Oasis of the Zombies (France 1981) (2): Sleaze auteur Jesus Franco turns his sights from tits to terror in this incredibly bad zombie rip-off. A retired German commander, a group of spoiled college kids and a documentary film crew descend upon on a remote Saharan oasis in search of buried nazi treasure. The huge cache of gold comes with one rather significant caveat however, it’s guarded by a cadre of dead stormtroopers with a taste for entrails. During the course of one harrowing night, obviously filmed at high noon, some will be eaten while others will be eaten out (yes, even in the midst of a zombie attack Franco is still able to insert a few lukewarm scenes of desert nookie), and one young man will “mostly” find himself. Where to begin? The lamentable dubbing of a godawful script? The cheap papier mâché zombie masks? The even cheaper zombie muppet-on-a-stick? The monotonous soundtrack of two-finger organ chords? Or the distinct lack of any appreciable blood & guts? The only scene that even approached Euro-splatter standards in gore involved a brief glimpse of bloodied deli meats being manhandled by a trio of bored ghouls. If ever a movie cried out for a bullet to the brain...

The Old Dark House (USA 1932) (9): It’s a dark and stormy night on the Welsh moors as squabbling couple Phillip and Margaret, along with their friend Roger, seek refuge in a gloomy old manor. Here they come face to face with the appropriately eccentric Femm family: dour bible-quoting Rebecca, her swishy and cadaverous brother Horace, the oddly asexual patriarch Sir Roderick, and Morgan the brutish handyman (Boris Karloff looking like a cross between Frankenstein’s monster and the wolfman). As the storm worsens two more travelers come knocking at the door; loudmouthed capitalist Sir William and his animated gal pal Gladys. Settling in for the night the stranded visitors try to establish an uneasy rapport with their creepy hosts; but sinister things are afoot. It seems the Femm family are having a rather difficult time keeping their skeletons in the closet and it isn’t long before all hell breaks loose... James Whale’s short film is a masterpiece of characterization and atmosphere. He’s created the quintessential “haunted” house replete with shadowy stone corridors, banging shutters and endless flights of creaking stairs; but beneath the gothic trappings there lurks a darkly comic, and decidedly queer, psychodrama. Pitting Rebecca’s repressed sexuality, Horace’s nelly hysterics and Morgan’s animal carnality against one another, Whale finds ample opportunity to revel in some brilliantly bitchy dialogue while using his five reluctant houseguests as anchors to keep the film from flying off into pure camp. Lastly, Arthur Edeson’s amazing cinematography makes the most of wind, rain, and flickering candles. Whether he’s filming a backseat seduction or a menacing monologue reflected in a warped mirror, his keen eye and sense of style gives the movie an unexpected contemporary feel. Remarkable!

O Lucky Man (UK 1973) (6):  Not a single social institution escapes unscathed in Lindsay Anderson’s three hour tantrum aimed at all things authoritarian.  The story follows the picaresque adventures of Michael Travis, a young naif determined to make his fortune by becoming the best coffee salesman in northeast Britain.  It isn’t long before he discovers that the world isn’t quite the oyster he thought it would be however, and the convoluted, oddly surreal tale that follows becomes a caustic “Pilgrim’s Progress” for modern times.  After being wrongfully convicted and sentenced to prison Travis undergoes a complete change of heart, discarding his capitalist credo in favour of a more humanitarian approach to life.  Unfortunately he soon realizes that this new-found faith in mankind may be unwarranted as he is victimized by the very people he sets out to help.  Anderson aims for the same wry satire that Kubrick achieved a few years earlier in “A Clockwork Orange” but in his mad dash to piss on every altar he can find he instead delivers a series of  sarcastic rants with no big payoff in the end although I must admit the ending was fun in it’s own way.  I did appreciate some of the film’s little touches....the fact that he had the same actors play multiple characters, and the musical interludes that served to fill in the gaps and provide some sense of continuity.  There is definitely food for thought here, if only he didn’t try to force feed us.

The Onion Movie (USA 2008) (6):  In the spirit of “Tunnel Vision” and “Kentucky Fried Movie” comes yet another film composed of unrelated skits tied together by the barest of plots. This time around The Onion, that infamous group of slackers who make a living out of mocking everything from world events to western pop culture, try their hand at moviemaking with mixed results. What little story there is revolves around a seasoned anchorman trying to resist the growing corporate influence on his nightly newscast. As the suits in head office try to turn the evening news into an ongoing commercial for the station’s parent company he becomes increasingly frustrated in his attempts to deliver “fair and balanced” journalism. Most of the film’s humour is derived from the newscast itself with video clips and sight gags spoofing everything from television commercials to “human interest” stories. It's hilarious when it works. I've always felt that The Onion’s sharp satire is best served in small doses however, whether it’s a short clip on their website or a two-paragraph article in one of their publications. It’s impossible to keep the pace going for 80 minutes and the strain soon becomes evident. The ongoing parody of Steven Seagal’s latest blockbuster, “Cockpuncher” got tired real fast and the lame wackiness of the National Lampoon-style ending elicited little more than a chuckle. Still, it was worth the three bucks just to see Meredith Baxter deep-fry a kitten on a TV cooking show. Now THAT was funny!

Once Were Warriors  (New Zealand 1994) (8):   "Once Were Warriors" opens with an idyllic landscape of clear blue water and lush green hills, but when the camera pans away we realize we’ve been watching a garish billboard overlooking a filthy slum.  It’s this constant juxtaposition of the serene with the tragic which gives the film much of its strength.  Tamahori’s brutal look at the effects of personal apathy and cultural anomie on a Maori community is nothing less than harrowing. The men, descended from the proud warriors of the title, have now adopted fist-fights, petty crime and drinking binges as their new rites of manhood while the women seem resigned to a life of domestic violence and poverty.  Within this setting he offers us an intimate glimpse into the life of one specific family.  While she suffers at the hands of her abusive husband, Beth is drawn to the memories of her culturally rich childhood.  Her eldest daughter, on the other hand, looks to the future by writing stories based on Maori legends.  With one son in a gang and another seized by social services it takes a horrible tragedy to jar Beth out of her helpless stupor...  A powerful and demanding film.

On Moonlight Bay  (USA 1951) (5):  Doris Day and Gordon MacRae fall in love and sing a lot in this technicolour musical set in 1917. The film tries to match the panache of “Meet Me in St. Louis” but fails to capture any of that classic’s lighthearted exuberance.  The acting is forgettable, the script mundane and, aside from a rather nice arrangement of “Silent Night”, the songs are unremarkable.  Besides, watching a 29-year old Doris Day play the role of a precocious young tomboy is just a little bit creepy.

Open City (Italy 1946) (8): Roberto Rossellini’s magnificent film about life in Rome under Nazi rule was in the vanguard of the Italian neo-realism movement and is as powerful now as it ever was. Although his professional actors are incredible (Anna Magnani can do no wrong) his cast of non-professionals, including actual German POWs in the role of enemy soldiers, is wholly believable; small wonder when you consider the real Occupation was still fresh in everyone’s mind. Over the course of a few days we’re introduced to a wide cross-section of people including a Catholic priest drawn into the resistance armed only with his faith, a young widow planning her wedding in the midst of chaos, a bitter actress turned collaborator, and a world-weary German officer who regards his “master race” with a jaundiced eye. Rossellini strikes a perfect dramatic balance between hope and despair, softening the film’s many tragic moments with flashes of comic relief to remind us that life goes on. Although heroes and traitors are given equal time a series of inspirational soliloquies leave no doubt as to where his sentiments rightly lie; it’s this lack of the usual bombastic sermons that truly highlights the everyday courage of his characters. Despite it’s stark realism Open City nevertheless contains some truly cinematic moments as when a group of children solemnly walk away after witnessing an execution, or the image of an ostentatious German officers’ club which backs onto a torture chamber. The portrayal of a heartless Nazi moll as a predatory lesbian didn’t sit well with me however, was her homosexuality supposed to indicate how utterly depraved she was? This implied homophobia is a small, albeit troubling criticism for a film that is otherwise pretty near perfect.

Ordet (Denmark 1955) (8): In his previous films, Day of Wrath and The Passion of Joan of Arc (both reviewed here) Carl Dreyer used bold widescreen imagery to explore how religious zeal carries within it the propensity to inflict pain and despair. With Ordet he brings this message closer to home as one stubborn man’s ideological feud with an equally pigheaded neighbour threatens to tear his family apart. Big and colourful patriarch Morten Borgen practices an easygoing form of Lutheranism, believing each day is a call for celebration and wonder. His close relationship with God is based on faith and an unshakeable trust in the inherent goodness of the Almighty. His dour yet prayerful neighbour Peter Petersen, on the other hand, follows a far more conservative path to salvation consisting of modesty and austerity in all things. Rounding out the Borgen household are brothers Mikkel, an avowed agnostic despite the tender ministrations of his pious wife; Johannes, a deeply disturbed theology student now convinced he is the risen Christ after having read Kierkegaard; and Anders, a soft-spoken teenager whose misfortune it is to fall in love with Petersen’s only daughter, the equally demure Anne. Irate over their children’s budding relationship the two fathers ardently split dogmatic hairs in an effort to prove who is closer to God until a wake-up call arrives in the form of a deep personal tragedy; a terrible loss which will shake both men’s faiths to their very cores and expose their heated debate for the inconsequential banter it really is. Always respectful of his characters Dreyer never judges but instead allows them to grow and mature over time. Much like the biblical story of Job, he uses suffering and adversity to seek out spiritual truths whether it’s one man’s quiet acceptance of God’s implacable Will or another’s realization that there is more than one path to redemption. Along the way he manages to insert a few wonderfully wry observations; in one memorable scene a city doctor argues with a country pastor over the importance of science versus spirituality while Johannes’ sullen Christ-like figure wanders by unheeded. Equal parts family drama and religious epic, there is a keen sense of light and symmetry at work here which, along with some languorous tracking shots and highly formalized staging, give the impression of a Renaissance painting come to life. But it is Ordet’s highly contentious final scene that steals the show. Dreyer comes straight out of left field and delivers a miraculous ending so outrageous (and oddly touching) that it not only challenges our own religious convictions but pushes the limits of cinema as an art form to boot. No wonder Carlos Reygadas chose to offer Dreyer the sincerest form of flattery when he copied it for his own film, 2007’s Silent Light (also reviewed here).

The Orphanage (Spain 2007) (7):  Juan Bayona presents us with a ghost story that challenges our sense of reality by blurring the line between objective truth and subjective experience.  Thirty years after being adopted from the “Good Shepherd Orphanage”, Laura Sanchez returns with her husband Carlos and young son Simon.  She intends to buy the mouldering old building, long since abandoned, and turn it into a group home for children with special needs.  One day however, after exploring a seaside cave, Simon claims to have met a new friend hiding in the shadows.  This is hardly surprising as the overly inventive child already has two imaginary playmates; but when he invites “Tomas” home with him things start going bump in the night, doors mysteriously slam shut, and Simon ultimately disappears without a trace.  Bayona realizes that children and adults inhabit very different realities and that adults will often indulge a child’s magical view of the world with little white lies and fanciful stories designed to shield them from some of life’s harsher lessons.  But sometimes make-believe can backfire and an innocent game can develop ominous overtones...  This film packs some very well-placed jolts aided by creepy camerawork and unsettling sound effects.  It has an air of gothic horror about it that is truly chilling.  Regrettably, Bayona asks us to take some pretty large leaps of faith:  an elaborate game of dress-up towards the end seems like overkill; a scene involving psychic researchers recalls the excesses of Poltergeist ; and the dark secret at the heart of the film, involving a myopic nanny and sinister flour sacks, has too many holes in it to be effective.  All the clues do add up in the end, but the Peter Pan finale left me feeling vaguely cheated.

Orphans (UK 1997) (9):  Peter Mullan takes a close look at the small tyrannies and petty power struggles inherent in all families, then blows them up to outrageous proportions in this searing drama that is at once darkly comic and uncomfortably familiar.  Four adult siblings, three brothers and a wheelchair-bound sister, come together on the eve of their mother’s funeral.  But as the sun sets and rain clouds gather on the horizon it becomes obvious that her sudden death has stirred up an emotional hornets’ nest.  What follows is a dark and stormy night of the soul with divine portents raining down from the sky and streets awash with everyday saints and demons.  As each sibling becomes separated from the others they begin their own unique journeys toward the light.  One gives in to rage while one succumbs to despair; one seeks solace through martyrdom while one learns a harsh lesson in humility.  It is only after the lights go out and the whirlwind has passed that they begin to see clearly.  There is nothing subtle in this amazing film where the spiritual and the secular collide head-on, where temptations and benedictions pop up in the most unusual places and where adults become frightened orphans lost in a storm.  But just when you think Mullan has lost control of the proceedings and allowed things to spin into chaos, he expertly reins everything back in for a quietly sunlit finale which oddly mirrors the film’s opening scene and brings the whole movie to a beautiful, if emotionally exhausting, finish.  Bravo!

Otto; or, Up With Dead People (Germany 2008) (3): There are those members of the gay community who insist on branding themselves as sexual outlaws, using transgressive sex as a form of political protest. In this occasionally clever film-within-a-film Canada’s own bad boy director, Bruce La Bruce, takes this mindset to his usual extremes and the results, though hardly jaw-dropping, are at least novel. Otto is a shambling, milky-eyed, twenty-something zombie in tight jeans and a preppie sweater. Not exactly sure how he came to be undead, he nevertheless seems to have vague recollections of a doomed love affair with a handsome classmate and a strained relationship with his hulking father. Reviled by the local townsfolk and regularly harassed by teenage gangs, he eventually stumbles into documentarian diva and anarchist extraordinaire, Medea Yarn, who just happens to be filming a “political” zombie flick in which hordes of living dead homos decide to lash out against repressive societal norms and rampant capitalism, or something like that. Anyway. Fascinated by Otto’s death-related delusions (is he, or isn’t he?) she decides to make him the focus of her next big project, and a symbol for intolerance and injustice everywhere. Otto, meanwhile, has an agenda of his own... Of course there’s the usual blood-soaked nonsense one comes to expect from this genre of film and, true to his porn roots, La Bruce spices things up with lots of tumescent zombie dick (a boy-on-ghoul orgy is particularly odd) but the “marginalized undead” metaphor is weak at best. The film is further marred by hammy acting, an overblown script and some jarring sound and visual effects. As a director, La Bruce has trouble keeping characters and storyline organized; his constant shifts in mood and style become tedious and eventually wreck what could have been a painfully poignant ending. But, as the final credits rolled I was left with one nagging question; in this day of equal rights and increasing mainstream acceptance is this type of film even relevant anymore?

Overlord  (UK 1975) (8):  An interesting mix of staged scenes and old archival footage give this story of one young man’s transformation from naive recruit to disillusioned soldier a level of credibility rarely seen in this genre of film.  Cooper forgoes all but the barest of storylines and instead concentrates on creating a series of impressions....the emotionally restrained farewells; the impersonal tedium of boot camp; the desperate longing of a wartime crush; and finally, the naked terror of a D-Day landing.  The ravages of war are shown in all their stark cruelty yet there are also dreamlike sequences of poetic intensity.  Cooper avoids the macho hubris inherent in so many films about war and instead delivers a heartfelt elegy to the thousands of “unknown soldiers” whose stories can never be told.

The Painted Veil (USA 2006) (8):  It is England, 1925, and Kitty, a self-centred young socialite is about to marry an adoring, though emotionally repressed doctor in order to appease her stuffy upper-class family.  Immediately after the wedding he takes her back to Shanghai, China where he’s been working in a local medical laboratory.  It isn’t long before she finds the love she craves in the arms of another man leaving her husband disillusioned and bitter.  As an apparent act of revenge he threatens to expose her adultery unless she accompanies him to a remote village where an outbreak of cholera is decimating the local population.  It’s here, amidst a backdrop of natural beauty and human misery that they are finally able to take the first tentative steps towards a reconciliation.  This is a gorgeous old-style tearjerker full of lush cinematography and exotic locales.  Naomi Watts and Edward Norton are perfectly paired as the unhappy couple who long for affection even as they inflict pain upon one another.  There is a synergy between them in which a casual glance can convey a sad reproach or a subtle eroticism.  In fact the entire cast is completely convincing which makes the final scenes all the more powerful.  A beautiful fusion of sublime imagery and succinct dialogue that rings true right up to the final credits.

Paranoiac (UK 1962) (5): After their parents die in a plane crash and their older brother commits suicide, Eleanor and Simon find themselves the sole remaining heirs to the vast Ashby estate. Unfortunately Simon is a boorish alcoholic and Eleanor may very well be mad. But when their supposedly dead brother Tony comes looking for his share of the money we discover the Ashby family has more skeletons than closets to put them in. A macabre whodunnit filled with false leads and a no-star cast of red herrings featuring an overwrought Aunt, a seductive (and barely intelligible) French nurse, and a young accountant with a shameful secret. Things start out intriguing enough but it eventually sinks into a gothic soap opera with Oliver Reed giving the performance which should have netted him a lifetime Razzie award for awfullness. A great choice if you’re wide awake at 2 a.m. with absolutely nothing to do.

Paranormal Activity (USA 2007) (6): Yuppie couple Katie and Micah have just moved into a comfortable San Diego townhouse when things start going bump in the night. No stranger to spooky manifestations, she’s been having them since she was eight, Katie consults a psychic who confirms her worst fears; something evil has been following her since she was a child and it’s starting to get pissed off. Micah refuses to let his girlfriend be harassed by an invisible bogeyman however, and sets up his camcorder in order to capture any “weird shit” going on. Of course things start off with a red herring or two until the couple start placing their camera on the dresser while they sleep at night; that’s when the creep factor threatens to go through the roof. Rippling sheets, slamming doors and mysterious shadows are just the beginning, but when Micah decides to explore the attic at 3 a.m. it’s all you can do to keep yourself from diving under the couch. Presented as a series of home movies, Paranormal Activity combines the choppy verité style of Blair Witch with the non-Disney elements of Poltergeist. Director Peli frames his shots just right and then ratchets up the suspense until you squirm. The nighttime scenes especially had my skin crawling; who knew that looking at nothing could be so frightening? Unfortunately the actors are not quite up to the task especially with a script consisting mainly of bad improv and running up and down staircases. There are too many illogical plot devices (“Gee, something demonic is running amok so let’s keep the lights off as we film the apartment and then go back to bed…”) and a cheap Exorcist rip-off towards the end left me groaning. This type of horror is best played out in the audience’s imagination where subtlety is the key; by bombarding the screen with exaggerated visuals Peli ends his film with the diabolical equivalent of a car chase. When it works it leaves you covered with goosebumps, but when it doesn’t the whole production goes down like a flaming Ouija board.

