This Machine Kills Bad Movies!

ROBIN HOOD: 4 STARS

In a twelfth century twist on a modern saying, the only two things you can count on in “Robin Hood,” the handsome new retelling of the age old tale from director Ridley Scott, are taxes and treachery.

Set in the waning days of Richard the Lion Heart’s (Danny Huston) ten year long Crusade, the origin story of how Robin Longstride (Russell Crowe) became Robin Hood, really picks up when Robin promises one of the king’s knights, Sir Robert Loxley (Douglas Hodge), that he will deliver a sword to Robert’s father, Sir Walter Loxley (Max Von Sydow), in Nottingham. Meanwhile, Richard's ridiculous brother Prince John (Oscar Isaac) ignores his trusted advisors, his chancellor William Marshall (William Hurt) and his mother Eleanor of Aquitaine (Eileen Atkins) and imposes crippling taxes on his subjects. Egging him on is the duplicitous Godfrey (Mark Strong), a traitor who is secretly trying to start a civil war and help France invade the country. Back in Nottingham, Robin delivers the sword, meets Lady Marion (Cate Blanchett), helps save England from the French and for his trouble is declared an outlaw by King John.

The new “Robin Hood” isn’t the bright Technicolor tale of the famous Errol Flynn version. Scott’s vision of the story is dark, thematically and visually. It’s a raw boned and bloody story of greed, unfettered ambition and treachery with a complex plot that touches on some very modern issues like taxes, too much government and one that might make the people of Arizona happy—unwanted immigration. It’s a mostly historically correct representation of the time and the Robin Hood legend, but Scott has added in an unbelievable plot twist involving Robin’s father and a coincidence that stretches credulity to the breaking point. It seems so out-of-place and glaringly silly I’m sure the writers of the campy cartoon series “Rocket Robin Hood” would have rejected the idea as being too outlandish.

Despite that lapse in judgment, the movie works. Fans of “Gladiator” will feel a sense of déjà vu—the only thing separating the two movies is the time period and Richard Harris and Oliver Reed, and they’re both dead. Scott and Crowe have returned to the winning formula of historical drama mixed with strong characters and lots of crazy action.

At the center of it all is Crowe, possibly the only Hollywood a-lister he-man enough to pull off “Robin Hood’s” combo of raging machismo, honor and emotional intensity. Physically he doesn’t look like he spends much time at the gym, instead it seems like he earned those muscles the old fashioned way—by swinging a sword. Equally strong is Blanchett in a role that could be redubbed, Maid Marion, Warrior Princess. She defines twelfth century girl power and, as one of only three female characters, cuts through the thick cloud of testosterone that hangs over the movie like a cloud. The supporting cast, including Mark Strong—in what is now becoming his trademark bad guy routine—Max Von Sydow, William Hurt, Danny Huston and Canadian Kevin Durand as the ironically named Little John, add much to the overall effect.

“Robin Hood” is a new take on an old story; it’s entertaining, occasionally funny and as epic a film as we’re likely to see this summer.

THE RUNAWAYS: 4 STARS

Few tales of sex, drugs and rock ‘n’ roll contain as much sex, drugs and rock ‘n’ roll as the tawdry tale of The Runaways. An underage all girl rock band—they billed themselves as “Genuine Jailbait”—spawned from the Sunset Strip’s late 1970s seedy underbelly, they imploded in 1979 after four tumultuous years. “The Runaways,” a new film written and directed by former video helmer Floria Sigismondi, sees two “Twilight” co-stars leave behind repressed romance for life on the road.

Set back when you could still drink a bottle of stolen booze in the shade of the Hollywood sign without being arrested for trespassing, the movie focuses on two glue sniffing, glam rock obsessed tough girls named Joan Jett (Kristen Stewart) and Cherie Currie (Dakota Fanning). Disaffected SoCal teens, they see an exit from their mundane suburban lives through rock ‘n’ roll. Unfortunately their ticket out comes in the form of impresario Kim Fowley, a record producer and self proclaimed “King Hysteria.” He cobbles together the band, trains them to be rock stars, convinced that these “bitches are going to be bigger than the Beatles.” Before they can play Shea Stadium, however, the band breaks up—knee deep in ego, drug abuse and bad management.

Sigismondi has made the movie equivalent of an ear blistering blast of feedback. Like the band’s two-minute-forty-five-second guitar punk tunes, “The Runaways” is loud, fast and dirty. If you want depth wait for the rock ‘n’ roll bio of Emerson, Lake and Palmer. Here Sigismondi leaves behind the surreal feel of her videos and visual art, instead opting for a straightforward (although probably mostly fictional) retelling of the rapid rise and equally rapid free fall of the band. Its “Behind the Music” formulaic but Sigismondi layers on so many other rock ‘n’ roll elements that the lack of experimentation in the telling of the tale isn’t a minus.

Kristen Stewart is the name above the title star, and she does bring her brooding Brando best to the role of Joan Jett, but this movie belongs to Dakota Fanning and Michael Shannon, who hands in a flamboyant performance.

As Kim Fowley he has a more than a passing resemblance to Beef from “Phantom of the Paradise,” and like that character he is campy, dangerous and slightly unhinged. An egomaniac, he introduces himself as, “Kim Fowley, record producer. You’ve heard of me.” It’s a bravura performance that could have gone very wrong in the hands of a less committed actor, but Shannon pulls it off with wild aplomb.

Fanning shines, but in a much more low key way. Low key, but not low wattage. Fowley describes her outer layer as part Bardot, part Bowie but she plays Currie as damaged goods; a young girl with a crappy home life and faraway look in her eye. Fanning quietly gives Currie an unspoken inner life as she slowly falls apart, and whether she’s smashing pills with her platform heels and snorting the powder off the floor or rocking it out on stage there is a core of sadness to her that is so real you can almost reach out and touch it. It’s the most demanding role in the film and Fanning aces it.

Kim Fowley described the music of The Runaways as the “sound of hormones raging” and in her film Sigismondi transcends the formulaic aspects of the story by capturing the gritty spirit of in-your-face teenage rebellion.

REPO MEN: 2 ½ STARS

Like last year’s “Repo: The Genetic Opera,” this weekend’s “Repo Men” is set in a dystopian world where health care is a corporate game. Unlike the opera, which starred Paris Hilton and featured a noise-rock soundtrack, this one stars Jude Law and Forest Whittaker as two violent organ repossession agents who kill their clients to complete their jobs. That is, until one of them literally has a change of heart.

Set in the near future (in a city that looks very much like Toronto on steroids) “Repo Men” centers on two weapons grade repo men, Remy and Jake, played by Law and Whittaker. They work for The Union, a multinational health care provider who sell artificial organs—everything from hearts and lungs to esophagi—to terminally ill people who are usually unable to pay in full. That’s just fine by The Union, because, according to their unctuous head salesman Frank (Liev Schreiber), they don’t make any money when people pay in full. Their motto of “a job is a job” regardless of the consequences takes a hit when Remy gets a new pumper, a new attitude and falls behind in his payments.

Originally titled “The Repossession Mambo,” after a novel of the same name, I’m sure “Repo Men” was meant to be a timely comment on health care in a world where corporations place profit above human lives. It’s a timely message, and one that might have been explored a bit more in a better movie, or at least a movie that wasn’t content to replace content with blood and guts. The film is either a.) really gross or b.) marvelously bloody depending on your point of view.

There are several squirm inducing repossession scenes involving open wounds and a shootout in an all white room that leads up to a sequence that can only be called “squirty,” is startling. All that brings us to a spectacularly yucky repossession climax and a cool twist (ed) ending.

Law and Whittaker are odd choices to headline an action movie. Despite some good moves—Whittaker is a martial artist and Law has clearly been visiting the gym—neither feel like action stars on the screen. Liev Schreiber, seen here as a heartless pencil pusher, might have been a better choice in the action department, but shines anyway as the slimiest salesman ever.

“Repo Men” has a campy sense of humor to it, some wild action sequences, a cool looking vision of the future, and an unforgettable final repossession / sex scene, but ultimately fails because it can’t make up its mind whether it is satire, black comedy or serious look at the failings of health care.

REMEMBER ME: 3 STARS

“Remember Me” is teen heartthrob Robert Pattinson’s first adult role. This, despite the fact that his best known character “Twilight’s” Edward Cullen, is well over 100 years old. Here he sinks his teeth into the part of a troubled twenty-one year old with daddy issues, a dead brother and a girlfriend he began dating on a dare.

