays comes off as just a bit hollow in her part, despite the writer's attempts to give McGee some depth with a personal tragedy that influences how she works with Barry; it just seems like she's playing more to a British stereotype than to the idea of a real character, but she ultimately seems natural enough in the part. One character who does NOT come off naturally would have to be Michael Nader as bad guy Nicolas Pike, a scarred and grizzled ex-cop who would seem to be doing his best Stephen Seagal impression for the whole movie. The script suffers badly from the weakness of its villains- the theme of urban decay isn't really explored deeply enough to make these outcast biker-punks interesting characters, and they all play like cardboard cut-outs anyway (plus, I can't help but laugh when, in one scene, they reveal the names of two of the bikers to be "Bill" and "Steve"- badass mofos, to be sure). Other than this, though, the script is a surprisingly strong one, with good character development, interesting dialogue (despite a few patches of clichés), and a good (if occasionally wicked) sense of humor; it also introduces some fascinating concepts to the character, such as Barry's voracious appetite (he has to replace the calories burned when running with copious amounts of food) and the explanation for the suit (so that he can run without friction tearing his clothes to bits). The cinematography is kind of overly colorful sometimes, using gel-colored lights and neon to get that comic-strip look popular in the early nineties (most noticeably in Dick Tracy), but it stays classy during the character moments, and the compositions are actually pretty good for a TV movie. The effects, which cost a pretty penny at the time, modulate between the corny and the utterly fantastic (the multiple-exposures and blur effects are phenomenal, even by today's standards). The music, specifically the theme by Danny Elfman, strongly recalls the music of Batman, but with a much more adventurous streak that makes it sound quite good on its own. I can't say that the Flash was a sure-fire hit that just got shafted by a time-slot disadvantage; the pilot would never have passed muster as a feature film, and almost as often as it hits on moments of greatness, it sinks to lows of unoriginal thinking (thankfully, there are more highs than lows). But despite this, I still love the Flash as a great bit of light entertainment that had the potential to be something a lot better, even if we never saw that potential fully realized (either as a successful T.V. show or as a self-contained movie). Besides, it's a perfect fit with the superhero films of the day- Superman and Batman, that is- in its sense of fun and adventurousness, a style that has gone out of fashion in the current world of ultra-realistic, angst-ridden superheroes. It may not have been a superhero C.S.I. (and how cool might that have been?), but considering the time it was released, the Flash is a good, solid bit of fun, as a lead-in to the show or as a movie on its own; I honestly believe that the only reason it didn't stick around longer was because it just happened to show up on the wrong night at the wrong time.

Batman Begins is the film comic fans have been aching to see since the release of the first Superman movie. It is an epic, well-written, skillfully directed film that, action-packed though it may be, achieves a surprising poignancy that one is hard-pressed to find in most other superhero films. Its greatest attribute is its treatment of the title character; unlike previous takes on Bruce Wayne, who had always been played "close to the vest," never divulging much of his thoughts or feelings, here we are treated to a full and vivid portrait of a man- a flesh-and-blood human being- dealing with the grief and guilt over his parents' murder and trying to find a place for himself in the world. Christian Bale plays Bruce Wayne brilliantly, not brooding as much as previous actors while still conveying grief and anger that never feel forced or artificial. And as Batman, Bale is the first to stray from the monolithic shape with the gravelly whisper; Bale's Batman seems always ready to spring, crouching on ledges like an animal awaiting its prey, and when he speaks, what comes out is a primal growl (good for disguising his voice and scaring the piss out of cowardly criminals). On top of this, each member of the supporting cast is remarkably fleshed out, and the actors portraying them are as top-notch as they can be. Michael Caine breathes life into previously stuffy butler Alfred that never overshadows the hero, but creates a more three-dimensional character out of what, 'til now, has been a British butler stereotype. Cillian Murphy is just plain creepy as Dr. Jonathan Crane, giving a rather small part enough heft to make us wish there was more of him. Gary Oldman plays the Gordon comic fans