The Passion of Joan of Arc (France 1928) (7): Hailed by many as one of the silent era’s last great masterworks, a copy of this long-lost work by director Carl Dreyer was eventually discovered in a Danish psychiatric hospital and painstakingly restored. Based on actual court transcripts from the trial of Jeanne d’Arc, one of France’s most beloved patron saints who was martyred at the age of nineteen, it is both a taut courtroom drama and overt condemnation of a bigoted church hierarchy. Despite leading several successful campaigns against the English and being honoured by Charles VII, Joan’s eccentric ways proved troublesome to the established clergy; she claimed to have celestial visions, heard voices, and insisted on dressing like a man until her voices told her otherwise. She was eventually arrested on charges of witchcraft and heresy, tortured, humiliated, and ultimately burned at the stake when she refused to renounce her personal beliefs. In the role of Joan stage actress Maria Falconetti brings a frightening intensity to the screen; her face exhibiting an unsettling mixture of tenacious faith and mortal terror (with a touch of mental illness?) as she struggles to understand the charges being laid against her. Her ordeal begins to mirror the passion of Christ as she is mocked and ridiculed by her accusers, at one point a length of coiled rope is placed on her head like a crown of thorns. Dreyer deliberately films all his characters without stage make-up causing every wart and blemish to stand out in high relief, the result is both austere and vulnerably human. Furthermore, the spartan sets heighten the movie’s sense of gravity while focusing our attention on the fierce emotions playing out on the actors’ faces. The use of extreme close-ups may be overdone at times, some unnecessarily awkward camerawork doesn’t always work (the inverted crane shots were especially baffling), and the occasional anachronism reminds you that it is not 1431, but there are moments of pure cinema throughout; a prolonged scene of Joan’s burning corpse sliding down the stake while angry peasants revolt in the streets was undeniably powerful. Although Dreyer’s later film, Day of Wrath revisited the topic of church atrocities with greater effect (review posted), this early work still manages to hold its own eighty years later.

Penny Dreadful (USA 2006) (7):  Ever since she was involved in a horrific traffic accident years ago, Penny Dearborn has been unable to ride in cars without having severe panic attacks.  As our story opens she is in the middle of a therapeutic road trip of sorts accompanied by her psychiatrist who is trying to help her face her fears head on (no pun intended).  But when the doctor accidentally wings a hitchhiker with her BMW and feels obligated to offer the poor soul a lift to the nearest campground Penny quickly finds car phobia is the least of her worries... This is the kind of tall tale we used to scare each other with around the campfire when we were kids and in order to truly appreciate what Brandes has done you need to overlook the more blatant inanities and get to the film’s underlying psychology and subtle humour.  He taps into some universal fears; the dark, being trapped, abandonment, being lost, claustrophobia, and the bogeyman in the window.  Even though he utilizes some tired old horror mainstays he still manages to throw in the odd shock and keep the film’s overall atmosphere close and creepy.  Both female leads are good, especially Rachel Miner as Penny who makes full use of a very confined space.  Her performance is appropriately over-the-top and pretty much carries the film.  The use of music and jarring cuts is effective and the opening credits are very cool.  Despite its rather unimaginative ending, Penny Dreadful still provides a chilling treat.

The Petrified Forest (USA 1936) (6): While trying to evade the police, four desperate gangsters hold a diverse group of people hostage in a remote desert diner. Among the unwilling guests are Gabrielle Maple, the owner’s daughter who dreams of becoming an artist in Paris; her colourful grandfather; Boze, the dumb jock handyman with a crush on “Gabby”; wealthy banker Mr. Chisholm and his bitter aging trophy wife; Gabby’s rabidly patriotic father; and Alan Squier, an insufferable angst-ridden milquetoast grown tired of a world which has no place for Art. With their precisely delineated lives as fossilized as the wood outside it isn’t long before this small band of characters forms a microcosm of contemporary American society. As dad dances around the flag and grandpa recalls fuzzy memories of past glory, the Chisholms bicker over the importance of duty and prestige. Meanwhile Boze fawns over a goal he can never attain and Gabrielle retreats into a book of romantic poetry; the desperate need to escape her meaningless life heightened by Alan’s existentialist whining. When the inevitable shoot-out with the law comes a final sacrifice ensures that no one’s life will ever be quite the same again. With an over-the-top script rife with tortured soul-bearing and avant-garde social critiques things get bogged down pretty quickly; a deeply metaphorical sandstorm borders on sheer overkill. If it were made today I’d give this film a much lower mark but, for some reason, these old B&W classics possess an ageless quality that is almost sacrosanct. There is an earnestness to them which allows me to overlook all but the most glaring faults; like Bogart’s performance. I just can’t see why his portrayal of gang leader Duke Mantee is touted as being a “breakout” role; his muddled monotone and self-conscious shambling (at one point he appears to be paralyzed from the waist up) seem pretty lame. But I suppose that was then, this is now and who am I to argue with the making of a Hollywood legend?

Peyton Place (USA 1957) (7): Set in 1941, Peyton Place is a sleepy New England whistle-stop where they set their clocks by the four seasons, where the locals are whiter than white and the dreams of youth are quietly sacrificed in order to maintain the town’s WASP conformity. It’s the kind of place that would make Garrison Keillor long for the lights of Broadway. But all is not as it seems as the camera slowly peels away the respectable affectations to expose the town’s darker side. Taking the form of parallel storylines that gradually converge, the movie contains enough controversial topics to fill ten lesser films; from rape, suicide and abortion to murder, teen pregnancy, and pre-marital skinny-dipping. Even a wholesome birthday party turns into a seething cauldron of flaming teenage hormones thanks to a small bottle of liquor and a 78 rpm of Blue Moon. This is a sprawling big-screen soap opera featuring some splendid performances and an over-the-top script that is nonetheless intriguing; the explosive courtroom scene towards the end was especially well done and Robson doesn’t miss a single nuance as even the most fleeting of glances can trigger an entire strings section. He may not show the technicolor flair of Douglas Sirk but this unsparing critique of Middle American social and moral conventions rarely misses its target.

The Phantom of the Opera (UK 1962) (7): Set in Victorian England, this is one of the better screen adaptations of the French classic. The plot is pretty straightforward of course; a mysterious masked character stalks the halls of a theatre wreaking havoc as the resident company rehearses for an upcoming opera production. Smitten by lead singer Christine Charles, the “Phantom” is determined to help her develop her amazing vocal talents even if it means sequestering her to his underground lair. Christine’s young beau Harry, meanwhile, sets out to rescue his sweetheart and bring the reclusive madman to justice. The period sets are impeccable including the Phantom’s abode which is an eclectic combination of Bat Cave and carnival sideshow while the chills and thrills are surprisingly effective. Director Terence Fisher further foils our expectations by eliciting an unexpected sympathy for the titular protagonist. Once the reason behind his monomaniacal obsession with the theatre is explained his grotesquely disfigured character takes on an aura of tragic romanticism. We see a misunderstood genius who was horribly wronged in the past now forced to lurk in the shadows due to the facial scars he acquired trying to exact an unsuccessful justice. The opera scenes themselves, taken from a fictitious production detailing the life of Joan of Arc, were quite good for a B-movie and lent an undercurrent of sad irony to the story. Artistic license aside, this was still an unexpected pleasure.

Phone Call From a Stranger (USA 1952) (7):  After walking out on his unfaithful wife a successful Indiana attorney decides to grab a flight to L.A. in order to sort out his feelings.  En route he forms a friendship of sorts with three fellow passengers:  the failed actress trying to mend her broken marriage; the alcoholic doctor with a dark secret; and an obnoxious traveling salesman with a suspiciously gorgeous wife.  They wind up exchanging phone numbers so they can meet up again someday.  Unfortunately the plane makes an unplanned stop into the side of a tree and the lawyer is the only one left standing.  When he decides to phone the grieving spouses of his fellow passengers in order to offer them some comfort by describing their loved ones final hours he ends up becoming more involved in their lives than he had planned...  With its hokey script and blatant overacting this melodramatic tear-jerker would be laughed out of theatres if it was released in this day and age.  But there is an innocent sincerity to these old B&W classics that is pretty much lost upon today’s cynical popcorn munchers.  I found this simple story quite captivating despite...or perhaps because of...it’s flaws.  It’s a tall tale told well and the little flashes of unexpected humour were wonderful.

Pierrepoint [The Last Hangman] (UK 2005) (7): Dark and disturbing biopic of Albert Pierrepoint who was a nondescript deliveryman by profession but, like his father before him, moonlighted as one of England’s most prolific hangmen dispatching over 600 condemned criminals in a career spanning 22 years. In the beginning we see Albert as a fresh young face justly proud of his skill with the noose. His clinical approach to determining how much rope to use based on a person’s physical stature and profession (manual labourers have stronger necks) ensured a clean kill every time thus earning him the respect of prison officials everywhere and making him the Home Office’s first choice when it came to the assembly line executions of Nazi war criminals at the end of WWII. “The State wants them dead...” he explains to a junior assistant at one point, “...we just do the job.” But the cumulative weight of all those ghosts eventually takes it’s toll and Pierrepoint finds it increasingly difficult to resume his normal life each time he exits a prison by the backdoor. A harrowing confrontation with the distraught mother of a death row inmate coupled with a personally devastating encounter at the gallows prove to be the final straws that end his career shortly before capital punishment was abolished in the U.K. In the lead role Timothy Spall puts in a powerfully understated performance as a man of some honour who finds himself going from celebrated hero for hanging evil Germans to reviled pariah for the execution of a single mother. His desperate belief that the people he killed have “paid the price” and are now innocent once more gives him little solace; in one touchingly macabre scene he gently washes the nude body of a woman he executed minutes beforehand, as if washing her dead flesh will somehow remove the blood from his own. In the able hands of director Adrian Shergold Albert’s own personal dilemma finds some reflection in English society at large as we catch glimpses of an unyielding morality and the hypocrisy it engenders. Even his own wife proves her somewhat duplicitous nature when, drunk and in tears, he pleads for some reassurance that he is a good person only to have her pull away in revulsion unable to discuss his “other” job despite the fact she has no problem accepting the extra money it puts in their coffers. Grim, depressing and presented in sombre funereal colours, Pierrepoint is both a fascinating character study and an unflinching look at a form of punishment which, in Albert’s own words, was “nothing but revenge.”

Pillow Talk (USA 1959) (7): An interior decorator (Doris Day) shares both a telephone party line and a mutual dislike with a womanizing songwriter (Rock Hudson). Even though the two have never met fate and a few white lies eventually land them in each other's arms. Pretty adult humour for 1959 (including some ironic gay innuendo), great technicolor New York settings and it's all as corny as it sounds. Fun!


Pink Floyd London 1966/67 (5):  A poorly lit, poorly framed hodgepodge of video clips set to a jarringly discordant soundtrack doesn’t add up to much in this acid-laced homage to “swinging” London.  The celebrity interviews are interesting however, and Peter Whitehead’s impressionistic “60’s Experience” montage does manage to convey something of what it must have been like.  Not as groovy as it could have been.

Play Misty for Me  (USA 1971) (6):  This film would go on to serve as a template for many of the "Jilted-Psycho-Stalker" films that followed. Unfortunately it is firmly rooted in 1971 and has aged very poorly......from Eastwood's poofy hair and neon sans-a-belt slacks to the ridiculous sex scene in the middle of a pond with Roberta Flack crooning in the background. It played like a late-night cable adaptation of a particularly bad Jackie Collins' novel.

Please Don’t Eat the Daisies (USA 1960) (4):  Doris Day plays her trademark coiffed doormat in this vacuous cupcake of a movie that makes you feel as if you should be laughing out loud even as you stare glassy-eyed at the TV screen.  David Niven is terribly miscast as her husband, a former professor turned big theatre critic whose new-found celebrity begins to take precedence over his familial duties much to Doris’ sad dismay.  When the two of them decide to move from the glamour of NYC to a home in the sticks, accompanied by their endearingly bratty kids (one of whom is kept in a cage) and obligatory precious pooch you’d expect all sorts of wholesome hijinks to ensue.  They don’t.  Virtually every joke falls flat, including the Rock Hudson reference, and the two musical interludes serve no purpose other than to provide just enough time to walk to the kitchen for a snack.  The only bright spot is Janis Paige in her role as a Broadway vamp who tries to seduce Niven.  She brings a sexy comedic presence that is pretty much wasted here. One expects a certain amount of sugary sweetness in any Doris Day film but this one’s enough to give you a mouthful of cavities.  (As an aside, check out the big lesbian veterinarian who comes to visit....what was Doris thinking?!)

Population 436  (Canada 2006) (2):  "Deliverance" meets "The Stepford Wives" by way of "The Village" in this clumsily written bit of stupidity. We've seen "Rockwell Falls" in countless bad horror movies......the suspiciously slack-jawed locals, the TERRIBLE SECRET that everyone refuses to talk about, the meddling outsider who teams up with the local pariah in order to solve the mystery......and MacLaren does nothing to build upon this tired old formula. Then, as if to add insult to injury, he throws in a ludicrous ending with an oh-so-clever little twist that Helen Keller could have seen coming. Jeremy Sisto needs to fire his agent.....and Fred Durst should stick to amateur sex tapes.

Porn Theatre (France 2002) (6):  In the dark auditorium of a dilapidated adult cinema a motley group of men converge for what seems like a weekly ritual. While some sit alone masturbating others engage in a series of fleeting sexual alliances while paying only cursory attention to the images of feigned ecstasy on the screen. And all the while tired old drag queens haunt the aisles like dispirited Muses. The men in Nolot’s theatre exist in a world of illusion and denial…from the closeted basher to the gay man with the fake wedding ring. In the dark they are free to explore the “other half” of their sexuality (the only real woman in the film being the verbose cashier in the ticket booth) yet there is a sad desperation to their shadowy couplings that vanishes as soon as the lights go up (or the cops appear). There is one scene that seems to transcend the film’s inherent pessimism however. We see a burgeoning friendship develop between the cashier, the decidedly hetero projectionist, and an elderly gay man that may or may not lead to some sexually liberating experimentation. But even that is given a sinister twist as we realize that the woman is merely conspiring with the older man to help him obtain the object of his desire and that he, in turn, is not forthcoming about his HIV status. Despite having some interesting insights and a novel approach I still found this film problematic. Does the world really need another movie about lonely angst-ridden homosexuals rutting in toilets and dim hallways? Like the vastly superior, “Good-Bye Dragon Inn” Nolot attempts to use the physical space of a movie theatre to explore the ethereal nature of the human spirit. Unfortunately he winds up giving us little more than a sordid peep show filled with wasted opportunities.

Postal (USA/Germany 2007) (7): Director Uwe Boll sets out to offend as many people in as little time as possible in this vulgar attack on all things politically correct. And God bless him! Tired of being accosted by panhandlers, intimidated by corporate slimeballs and cuckolded by his fat slovenly wife, redheaded “Dude” decides to get even with the world. Teeming up with his sleazy Uncle Dave, the crooked guru of a new age cult which combines the excesses of Branch Davidian with cleavage from the Playboy Mansion, Dude attempts to steal the latest shipment of wildly popular “Krotchy” dolls in order to sell the little penis-shaped toys at an inflated price on eBay. Meanwhile, in another part of Paradise Falls, a local cell of Moslem terrorists have more nefarious plans for the little playthings involving global plague and divine retribution. When the inevitable showdown between the two groups takes place the resulting hail of bullets and flying guts brings tastelessness to a new low. Despite being a rather ham-fisted attempt at satire, it is based on a video game after all, Boll nevertheless succeeds in lampooning some of America’s more endearing quirks. From gun culture and coffee culture to right-wing nut cases and conspiracy theorists, he manages to place all his stereotypes in a row and then blows them away one by one. It begins with an outrageously inappropriate spoof of 9/11, ends with a surprisingly surreal vision of nuclear armageddon and in between we are treated to some very wicked scenes involving Asian drivers, Arab fanatics, black cops and cheap white trash. Boll himself has a cameo as the proprietor of “Little Germany”, a nazi-themed amusement park, while guest star Verne Troyer shows off his little electric dildo before being gang-raped by a mob of manic monkeys. George Bush and Osama Bin Laden lookalikes figure prominently, and Canada’s own Dave Foley is shown full frontal scratching his bare balls and taking a dump. It’s crass, sacrilegious, and repugnant to the extreme. Personally I laughed my head off, but don’t blame me if you decide to rent it. You’ve been warned...

The Postman Always Rings Twice (USA 1981) (6):  When a hot-blooded drifter with a criminal past is hired to be the resident mechanic at a truck stop diner it isn’t long before he takes more than a passing notice of the boorish owner’s sexually frustrated young wife.  The two go from smokey stares to punching each other to screwing their brains out within days.  As their affair heats up they soon realize that the only obstacle standing in the way of their happiness is the woman’s husband.  And that’s when the plot thickens...  Despite the authentic 1930’s sets and costumes nothing else rings true in this remake of the 1946 noir classic; the sex scenes, while daring for the time, are stagey and lack any passion while the cast come across as stock characters from a cheap novel...whether it’s the cigar-chomping lawyer, the sleazy insurance agents, or the obsessive lovers themselves.  There is a lack of momentum here that drains the film of any tension and turns what could have been a  dramatic finale filled with irony and divine retribution into a simple tear-jerker.  There is an art to making a noir thriller with just the right amount of eroticism and dark suspense, but Jessica Lange’s torn panties and Jack Nicholson’s trademark leer just didn’t do it for me.