When we first meet Tyler (Pattinson), he’s slumming it in NYC in a crappy apartment with a wrench for a doorknob and a job restocking shelves at The Strand bookstore. “I’m undecided,” he says, “about everything.” His father his wealthy, but since the suicide of his brother Michael their relationship has soured. One night after a bar brawl he is beaten and arrested by Neil Craig (Chris Cooper). In a strange twist of fate Craig’s daughter is in one of Tyler’s classes. They begin to date, at first based on his need to get back at the cop who beat him up, but soon he develops real feelings for her. Their relationship is complicated by Tyler’s issues with his father, his issues with his rage and generally, his issues with everything. Then, just when everything seems to be on the upswing for the young couple, tragedy strikes.

Two “Twilights” worth of brooding lessons has been good training for Pattison, who has brooding down to a science in “Remember Me.” As the tortured Tyler he’s equal parts James Dean, alternative school attitude and thunder, but he does show more range here than he has in the “Twilight” movies. He is thoroughly credible for two thirds of the film, up until the film’s closing moments when his angry young man schtick starts to get a little old. Until then, however, he displays enough chops to suggest he may have a career once he throws off the shackles of Edward Cullen and is allowed to grow as an actor.

His best work comes in the scenes opposite his younger sister Caroline (“Nurse Jackie’s” Ruby Jerins). Jerins is a good natural performer—there’s not an ounce of pretense in her—and their on screen time is filled with warmth and (occasionally) some badly needed levity.

“Remember Me” is a serious movie that begins with a murder and ends with a startling conclusion. In between there is the above mentioned brooding and some dramatic family dynamics at play, but it feels like there is a bit too much story for any one plot thread to be given the film’s full attention. As a result it wanders more than it needs to. A little red pencil action on this script could have easily simplified the story for the better.

Not that any of that will matter. There are a couple of love scenes and a romantic story to keep the Robsessed Twihards interested and if only if only one tenth of his fan base shells out to see it, “Remember Me” will still be a hit.

THE ROAD: 2 STARS

Imagine a world where “each day is greyer than the day before” and cannibalism is a person’s worst fear. Nope, it’s not the latest George A. Romero film—there isn’t a zombie in sight—it’s “The Road,” the new film from the writer Cormac McCarthy. It’s so bleak, so unrelentingly dour it makes the last film adapted from his work, the Coen Brothers’s “No Country for Old Men,” seem positively lighthearted by comparison.

The story is simple. A man and his son (Viggo Mortenson and Kodi Smit-McPhee) are trying to survive in a dystopian world. Everything they knew is gone. In flashbacks we see a wife (Charlize Theron) who cracked under the pressure to survive; killing herself after setting father and son on their journey to “the coast” in an attempt to escape the harsh post apocalyptic weather. Armed with only a gun and two bullets they must scavenge for food amid the ruins and protect themselves from cannibals who roam the desolate land. There’s no Hope (or Crosby) on this road. Their raison d'etre is to maintain their humanity and survive in a world no longer able to support life.

“The Road” doesn’t mimic the dystopian world we’ve seen in bigger budget action movies. For better and for worse this is a movie based on small moments set against a big backdrop. No parent will be able to forget the stark image of a father teaching his son how to commit suicide or seeing a young boy who doesn’t know what a can of Coke is. Equally memorable is the Man visiting his now dilapidated childhood home. There, the simple act of turning over a filthy seat cushion to reveal the clean flipside is a reminder of a life that is gone forever. These are effective moments; the kind of filmmaking that will never occur to Michael Bay.

But having said that, “The Road” could use a little Michael Bay. Bleak is one thing. I can do bleak, but I’d like a bit more entertainment value thrown in. In the 112 minute running time there is too much down time when nothing happens, or when opportunities are blown.

Take the Coke can sequence. The man offers his son a Coke he has found in an abandoned vending machine. For all he knows it could be the last can of soda in the world; a simple pleasure that means much in a world where simply staying alive is a luxury. The boy takes a sip, enjoys the foreign sensation of the bubbles against his tongue before insisting his dad have some. The Man takes a swig. We see a smile begin to form, a sign of the reverie of a familiar sensation in a harsh world. At least I think that’s what it is, but I’ll never know for sure because just as Mortenson begins to turn the scene into something special with the transformative look on his face the camera cuts away to the blank faced boy. In a movie where small things mean a lot, the look on Viggo’s visage could have been a showstopper, but instead is a non-moment.

“The Road” despite offering an unexpectedly touching final sequence is probably too bleak to appeal to a mainstream audience. It’s the feel bad movie of the year.

THE READER DVD: 2 ½ STARS

This is the film that finally gave Kate Winslet her best actress Oscar after five nominations but for my money the Academy got it wrong this year. They should have given her the award for Revolutionary Road, not The Reader. In Revolutionary Road she is a revelation, handing in a brave performance that crackles with suburban desperation. In The Reader she’s good, but not best actress good. In fact, the entire movie struck me as a deeply average piece of work from very talented people.

Based on an award-winning novel by German law professor and judge Bernhard Schlink The Reader is the story of two very different people. Teenager Michael Berg (German actor David Kross) is a good student who dreams of becoming a lawyer. Hanna (Kate Winslet) is twenty years older, working class and exotic in her earthiness. After a chance meeting they begin a sexual affair, meeting at her apartment after his school lets out. The set-up never varies. He reads to her and then they make love. In time, though, after his sexual awakening he tires of their trysts and leaves her.

Years later the law student Michael learns that after their fling Hannah became a Nazi prison guard and is now being tried for war crimes. During the trial he has an epiphany, realizing that he knows a secret about his former flame that could alter the outcome of the trail, but his shame regarding their affair forces him to remain silent.

The adult Michael (now played by the stone-faced Ralph Fiennes) is tormented by the decision he made back in law school and punishes himself for his silence all those years ago. It’s a moral quandary. He doesn’t condone her actions, but he feels as though he could have helped her and didn’t.

The Reader feels very Masterpiece Theatre, if Masterpiece Theatre featured more nudity. It’s a well constructed, well acted film with authentic looking period details and a thought provoking premise on the legacy of guilt in postwar Germany, but it feels so mannered, so restrained it left me cold. Even Winslet’s naked performance—both physically and emotionally—is too sombre. The whole movie feels removed from its subject matter as though the filmmakers were watching the story unfold instead of really trying to get under its skin and bring it to vivid life.

REVOLUTIONARY ROAD: 3 STARS

The last time we saw Kate Winslet and Leonardo DiCaprio on screen together they were lovers in the midst of a huge disaster, Leo gasping for air as the cold waters of the Atlantic beckoned him to his death. In Revolutionary Road, their first pairing in eleven years, they once again play lovers, but this time they are drowning in a sea of shattered dreams, infidelity and boredom.

Based on a novel by Richard Yates—it was a finalist for the National Book Award in 1962 along with Catch-22 and The Moviegoer—it sees Frank (DiCaprio) and April Wheeler (Winslet) leaving the exciting world of New York City to raise their children in a quiet Connecticut suburb. Dreams and aspirations on hold—she wanted to act, he just wanted something exciting. “I want to feel things,” he says. “Really feel things. How’s that for an ambition?”—they get on with their work-a-day lives, until April has an idea to shake up their lives and save their decaying marriage. When the rescue plan falls apart, both April and Frank crumble under the weight of their stultifying suburban life.

As you may have guessed Revolutionary Road isn’t a laugh-a-minute. DiCaprio and Winslet have side stepped the burden of trying to live up to the success of their last pairing by making a very serious movie with little commercial appeal. It’s a movie that celebrates life’s failures, a partner’s inadequacies and the heaviness of a life unfulfilled. There’s no king of the world here and the only thing that goes down in flames is their marriage.

Set in 1955 it’s a peak behind the curtain of the lives of a seemingly perfect couple. They are popular, beautiful; their neighbors love them. “You’re the Wheelers!” one says, as if that’s all there is to say about their supposedly idyllic life. Behind the curtain it’s a different story.

Repression oozes from April as she tries to come to grips with the fact that she isn’t one of the “special people” she always dreamed she would be. Feeling like she has sold out her life and dreams of being a famous actress to settle down and have children has given her a severe case of the suburban blues. We soon learn she’s not alone, that the neighbors, with their carefully manicured lawns and freshly waxed cars, also have secrets. This is Blue Velvet without the severed ear or Mad Men without the glamour. It’s a penetrating, raw look at what happens when disappointment and regret become life’s motivating factors.

Winslet does good work here. April’s refusal to be a 1950s suburban Stepford wife fuels her every move and it’s a harrowing performance. Occasionally it feels a bit stagy, perhaps a bit too big for the screen, but when she says, “I thought we’d be wonderful,” you can taste the regret that drips from her lips.

