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 BASEKETBALL. South Park's Trey Parker and Matt Stone
have teamed up with Naked Gun creator David Zucker for
another exercise in gag-a-minute filmmaking. While the requisite
boobie and pee-pee jokes are very much in evidence, Parker and
Stone breathe new life into the enterprise with their subversively
cloying brand of comedic acting. Like Zucker, they'll do anything
for a laugh, even if that means French-kissing each other or nakedly
standing around wearing the kinds of prosthetic devices that would
make Mark Wahlberg cry. Their willingness to humiliate themselves
makes everyone else's humiliation a lot more forgivable. The premise,
too, is fresh: Instead of yet another by-the-numbers genre parody,
the movie invents a new sport that's so absurd, non-sports fans
may enjoy it more than aficionados. Though the film doesn't exactly
reinvent the lowbrow comedy, it's cute enough to place it a cut
above its recent competitors. With cameo appearances by Bob Costas,
Robert Stack, Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, Reggie Jackson and Jenny McCarthy.
--Woodruff
DÉJÀ VU. Director Henry Jaglom skates down
the border between profundity and hokum in this exploration of
true love versus compromise. Stephen Dillane and Victoria Foyt
(Jaglom's watery-eyed, appealingly emotive wife, who co-wrote
the screenplay with him) star as a Brit and a Los Angelean who
seem to be natural soulmates, cosmically fated to be together,
and all that jazz. Too bad they're already entrenched in long-term
relationships. Though Jaglom's loose, cinema-verité style
is very much in evidence, he tries hard to make every step of
the romance follow a logical, understandable progression, which
gets to be a problem--he keeps using a nail gun on the kinds of
details where a thumbtack would suffice. (At a key point, Dillane
and Foyt actually exclaim to each other, "You're married!,"
"You have a fiancée!," "You're married!,"
"You have a fiancee!," revealing an embarrassingly wide
rift between cinema-verité and realism.) Then there's the
mystical "surprise" ending, which plays like an episode
of The Twilight Zone, as directed by Fabio. Jaglom may
be an old friend of Orson Welles (in fact, Déjà
Vu appears to be based on a memorable line of dialogue from
Citizen Kane), but an auteur he's not. On the plus side,
it's refreshing how the two jilted characters are rendered so
sympathetically (unlike in Sleepless in Seattle and similar
films), and the charmingly well-aged Vanessa Redgrave livens up
her every scene as a veteran free spirit. --Woodruff
EVER AFTER: A CINDERELLA STORY. Here's a welcome revision:
a Cinderella that kicks butt. Sure, Drew Barrymore's character
is neglected and mistreated, but she's no helpless little waif:
In a pinch, she won't hesitate to deck her wicked stepsister (Megan
Dodds) or throw the prince (Dougray Scott) over her shoulders
and carry him away from danger. These sorts of touches, smartly
handled by director Andy Tennant, make Ever After a delight--even
for those of us who never thought we could thoroughly enjoy a
Cinderella movie. I'm not sure how Tennant got it out of her,
but Barrymore's performance is winningly effective, and surprisingly
well-rounded. A political idealist with passion to spare, she
earns the prince's respect until he realizes he needs to earn
hers in return. Better still is Anjelica Huston, who plays the
bitchy stepmother with a trace of complexity--you get the sense
she's evil because it hurts to be nice, and you keep watching
her face for signs of pain. Everything else about the movie turns
out a shade more entertainingly than you'd expect, from the fate
of the chubby stepsister (played by Heavenly Creatures' Kate
Lansbury) to the whimsical way Leonardo Da Vinci is integrated
into the story. Rock on, Cinderella. --Woodruff
JANE AUSTEN'S MAFIA! This latest venture from writer/director
Jim Abrahams, one of those responsible for bringing us Airplane!
(1980) and The Naked Gun (1988), fails to achieve the level
of satire present in these past successes. This film probably
makes sense if you're 9 years old, when the mere presence of bodily
functions and breasts actually provided some kind of cultural
commentary. Otherwise, Mafia! is but a lame parody consisting
largely of uncritical references to Casino, Showgirls,
and Forrest Gump, among others. A plot was difficult to
discern through the dizzying haze of flatulence, but it seemed
to follow a father (the late Lloyd Bridges) and son (Jay Mohr)
through their involvement with the mob, boobies, and pull-my-finger
jokes. The ending is surprisingly abrupt, but certainly the alternative
(a second puke montage?) is far worse.--Higgins
LETHAL WEAPON 4. The idealized masculinity initially presented
in the first Lethal Weapon is finally called into question
in the fourth installment in the series. This makes for an overall
engaging action film, especially as the genre tends most often
to present clichéd, unsympathetic, hypermasculine fighting
machines. The former polarization of the nihilistic Martin Riggs
(Mel Gibson) and Roger Murtaugh (Danny Glover) collapses into
the middle, resulting in numerous references to the aging bodies
of the characters (and, by extension, the actors) and their inability
to live up to former expectations of themselves. This reconfiguration
of masculinity is perhaps an attempt to update a series which
began over a decade ago, though it still offers a rather narrow
definition of manhood. The story itself is standard cop-chase-villain
fare, largely an excuse to showcase the fine-tuned banter of Riggs
and Murtaugh. Rene Russo and Joe Pesci return in supporting roles;
and though the addition of Chris Rock is an obvious attempt to
attract younger viewers, he's nevertheless enjoyable as Murtaugh's
son-in-law. The generic convention of foreign adversaries is forced
and outright offensive at times, as the jokes often poke fun at
the ethnicity of the Chinese bad guys (to wit, the tired "flied
lice" dig). Though we can expect to find such stereotypes
in other incarnations of the genre, it appears that this film
closes the book on the series as the lethal weapon of the title,
Riggs, concludes his inner struggle by becoming a family man.
