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 THE BIG HIT. Hong Kong director Che-Kirk Wong directed
this slam-bang action/comedy/parody slush, providing yet another
reason for ending our love affair with tongue-in-cheek violence.
Mark Wahlberg plays that new breed of comic hero, the Funny Hit-Man.
Hopelessly insecure and yet super-competent when it comes to killing,
Wahlberg's character is about as funny as a whimpering Doberman
that occasionally mauls babies. One minute he's cute and soft-spoken,
the next minute he's chopping off somebody's leg. Taken as an
irreverent joke for the hipster teenage set, The Big Hit
does have some amusing ideas (the climax revolves around Wahlberg's
efforts to return an overdue video while evading assassins), but
the empty-headed screenplay can't keep up with them. This movie's
idea of witty dialogue is when somebody says "Do you want
the truth?" and somebody else shouts, "You can't handle
the truth!" That's not parody; that's parroty.
--Woodruff
BULWORTH. In the final scene of Godzilla, after
the monster and all his offspring have been killed, the camera
zooms into the secret nest where one Godzilla egg remains alive,
threatening to hatch into a sequel as the credits start to roll.
There, now that I've ruined the ending of that pathetic non-film,
you have no excuse for going to see it rather than Bulworth,
Warren Beatty's hilarious and intelligent new film that successfully
resurrects the political comedy. The fast-moving plot follows
Senator Jay Bulworth through the final weekend of his campaign
to win the democratic primary for California. Having hired someone
to kill him so that his daughter can collect a large life insurance
policy, Bulworth is suddenly liberated from his need to win and
begins saying what's on his mind. The script is full of extremely
funny and politically astute commentary by the increasingly demented
Bulworth, and it doesn't lose steam throughout its 107 minutes.
Everything about this movie seems to run contrary to the current
style of filmmaking: There's a plot which unfolds and deepens
throughout; the hip-hop soundtrack is fresh and adds mood, rather
than emphasizing what is already obvious; there's a rhythm to
the pacing that keeps things moving without pandering to an imaginary
attention-deficit disordered audience; the comedy is cerebral
and profanity is used only in service of the larger theme. And
instead of giant reptiles, the villains are insurance companies.
Just like in real life. --DiGiovanna
CITY OF ANGELS. Meg Ryan plays a doctor who operates on
human hearts, but is--oh so ironically--unsure of the nature of
her own. Nicolas Cage plays Seth, a creepy angel of God who falls
in love with her. Though reportedly inspired by Wim Wenders' wonderful
Wings of Desire, City of Angels has none of the
intelligence or charm of its predecessor. Instead, Cage follows
Ryan around Los Angeles in a late-eighties trench coat, striking
poses as though in an Aramis commercial. Who wants a guardian
angel if all he does is stare at you, and touch you all the time?
The rest of the time he hangs out with the other angels, who are
as thick as flies at the public library, where they "live."
Living, in this case, consists of shuttling from one side of the
library to the other with zombie-like detachment. I don't think
anyone in the audience would have been surprised if the angels
started feasting on human flesh like actual zombies, their salient
characteristic being that they are not human (as opposed to, say,
spiritual). Seth perks up a little when he becomes Ryan's boyfriend,
but overall this movie falls tantalizing close to the so-bad-it's-good-category,
without actually making it over the hump. Not surprisingly, annoying
drone/chant music is featured throughout. --Richter
DEEP IMPACT. With a massive comet coming to destroy the
Earth, everyone tries to mend their childhood traumas by producing
the most maudlin speeches ever heard. What happened to the good
old days when the end of the world meant marauding gangs of leather-clad
bikers and violence in the street? In Deep Impact it seems
like everyone is too bored to go out looting and rioting, so they
just hang out watching the skies and waiting for the special effects.
After 90 minutes of watching these whiny losers you'll be rooting
for the comet.
--DiGiovanna
GODZILLA. In the original pictures, Godzilla was like an
overgrown child throwing a tantrum, and I don't know about you,
but that's why I loved him. In the new Godzilla, he exists
on a purely biological level, motivated only to eat and to breed.
With neither political themes nor anthropomorphism to sustain
him, the sole reason to root for Godzilla is to see him destroy
things while protecting his territory. Even then, this over-marketed,
under-scripted special-effects vehicle doesn't deliver enough;
in fact, director Roland Emmerich and producer Dean Devlin eliminate
the big lizard from the movie's entire second act! Instead, we're
introduced to Godzilla's spawn, several dozen man-sized babies
who move, cast shadows, and produce visual puns exactly, and I
do mean exactly, like Steven Spielberg's velociraptors. Yes, this
is the Jurassic Park 3 you didn't know was coming. Sure,
Godzilla turns up again, but his revival can't save the movie
any more than that last-minute blue, singing alien could save
The Fifth Element. As for the actors, Matthew Broderick
and Maria Pitillo star in a wimpy love story that has no business
being in a Godzilla picture. Fortunately, Jean Reno was thrown
in to liven up the mix. He's the movie's one saving grace: a sleepy-eyed
action hero who cusses in French. --Woodruff
HE GOT GAME. Spike Lee can't help himself--he's always
taking on the grand themes, with varying levels of success. Here,
he takes on The Game, i.e. Life, i.e. Basketball--and he scores!