Poultrygeist: Night of the Chicken Dead (USA 2006) (9): When General Lee Roy paves over an ancient Indian burial ground to make room for one of his “American Chicken Bunker” fast food franchises he not only raises the ire of local green activists, but pisses off some drunken spirits as well. However, when a carton of very strange eggs suddenly appears in the kitchen things quickly go from bad to worse and before you can yell “McNugget!” satanic chicken monsters are crawling out of people’s asses, customers are turning into feathered flesh-eating zombies, and the floors are slick with gallons of vomited green ichor. It’s up to the geeky restaurant staff; Denny, Carl Jr., Arby (get it yet?) and Arby’s sometime lesbian girlfriend Wendy, a card-carrying member of “Collegiate Lesbians Against Mega-conglomerations” or C.L.A.M., to make a stand against the clucking hordes of fiendish fowl before they lay waste to America. Where can I possibly begin? It’s a titty teen comedy, a frat house gross-out, and a corporate satire so glaringly awful it’s shameful. On top of that it blatantly rips off everything from Night of the Living Dead and Gremlins to Alien, and Pet Semetery. And it makes you love every moment of it! With its bad puns, stupid one-liners and disgusting sight gags Director Kaufman goes for the jugular but ends up lopping off the entire head instead. Among the film’s low points: a grotesquely obese Jared (supposedly from “Subway” fame) paints an entire bathroom with explosive diarrhea; a hillbilly bones a chicken carcass before being impaled by a broom handle; a crew of possessed waiters use cleavers, meat slicers and a deep fat fryer on unlucky patrons; and a veiled waitress is the butt of enough Moslem jokes to spark a dozen jihads. Even porn legend Ron Jeremy has a brief cameo but manages to keep his own cock under wraps for a change. Crude, rude, disgusting, ignorant, gratuitous, and sure to deeply offend PC types everywhere. And the damn thing’s a musical too! Grade A!

Plagues and Pleasures on the Salton Sea (USA 2004) (6):  The Salton sea, in California’s Imperial Valley, was created over 100 years ago after heavy rains caused the Colorado river to overflow its banks and flood a low-lying area known as the Salton sink.  Once touted as the “California Riviera”, it was a tourist mecca for those seeking to escape the urban sprawl of Los Angeles.  Developers were quick to cash in on what seemed like a sure bet; subdivisions were planned, lots were sold and marinas were built.  Unfortunately the bubble began to burst towards the end of the 50s due to a combination of poor planning and bureaucratic double-dealings.  Today it is a large polluted saltwater lake surrounded by ramshackle towns populated by a host of colourful eccentrics and those with nowhere else to go.  Despite some well-meaning efforts to restore the sea to its formerly pristine condition not much has changed in over 30 years.  Mezler and Springer’s documentary is not as engaging as I had hoped.  The interviewees are more than eager to get in front of the camera but we are left with a series of monologues that seem to go in circles while the sporadic narration contains none of the sardonic wit you’d expect from John Waters.  The vintage newsreel footage and promotional videos were pretty funny though, but not enough to maintain my interest for long.  Where is Errol Morris when you need him?

Promises! Promises! (USA 1963) (2): Jayne Mansfield’s tits are the only high points in this cheesy, insipid and completely unfunny high seas sex comedy. Sandy Brooks is determined to become pregnant while on a round-the-world cruise with Jeff, her bookish husband. Unfortunately not only is Jeff’s libido deep-sixed but, unbeknownst to Sandy, he is also sterile thanks to an adolescent bout of mumps. In the cabin next door are the Brooks’ good friends, hunky actor King Banner and his wife Claire, also dealing with baby issues of their own. When Jeff seeks help from the ship’s doctor he’s given a few samples of what he believes to be a powerful aphrodisiac/fertility drug (actually just plain aspirin dispensed with a great deal of hype). Hilarity supposedly ensues as Jeff accidentally doses King, Claire doses herself, and everybody wakes up pregnant. Virtually everything in this farce falls flat; the acting is horrible, the jokes are stale, and the frothy little musical numbers will make you want to heave ho. Furthermore, Mansfield’s infamous nude scenes are silly, repetitious and blatantly gratuitous; small wonder they were later made into a Playboy spread. And as if all that wasn’t enough there are a couple of stock characters thrown into the mix which serve no purpose whatsoever, especially “Babette” the gay hairdresser with a penchant for wigs who provides some tired old queer clichés. Despite the wonderfully kitschy artwork and a few nice theatrical touches involving split screens and overlapping dialogue I still found myself praying for an iceberg. Alas, it never came.

The Quare Fellow (Ireland 1962) (8): Patrick McGoohan is superb as Thomas Crimmen, a rookie prison guard whose naive views on crime and punishment are severely tested when he becomes involved with the wife of a condemned murderer. At first content in his belief that justice always prevails and laws always protect the innocent, he is paired up with Mr. Regan, a 17-year veteran and former political prisoner whose first-hand experiences with capital punishment have caused him to lose faith in a legal system which condones killing within prison walls even as it denounces the act of murder itself. At first puzzled by the older man’s cynicism, it isn’t until the wife of the death-row inmate, the quare fellow of the title, comes to him personally with evidence that may save her husband from the gallows that he finds himself having to face some extremely uncomfortable truths. Arthur Dreifuss’ sharply focused B&W film, based on the play by Brendan Behan, paints a grim picture of the Irish penal system circa 1950’s. It is a warren of petty corruption and gross inequality while both church and state look on with blank indifference; as one man has his death sentence commuted thanks to some influential friends another, in desperate need of psychiatric attention, is given a Holy Card and a few empty platitudes instead. Strategically placed religious paintings add a bleak irony to the story while the prison’s steel bars seem to extend beyond its walls and into the nearby town. It soon becomes apparent that each character is trapped within their own private cell whether due to the harsh dictates of social conformity or the blind demands of governmental bureaucracy. Finally, the ethicality of the hangman’s noose itself is scrutinized from all sides, by jailors, townsfolk and inmates alike, and found wanting. Indeed, in one scene the very presence of the notorious rope causes a near riot in a neighbourhood pub. As in the stage production, the face of the prisoner in question is never seen thereby turning him into a true everyman figure who comes to represent far more than one frightened and lonely convict. Controversial for its time, The Quare Fellow is still a bold and absorbing drama four decades later.

Quinceanera  (USA 2006) (8):  Poor Magdalena, on the eve of her most important birthday she discovers she’s been blessed with an apparent immaculate conception much to the dismay of her bible-thumping father.  Meanwhile her tough streetwise cousin is having a menage with the gay couple upstairs and old Uncle Tomas is being faced with eviction.  This sparkling little indie feature plays out like a telenovela yet possesses more wit and genuine emotion than most big budget flicks I’ve seen.  It’s not often that I’ve actually smiled and cried at the same time while watching a film.  It’s nice to know that I still can.

Raining Stones (UK 1993) (8):  Ken Loach’s wonderfully rooted working class drama centres on the chronically unemployed Bob who barely manages to support his wife and daughter by supplementing his welfare cheque with the occasional odd job; whether it’s stealing a sheep to sell to the butcher or bouncing at a local rave bar.  But when his daughter sets her sights on an expensive dress for her first communion  Bob’s pride refuses to let him accept charity and he soon finds himself getting deeper and deeper into debt.  As financial pressures mount and job prospects dry up his options become dangerously limited...  Shot in a street level verité style which  gives it all the immediacy of a documentary, this deeply human film boasts some amazing performances from its very talented cast.  Loach offsets the pervasive pessimism with occasional flashes of humour and his subtle use of religious imagery is put to good use as Bob, a staunch Catholic, develops a crisis of faith which culminates in a most illuminating discussion with the local priest.  I also appreciated the film’s sense of balance; it opens with a sacrificial lamb of sorts, then follows Bob as he responds to various temptations, and finally ends with a gentle scene of absolution.  Very well done.

Red Eye (USA 2005) (6): When her flight home is delayed Lisa Reisert, a lovely but somewhat mousy desk supervisor at a swank Miami hotel, decides have a drink with a fellow passenger, the suave yet creepy Jackson (last name Rippner. Jack Rippner. Welcome to Foreshadowing 101). When their plane finally does take off Lisa is at first delighted to have Jackson sit next to her until she discovers his true nature; he’s a sociopath who arranges assassinations and right now he has his sights set on a political bigwig staying at Lisa’s hotel. In order to eliminate the government bureaucrat in question however, Jackson needs Lisa’s help; help she refuses to give until he makes her an offer she can’t possibly refuse... Wes Craven’s foray into straight-up thriller is a mixed bag at best. The impressive cinematography takes us from the close confines of an airplane lavatory to the sweeping vistas of a penthouse suite, the resulting interplay of claustrophobic spaces and agoraphobic vulnerability takes you off guard at times and ratchets up the tension nicely. Unfortunately, even though they are talented performers on their own, Rachel McAdams and Cillian Murphy produce very little screen chemistry here as they plod through a generic script accompanied by a cast of stock characters from every Airport movie ever made. Of course the tables will be turned more than once, the usual twists will occur and we’ll be expected to accept some enormous gaps in logic. But even though Red Eye’s gaps start out small enough they quickly become bottomless chasms that threaten to swallow you up, popcorn and all. Perhaps Craven should have stuck to what he does best; simply seat Freddy Krueger in first class, have everyone fall asleep, and let the slashing begin...

Red Headed Woman (USA 1932) (3):  Jean Harlow plays a gold-digging slut with her eye on the boss’ happily married son in this silly blend of sexual politics and camp drama.  She uses everything in her arsenal from garter belts to an annoying baby voice to get a rise out of the poor sap, but when she finally lands him she realizes that life on Easy Street is not quite what she expected.  A battle of wills soon erupts between her and his nauseatingly angelic wife that she is simply not equipped to handle.  So what’s a poor girl to do?  Try to screw someone richer of course!  I suppose one could see some twisted form of female empowerment circa 1930s at work here, especially when you consider how little real power women held outside of the bedroom but the characters rarely rise above cartoon stereotypes while the script is as cheap and shallow as its protagonist.

The Reeds (UK 2009) (6): In Nick Cohen's mixed bag of a ghost story revenge is a dish best served cold...and wet. When a group of friends rent a boat for a drunken weekend they unwittingly become entangled in a twenty-year old murder mystery involving some nasty waterlogged victims who refuse to stay anchored. Some highly improbable scenes (how come the bottom of a murky marsh is so well lit even though it's midnight?) are nonetheless presented with a certain brio and the creepy antagonist looks pretty cool in his grim reaper raincoat and blood-soaked wellingtons. An interesting twist on an old plot but the looping timelines and repetitive handheld mayhem may give you a nasty case of seasickness.

Revenge of the Living Dead Girls (France 1987) (4): A big sloppy mess of a film that seems to have something to do with toxic waste, corporate blackmail, and three dead chicks who refuse to stay buried. The cast of Eurotrash nobodies plod through a script that is so awful it’s good; the seduction scenes are especially hysterical. Of course there is the usual bit of gore…a woman gets a high heel in the eye, a man has his “other” head bitten off…and, as an added bonus, we’re treated to some hot girl-on-girl zombie action where we learn that a samurai sword makes a lousy dildo. The ending is so outrageous the director felt compelled to flash a notice on the screen begging audiences not to give it away. You’ll just want to wave your hands in the air and yell “Vive les Mortes!!”

Revolver (UK 2005) (6):  There’s a great saying that goes, “The fact that no one understands you doesn’t make you an artist”.  A fitting epitaph to this ostentatious display of psycho-babble and flashy pyrotechnics.  The story centres on Jake, a hard-nosed player newly released from prison and bent on getting even with Macha, the gangster who set him up.  Just as he’s about to exact his revenge however, he discovers he only has three days to live due to some rare disease (huh?)  Enter Zach and Avi, two mysterious loan sharks who promise to help him settle the score with Macha.....for a price.  The rest of the story consists of double-crosses, bloody shoot-outs and hefty dollops of Freudian psychology with a little Jung on the side.  Apparently the “real” enemy we face is our own ego which often manifests itself as an external threat.  Wow.  Guy Ritchie’s ego is certainly on display in every frame as he tries to convince us that style equals substance and trite aphorisms can become profound insights if they’re repeated often enough.  He even throws in some talking heads from the field of psychology as the end credits roll as if to prove to us that we just sat through something amazingly brilliant.  I will say this though, “Revolver” looks great in a Quentin Tarantino/John Woo sort of way, the music is interesting, and the performances above par.  It’s just not as clever as all the hype would have us believe.

Robinson Crusoe on Mars (USA 1964) (5): Stranded on Mars with only a pet monkey an American astronaut tries to make the best of it despite an errant asteroid, an alien invasion and an escaped slave from another world. Bad special effects and even worse science (to be fair, the film was released a year before Mariner 4's historic fly-by of the red planet) render this flick as little more than a cinematic curiousity. Lead actor Paul Mantee is very easy on the eyes however. Woof!

The Roe’s Room (Poland 1997) (8): Lech Majewski’s autobiographical opera about growing up with his parents is brought to the small screen in this beautiful production made for Polish television. Faintly reminiscent of Terence Davies’ The Long Day Closes, in spirit if not in presentation, Majewski offers up a succession of nonlinear, highly formalized mise-en-scènes designed to invoke the magical and impressionistic qualities of childhood memories in which a drab hallway carpet becomes a verdant meadow or a dusty library is transformed into a mysterious jungle. Using the four seasons as a template he traces the inevitable evolution of his own family. In spring and summer all is tender caresses and sunlit windows with green vines poking through the plaster walls, young deer roaming the living-room and a bubbling spring erupting in the middle of the dinner table. Yet by winter the plants have withered, the deer have fled, and the aging parents are frozen by an icy blizzard howling from an open fridge. Along the way the son experiences his first sexual stirrings as he gazes upon the carnal exploits of his downstairs neighbour; and a dawning spiritual awareness as he vaguely wonders about the well-being of his prayerful upstairs neighbour. Majewski’s use of incidental objects to add subtext to the film’s disjointed narrative is marvelous; whether it’s an enigmatic painting by Chirico partially obscured by blowing curtains, or the passage of time indicated by the father’s collection of stamps showing the phases of the moon. Filled with obscure rituals and stagy theatrics this film is definitely not for everyone, but I found it completely absorbing. And the music is magnificent.

Romper Stomper  (Australia 1992) (4):  Well meaning but poorly conceived mess of a film lacking any real insight and taking itself far too seriously. A supposed statement on racism and violence, it tends to revel in the very thing it sets out to condemn......with Russell Crowe shamelessly mugging for the camera and endless sequences of frenzied yobbos smacking each other and smashing things. The final scene with our little neo-nazi Romeo and Juliet rolling in the surf while a busload of Asian stereotypes look on was so poorly done it was laughable.

La Ronde (France 1950) (8): Max Ophul’s lighthearted merry-go-round of a movie follows the romantic exploits of its circulating cast as they go through the rigors of love; from seduction to heartbreak to eventual rebound with another willing player. Guided by the film’s omniscient narrator who wields the power of fate in his hand, each separate story segues smoothly into the next as characters switch partners and love begins anew. Prostitutes and soldiers, poets and mistresses, Counts and scoundrels; all take part in a marvelously circular danse d’amour while a swirling background waltz maintains a steady rhythm like the beating of a heart. Ophul adds some colourful touches along the way; plaster cherubs and satyrs peek out of bushes, every scene includes a clock to mark the passage of time, and a whimsical carousel spins round and round in the centre of town...stopping only briefly when one character experiences a temporary bout of impotence. Filled with theatrical conceits and sexual innuendo (sometimes a sword is not just a sword) this is a bright breezy film delivered with a playful insouciance that has aged beautifully.

The Rules of the Game  (France 1939) (9):  "The Rules of the Game" is on many critics' list of greatest films, and rightfully so. It's a richly textured examination of a privileged society rife with hypocrisy and moral apathy that extends from the mightiest tycoon down to the lowest servant. Renoir's expert direction is a feast for the eyes as he manipulates light and shadow in order to guide your attention from frame to frame. It is a film that plays on two levels.......the action in the background giving an ironic twist to the story unfolding in the foreground. A timeless classic.

The Sacrifice (USA 2005) (1): HORRIBLE! Local goth kid with personal issues joins local preppie with personal issues in order to uncover the awful truth about a witches’ coven operating in their sleepy New England town. Apparently director Jamie Fessenden got a rad new video camera and some plastic skulls for Christmas and decided to shoot this totally awesome horror movie starring his highschool buddies and their families, including nelly old uncle Bob as the evil lisping antagonist. Halfway through filming he discovered the camera came with an instruction booklet so he threw in some cool effects using filters and double exposures, added a few stills and got the kids in band class to compose a couple of creepy chords for like, you know, atmosphere. And get this, the two teenage leads get all gay on each other and start making out and one of them even takes his clothes off at the end and tries to act all evil and stuff while covered in pink Karo syrup and shaking a rubber head from the drama department. Amateur to the extreme with a cast that definitely should not give up their day jobs, this crapfest looks as if it was shot over a long weekend and then released directly to DVD without any editing (look for the cameraman’s reflections!). And this got an 8.1/10 on imdb.com?! Oh wait, two of the three reviews were written by friends of the director. Be sure to check out the sequel, The Resurrection, coming nowhere soon.

The Sandpiper (USA 1965) (7): Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton prove once again that chemistry can rise above substance in this unabashed weeper that looks great as long as you ignore its sillier components. Taylor plays Laura Reynolds, a free-spirited artist living on the coast of southern California with her impressionable nine year old son. When the kid gets into trouble with the authorities one time too many (he shoots a deer to see if it is fun) he is ordered to attend a religious boarding school run by the soft-spoken yet somewhat stuffy Reverend Doctor Edward Hewitt, a surprisingly convincing Burton. Of course when the respectable married clergyman meets the wild Bohemian sexpot you just know sparks are going to fly and a fall from grace is just around the corner. This is when an otherwise decent story begins to slide into maudlin chick-flick territory complete with teary reproaches, theatrical monologues, and endless scenes of restless surf. Eva Marie Saint is especially annoying as the martyred wife who always seems to find just the right outfit to go with her bloodied cross. Make no mistake, this is pure Hollywood soap, but it is done with such panache...from the magnificent widescreen cinematography to the sappy theme song...that it remains highly watchable just the same. And Taylor’s Big Sur bungalow is to die for!

The Savages (USA 2007) (9): When their estranged father begins to exhibit early signs of dementia siblings Jon and Wendy Savage not only face the uncomfortable prospect of having him institutionalized, they must also come to terms with a lifetime of resentments, disappointments and unresolved anger. Wendy, a histrionic drama queen and frustrated playwright, covers up her rage by doting on the old man even as her own life circles the drain. Jon, a drama teacher specializing in Bertolt Brecht, tries to distance himself from his own feelings by adopting a coldly rational approach to the situation even though a simple plate of fried eggs can bring him to tears. Meanwhile, dad looks on in a state of helpless bewilderment... Writer/director Tamara Jenkins' excellent family drama combines tense emotional confrontations with just enough mordant humour to allow her audience some breathing space. A beautifully rendered, deeply felt three-hander that rests squarely on the powerful performances of its main leads; Philip Seymour Hoffman, Laura Linney and Philip Bosco.