DiCaprio looks born to play a 1950s era man. He suits the fashions, the hairstyles, the feel of the character. Like the movie, his take on Frank is on a low boil for most of the running time, slowly working towards the explosive final act of the film.

Revolutionary Road is bleak. It has the dry, stark feel of a British “kitchen sink” drama and while it is a brave film for all concerned—Winslet, DiCaprio and director Sam Mendes—it is so unremittingly unwelcoming, so brutal in its take on the human condition that I can’t recommend it to a wide audience.

REPO! THE GENETIC OPERA

Some movies become cult items after audiences have had time to consider their merits, or lack thereof. Sometimes it takes years. The Phantom of the Paradise, for example, dive bombed at the box office in its original release, but found a rabid following a decade later and now there’s even a yearly convention dedicated to the film and its outlandish characters. Other movies are born for a cult audience. El Topo and Eraserhead never found mainstream success, but both films were instant hits on the underground cult circuit.

I suspect Repo! The Genetic Opera falls into the latter category.

Despite the presence of tabloid favorite Paris Hilton it’s unlikely that a musical about a mad business man who sends a hired killer to repossess human organs is ever going to beat High School Musical at the box office.

Set in the near future Repo! The Genetic Opera starts with a world plagued by an epidemic of organ failure, and I don’t mean Wurlizter. Hearts stop beating, spleens turn to mush. To the rescue is GeneCo, a biotech company specializing in synthetic organs. Like any business though, if you don’t pay up you might have an unpleasant, and in this case, deadly, encounter with the Repo Man. Running parallel to the organ replacement payment plan plot is a second story thread involving a young girl (Spy Kids’ Alexa Vega) who is searching for a cure for her rare blood disease. When she becomes involved with GeneCo’s evil owner (Paul Sorvino) and his twisted kids (Paris Hilton, Skinny Puppy singer Ogre and Bill Moseley) she learns some terrible secrets about her family and illness. The two storylines collide head-on in the film’s bloody climax—The Genetic Opera.

Repo! The Genetic Opera looks like a music video with feature film aspirations. Director Darren Lynn Bousman, best known as the helmer for Saws 2 through 4, has spared no expense in the dry ice department, flooding many scenes with enough atmospheric smoke to rival any Platinum Blonde music video. And while he creates a convincingly dystopian atmosphere on screen the look of the film too often resembles an Iron Maiden music promo. It would be interesting to see what a visionary director like Tim Burton could have done with the same material.

Bousman isn’t aided by a leaden musical score which too often sounds like the result of an unholy ménage à trois between Ywengie Malmsteen, Marilyn Manson and Kurt Weill. Actually written by Darren Smith and Terrance Zdunich there are no catchy tunes and only the occasional interesting line. This is the rare musical that might have been a much better movie without the songs.

Operas are supposed to be about big ideas and passion and Repo succeeds on both counts. The story raises interesting parallels to America’s health care crisis and there are some fun over-the-top performances from Buffy the Vampire Slayer’s Anthony Stewart Head (his human hand puppet scene is a highlight), a spectacularly mascara-ed Sarah Brightman and Paul Goodfellas Sorvino but they are let down by a grating score that will leave no one humming as the credits roll. It’s not that I crave the ear-soothing, non-interruptive sounds of Andrew Lloyd Webber’s musicals, but a little less atonal racket and a bit more actual score would have been nice.

The movie almost redeems itself with a wild, gory finale that literally gets the blood pumping but by that time I was lost, pining for the more tuneful days of Rocky Horror and The Phantom of the Paradise.

RACHEL GETTING MARRIED: 3 ½ STARS

Anne Hathaway is getting a lot of notice for her raw edged work in Rachel Getting Married, and rightfully so. The young actress best known as the goody-two-shoes star of The Princess Diaries and Ella Enchanted has, in recent years, been making moves to distance herself from the young adult mainstream with a provocative role in Brokeback Mountain and a high profile turn in The Devil Wears Prada. In Rachel Gettting Married she hands in tour-de-force work that marks her first completely adult performance.

Shot cinéma vérité style on a combination of grainy, handheld 35 mm and consumer video cameras the movie begins with recovering addict Kym (Hathaway) leaving rehab to attend the wedding of her older sister Rachel (Rosemarie DeWitt). Old wounds are reopened as family Kym tries to readjust to life with an overbearing father (Bill Irwin), absent mother (Debra Winger) and her sister’s upcoming “happy day.”

Director Jonathan Demme has spent most of the last ten years making documentaries and it shows in every frame of Rachel Getting Married. It feels like a doc, from the jiggly camera work to the raw, Dogme style of emotional intensity. The film was shot without rehearsal and it shows, in a good way. Scenes are frequently shot in long, uninterrupted Robert Altman-esque takes and the actor’s reactions often feel spontaneous and that feeling of naturalness deepens the believability of the story. It feels intimate, free-wheeling and unpredictable.

At the center of it all is Hathaway, who, surrounded by a cast comprised of old pros like Debra Winger and Bill Irwin and newcomers like TV On the Radio singer turned actor Tunde Adebimpe, is the emotional core of the film. Her greatest feat here is to play an unlikable, self-centered person and still have the audience feel sympathy for her. It’s an intense, unvarnished performance that reveals the pain that lurks beneath Kym’s goth-like exterior. She’s tough and fragile; someone who is able to live with her past sins, but can’t get over them. It’s an award caliber performance that she has hinted at before but never delivered.

Also very good and award worthy is Debra Winger as Kym’s detached mother Abby. Winger works infrequently, she’s only made four films since Y2K, but her work as the damaged Abby, a woman who cannot come to grips with the wellspring of emotion that exists inside her, is spectacular.

Rachel Getting Married isn’t a perfect movie. It is a rambling film with that suffers from self indulgence from Demme, who pushes the audience’s tolerance for wedding music—no matter how eclectic—to new extremes but its great performances and tough emotional truths more than make up for unnecessary excesses.

RELIGULOUS: 3 STARS

Before the hate mail starts pouring in from people who will complain that I am giving too much attention to a movie that says there is no God I have to make a very important point. Religulous, the new film from Borat director Larry Charles and comedian Bill Maher doesn’t say there is no higher power. It simply suggests that there isn’t a great deal of evidence to support the generally accepted Christian idea of an all-knowing God. In fact they call the bible and its contents “fairy tales.” Somewhere controversy magnet Michael Moore is laughing because whatever film he chooses to make next will draw less heat from critics by comparison.

Calling Religulous a documentary isn’t quite right. In the same way that a Volkswagen looks like a Ferrari—they both have four wheels and an engine—Religulous only superficially resembles a documentary. There are loads of documentary staples—it’s packed with man-on-the-street interviews and shaky camera moves—but the thing that differentiates it from the work of Alan King and other documentarians is a complete lack of objectivity.

Charles and Maher set out to make a comedy with a bite; one that goes for laughs at the expense of any semblance of fair and balanced reporting. They intercut mocking (though usually amusing) songs and film clips into interviews, openly poking fun at their subjects. By the time a montage of performers at a Christian theme park is cut together to make them appear to be dancing to the Doobie Brothers’s hit Jesus is Just Alright by Me any hopes of unbiased reporting are completely dashed. This is as one-sided as it comes.

It’s all very jocular; with Maher’s wryly confrontational interview style and clever editing raising laughs all the way through, but like the films of Michael Moore Maher is likely preaching to the converted. As such his message that religion needs to be done away with before faith leads to the obliteration of mankind is never seriously challenged.

There isn’t much offered in the way of debate and those who seem to be onside with Maher, an ex-Vatican priest and, surprisingly, the Vatican astronomer, come off well. Everyone else, like a man who claims to be able to turn gay people straight through the use of faith and a Spanish preacher who claims he is the descendent of Christ, look out.

Other films have covered the same ground, Deliver Us from Evil and For the Bible Told Me So to name a couple, only minus the jokes. Religulous, however, is a film that values the humor more than its subject. It is definitely going to ruffle some feathers by raising difficult and for some—and by that I mean anyone who goes to church or has read the bible—uncomfortable questions, but is, ultimately little more than a superficial look at a complex and nuanced subject.

ROCKnROLLA: 3 ½ STARS

“Return to form” is an overused film critic cliché which usually means that a director has gone back to his roots after a few flops. Such is the case with Guy Ritchie’s new British geezer gangster film RocknRolla. His last two films, Swept Away (starring his wife Madonna) and Revolver, were pummeled by the press and ignored by audiences but his new story of London’s underworld should lure some of his core audience back to the theater.