know and love: a good cop steeped so deeply in the corruption of the police force that he can't resist an offer to help clean things up, even if it comes from a masked vigilante. Liam Neeson is a surprisingly ferocious mentor for Bruce, playing Ducard with both human emotional depth and villainous cruelty- he walks the line deftly, and creates an undeniably charismatic character in doing so. Linus Roache imbues his character of Thomas Wayne with so much likable energy that it truly comes as a shock when the inevitable occurs, and his presence is felt throughout the entire movie. Tom Wilkinson has what looks like a blast as mob boss Carmine Falcone, and Ken Watanabe is a fantastically intense Ra's Al Ghul. Together, these characters create a compelling drama about a man trying to find direction in his life. But when the time comes for action, Chris Nolan does not disappoint, showing us scenes of rapid-fire cuts and frantic movement, in which the Batman is finally presented as he was always intended to be: fast, dangerous, and terrifying. The techniques used for Batman and Crane are like a lesson in horror-movie scares, ranging from the simple guy-comes-from-nowhere camera turn to more modern jump-cutting, film distortion, and audio montage. The climax is an epic conflict with plenty of action, a race against time, and even explosions, but it can essentially be pared down to a battle between a surrogate father and son, tying the themes of the film together brilliantly. Batman Begins is more than just flashy summer entertainment, more than just another superhero flick in an ever-growing lineup of superhero movies. Batman Begins is more than just a good film; it is a great film.

Eeeeeeew. I was going to give this a better rating- I really was- until the bloodshed started. Going in, I thought to myself, "Wow! This film is really good! It's moody, atmospheric, and genuinely creepy, and the suspense that's building is really great! And hey- there's Ted Raimi!" (he has a cameo) But about halfway through the movie, the evil Candyman made his dreaded appearance, and after that, things just seemed to get really unnecessarily... sticky. I have a personal standard that I have always stuck to, and that is that I don't like horror movies with serious, gratuitous blood and gore. I don't want to see people getting skinned, or gutted, or dissected in horrible, vivid detail- that kind of stuff is more revolting than terrifying, and I much prefer a good scare to fighting back the remnants of my lunch. More than just being too gory, though, this film is just a mite bit too morbidly disturbing than I would like, bandying about concepts like infanticide and castration just a little too freely for my taste. Of course, it has other themes that are much more alluring- class discrimination, urban legends, and race relations among them- but there are so many that none of them are ever fully developed, and they're so entrenched in extreme violence that it's difficult to really get anything out of them. In the film, we have Helen Lyle, a graduate student doing research for a paper on urban legends. It is because of this research that she comes across the legend of the Candyman, a supernatural killer with a hook for a hand who appears when you speak his name into a mirror five times. Lyle, believing the tale to be simple urban folklore, accidentally summons Candyman into being, and he proceeds to go on a bloody killing spree that is soon attributed to Helen, and the only way she can stop it may be to sacrifice her own life to appease Candyman's bloodlust. Virginia Madsen is pretty decent as Lyle, a smart but slightly arrogant grad student who disregards the reality of the violence she researches and ends up in way over her head; by uncovering a gang leader who uses the Candyman name to strike fear in his enemies, she prompts doubt of Candyman's existence in the residents of Cabrini-Green, a housing project in Chicago where the legend first emerged- an affront to Candyman's power that forces him to appear and prove his existence once again. The Candyman, played with gravelly-voice menace by Tony Todd, is the cultured son of a slave, murdered for sleeping with a rich white man's daughter, who has returned from the dead with a hook for a hand and is ostensibly responsible for the daily horrors of life in the projects. The deeper reason for his reappearance, however, seems to be the resemblance of Helen to his former love, making his ultimate goals in the film even more enigmatic. The character is supposed to be somewhat sympathetic, but I don't see how I'm supposed to feel anything for the sinister, bloodthirsty Candyman, considering his continued statements of perverse, sadistic joy ("They will say I have shed innocent blood. What's blood for, if not for shedding?") in his monstrous acts of violence (give Todd credit, though, for summoning some pathos