Hail the Conquering Hero  (USA 1944) (8):  Sturges mixes just the right amount of wry humour and mocking satire in this thoroughly entertaining story of a naive young man caught up in the lies of others.  Woodrow Truesmith (the names are brilliant) is the small-town son of a WWI hero.  His father died in the line of duty and his mother maintains a shrine to his memory in the living room.  Sadly, when Woodrow tries to follow in his father’s footsteps by enlisting in the Marines he receives a medical discharge due to his persistent hay fever instead.  Too ashamed to face his family and friends with the truth he gets a job in a shipyard and lets everyone believe he’s fighting overseas.  It’s when a group of real Marines decides to help him return home as a decorated hero that things begin to spiral out of control.  Sturges’ assured direction and intelligent script keep things moving at a brisk pace, but even as the gags come fast and furious there is an underlying anger to the film as it skewers everything from rampant capitalism to gushing patriotism.  And although the final scene appears to be a sentimental cop-out, upon closer inspection it practically oozes sarcastic irony.  Pretty daring stuff for a movie released towards the end of World War II.

Half Nelson (USA 2006) (8): Dan Dunne is a highschool history teacher who’s learned nothing from his own past. By day he’s a charismatic educator and hardworking coach for the girls’ basketball team but at night he indulges his insatiable appetites for crack cocaine and cheap sex. Like most addicts Dan believes himself to be in control of both his drug use and his professional life until he’s discovered smoking in the girls’ room by 13-year old Drey, a bright young student with enough problems of her own. A hesitant friendship slowly develops between the two as they discover they may have more in common than they thought. Fleck firmly avoids the cinematic hyperbole inherent in these types of films; there are no healing hugs, 12-step platitudes or tearful trips to rehab. Instead we see two fully realized human beings who, despite their vastly different backgrounds, are drawn to each other’s pain for reasons entirely their own. Using naturalistic dialogue, handheld camerawork and a funky score, Fleck gives his film an unpolished street-level authenticity further enhanced by some amazing performances. The film does falter somewhat when it tries to ramp up the dramatic irony. Dunne’s classroom lectures on the importance of “change” and “turning points” in respect to history (usually delivered while hungover) are glaring examples of this as are the historical asides delivered by various students; the narrative relevance between covert CIA atrocities and Dunne’s own self-deception is tenuous at best. And a strategically placed “stars’n’stripes” bandaid is pure overkill. Still, this is one of the more engrossing character-driven dramas I’ve seen in years. Ryan Gosling and Shareeka Epps play off one another beautifully while their final scene, if not exactly uplifting, at least hints at the possibility of mutual salvation.

Hard Candy (USA 2005) (2): Little Red Riding Hood becomes an avenging angel in David Slade’s troubling tirade which confuses primitive bloodlust with civilized justice. When a precocious fourteen-year old girl arranges to meet the creepy thirty-two year old photographer who’s been stalking her online you know things are going to get disturbing. It certainly starts out that way when Jeff brings Hayley home for a few drinks and some innuendo-laced verbal sparring. Impressed with his risqué photos of underage models Hayley practically begs him to shoot a spread of her, a request he’s only too eager to fulfill until an unexpected twist in fate cuts things short and the stalker finds himself becoming the victim. In the psychological battle which follows Jeff’s past sins are put on trial with Hayley as the self-appointed judge and jury who will stop at nothing in order to exact a confession. Unfortunately what starts out as a taut and believable drama quickly spirals into a psychotic mess filled with outrageous plot devices and nonstop sanctimonious tirades; “I’m every little girl you ever watched, touched, hurt, screwed...” seethes a triumphant Hayley at one point. Oh please, is this supposed to make us cheer for the preceding scenes of physical and mental torture? Slade seems to have an acute case of moral ambivalence as the question of who we’re supposed to feel sorrier for, the slimy pedophile or the bat-shit teenager, quickly becomes a contentious issue. Both are equally repulsive in what amounts to an adolescent revenge fantasy. While I can see the “little vigilante girl” theme appealing to those with an axe to grind I personally found the film’s bloated theatrics and smug sense of righteousness completely insulting. I give Hard Candy a 2/10 for its high-calibre performances (a waste of talent) and nothing more.

The Harrad Experiment/Love All Summer  (USA 1974) (3):  Before the free-spirited flower children of the 60’s became the bitter divorcees of the 80’s there was.........THE 70’S!  That tasteless carefree era where a woman could go out in public sporting a Dorothy Hamill wedge and polyester pantsuit without being laughed at.  Where a man could wear a pukka shell necklace and use half a can of spray on his poofy hair and still get laid.  And people actually believed in this sanctimonious drivel about free love and marriages without borders.  These films, poorly made as they are, embody that self-delusional hedonism quite nicely as we see a group of horned up students confuse emotional immaturity with personal liberation and social evolution.  As an aside, if you’re looking for a film that shows off the 70’s in all their tacky glory you’ll enjoy “Love All Summer”......the hair, the fashions, the furniture.....ewwwww!

Hawaii, Oslo (Norway 2004) (7): What Erik Poppe’s multi-character ensemble piece lacks in discipline it more than makes up for in presentation. On the mean streets of Oslo during the hottest day of the year we are introduced to a handful of strangers, among them a couple whose newborn son is dying, an ambulance attendant who becomes obsessed with a suicidal woman, a pair of young delinquents on the run, a violent convict, and an institutionalized young man still obsessed with his childhood sweetheart. Each character is desperately grasping at a personal dream which hovers just beyond their reach, much like the tropical images that seem to adorn every wall. Tying the individual stories together are an enigmatic newspaper girl and Vidar, a counsellor-cum-guardian angel who tries to use his sleep-induced visions of the future to nudge each person in the proper direction. In the course of a single night some dreams will be realized while others will be lost forever, and redemption will come in the form of one final sacrifice. With its suspiciously convenient coincidences and heavy angelic symbolism there is certainly enough to criticize here. Furthermore, as a narrative bridge between the separate tales Vidar and the young girl prove to be a rather ponderous plot device at times rendering some of the dramatic links weak and contrived. So why can’t I simply dismiss it as nothing more than a Scandinavian version of Touched By An Angel? First off the cast is magnificent; there is a synergy between them that results in performances that are both natural and engrossing. Secondly, the script manages to avoid most of the saccharine pitfalls one would expect and instead delivers a well-paced and captivating composite of lives in chaos. And finally, the spare soundtrack of strings and piano chords compliments the film’s low-keyed delivery perfectly. A deeply felt work which must be taken at face value.

The Heart is a Lonely Hunter (USA 1968) (6):  Alan Arkin plays the ironically named Mr. Singer, a deaf mute who has a remarkable sensitivity to other people’s unhappiness coupled with an unfortunate inability to mind his own business.  When his only friend, a fellow deaf mute, is committed to a mental hospital Singer moves to a nearby town in order to be closer to him but it isn’t long before the townsfolk, perhaps sensing his sympathetic nature, begin assailing him with their own tales of woe.  There’s Mick, the alienated teenage girl whose dreams were put on hold when her father was crippled; the alcoholic drifter desperately trying to turn his life around; and the embittered black doctor who hates all things Caucasian and is hated in return by his spiteful daughter.  Even the institutionalized friend is nothing more than a slovenly eating machine that uses him as a free meal ticket.  Everyone is so busy crying on Singer’s shoulder they fail to realize that he is having problems of his own...until it’s too late.  Miller ratchets up the misery factor in his film to the point where it starts looking like a parody of itself.  There doesn’t appear to be anyone in this town who isn’t in the midst of a crisis and watching Singer drag his multiple crosses down main street becomes tedious after a while.  We are bombarded with so much contrived anguish that when the final tragedy occurs it almost seems like comic relief.  Miller’s attention to small details does manage to sketch a fairly convincing portrait of a small southern town though, and Sondra Locke shines in the role of Mick.  But, ultimately, Arkin’s uneven performance as Singer is just not strong enough to carry the film through.

The Heart is Deceitful Above All Things  (USA 2004) (6):  Seen through the eyes of one terribly abused child the world is a disjointed place full of menace and confusion, a fact that is presented with horrible clarity in this unsettling and thoroughly ugly film.  There are no easy outs as Argento plunges us into a knee-high vision of hell and then challenges us to make some narrative sense out of the non-stop barrage of repulsive images.  Yet despite the film’s undeniable power and the brilliant performances by Argento and the three (!?) boys who played her son, it’s not without its flaws.  For starters, the film’s quirky, episodic nature often leaves large narrative holes that defy logic.  Furthermore, in over-playing the grotesque Asia fails to flesh out her characters sufficiently causing them to appear as little more than white trash stereotypes.  The story’s essential misery comes through loud and clear, we don’t need to have it shoved down our throats.

Hedwig and the Angry Inch  (USA 2000) (9):  The story of Hedwig, a German transsexual rock star trying to find love and fame in America.  A rude, raucous and unapologetic film that tackles issues of love and identity head on with nary a blink or moment's hesitation. The acting is first rate, especially John Mitchell's powerhouse performance, and the music rocks. Essential viewing.

The Hills Have Eyes 2 (USA 2007) (4):  The original movie is now a horror classic.  The remake took the gore up a few notches and gave the story a modern Frankenstein spin with angry atomic mutants preying on an America grown complacent.  It’s too bad they decided to try and milk the franchise one more time with this tepid sequel that revels in the carnage but does nothing to build upon its vastly superior predecessors.  After spending the first 40 minutes showing the characters climbing a hill, the film quickly becomes just another formulaic “Fiends-In-The-Dark” splatter flick somewhere between “Aliens” and “Just Before Dawn” only much less imaginative than either one.  And of course it finishes with the totally expected unexpected ending that seems to be a prerequisite for anyone making these movies.  Diehard gore fans will be amused and that’s about it.