Ritchie, also acting as screenwriter, has crafted a story that breathes the same air as his earlier scripts Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels and Snatch. Set in London’s down and dirty criminal underworld, the story revolves around powerful old-school gangster Lenny Cole (Tom Wilkinson) who opens up a can of worms when he makes a shady real estate deal with Russian billionaire Uri Obomavich (Karel Roden). When the Russian’s accountant, “a posh bird who likes a bit of the rough life” (Thandie Newton), orchestrates the robbery of a substantial amount of money in transit to Lenny she brings small time crook One-Two (Gerard Butler) his crew the Wild Bunch and two hapless concert promoters (Jeremy Piven and Chris 'Ludacris' Bridges) into the fray, all of whom want a piece of the action.

The script makes use of Ritchie’s ear for the cadences of London’s criminal world. The dialogue sparkles with quirky cockney one-liners delivered with a smirk by a cast who seems to have born with plastic spoons in their mouths.

The action, set against a killer pulsating soundtrack featuring a mix of new and old indie rock and punk songs, is as frenetic as ever, all canted camera angles, icy cool slo mo and rock and roll lighting. It’s a testosterone-soaked two hours that owes much to Tarantino both is style and content. Stylish and bursting with camera trickery—a deconstructed sex scene broken into six or seven well chosen shots culminating with the snap of a cigarette lighter is funny and sexy– RocknRolla apes the American director’s energy and way with parallel storylines.

What Ritchie lacks though, is Tarantino’s way with female characters. RocknRolla positively reeks of testosterone, lacking anything resembling a strong female presence. Thandie Newton has some good moments, but is underwritten and not nearly as interesting as the male characters who have, for a start, better characters names like One-Two, Handsome Bob and Mumbles and better fleshed out back stories. Even two Russian thugs who do little more than compare scars and chase Butler through a London neighborhood have a bigger screen presence than Newton. Ritchie may be a poster boy for the new British “ladism” but next time out it would be nice to have a strong feminine role—and please, don’t cast Madonna.

RocknRolla will be called a “return to form” for Ritchie, which is good news for fans of Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels and Snatch but bad news for actresses looking for interesting roles.

THE ROCKER: 2 STARS

Rob “Fish” Fishman (Rainn Wilson) is the Pete Best of fictional hard rockers Vesuvius. After helping found the band he was dumped by the other three members before they hit multi-platinum. “It’s like winning the lottery,” says Rob’s brother-in-law, “and having the ticket ripped up in front of your face.”

While the band went on to enjoy the perks of superstardom—sex, wealth, drugs and more sex—Rob had to make due with a more mundane work-a-day existence.

Twenty years after his brush with rock and roll immortality and dozens of dead end jobs later he’s forced to move in with his sister just as the drummer of his nephew’s band quits before a gig. Rob’s long dormant desire to be a part of a band is rekindled when he sits in with them for a gig at the high school prom.

When an inappropriate video of the band goes viral on YouTube it looks as though Rob—now known as The Naked Drummer—may finally realize his dreams.

The Rocker, directed by Full Monty helmer Peter Cattaneo, struggles to maintain a constant tone. Veering from wild slapstick to heartfelt coming-of-age treacle, often in the same scene, The Rocker feels like two movies in one. Cattaneo establishes the feel of the movie just a notch above an After School Rock ‘N’ Roll Special, complete with a tiresome emo subplot about an abandoned teen that pines for a father he never knew.

Luckily the movie is relentlessly upbeat—even a song originally called Bitter is retitled I’m Not Bitter—if completely unrealistic.

Rainn Wilson—best known as Dwight Schrute of The Office—has the indignant oaf character down pat, but it’s just too bad the writing here isn’t nearly as sharp as it is on his sitcom. He’s fearless when it comes to the outrageous stuff—the abovementioned Naked Drummer and hilarious 80s hair band clothes—but because the character is such a rock ‘n’ roll cliché, when he drops the crazy stuff and gets sincere it rings hollow.

The Rocker has its moments—Howard Hesseman has the film’s best non sequitur with “There’s two things I don’t trust when they’re wireless, phones and marionettes”—but to see the real deal, a movie about actual rock ‘n’ roll frustration that hits all the right notes, check out the amazing documentary about real-life under-the-radar rockers Anvil: The Story of Anvil.

RETURN TO THE BATCAVE: THE MISADVENTURES OF ADAM AND BURT DVD: 3 STARS

Holy reunion, Batman!

Where the anime style Gotham Knight is Batman for a new generation, Return to the Batcave is for old school batfans. This 2003 TV movie stars Adam West and Burt Ward—that’s the original TV Batman and Robin for those born after 1970—as actors who are called in to relive their legendary pasts as the Caped Crusader and Boy Wonder as they try and get to the bottom of the missing Batmobile mystery.

Interspersed with the campy Batmobile story are flashbacks to the heyday of the Batman series when West and Ward were two of television’s most popular stars. Portrayed by Jack Brewster and Jason Marsden the flashbacks hit all the high points of the Dynamic Duo’s history with the show; how Ward’s tights were singled out by the Catholic Legion of Decency as being too revealing for TV; how the pressure of the show caused a rift not only between the actors but also broke up Ward’s marriage; how Cesar Romero refused to shave off his moustache to play the Joker and Burgess Meredith was the second choice as the Penguin after Mickey Rooney who turned the part down.

Back to the Batcave is to The Dark Knight what Dumb and Dumber is to Citizen Kane. It’s everything the Christopher Nolan movies aren’t. It’s silly and just as campy as the 1960s series it pays tribute to. From the Batusi dance to the crazy camera angles, the awful puns and guest appearances from original villains Lee Merriwether, Julie Newmar and Riddler Frank Gorshin in supporting roles it captures the anarchic spirit of the original show and has a nice nostalgic ring.

West and Ward both hand in fun, kitschy performances, nicely echoing their campy work on the television show and while fans of the new darker Batman movies and cartoons may not understand the kitsch appeal of Return to the Batcave, the silly fun of the movie makes it essential viewing for all baby boomer Batfans.

THE RUINS UNRATED DVD: 2 ½ STARS

Based on a novel by Scott Smith The Ruins is an example of the breed of horror films, alongside recent chillers like The Descent and Wolf’s Creek, which relies on psychological thrills as much as out-and-out gore to make an impact.
The set-up is relatively standard. A group of four good looking but underwritten college students on Spring Break in Mexico take an ill-advised trip to see a newly discovered pyramid, rumored to be an ancient venue for human sacrifice. Once there they find out that the hostile locals aren’t their biggest problem. A primeval trap made of flesh-eating vines—that’s right, angry plants!—opens a nightmare that threatens to take both their sanity and their lives. If only they had packed a Weed Whacker things might have been different.

The Ruins doesn’t play out like Little Shop of Horrors, the other man-eating plant movie. For one thing these plants don’t sing. They do, however, literally get under people’s skins, causing all sorts of problems.

The Ruins is intense, and in some moments, gut-wrenching, but is marred by thinly rendered characters, some dodgy CGI and a tendency to rely on sound effects and music to provide many of the “boo” moments rather than have the frights come from the situation.

It did, however, make me squirm, and while it has plenty of gory moments it isn’t the blood and guts that terrifies. It is the hopeless situation, the unrelenting air of menace that really plays on the viewer’s fears.

For those who don’t find the original cut bleak enough, the Unrated DVD comes equipped with scenes “too intense for theatres.”

RAMBO: 3 STARS

It’s been twenty years since Sylvester Stallone last played Jonathon James Rambo, a rogue warrior so tough he combed his hair with barbed wire. In just three films this guy made those other 80s action icons, Bruce and Arnold, look like another 80s icon—Pee Wee Herman.

While other 80s stars like Frogger and the Where's the Beef lady are now long distant nostalgic memories Rambo, true to character, refused to disappear quietly.

Despite there being no new Rambo movies for two decades, the name has been in almost continuous use both as a noun and a verb. The character has been parodied on film in Hot Shots! Part Deux, paid tribute to in a video game called Ikari Warriors, name checked in the Nicolas Cage film Lord of War (a character wants to buy “the gun of Rambo,” referring to the M60 and Cage asks “Part one, two, or three?”) and appears in the alternate history novel Back in the USSA by Eugene Byrne and Kim Newman.

As a verb the phrase “Going Rambo” has come to refer to anyone who takes on a fight with little or no regard for their own personal safety.

Pop culture has had a hard time letting go of Rambo, and so it seems, has Sylvester Stallone, who at the age of 61 has donned Rambo’s trademark bandana one more time to bring justice to a world gone mad.