for the character near the end). Rounding out the main cast is Xander Berkeley (who you might recognize as Todd, John's foster father from Terminator 2) as Helen's dubious husband Trevor, a professor who probably is having an extramarital affair before the whole "mass-murder" business, and, upon learning of his wife's possible psychosis, drops her like a rock and starts rooming with a tasty co-ed within a month. There's actually a funny bit near the end where, after the main plot is resolved, Trevor broods moodily in his bathroom, when suddenly (just as I was thinking, "Aw, I thought for sure he was going to bite it") he meets a grisly demise- after which we see him with that same eyes-rolled-up slack expression as he had in T2. I couldn't stop laughing- the guy almost made it through a whole movie without getting slaughtered, only to get picked off as an afterthought just before the credits. The script, adapted by director Bernard Rose from a short story by Clive Barker, is interesting enough, even if, as I said before, the themes are a bit thrown-together and the ending is a bit jarring; the bizarre parallel that the screenplay draws between religion and folklore is intriguing, and also darn disturbing at times. The score, a minimalist work by the inimitable Phillip Glass, is truly chilling, even with the synth elements given a place of prominence (something about well done choir work always gets under my skin, though). Overall, I have to admit that the film has some good stuff going for it- after all, my first impressions were great, given the great urban-Gothic atmosphere the film evokes. Unfortunately, it's just to perversely violent for me to really get into (I mean, come on, just the word "flesh" makes my skin crawl in this context). I found myself really, deeply bothered by how far the movie goes- it takes horror from the realm of the cathartic (thank God we got away from that thing!) to the traumatic (oh, dear God, why did this have to happen?). Perhaps unpleasantly disturbing the audience is the goal the filmmaker was going for to begin with, and if that's the case, bravo, cause he succeeded here with flying colors; but as for me, I like to watch horror movies that DON'T scar me for life, thankyouverymuch.

This is the movie I have been waiting for since I first became a devoted film fanatic. It takes a perfect distillation of everything I love about truly great cinema (e.g. "the classics"- Godfather, A Clockwork Orange, Silence of the Lambs, etc.)- the depth of emotion, the layered plot, the thematic consistency, the dramatic intensity (ESPECIALLY the dramatic intensity)- and seamlessly fuses with it my favorite genre character of all time: the Batman. The result is the first film based on a superhero that takes itself 100% seriously, never condescending the integrity of its own premise and, in the process, creating a brilliant work of action, drama, and suspense, a crime thriller that just happens to center around a hero in a cape and cowl. As a viewing experience, it's a white-knuckle affair; there is really nothing to prepare you for how powerful this film is, from the shocking intensity of the violence to the dark tragedy of the characters. It's a film that wrings you out, keeping you breathing hard and bolted to your seat, and finally leaving you emotionally drained and, bizarrely, wishing for more. Picking up shortly after Batman Begins left off, we find Bruce Wayne diligently working to bring down the mob as the Batman, joining forces with Lieutenant James Gordon and the newly-elected D.A. Harvey Dent to stop organized crime in Gotham City for good. Everything seems to be going to plan, until a recent rash of mob-bank robberies brings to the attention of the mob a criminal called the Joker, a madman slathered in clown make-up who offers to rid them of the Batman once and for all. Suddenly, no one in Gotham is safe, and as the Joker's chaotic rampage through the city racks up more and more victims, Batman finds himself struggling with the moral code he's set for himself in the light of the Joker's limitless cruelty. For his second go-round as the Dark Knight, Christian Bale has got his character down pat, from the vapid playboy facade (that creates some of the lighter points of the movie) to the dark, gravelly-voiced creature that is Batman (who gets much more screen time than Wayne does, actually); but as the real Wayne, who so few are privileged to see, Bruce is deeply conflicted about his double life, torn between the desire to leave it all behind (an opportunity presented by the rising star D.A. Dent) and his need to fulfill his self-appointed mission. Things become even more complicated when the Joker turns his double identity against him, shifting public opinion against the Batman and trying to force him into turning himself in. Working with Batman this time is Harvey Dent, as played by Aaron Eckhart- a