Hollywood Canteen (USA 1944) (7): A group of A-list celebrities rally round the flag in this unabashedly patriotic series of photo ops meant to buoy the spirits of war-weary soldiers. Founded by Bette Davis and John Garfield during WWII, the real Hollywood Canteen was an L.A. nightclub catering to active servicemen on their way overseas. The food was free and the staff consisted entirely of members of the entertainment industry including the occasional movie star. In this fictional account we follow the adventures of Corporal “Slim” Green who wanders into the Canteen hoping to meet the actress he’s been fantasizing about during those long nights in the South Pacific, the sweetly angelic Joan Leslie. When he finally does meet her he gets far more than he bargained for including an obligatory tear-filled farewell on a train station platform. Hollywood Canteen overflows with great song & dance numbers, surprise cameos, and enough cornball comedy to keep you smiling. It’s light and fluffy, a little heavy on the apple pie, and about as subtle as an infomercial but highly entertaining just the same.

Hostel 2 (USA 2007) (2): I actually defended the original Hostel as a sly sociopolitical satire in the guise of a splatter flick. In that film an impoverished eastern European village managed to survive by converting an obsolete factory (a casualty of the “new economy” perhaps) into an upscale abattoir where G8 millionaires paid top dollar for the pleasure of killing their own people. It’s too bad Eli Roth felt the need to hack another limb off his cash cow for this unimaginative and insulting sequel. This time around it’s a trio of American women who fall prey to the drooling sadistic Slavs as a bevy of international clients engage in an online bidding war to determine who will get to torture them to death. This is the film’s only notable scene as Roth presents a montage of well-dressed businessmen (and a woman...hurray for equality) furiously upping the ante on their cellphones, laptops and blackberries while their wives and children carry on in the background, completely oblivious. But once the actual bloodletting begins artistic integrity flies out the window and we are left watching a grisly freak show with delusions of being far more complex than it actually is. There are a few obscure cameos (Ruggero Deodato as an Italian cannibal) and a ludicrous about-face towards the end as Roth tries to give a warped salute to female empowerment but only manages to dig his hole deeper. Lastly, an attempt is made to gild this steaming turd by delving into the psyches of two American clients who journey to Slovakia to make their first kill. There is the promise of some depth there but it ends up being lost in all the screams and gratuitous gore. Despite a few new faces and a bigger costume budget which allows the Slavic baddies to dress up in 007 chic you get the distinct impression we’ve all been down this road before. The first time was unique, the second time is just tiresome. A detour is advised.

Hour of the Wolf (Sweden 1968) (8): Bergman mixes the tragic with the diabolical in this story of an introverted artist slowly going insane who eventually disappears without leaving a trace. Johan and Alma spend most of their time on an isolated island where he works on his paintings while she plays the adoring wife. However, despite the idyllic setting, his mental state begins to deteriorate; he paints visions of grotesque creatures he claims to have seen and he is visited by various enigmatic characters, both seductive and frightening, real and imagined, including a callous muse in the guise of a former lover. Even a friendly dinner at a local dignitary’s estate becomes a painful ordeal when the party turns into a vulgar display of bourgeois excess expertly filmed with extreme close-ups, spinning camerawork and overlapping dialogue. But are these experiences real or are they being filtered through Johan’s increasingly fractured mind? Eventually his strained relationship with Alma comes to an explosive end thanks to the mysterious gift of a loaded pistol, and Johan returns to the baron’s mansion...now a house of horrors whose winding hallways and monstrous inhabitants become a metaphor for his own diseased psyche. Told in flashbacks using Alma’s recollections and Johan’s own diary, the story plays with our sense of reality. From the opening credits which include sounds of the film’s cast and crew preparing the day’s shoot, to the movie’s “demons” which are as solidly real as the island itself, the line between truth and illusion is never delineated. Even Alma begins to see Johan’s ghosts, as if her love for him has also left her susceptible to his psychosis. The use of light and shadow is striking, especially those scenes shot in the dead of night, the “hour of the wolf” in which most people die, most babies are born, and nightmares run rampant. Bergman has crafted an incisive look at the lonely suffering of the creative mind filled with cryptic imagery and a pervasive sense of dread. We are left to wonder whether Johan was stalked by his madness, or did he in fact court it. “The mirror has been shattered...” he declares at one point, “...but what do the splinters reflect?” Indeed.

How’s Your News? (USA 1999) (2): A documentary following a group of mentally disabled adults as they cross the USA conducting “man on the street” interviews for their ersatz news show. I suppose we are expected to smile indulgently as they stutter and stammer and drift away on tangents while their unfortunate victims squirm uncomfortably but all I saw was a string of cringeworthy amateur film footage designed to test the limits of my patience. There is nothing outstanding about these characters, they have neither chemistry nor cohesiveness; in fact the woman is downright annoying. There are a few mildly interesting moments: an obnoxious street preacher tries to distance himself from a persistent interviewer who is only able to grunt and gesture and an attempt is made to pose questions to a newborn lamb, but many of the episodes have the look of a cruel prank. In one of the more disturbing scenes a severely spastic man in a wheelchair is parked on a busy L.A. boardwalk with a microphone and a sign stating, “My Name is Larry, Please Talk to Me”. There is no doubt that these people enjoyed themselves, but the filmmakers themselves tread a very fine line between “laughing with” and “laughing at”....and not always successfully.

Hypocrites (USA 1915) (7): Lois Weber’s religious allegory on vice and corruption may seem laughably naive today but it created a small storm of controversy 95 years ago for its copious amounts of female nudity. Weber uses the same cast to present two interconnected stories, each one highlighting the many pitfalls awaiting the unwary as they choose between the straight and narrow path to enlightenment and the broad avenue to ruin. In the first, a contemporary small town pastor is forced to resign after delivering a fiery sermon on hypocrisy; in the second a medieval monk is killed by an angry mob outraged by his statue celebrating the spirit of Truth in the form of a nude female. It’s interesting to see how Weber draws parallels between the townsfolk of the middle ages and their modern counterparts; kings and queens give way to top-hatted businessmen while drunken abbots become crooked politicians, and all the while “Truth” walks among them unseen and ignored. Weber takes a decidedly cynical look at contemporary society and doesn’t find much to commend. In one unintentionally hilarious flashback she shows the root cause of an unfortunate family’s dire misery; while daughter eats greedily from a box labelled “INDULGENCE”, son avidly pores over a leather-bound volume of “SEX”. Overdone in every aspect with exaggerated performances and a sense of moral superiority bordering on smugness, yet Hypocrites remains an important example of cinema as an emerging art form made all the more valuable considering it was made by one of the few female directors of the time.

Ice Crawlers (USA 2003) (1): Heavens! Evil multinational energy syndicate, Geotech, is drilling for oil in Antarctica when they unwittingly unleash a horde of giant carnivorous rubber cockroaches which have been frozen in the ice shelf for hundreds of millions of years; you know, back when Antarctica was tropical. Anyway, bouncing around on their barely concealed strings the chitinous cooties soon develop a taste for blue collar brutes and it’s up to a team of young photogenic scientists (Geek, Nerd, Jock, Slut, and Ice Princess respectively) to save the station and alert the world. Absolutely awful rip-off of Carpenter’s The Thing with a few anemic nods to Alien and “special effects” on par with Toho Studio’s neoprene monster epics. Some tacked-on Greenpeace sermons strive for “ecological awareness” while a few dirty words and flashing tits satisfy the MPAA “R” requirement and a ludicrous love affair between the tree-hugging Ice Princess and an oil company rep provides irony for the brain dead.

Ice Station Zebra  (USA 1968 ) (6):  When a Russian spy satellite crash lands in the North Pole it’s up to Captain Rock Hudson and his submarine full of seamen to get to it before the evil Commies.  Pretty standard Cold War fare with the required number of secret agents and evil Russians squaring off against their upstanding American counterparts.  Hudson and McGoohan put in passable performances but Ernest Borgnine’s ham-fisted turn as a Communist defector belongs in the Hollywood Hall of Shame.  Engaging enough despite the rather dated special effects and a disappointingly dull ending that practically drips with forced ironies.

In Bed  (En la cama) (Chile 2005) (7):  The battle of the sexes is reduced to a series of post-coital dialogues intercut with some hot and horny sex scenes in this remarkable film from Chile. Bize makes the most of a very confined space due in large part to a pair of talented (and gorgeous) leads and some expert editing. Some of the dramatic revelations may be a bit forced but the script remains believable and the underlying sense of loneliness and regret is palpable.

In Bruges (UK 2008) (9): The Irish humour is dark and heavy in Martin McDonagh’s amazing debut feature, a thoroughly engrossing mix of Shakespearean tragedy and religious parable with just a touch of Abbot & Costello. Ray and Ken are hired killers on the lam after a contracted murder in London goes horribly awry. Fleeing to Brussels to hide out while awaiting further instructions from Harry, the brutish gangster who hired them, the two men try to get along as best they can despite wildly differing personalities. But when the new orders finally arrive, Harry ends up making them an offer they can neither refuse nor accept. As the foul-mouthed yet strangely vulnerable Ray, Colin Farrell exhibits a manic energy which dominates every scene; his thick brogue making even the most innocuous sentence a reason to smirk. Brendan Gleeson’s Ken, on the other hand, is a study in forbearance; a curious blend of wide-eyed wonder and weary stoicism. As the two play off each other along the streets and canals of Belgium’s capital they manage to piss off everyone they encounter from Belgians, Americans and Canadians to fat people, hookers and coke-snorting dwarves. McDonagh’s fiendishly clever script constantly challenges our expectations while the superb cinematography incorporates Brussels’ brooding medieval buildings and alleyways to create a sombre fairytale aesthetic further enhanced by a wistful musical score. The film’s relentlessly mounting suspense finally comes to a head on Christmas Eve when Harry travels to Bruges in order to confront the two errant hit men. What follows is a masterful fusion of form and substance ending in a gorgeously contrived coda lifted right from Hieronymus Bosch’s Last Judgement. Hysterical, brutal, and unexpectedly moving...a pure delight.