John J. Rambo (Stallone) now lives in northern Thailand, retired from the army, eking out a living running a longboat on the Salween River and catching poisonous snakes to sell. He leads a solitary life, leaving the violence of his past where it belongs—in his past.

His quiet life is interrupted when a group of Christian aid workers led by Sarah (Dexter’s Julie Benz) and Michael Bernett (Paul Schulze) recruit him as a guide to deliver medical supplies to the Karen tribe on the nearby Thai-Burma (Myanmar) border where the world's longest-running civil war, the Burmese-Karen conflict, has been raging for 60 years.

“Burma's a war zone. Its suicide,” Rambo tells the missionary, urging the group not to go.

“More like genocide.” Michael says gravely.
Reluctantly Rambo drops them in the war torn country and returns to Thailand, but when they fail to return he is talked into taking a group of mercenaries back into the border region to find the lost missionaries. Rambo is conflicted about the mission, as his new life style requires he have the utmost respect for human life—unless, of course, it gets in his way.

If you like the Rambo of old, you’ll like this new one because nothing much has changed in the years since we saw him last. In fact, other than a few wrinkles on Sly’s face, it’s as though the movie has magically teleported itself to our screens from the mid-80s. He’s still a rootin’, tootin’ killing machine who cuts, dices, kicks, spindles, mutilates, stabs, shoots, punctures, chokes, blows up, punches, shreds, head butts, pummels, thumps, harpoons, jabs, machine guns, bashes, runs through and generally does damage to a whole lot of bad guys.

The body count in Rambo (apparently one person is killed every 2.59 minutes) easily eclipses the 108 deaths in Rambo III, which earned it a Guinness Book of World Records title for Most Violent Movie Ever. It’s so high I would guess MIT professors had to be called in to create a new number to represent the carnage left in Rambo’s wake.

So, unless you date’s name is Rambina, this is most definitely not a date movie. Blood and guts splatter the screen and stoic Stallone delivers lines like, “Live for nothing, or die for something,” with his usual heavy-lidded comic book gravitas. It’s not exactly cuddly, but that’s what movies like 27 Dresses and the like are for.

Rambo isn’t for everyone, but its monosyllabic charm should appeal to anyone who likes straight up genre pictures with all the subtlety of a punch to the head.

RENDITION: 3 ½ STARS

Rendition is a political thriller about the use of torture to obtain information that may, in the long run, save innocent lives. Starring Reese Witherspoon, Jake Gyllenhaal, Meryl Streep, Peter Sarsgaard and Alan Arkin it is an even handed look at a sticky ideological question from Tsotsi director Gavin Hood.

American sweetheart Witherspoon plays Isabella El-Ibrahimi, the pregnant wife of an Egyptian-born chemical engineer who disappears while on a flight from South Africa, where he has been at a conference, to Washington, where he lives. Unbeknownst to Isabella her husband is suspected of involvement with an extremist group responsible for a Middle-Eastern suicide bombing and has been the subject of 'extraordinary rendition,' whereby suspected terrorists in the US can be sent, without the legal consent of their parent nations, to third country prisons to be clandestinely questioned and detained.

As she desperately tries to track her husband down with the help of her old friend Alan (Peter Sarsgaard), an aid of Senator Hawkins (Alan Arkin), on the other side of the world a sad-eyed CIA analyst (Gyllenhaal) is developing moral questions as he becomes personally involved in El-Ibrahimi’s torture. In the middle of this mess is Corinne Whitman (Meryl Streep), the powerful intelligence agent who ordered the rendition.

There are a few moments in Rendition when a lesser director may have allowed the material to go off the deep end, but Hood keeps everything on track. It is a well balanced film that does something that most Hollywood films don’t do—it allows the audience to make up its own mind. When Streep’s character argues that information obtained by torture has saved thousands of lives it acts as a counterbalance to Witherspoon’s anguish. Imagine Bill O’Reilly and Jon Stewart arguing the point and you get the idea of the divide between these two characters.

Unlike the recent terrorism movie The Kingdom, Rendition isn’t as interested in pointing fingers, but seems to be determined to present a story that will entertain, but also stimulate conversation.

RESERVATION ROAD: 2 ½ STARS

Reservation Road opens with every parent’s nightmare. At a rest stop, while the mom and dad gas up the car, little Josh wanders away and is killed by a hit-and-run-driver along a rural Connecticut road. What follows is meant to be an examination of grief and the repercussions of loss, but is in fact, little more than a revenge drama tarted-up with an a-list cast

Joaquin Phoenix and Jennifer Connelly play Ethan and Grace, parents of the young boy. Behind the wheel of the deadly vehicle is Dwight Arno (Mark Ruffalo), a lawyer and father of Lucas, who he lost in a custody battle with his ex-wife Ruth (Mira Sorvino) and now only sees on the weekends.

Try as they might to cope with the death of their son, Ethan and Grace fray at the edges. Grace tries to move on, but Ethan, consumed with thoughts of revenge and retribution becomes obsessed with finding his son’s killer in lieu of finding inner peace. In the kind of twist that only happens in Hollywood movies Ethan hires Dwight to help him with his case.

A guilt-ridden Dwight—a recovering something—rage-a-holic, alcoholic—struggles with doing the right thing and turning himself in, but he knows that as soon as he speaks to the police he will likely never see his son again.

Reservation Road can boast good performances all round. Phoenix and Ruffalo hand in the kind of work that has made them both award magnets in the last few years, but for my money it is the quiet portrayal of a grieving mother from Jennifer Connelly that wins the movie. As Grace she seems to actually experience the steps of grief and work through her pain, and in doing so becomes a much more rounded character than Ethan, who simply retreats into a miasma of hate and revenge.

Based on the novel by John Burnham Schwartz Reservation Road is a serious minded, glum film for adults—a la 21 Grams or In the Bedroom—which may pick up a couple of nominations for acting, but despite its heartrending subject, falls flat. Perhaps a different director could have tightened up the pacing and really developed an emotional connection with the audience, but as it is this story of loss is missing something.

RUSH HOUR 3: MINUS 4 STARS

It’s been almost ten years since the original Rush Hour graced theatres. Today the third (and hopefully final installment) hits the circuit a full six years since part two. Has it been worth the wait? Nope, but it’s not like people have been holding their breath eagerly awaiting Chris Tucker and Jackie Chan to once again light up the screen.

It seems strange that this movie should be coming out now. The last two were successful movies, but why the gap? The years have not been kind to the franchise. Chan’s legendary athletic skills have clearly been diminished by time and Tucker’s appearance, it’s his first movie since Rush Hour 2, will undoubtedly make people wonder why we thought he was funny in the first place.

Chan and Tucker reprise their roles as LAPD Detective James Carter and Chinese Chief Inspector Lee. This time out the not-so-dynamic duo must travel to Paris to battle the Triads and save the life of a beautiful woman. Along the way they’ll tell jokes that were past their due date when Hope and Crosby used them, perform watered down stunts that were better and more exciting the first two times we saw them in Rush Hours 1 and 2 and waste the talents of legendary cinema icons Max Von Sydow and Roman Polanski, both of whom are seriously out of place in this mess.

Rush Hour 3 feels like a cynical money grab by people who should know better. They’ve had half a decade to write, produce and direct this sequel and this is the best they can do? It’s embarrassing.

My seatmate leaned over to me and whispered in my ear, “This is the death of cinema” as Roman Polanski made his cameo. I don’t think cinema is dead, but if this movie represents the state of its health, it needs to book a check up immediately.

RATATOUILLE: 4 STARS

Ratatouille could do for rats what March of the Penguins did for tuxedo clad furry birds. An unusual cross between America's Next Top Chef and Willard, the movie does something no other film has been able to, (not that a lot of have tried), it makes rats cute. Lovable even.

Remy (voiced by Patton Oswalt) is a sophisticated rodent with a highly developed sense of smell. While his rat brothers and sisters are happy to simply survive by scavenging through the garbage, Remy has loftier goals. Using a recipe book called Anyone Can Cook by the famous French television chef Gusteau (Brad Garrett) he teaches himself to read and realizes that he was born to cook saffron scented mushrooms, not eat rotten apple cores from the trash.

His love of food almost gets him and his nest killed when a kitchen raid goes horribly wrong. In the ensuing panic he gets separated from his flock, floating downriver on his beloved cookbook until he ends up in Paris. Stumbling across the restaurant of his idol, the recently departed Gusteau, he puts his refined nose to good use and secretly adds spices and ingredients to rescues a soup that had been ruined by a bumbling employee named Linguini (Lou Romano). The soup is a hit, and Remy partners-up with Linguini to create more dishes. To paraphrase UB40, “there’s a rat in then kitchen and Linguini don’t care.” Intrigue follows when it is discovered that Linguini may be a relative of the late great chef Gusteau.