Save the Tiger  (USA 1972) (8):  Above average drama examining the death of the American dream and the casualties left in its wake. Jack Lemmon leads a very impressive cast as an everyman figure....lamenting the loss of society's integrity while at the same time lamely justifying his own moral corruption. The final scene tied the whole film up nicely.

Sayonara (USA 1957) (7): During the Korean war when thousands of American servicemen were stationed in Japan, it was Uncle Sam’s official policy to actively discourage romantic liaisons between U.S. soldiers and Japanese women by imposing draconian sanctions including a law forbidding G.I.s from bringing their “Oriental” brides home to the States; a policy which many Japanese nationals applauded. As the story opens, top gun pilot Major Lloyd “Ace” Gruver (Marlon Brando looking especially hot in his dress blues) has just been assigned to a cushy desk job in Kyoto thanks to his girlfriend Eileen’s father, a four-star general and personal friend of the family. Gruver is pure stars & stripes and apple pie; he doesn’t know the difference between a pagoda and a sushi roll, nor does he care. But when he’s asked by his good friend and fellow airman Joe Kelly (a marvelously understated Red Buttons) to be his best man as he marries a local girl his convictions are put to the test. His decision to stand by Kelly not only derails his relationship with Eileen and her family, but also threatens his military career as he becomes a target of the air force’s ingrained racism. Alone and disillusioned he finds himself smitten by an aloof Japanese cabaret performer, Hana-Ogi, and thus begins his own forbidden love affair. Like Gruver and Kelly, Hana-Ogi, is also bound by unfair social conventions. She is legally “owned” by the theatre company and therefore barred from marrying, or even dating. As pressures mount against the two couples events come to a final climax which leads to tragedy for one, and a courageous stand for the other. Contentious for its time, Sayonara openly criticized both the military and the American public for their narrow-minded bigotry. It’s message has mellowed considerably over the years however and what we are left with is a lightweight western tear-jerker with colourful Japanese trappings, including a ludicrously miscast Ricardo Montalban in Kabuki drag. Fun to watch, easy to forget.

The Serpent’s Egg (USA 1977) (5): Bergman’s overblown period piece proves that bigger budgets don’t always translate into better films, even in the hands of a master. In 1920’s Berlin an unemployed, alcoholic Jewish-American trapeze artist (oh Ingmar...please!) moves in with his former sister-in-law after his brother commits suicide for no apparent reason. Life isn’t easy for Abel and Manuela; jobs are scarce, food is a luxury item, and a young upstart named Adolph Hitler is busy sowing seeds of discontent. Abel steadfastly refuses to acknowledge the rising tide of German xenophobia and anti-semitism, choosing instead to numb himself in a haze of alcohol and look the other way; he even vandalizes a Jewish storefront for good measure. But as times become more desperate reality begins to encroach upon his progressively fragile mind; his friends and acquaintances are ending up in the morgue, the police seem to be shadowing his every move, and throughout it all he is bothered by the sound of distant machinery that no one else can hear. When the inevitable breakdown comes, involving mad scientists and heinous conspiracies, we are no longer sure what is real...nor do we very much care. To be fair, Bergman does offer up some striking scenes which heighten the film’s sense of spiritual despair; a funeral procession wends its way through rush hour traffic, a political rally is held outside a cemetery, and a verdigris-encrusted angel stares helplessly at Abel as he is interrogated by police. Furthermore, garish burlesque shows highlight a society sliding into chaos and add an air of dark irony. But the acting is hopelessly uneven and the script rife with histrionic non-sequiturs. Even viewed as a completely subjective psychodrama Serpent’s Egg is little more than a paranoid cabaret.

The Seventh Continent (7): Georg and Anna Schober are a comfortably middle-class couple with a darling daughter and lovely home who, for reasons not entirely clear, choose to throw it all away one day. Their decision, influenced perhaps by a series of bleak revelations and cryptic insights, proves disastrous for all concerned. Since this is a Michael Haneke film neither the Schober’s dilemma nor their personal solution should come as any shock to those familiar with a director whose name has become synonymous with “social dysfunction”. What sets this film apart however is Haneke’s excellent use of quick edits and his determination to avoid easy answers. Rather than delve into the Schober’s psyches ad nauseam he instead follows them over the course of three unexceptional days, each day separated by a year. With his trademark detachment he shows us how their lives are defined primarily by material possessions and mundane rituals, whether it’s buying groceries or feeding a tank of pet fish. By further separating these rituals into their component parts and concentrating on tasks rather than feelings, he creates a suffocating sense of contemporary apathy and despair; rarely has tying a shoelace conveyed such angst. As you would expect, the minimalist script is heavy with contradictory messages and repressed rage while the camera dutifully avoids any intimacy with the characters who are often filmed without heads. Moral blindness, hollow materialism and futile daydreaming all find their metaphorical counterparts here, (a carwash and tourism billboard figure prominently while a flushed wad of cash causes Western audiences to squirm), and the cast pull it off beautifully especially Leni Tanzer as the daughter; her portrayal of a young innocent tainted by her parents’ demons is heartbreakingly real. Loosely based on a true story, Haneke presents us with a cool, clinical montage of a couple in crisis and then challenges us to make sense of it.

Sex Drive (USA 2008) (7): High School senior Ian has more than a few problems. First of all he’s the only person in his class who hasn’t been laid. On top of that he is constantly terrorized by his testosterone-drenched older brother; romantically upstaged by his 14-year old younger brother; and ignored by Felicia, the object of his desire, who wants to be “just friends” while she actively pursues his suave and sophisticated best friend, Lance. So what’s a poor boy to do? Search for sex on the internet of course, where he quickly develops a steamy cyber-relationship with blonde bombshell “Tasty” who lives several states away. “Borrowing” his brother’s prized 1969 GTO Ian sets out on a road trip, with Lance and Felicia in tow, to meet Tasty and finally lose his virginity. Along the way they have a run-in with a damaged cashier and her pathological boyfriend, go wild with a mob of Amish party animals, engage in some impromptu watersports with an angry hitchhiker, and get arrested for damaging an endangered species. But when Ian finally meets up with his dream date everything that could possibly go wrong does. And then some. Starting off with an intentionally lame intro by director Sean Anders and writer John Morris who promise a bonanza of gratuitous flesh, the film rarely rises above juvenile gags and prurient humour; but it does so with such gleeful abandon that it won me over despite my better judgement. With its witty script, shameless performances and scenes involving dangling testicles, pointless nudity, and a talking doughnut with a hardon...how could anyone not love this movie?

Sex in Chains (Germany 1928) (5): Chronically unemployed engineer Franz is eking out a living selling vacuum cleaners to rich bitches with pampered cats while his wife Helene helps out by selling cigarettes at a swank nightclub. Things seem to be going well for the happy couple until one fateful night when a persistent club patron makes a few too many unwelcome advances at Helene causing Franz to come to her rescue. A short fistfight later and the customer lies dying in the hospital while Franz is handed a three-year prison sentence for involuntary manslaughter. Thus begins William Dieterle’s lurid tale of “sexual desires among prisoners”. Denied vaginal visiting rights the convicts make do with a lot of anguished overacting, little sex dolls fashioned out of bread crumbs and, occasionally, each other. Clinging zealously to his marriage vows Franz heroically resists temptation amusing himself instead by desperately sniffing one of Helene’s perfumed hankies. She, on the other hand, goes into hormonal overdrive and no amount of rubbing her face with her husband’s spare pants can satisfy her. She eventually has a one-night stand with the boss (an ex-con friend of Franz) leading to an early morning walk of shame and a vow to confess all. But, unbeknownst to poor Helene, Franz has already fallen head over ankles for Alfred, the new kid on the cellblock... Despite the theatrical emoting and overdone storyline (this is a silent film after all) there are still some remarkable elements to this movie. The call for prison reform, including conjugal visits, was years ahead of its time and the subject of homosexuality per se was handled as well as could be expected; “unnatural acts” amongst inmates are decried yet the character of Alfred is presented almost as an innocent romantic with genuine feelings for Franz. There is an hysterical eroticism here which occasionally works; a chaste visit between husband and wife practically burns with repressed desire and an extreme close-up of Franz and Alfred touching hands for the first time is heavy with sexual tension. Unfortunately it all blows up in the end with an angst-laden confrontation and ludicrously “moral” finale. Thankfully the “God’s Laws” sermon is limited to a small cursory appearance.

Sex Life in L.A.  (USA 2000) (6):  Dispassionate look at a handful of men caught in the dark side of the Hollywood dream who, despite some surprisingly philosophical insights, still find themselves having to market their pecs and genitals in order to pay the bills.  Hick avoids the tired old “exploiters vs. exploited” dichotomy and instead approaches his subjects on neutral ground, employing a cool sincerity that allows them to tell their own stories.  Some may be put off by the film’s frankness, including a wholly gratuitous masturbation scene, but as a gritty street-level series of character studies it manages to rise above its flaws.

Sex/Life in L.A. 2: Cycles of Porn (USA 2005) (4):  “In America it’s all about the size of your dick...making sure people know how big it is, or if it isn’t big then lying about it” laments one frustrated writer/porn diva in Jochen Hick’s disappointing followup to Sex Life in L.A. It’s a resigned form of cynicism which seems to permeate this look at Southern California’s gay porn industry as it chews up fresh young boys and spits out disillusioned drug-addled old men.  Hick concentrates most of his attention on the residents of an online reality-based hotel as they perform for paying customers in lieu of rent and a real job...think of Big Brother starring naked twinks.  He gives equal time to HIV-positive bodybuilder Cole Tucker who, at the age of 42, decided to revel in his good health and good looks by making several adult films before quietly retiring to Palm Springs.  From clueless kids who believe porn will be their gateway to fame and fortune, to irresponsible asswipes who make a killing (pun intended) doing bareback videos Hick tries to show the various sides of an industry most of us are not aware of...nor care about if we’re being honest.  Unlike his first foray into this territory which strove to get under the skin of its subjects, this sequel is all surfaces and clichés served with gratuitous dollops of hardcore asides.  An attempt is made to put the lives of these young men in context by showing them interacting with family members at home but it results in so much meaningless banter...or worse.  “If I wasn’t his mother...” quips one middle-aged woman poring over her son’s magazine spread, “...I’d go for him myself!”  EWWWW!

Sexual Parasite: Killer Pussy (Japan 2004) (5): It’s every straight man’s nightmare as a jungle parasite that turns otherwise docile vaginas into carnivorous castrating machines is unleashed upon Japan! Brought back from an ill-fated Amazon expedition inside the cooter of a hapless marine biologist (ladies, always look before you sit) the slippery beast and it’s reluctant host are frozen and stored safely inside a secret underground vault until a group of horny college dudes and their mostly naked girlfriends unwittingly thaw them out. What follows is a gratuitous smorgasbord of oiled breasts, rubber entrails and toothy beavers as each boy takes a one-way trip through the golden arches. But can the last girl left standing defeat the muff monster long enough to put her bra back on and escape? At just over 60 minutes Killer Pussy manages to combine the worst excesses of softcore sexploitation with some unbelievably lame special effects; the parasite itself is nothing more than a sock puppet looking like a cross between a catfish and a big black dildo. Still, there are some very (unintentionally) funny moments and a few clever devices...the vaginal canal POV camerawork was certainly inspired. Vulgar, indefensible, and lacking any artistic merit whatsoever. A perfect Saturday night party movie!

Shut Up and Sing  (USA 2006) (7):  Starts out looking very much like a promotional video for the Dixie Chicks but gradually evolves into a surprisingly intimate portrait of the band as they weather the conservative backlash to a seemingly innocuous little remark. We see them trying to back-pedal their way out.....watch them attempt to appease the rabid masses.....and, finally, adopt an F.U. attitude as they restart their world tour. A bit self-indulgent perhaps, certainly in need of some editing but interesting nonetheless. Thankfully the images of inbred southern hicks, their tiny brains firmly embedded up their backsides, are kept to a minimum.

Silent Light (Mexico/Netherlands 2007) (8): After a beautifully executed opening scene of dawn spreading over a verdant countryside accompanied by the distant braying of unseen livestock, the camera cuts to the kitchen of a simple farmhouse where Johan, Esther, and their five children sit around the breakfast table, heads bowed reverently in silent prayer. Thus begins Carlos Reygadas’ quietly poetic film about love and adultery in an isolated Mennonite community. Although Johan loves his wife he can’t help feeling his marriage to Esther was a mistake ever since he started seeing Marianne, a clerk at the local ice cream parlour. Esther is well aware of his indiscretions and tries to wear a brave face hoping her husband will eventually come to his senses. Meanwhile, Johan’s father insists this is the work of the devil and tells him of his own brush with temptation years earlier, while his best friend suggests that perhaps God had something to do with Marianne entering his life. The conflict between Johan’s emotional needs and spiritual beliefs threaten to overwhelm him until an unforeseen tragedy throws his life off balance and brings everything into painful focus. Reygadas tells his tale in slow, carefully composed takes awash with natural sounds and a delicate light which gives the most mundane images a sense of profound significance whether it’s a conspicuously ticking clock or muted sunlight falling against a curtained window. He deftly avoids sentimentalism and overt religious spectacle, filming some key scenes from a detached distance while relying more on charged silences than dramatic dialogue. The highly cryptic final segment, wherein the two women finally meet, is both intensely moving and certainly open to much spirited debate. Sadly, although his three non-professional leads are more than up to the task the same cannot be said for the others who turn in rather stilted, self-conscious performances. At just under 2½ hours of pained stares and breast-beating, Silent Light is definitely not for everyone; but for the patient viewer its extraordinary visuals and deliberate pacing pay off big time.

Six Degrees of Separation (USA 1993) (6):  John Guare’s hugely popular stage play makes an uneven and not entirely successful transition to the screen.  Flan and Ouisa are a pretentious upper-class couple who’ve made millions buying and selling other people’s art collections.  When a young black man shows up at their penthouse door, bleeding from a recent mugging and claiming to be a good friend of their children, they initially react with guarded skepticism.  But it isn’t long before the charming young Paul has them eating out of the palm of his hand with his witty ripostes and clever banter.  When he casually mentions he is the son of Sidney Poitier he has them hooked.  All is not as it seems however and a few days later they discover that they are not the only Upper Eastside couple to be visited by “Paul Poitier”.  What starts out as a farcical look at the banality of Manhattan’s privileged gentry soon takes a serious turn as the couple begin to peel away Paul’s facade to reveal the true motives behind his actions.  Indeed, facades loom heavily in this somewhat one-sided sermon against petty bourgeois values.  In trying to emulate the wealthy lifestyle he so desires Paul acts as a mirror in which some characters begin to see the various charades they play in their own lives....the crooked deals, the forced bonhomie, and the amusing strings of anecdotes that serve as a substitute for actually living.  Paul may be an impostor but he ends up being the only “genuine” person in the entire movie.  This is when things get bogged down.  The ensuing rhetoric has a certain air of self-righteousness about it as revelations are made and angry indictments are leveled.  It would seem that anyone with a top-floor view of Central Park is just a big phony.  To  be fair, the script is certainly clever and Schepisi makes the most of his Manhattan settings.  Furthermore there are some commendable performances, most notably Stockard Channing in the role of Ouisa.  I guess some plays just don’t translate well into movies.

1612 (Russia 2007) (8): Vladimir Khotinenko's magnificent costume epic is a heady mix of historical revisionism and romantic fantasy with a tragic love triangle thrown in for good measure. Set during Russia's "Time of Troubles" at the beginning of the 17th century, the story revolves around the bloody struggle for the Tsar's throne left vacant after the ruling Gudenov family was assassinated. With the Polish military laying siege to Moscow and a brutish Polish nobleman determined to force the last remaining Gudenov, Princess Kseniya, into an arranged marriage it falls down to young Andrei, a lowly serf with a lifelong crush on Kseniya, to turn the tides of war and rescue the object of his desire. The film's gorgeous widescreen cinematography moves effortlessly between candlelit tunnels and blood-soaked battlefields while a few magical touches add a subtle fairytale sheen to what is essentially historical mythmaking. And the male leads are hunky perfection! A perfect popcorn movie.

Slaughterhouse Five (USA 1972) (8):  A decent adaptation of Kurt Vonnegut’s semi-autobiographical novel about a man suffering from extreme dissociative behaviour following his experiences in a German POW camp.  Billie Pilgrim is literally lost in time, he never knows when he’ll be pulled from his affluent middle-class existence in order to relive the horrors he witnessed in WWII. Both realities are confusing to him....the senseless destruction of the past, and the comfortable banality of the present with its silly social conventions and a family that is little more than a group of strangers to him.  Not only is he lost in time then, he is also lost culturally and spiritually.  It’s not until he’s kidnapped by a race of aliens that he finally experiences the peace of mind that has eluded him.  Ironically, it is this third reality (a complete departure from reality actually)  that contains the least amount of true freedom....he’s cooped up in a sparsely furnished glass bubble surrounded by a poisonous atmosphere while  his benevolent captors urge him to mate with a fellow abductee.  The “Tralfamadoreans” dismiss the concept of free will, believing instead that suffering and joy are both inevitable and the key to happiness is to play down the bad times and concentrate on the good.  Pilgrim’s attempt to impart this bit of wisdom to his fellow Earthlings proves disastrous.  It appears that prejudice, hatred and blind revenge...presented here as an embittered fellow veteran...are obstacles that may prove too much for mankind to overcome.

Slither (USA 2006) (9): When a meteorite crashes in the middle of hick town USA (Vancouver!!) it's carrying a most unusual passenger; a slimy barb-shooting slug with a voracious appetite for fresh meat and a frightening ability to control people's minds. Soon pets are disappearing, the town millionaire is sporting a couple of tentacles and the local tramp has been turned into a corpulent bug factory. Will the woefully inexperienced police chief and his band of bumbling deputies be able to destroy the outer space menace before it destroys us? James Gunn's loving homage to 80s horror flicks borrows heavily from the likes of "Alien", "Night Of The Living Dead" and "The Thing". His winning combination of amazing special effects and old-fashioned storytelling has produced a wonderful mix of chilling shocks, deadpan humour and enough spewing blood and mucus to satisfy the most ardent gorehounds. One of the better popcorn movies I've seen in some time.