In Celebration (UK 1975) (7):  The resentments children and parents can hold against each other, even into adulthood, is a recurring theme in this story of three estranged brothers who come together at the family home to celebrate their mom and dad’s 40th wedding anniversary.  From the outset it is obvious that tensions run deep in this family, with forced gaiety and impromptu arguments all around...apparently there is more than one elephant in the Shaw’s living room.  Each son has an axe to grind and as the family’s afternoon of discomfort becomes a long night of discontent the blades turn razor sharp.  There is a load of repressed anger here that seems to centre on the mother and, in an odd way, the memory of their eldest brother who died at the age of seven.  Each son handles his pain differently...while one rages against society, another seeks solace in materialism while the youngest turns his anger inwards.  Things finally reach the breaking point around the breakfast table when the sons realize they must either attempt an uneasy truce or watch the family disintegrate.  Based on David Storey’s play, “In Celebration” is certainly theatrical with characters glaring daggers at each other and dialogue being delivered hot and heavy.  This type of presentation does not do well on the small screen, in my opinion, and comes across as exaggerated melodrama.  Furthermore, when the family’s “dark secrets” are finally revealed they hardly seem worth the preceding two hours of heated tirades and surly stares.  Still, the acting is very good and the pace never slackens.  I would love to have seen the original stage production.

L’Inferno  (Italy 1911) (8):  Surprisingly good screen adaptation of Dante's Inferno considering it is almost 100 years old although the contemporary pop soundtrack detracts from the drama rather than adds to it. The sets were imaginative (very much influenced by Dore's illustrations), the acting appropriately theatrical and the special effects and costumes were pretty impressive for 1911. Some familiarity with Dante's epic poem as well as medieval cosmology in general would certainly help the viewer understand what was being shown. I thoroughly enjoyed it and would recommend it to anyone with a serious interest in the history of film.

Innocence  (France 2004) (7):  A somber fairytale about the arcane mysteries and small terrors of growing up. Through the use of muted colours and dark shadows, Hadzihalilovic maintains an air of vague foreboding.....an atmosphere that is further enhanced by a surprisingly talented cast of children. The final scene of muted eroticism was especially well done. This would make a great companion piece to "Picnic at Hanging Rock". Remarkable!

In Praise of Older Women (Canada 1978) (3): So this is the film that caused so much furor...and a near riot...when it premiered at the Toronto International Film Festival?! All I saw was a tepid and not particularly funny sex comedy about a horny young boy with a fetish for older women who becomes an even hornier adolescent and, finally, a lecherous adult. The movie could be shown in any order however, since the character of Vayda remains static throughout. While there is evidence of growth in the women he meets (they grow tired of him) he seems forever locked in some masturbatory fantasy as he shamelessly humps the leg of anything forty-ish and female. The film goes nowhere and has nothing to say; the acting is terrible, the script is dull, and the direction uninspired. As for those “controversial” sex scenes which got the movie in trouble with the Ontario censors 30 years ago, I suppose Kaczender was aiming for softcore eroticism but they came across as bland and mechanical instead; just a lot of poorly lit T&A with occasional glimpses of Tom Berenger’s little flaccid dink. Not even viagra could get this one off the ground.

In The Dust Of The Stars (Germany 1976) (4): Made by East Germany’s famous DEFA studios in the waning years of the Berlin Wall it isn’t difficult to find parallels between this fictitious story of extraterrestrial oppression and the socialist rhetoric of the ruling GDR. While investigating an interstellar distress signal originating from Tem 4, a desolate planet of dusty deserts and ancient lava flows, the crew of the starship Cynro are forced to make an emergency landing due to a mysterious power surge. The humanoid Temians at first greet their would-be rescuers with open arms yet flatly deny ever having sent an SOS in the first place. Not content with the aliens’ pat answers to their questions the astronauts decide to do a little undercover detective work which eventually lands them right in the middle of a colonial uprising between the Temian overlords and the planet’s oppressed natives, the Turi. As tension between the two factions reaches its crisis point it takes an act of selfless, one could almost say Christ-like, sacrifice to finally overthrow the shackles of capitalist oppression. Although woefully lacking in grandeur (and acting, and special effects, and script...) Dust nevertheless tries to compensate with pure cheesy glitter. The glossy sets are right out of Studio 54, the costumes were obviously designed by an ABBA fan club, and there is even a bit of gratuitous nudity, communist-style. A hedonistic (read: Western) disco party-cum-orgy complete with psychedelic genie costumes and aerosolized drugs proves to be the film’s only hight point although the theme song, an ethereal female chorale, is rather pretty. Recommended for those with an interest in camp retro Eastern bloc science fiction movies; all three of you.

Into the Wild (USA 2007) (7): Poor little rich boy becomes pretentious hippy in Sean Penn’s overly preachy but well meaning biopic.  The film is based on the life of Chris McCandless who, shortly after graduating with honours, decided to reject his parents’ middle class materialism and “live off the land” instead.  To achieve this goal he gave his life savings to charity, burned the contents of his wallet and changed his name.  After wandering from one end of the country to the other eking out a living doing menial labour he finally achieved his goal of   escaping into the Alaskan wilderness.  Unfortunately he soon realized that a few paperback books and a cocky attitude were not sufficient supplies when facing the harsh realities of arctic survival.  When the movie attempts to turn McCandless into some kind of modern day folk hero it fails….despite his education he was a clueless kid who could  deliver a verbose lecture on the evils of capitalism yet displayed a reckless stupidity when it came to making life decisions.  Where the film worked for me however, were those times it concentrated on the tragic elements of his life.  We are presented with an emotionally disturbed young man whose personal demons dogged him on every step of his journey.  He sought solace in isolation, sadly cutting himself off not only from his family but also from every kind soul who attempted to assist him.  Perhaps the film’s greatest strength lies in its uniformly excellent acting especially Emile Hirsch’s powerhouse performance as Chris and a deeply moving cameo from Hal Holbrook.  A troubling film about a troubled young man.

Iphigenia (Greece 1976) (10): Ancient history and classical mythology meld beautifully in this magnificent production based on Euripides’ sad tale of king Agamemnon. When his brother’s wife, the infamous Helen, is abducted by Paris of Troy, Agamemnon is chosen to lead the Greek city states in what was to become the Trojan War. Gathering at the port of Aulis the vast army awaits a favourable breeze in order to launch their thousand ships when one of the king’s men accidentally kills a sacred deer in the forest of Artemis during an ill-fated hunting expedition. For his punishment Agamemnon is informed by the goddess’ oracle that no fair wind will blow until he sacrifices his eldest daughter, Iphigenia. Torn between his crushing sense of duty and his deep love for Iphigenia, he reluctantly summons the girl to Aulis on the pretext that she is to be married to the great hero, Achilles. Expecting her to journey alone he is shocked when an entire wedding party, led by his headstrong wife Clytemnestra, arrives to celebrate the upcoming nuptials instead. But when Achilles and the queen discover the truth, Agamemnon’s troubles have just begun. Director Cacoyannis distances himself from all the bloodletting and male posturing common to the “swords and sandals” genre and instead delivers a fiercely emotional epic which rests squarely on the shoulders of his three main leads. As the outraged Clytemnestra, Irene Papas burns up the screen with an intensity that brings you to tears even as you flinch. Costa Kazakos makes you feel every wrenching pain of Agamemnon’s personal hell and Tatiana Papamoskou, only 13 at the time, throws herself into the role of the titular heroine with a heartbreaking mixture of childlike innocence and terrified dismay. Although firmly rooted in reality (there are no flying horses or horned satyrs here) Iphigenia nevertheless contains scenes of pure poetry; a furious Clytemnestra confronts her husband in a room littered with the trappings of war, the smoke from a burning altar partially obscures a phalanx of dark-robed priests, and a flotilla of warships lights up a midnight sea. Many scenes are shot using actual ruins as backdrops while acres of haggard soldiers in tarnished armor lend an air of authenticity to the story which belies its quasi-mythological origins. Beautifully written, beautifully imagined.

The Iron Rose (France 1973) (5):  Jean Rollin toys with our innate fears of death and the dark in this macabre little tale of young lovers trapped in a cemetery overnight.  As the story opens our sweethearts are looking for a quiet place for an afternoon tryst and the local graveyard seems like the perfect spot with its sunny trails and secluded crypts.  But time flies when you’re having fun and before they know it the sun has set and the front gates have been locked.  What seemed like a romantic idyll during the day has now become a Stygian maze filled with noxious mists and strange half-glimpsed shapes.  There are no zombies crawling out of graves here, just the preternatural silence and two highly overactive (and slightly unhinged) imaginations...  Rollin does use some interesting imagery to illustrate how death exists even in the midst of life:  a lively wedding reception becomes quiet when a guest recites a poem about suicide; as our two lovers enter the cemetery the man quotes a passage from Dante’s Inferno while a barking dog and flat trumpet provide a discordant requiem; and a quiet walk along the seashore takes on a funereal pall when the eponymous rose washes up on the beach.  In one particularly theatrical memento mori, the protagonists share a desperate embrace in an open grave filled with skulls.  Sadly, despite some intriguing scenes and a very creepy finale, The Iron Rose is just too full of itself to be truly effective.  The ponderous script with its jarring cuts and overblown dialogue seems like a parody at times, the lighting is too stagy, the acting too exaggerated, and the girlfriend’s “cemetery dance” sequence ends up looking like a really bad Bjork video.  What could have been a great film is ultimately undone by its own art house excesses.  Pity.