--Higgins
THE MASK OF ZORRO. An action-adventure movie in the classic
mold, The Mask of Zorro aims for the kind of grand, sweeping
cinematics that lead to elaborate sword fights, robust dance scenes
and 100-percent computer-enhancement-free stuntwork. It's meant
to be an old-fashioned crowd pleaser, and it succeeds in a generic,
unchallenging way. If you're looking for nuance or extra bite,
sorry, wrong movie. Antonio Banderas, a man so sexy that even
Southern Baptist truck drivers with extra Y chromosomes admit
to considering him "hot," plays an eager Zorro-in-training;
while Anthony Hopkins, an actor so well-respected that people
fall over themselves with praise even when he turns in hackwork
(as he does here), plays a vengeful, veteran Zorro. Hopkins teaches
Banderas the ropes--or the whips, actually--while Catherine Zeta-Jones
pretties up the screen with her Spanish cat eyes and huge Cheshire
cat grin. Meow. For summer entertainment that's mindless without
being mind-numbing, you could do a lot worse. --Woodruff
THE NEGOTIATOR. Less gunplay! More wordplay! At least,
that's the intention behind this talkative action picture starring
Samuel L. Jackson and Kevin Spacey. Jackson plays a hostage negotiator
who, framed after his buddy discovers a police embezzlement ring,
takes his own hostages in hopes they'll buy him time to prove
his innocence. Spacey plays a negotiator from another district,
chosen by Jackson because he's unlikely to be corrupt. Needless
to say, there's a lot of negotiating going on, and at times the
theme is pushed so hard that the film feels strained; the uncleverly
clever climax, in particular, begs for a rewrite. The law-enforcement
clichés pile up, too, and director F. Gary Gray doles them
out with no sense of irony--we're even subjected to close-ups
of Jackson's badge. But Jackson and Spacey can brighten up the
dimmest of screenplays, and they're well-supported by some of
the bit players--especially a comic-relieving criminal played
by Paul Giamatti, who looks like Rob Schneider after a holiday
eating binge. The late J.T. Walsh supplies his trademark sad-eyed
villainy, which leads to some very uncomfortable moments when
art imitates death. --Woodruff
OUT OF SIGHT. In the hierarchy of adaptations based on
Elmore Leonard books, this one ranks up there with Get Shorty.
The direction (by Steven Soderbergh, of Sex, Lies and Videotape
fame) expresses the Leonard style perfectly, nudging humor out
of naturalistic dialogue and displaying a whimsically carefree
attitude about matters of life and death without letting all the
steam out of the story. George Clooney, as a bank robber, and
Jennifer Lopez, as his police pursuer, make an extremely good-looking
couple; and their two verbal tennis matches (one in a car's trunk,
the other in a hotel) are the film's sexual-spark-filled highlights.
The smoothly developing romantic mood begins in sunny Miami and
ends in snowy nighttime Detroit, so even if you see Out of Sight
during the middle of the day you might walk out expecting a cool,
dark sky. A standout supporting cast includes Albert Brooks, Catherine
Keener, Ving Rhames, Get Shorty alumnus Dennis Farina,
and a couple of uncredited surprises. --Woodruff
THE PARENT TRAP. This summer, the high-profile kids' movies
are putting the high-profile adults' movies to shame. First we
get a Cinderella who could beat the crap out of Godzilla; now
we get a set of twins so cute they could blow up the meteors in
both Deep Impact and Armageddon just by curtseying
at them. This remake of the 1961 Disney movie stars the freckle-faced
Lindsay Lohan as both twins, and the technology of this screen
trick has officially reached a point where you can't tell there's
any trick at all. The twins, one from London and the other from
Napa Valley, meet at summer camp and realize their parents (Natasha
Richardson and Dennis Quaid, both exactly as attractive and pleasant
as they need to be) divorced and split them up long ago. They
conspire to switch places and become Cupids, identical Cupids,
so their parents--who also happen to be filthy rich--will get
back together. Forget about thinking toys and talking animals;
this is a child's fantasy. Other than the clunky opening
scenes, which explain the premise in about 14 different ways,
The Parent Trap is handled with impeccable wit, timing
and sweetness by director Nancy Meyers. --Woodruff
PICNIC AT HANGING ROCK. Currently in re-release, this 1975
Peter Weir-directed film is set in turn-of-the-century Australia
and examines the repressiveness of socially constructed ideals
of womanhood and female sexuality. The narrative centers around
the disappearance of a group of students and an instructor from
an outing arranged by their refining school. The entire movie
is beautifully shot, and of particular note are the sequences
of the women being drawn to Hanging Rock; these are slow-paced
and employ superimpositions that parallel the natural beauty of
the women with that of the rock formations. The scenes also provide
the audience with an understanding of the need to discard the
forced structures of daily life, while the characters left behind