Snow Cake (UK/Canada 2006) (3): Following a horrific accident in which the young hitchhiker he picked up is killed, a British tourist with a few dark secrets tries to make peace by moving in with the young girl's badly autistic mother while finding release of a different kind with the woman next door. A healing trinity is formed and, thanks to the power of mental illness, everyone walks away transformed. This story of one guilt-ridden man's journey into light has a great premise but in typical Canadian fashion it is overly mawkish, arty and rife with dime store symbolism (ooh, metaphorical wallpaper and snow globes!) Great for those who like having a film’s message rammed down their throats with a jackhammer.

Song at Midnight (China 1937) (6): Teeming with misty moonlight and revolutionary rhetoric, this early Chinese take on The Phantom of the Opera plays like a communist infomercial that thinks it’s a gothic romance. Song Daping is a promising young actor whose socialist ideologies gets him in trouble with the local capitalist landowner. But when he starts seeing the man’s lovestruck daughter, Xiaoxia, her father has him sprayed with nitric acid. Horribly disfigured, Daping retreats to the attic of the local theatre while Xioxia, believing him dead, goes mad with grief. Still deeply in love with the now insane young woman, Daping eases her fevered mind by serenading her with a “song at midnight” whenever the moon is full. Not content to be so cruelly separated from his sweetheart, Daping sees an opportunity when a visiting troupe of actors take temporary residence in the decaying old theatre. Can he convince Ou, the company’s promising young male lead, to take his place in Xiaoxa’s life and become her suitor? There are many drawbacks to this film; choppy editing, quirky subtitles and unreliable sound quality to name a few, although some of these may be the effects of age on the original film stock. Furthermore, the exaggerated performances and shadowy atmosphere would probably fare better in a silent film while the odd snatches of classical music seem out of place. There is a dead earnestness to the production, however, and I soon found myself warming to its Chinese Opera aesthetic where passionate young lovers solemnly pose against painted dawns and nights are dark and stormy indeed. Director Weibang presents us with a kinder, gentler phantom whose motivations spring more from love (and Party ideals) than revenge which causes me to disagree with other critics who cite Song at Midnight as being China’s first “horror” film. Despite it’s occasional awkward moments it remains a fine example of cinematic excess in the grand tradition.

The Spiderwick Chronicles (USA 2007) (6): Still smarting from a messy divorce, Helen Grace packs up her three kids and moves into the old family estate left vacant after crazy aunt Lucinda was committed for telling too many tall tales regarding her encounters with supernatural creatures; creatures she insists abducted her father 80 years earlier. At first the Grace kids view their musty new surroundings with varying degrees of resignation until a series of odd occurrences lead to the discovery of a most unusual book which sparks a battle royale between the little folk living on the Spiderwick estate and the despotic ogre residing in the nearby woods with his army of toad-like minions. For the book, compiled by Aunt Lucinda’s late father, contains some dangerous information and powerful spells which could devastate all life on earth, mortal and mystical alike, should they fall into the wrong hands (or claws, as it were). Filled with flowery fairies, rhyming brownies and drooling goblins in pirate drag, all carrying the prerequisite Harry Potter-like names of course (Thimbletack, meet Hogsqueal) this is at best a lukewarm serving of the “children’s fantasy” genre. The CGI effects are passable, the acting less so, and a rather bland script keeps any sense of peril, or wonder, consistently dampened for the single-digit crowd. Not a total waste of time, but with the likes of Joan Plowright and Nick Nolte I expected so much more.

Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter...and Spring (Korea 2003) (7): Although framed by the passing seasons, the title of Kim Ki-Duk’s low-key Buddhist parable refers more to the seasons of man. In “Spring” we find an elderly monk living on a floating shrine in the middle of a lake along with his young acolyte, a boy of seven or eight. Their long tranquil days are spent in prayerful meditation, religious instruction and gathering medicinal herbs from the surrounding forest. In “Summer” the arrival of a beautiful young pilgrim introduces the disciple, now a robust adolescent, to the worldly temptations of lust and greed causing him to abandon his master in the “Fall” only to return in “Winter” an angry and disillusioned man wanted by the police. But as “Spring” rolls around once more life comes full circle in a series of revelations and atonements. The film is certainly pleasing to look at with sweeping views of lake, forest and mountains; its highly formalized structure more scripture than script. There is an uncluttered beauty to its simple sets and spartan dialogue, with freestanding doorways and humble statuary figuring prominently. Alas, Kim occasionally takes religious imagery to some ponderous, even silly, extremes which threatens to turn the entire “circle of life” theme into something superficial and contrived. Between the monk’s rotating menagerie of pets which had me googling “Buddhist Symbolism” for over an hour, and the disciple’s anguished emoting, the film began to feel more like a karmic soap opera rather than the spiritual metaphor it was clearly meant to be. Richly detailed nonetheless with a satisfying, if somewhat strained, conclusion.

Star Trek (USA 2009) (10): Starting a few years before the beginning of the original series, this prequel of sorts follows all the old familiar faces back when they were just starting their careers and before they became established as the crew of the newly christened Enterprise. As our story opens, Starfleet is under attack by an unknown Romulan super-ship bent on destroying every planet of the Federation for some unknown reason. Among the young officers drafted into emergency duty are a rebellious James Kirk, an uncharacteristically emotional Mr. Spock and a smoking hot Uhura…later joined by one Dr. McCoy and engineer extraordinaire Montgomery Scott. In a wonderfully convoluted story involving time travel and revenge, Abrams burns up the screen with some very impressive effects while at the same time paying equal attention to the little details that had fans laughing and cheering; whether it was Spock’s upturned eyebrow or McCoy’s trademark crustiness. He doesn’t simply present us with an early version of an already established cast but rather develops them as fully fleshed characters unto themselves, allowing their camaraderie to develop naturally. The result is a completely engrossing outer space adventure that is at once exhilaratingly fresh and warmly familiar. This is a magnificent wide-screen blockbuster of a film that needs to be seen in a big theatre (we saw it at the Cinerama in Seattle). Guaranteed to bring a nostalgic tear to old-time Trekkers and a new enthusiasm to those who never even heard of William Shatner. Beam me up!

The Sting (USA 1973) (8): During the latter half of the Depression two petty con-artists bite off more than they can chew when they unwittingly steal a sizable sum of cash belonging to a vengeful mobster. After one partner is murdered for his part in the theft, the remaining man escapes to Chicago where he hooks up with an acquaintance of his dead friend; a one-time master grifter now living in a squalid waterfront dive. Together the two plot a most ingenious revenge on the gangster responsible for their friend’s death. As their elaborate scam takes shape, involving rigged poker games and fake bookie joints, nothing is quite what it appears to be...but will it be enough to fool a master criminal? This is a briskly paced, colourful tale featuring wonderful performances from its star-studded cast while the detailed sets, costumes and musical score bring 1930s Chicago to life with a vibrancy that is part fact, part wistful nostalgia. The ending may not come as a great surprise, Hill offers up too many clues beforehand, but the journey there is thoroughly enjoyable.

Storytelling (USA 2001) (7):  Life imitates art...then art turns around and kicks life in the balls in Todd Solondz’s mean-spirited pair of tales mocking artistic narcissism and upper class complacency.  In the first part a young woman composes a heartfelt story based on a disturbing sexual encounter she had with the professor teaching her creative writing class.  When she presents it to her classmates, however, she doesn’t quite get the reaction she was hoping for.  In the second part a wannabe director tries to make a serious documentary on a troubled teenager but his motives become suspect after it is shown to a test audience.  Solondz explores the various ways we lie to others, and to ourselves, as we try to reconcile the differences between the person we actually are, and the person we believe we should be.  Along the way he employs his signature brand of caustic humour, whether it be a derisive allusion to American Beauty or the cutting remarks of a blissfully self-absorbed child; the latter becoming the very embodiment of the director’s own world-weary cynicism.  Unlike his previous films which elicited some degree of sympathy for the characters, Storytelling goes straight for the jugular and takes no prisoners.  In fact the final scene is a firm F. U. to filmmakers and audiences alike...followed by a jaunty little closing song that pokes fun at the movie itself.  This is the type of film Michael Haneke would make if he had a sense of humour, but Solondz’s tone is just too bitter to pull it off completely.  Instead of the biting satire it could have been he delivers a cruel and sarcastic polemic instead.  There are still some brilliant moments here, but he’s done better.

Strangers on a Train (USA 1951) (9): Classic Hitchcock! While en route to his home in Connecticut, tennis star Guy Haines is approached by a fellow train passenger, a very persistent man who seems to know more about him than he’d like. Aware of Guy’s extremely messy divorce proceedings as well as his budding romance with a senator’s daughter, Bruno Antony makes him a most murderous offer; he’ll kill Guy’s two-timing shrew of a wife if Guy will kill Bruno’s wealthy overbearing father. After all, reasons Bruno, having each murder carried out by a total stranger while the only person with a real motive is conveniently somewhere else is foolproof. Dismissing his would-be conspirator as a simple flake Guy gets off at his stop and forgets the whole thing unaware that Bruno has already taken steps to fulfill his part of the “bargain”. With the increasingly psychotic Bruno dogging him like a guilty conscience, the police eyeing him suspiciously and his new girlfriend not knowing what to think, it isn’t long before Guy’s world begins to close in on him. Hitchcock pulls out all the stops in this over-the-top noir romp; from the giddy camerawork rife with shadowy faces to the wonderfully theatrical performances, most notably Robert Walker’s intense turn as the low-keyed psychopath. A carnival stalking provides some creepy chills while the film’s whirling finale is enough to make you swear off merry-go-rounds for life. They really can’t make ‘em like this anymore. I miss you Alfred!

Summer 04 (Germany 2006) (8):  Miriam and André are a comfortably bourgeois couple enjoying the summer at their seaside cottage along with their moody son Nils and his leggy 13-year old girlfriend, Livia.  Their days are filled with sailing, outdoor dinners and genial conversations that go nowhere.  But when Livia, a precocious and surprisingly mature Lolita, begins to flirt with Bill, the handsome stud down the road Miriam’s protective instincts kick in....or is it merely a jealous resentment?  Livia proves to be a catalyst of sorts, upsetting the couple’s precariously balanced life and causing all around her to re-examine the forces that motivate them....whether it’s Miriam’s unspoken discontent or Nils’ dawning awareness of the lies and small hypocrisies of adulthood.  When a sudden tragedy strikes everyone is thrown off balance and things are never the same again.  “Summer 04” is a beautifully restrained ensemble piece with great performances and cinematography that puts those hot summer days and quiet nights to good use.  Krohmer approaches his characters with a sense of detached compassion, never judging yet never making excuses for their behaviour.  The final scene, played out in the restaurant of a swank hotel, is a master stroke of deep irony underscored by a funky musical coda.  Good viewing!

Sunshine (UK/USA 2007) (7):  In the year 2057 the sun is starting to burn out prematurely causing an eternal ice age on earth.  A crew of eight astronauts is sent on a mission to explode a huge mega-bomb in the sun’s upper layers in an attempt to “create a star within a star” thereby re-igniting the solar furnace and saving the world.  This is mankind’s second attempt to do this, the first crew having mysteriously disappeared before they could complete their mission.  What follows is a grand entry in the sci-fi genre with elements reminiscent of 2001, Alien and Event Horizon.  Boyle splashes the screen with gorgeous sensual images which convey not only a sense of  wonder but also explore the various ways technology and spirituality impact each other.  The talented cast is well-balanced and play off each other with a high degree of believability thanks in large part to a strong director and tight script.  While there is some definite artistic license regarding the underlying physics (this is science FICTION after all) the accompanying commentary by  Dr. Brian Cox offers some interesting theories regarding the film’s premise.  Well deserved praise aside, the film is not without a few glaring flaws.  The “Bogeyman in the Airlock” subplot was a bit of overkill, and Boyle seemed to fall in love with his own pyrotechnics towards the end resulting in a finale that bordered on the self-indulgent.  Despite these faults, Sunshine is still an exhilarating ride worth taking.

Superhero Movie (USA 2008) (5): When young Rick Riker is bitten by a genetically enhanced dragonfly while on a class field trip he suddenly finds himself endowed with super powers. Meanwhile, across town, evil business magnate Lou Landers has been developing powers of his own. When the two men finally confront each other the fate of Empire City hangs in the balance… The team that brought us the “Scary Movie” series apply their tired old formula to the superhero genre with mixed results. There is nothing fresh here, the jokes are stale, the plot (based loosely on “Spiderman” with a little “X-Men” thrown in) is derivative and wholly predictable, and the visual gags juvenile at best. But I have to admit it had me rolling off the couch more than once. I guess I’m just a sucker for a bad spoof.

Synecdoche, New York (USA 2008) (10): Caden Cotard is a modestly successful stage director obsessed with death. It doesn’t help that his mailbox is filled with cancer magazines, his newspaper is filled with obituaries and the cartoons his child watches seem to mock his fears. Even the milk in the fridge is long past its expiry date while the wallpaper in his cluttered kitchen bears a ghostly, half-emerged figure. Between interminable visits to specialists who take a bleak interest in his intermittent lumps, bumps and bloody stools he works on an ironic production of Death of a Salesman while at the same time trying to save his failing marriage. But when he receives a huge arts grant he decides to embark on his biggest project yet; no less than recreating the city of New York in an abandoned hangar and populating it with hundreds of anonymous extras, including stand-ins for everyone in his life from his wife and daughter to Hazel, the box office cashier he’s having an uneasy affair with. Before long however, the actors begin to take on lives of their own which diverge from his carefully prepared script necessitating the introduction of additional actors to play the actors who are acting out his life... Combining the audacity of Fosse’s All That Jazz with the cryptic details of Anderson’s Magnolia, Kaufman draws on theatrical hyperbole to highlight one man’s rage against his own mortality. Using telescoping timelines, overlapping characters and an odd dream logic, he creates a skewed reality which is both seductive and mystifying. “Fate is what you create...” bellows a character at one point, “...every choice you make changes everything...and you only get one chance to play it out!” Fueled by his own artistic narcissism and an overriding fear of obscurity (he is described as a man “already dead”) Caden attempts to challenge this dictum by rewriting his own life with a cast of doppelgängers and phantoms. But you can’t change the past and all people, no matter what their station in life, arrive at the same final destination. Kaufman’s brilliant script is constantly catching you off guard with its unexpected turns and sly allusions (google “Cotard Delusion” and “synecdoche” for starters). He then fills his elaborately layered sets with tantalizing clues and visual tropes, whether it’s the briefly glimpsed title of a book or Hazel’s chronically smoldering house (reflecting her own reckless passion, perhaps?). Puzzling, enigmatic and impossible to fully appreciate with one viewing; we may not grasp all the finer tricks, but Kaufman’s sympathetic portrayal of a painfully flawed everyman can’t help but strike a chord.

Take Care of My Cat (Korea 2001) (7): With the comfortable certainties of childhood behind them three young women, friends since grade school, face the vagaries of the adult world with emotions that range from quiet despair to a kind of guarded optimism. While one selfishly pursues a corporate career armed only with a sense of self-delusional narcissism, another contends with parental pressures that threaten to derail her dreams of being an artist, while the third, raised by her destitute grandparents, faces a bleak future of dead-end jobs and poverty. As each girl reaches a crisis point in her life, heralded by the arrival of the titular kitten, she finds herself forced to make a momentous decision that will alter her life for better or worse. In the meantime there are families to deal with, deadlines to meet, and a whole lot of growing up to do... Jae-Eun Jeong has fashioned a very smart, if slightly unrealistic, snapshot of young lives on the cusp. Aside from the urban fairy-tale ending her film has a refreshingly unsentimental feel to it with its gritty cityscapes and funky minimalist score punctuated here and there with some dreamlike sequences. I was especially intrigued with the recurrent use of geometric shapes, especially squares...whether it was a table inlay, a window design or one girl’s mandala-like doodles; it reminded me of endless timetables and reinforced the film’s underlying theme nicely. And of course there is the omnipresent sound of cellphone ringtones. It seems the majority of the film’s communication is in the form of voicemail and text messages, a phenomenon that Jeong exploits with a sly wink. Lastly, there’s the cat. Originally a birthday gift, the little feline ends up being shuffled from one woman to the other as priorities change and circumstances arise. It quickly becomes both a symbol of responsibility and a metaphor for an entire generation trying to find its place in the world. A bit overdone at times, oversimplified at others, but a sincere effort nonetheless.

The Taking of Pelham One Two Three (USA 1974) (8): A group of heavily armed men take a subway car full of passengers hostage threatening to kill one person every minute unless their demands are met. A smart, tightly edited thriller with an all-star cast that manages to keep the action moving right up until the unexpectedly comical ending. Flipping back and forth between claustrophobic interiors and widescreen cityscapes, director Joseph Sargent ratchets up the suspense while keeping the plot simple and believable. A few non-PC moments may make overly sensitive contemporary audiences squirm (listed among the closing credits are "The Homosexual", "The W.A.S.P." and "The Hooker" ha! ha!) but hey, it was the freaking 70s!

The Taste of Tea (Japan 2004) (9): Hope springs eternal in Ishii’s long languorous daydream of a film that revels in life’s small joys and unspoken fears. The Haruno family live in a quiet pastoral village nestled between towering mountains and sun-dappled fields. It’s a place where being a misfit is the norm and people seem to have no more than a casual acquaintance with life’s harsher realities. While mother Satomi spends her days trying to restart her career as an animator, her psychotherapist husband Nobuo tries to lift people out of the ordinary through hypnosis. Meanwhile eldest son Hajime is experiencing his first tastes of love and heartbreak; little sister Sachiko longs to be grown up; and uncle Ayano is slowly coming to terms with a failed relationship. Each character sees the world filtered through their own personal dreams; whether it’s Hajime chasing trains that always seem to elude him or Sachiko constantly being followed by a huge version of herself which compounds her feelings of inadequacy. Then there’s Ayano who finds himself unable to cross the bridge that leads to his ex-girlfriend’s shop. Only grandfather Akira, eccentric and perhaps a bit demented, lives for the moment, relishing each day as if it were a precious gift. And throughout it all there’s the ubiquitous cups of tea that seem to be poured at just the right moment in order to bring the family together, soothe a jangled nerve, or welcome a weary guest. Ishii saturates each frame with fantastic imagery and a passion for his characters which, although sincere, never takes itself too seriously. Through the long sunny days and soft moonlit nights one feels an underlying sense of harmony at work which gives each person the courage to hope. There is a wonderfully layered look to his film, with separate narrative strands taking place in the foreground, middle ground and background, often simultaneously. If things occasionally move at a glacial pace it is only to allow us ample time to smell the many roses along the way.