public crusader for justice who personifies the hope for a better future in Gotham City. Dent is a truly good, decent man, trying his best to do the right thing in the mire of corruption and politics, but unfortunately Dent still is just a man, and every man has a breaking point; Dent goes through a major character arc through the course of the film, twisting his ideals against themselves and transforming him into a tragic, all-too-plausible monster, and Eckhart plays the descent into darkness phenomenally. The third man of our trio of heroes in this film is Gary Oldman, back for round two as Lieutenant James Gordon. This time, his skills as an actor are put to much better use, as Gordon has much more to do here than before: he is a father, a friend, a cop, and a man of action in this film, and especially near the end his character is put through the wringer, but Oldman delivers like he always does. And then, there's the Joker. There really aren't enough good things I can say about the late Heath Ledger's turn as the Clown Prince of Crime- he IS the Joker. He manages to craft a completely unpredictable character, one that is both amazingly scary and surprisingly funny at the same time (as perfectly captured early on in the film: "How about a magic trick?"). A self-described engine of chaos, everything about him is chaotic, from his often violent actions and statements (he describes several different scenarios for how he acquired his scars, investing himself intensely into each one) to his facial tics and mannerisms; Ledger disappears completely into the role, so much so that it's hard to connect the tragedy of Ledger's death to the character when you're actually watching him (which is both a great relief for the audience and a hell of a compliment to his performance, when you think about it). Even though he has the least screen time of all the principal leads, his presence looms over the entirety of the film (kind of like Thomas Wayne's in Batman Begins, but much more potently), creating a disorienting sense that absolutely ANYONE can die at any moment. As for the rest of the cast, they are all expanded upon from the previous film, and they are ALL fantastic: Michael Caine's Alfred has the unenviable task of keeping Bruce's spirit intact through the pain he's subjected to, Morgan Freeman's Lucias Fox faces up to an ethical dilemma of his own when Batman's quest to fight crime pushes past the boundaries of basic human rights, and Maggie Gyllenhaal, infinitely more pleasant as Rachel Dawes than Katie Holmes was, is stuck in a love triangle between childhood friend Bruce and the crusading D.A. Dent. The script is tight and powerful, despite the film's long run time; there is not a single scene that could have been left out, and the intricate plot that's constructed is incredibly elaborate, thematically rich, and deeply engrossing. The character work and dialogue is fantastic: the dramatic highlight of the film would probably have to be the interrogation room scene between Batman and the Joker, in which we learn a lot about the Joker's twisted ideology and his perceived connection with Batman. The action this time around is astonishing, too; Christopher Nolan, apparently tired of complaints about the shooting style for the fight sequences in Batman Begins, now just shoots single takes of the energetically choreographed clashes, making them much more effective. The stunt work and effects are blazingly good, keeping C.G. use to a minimum to maintain maximum believability (the car chases are all pulse-pounding and visceral). The cinematography trades the golden hues of Begins for colder blue tones, which creates a bleak landscape for our heroes to fight in; the music, by Hans Zimmer and James Newton Howard, is electrifying, conjuring the twisted darkness of the Joker while holding true to the heroism of Batman and Dent. All around, the Dark Knight is a quantum leap forward from its predecessor (described aptly by some as the Godfather II of superhero films); Christopher Nolan has really stepped up his game with this one, creating for the first time a rich, deeply layered cinematic experience that centers around a superhero, albeit one that's as flawed and human as any other film protagonist. This is the first superhero film that could rightly be categorized as an achievement in film as an art form, and not simply a commercial venture, and I hope that it gets the recognition that it deserves. Frankly, my only real concern is with how Nolan is going to top it, especially without Ledger around to conjure his magically sinister Clown Prince of Crime anymore (there is no way they can recast that role), but frankly, even if this were to be the last Batman film ever produced, I think it would be a hell of a good way to go out. Ultimately, this movie is everything I've ever wanted in a film; it's as simple as that. "Why so serious?"