Ratatouille is the most visually spectacular of all the Pixar (the people behind the Toy Story films, Finding Nemo and Cars) films. Saturated in rich colors the action scenes in the busy kitchen as Remy assists in the making of soups and such while trying to avoid detection are breathtakingly beautiful. Intricately choreographed and exquisitely detailed these kinetic kitchen scenes absolutely sparkle—large copper pots bubble over with delicious looking sauces, vegetables are chopped by expert hands, waiters move to and fro, while a team of chefs labor over hot stoves. It’s a frenzy of action that will make your eyeballs dance.

As usual Pixar pairs the visuals with a solid, funny story populated by interesting characters. Director Brad Bird has given Remy a real personality, giving the ‘lil chef an endearing and funny non-verbal vocabulary of nods and shrugs to communicate with Linguini. When he does speak to the other rats (in English, no one in this French restaurant actually speaks French) he actually has something to say. Bird and his co-writers avoid the trap of so many other animated films that mistake clever pop culture references for dialogue. As a result the movie has the classic, timeless feel of old school Disney family films.

The relationship between rat and man—Remy and Linguini—however unlikely, is nicely realized and offers up a family friendly messages about friendship and cooperation. The characters are aided by nice voice work from Janeane Garofalo as the smart and oh-so-French Colette, Ian Holm’s psychotic chef Skinner, and Peter O’Toole’s as the snotty food critic Anton Ego who is reduced to tears by food that reminds him of his mother’s cooking.

Ratatouille is Pixar working at the top of their game. It’s a delicious feast for the eyes mixed with a timeless, charming story.

THE REAPING: 1 ½ STARS

Hilary Swank makes some strange career choices. I can’t think of any other two-time Best Actress winner who gets as much press as she does and yet still remains firmly planted on the b-list.

The Reaping, her new supernatural thriller set in Louisiana, isn’t going to be the career tonic she desperately needs. She’s a good enough actor to be making memorable, ambitious films, but every time she gets a head of steam on—in Million Dollar Baby for example—she follows it up with rubbish like The Black Dahlia, or forgettable genre pieces like The Core or the recent inspirational teacher movie Freedom Writers.

In The Reaping Swank plays a professional debunker who investigates alleged supernatural phenomenon and provides logical explanations for them. When a small southern town experiences biblical plagues—rivers of blood, boils, frog rainstorms, that kind of thing—she is called in. The bible-thumping townsfolk believe a young, blonde devil child who lives on the bayou is responsible for their woes. Swank, who sees a resemblance to her deceased daughter in the girl tries to protect her, even as a posse of men with shotguns heads to the swamp for a good old-fashioned exorcism, bayou style.

The Reaping won’t win Swank any acting awards, but it likely won’t affect her reputation one way or the other either. It’s just that forgettable. The plagues, meant to be terrifying, are actually kind of boring. It doesn’t actually rain frogs. I’d describe it more as a light scattered shower and I’ve seen worse cases of boils while sitting in the doctor’s waiting room that we do in the movie.

The Reaping is being sold as a horror film, but with its almost complete lack of thrills or terror it seems like false advertising. There are a couple of “gotcha” moments courtesy of a swelling soundtrack and some tricky editing, but they’re a cheat, like sneaking up behind someone and yelling boo. You don’t scare them as much as piss them off.

There is a good thriller hidden in there somewhere, but the feels like the filmmakers are holding back, trying to find the balance between making a horror film and making a movie that’ll garner a family friendly rating. In the end we’re not left with much except a distinguished two-time Best Actress winner slumming through another undistinguished movie.

REIGN OVER ME: 3 ½ STARS

It seems that every comedian really wants to be taken seriously. Everyone from Charlie Chaplin to Jim Carrey has tried to put the clown face in storage from time to time in favor of something more dramatic. I’m sure even The Three Stooges would have liked to have had a go at The Three Musketeers instead of The Three Sew and Sews if only typecasting hadn’t had it’s cruel way with them.

In Reign Over Me Adam Sandler leaves goofballs Happy Gilmour and Billy Madison behind, instead choosing to take on a serious role as a heartbroken man having trouble dealing with tragedy.
As Charlie Fineman Sandler (who is looking more like Bob Dylan every day) convincingly plays a man who developed post-traumatic stress syndrome after he lost his wife and three daughters in 9/11. He spends his days and nights in a fog, trying desperately to bury the memories of his lost family. A chance encounter with his old college roommate (Don Cheadle) begins his painful trip back to the real world.

The Wedding Singer this isn’t. This is Sandler’s first real adult role. As Fineman he displays the kind of mood swings and anger that is part of his comedic book of tricks, but here there is more depth than he’s ever offered up before. The way he slowly re-enters the normal world is subtle and effective.

Also effective is the relationship between Cheadle and Sandler. Cheadle’s character is also at a cross roads, although for exactly the opposite reasons that Sandler has withdrawn from life. The two actors play off one another with an unforced intimacy that really sells the idea that they have a history and therefore have a reason to be invested in one another.

Reign Over Me loses some of its momentum in its final moments. Director and writer Mike Binder seems intent in wrapping up all loose ends, making the third act seem a bit too pat. It’s a shame because up until the last ten minutes Reign Over Me doesn’t take the easy route. Tacking on a happy (or at least an implied happy) ending mars what up until then is one of the best films of the year.

ROCKY BALBOA: 3 ½ STARS

Rocky Balboa is a career underdog. In one classic film and 4 not so classic sequels the Italian Stallion has battled the odds and some heavy hitters to emerge bloodied but unbowed. He never gives up and that temerity shaped him into one of the screen’s greatest characters. Whether battling a vicious six and a half foot Russian boxer in the ring or his own personal demons outside the squared circle, audiences always rooted for him.

The question remains will they still root for him 30 years after the original film won 3 Academy Awards and 16 years after he last stepped out of the ring? As unbelievable as it might sound Sylvestor Stallone is back once again as the title character in Rocky Balboa, the final chapter (so he says) in the Rocky saga. Just as the man himself might say, “Yo! It ain’t over till it’s over.”

The new film is to long by half an hour, takes too long to get going and has way too many speeches about “having heart” and believing in yourself, but despite those minuses it has one big plus.

One big 60-year-old lumbering, beefy plus—Stallone as Rocky.

There is something in his dimwitted, but well-intentioned presence that goes beyond nostalgic appeal. Stallone isn’t a versatile actor, but when he’s in the Rocky Zone it’s hard to deny his appeal.

Stallone, working both in front of, and behind the camera, pays homage to the past, working much of the original Rocky lore to the new film, but more importantly using the anthemic Bill Conti Gonna Fly Now music from the first Rocky. I defy you not to pump your fist in the air when Rocky runs up those library steps to the famous Dunna nah, dunna nah, dunna nah soundtrack.

RV: 1 ½ STARS

What do the letters RV stand for? Most commonly they mean Recreational Vehicle, those gas-guzzling behemoths of the road that have come to represent the American Dream on wheels. In the case of the new Robin Williams movie, however, those letters could stand for Ridiculously Vacuous or maybe Really Vapid.

Robin Williams plays Bob Munro a mid-level executive with a psychotic boss. On the eve of a family vacation to Hawaii Bob is told by his boss that instead of taking time with his family he’ll have to report to Colorado for an important meeting. Torn between disappointing his family or getting fired, Bob tries to have it both ways. Rather than tell his family the truth he convinces them to take an RV "family" vacation to the Colorado Rockies—without telling them about the meeting.

Good comic premise, ripe with possibilities but instead we are treated to National Lampoon Vacation-Lite—twice the sweet stuff and only half the laughs. Like Chevy Chase in the National Lampoon series we are laughing at Robin Williams, not with him. The difference is Chase welcomed the laughs by arrogantly doing incredibly stupid things while Williams tries to be lovable as he bumbles his way through his vacation. He seems to be so desperate for approval that laughing at him just seems cruel.

THE ROCKET: 3 ½ STARS

After seeing The Rocket, the story of hockey hero Maurice ‘Rocket’ Richard, I have now seen more movies about hockey than actual hockey games. I’m not a hockey fan, and haven’t watched more than a handful of games since I was a teenager. Even though I don’t know my cross checkers from Chinese checkers, I was familiar with the story of Rocket Richard. I think all Canadians are—it’s part of our DNA. If you don’t believe me, here’s a personal story to illustrate how pervasive his legend is. I come from a long line of non-hockey fans, and despite my parent’s disinterest in the game, they named their little bundle of joy after Rocket Richard.