Tekkonkinkreet (Japan 2006) (8½):  Beautifully crafted anime about a streetwise orphan named Black and his innocent young sidekick White, who patrol the skies and alleyways of Treasure Town guarding their turf while eking out a living through petty theft.  When a powerful crime syndicate tries to take over the neighbourhood they’re in for more trouble than they bargained for as they come up against these two pint-sized ninjas and their superhuman abilities.  The gripping storyline is an interesting blend of film noir and Saturday morning cartoon that will appeal to older children yet contains enough depth and pathos to keep adult fans of the genre captivated.  Treasure Town itself is a colourful rat’s nest of garish attractions and decaying storefronts reminiscent of Ridley Scott’s vision of L.A. in “Blade Runner”.  Arias has captured the spirit of the original manga perfectly.  His intelligent script is further enhanced by some incredible animation and a very cool soundtrack of original music.  Highly recommended.

Tenebre (Italy 1982) (7): When an American mystery writer visits Rome on a book promotion tour his arrival sparks a series of grisly murders which bear an uncanny resemblance to the misogynistic slayings in his latest novel. Soon he is receiving fanatical phone calls and cryptic notes from the twisted killer as the pair of homicide detectives assigned to the case run around in circles. With everyone dying around him it’s only a matter of time before the author becomes the next victim, but who could the murderer be? As the red herrings are messily picked off one by one the plot becomes increasingly diabolical culminating in a dark and stormy showdown bursting with hysterical screaming, fountains of crimson gore and a double ending that had me rolling on the couch. Gloriously overdone in every way this is classic giallo from Dario Argento, one of the genre’s undisputed masters. Not for every taste to be sure; there are no cerebral plot devices here, precious little logic and the cast of B-list actors are outshone by the manic performance of one very persistent doberman. But if you like a bit of sex and guts to go with your cheese then light up the bong and hit “play”.

Ten Tiny Love Stories  (USA 2001) (2):  Did you ever have to sit and listen to some casual acquaintance drone on and on about all the boring minutiae of her insignificant life until all you could think of was tearing your eyeballs out of their sockets so at least you'd have an excuse to run away screaming? Watching this film is kind of like that, only you have to go through it 10 times. Despite some good acting this is still the kind of syrupy treacle that gives chick flicks an even worse reputation than they already have. Run away.....RUN AWAY!!!

Terrorstorm  (USA 2006) (5):  The events of 911 have certainly polarized popular opinion and both sides have their outspoken mouthpieces. At first Alex Jones comes across as both passionate and well informed....he hits upon some key points and offers compelling evidence. And then the proselytizing begins......the rants and sheer speculation. He offers mountains of accusations, often supported by molehills of actual facts. I do believe there is far more to 911 then the official story......but "Terrorstorm" simply clouds an already contentious issue with even more innuendo and hearsay.

Terror Taxi (Korea 2000) (4): Cab driver Gil-Nam is not having a good day. His estranged girlfriend Yoo-Jung is being harassed by loan sharks, his best buddy is a heroin addict and, to top things off, he ends up dead after being forced off the road by a ghostly driver. But even the afterlife proves to be disappointingly anticlimactic for Gil; aside from the fact his taxi now contains a beating heart and runs on blood he finds himself back on the streets competing with other spectral cabbies for elusive customers, both living and dead. Deciding to get even with the ghost who killed him Gil enlists the aid of an outrageously eccentric group of fellow dead drivers as well as an enigmatic little girl who has a knack for showing up at just the right time. What follows is a series of frantically choreographed car chases, flying taxis, and unfortunate accidents; apparently ghost drivers don’t really care if their fares arrive alive and well. There is some Laurel & Hardy type comedy from a couple of clueless cops, a few unexceptional CGI effects, and a whole lot of crazed yelling before everything runs out of gas and coasts to a painfully slow stop. You’d be further ahead taking the bus.

Things To Come (UK 1936) (8):  H. G. Wells’ screenplay covers 100 years of “future history” starting with a catastrophic global war in 1936 (WWII actually began just three years later) through the decades of barbarism and petty fiefdoms which followed civilization’s collapse (the dark ages of the ‘60s) and, finally, the rise of a utopian society ruled benevolently by a cadre of scientists and philosophers.  But even as mankind’s shiny new cities rise from the ashes, peace is once more threatened by a growing movement of disaffected Luddites...  This is an ambitious film with impressive special effects that must have been considered breathtaking 70 years ago.  Furthermore there is a wonderfully retro feel to the elaborate set designs which combine elements of both ancient Rome and ‘30s art deco.  But beyond the ill-fitting togas and flashy gizmos there is some very serious sermonizing by the great author himself.  Wells leaves no doubt as to where his sympathies lie....scientific inquiry and rational thought are essential to our survival as a species.  It comes as no surprise then that church steeples are noticeably missing from his vision of an advanced society.  The film certainly has its theatrical moments, after all Raymond Massey was never known for his subtlety, but considering when it was made “Things to Come” is a classic of speculative fiction.

30 Days of Night  (USA 2007) (7):  A simple, occasionally clever, rehash of plot devices taken from every zombie and vampire movie ever made and all played out in a setting borrowed right from Carpenter’s “The Thing”.  Slade adds nothing new to the mythos but he bombards the screen with so much razzle-dazzle that you could almost mistake it for something fresh.  From the giddy camerawork to the well-choreographed action sequences this is one of the more entertaining no-brainers I’ve seen in some time.  I may even rent the inevitable sequel.

This Sporting Life  (UK 1963) (9):  Richard Harris and Rachel Roberts are perfectly matched in this bleak working class drama about a well-meaning lout vainly trying to rise above his station in life.  When a brash young miner is given the opportunity to make it big as a rugby star his reckless pursuit of fame and fortune threatens everything he ever valued, including the tenuous relationship he’d been forming with his widowed landlady.  Harris’ character is a complex contradiction of arrogant cockiness and painful vulnerability that brings to mind a young Marlon Brando.  Roberts portrays the grieving widow  as a woman who yearns to be loved yet cannot let go of her husband’s memory, terrified to get close to another man lest he leave her as well.  Their scenes together swing wildly from cold civility to frustrated outrage to a desperately intense passion.  Anderson’s gritty B&W tragedy is beautifully filmed and its central story of a beleaguered Everyman raging against the forces that oppose him is ageless.

300 (USA 2006) (8): Zack Snyder creates a glorious CGI vision of ancient Greece in this rewrite of the Battle of Thermopylae that is devoid of historical accuracy but heavy on the comic book gore. Through the use of post production wizardry he melds live action with virtual sets to give us a film whose washed out colours and golden lustre recall the graphic novel on which it is based. When Spartan king Leonidas (Gerard Butler, not even trying to mask his Scottish brogue) finds his meagre forces grossly outnumbered by a vast Persian army led by the elaborately effeminate King Xerxes, he and his men defy the odds and hold their own for three days before finally being defeated; a defeat which was later avenged at Plataea. Snyder brings the heat of battle to vivid life with endless fountains of blood, dripping swords and graphic decapitations. He also employs a strong element of the fantastic as grotesque creatures and mythical beasts threaten our heroes from every side only to be defeated in the most outrageous examples of military hyperbole; yet there is a certain grandiose nobility to the proceedings that demands to be taken seriously. This is a testosterone-drenched fantasy epic overflowing with bellicose male posturing and endless vistas of half-naked beefcake; Butler looks especially edible with his full beard and little furry jockstrap. Part adolescent reverie, part macho wet dream, and wholly entertaining.

Three On A Match (USA 1932) (6): “Three on a match means one will die soon...” So goes the old adage as three former classmates light up during an impromptu reunion. There’s Vivian who attended a private highschool and is now a terribly depressed trophy wife; Ruth, class valedictorian now a meek office drone fresh out of business college; and Mary, irrepressible tomboy and all-around slut who went on to become a chorus girl after a brief stint in reform school. The “death” which eventually follows their ill-fated smokes has as much to do with shattered virtue as it does with physical demise for one woman will fall from grace, one will redeem herself, and one will get stuck with babysitting duty. A tired and predictable morality play with a cloyingly sweet ending (the child actor is pretty good, I must admit) but with the likes of Humphrey Bogart, Joan Blondell and Bette Davis who can resist?

Thunderball  (UK 1965) (6):  Another adventure featuring James Bond, spydom's favourite psychopathic horndog.  This time he’s shooting and screwing his way through the Bahamas in an effort to locate a pair of armed nuclear missiles that have gone astray. The action is appropriately cartoonish and Sean Connery is certainly very easy on the eyes but I'm afraid I just can't suspend my disbelief long enough to really enjoy these films and instead find myself wishing S.P.E.C.T.R.E. would succeed just once. Who needs Miami anyway?

The Thursday Club (USA 2005) (5):  Forty years after he was whacked on the head by an Oakland police officer during a Viet Nam protest, George Csicsery returns to the scene of the crime to see if he can find the cop who swung the baton so long ago.  His research leads him to the “Clam Bucket”, a local eatery where a group of retired cops gather every Thursday to reminisce about the good ol’ days and catch up on current events.  By allowing them to tell their own stories Csicsery attempts to give us a sense of how the demonstrations of the 60s appeared to those who stood on the other side of the barricades.  It would appear that the generation gap was not so wide after all as we hear these men talk about their experiences during WWII and their personal views on Viet Nam, some of them even had sons serving in the army at the time.  It’s certainly hard to imagine these genial old codgers beating up hippies and dragging them off to jail......it’s also hard to imagine this clean cut middle-aged filmmaker as having been one such hippy.  But appearances can be deceiving and time lessens the impact of events.  What we are left with then is a series of affable interviews that don’t really go anywhere, nor do they add up to anything other than a bunch of personal opinions and private recollections.  I suppose I was looking for some definitive insights into that most confusing of decades.  I should have known better.

Tickets (Italy 2005) (7): Three great directors give us three interrelated stories, all of which unfold on a train bound for Rome. An aging professor is returning home from a medical conference in Germany where he was smitten by a beautiful younger woman he met only briefly. Lost in a series of pleasant reveries about what might have been he begins to compose a rambling letter to her, a task that causes him to review his own life. Meanwhile, in another car, a truculent older woman has a series of ridiculous arguments with some fellow passengers while her handsome 25-year old assistant (boy-toy?) sneaks off in order to chat up a sweet young girl from his past. When the inevitable blow-up happens between the two of them she must face some uncomfortable truths about herself. Lastly, a group of coarse but well-meaning Scottish soccer lads on their way to a world cup game are having no luck whatsoever when it comes to tickets and chicks. But when fate places them in an ethical quandary involving a family of Albanian refugees they find themselves having to make one of the most difficult decisions of their young lives. I love the metaphor of a train; it’s a perfectly contained microcosm traveling along a preordained track yet there is always room for the unexpected. Here Kiarostami, Loach, and Olmi use it as a vehicle to explore the natures of truth and reality, conscience and responsibility. The final destination may be tied up a little too neatly, but the journey is still worth the price of a ticket.

Timecrimes (Spain 2007) (7): Hector and his wife Clara are busy setting up their new home in the country when he notices some strange goings-on in the bushes across the road. Armed with a pair of binoculars he sets off to investigate while his wife, unaware of his concerns, takes the car into town. In the forest he comes upon the body of a nude woman who may or may not be dead and is momentarily taken aback until a madman wrapped in bloody bandages and sporting a mean pair of scissors makes a sudden appearance. Fleeing for his life, Hector eventually stumbles upon a mysterious laboratory complex hidden amongst the trees where a most unusual experiment is taking place... What follows is a surprisingly lucid and engaging story involving time travel and altering the future that throws a volley of paradoxical curve balls our way while piling on the suspense. Vigalondo keeps a firm directorial grip on the proceedings, doling out just enough clues to keep you hooked while softening some of the plot’s more illogical elements with a darkly twisted humour. It’s a temporal Frankenstein story that’s sure to lead to some interesting discussions afterwards, but to say more would be a disservice. Keep your eyes opened!

Tokyo Twilight (Japan 1957) (7): Ozu’s signature trains, smoke, and ticking clocks abound in this tale of a single father and his two daughters, but the gentle stoicism of his earlier films has been replaced by a bitter cynicism that seems out of place with the softly lit B&W interiors and airy musical score. After his wife abandoned him Mr. Sugiyama was left to raise their two young daughters himself. Now, several years later, the eldest child, Takako, is a mother herself and unhappily married to an abusive drunk while younger Akiko finds herself pregnant and very much alone. But when the long lost mother suddenly shows up old wounds are reopened and unexpected tragedy ensues. Ozu is all too aware of life’s unpredictability, perhaps this explains the film’s many scenes of gambling and chance whether it be a spirited game of mahjongg or a crowded pachinko parlour. The characters appear to have little control over their destinies; Takako is resigned to her terrible marriage because it is “best” for the child, Akiko’s small cries for help go unheeded, and their father feels powerless to help either one. There is also a subtle commentary on the increasing influence of western culture in all its forms; submissive Takako chooses traditional garb while her rebellious sister is more apt to wear a skirt and sweater. Along the way Ozu employs some clever cinematic conceits to convey his characters’ sense of isolation; endless snowstorms, distant train whistles and an enigmatic billboard featuring a large pair of unblinking eyes (a nod to The Great Gatsby ?) Relentlessly bleak and unforgiving look at the disintegration of a nuclear family which lacks that small hint of redemption one comes to expect from his films. Considering his past achievements, Tokyo Twilight is both a bold departure and a vague disappointment.

To Live (Hong Kong 1994) (8): Zhang Yimou’s gorgeous film traces 30 years of contemporary Chinese history by examining its impact on one young couple. Wealthy landowner Xu Fugui enjoys his privileged lifestyle until an uncontrollable gambling habit cause him to lose everything; his estate, his fortune and his mousy wife Jiazhen who, along with their little daughter and unborn son, decides to strike out on her own. Penniless and desperate, Fugui ekes out a meager living as a street vendor and puppeteer until fate and Mao’s Cultural Revolution unite him with Jiazhen once more. With a new-found determination to weather whatever life has to throw at them, the young family bravely face the social and political upheavals of the 50s and 60s with cautious optimism. With his endearingly flawed characters and a liberal dollop of delightfully dark counterrevolutionary barbs, Zhang manages to find that delicate balance between life-sustaining hope and bitter tragedy. He forgoes the impersonality of a political epic and instead delivers a loving family portrait; Mao’s troubling legacy may pervade every aspect of the film but it is reduced to the level of two adults and two small children. Ge You and Gong Li are flawless in their leading roles while the haunting musical score is as integral to the story as its intimate cinematography. “I want to live...” Fugui states at one particularly trying time in his life, “...there’s nothing like family.” A perfect summation of a film that stands among the best I’ve seen this year.

Town Without Pity (USA 1961) (6): Gottfried Reinhadt’s sombre courtroom drama follows the investigation, and subsequent trial, of four American servicemen stationed overseas who are accused of raping a local German girl. With the town in an uproar, the victim’s wealthy father demanding blood and the men’s own commanding officer determined to make an example of them by invoking the death penalty, the only person standing between them and the gallows is crack defense lawyer Maj. Steve Garret. Oddly, in preparing his case Garret quickly learns that everyone in the village has a personal axe to grind with the victim; the resident hookers are jealous of her privileged lifestyle, her boyfriend’s overly protective mother sees her as a threat, and the sexually frustrated old man next door has her pegged as a shameless flirt. With a growing reluctance bordering on revulsion, Garret realizes that in order to perform his duty he will have to systematically destroy the young girl’s reputation. In the lead role Kirk Douglas delivers one of his most powerful performances. His character is a complex mixture of ethical dilemma and cold-blooded determination fueled perhaps by some vague personal agenda. Even as he tears into the naive plaintiff it is quite clear that he has also put himself on trial, and the verdict is less than satisfactory. With its dreary greyscale landscapes of shuttered buildings and overcast skies, Reinhardt’s pessimistic film casts a critical eye on what motivates us leaving little room for honour or virtue; indeed, its flagrantly overdone finale threatens to overwhelm the audience with sheer pathos and heavy-handed irony. Furthermore the blaring soundtrack of jazzy James Bond riffs and lurid muzak undermines much of the movie’s dramatic impact while the script contains more than a few clunky lines that fall flat. The occasional use of a voiceover narrator in lieu of subtitles is effective, if annoying at times, while the metaphorical use of muddied rivers to represent a system of jurisprudence which seems to favour process over truth is brilliant. An engaging story which would have been far more effective had the director not been so eager to shove its message in our faces. And if I never hear Gene Pitney’s whiny theme song again it will be too soon.

Tropic of Cancer (USA 1970) (2): Rip Torn plays Henry Miller in this semi-autobiographical tale of an American Lothario eking out a living in Paris by bumming off the kindness of friends and strangers alike while bedding as many women as possible. Along the way we're forced to listen to his convoluted musings on everything from French architecture and fornication to the more intimate parts of the female anatomy (I lost count of the number of times "cunt" was mentioned). Its ample nudity and foul language garnered an "X" rating in 1970 but despite the racy subject matter it's little more than 90 minutes of pretentious navel gazing and bloated doggerel.