Not quite a horror movie. Not quite an action movie. Not quite a comedy. Just what is Evil Dead 2, anyway? To put it simply: awesome. Evil Dead 2 is an exercise in style, slapstick, and over-the-top, almost cartoonish violence. Not pretentious in the least, Evil Dead 2 embraces its status as low-budget schlock and, as a result, has a great time going as far out as it possibly can in terms of effects, camera movements, and lighting. While the first film was almost a wrote execution of the "Ten Little Indians" formula (with only five Indians, at that), Evil Dead 2 eschews any attempt at horror with comic hyperbole and, in the latter portion of the film, pure pulp action, typified by our chainsaw-wielding hero, Ash. Bruce Campbell as Ash is the Charlie Brown of horror films- all the shit in the world lands squarely on his shoulders, and you can't help but laugh at his misery. Between the pansy preppy-boy from Evil Dead and the square-jawed he-man of Army Of Darkness, Ash actually has a character arc in this film (!)- though it's obvious in the viewing that character is the last thing on director Sam Raimi's mind. Instead, it's all about pushing the envelope, both in terms of tone and technique. When does horror become comedy? And more importantly, just how much crap can happen to one guy in only two days? As far as acting goes, the performances from everyone involved are so far from believable that just watching them say their lines is hilarious, and yes, that includes Bruce Campbell. Sam Raimi takes center stage in this movie instead, as the film is loaded with camera work that would prove to be the director's trademark. The evil force camera POV returns in a chase scene that just gets better every time I watch it, and Raimi seems to get his kicks from composing the most extreme shots that he can imagine. Lacking almost anything resembling a plot, the movie is more along the lines of a series of sketches set in a cabin, but that only adds to the deliriously disjointed nature of the film. In fact, most of the movie's appeal comes from the main character, who, like the audience, constantly struggles to get his bearings while being bombarded by one freakish thing after another; besides, it's a nice change of pace to see a horror film in which the hero is cooler than the villain. In truth, it's merits can't justly be put into words; Evil Dead 2 is an experience, an experiment with the limits of good humor and taste, and you will either like it right off or hate it immediately. Either way, you'll only know it if you see it.

Batman Begins is the film comic fans have been aching to see since the release of the first Superman movie. It is an epic, well-written, skillfully directed film that, action-packed though it may be, achieves a surprising poignancy that one is hard-pressed to find in most other superhero films. Its greatest attribute is its treatment of the title character; unlike previous takes on Bruce Wayne, who had always been played "close to the vest," never divulging much of his thoughts or feelings, here we are treated to a full and vivid portrait of a man- a flesh-and-blood human being- dealing with the grief and guilt over his parents' murder and trying to find a place for himself in the world. Christian Bale plays Bruce Wayne brilliantly, not brooding as much as previous actors while still conveying grief and anger that never feel forced or artificial. And as Batman, Bale is the first to stray from the monolithic shape with the gravelly whisper; Bale's Batman seems always ready to spring, crouching on ledges like an animal awaiting its prey, and when he speaks, what comes out is a primal growl (good for disguising his voice and scaring the piss out of cowardly criminals). On top of this, each member of the supporting cast is remarkably fleshed out, and the actors portraying them are as top-notch as they can be. Michael Caine breathes life into previously stuffy butler Alfred that never overshadows the hero, but creates a more three-dimensional character out of what, 'til now, has been a British butler stereotype. Cillian Murphy is just plain creepy as Dr. Jonathan Crane, giving a rather small part enough heft to make us wish there was more of him. Gary Oldman plays the Gordon comic fans know and love: a good cop steeped so deeply in the corruption of the police force that he can't resist an offer to help clean things up, even if it comes from a masked vigilante. Liam Neeson is a surprisingly ferocious mentor for Bruce, playing Ducard with both human emotional depth and villainous cruelty- he walks the line deftly, and creates an undeniably charismatic character in doing so. Linus Roache imbues his character of Thomas Wayne with so much likable energy that it truly comes as a shock when the inevitable occurs, and his presence is felt throughout the entire movie. Tom Wilkinson has what looks like a blast as mob boss Carmine Falcone, and Ken Watanabe is a fantastically intense Ra's Al Ghul. Together, these characters create a compelling drama about a man trying to find direction in his life. But when the time comes for action, Chris Nolan does not disappoint, showing us scenes of rapid-fire cuts and frantic movement, in which the Batman is finally presented as he was always intended to be: fast, dangerous, and terrifying. The techniques used for Batman and Crane are like a lesson in horror-movie scares, ranging from the simple guy-comes-from-nowhere camera turn to more modern jump-cutting, film distortion, and audio montage. The climax is an epic conflict with plenty of action, a race against time, and even explosions, but it can essentially be pared down to a battle between a surrogate father and son, tying the themes of the film together brilliantly. Batman Begins is more than just flashy summer entertainment, more than just another superhero flick in an ever-growing lineup of superhero movies. Batman Begins is more than just a good film; it is a great film.

