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 BEAVIS AND BUTTHEAD DO AMERICA. Yes! Everybody's favorite
fartknockers make the leap to the big screen in an animated extravaganza
that's got enough idiotic moments and cavity searches to please
any Beavis and Butthead fan. (Of course, Beavis and
Butthead fans have low standards.) The cartoon, which follows
Beavis and Butthead's cross-country imbecility, is augmented by
a bitchin' soundtrack, featuring the Red Hot Chili Peppers, the
Butthole Surfers and Englebert Humperdink. And yes, that buttmunch
Cornholio makes an appearance or two. This movie rules!--Slab
EVITA. It is not a musical, okay? It's an opera. It's an
opera about a Fascist dictator of Argentina and his influential,
wildly popular wife, Eva Perón. Madonna is quite charming
as Eva, singing and dancing her way through pretty much every
single scene of this movie with her doe-colored contacts and perpetual
costume changes. The first half has the best numbers, but after
about an hour everything loses steam. Madonna has long since gone
blond, all of the best songs have been sung, and for the last
hour we're treated to reprise after reprise. The adaptation from
stage to screen seems to have gone a little less smoothly than
we would have hoped, too. The film falls prey to visual repetition
as well: In scene after scene, we see mobs of angry Argentineans,
or happy Argentineans, take to the street, carrying placards.
Over and over and over. Placard after placard. --Richter
THE FUNERAL. Schlock-master Abel Ferrara does his best
once again to blur the line between high art and kitsch in this
reprise of the classic mobster movie. Christopher Walken plays
a bad guy (or is he a good guy?) seeking vengeance for his brother
Johnny's violent death. Through a whole bunch of flashbacks, we
learn Johnny was a good kid (or was he really bad?) who cared
for loose women and the working man. Ferrara and his writer, Nicholas
St. John, are fascinated by the kind of moral and philosophical
questions that plague most of us during adolescence, but without
the conviction of youth. The characters like to muse about the
nature of morality, then shoot holes in one another's chests.
Still, there's something sickly fascinating about this very bad
movie: The sex is weird and the production values are slightly
off. It's as if it were made by space aliens. --Richter
JACKIE CHAN'S FIRST STRIKE. The newest Jackie Chan vehicle
takes our Hong Kong hero from the frozen tundra of Russia to the
sandy beaches of the Australian coast on a quest to recapture
a nuclear warhead and kick ass. This time around, Chan does less
of the ballet-inspired, choreographed fight scenes and more traditional
stunt work: high-speed crashes on snowboards, hand-to-hand combat
in shark-infested aquariums, and crashing expensive cars through
solid objects. It's a little more James Bond and a little less
Kung-fu theatre, but the result is, as always, thoroughly entertaining.--Wadsworth
MARVIN'S ROOM. This blatant tear-jerker features the highest
number of sick and dying characters for your movie dollar. Marvin
(Hume Cronyn), the father of two daughters, has been incapacitated
for 20 years after suffering a stroke. The good daughter who cares
for him, Bessie (Diane Keaton) comes down with leukemia and must
bring her long-lost sister's family down to Florida to determine
if any of them are suitable bone marrow donors. (Why they don't
have the test done by their family doctor at home remains a mystery.)
Meryl Streep, accent and all, plays the hard-nosed sister with
a problem son, Hank (Leonardo DiCaprio). The illness proves to
be redemptive, the family grows closer together, Streep and Keaton
act their hearts out; the only ray of originality and light comes
from DiCaprio, who gives a flawless, natural rendition of a bad
boy with a heart that could hold a candle to any performance by
James Dean. --Richter
MOTHER. Albert Brook's latest film about a second-rate
writer suffering a midlife crisis leaves the impression of being...well...sadly
autobiographical. Following his second divorce, John (Brooks)
leaves L.A. to move back in with his hypercritical mother in order
to figure out why his relationships with women always end in disaster.
Equal parts amusing and excruciating to watch, this self-indulgent
sojourn in suburbia is certainly no Defending Your Life.
Although he strikes aspects of the mother-child relationship with
hilarious accuracy, the movie's attempts to take itself seriously
invariably end with dramatic scenes that are at best sophomoric
and at worst--like the last 10 minutes--flat-out embarrassing.
Debbie Reynolds is wonderful as Mother (Laura Weeks? Who the hell
is Laura Weeks?); but brothers Brooks and Rob Morrow, and their
annoying characters, should seek professional help. Mother
is an odd movie. My companion summed it up best: You'll spend
the better part of two hours laughing, then leave the theater
saying, "That sucked."--Wadsworth
THE PEOPLE VS. LARRY FLYNT. Milos Forman brings the infamous
publisher of Hustler magazine to the big screen in this
stylish, revisionist look at the life and times of the famously
offensive man. Woody Harrelson makes an impish, likable Flynt,
blending backwoods crudeness and little-boy charm with a crusader's
lust for adult entertainment; and Courtney Love is even better
as his overdressed, junkie wife. Together they take on Jerry Falwell,
the Supreme Court, and the good taste of millions of Americans
in this very funny, entertaining movie.--Richter
SHINE. A wonderful, uplifting movie about a child prodigy
who is damaged, then saved, by his art. Based on the true life
of pianist David Helfgott, Shine weaves together scenes
from his extremely lousy childhood and his very eccentric adulthood.
Geoffrey Rush is terrific as Helfgott, a man who's a mass of neurotic
habits and annoying tics, but who can create beautiful music as
well. Occasionally director Scott Hicks is a little too
direct in his method--you can see certain events coming miles
off, and he occasionally veers into the forbidden realm of sentimentality--but
on the whole Shine is visually unusual and fresh.--Richter
TURBULENCE. This movie does for scheming-serial-killer-on-airplane
flicks what Jaws IV did for scheming-shark-in-the-Bahamas
flicks, with at least as much panache. A tiresome Ray Liotta and
Lauren Holly showpiece, it gives its audience about a smidgen
more than they might have expected: glitzy special effects, perky
Holly in her skimpy airline-regulation negligée, suave
and cunning Liotta throwing out feeble one-liners, and many, many
plot holes. (For example, the flight is for about a dozen people,
yet the airline utilizes a 747; at a loss of, say, about
600 seats, it's no wonder so many of them are filing for Chapter
11). There are many wincing moments during the course of the
film, including Liotta's touching explanation of his craft: "First
I started with squirrels and birds, then I moved on to cats and
women." If you're still jonesing for the genre after Turbulence,
you have the soon-to-be-released Con Air to look forward
to. We lead a charmed life. --Marchant
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