view the event as an unexplainable tragedy. Though set in a distant
place and time, Picnic, like most of Weir's films (The
Truman Show, Fearless, Gallipoli), raises issues
of importance for contemporary viewers and the society in which
we live.--Higgins
SAVING PRIVATE RYAN. Don't let the earnest, tony previews
fool you: This is a terrifying and brutally violent movie. Most
horror movies don't have a fraction of the gore, and anyone who
takes children needs to have his head examined. Naturally, since
this is Steven Spielberg in Oscar mode, it's gore with a higher
purpose: to render the you-are-there reality of World War II,
a historical turning point that most of us do indeed take for
granted. That it does. The plot follows the reluctant efforts
of a captain (Tom Hanks, doing a respectable job although I still
have a hard time taking him seriously) and his small crew (played
by a who's-who list of indy-film actors) to find a young soldier
for P.R. purposes. It's an unlikely premise, but it allows for
a tour through several common locations and situations during
the 1944 campaign to liberate France. The opening scene, which
depicts the troublesome Omaha Beach landing during the invasion
of Normandy, is a stunner: sharp editing, swift hand-held shots,
and gruesome attention to detail make it one of the most arresting
war scenes ever filmed. Over and over, Spielberg dumps the shock
and fear of death in your lap. The movie's furious "war is
hell" action lets up for occasional character development
and ambiguous incidents, which only make the returns to mayhem
that much rougher. Saving Private Ryan's primary fault
is that it's so much more jarring than it is moving; the film
comes considerably closer to experience than to dramatic art.
For some, this imbalance will probably be too much. If you have
no desire to understand how it might actually feel to be in combat,
you're advised to skip it. --Woodruff
SMALL SOLDIERS. Director Joe Dante and a team of five writers
have given the Child's Play concept a military spin: Now
instead of an evil spirit inside a plastic moppet, a super-destructive
munitions chip has been mistakenly installed in the latest line
of military action figures. The result is a bunch of wisecracking,
pop-culture-quoting commandos who proceed to tear up part of a
suburban neighborhood. Their mission: to destroy a similarly intelligent
set of pacifist dolls, the leader of whose whiskered face literally
implies "underdog." The movie contains loads of talent,
including the late Phil Hartman and vocalizations by the primary
leads from both The Dirty Dozen and This Is Spinal Tap.
Copious special effects blend seamlessly with the live action,
and the ideas are overflowing--the creators have even thrown in
the kitchen sink (complete with garbage disposal). But unlike
Dante's similar Gremlins movies, the anarchy becomes too
chaotic for its own good. The satiric sensibility has no focus,
and the human characters have less personality than the dolls.
Though there are clever minds behind the screenplay, the hypocrisy
is overwhelming: a mind-numbingly violent criticism of military
figures? Which, by the way, are for sale at your local toy store?
Talk about self-contradiction. Twelve-year-old boys will love
it; everyone else can expect a headache. --Woodruff
THERE'S SOMETHING ABOUT MARY. The brothers Farrelly, known
for their gross but weirdly compelling comedies (Dumb and Dumber;
Kingpin) have tried to show a little taste in their latest
romantic comedy. The result is cute and evokes the occasional
giggle, but this movie just isn't as funny as their previous ventures.
Cameron Diaz plays Mary, an all-around nice girl who somehow attracts
more than her fair share of psychos. Ben Stiller plays Ted, the
modest nice guy who's been in love with her since high school,
when he once walked her home. Matt Dillon, Lee Evans, and Chris
Elliott are among her numerous lovers/tormentors. Adorable musical
interludes from Jonathan Richman help give this movie pep, but
how funny is it really to watch a woman being stalked? --Richter
SNAKE EYES. How is it that a director so masterful at the
techniques of manipulation can be so obtuse about connecting to
his audience? At the start, Brian DePalma's use of moving camera
is brilliant--he sets up an elaborate assassination plot in what
seems like only one or two rapidly tracking shots through a boxing
arena. Then, as protagonist Nicolas Cage (in a wild but well-focused
performance) unravels the case, DePalma shifts into Rashomon
mode, depicting the same scenes repeatedly from a variety of perspectives--including
those of several video surveillance cameras. It's wonderful, but
DePalma and screenwriter David Koepp reveal the mystery midway
through, giving way to a poorly established character study; a
limp series of cat-and-mouse scenes involving a beautiful and
hopelessly nearsighted witness; and a brutal, stupid finale. What
were they thinking? The whole movie could have been just mystery-thickening
tracking shots and it would have been great. Snake Eyes
is still a visual feast, but you might want to throw it up afterwards.
--Woodruff
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