Tropic Thunder (USA 2008) (8): Things are not going well on the jungle set of Tropic Thunder, a big budget Viet Nam epic based on the wartime memoirs of gruff and reclusive Sgt. “Four Leaf” Tayback. Not only does the director have to contend with technical screw-ups but he also finds himself playing nursemaid to a cast of Hollywood prima donnas; among them a heroin-snorting party animal (Jack Black, true to form), a semi-talented rap star, a fussy leading man (Ben Stiller, surprisingly un-annoying), and a faded Aussie matinee idol who underwent “racial reassignment” surgery in order to play a tough, jive-talking brother (Robert Downey Jr. in what should have been an Oscar-winning performance). At his wits’ end the director takes Tayback’s advice and dumps the actors in the middle of a nearby rain forest with instructions to find their way back to base camp while staying in character. Armed only with prop weapons and a map, the men ham it up as best they can while hidden cameras record their every move and surprise pyrotechnics keep them off guard. Unfortunately, unbeknownst to cast and crew, this particular rainforest is run by a ruthless drug cartel and their diminutive warlord who mistake the bumbling performers for an invading American army. Filled with hilarious celebrity cameos and an acerbic humour that harpoons everything from Tinseltown politics to cliché-riddled American war movies, Stiller’s film is a perfect blend of in-your-face comedy and pitch black satire. Glorious widescreen shots drenched in tropical colours, and expertly choreographed action sequences call to mind the meticulous camerawork of Platoon or Apocalypse Now, but this is more skewering than homage. Stiller concentrates on the darker side of celebrity, the lies and illusions one maintains pursuing that Hollywood dream of money and prestige; as the crew suddenly find themselves struggling with a variety of identity crises, a talent agent back in Los Angeles considers entering into a faustian bargain with a ruthless producer. And throughout it all the cameras keep rolling right up to the satisfyingly ironic ending. This territory has been covered many time before though never with such riotous excess; it may not be art, exactly, but rarely have two hours flown by so fast.

Trouble the Water (USA 2008) (6): Nominated for an Academy Award for all the usual reasons, Carl Dean and Tia Lessin’s documentary brings the tragedy of Hurricane Katrina to a very personal level with an uneven mix of professional footage, television bulletins and shaky home movies taken by a young couple who actually rode the storm out in their dripping attic. When we first meet Kimberly and Scott Roberts they’re battening down the hatches of their low-rent house in one of New Orleans’ poorer neighbourhoods. With camcorder firmly attached to one eye, Kim chronicles the days leading up to Katrina as she and Scott load up on charcoal and groceries while trying to maintain a brave face. Their neighbours, meanwhile, take some delight in mugging for the camera while expressing sentiments ranging from fatalistic resignation and apathy to a naive bravura. Too poor to evacuate the city (the government neglected to provide transportation) they put their faith in God and prepare for a few days of hardship. And then the levees broke. What follows is a first-person video diary detailing the horrors of ground zero punctuated now and again by news commentary showing the scope of devastation. Scenes of flooded streets and shrouded corpses are juxtaposed with later footage taken when the Roberts flee the city, then return months later to start rebuilding their lives. As President Bush offers platitudes from an exclusive country club in Phoenix and Michael Brown, then head of FEMA, stares moronically into the news cameras, a troubling picture begins to emerge which is summed up succinctly by Kim’s cousin, “If you don’t have money, and you don’t have status, you have no government.” With no food, water or shelter, and a military more concerned with maintaining order than delivering aid, those who were left to fend for themselves, mostly poor and black, saw those prophetic words become cold reality. Kim and Scott may not be angels, he was dealing drugs and she was on the fast track to an early grave when they first met, but by the film’s end we see a couple reborn; he lands a job and she tries to jumpstart a music career. Definitely in need of some trimming, Trouble the Water often plays more like a rambling inner city reality show than a world class doc, but its straight-up approach and unembellished testimonies manage to keep it afloat, if just barely.

12 and Holding  (USA 2005) (3):  What starts out as an examination of pre-teen angst quickly morphs into a suburban soap opera featuring a cast of world-weary midgets. Human children simply do not talk like this, nor do they get themselves into these situations. I tried to give Cuesta the benefit of the doubt and view this film as a series of pre-adolescent fantasies: the little fat kid who dreams of being a jock; the little wimpy kid who dreams of being Dirty Harry; and the little lonely kid who dreams of falling in love with her ideal father figure, but it still failed to impress me. "L.I.E." was an excellent foray into similar territory........it's hard to believe the same director is responsible for this dud.

12 Angry Men (USA 1957) (9): In New York, as storm clouds gather on the “hottest day of the year,” an 18-year old boy from the wrong side of the tracks stands accused of murdering his father. With a mountain of evidence against him and two solid eyewitnesses whose damning testimonies link him to the crime, the death penalty seems inevitable. The monumental task of deciding the young man’s fate ultimately rests in the hands of the twelve-member jury assigned to the case, and eleven of them have already decided he is guilty. Only one man stands between them and the unanimous vote needed for a verdict. “Juror #8” (Henry Fonda, marvelously understated) is not entirely convinced the boy did it and has some serious doubts concerning the prosecution’s arguments. Fighting an uphill battle against his increasingly hostile fellow jurors he insists on presenting his own interpretation of the evidence; but will it be compelling enough to swing the vote? Filmed almost entirely within the confines of a small jury room, Sidney Lumet’s intense courtroom drama is absolutely engrossing. His roster of A-List stars play off one another expertly on a set that is little more than a claustrophobic mix of sweat and cigarette smoke. As the afternoon’s deliberations wear on and tempers begin to flare Lumet deftly places each separate juror on trial, slowly exposing the hidden motives and deep-seated prejudices influencing their decisions. While one man holds anyone from “those neighbourhoods” in equal disdain another has an axe to grind with his own son, a situation that quickly sets him on a collision course with Fonda’s character. In the end however, as a sudden rainstorm brings some relief from the oppressive heat, it is time for one final, decisive vote. With its brilliant cast and tightly focused direction 12 Angry men is a powerful ensemble piece exploring what can happen when conscience versus consensus. An American classic.

12 Days of Terror  (South Africa 2004) (3):  As a rule I generally give movies a minimum of 30 minutes to impress me before I hit the eject button.  This waterlogged turkey had me eyeing the remote at the 10-minute mark.  Even though it claims to be based on actual events, it simply comes across as a cheap remake of  “Jaws”.  The sets look like an ad for Main street U.S.A. and the smooth young posers that inhabit them are right from the pages of last month’s International Male catalogue.....yes, it seems to be Gay Day at Shark Beach.  Despite some fairly decent special effects (the CGI squirts of blood were laughable) the movie simply can’t overcome its terribly clichéd script and amateurish performances.  This is one fish tale that should have been torpedoed.

20 Centimetres  (Spain 2005) (7):  Monica Cervera is superb in her role as a good-hearted narcoleptic transsexual trying to scrape enough cash together to pay for her sex change.  She takes an otherwise unremarkable little film and turns it into something wonderful.  Her character is totally convincing as she moves effortlessly from scenes of camp humour to poignant intimacy delivering a softly nuanced performance that combines a sad vulnerability with ironclad optimism.  It’s too bad the film is marred by some badly choreographed and wholly superfluous Bollywood musical sequences, they appear gimmicky and add nothing to the central narrative.  Still, there is enough warmth and gentle humour here to put a big smile on your face.  Well worth renting.

Twitch of the Death Nerve AKA Bay of Blood (Italy 1971) (2):  A blood-soaked whodunnit which seems to revolve around a series of grisly murders on a waterfront property.   Unfortunately the sound on this little tidbit from the “Mario Bava” collection was very poor, going from barely audible to jarringly loud which made it difficult to follow what little plot there was.  Anyway, lets do our giallo checklist:  Bad acting?  yes.  Terrible dubbing?  yep.  Odd disjointed music?  hell yeah.  Jumpy camerawork reminiscent of an amateur home movie?  bingo!  Cheap special effects?  you got it!  Should be a lot of fun for fans of this genre but we decided to just fast forward to the murders themselves and call it a night.

U-Carmen Ekhayelitsha  (South Africa 2005) (7):  I've always enjoyed watching artists take a chance. Setting "Carmen" in modern day South Africa is a pretty big chance and, for the most part, Dornford-May manages to pull it off. The music is wonderful and the singing is superb.  Unfortunately it doesn't manage to capture the sensuality and passion of the opera and instead we are left watching a very admirable amateur production with a few clever twists.

Ugetsu  (Japan 1953) (9):  Brilliant film about the dire consequences of unchecked ambition and the illusory nature of celebrity. Two men, two desperate quests for material success, two tragic realizations that the single-minded pursuit of fame and fortune often comes with a horrible price. Mizoguchi's masterful use of light and composition raises the somewhat terse dialogue to poetic heights. A quiet masterpiece.

The Uninvited Guest  (El Habitante Incierto) (Spain 2004) (9):  Felix is alone in the house when a stranger comes to the door asking to use the phone, apparently his car has broken down and he needs to call a garage.  Felix obliges but when the stranger suddenly disappears into the house things start to get......odd.  This is a ferociously intelligent psychological thriller/horror/black comedy offering from Spain that draws you in and screws with your mind until the final frame. Well done!

United 93  (USA 2006) (9):  I refused to see this film in the theatres thinking it to be a grotesque exploitation of other people's misery. I rented it on the advice of a fellow cinephile and quickly realized how wrong I had been. If anything this film is a respectful memorial to those who lost their lives on 9/11....one only has to see the family interviews in the "extras" section to realize this. Technically and artistically it is a tremendous achievement.....with a frantic verite style and believable dialogue delivered by some amazing actors. One gets the claustrophobic feeling that they are actually silent witnesses on the plane itself rather than passive observers. There is no political grandstanding, no patriotic propaganda.......just a heartbreaking story of some ordinary people in an extraordinary situation.

Up (USA 2009) (8): When he was a young boy, Carl Fredricksen dreamed of piloting a fantastic flying machine into the wilds of South America. Fueled by newsreel footage of dashing adventurer Charles Muntz’s escapades in those southern jungles he vowed, along with his childhood sweetheart Ellie, that someday he would journey to the semi-mythical Paradise Falls (a land lost in time!) But sometimes life gets in the way of living and despite the young couple’s best efforts to realize their dream there were always bills to pay and minor crises to avert. Sadly, Ellie dies without ever stepping foot outside the United States, leaving Carl an embittered old man long past his prime. With developers itching to bulldoze his home and a nursing home eager to add him to their census, he hatches an ingenious scheme to leave the civilized world behind; he attaches thousands of helium-filled balloons to the chimney and turns his house into a domestic dirigible. Accompanied by Russell, a 10-year old “Wilderness Explorer” who happened to be on the porch during lift-off, Carl finally sets sail for South America... Pixar’s latest adventure is a pure delight from start to finish. Meticulously detailed and rich in bright carnival colours, Up attests to the power of animation to touch an emotional chord with its audience whether it be a soft-spoken pathos or a wistful yearning for some magic in our lives. Of course there is the expected assortment of oddly charming (and marketable) characters one expects from Pixar; a pack of dogs fitted with talking collars had us rolling on the couch, a mad scientist looms menacingly, and a giant pastel bird comes close to stealing the show. Beyond the kaleidoscopic visuals and slapstick action, however, there is a surprising depth to this story. The buoyant quality of dreams is certainly taken to its literal extreme but the crippling effect of memories, especially those associated with guilt or unresolved grief, is beautifully illustrated as we see Carl stumbling over an expanse of barren rock dragging his floating house behind him as if it were a leg iron. Yet, as the old man finally lets go of the past and the young boy learns the importance of duty, we are treated to one last radiant barrage of sight and sound which brings the entire film to a perfect three-point landing.

Up the Down Staircase (USA 1967) (6):  Sandy Dennis plays a wide-eyed young idealist who accepts a teaching position at a poor inner city highschool in this film that strives for gritty realism but ends up looking like an episode of “Degrassi High: The Bronx” instead. All the usual characters are in attendance with the class clown, the dumpy girl with emotional problems, the dangerous loner with a switchblade, and the angry black student with a chip on his shoulder sitting right up front. There are a few promising storylines here but for some reason Mulligan does not follow through on them. The result is a lukewarm drama that fails to engage the viewer and culminates in an ending that is both bland and predictable. There is one scene that stands out however; a young student with a crush on her former English teacher presents him with a poorly written love letter only to have her spirit crushed as the cavalier bastard corrects her grammatical errors without once addressing her feelings. That scene, along with a wonderful guitar and woodwind soundtrack, almost made the two hours worth it.

Valley of the Bees  (Czechoslovakia 1967) (9):  Well crafted parable on the struggle between spiritual idealism and secular pragmatism. Two knights, each representing one side, try to bridge the widening gulf between them with tragic consequences. The ending was sublime

Vera (Mexico 2003) (8):  When an elderly man becomes trapped in a cave by a rockslide he finds himself embarking on a strange voyage accompanied by an enigmatic woman. Despite the rather poor quality of this DVD transfer I still found "Vera" to be an amazing film. The concept of death as both a linear journey and a series of ritualized transformations is explored using seductive, almost hypnotic imagery and a very minimalist soundtrack with no narration and almost no dialogue. Athie incorporates religious iconography from a multitude of sources and blends them seamlessly into one man's unique spiritual awakening. Well done!

La Vie En Rose (France 2007) (6):  Marion Cotillard’s powerful performance smoothes out most of the rough edges in this dark tribute to the intense and turbulent life of France’s most celebrated chanteuse. Dahan’s episodic narrative weaves back and forth through time, from Piaf’s unhap(py childhood during WW1 to her sad and untimely death in 1963. The result is more of a loose collage than a standard biography which, taken in its entirety, leaves you with a keen sense of the woman behind the legend. I admit to not being a great fan of the biopic genre as I am constantly aware of the artistic license directors use in order to make their films watchable. The camera certainly lingers on Piaf’s private misery often to the exclusion of anything else. It’s this lack of balance that left “La Vie En Rose” feeling incomplete and somewhat lop-sided to me. A passionate and sincere film nonetheless with some of the most dynamic acting I’ve seen in some time....just not destined to be in my personal top 10 this year. 

The V.I.Ps (USA 1963) (8):  When a heavy fog grounds all planes at London’s Heathrow airport the resulting flight delays have a dramatic effect on the personal lives of several passengers stranded in the First Class lounge.  There’s the wealthy socialite fleeing her loveless marriage and the French gigolo who’s accompanying her; the Australian tycoon facing bankruptcy and his personal assistant who’s secretly in love with him; the cash-strapped European director and his air-headed starlet; and lastly, the doddery old Duchess trying to raise enough cash to save her ancestral home.  Part “Love Boat”, part “Airport”, this technicolour soap opera features a paper-thin script and a wholly contrived series of plot lines.  So why did I enjoy it so much?  Because as a paper-thin soap opera it is a great deal of fun to watch!  The A-list cast is in top form as they agonize and emote; the set designs feature some wonderful examples of early 60’s kitsch (Liz Taylor’s Givenchy gowns are wonderful); and lastly, Margaret Rutherford’s portrayal of the pill-popping Duchess is a pure delight.  Silly, sappy, and at times bordering on camp yet strangely watchable.  Put your brain in neutral and enjoy!

Wakeful Nights (Japan 2005) (4): “Rakugo”, we’re told in the film’s first frames, is a traditional form of Japanese comic storytelling. Part performance art, part stand-up routine, it consists of a lone narrator recounting a humorous story using minimal props and playing all the characters himself. This particular story begins with Kyokaku, an elderly master of the art, lying on his deathbed. As his family and friends gather around he makes one last puzzling request; to see a woman’s “honeypot”. Scouring the family tree for a relative willing to fulfill the master’s wishes they eventually find an agreeable daughter-in-law eager to doff her panties for a noble cause; and thus the stage is set for the film’s one and only amusing punchline. Gathering at the ensuing series of wakes (death seems to come in threes) the surviving family members regale each other with exaggerated tales concerning the deceased, usually bawdy in nature with a vulgar emphasis on genitals, bodily waste, and sexual exploits, with a bit of aquatic bestiality thrown in for good measure. Not so much a linear story as a series of sake-fueled flashbacks, we are treated to a few tasteless funereal exploits nonetheless with a dancing corpse and raunchy rap contest taking centre stage. I’m sure a native Japanese speaker would find Wakeful Nights to be a riot since the majority of laughs come in the form of puns and double-entendres but, alas, this type of culture-specific humour does not translate well into another language. To his credit, fledgling director Masahiko does try to bridge this gap by cluttering the screen with colour-coded subtitles and annotated surtitles aimed at explaining to Western audiences just why their Japanese counterparts are rolling in the aisles. But, as we all know, timing is everything and if you have to explain a joke it ceases to be funny.

Walk on Water (Israel 2004) (7): Eyal is a Mossad agent specializing in assassinating threats to Israeli security. Taciturn and cynical, he suffers from an emotional disconnectedness with the people around him. Even his wife’s recent suicide has failed to pierce his hard shell and a strange medical condition renders him incapable of shedding tears. Having dealt mainly with P.L.O. terrorists he is somewhat taken aback when his supervisor sets his sights on a new target; Alfred Himmelman, a decrepit Nazi war criminal who has recently disappeared from his private hospital room in Argentina. Believing the man’s wealthy son has spirited the feeble octogenarian back to Berlin, he orders Eyal to find him despite the young agent’s misgivings as to the value of hunting down someone who is half dead already. “I want to get him before God does...” is the boss’ only reply. Luckily Pia, the old man’s granddaughter, lives in a nearby kibbutz and is looking for someone to act as a guide for her visiting brother, a soft-spoken and openly gay Axel. Presenting himself as a tour operator, Eyal befriends the two siblings hoping to gather clues regarding the whereabouts of their grandfather. Eventually his investigation leads him to the family’s estate in Berlin where he finally confronts Alfred, now a withered husk connected to oxygen and an intravenous drip. What follows is an intense crises of moral and spiritual proportions for Eyal compounded by an unexpected intervention from Axel. Eytan Fox has crafted an insightful character study of one man’s search for salvation. Eyal spent years following orders, hardening his resolve and silencing any feelings of remorse. But when he comes up against Axel, a “patronizing German peacenik” he slowly begins to question the motives behind some of his vindictiveness. Fox juxtaposes gorgeous seaside vistas with grimy urban reality to lend greater depth to the film’s central metaphor; “Only by purifying the heart from inside, with no negativity, no bad thoughts, can you walk on water...” states Axel at one point. Unfortunately Fox stumbles towards the end with a conclusion that is too predictable and too tidy. Furthermore some plot developments seem like overkill; the wife’s portentous suicide note, Eyal and Axel’s “odd couple” relationship, and Axel’s dalliance with a Palestinian boyfriend. Luckily the film’s momentum manages to smooth over most of the rough spots and finishes with a lovely little flourish.