Ivan Vasilievich: Back to the Future (Russia 1973) (6): Mild-mannered genius Alexander Timofeyev has built a time machine in his modest Moscow apartment much to the consternation of his neighbours who complain about the constant power outages his experiments cause. On top of that his gorgeous wife is leaving him for a film director and the apartment manager seems intent on making his life miserable. But when he finally takes his invention for a test spin things go from bad to worse in ways he had never imagined. Opening a portal to 16th century Russia he inadvertently “kidnaps” the infamous tsar, Ivan the Terrible, while at the same time sending his apartment manager, also named Ivan, and a hapless cat burglar back to the Tsar’s palace. What follows is a series of gags based on culture clashes, mistaken identities (both Ivans are played by the same actor), and subtle jabs at communism and religion. Director Leonid Gaidai’s cast obviously have a great deal of fun as they throw themselves into character with wild abandon. Using slapstick, improvisation, and chase sequences right out of Benny Hill they almost succeed in pulling off what could have been a burlesque send-up of Eisenstein’s sober 2-part epic. There are a few nice touches along the way: Repin’s painting of Ivan and his Son hangs prominently in Alexander’s apartment; funky 70s fashions, soviet-style, abound; and a very silly song & dance sequence near the end reminded me of a similar scene in Python’s Holy Grail. Many of the jokes fall flat however, at least to western audiences, and the production values leave much to be desired. Furthermore Gaidai, perhaps not knowing how to end this increasingly ridiculous farce, resorts to one of cinema’s most clichéd and overused devices. Fun to watch if not exactly memorable, but the cat is priceless!

Jackass 2.5  (USA 2007) (4):  It would appear that the drugs, booze, and fart sniffing are finally catching up to the Jackass gang.  In the interviews they’re looking a little grayer, a bit more desiccated, but definitely no wiser.  The pranks themselves are nothing more than a collection of outtakes and surplus footage from their previous movies.  It’s enough to make you laugh a few times if you’re in like-minded company, smile a few times if you’re alone, or just sit there self-conscious and embarrassed while your highly judgmental boyfriend slowly shakes his head and stares at you sadly.  I guess the party’s over.

Jezebel (USA 1938) (6½):  Bette Davis plays Julie, a headstrong southern belle who is blessed with more balls than brains in this sumptuous period piece set in antebellum Louisiana.  Her insistence that she be at the centre of everyone’s universe eventually leads to her downfall as she alienates herself not only from her family and social circles, but the only two men who ever loved her including Preston her sometime fiancé.  She eventually learns the error of her ways however and in the end we see a humbled and contrite Julie go from wildcat to ministering angel as an outbreak of yellow fever ravages the streets of New Orleans.  Wyler presents us with a picture postcard of a film filled with genteel stereotypes whether it be impeccably dressed gentlemen dueling at dawn or contented slaves ready to belt out a rousing spiritual at the drop of a manacle.  The sets and costumes are painstakingly authentic and the musical score, while subdued, is perfectly synched to the onscreen action.  There is even a hint of Dantean imagery as we see a cloaked Julie barging across a fetid river in order to walk among the plague victims.  Unfortunately, when you eliminate the grandiose sets and hoop skirts you’re left with little more than a one-hankie tearjerker, which lacks any profound depth.  Still, the acting is wonderful especially Davis’ Oscar-winning performance and the B&W cinematography beautifully rendered.  Entertaining, if not challenging.

Joe (USA 1970) (7):  A proper white collar executive comes face to face with his darker half in the form of a slovenly loudmouthed bigot in this rather heavy-handed look at the backside of the American dream. Boyle manages to portray the titular cretin with venomous abandon despite a script rife with oversimplified stereotypes (think of Archie Bunker with rabies) while the rest of the cast put in adequate performances especially Audrey Caire as the executive's class-conscious trophy wife. With its overbearing use of symbolism and occasional vitriolic rants, "Joe" is about as subtle as a baseball bat to the kidneys......but it provides an interesting example of how Hollywood interpreted the death of the 60s. Worth a look

Judgment Day: Intelligent Design on Trial (USA 2007) (8): It’s been almost 90 years since the infamous Scopes “Monkey Trial” in Tennessee and one thing has become quite clear; right wing bible-thumpers are an evolutionary dead end. This fascinating documentary focuses on the furor generated in Dover, Pennsylvania after certain Christian elements on the school board tried to sneak the religious nonsense of Intelligent Design (old-school Creationism wearing a new, secular hat) into highschool biology classes. When a group of concerned parents and science teachers cried “foul” the already hazy separation between church and state came under renewed attack leaving angry rhetoric, death threats and vandalism in its wake. The case eventually went to court with the “Darwinists” presenting an excellent argument using facts, research data and documented evidence to dispel the airy speculation and pseudo-science of the “Creationists”; the verbatim reenactments using original court transcripts are fascinating. Things are not so clearly delineated however as the director points out the fact that many of the parents and professors resisting this sinister encroachment of Christian fundamentalist claptrap into their school’s curriculum are themselves active Christians. So, is Intelligent Design merely a controversial theory meant to challenge Darwin’s ideas thereby inviting open discussion and discovery? Or is it the thin edge of a wedge meant to usher in a new era of scientific thought based on biblical teaching? Google “Dark Ages” and decide for yourself.

Kind Hearts and Coronets (UK 1949) (9):  Imagine an Agatha Christie novel written by Oscar Wilde and you’ll get some idea of what to expect from this highly entertaining satire on the skewed morality of Britain’s landed gentry.  A young man, distant heir to a vast estate, barely ekes out a living doing menial jobs.  His wealthy relatives have effectively denied him his rightful place in the family due to the fact his father was a “commoner”.  Obsessed with revenge he plans to get even with all involved by claiming the title of Duke for himself....even if he has to murder everyone that stands between him and his goal.  As each one of his relatives dies mysteriously his station in life rises accordingly until he finally has the family estate within his grasp.  We know things don’t go exactly as planned however since, from the outset, we realize the entire film is being told in flashback on the eve of his execution.  To say more would be a disservice to anyone wishing to experience this brilliant film for the first time.  The script displays a savage wit that the actors are more than capable of delivering, Alec Guiness is especially good as he plays every member of the doomed D’Ascoyne clan, and the wonderfully ambivalent ending had us laughing out loud.  Great fun!

Kismet (USA 1955) (7): This wonderfully brainless confection, part Arabian Nights part Wizard of Oz, follows the adventures of a penniless poet as he finagles his way into the grand Caliph’s court thanks to a case of mistaken identity and several fortuitous coincidences. Unfortunately his new-found fame threatens to derail his daughter’s dream of marrying her one true love...the Caliph himself! With its gorgeous technicolour sets and elaborate costumes Kismet is visually arresting, think of ancient Persia as interpreted by Hanna-Barbara. Furthermore the jazzy song and dance numbers are pure camp; musical theatre just doesn’t get much gayer than this unless you throw Doris Day into the mix. A bright breezy marshmallow of a film filled with beautiful singing and romantic silliness; it may not challenge your intellect but it’ll put a smile on your face just the same. And Howard Keel’s broad shoulders and deep baritone are sexy as hell!

Lake of Fire (USA 2006) (9): Tony Kaye’s 2½ hour documentary on the abortion debate is as thorough and even-handed an examination of this divisive topic as you’re likely to find. Using crisp B&W cinematography and a dynamic editing style that affords equal time to his vast assembly of passionate talking heads, he refuses to join in the fray. Setting his camera up as passive observer instead, he remains silent while both sides of the issue wave their individual flags. Personally I found it difficult not to pass judgement on some of the more hostile elements of the “anti” side; their twisted, often contradictory rhetoric punctuated by vehement proselytizing as they compare abortion providers to Satan and Hitler. Many are seen to condone violence, intimidation and ever murder to get their pro-life message across while at the same time patently refusing to acknowledge the roles of contraception, education and social reform in reducing the incidence of unplanned pregnancy. As one professor of bioethics observes, abortion monomania is merely the thin edge of the wedge for conservative Christian reformers whose ultimate goal is to replace the Constitution with biblical law by whatever means necessary. Even Norma McCorvey, the original Jane Roe in Roe vs. Wade, is shown taking up the “Right to Life” cause after a life-altering experience. But it’s when the film focuses on the middle ground that we hear the most compelling arguments from both sides. As philosophers, lawmakers, and ministers struggle to define what constitutes human life and where the reproductive rights of women should begin and end, we follow one woman as she decides to terminate an unwanted pregnancy; a powerful and sobering experience that puts a human face to what is often reduced to an abstract argument. Be forewarned though, Kaye does not shy away from using graphic imagery to jolt the viewer whether it’s a dismembered fetus lying in a pan of blood or the corpse of a doctor gunned down in a parking lot. Far from being macabre exploitation, these scenes are designed to keep you involved in the debate and provide an unsettling counterpoint to the various onscreen arguments. No matter what your personal stand on abortion may be, Lake of Fire will challenge you both viscerally and intellectually. Exactly what a documentary is supposed to do.