Classic Cameron, at the peak of his career. After the first Terminator was a success, James Cameron moved on to bigger and better things, getting to work with a big (well, HUGE, actually) budget for the first time with Aliens, and honing his visual style and special effects mastery with the Abyss. However, he still had an idea in the back of his mind for a sequel to his first big break, and when he finally set about bringing it to screen, he brought with him all of the skill and craftsmanship that he'd spent the last seven years sharpening. The result is one of the few cinematic sequels to ever surpass its predecessor with flying colors, becoming even more iconic than the first film (and popularizing the use of initials as shorthand for titles). Set eleven years after the first Terminator, Terminator 2 features, appropriately enough, two terminators- a T-1000 sent back in time to kill the ten-year-old John Connor, and an older model T-800 that's been reprogrammed to protect him. At first, the general plot is the same as the first movie, with a race against time between two unrelenting forces as they try to locate John (and later his mother Sarah). But once the three heroes are assembled, T2 becomes a very different movie: thoughtful, introspective, and hopeful. This film puts out a message that is a complete one-eighty from the cynical predestination of the first movie, saying instead that if we try hard enough, we can save ourselves from destruction- our futures are in our hands, no one else's. Of course, that doesn't mean that the action is over, as the final act is a non-stop, full-tilt thrill-ride (a trite description, but a fitting one) with the compulsory shoot-outs, car chases, and explosions, but all are done Cameron-style (which is to say, fifty times bigger than life). The performances are all pitch-perfect; Arnold expertly recaptures the soulless, robotic character of the first film, until a second act revelation (which is fleshed out much better in the extended cut) creates a character arc for him and, ironically, he ends up giving his most human, sympathetic performance ever as the eponymous killing machine. Edward Furlong is totally believable as a ten year old kid- probably because he was a ten year old kid at the time- but one that has a lot of emotional baggage, and one who's really smart (almost too smart) for his age, to boot. Sarah Connor continues the Cameron tradition of strong female protagonists, but with an intriguing twist: Sarah has gone so far as a tough, self-sufficient woman that she can't remember how to feel anything, burying her emotions with discipline and training. Linda Hamilton is brilliant in the part, erasing all memory of the fragile young girl from the first film and disappearing into the role. And Robert Patrick is pure creepy as the murderous T-1000; even without the effects, he would still be a palpably dangerous presence in the film. The script by Cameron is, of course, well-written, featuring his particular brand of informative, economical, yet somehow natural dialogue that tells you the whole story without you even realizing it. The score is a classic, both exciting and ominous, somber and hopeful; its use of natural sound helps to downplay the fact that it was done mainly with synthesizers. The special effects are fantastic, featuring some of the earliest CGI work in a motion picture; but though computer imagery wasn't nearly as sophisticated when the movie was being made as it is now, its judicious and creative use make the shots just as effective today as they were in 1991. And the script (if I may return to it) is tightly-woven and surprisingly thought-provoking, bringing into question the violence that other films have too often taken for granted. This is an action film with a heart and soul; and though the title may suggest otherwise, in the end, it is a story about people.