War Requiem (UK 1988) (8):  Wilfred Owen was a British lieutenant in WWI who wrote a series of poems based on his experiences.  Angry and despairing, yet darkly beautiful, his words were later made into a somber oratorio by Benjamin Britten.  Derek Jarman gives the works of Owen and Britten new life in this silent homage to the many casualties of war including love, youth, innocence and joy.  With all the solemnity of a high mass he uses a disjointed narrative and highly stylized images to tell the story of a doomed romance between a young soldier and an army nurse (the ever radiant Tilda Swinton).  Through Jarman’s uncompromising eye war is presented as a series of empty rituals and hollow glories:  a group of children dressed in military drag set fire to a teddy bear; a soldier receiving holy communion is sacrificed by the priest while a group of bloated businessman applaud; and in one scene reminiscent of The Tin Drum, a young boy beats out a discordant rhythm while behind him a vulgar burlesque show parodying the goddess Britannia unfolds.  Some scenes are definitely overstated as when a young officer carrying a wreath of poppies past the ranks of his dead comrades comes upon a frozen tableau of the risen Christ, but for the most part Jarman shows remarkable restraint.  In one of the film’s most moving segments a group of weary soldiers gather by a muddy pond to wash each other’s wounds while elsewhere the nurse, hearing of her lover’s death, quietly braids her hair like a mad Ophelia.  This is an angry confrontational work, so typical of its director, but there is a terrible fragility to it as well when even the delicate smoke from an extinguished candle carries overtones of immense tragedy.

Waterloo Bridge (USA 1931) (7):  This story of a young Canadian soldier who falls in love with a prostitute in WWI England is a fine blend of kitchen sink realism and Hollywood melodrama.  When Roy first meets Myra while on leave in London he believes her to be a struggling actress trying to make ends meet; but when he takes her to meet his well-to-do family on their English estate the facade begins to crumble and she is forced to make a heartbreaking decision.  With the exception of Kent Douglass’ hammy performance as Roy the remaining cast, including a very young Bette Davis, are superb.  The simple sets filmed in soft shades of B&W are effective and the actors deliver their lines so naturally that at times it seems they are doing improv.  Despite the rather abrupt ending, Waterloo Bridge remains a fine example of what Hollywood was capable of before the draconian Hays code was put in place.

What Dreams May Come (USA 1998) (2): Robin Williams moves heaven and hell in order to rescue the soul of his dead wife in this mushy mess of maudlin excesses and syrupy tripe. Pre-deceased by their two darling children, stoic Chris Nielsen and his neurotic artist wife Annie manage to keep their life on track until the unthinkable happens; Chris is smushed by a flying sports car while playing good Samaritan to an accident victim. Aided by a prancing ill-focused ghost Chris says his final farewells to a bereft Annie and enters into his own private afterlife; an unconvincing amalgamation of his wife’s artwork created with globs of wet paint. Unfortunately, when Annie tries to join him prematurely by committing suicide she is cast into Hell where no one can escape...until now, of course. Embarking on a Dantean quest to recover her spirit and bring her to the light Chris must first cross a Stygian sea, walk across a swamp of indignant human heads, and face down the enraged denizens of a flaming Thunderdome set. But can he break through the guilt-ridden delusions that keep her tied to a decaying mockery of their happy home before it’s too late? And will they ever be reunited with their children, now reinvented as a black yuppie and Asian airline hostess? Borrowing heavily from the works of Van Gogh, Bosch, and the Pre-Raphaelites with lighting reminiscent of the Dutch Masters, director Vincent Ward et al present a shimmering vision of Paradise filled with squiggly landscapes and flying toddlers. Apparently Heaven and Hell are whatever our subconscious makes of them hence all good souls enter into a manic series of pop-up fairytale books while bad souls get caught in endless psychotic loops. Everything about this production is so trite and disingenuous that it’s difficult to point enough fingers. Teeming with lofty mountain peaks and sunlit meadows, the film’s opening scenes practically drill the concept of foreshadowing into our skulls (golly, is that a print of “The Garden of Earthly Delights” hanging above Annie’s bed?) while the afterlife’s shallow sentimentality leads one to believe God is a big fan of Harlequin romances. As a manipulative, overplayed weeper with emotions as fake as its cheap matte backgrounds, What Dreams May Come presents a compelling argument for atheism.

What Have I Done to Deserve This? (Spain 1985) (8): Gloria is a typical Madrid housewife; bored, neglected and sexually frustrated she tries in vain to keep her dysfunctional family together. While her husband is supplementing his income by forging historical documents her eldest son is selling dope to his classmates and her youngest son is sleeping with his best friend’s father. Meanwhile the woman upstairs is abusing her spooky daughter, the hooker next door is constantly asking for a helping hand with her tricks and grandma is having trouble keeping track of her pet lizard. If it weren’t for her drawer full of prescription drugs and the occasional huff of airplane glue Gloria would have packed it in long ago. But as financial pressures mount and her husband’s abusive behaviour escalates, her already fragile psyche takes one final nosedive right through the kitchen floor. A wickedly camp soap opera from Pedro Almodovar, this unpolished gem plays out like a Castilian version of Maria Hartman, Maria Hartman. The cast is in top-notch form as they deliver their lines with the master’s inimitable deadpan seriousness and the wholly inappropriate laughs come fast and furious (Gloria’s business deal with a pedophile dentist is especially noteworthy). Although Pedro’s lifelong obsession with strong female characters is clearly evident in this early work, it is first and foremost a deliriously exaggerated salute to life’s absurdities. Best taken with a couple of valium.

Where the Boys Are  (USA 1960) (7):  Despite its pat underlying message......nice girls get to date millionaires, bad girls get run over......this tale of horny college kids getting it on during spring break is remarkably mature considering it premiered almost 50 years ago.  Skirting issues such as premarital sex, date rape and even female empowerment (sort of) certainly sets this film apart from the crop of “beach blanket” clones that followed.  I must admit I was pleasantly surprised.

Where’s Poppa? (USA 1970) (6): Carl Reiner skips the sublime and goes straight for the ridiculous in this neurotic comedy of family dysfunction. George Segal plays Gordon, a beleaguered defense attorney slowly going mad thanks to his cantankerously senile mother (a rather bland and unconvincing Ruth Gordon) who spends her days sabotaging his happiness while making endless inquiries as to the whereabouts of her long dead husband. Finding a private duty nurse willing to babysit the old bat is proving to be an insurmountable task for Gordon until one day he interviews Louise: a dedicated caregiver who is also very beautiful and very single. It would seem that all his prayers are about to be answered at last. Unfortunately Momma has other plans... There are some truly hilarious moments in this film; a courtroom showdown between a curmudgeonly army officer and a long-haired draft dodger is priceless as is a late night encounter between Gordon’s henpecked brother and a group of muggers which results in a naked dash through Central Park. The majority of the film’s humour is decidedly low-brow however, and not for the easily offended including an appallingly tasteless rape scene which starts off with a bevy of jive-talking racial stereotypes and ends with a groan-inducing, not-quite-homophobic punch-line. The ongoing shtick does get tired after a while though, like a joke that’s been told too many times, although the story’s conclusion is amusing enough and certainly less creepy than the “alternate ending” in the extras section...eek! Perhaps he should have just thrown her from a train.

White Light Black Rain (USA 2007) (8):  Steven Okazaki’s documentary on the bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki is resolutely apolitical, concentrating instead on the recollections of everyday civilians who witnessed the horrors of atomic warfare firsthand and lived to tell about it.  Now in their 60’s and beyond, these survivors bear the obvious physical scars of their ordeal, but it is the deeper wounds, both spiritual and psychological, that still seem to generate the most pain.  You can only listen in silence as they tell their various stories such as the two children who watched their mother’s incinerated corpse crumble to dust, or the young girl who escaped the raging fires by wading into a river choked with burned bodies.  Okazaki supplements the interviews by showing newsreel footage of the bombs’ aftermath as well as nightmarish drawings made by the victims themselves as they tried to express their memories on paper.  It is interesting to note that none of them show any animosity towards the United States.  Their anger is aimed instead at the Japanese government which ignored them, and their fellow citizens who shunned them.  Many of them continue to feel as if they are outsiders, forgotten by the younger generations and politely ignored by everyone else.  Sad, insightful, and completely captivating.

Who Killed the Electric Car? (USA 2006) (8):  So.....electric cars were pulled off the market because auto makers and the oil industry didn’t want to see their profits threatened.  To this end they were given invaluable assistance from Republican lackeys while an anesthetized public drooled over all the pretty SUVs being rolled out...  Unlike the smug self-righteousness and half-truths of a Michael Moore production Paine manages to cover all aspects of this corporate-sponsored tragedy with equanimity, letting the facts speak for themselves.  The talking heads are engaging and an attention to detail is evident throughout.  His documentary is not so much a rant against big business as it is a lament for social and political apathy in general....yet it ends on a surprisingly hopeful note.  Well done.

Wicked Little Things (USA 2006) (5): When a young widow discovers her late husband owned some property in the hills of Pennsylvania she packs up her two daughters and decides to make a fresh start of it. Moving into the old Tunny estate proves to be more of a challenge for Karen and the kids than they had anticipated however for not only is the house in dire need of repairs but the surrounding hills are said to be haunted by the angry ghosts of children who died in a horrific mining disaster 100 years earlier. Of course things immediately begin going bump in the night, lights start to flicker, and before you can yell “Pickaxe to the Thorax!” legions of petite ghouls in work shorts and pinafores are roaming the countryside hungry for blood. Can Karen defeat the little monsters before they destroy her? And why do they have a particular affinity for her youngest daughter? Filmed with the usual assortment of eccentric yokels against a backdrop of misty forests there is nothing here even remotely original. Cardone tries too hard to establish a creepy atmosphere as if full moons and dazed rats are enough to make us cringe in terror; at one point you can practically see the fog machine puffing behind a bush. His generic shopping list of chills and thrills has been done to death in countless other films of this calibre, from an unnecessary stroll into a dark basement to a group of horny teenagers getting it on in the woods. Besides, despite their cannibalistic tendencies and empty eye sockets, it’s hard to be afraid of a pack of pale-faced moppets who look as if they’ve just come from an off-Broadway revival of Oliver!

Will Success Spoil Rock Hunter? (USA 1957) (7): Rockwell Hunter inhabits a world of artifice and facades. As a writer of TV commercials for a Madison Avenue advertising firm it’s his job to sell the American Dream to a nation of faceless housewives using snappy slogans and seductive models. His job ends up on the chopping block however when his biggest client, “Stay-Put Lipstick” threatens to give their account to another agency. Desperate for new ideas he decides to pay a visit to reclusive Hollywood bombshell Rita Marlowe (Jayne Mansfield playing the quintessential bleached-blonde airhead to perfection) in order to talk her into an endorsement contract for “Stay-Put”. To his dismay she agrees, but with one tiny caveat; he must pose as her new boyfriend in order to make her former beau jealous. The resulting publicity gains him a handsome promotion, a reputation for being a fantastic lover (undeserved) and, alas, the seething enmity of Jenny, his longtime fiancee. Torn between his love for Jenny and his desire for material success Rock eventually finds himself at an ethical crossroads where he must make a most difficult decision. Based on the wildly successful Broadway comedy, and featuring many of the original stars, this light and frothy satire makes a few wry observations on everything from America’s love affair with television and corporate sponsored culture to its monomaniacal pursuit of celebrity. In one telling scene Rock accepts his new key to the executive washroom with an almost religious reverence while in another lively sequence a singing jingle spoofs his newfound fame. Filmed in gorgeous widescreen technicolor and laced with some racy sexual innuendo, Rock provides an interesting snapshot of America’s materialistic mindset circa 1957 while a few clever asides to the camera and an opening montage of commercial parodies keeps things lighthearted. A disappointingly glib ending is a bit of a letdown though and doesn’t do justice to the rest of the film.

The Winter Guest (UK 1998 ) (9):  Set in northern Scotland and using a palette of colours that goes from warm earth tones to bleak pastels, Rickman deftly weaves several seemingly disparate stories into one coherent meditation on life, grief, hope and the need to move forward. Emma Thompson and her mother are nothing short of phenomenal. The endless vistas of snow and the frozen sea are used to highlight a script that is profound while remaining natural. Absolutely beautiful

Witches' Hammer (Czechoslovakia 1969) ( 8 ):  When a simple old woman, unjustly accused of witchcraft, is tortured into making a series of false confessions an entire town is thrown into chaos.  A totalitarian state soon arises wherein neighbour turns against neighbour, conscientious objectors are silenced, and the church fills its coffers with property confiscated from the condemned.  And all the  while the ruling nobility nervously look the other way.  By skillfully blending scenes of religious corruption with images of spiritual purity Vavra instills a dark irony into his work that is both compelling and painful to watch.  Considering this film was made in the former Czechoslovakia around the time of the Soviet invasion one can’t help but draw parallels between the two.  Indeed, tragic examples of intimidation  and brutality winning out over reason and justice continue to this very day.

A Woman Under the Influence  (USA 1974) (9):  How can a person function in a society where the rules of proper behaviour often appear mystifying and at odds with one another?  How can a person function in a relationship filled with double bind messages and contradictory demands?  Rowlands brings a tragic authenticity to her portrayal of the beleaguered Mabel, trying in vain to juggle all the various roles expected of her and receiving nothing but criticism and scornful stares in return.  Falk excels as the boorish husband.....at once denouncing Mabel’s bizarre behaviour and yet secretly encouraging it.  Cassavetes deftly moves his characters towards a painful finale that practically explodes with suppressed rage....and then ends the film with a sadly ironic scene of domestic banality.  An American masterpiece that is perhaps more relevant today than it was 30 years ago.

Wrangler: Anatomy of an Icon (USA 2008) (7): With his shock of blond hair, clean-cut good looks and chiseled physique Jack Wrangler epitomized the new homosexual machismo at a time when “gay masculinity” was viewed as an oxymoron. His photos adorned every skin magazine and legions of fans lined up around the block to see his latest XXX film. Jeff Schwarz’s insightful documentary traces the evolution of Jack from the scrawny kid born to a wealthy Jewish/Presbyterian couple in Beverly Hills, to the porn legend who became a veritable gay franchise in the 70’s and 80’s and, ultimately, the middle-aged thespian and theatre director happily married to a former singer twenty years his senior.....and female. Along the way he dealt with issues of identity and homophobia, dabbled in “legit” theatre, and even crossed over into straight porn before AIDS hysteria segregated gay performers to the back of the bus. Schwarz tempers Wrangler’s rather long-winded musings with some interesting talking heads, both gay and straight, including authors, producers and playwrights, some of Jack’s personal friends, and members of the adult movie industry. It’s a snapshot of both the man and the era which may not be as engaging as I had hoped but provided an interesting history lesson nonetheless. Sadly, Jack died from lung cancer earlier this year.

Wristcutters: A Love Story (USA 2006) (5): Breaking up with longtime girlfriend Desiree is hard on Zia; so hard in fact that he decides to end it all by slashing his wrists. Waking up in the afterlife, at least that portion of the afterlife assigned to suicides, he’s vaguely disappointed to find it bears an uncomfortable resemblance to a rundown American suburb filled with unsmiling layabouts who spend their days working minimum-wage jobs and their nights drinking beer in trashy honky-tonks while listening to dead artists on the jukebox. Life after death seems pretty banal to Zia until he learns that Desiree also killed herself shortly after his funeral and may very well be in the same situation as himself. Hooking up with his friend Eugene, a failed Russian rocker, the two hit the road in search of the elusive girlfriend. Along the way they meet a quick-witted goth chick on a mission, a camp for misfit geeks led by an angelic Tom Waits, and a nefarious death cult hellbent on offing themselves once again. Eventually the trio do find Desiree, but the reunion isn’t quite what Zia had envisioned. Goran Dukic’s painfully low-budget indie does manage to paint a rather despairing view of purgatory. Using bleached desert landscapes littered with garbage and abandoned clapboard shacks he makes the most of his California interstate locations. He then throws in a few death-related quirks which work occasionally but, more often than not, elicit little more than a weak smile. His ultra low-key approach actually works against him; he may have been aiming for a hip slacker love-after-death story but he delivers a lifeless road movie complete with pat Hollywood ending instead. Some people should just stay dead.

Wrong Turn 2 (USA 2007): A family of cannibalistic mutants living in the wilds of West Virginia take great delight in skewering, dismembering, and barbecuing the contestants of a Survivor-type reality television show. Tight editing and buckets of guts smooth out a rather silly premise (the superhuman freaks are victims of environmental pollution) and a few cheeky touches (they join hands and say grace before devouring a potful of human stew) add a much needed dash of macabre humour. Decent genre fare which fell victim to one too many sequels.

Wrong Turn 3 (USA 2007): A group of horny teenagers get eaten by crazy mutant cannibals in the West Virginia woods. Cut to a prison breakout and a group of hardened criminals end up in the same woods where they are systematically and messily picked off one by one. Then there's the expected "twist" ending with an extra twist for good measure and a promise (or is it a threat?) of yet another sequel. Derivative, formulaic and all the more annoying for it. But the gore is most excellent.

You I Love  (Russia 2004) (9):  Russia has turned out one of the hippest contemporary takes on love and identity I’ve seen in quite some time.  Although firmly rooted in urban reality, Troitsky imbues this  story of a young executive facing his bisexuality with a stylish, at times dreamlike  sensibility that compliments its beautiful young cast perfectly.  He also manages to poke some merciless fun at the new generation of Soviet yuppies in post perestroika Moscow.....while the news drones on about plagues and tempests they’re too busy eating, shopping and screwing to really notice.  A fun little romp laced with warmth and sly satire.

Your Mommy Kills Animals  (USA 2007) (7):  Johnson keeps the playing field level in this incisive and well paced examination of the various “animal rights” movements operating around the world.  Through his interviews with everyone from marginally employed granola-munching hippies and collagen-lipped faux celebrities to research journalists and animal welfare moderates a fascinating, and somewhat disturbing, picture begins to develop.  First of all, no one wants to see animals suffering needlessly and there are certainly enough legitimate organizations trying to address this problem.  It’s when the camera focuses on the more radical players that the boundary between conscientious activism and malicious vandalism begins to blur.  It’s chilling to hear these monomaniacs gush fanatically over puppies and chickens yet show nothing but contempt bordering on hatred for humans.  Johnson goes on to present some sobering accusations against those twin bastions of Animal Rights....PETA and the American Humane Society.  Unfortunately the benefits of using animals in medical research is only given a passing mention.  In addition, trying to defend intimidation and vicious harassment by calling it “freedom of speech” is weak at best.  Still a worthwhile rental.

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