Land of the Lost (USA 2009) (6): When Prof. Rick Marshall infuriates the halls of academia by claiming to have designed a machine which allows people to travel sideways in time he quickly finds himself demoted to elementary school science teacher. Bitter, penniless and developing an unhealthy relationship with fast food, his life seems to be headed for total obscurity until Anna, a former student, gives him the courage to complete his “tachyon amplifier” and take it out for a field test. Looking like a cross between a jet pack and a decorative boom box (it has the complete soundtrack to A Chorus Line on its hard drive) the device ends up working a little too well, sending Rick and Anna to an alternate universe along with a clueless redneck who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. The trio find themselves on a strange desert planet, a kind of inter-dimensional crossroads where smart-ass dinosaurs and fuzzy apemen cavort amongst an odd array of terrestrial artifacts; rusted cars, abandoned motels, and a Golden Gate Bridge partially submerged in sand dunes. But when they stumble upon an army of demented lizard people bent on conquering the galaxy they quickly find themselves pawns in a high-stakes power struggle. Normally I avoid anything that headlines Will Ferrell, but I must admit this foolish little comedy far surpassed my expectations, modest as they were. The visual gags are pretty good, the dialogue surprisingly witty, and the cheesy special effects compliment the rather juvenile humour perfectly; whether its a tacky neoprene lizard suit or the planet itself which seems composed entirely of rejected sets from Jurassic Park and Star Wars. A send-up of the “Today” show, complete with Matt Lauer cameo, was especially well done. Perhaps I’m just being uncharacteristically lenient, but sometimes “stupid” can be a good thing.

Largo Viaje (Chile 1967) (5): Apparently there is a belief in some Latin American countries that stillborn infants fly to heaven and become instant angels. To celebrate this occasion their little bodies are dressed up with paper wings and a solemn wake takes place which often turns into a drunken revelry. When his baby brother is born dead a young child is confused by the odd mixture of joy and grief which follows; as his mother suffers in silence, friends and neighbours become increasingly intoxicated leading to much vulgar groping and half-hearted brawls. The next day the little boy is horrified to discover his father has taken the tiny casket across town to the churchyard leaving the ornamental wings behind; how is his brother going to fly to heaven without them? Setting out on his own to try and find his dad, the child comes face to face with some of the modern world’s harsher realities. From crooked preachers and drunken delinquents to cynical prostitutes and (irony of ironies) raucous trade unionists the tiny tyke gets into one scrape after another while desperately trying to hold on to a pair of paper wings that always seem to escape his grasp. Some of the imagery in Kaulen’s little morality play is quite powerful, whether it’s a group of privileged gentry taking sport in shooting pigeons or a grief-stricken father carrying his baby’s coffin onto a city bus. Unfortunately the film is all but destroyed by horrific acting (badly dubbed in Spanish), unintelligible subtitles and an acute lack of effective directing. His religious lessons are less than subtle as he bombards us with heavy-handed symbolism including endless flocks of dirty pigeons and the elusive papery pinions. The result is a poorly edited undisciplined mess filled with subplots going nowhere, self-conscious performances and a vague feeling of incompleteness. An appropriately sober finale did little to dispel my disappointment.

Lars and the Real Girl (USA 2007) (4): Lars is a painfully withdrawn loner living in his brother and sister-in-law’s garage. Despite his gentle manner you get the impression he suffers from some severe emotional damage: he has no friends, his conversations consist of one or two sentences, and a simple touch sends him racing for cover. People are forever trying to get him to come out of his shell; his sister-in-law even tackles him in the driveway just to deliver a simple dinner invitation. All this changes one winter day when he begins dating “Bianca”, a life-sized sex doll he ordered on the internet. Not only does he invent an elaborate history for it (Swedish-Brazilian descent, raised by nuns, strictly religious) but he begins taking it to parties where the two of them engage in loving one-way conversations. At first shocked by his aberrant behaviour, his brother listens to the the advice of the compassionate town therapist (a saintly Patricia Clarkson) and accepts Bianca as part of the family, even setting a place for it at the dinner table. As the good doctor helps Lars come to terms with the reasons for his delusion the townsfolk adopt the sex aid as one of their own; giving it a part-time job as a window model, bringing it to visit sick kids, and even electing it to the board of education. Of course, with the spring thaw comes a healing breakthrough involving tears and dewy-eyed close-ups as Lars begins to discover real girls... Despite some great performances this “inflatable-chick” flick is a manipulative one-joke weeper that takes a cute idea and runs it into the ground; the ending is almost too embarrassing to watch. All those quirky characters and homespun wisdom are just so much fluff designed to make the movie look less ridiculous than it really is. Perhaps Gillespie was aiming for the same idiosyncratic charm as Fargo, but all he delivers is a nauseatingly saccharine musing on the curative power of insanity. Uggh!

Last Life in the Universe (Thailand 2003) (9):  Despite its decidedly unhappy protagonists there is an unwavering sense of optimism in Pen-Ek Ratanaruang’s delightful film that offers a ray of sunlight even in the darkest moments.  It concerns Kenji, a lonely, somewhat neurotic Japanese ex-pat living in Bangkok who spends his spare time meticulously arranging his apartment (even his shoes are filed according to day) and making half-hearted attempts at suicide.  One day, while contemplating jumping off a bridge, he witnesses a car accident in which a young girl is killed.  Thus begins his tentative relationship with Noi, the girl’s older sister and his opposite in almost every respect....whereas his life is obsessively ordered and devoid of any spontaneity, hers is bordering on chaos....yet both characters are desperately alone, drifting through their lives without direction.  But even as they hesitantly gravitate towards one another elements from their past threaten to destroy what little happiness they’ve gained.  Ratanaruang uses his character’s contrasting personalities to full effect presenting us with a quirky tale of two lost souls in search of balance.  He injects his film with a wonderfully dry humour and just a touch of magic thanks in large part to Chris Doyle’s imaginative camerawork and some amazing performances from the two leads.  The gracefully downplayed finale was pure poetry.

Laura (USA 1944) (8):  With its somewhat facile plot and curt dialogue this dark and moody tale of a homicide detective who begins to fall in love with the portrait of a murdered woman would be unable to stand up to close scrutiny.  Thankfully it doesn’t have to.  “Laura” is a magnificently overdone noir classic filmed in rich shades of B&W and featuring all the conventions of that genre which we’ve come to know and love including a hauntingly evocative musical score.  Part policier and part shadowy romance, with chills, shocks, and just enough red herrings to keep you busy.  Tierney and Andrews are perfectly paired as they slowly seduce each other....never has a simple peck on the mouth held such erotic potential......and the supporting cast is wonderful.  They really don’t make ‘em like this anymore.

The Lickerish Quartet (Italy 1970) (4): In an extravagantly appointed castle atop a hillside a jaded 40-something couple and their secretive young son while away the hours watching crude B&W stag films and making derisive comments on the “type” of women that would stoop to such behaviour. It seems cruel mind games and bitter reproaches are de rigueur with this wealthy little triad until one day they spot a woman at a carnival who bears a striking resemblance to one of the porn actresses they’ve been drooling over. Upon bringing her home they soon discover the tables turned against them as the young Bohemian acts as both a moral catalyst causing them to examine the petty lies and hypocrisies that make up their lives, and a sexually liberating goddess who guides the couple in exorcising their private demons while helping the son overcome his religious guilt. Or something like that. There is certainly an element of European arthouse sleaze at work behind all the pretentious banter and jiggling breasts though. Full of annoying 8 mm flashbacks, bad paintings, and cheesy theological imagery you get the feeling that Metzger bit off more than we are willing to chew as he tries to examine issues of love and identity within the framework of a softcore nudie. There are some nice touches along the way however; one particular stag film morphs into a series of repressed wartime memories for mom, while dad and the mysterious woman screw on a library floor made up of oversized dictionary pages with words such as “phallus” and “fornicate” figuring prominently. But in the end it’s just camp, corny and outrageously overblown; a sterling example of mental masturbation at its worst.

The Little Foxes (USA 1941) (8): Lillian Hellman’s hard-hitting play about avarice and corruption in a wealthy southern family circa 1900 leaps effortlessly onto the big screen thanks to a convincing cast and seamless direction. When a yankee entrepreneur decides to invest in a cotton mill for their small town, the three Hubbard siblings, Regina, Oscar and Ben, are only too happy to enter into what promises to be a very lucrative partnership. With cheap, exploitable labour and free water access guaranteed by the governor the greedy trinity have only to provide the remaining capital to cement the deal. Unfortunately Regina’s estranged husband controls her purse strings and being a man of honour he refuses to back any venture which takes advantage of the poor and defenseless. With their dreams of wealth and power thus threatened, the Hubbards quickly prove that they are willing to stoop to any depths in order to get what they want, no matter who gets hurt in the process. Director William Wyler doesn’t miss a single nuance in Hellman’s brilliant script; beneath the cultured niceties and layers of pancake make-up there is an aura of wickedness and decay in the Hubbard household as brothers and sister growl and snap at each other while Regina’s frail husband clings desperately to his values and her young daughter suddenly finds herself at a moral crossroads. Bette Davis is superb as Regina, a venom-spitting cobra with puppy dog eyes. Her restrained performance gives us a character who is ruthless yet terribly vulnerable; even in the midst of her vitriolic tirades we catch brief glimpses of helpless rage and immense tragedy. But it is Patricia Collinge as Aunt Birdie, Oscar’s browbeaten wife whose family once owned the plantation which the Hubbards now claim as their own, who gives the film its soul. Ignored, mocked, and ridiculed at every turn her pathetic attempts to regain the respectability she once enjoyed is the very essence of faded southern gentility in the years following the Civil War. As one black servant succinctly sums it up, “There are those who’d eat the world...and those who’d just sit and watch.” It’s these prophetic words, later paraphrased with ominous overtones by Ben Hubbard, which give this 70-year old drama an uncomfortably contemporary feel.