There are some movies that I like because I appreciate the technical mastery needed to make them, and there are some movies that I just like because of the story that they tell- Memento, however, is a rare case of both being true at the same time. Memento is one of my favorite films, and has been since my first viewing of it. Of course, the most popular element of Memento's style is how the story is told- two sets of intertwining chapters, one set in black and white that tells a linear, straightforward story (one composed mostly of expositional voice-over), and the color chapters that recount events in reverse order, eventually converging with the black-and-white chapters to complete a slowly-unfolding mystery. But this storytelling style, confusing though it is for a casual viewer, isn't an arbitrary stylistic choice made by a frivolous director- rather, it is born out of the way the main character sees the world; Leonard Shelby, the protagonist searching for the man that murdered his wife, has no short-term memory, and so his only clues to what is going on around him are the notes and pictures he makes for himself- which, because of the narrative style, become the only way that WE can piece together what is happening, as we are as in the dark as Leonard is. With a fantastic cast (none of whom we can trust, turning from helpful to malicious with each passing chapter), a brilliant script, a simple, yet clever premise, and an engaging mystery, Memento is a detective story unlike any other, and a new benchmark for film in general- a hell of a start for writer/director Christopher Nolan (commercial start, that is; I haven't seen The Following yet, but I've heard good things about it, too).

Kevin Smith's films tend to be fairly similar. For the most part, people stand around and talk; they talk about relationships, about comic books, about Star Wars, and everything in-between, and it is through these unending conversations that the plot is moved forward. Dogma, however, represents a radical departure from this motif; behold, a Kevin Smith film with- ACTION SEQUENCES! Gasp! Things actually HAPPEN! People go places! There are special effects, even! And sure, these things do make Dogma a somewhat more exciting movie than, say, Clerks. But the fact is, Kevin Smith makes films that are about two things- sharp characterizations and witty repartee- and Dogma has this in spades. Linda Fiorentino as Bethany Sloane is a perfect portrait of a faithless Catholic, living in quiet desperation as a lip-service church goer until she gets run over by a busload of spiritual revelations. Ben Affleck and Matt Damon as Bartleby and Loki, respectively, are like a finely-tuned comedy act- Loki's the clown, Bartleby's the straight man, and they bicker like a married couple- until halfway through the movie, Bartleby makes a dramatic character swing that turns him into a tragic villain with true pathos; Damon is unrelentingly likable as the smite-happy Loki, and Affleck shows surprising range and believability as the sensitive-cum-megalomaniacal Bartleby. Alan Rickman is absolutely brilliant as Metatron, the voice of God- he's certainly the only actor with the gravitas to believably portray a member of the highest choir of angels AND the comic timing to deliver Smith's razor-sharp dialogue, and to top it all off, he has moments of warmth that make him a much more well-rounded character. Salma Hayek as Serendipity has no such moments, unfortunately, and comes off as a somewhat two-dimensional expositional character with spectacular breasts- the muse is an intriguing concept, but not much of an actual person (which gives her line "I used to be an abstract" a decidedly multi-layered meaning). Jason Lee as Azreal gets to turn his snide delivery up a notch portraying a villain (a demon, no less), and though he's still funny, there's definitely a new undercurrent of bitterness that makes him less likable that usual. Finally, Chris Rock, while he hardly stretches himself as an actor, is still incredibly funny as the thirteenth apostle Rufus, and Jason Mewes and Kevin Smith as Jay and his "hetero-life-mate" Silent Bob are funnier than ever (perhaps my favorite moment in the film would be the foul-mouthed Jay coming face-to-face with God herself). More than being a playground for his new characters, though, Dogma is a scathing satire of organized religion and Catholic mythology, deftly handling material that few other movies would dare to touch upon. It was heavily picketed during its theatrical release by the Catholic church (and a bunch of other ones, I think), but Smith manages to have some fun about the whole controversy with a pitch-perfect disclaimer at the beginning of the film, which clarifies the movie's status as a comic FANTASY while poking a bit of fun at anyone who might take his work too seriously. Sure, Dogma has its childish moments (a great deal of them, actually), but it's that grounded and humorous perspective that allows Smith to broach such sensitive subjects without a moment's pause. Once again, Smith has written a movie about the relationships between people, even if some of them aren't strictly people, but more than that, he's written and directed a personal statement about having faith and finding your place in the grand scheme of things. A must-see for any Smith fans, highly recommended for anyone with a sense of humor and an open mind, and, in my opinion, required viewing for Catholics.