His life was the stuff of legends. During 18 seasons of professional play he set records, becoming the first person to score 50 goals in 50 games, and once skated down the ice and placed the puck in the net despite having a two hundred pound member of the opposing team on his back. He was a fiery competitor on the ice and off. For his agile playing style a famous folksong described him as “wind on skates;” for his commitment to establish French language rights on the hockey bench and in his home province the song called him “all of Quebec on its feet.”

With such a legacy it would have been easy to make a film that put the Rocket on a pedestal a la Lou Gehrig in The Pride of the Yankees, but the filmmakers resist that temptation and instead present The Rocket warts and all. His quick temper gets him into trouble more than once, and his teammates razz him about his lack of education and verbal skills. On the plus side the movie paints him as the people’s champion, someone who stood up to discrimination by English team owners and officials, and helped start Quebec’s Quiet Revolution.

Quebecois superstar Roy Dupuis plays Rocket Richard with a brooding intensity that shows the pent up rage boiling just under the surface of Richard’s character. He closely resembles the sport superstar—although he had to wear contacts to duplicate the Rocket’s famous green eyes—and has the skills to make the hockey scenes exciting and believable, but, on the whole I found his portrayal of the Rocket a little too dour.

Occasionally The Rocket looks and feels like a two-hour long Heritage Minute, but is also a rare animal. It’s a sports movie that doesn’t rely on the usual clichés of the inspirational coach, or the band of misfit players that band together to win the big game. Happily it aspires to capture not only the hockey history intrinsic to the piece but also the cultural history that shaped the man and the hockey legend.

RUNNING SCARED: 1 ½ STARS

Running Scared is so frenetic, so filled with mayhem, bloodshed, kids in peril and more twists and turns than a mountain road it’s almost as if writer / director Wayne Kramer was afraid he would never get another chance to make any more movies so he crammed every idea he’s ever had into this one.

In short, cinnemanequin Paul Walker plays a petty criminal whose job is dispose of hot guns used in mob killings. Instead of throwing in the river he hides them in his basement where his son’s best friend finds them and uses one of them to shoot his abusive stepfather. From there the plot fragments into a thousand points of light. There’s a meth dealer with a John Wayne fixation, the little boy goes on the lam, dirty cops crawl out of the gutter and Walker must track down the gun that changes hands every five minutes. There’s more but I don’t want to be accused of giving away any spoilers.

It’s too much really. This many plot zigs and zags aren’t exhilarating, they are exhausting and distracting. Near the middle of the film when the bizarre twists start piling up the story seemed to become about pushing the story-telling envelope rather than simply telling the story. I would guess Kramer felt that each new plot device added a “cool” factor to the movie, adding to the fast pace of the film, but actually each new diversion slows down the core of the story taking us further from the core—the characters. Who is this movie about anyway? Is it about the young abused boy, the mob runner or dirty cops? I wish I knew.

The cast tries hard to keep pace with the story, but it is a daunting task. Paul Walker shed his usual Pinocchio style of wooden acting, opting for a bug-eyed frenetic approach that is lively, but charmless. One standout is Cameron Bright, the young Canadian actor who plays Oleg, the kid who gets vengeance on his stepfather. Bright is probably best known as the boy in the bathtub with Nicole Kidman in the controversial movie Birth, but I think he is the one of the best pre-teen actors working today.

REVENGE OF THE SITH DVD: 4 STARS

It was difficult to stay a Star Wars fan through the disappointing pair of sequels that started the new cycle of George Lucas’ epic space films. Real enthusiasts shudder at the stiff acting, the ruthless merchandising and the mere mention of Jar Jar Binks. The Revenge of the Sith, now on a 2-disc DVD with 6 hours of extras, is the installment that made it OK to be a Star Wars fan again. This one has better action, better effects and to me Yoda is the coolest that he has ever been. Anyone with even a passing knowledge of the Star Wars mythology knows the storyline here—Anakin Skywalker turns into super space baddie Darth Vadar—but Lucas really bumped up the cool factor here and made this the most watchable and most enjoyable of the prequels.

RENT: 3 ½ STARS
Stage to screen adaptations of musicals are a tricky business. For every Chicago or Cabaret that makes a smooth transition from Broadway to your local multiplex there are the Evitas and Phantom of the Operas that manage to hit only sour notes. Happily, the new version of Rent—a Pulitzer Prize winning Broadway hit long considered to be almost unfilmable—hits most of the right notes.
The story of a group of artists in Manhattan’s Alphabet City, struggling with homelessness, drug addiction and AIDS as the 1980s turn into the 1990s has always been thin dramatically—the story isn’t that compelling and full of unbelievable contrivances—but that doesn’t seem to matter to audiences who have connected with the characters. Each of the characters goes on a journey and learns something about the true meaning of camaraderie and love. Story-wise the compelling aspect of Rent is that even though it is about death and dying, it remains a joyous commemoration of life and love.
Most of the Broadway cast returns, including Jesse L. Martin, better known as Lt. Green on television’s Law and Order. His stand-out performance as Tom Collins made me wish that his cop show would consider an all dancing-all singing episode.
Former Harry Potter director Christopher Columbus presents Rent as a hybrid of rock video and traditional Hollywood musical, but I can’t help but wonder what true-blue New York filmmakers like Spike Lee or Martin Scorsese—both of whom were attached to direct in various points of development—would have done with this material.

THE RING II

In the original Ring a cursed videotape—featuring a short video that looks like it was made by a first year film student who had watched too many Luis Buñuel films—is doing the rounds, killing its audience seven days after viewing. Rachel (Naomi Watts) and her son Aidan (David Dorfmann) are among the condemned but, after the harrowing deaths of a few bit-part actors—the equivalent of the dispensable red shirted actors in Star Trek—they discover that by making a copy of the tape, a gruesome demise can be averted. You would think that by the time the sequel rolled around that the family in this movie would have gotten rid of their outdated VCR and invested in a DVD player. That might have stopped the curse of the videotape, but no. The Ring Two is a typical horror sequel where the survivors of the first film believe the danger has been left behind until someone dies, and the horror starts again.

A very uneven film, The Ring II is drowned in clichés and sees the wet and weird spirit Samara behave like slasher king Jason Voorhees. The movie has a suitably spooky tone and a few shocking moments, all underlined by a moody score, but the scares don’t last past the first viewing. You won’t be looking over your shoulder on the way home from the theatre.

If you liked The Grudge from earlier this year, you’ll like The Ring II.

RUN FATBOY RUN: 3 STARS

The lovable loser has always been a staple in Hollywood films. In the early days Harold Lloyd and Max Davidson were nerdy characters the audience cared for despite their shortcomings. More recently Ben Stiller and Seth Rogen have kept the tradition of the terminally behind-the-eight ball character alive and kicking.

Rarely, however, has a loser been as hard to love as Dennis (Simon Pegg), an ambition-challenged Brit who leaves his beautiful, pregnant fiancée Libby (Thandie Newton) at the altar in the opening moments of Run Fatboy Run, a new comedy directed by David Schwimmer.

Ever since that fateful day Dennis, now working as a security guard at a London women’s wear shop, has rued his decision to flee from commitment and responsibility. Five years on his life hasn’t changed much. He still lives in a dumpy apartment, he’s still slightly overweight, still works a dead end job and still can’t pull his act together. The only thing he’s almost good at is being a father figure to his son, and even then he has more bad days than good.

The catalyst to change his life comes in the form of Whit (Hank Azaria) a good looking hedge-fund trader. He’s everything Dennis isn’t—slick, successful and disciplined. He seems too good to be true. Saint Whit even runs marathons for charity in his spare time.

As Whit becomes more enmeshed in Libby’s life Dennis is overcome by jealousy and becomes determined to beat Whit at his own game—marathon running—to win back Libby’s trust and affection. Of course, in his quest for Libby’s love he discovers his own sense of self worth and becomes a better person. Still a loser perhaps, but a more lovable one than the man we met in the film’s opening minutes.

Run Fatboy Run isn’t the most original story to come down the pike this year. Unlike the edgy offerings from past Simon Pegg (he both stars and co-wrote Run Fatboy Run) movies like Sean of the Dead and Hot Fuzz, it plays like a sitcom—although one with far fouler language than you’re likely to hear in prime time—which shouldn’t be too much of a surprise as it was directed by Schwimmer, best known as the actor who played Dr. Ross Geller on 238 episodes of Friends.