The Living Dead At Manchester Morgue (Spain 1974) (6):  When the British government experiments with “ultrasonic radiation” to control agricultural pests they inadvertently raise a crop of hungry zombies instead.  It’s up to the owner of a head shop and a reluctant female motorist to convince the authorities that it’s breakfast time at the morgue and everyone’s on the menu.  Despite the silly title this is actually a decent early entry in the zombie flick genre.  The gore effects are appropriately grisly and there are some pretty tense scenes.  Of course, as with all these films, there are some unintentionally funny moments....I especially liked the motorist’s heroin-addicted sister tweaking on the sofa and the evil sociopathic baby.  I prefer my undead a bit more decomposed though, the make-up in this film seemed to consist mainly of white face powder and novelty red contact lenses.  Still worth the price of admission!

Lucker The Necrophagous (Belgium 1986) (2):  Even though its production values are not as polished as “Nekromantik”, this tale of an escaped lunatic who enjoys having sex with the decomposing bodies of his victims certainly delivers on the gross-out factor.  The question is, does the world really need another stag film for psychopathic necrophiles?

M (Germany 1931) (8): Originally banned by the Nazis, Fritz Lang’s darkly brooding tale of a murderous pedophile, part policier, part social critique, has lost none of its bite in the intervening years. Peter Lorre gives his greatest performance as Hans Beckert, a painfully withdrawn young man compelled to kill children by his “darker half”. As the body count grows and the police remain baffled the public becomes increasingly agitated while the local newspaper cashes in on the fear with one sensationalistic headline after another. Even the city’s criminal underground is spurred into action as the increased police presence begins to threaten both their livelihood and their “good” reputation. Ironically it is the villains who seem to have not only the resources and manpower to catch the killer but the strategic know-how as well. Their efforts eventually lead to an ingenious game of cat & mouse in an empty office building that culminates in a most fantastic trial by jury. Lang’s gorgeous B&W photography and severe camera angles lend a sense of hyperreality to the film’s Kafkaesque industrial landscapes. In addition there are a few beautifully executed tracking shots, one that actually goes between two floors, that were highly innovative for the time. The murders themselves, though never shown, are made painfully real by the most innocuous of images; an abandoned ball, a child’s balloon tangled in power lines or an empty place setting at a dinner table. As a crime drama it is fascinating to watch the devices of modern detective work...circa 1931. But the film’s true strength lies in the way it chronicles the effect of the murders on an entire society; from the mayor’s office right down to the common pickpocket. A form of mass paranoia erupts in which vigilantism replaces law and an innocent conversation with a child leads to hysterical accusations. The tortured Beckert himself, clueless and mentally ill, is used to illustrate this capricious nature of mob justice. Thoroughly modern themes for such an old film.

Magnificent Obsession (USA 1954) (7): When ill-mannered millionaire playboy Bob Merrick (a convincingly hetero Rock Hudson) crashes his racing boat the paramedics tie up the town’s only resuscitator in order to revive him. Of course this is the exact time that the saintly Dr. Phillips, local hero and benefactor, decides to have a heart attack and dies for want of the same resuscitator. Overcome with guilt, Merrick becomes haunted by the good doctor’s memory whether it’s in the form of a half-finished portrait, or his widow’s accusing stares (Jane Wyman, beautifully victimized). His desperate attempts to make amends inadvertently lead to yet another disaster which leaves the poor woman permanently blinded. This is when he becomes involved with a mysterious friend of the Phillips family who indoctrinates him into a secretive mystical order; apparently when the late doctor was not busy walking on water he made a cult out of tapping into the power of the universe by doing anonymous good deeds. As he woos the blind widow using an assumed identity, Merrick decides to turn his life around and devote himself to the betterment of others; he even returns to medical school and graduates with honours. But can he ever repay his debt to the woman he loves? Sirk has outdone himself with this sudsy weeper. It is awash with rich vibrant colours, impassioned performances and a lush musical score complete with heavenly choir. His odd mixture of romantic melodrama and Christian voodoo may not always gel, but he embellishes it with so much froth you hardly notice. I suppose you could read all sorts of meaning into the film’s outrageous plot: how blindness takes many forms from the physical to the metaphysical; how averting one’s eyes from the baser trappings of human nature leads to a clearer spiritual vision; or how our sense of reality changes when familiar elements are removed from their usual context. There is certainly enough symbolism in Sirk’s use of shadows, doorways and windows and he wraps it all up in so much religious hocus-pocus, including a mock witch-burning. I chose to watch it as a magnificently overdone soap opera instead, and as such it was pure joy!

Mamma Roma (Italy 1962) (8): Anna Magnani is brilliant in Pasolini’s heartbreaking story of a former prostitute desperately trying to give her son the life she never had. First married to a man decades her senior while still a teenager, then victimized by a brutal pimp, “Mamma Roma” endured years of shame and privation yet managed to survive by sheer force of will. Now eking out a living as a vegetable vendor in a backwater village she dreams of saving her son from a life of small town delinquency by moving to an upscale apartment in Rome; a dream thrown into turmoil when her ex-pimp comes knocking at the door. Although firmly rooted in Italian neorealism, Pasolini nevertheless manages to throw in some very clever camerawork which, along with a melancholic score of classical Vivaldi, gives his film the highly formalized feel of a religious epic; a series of long tracking shots following Mamma Roma as she strolls past assorted johns while waxing eloquent on everything from motherhood to the legacy of Mussolini were especially notable. There is a finely balanced symmetry at work here as the story shifts from the mean streets of rural Italy to the cleaner, though no less mean, streets of modern Rome. While the old apartment faces a barren cemetery filled with concrete headstones, the new one overlooks the faded glory of crumbling ruins; yet in both settings one is all too aware of the ubiquitous dust that seems to cover everything. True to his roots, Pasolini doesn’t miss an opportunity to take a few jabs at God, or rather the ritualized hypocrisy of the church whether it’s a sobering interpretation of the Madonna & Child, a trio of pigs crashing a wedding banquet, or a passionate quotation from Dante’s Inferno. But, above all, this is a sad tale of one headstrong mother’s refusal to accept what life has given her. “The evil you do is like a highway the innocent have to walk down...” she states at one point; words that culminate in one of cinema’s most tragic final scenes.

Mau Mau Sex Sex (USA 2001) (2):  Managers of early grind house cinemas used to plaster their theatres with lurid posters detailing all manners of outrageous x-rated delights in order to sell tickets.  The actual movies themselves would inevitably fall far short of these advertised claims.  Sort of like this documentary.  You pop in the DVD expecting a fun and campy look back at the heyday of sexploitation flicks.  What you get instead is an extended episode of “Grumpy Old Men” in which a few brief film clips are lost among long tedious scenes of Dan and David arguing with each other...watching TV...playing cards...talking about their prostates and dredging up obscure memories that no one cares about.  Pretty damn boring to be honest.  At least the theatrical trailers in the “extras” section are somewhat funny.

Meet The Spartans (USA 2008) (2): An unforgivably sophomoric attempt to spoof the film 300 with hunky Sean Maguire leading a cast of waxed eye candy through a tedious succession of trashy jokes, corny puns and feeble visual gags. Some of the lower points include an impromptu dance-off where the Persian army gets served by the plucky Spartans, a mindless Grand Theft Auto sendup, and an excruciatingly bad American Idol finale. As if that wasn’t enough to insult our intelligence we’re also treated to cheap product placements and an endless array of crappy fake celebrity cameos. What little humour there is occurs more by accident than design and is limited to the first 10 minutes. Finally, not content to let this travesty die at 75 minutes, the directors just had to sprinkle the closing credits with deleted scenes which, believe it or not, were too awful to leave in the actual movie. Not even sharp enough for the 12-and-under crowd.

Michael Clayton (USA 2007) (8):  Michael Clayton is a janitor of sorts.  He’s a company lawyer who specializes in clearing the names of guilty clients as long as they have the cash to pay for it.  It’s not that he’s an evil man, but his personal values are often forced to take a backseat to the financial pressures imposed by his messy divorce, failed business venture, and expensive gambling addiction.  His professional life is a high-pressured mix of dubious ethics and legal loopholes aimed more at maximizing  company profits than insuring justice is done.  But when one of his esteemed colleagues suffers a mental meltdown it jars him out of his own moral paralysis and he is forced to confront the creature he has become.  This is a brutal and despairing film that is as infuriating as it is mesmerizing.  Shot in somber hues of blue and grey it presents us with a bleak corporate landscape filled with lost souls and an all-consuming hunger...for money, for power, for prestige.  Yet there are unexpected moments of purity amidst the debris; the plot of a child’s fantasy novel provides a mystical subtext to the main story  for instance, and Clayton’s sudden epiphany on a mist-shrouded hillside has an undeniable spiritual intensity to it.  When the ending came it was not unexpected, but I found myself on the edge of my seat just the same.  Michael Clayton may not be a unique film but it is written with great style and intelligence, not to mention the wonderful performances.  Very well done.