We Got Game is a long, ambitious movie about the country's
best high-school basketball player negotiating the difficult terrain
of success. Everyone wants a piece of Jesus Shuttlesworth (Ray
Allen), a focused, talented, and personable kid--including his
father Jake (Denzel Washington), a murderer who's been let out
of prison briefly to try to persuade Jesus to sign up with a university
referred to only by the Kafkaesque moniker, "Big State."
The plot is so contrived that it actually turns a corner and becomes
believable again. (Who could make this up?) Somehow Lee pulls
it all off with aplomb. His filmmaking style is as fresh and wonderfully
visual as ever, and the story has some of the heart-stabbing tension
of Hoop Dreams. The score is by Aaron Copeland and Public
Enemy--which gives some indication of Lee's territorial range.
--Richter
THE HORSE WHISPERER. In spite of the fact that you'd expect
us to lambaste this film as Robert Redford's Mirror With Two
Faces; and even though anyone vaguely sentient would peg The
Horse Whisperer as the quintessential chick flick (the principal
characteristics being horses, mother-daughter relationships, and
an English Patient-esque love story involving Robert Redford,
Kristen Scott Thomas and Sam Neill); and even taking into account
the extremely long running time and sentimental cinematography...this
is an unabashedly sincere film with some terrific performances,
particularly by young Scarlett Johannsen and her equine co-star.
The story? After a tragic accident, a troubled upstate New York
career mom packs her damaged daughter and her damaged horse into
a trailer, leaving behind her faltering marriage to drive the
Range Rover to God-forsaken Montana where a mystical cowboy fixes
everything with a piece of string and very few lines. Sounds simple,
but you'd better bring a box of Kleenex. You'll need it...Unless
you have real estate in Montana or quarter horse stock, in which
case you'll be laughing all the way to the bank. --Wadsworth
LOVE AND DEATH ON LONG ISLAND. Distinguished British actor
John Hurt teams up with not-so-distinguished pretty boy Jason
Priestly in this at first quirkily comic, then sublimely haunting
film. Hurt plays a reclusive old novelist who accidentally catches
a Porky's-like teen movie called Hotpants College II
and finds himself obsessed with its star, who, in an amusing case
of art imitating life, is a none-too-talented heartthrob played
by Priestly. Because Hurt's character is so nervously out of touch,
you're never quite sure whether his is an uncovered Lolita
complex with a homosexual spin, or simply high culture falling
(hard) for pop culture--and that makes the film funny. Cute gives
way to disturbing, though, during the second half, when Hurt journeys
to Long Island to actually meet Priestley. Fantasy and reality
aren't supposed to butt heads, especially for someone as desperate
as Hurt's character. But the conclusion, while inevitable, is
both surprising and touching. Director Richard Kwietniowski owes
most of the film's success to Hurt's richly great acting, but
he also uses Priestly very well here, gently mocking his position
in the acting world and getting the most out of his looks. The
expression on Priestley's face at the end will stay with you long
after the dialogue has faded away. --Woodruff
THE OBJECT OF MY AFFECTION. This film has been deceptively
marketed and shot as a fuzzy-wuzzy romantic comedy. Actually,
it's a difficult and long-winded melodrama. Jennifer Aniston plays
a pouty Brooklynite who dumps her boyfriend because she's smitten
with her gay male roommate; Paul Rudd is the sweet-faced love
object who reluctantly agrees to help the pregnant Aniston raise
her child. Their intimate but sexually frustrating relationship
would be plenty compelling if the movie could focus on it for
more than two seconds. Instead, peripheral characters are repeatedly
introduced and developed while the leads become disturbingly remote.
The more the plot shifts in emphasis (with Rudd flaking out on
the increasingly whiny Aniston to pursue a male lover), the more
the two come across as outsiders in their own story. Not much
rings true here: For all the script's insights about unrequited
love and the meaning of "family," the picture is too
leaden to be effective. One plus: Nigel Hawthorne (The Madness
of King George) almost saves the show as a gay theatre critic
who struggles to maintain dignity in the face of romantic humiliation.
--Woodruff
PAULIE. SKG Dreamworks finally got something right--a kids'
movie about a parrot. This is easily the finest talking-animal
story since Babe, with a tone just as sweet and effects
just as seamless. I tried my damnedest to locate the scenes where
animatronics or computer-generated effects replaced the real feathered
thing, only to fail miserably. The forgivably flimsy story follows
"Paulie" on a quest to reunite with a little girl he
once helped overcome stuttering. He flies and insults his way
from episode to episode, briefly teaming up with such thoroughly
watchable character actors as Gena Rowlands, Cheech Marin, Tony
Shaloub and Jay Mohr (who also provides the parrot's nasal-but-nice
voice). You know somebody's doing something right when even a
Buddy Hackett cameo is enjoyable. Okay, I might as well admit
it: This is the best parrot movie I have ever seen. --Woodruff
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