On the plus side though, it plays like a good sitcom. The romantic comedy storyline is predictable—otherwise it wouldn’t be a romantic comedy, but a romantic calamity—and the Rocky-esque training and marathon run ends pretty much as you would imagine, but you know that going in. The trick here is to make the predictable aspects of the story entertaining and Schwimmer and company do just that with a competent cast, lead by Pegg who can milk laughs out of almost any material and who plays Dennis as a real person and not just a beer-swilling caricature.

The whole film has a winning sweet-natured tone that smoothly weaves rom com conventions with slapstick and a good dose of sentimentality to create a whole that won’t win any awards for originality but has its heart in the right place.

REIGN OF FIRE

This movie is spectacular… spectacularly bad that is. The year is twenty years from today. Fire-breathing dragons have taken over the world, destroying everything in their wake, leaving just a few iron-willed survivors who live a primitive lifestyle, have become very muscular and apparently like to take off their shirts when they work. Their leader, Quinn (Christian Bale) is a moral, principled man who just wants to protect his extended family from the dragons and lead a decent life inside his castle. This utopian dream is upset one day when Denton Van Zan (Matthew McConaughey) shows up at his front gate. Van Zan is a buff American Dragon Slayer who says things like “Let’s rock and roll!” when going into battle with the fire-breathing demons; the kind of guy who pours testosterone on his Wheaties in the morning. With veins popping and eyes bulging McConaughey chews every bit of scenery in sight, sometimes threatening to bite clean through the screen and assail the audience. Bale struggles to turn Quinn into ssomething more than a cardboard character, and as a result never achieves the over-the-top quality of McConaughey. Reign of Fire was directed by Rob Bowman, best known for helming The X-Files on television. He knows a thing or two about how to create a foreboding atmosphere, but his action sequences fall flat. The battle scenes are over-edited to the point where the viewer can’t tell who is who and what they are doing. It dulls impact of the scene when you can’t really tell what is happening on the screen. If you find pumped-up and shirtless heroes entertaining you might like Reign of Fire. If not, stay home and rent Dragonslayer instead.

RESPIRO

In Lampedusa, a tiny island off the coast of Sicily, they tell a story about a woman who is brought back from the dead by the prayers of the villagers who condemned her while she was alive. Respiro (Italian for “to breathe”) updates that legend, setting it in modern day.

Valeria Golino plays Grazia, a free spirit whose conduct crosses the line of acceptability in the small fishing community in which she and her family live. Her bi polar behaviour confounds her husband, who tries to control her mood swings with drugs. After one particularly nasty incident it is decided that she will be sent to a hospital in Milan for treatment.

With the help of her son she escapes being sent to the big city headshrinker, and hides in a cave by the ocean. After an exhaustive search she is presumed dead. Just as Joni Mitchell said, you don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone, and once Grazia is out of their lives the husband and citizens of the small village realize what a force of nature she was.

Director Emanuele Crialese takes his time with the story, allowing us to get a good sense of the village and the people. The slow pace of the film reflects the pace of life in Lampedusa, but like a Mediterranean Blue Velvet, the ugly side of the beautiful village is exposed. Respiro is one of those films with a slight story that succeeds because of its sense of place. It is a cliché to say that the location is a character in the film, but in this case it is true. The viewer must understand where the story is taking place in order to understand why the story is taking place. In this Respiro succeeds wonderfully well.

THE RING

Remakes are a tricky business, especially if you are remaking one of the scariest films to come along in recent memory. 1998’s Ringu is a masterpiece of atmosphere and psychological terror from Japanese director Hideo Nakata that became a sensation in Asia, spawning a prequel, a sequel and a comic book. It’s difficult to describe the plot without giving away any spoilers, but suffice to say that the story of a reporter named Reiko who investigates the mysterious death of her cousin, only to discover a videotape that kills people seven days after they have watched it will scare the pants off you. The American makers of the The Ring wisely chose to retain the best elements of the original story, but what they forgot to include were the thrills and chills. There are some minor shocks, and one sequence that will upset horse lovers everywhere, but the overall sense of tension that is so pervasive in the original is lacking. Naomi Watts (last seen in Mulholland Drive) is the best reason to see this movie. She’s natural and believable, and even though she is in virtually every scene, seems underused. This whole exercise might have been more interesting if a director who specialized in making horror and suspense films – like M. Night Shyamalan or David Cronenberg – had been given a crack at the material.

ROAD TO PERDITION

The Irish mafia isn’t given nearly as much screen time as their Sicilian cousins. For every Miller’s Crossing there are three Godfathers; a Sopranos for every Grifters. Road to Perdition sees Tom Hanks as Michael Sullivan, personal “Angel of Death” for Irish mob-boss John Rooney (Paul Newman). Sullivan, an orphan, had been raised as Rooney’s son, and carved a nice Norman Rockwellian life for himself, his wife and two kids. Each morning he has breakfast with his family in their lovely country home, before heading off to work to intimidate and kill Rooney’s enemies. Unbeknownst to Sullivan, his oldest son (Tyler Hoechlin) tags along on one of these missions, and sees exactly what his father does for a living. In a misguided effort to silence the boy Rooney’s son kills Sullivan’s wife and youngest boy. Revenge and the safety of his surviving son motivate Sullivan to hit the road. Road to Perdition is beautifully rendered look at 1930s depression era America. Director Sam Mendes has stayed true to the story’s graphic novel roots, and dishes up a spectacular looking film, one so finely detailed you can almost smell the gunpowder and smouldering cigarettes. Hanks is surprisingly effective as the strong silent hit man. His Sullivan is complicated, the actor subverts his natural likeability to present a man who is at once loyal and caring, but will put a bullet through your skull without a second thought. It’s a layered, subtle performance that moves away from the heroic characters that Hanks usually favours. Look for the supporting cast at awards time. Jude Law as a sadistic killer-for-hire shines, but it is Paul Newman that shows the rest of the cast how it should be done. His Rooney is a great cap to a distinguished career. I only have to wonder why an actress of Jennifer Jason Leigh’s calibre would take on the thankless and nondescript role of Sullivan’s wife. Is there really that little work in Hollywood for women that actresses of her experience must take whatever scraps are offered?

ROLLERBALL

If you can’t say anything nice don’t say anything at all. ‘Nuff said.

RUB AND TUG

Rub & Tug is promoting itself as a real account of life in the seedy body rub parlors of Toronto. Director and co-screenwriter Soo Lyu spent a year researching the project, but there is none of the grit you would expect from a movie that explores the underbelly of the sex trade. Instead Rub & Tug is a starkly clean, sanitized look at three women who work in that hazy area between masseuse and prostitute - a sexual sitcom. There have been steamier episodes of Three's Company. Don McKellar as the conniving parlor manager acquits himself with his usual bumbling charm, although isn't given enough to do. The same goes for parlor employees Lindy Booth, Tara Spencer-Nairn and Kira Clavell, who fumble through the predictable material. Lyu imbues the script with the concept that sex workers aren't victims, and we shouldn't pity them. The trouble is we don't really care about these characters, so the whole thing falls flat.

THE RULES OF ATTRACTION

There is not one single likeable character in The Rules of Attraction. Based on a novel by Bret Easton Ellis (American Psycho, Less Than Zero) the movie follows the lives of students at a small New England liberal arts college as they struggle to find themselves, find love or find their next vial of cocaine. Writer / director Roger Avary (who won an Academy Award for co-writing Pulp Fiction) boils down the narrative from Easton’s book to concentrate on four main characters: Sean Bateman (James Van Der Beek), who shares a last name, and possibly a blood line with the serial killer from American Psycho, is a drug dealing “emotional vampire” who’ll bed anything with a pulse. He pines for Lauren (Shannyn Sossomon), a virgin who is anxiously awaiting the return of her boyfriend Victor (Kip Pardue) from a European vacation. Thrown into the mix is Paul (Rob Lowe look-a-like Ian Somerhalder) whose goal in life is to bed as many straight men as he can. You can’t accuse Avary of playing it safe on his first go around as a feature film director. He has made a very stylish film, although one that is over flowing with savage satire and filled with pain. The Rules of Attraction will not appeal to everyone, and fans of Van Der Beek’s wholesome Dawson’s Creek image are likely to be traumatized for life. Highlights include a breathtaking three and a half minute summation of Victor’s trip to Europe and a dinner table scene with Faye Dunaway, Swoozie Kurtz, Somerhalder and a drunken Quincy Evans. Lowlights, and there are quite a few, include a Lauren’s deflowering, complete with video cameras and vomit, and a cheesy CGI snowflake that lands on Sean’s face and turns into a teardrop. If you aren’t shocked and offended by The Rules of Attraction you might just be as emotionally unstable as the characters in the film.