Milk (USA 2008) (9): Harvey Milk was a mild-mannered Jewish insurance salesman from New York who went on to become the first openly homosexual American to hold public office when he was elected to the San Francisco board of Supervisors. In doing so he not only advanced the cause of equality (both gay and non-gay) but also raised the ire of religious bigots and their uber-conservative mouthpieces, Anita Bryant and John Briggs. You can’t justify the unjustifiable armed with nothing but hatred and a few bible quotes however and the attempts of the fledgling moral majority to consign gays to the back of the bus only served to galvanize the community further. Sadly, his career came to a sudden end when fellow Supervisor Dan White, a troubled man with an inferiority complex the size of California, murdered him, along with Mayor George Moscone. Van Sant eschews his usual enigmatic approach and presents us with a straightforward, beautifully polished story told in one continuous flashback as Harvey sits at his kitchen table recording his memoirs “in case of assassination”. Through the seamless use of archival footage, incidental music, and vintage clothing he manages to evoke a sense of time and place, which, while remaining authentic to the era, conveys a sense of immediacy that hasn’t dimmed in 30 years. Sean Penn gives what could well be his greatest performance to date, aided in large part by a tremendous supporting cast, most notably Josh Brolin’s passionate portrayal of the cowardly White. Milk is an inspiring testament to the life of a great visionary, delivered with the force of a classical tragedy and made all the more moving by the fact he was an actual person. Essential viewing.

The Milky Way (France 1969) (6): Bunuel’s sly rumination on the pointlessness of theological debate is as convoluted and fantastical as its subject matter. Two modern day pilgrims, Peter and John (naturally), slowly make their way from France to the cathedral of Santiago de Campostela in Spain. Along the way their picaresque journey gives rise to several tangential storylines involving woodland orgies, religious swordfights, and a host of schoolgirls spouting Inquisition-style condemnations. The director’s acerbic wit is evident throughout as characters enter into increasingly ridiculous arguments over the nature of God, often contradicting themselves as they wallow in pools of dogmatic prattle while strategically placed barnyard sounds offer a sarcastic counterpoint. With a relatively small cast playing a variety of roles and a script that jumps haphazardly through time there is a disorienting feel to the film that may have been intentional but nevertheless tried my patience at times; it’s as if Bunuel tried to cram too many ideas into one small movie with a resultant theological overload. There remains much to ponder here however, even as you smirk and laugh. Oddly enough, although he was an avowed atheist Bunuel presents us with an engaging and very human Christ who downplays his miracles while stressing his message of love and charity. The Catholic church should be so progressive…

Mission Impossible III (USA 2006) (7):  It’s time to fasten your seatbelts as Captain Scientology speeds around the globe blowing things up from Rome to Shanghai in his relentless pursuit of the nefarious Mr. Davian.  Will he be able to save both the world AND the girl in time for the final credits?  Will Davian recover from his unfortunate fender bender?  Is this the final installment of the MI series?  Tom Cruise is in fine manic form as super agent Ethan Hunt but, unfortunately, Philip Seymour Hoffman is just too damn huggable to be taken seriously and his evil arch-villain comes across as a grumpy lil’ Easter bunny instead.   Still, MI-3 provides a rollicking good two hours worth of high-tech tomfoolery and I wouldn’t have changed a minute of it.

The Mist (USA 2007) (6): Frank Darabont’s haphazard screenplay, based on yet another Stephen King novella, tries to be too many things at once; sci-fi thriller, claustrophobic horror movie, psychological study, and pseudo-religious potboiler. Borrowing very heavily from such films as The Fog, Alien, and The Birds as well as some of the more esoteric writings of H. P. Lovercraft, it concerns a random group of people who seek refuge in the local supermarket when their town is besieged by a most unusual fog bank. It would appear the soupy mist is crawling with all sorts of unpleasantness, from big meat-eating bugs and screeching pterodactyls to huge nasty tentacled things resembling a cross between an octopus and a Venus flytrap. Of course there’s the usual assortment of King mainstays; hysterical women, hero jocks, a cute kid (the movie’s best performance) and, for good measure, a schizoid chick with messianic delusions (Marcia Gay Harden making a fool of herself). As the little band of consumers slowly become the consumed a few hatch a desperate escape plan while the rest succumb to the aimless ramblings of the crazy lady who assures them that the final days are at hand. To be fair, there are some amazing CGI effects and wild visuals in this film which had my skin crawling more than once. The pervasive mist is a wonderfully disorienting device that adds a macabre overtone to all those twisted, half-seen shapes slithering in and out of focus. But even if we forgive some of the film’s more blatantly illogical devices its underlying premise involving secret military mischief is just plain silly. Furthermore, Harden’s guru character is poorly written and her murderous tent revival subplot is harebrained at best. The film’s unexpectedly bleak ending, filled with horror and brutal irony, did come as a surprise though and was effectively paired with the mournful vocalizations of Dead Can Dance. But it was poor consolation for two hours worth of disappointment.

Mondays in the Sun (Spain 2002) (8):  This beautifully realized film plays like a road movie without the road....or the car...  When three buddies lose their jobs at the local shipyard they suddenly find themselves with too much time on their hands and too little money.  Even though they meet at the local pub every night to bullshit and cry on each others’ shoulders they go home to three different realities:  brusque Santa daydreams about the way things should be; grey-haired Lino feels the weight of his advancing years as he tries to compete with men half his age; and proud José feels emasculated every time his wife brings home her own paycheque.  It takes a friend’s sudden death to jar them out of their self-pitying rut....but is it enough to make them change?  Aranoa takes full advantage of his seaside locations with some clever maritime imagery, whether it’s a ferry going nowhere or a half-finished tanker rusting away in dry dock.  His characters are fully fleshed and human to a fault thanks in large part to a talented cast and an intelligent script that is alternately very funny and deeply affecting.  Two thumbs up!

Murder 101 (USA 1991) (2):  While teaching a class of wannabe authors the finer points of writing a thriller their professor gives them an unusual homework assignment.....plan the perfect murder.  But when he suddenly finds himself framed for a couple of homicides he begins to think that one of his pupils is taking things a little too far.  Could this have anything to do with the testimony he gave several years earlier that caused one of his colleagues to be sent to prison for murdering his wife.....a conviction the professor himself has some doubts about?  Will he be able to vindicate himself before the cops close in?  Will he be able to convince his ex-wife of his innocence AND win her back?  Who cares?  This is a mediocre excuse for a thriller that mixes a handful of the usual red herrings with a plot that is pretty much divorced from reality.  Condon then brings the whole mess to an unsatisfactory conclusion by throwing in a ludicrous twist that seems more like a lame apology to the audience than the terribly clever eye-opener it was obviously meant to be.  I’ve seen episodes of “Murder She Wrote” that were more engaging.

My Brilliant Career  (Australia 1979) (8):  A small intimate drama of one self-centred young woman's journey towards wisdom that plays like a grand epic....beautifully shot with first class performances all around. Armstrong displays a tremendous talent for creating a time and place, suffusing austere images of the Australian outback with golden light and muted colour reminiscent of old daguerrotype photos. She expertly weaves elements of nature into the story's narrative.....parched fields, dust storms and sudden cloudbursts....along with a sense of longing and muted eroticism that makes the movies final scenes all the more compelling. Well done

My Dinner with Andre (USA 1981) (8): The story is simplicity itself; pragmatic and under-employed playwright Wallace Shawn has a dinner date with his friend, the wildly successful (and decidedly eccentric) theatre director Andre Gregory. At first the two men exchange pleasantries and gossip until, with the arrival of dinner, the real conversation begins. Andre has been traveling the world, from Scottish communes to Himalayan temples, trying to define himself both mentally and spiritually. At first Wallace finds his friend’s wildly embellished stories amusing, his peculiar worldview a seemingly chaotic mix of new age philosophies and arty hedonism. But as the evening wears on Andre begins to hit a few raw nerves with Wallace leading to a rapid-fire intellectual debate over coffee which leaves both men with more questions than answers. Never straying far from intimate facial close-ups, Louis Malle doesn’t so much cast us as the proverbial fly on the wall but rather as silent dinner guests. As the conversation leaps from art to mortality to the elusive nature of reality itself you can’t help but be fascinated and, like myself, perhaps a little discomfited when the topic turns to love and relationships. Both men turn in flawless performances, especially Gregory’s longwinded monologue which never misses a beat or subtle nuance. Neither pretentious nor preachy, this is one meal you shouldn’t miss.

My Fair Lady (USA 1964) (6):  Audrey Hepburn and Rex Harrison were made for the parts of Eliza Doolittle and Henry Higgins in this wry look at the British class system.  Their onscreen chemistry is further enhanced by great sets, amazing costumes and one of the most recognizable collections of songs from any musical.  Unfortunately, three hours worth of cotton candy proved to be a bit much for me and I found my finger hovering over the “skip” button about halfway through.  A real treat for die-hard fans though.

My Winnipeg (Canada 2007) (6): Guy Maddin’s hallucinatory hodgepodge of half-formed ideas and vague recollections concerning his hometown of Winnipeg certainly challenges the concept of what a documentary should be. Presented as a highly visual stream of consciousness, it begins with the director nodding off on a train bound for Canada’s “coldest city”. As the rocking of the locomotive lulls him to sleep, the passing scenery transforms into a strange jumble of archival footage and personal memories; a waking dream which Maddin attempts to place in context using historical trivia and his own rather bad poetry. But unlike Sandburg’s unapologetic odes to big-shouldered Chicago, Maddin’s opus approaches its subject with a contradictory mixture of self-conscious pride, embarrassment, and repressed hostility. His Winnipeg is a pedestrian town of small dreams and “sleepwalkers”, where the past is constantly paved over and an epidemic of cultural amnesia seems to infect those unlucky enough to stay. Yet, conversely, there is also a grand history of pioneer toughness and civic activism which has been largely forgotten. Casting a woefully ineffectual group of amateurs to play his family in a series of fanciful flashbacks, we see how Maddin’s love-hate relationship with his hometown bears an uncanny resemblance to the ambivalent feelings he harbours towards his mother. It seems the tightly coiffed matriarch had the unnerving ability to read her children’s minds and often used what she found there to make their lives miserable; a talent Maddin dramatizes with humorous effect. From mock nazi invasions and mystical ice rinks to baffling ballet sequences and soviet-style propaganda films, My Winnipeg possesses a surreal charm that would have made a striking twenty or thirty minute short. Sadly, at eighty minutes it lacked both the kinetic energy and narrative cohesiveness to maintain my interest for the duration. In addition, the actors portrayed their characters with all the conviction of a really bad high school drama club. A deeply subjective and heartfelt little curiosity nonetheless.

Naked World (USA 2003) (6): Another documentary following artist Spencer Tunick as he tries to convince everyday people to pose nude for his avante-garde photographs. Unlike Naked States where he confined his shoots to America, this time he takes his camera around the world with stops in dozens of major cities including a surprisingly uptight Paris and even more surprisingly laid back London. Along the way we meet a few interesting people such as a hesitant gallery owner in St. Petersburg and a lively 70-year old poet in Cape Town as well as mobs of strangers, sometimes numbering several hundred, eager to disrobe in public for the sake of art. Some interesting philosophies of nudity gradually emerge; while a Parisian woman refers to public nakedness as “an assault”, one Russian artist muses on the “confrontation” between impersonal urban constructs and a very vulnerable human body. “In a capitalist society...” points out one disaffected Soviet citizen, “...you have a sense of MY body. Under socialism you don’t feel as if you own your body.” In Tokyo a model decries Japan’s corporate hive mentality which frowns on individual expression while in Brazil one woman describes an underlying sexist attitude towards female self-determination. For some then, baring oneself in public becomes a direct challenge to social order. For others it represents a vehicle to overcome personal shame as we see a woman learning to accept her AIDS-altered body while another timidly reveals the scarred shoulder and breast she received from a childhood accident. The photos themselves are often quite beautiful, with seas of naked flesh covering roads and fields or swirling en masse around public landmarks as if they were one organic entity. There is a sensual appeal to the images without the erotic fascination one would expect. But his greatest achievements, in my opinion, are the individual studies involving a single person or small group; a trio of self-conscious Japanese women stand defiantly in the middle of a road, a lone woman kneels with her back towards an orthodox church, and an elderly man proudly poses on a grassy hillside. Although the subject is fascinating, the delivery is strictly made-for-cable quality. Tunick lacks the onscreen charisma needed to keep the energy flowing and instead we are treated to a lot of nit-picking and whining. Better to simply google his works online.

The New York Ripper (Italy 1982) (5): A madman is stalking the streets of New York City quacking like a duck while making mincemeat out of his unfortunate female victims. Seriously, he quacks like a duck. The case eventually lands squarely in the lap of Lieutenant Fred Williams who, along with the killer’s lone survivor, races against the clock to try and prevent another hapless woman from becoming a statistic. But wading through the list of red herrings proves to be a monumental task: Is it the peep show perv with the missing fingers? The foot-humping rich bitch with a taste for Puerto Rican toes? The doctor with a tape recorder fetish? The closeted psychologist? Or the adorable mathematician with a tragic secret? Italian gore-meister Lucio Fulci’s notorious giallo slasher, made famous during Britain’s inane “video nasties” witch hunt, is a twisted mix of kinky sex and grisly carnage. It’s fun to see his mostly Italian cast and crew stumble through their terribly dubbed lines, a weak attempt at a Bronx accent is particularly lamentable, while trying to maintain an aura of mounting suspense which never quite materializes. The splatter effects are pretty good although North American audiences may balk at the “garter belts and stab wounds” aesthetic of sexualized violence; a prostitute’s close encounter with a razor blade is especially nasty. And the film’s resolution, in which killer and motive are revealed, leads to much head-scratching and eye-rolling. If you’re a fan of the genre you’ll eat it up; personally it’s a meal I could have done without. Quack quack.

Night Games (Nattlek) (Sweden 1966) (7):  Mai Zetterling’s brutal psychodrama about a grown man tormented by a history of childhood abuse is definitely not for the emotionally squeamish.  There is a raw, unrelenting intensity to her work, which may appear as artistic hubris to some but which I found completely engrossing.  The story concerns newly engaged Jan who brings his fiancée, Irene, home to the family estate.  The empty mansion holds nothing but bitter memories for Jan as he recalls the many traumas,  both sexual and emotional, he suffered at the hands of his abusive mother and her hedonistic friends.  These recollections threaten to overwhelm him and destroy his relationship with Irene before it can even start...a fate she is determined to prevent.  Zetterling plays with our sense of time, showing Jan as adult and child in scenes that seem to flow into one another.  She casts the mansion as a character unto itself, its many closed doors and dim hallways reflecting Jan’s increasingly troubled mind.  His home is a battlefield, both figuratively and literally, where firing squads practice on the front lawn and painful memories take the form of raucous houseguests who refuse to leave.  The very  concept of “mother” is fractured into three parts....Jan’s natural mother, a self-absorbed bohemian who treats him as an accessory much like the little clockwork bird she keeps in a cage; his elderly aunt who tries to nurture him yet is powerless to prevent the abuse; and Irene, who dispels the angry child within him leading to the film’s finale, an explosive catharsis that had me chuckling even as I shook my head.  This is not an easy film to like with its discordant images, mocking tone and occasional audacity but there is an undeniable artistry here that cannot be ignored.

Nightmare City (Italy 1980) (1):  Somehow a group of mindless atomic zombies manage to fly a plane to an unspecified city where they set about killing the inhabitants thereby turning them into fellow zombies.  As the carnage continues a local journalist and his wife try to make their way out of the chaos.  There is nothing here that is even remotely entertaining....the acting is beyond abysmal, the screenplay is sophomoric at the best of times, and the slapdash special effects reminded me of a really bad student film.  The "zombies" themselves are nothing more than a bunch of studio extras with burnt pizza stapled to their heads.  And just when you thought it couldn't get any worse, the director ends this turkey with a "twist" that's sure to evoke dry heaves from serious cinephiles everywhere.  The entire film stinks so bad you'll want to spray your television set with Lysol afterwards.

The Night of the Iguana  (USA 1964) (8):  With the Mexican Riviera filling in for Eden, religious metaphors abound in John Huston’s tightly directed tale about a disgraced priest leading an all-female tour group through a troubled paradise.  As Rev. Shannon wrestles with his own personal serpents, both spiritual and corporeal, he finds himself in the middle of a metaphysical tug-of-war with three strong-willed women embodying Judgment, Forgiveness, and Faith.  When the inevitable showdown comes it is a dark and stormy night indeed.  Graced with magnificent performances and bold sensual cinematography this story of one man’s journey into light is one of the better Tennessee Williams screen adaptations I’ve seen.

Night Watch (Argentina 2005) (6):  Mild-mannered Victor survives on the somewhat surreal streets of Buenos Aires by hustling and selling drugs.  He has a small circle of regular clients and manages to avoid jail by routinely servicing the local police inspector.  But one night, after a couple of near death (??) experiences his life takes a bizarre turn and the once familiar streets now seem strange and vaguely menacing.  Is he in fact dead or just really stoned?  Are the odd characters that start crossing his path ghosts?  Is it just a coincidence that the calendar proclaims it is November 2nd...the Day of the Dead?  Cozarinsky’s film is certainly stylish with its gritty realism punctuated by moments of dreamlike fancy.  Unfortunately it is woefully short on substance.  What could be mistaken for a spiritual journey of some depth ends up being just a lot of psychological navel-gazing with a few clever political barbs thrown in.....the tranny hooker dressed like Margaret Thatcher was pretty cute.  Despite this major flaw “Night Watch” is not an unlikeable film and the lead actor is certainly easy on the eye.  Just lower your expectations and you’ll be fine.

1941 (USA 1979) (7): Spielberg’s sparkling goofball comedy was unjustly maligned by many critics when it was first released but its humour has withstood the test of time. Based on a few wartime anecdotes and then blown up to big screen proportions it takes place in southern California just a few days after Pearl Harbour. At that time the entire west coast was on the lookout for a potential Japanese attack and civilian paranoia was running at an all-time high. Amidst all the conspiracy theories and false sightings Spielberg focuses his camera on a handful of characters (including dozens of wonderful celebrity cameos) whose separate stories provide a tongue-in-cheek pastiche of the time; from Dan Aykroyd’s straight-laced Sergeant and John Belushi’s mad dog gunner pilot to a pair of star-crossed lovers and a hapless couple who play unwilling hosts to a military squad stationed on their front lawn (Ned Beatty and Lorraine Gary....hilarious!). Add to this a leaky Japanese submarine full of incompetents off the coast of Long Beach and the stage is set for some silliness on a grand scale. Filmed in hazy wide angle shots, 1941 has the look of a classic war film, but its humour is definitely of the Animal House, Porky’s, Naked Gun variety with a few subtle nods to The Russians Are Coming and Dr. Strangelove. There’s even a wonderful Little Rascals reference that you’re bound to miss if you blink at the wrong time and the whole thing starts with a side-splitting spoof of Jaws. Things eventually come together for a brilliantly overdone pyrotechnical finale involving an aerial dogfight through the streets of Los Angeles and an amusement park bombardment as Spielberg plasters every square inch of the screen with foolishness and mayhem. Despite the impeccable special effects and big name cast this is not a sophisticated film, nor does it try to be. Its endless visual gags and slapstick timing may illicit more smiles and chuckles than outright laughs, but the smiles are consistent and the juvenile sense of fun contagious. The only thing missing was an old-fashioned pie fight.

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