|
Movies Seen in
2006 Ratings: 0
= classic; 1 = Cream of the Crop; 2 = 3 = Decent
Distraction; 4 = Just Barely Worth It; 5 = Forgeddaboudit (Page currently being updated) |
0: Classics.
Nothing this
year unless it be Mirrormask, which I would
have to see a second time before committing myself.
1: Cream of the Crop
Happy Endings (Don Roos)
Not the unwatchably silly Woody Allen movie, but the
latest, seemingly ignored film from Don Roos (The Opposite of Sex). The sort of movie Robert Altman was once
considered a master of and that Paul Thomas Anderson has recently excelled in:
a slice-of-life ensemble piece full a richly-observed characters and bizarrely
realistic (or realistically bizarre) plot developments. Some beautifully
modulated performances (Tom Arnold, Maggie Gyllenhaal, et al.) and a genuinely
inspired script are all rendered with impressive energy and grace by Roos. Not
the epic masterpiece of Magnolia, but
considerably more accessible, and hugely entertaining.
In
The director of My
Left Foot does a John Boorman and turns autobiography into cracking magical
fiction in this story of Irish immigrants struggling to get by in
In Her Shoes
Like his Wonder
Boys, Curtis Hanson’s soulful adaptation of the book by Jennifer Weiner is
an exercise in subtlety that the current crop of Tarantino-spawned filmmakers
could do to learn from. As a director, Hanson is a master craftsman who never
stoops to the standard manipulations techniques. He hits some astonishingly
clear notes of poignancy and wit without ever once showing his hand as
“auteur.” Like Hanson, the film works discreetly and intelligently, until by
the end we are fully under the skin of its characters, and fully at home in
their world. The rather unpromising material is both transcended and
transformed, making a movie that, though slight, is a wonder to behold.
2:
Broken
Flowers
With Bill Murray, Jim Jarmusch has found himself the perfect
leading man for his cinema of sloth. Broken
Flowers meanders along as its threadbare plot unfolds, to no particular
consequence, offering along the way the blissful pleasures (for those who like
this sort of thing) of Bill Murray sitting catatonically on his couch, and
later, cruising blandly down highways. Added perks are the various blonde
bombshells or ex-bombshells he encounters on his quest for the truth—Jessica
Lange, Julie Delpy, Cloe Sevigny, the irresistible Sharon Stone. Indeed, it’s
had it imagine a more improbable pairing than Murray and Stone, but the two
seemed curiously made for each other. The movie could have done to spend more
time with these two, in fact, as the other encounters (with Lange, Sevigny,
Tilda Swinton) are less satisfying, and the absence of anything resembling a
climax (or even an ending) reduces the film badly. Broken Flowers is
determinedly slight, and by the end it pretty much dries up and blows away in
Jarmusch’s determinedly empty breeze. Still, its breeziness is central to its
appeal, and, along with Stranger Than
Paradise and Ghost Dog, this is
probably Jarmusch’s best film. Face it, Jarmusch and Murray are a match made in
indie movie heaven.
The Exorcism
of Emily Rose
A surprisingly intelligent and involving courtroom
drama cum horror tale, based on a true story. The high-caliber performances
(from Laura Linney, Tom Wilkinson, Jennifer Carpenter), thoughtful script, and
sensitive, imaginative direction make this one of the only American
(semi-mainstream) horror movies of recent years worth seeing. Writer-director
Scott Derrikson is one to watch for.
Walk the Line
An astounding Johnny Cash impersonation by Joaquin
Phoenix—perhaps the most electric of the young Hollywood actors currently on
the rise—make this otherwise routine feel-good bio-pic a cut above average.
Mangold brings nothing startlingly new to the mix, and he pretty much directs
by numbers; yet he does something remarkable nonetheless. This is a sentimental
fictionalization of a famous “bad boy” singer that somehow (like
Little
A prepubescent Annie
Hall, this unexpectedly pleasing, unassuming little movie came from left of
field, striking a fluky balance between adult entertainment (Woody Allen style)
and the innocuous simplicity of a kid’s movie. The film skips and frolics
along, managing to be both substantial and light, playful yet poignant.
Lord of War
As movie stars go, Nicholas Cage has a pretty good
track record. Usually, one out of every three movies he does is worth a look.
(E.g.: Bringing Out the Dead, Face/Off,
Snakes Eyes, Adaptation. Then there is Treasure
Hunt.) In Lord of War, Cage plays
an independent arms dealer and takes us on a guided tour of the business. The
movie begins by following the journey of a single bullet all the way from the
factory line, down the barrel of the gun, into the head of a young street kid.
The film’s travelogue style sacrifices dramatic tension or even momentum
(rather like Scorsese’s Casino did),
however. The film aspires to be more than just an action thriller, it wants to
be a commentary on our times, a denunciation of wholesale mass destruction. As
such, Lord of War gets to have its
war and trash it, to give us the visceral thrills of violence while casting an
ironic, despairing view upon its subject matter. Slick, smart, and affecting,
this is nowhere near the level of Three
Kings or Natural Born Killers, but it’s still a cut above the usual fare.
Steve Spielberg’s latest political epic is tougher and
leaner (even at two and half hours) than Schindler’s
List, and (thank God) a lot smarter and more savvy than Saving Private Ryan. It may be the least
characteristic movie he has ever made, and the first hour at least is flawless.
Spielberg aspires to the gritty documentary realism of French Connection-era Friedkin, and succeeds in something even
better. At times, his meticulous attention to detail approaches the trancelike
precision of vintage Coppola. Alas, Spielberg fails to sustain the tension, and
his astounding and effortless realism gradually slackens, so the movie
progressively descends into something routine and unremarkable. By the end, we
are back to the crass tastelessness of “pure” Spielberg, with the gran follie of the climax (pun intended)
in which the protagonist (Eric Bana) relives the murder of the Israeli hostages
(which he has spent the whole movie avenging) while having sex with his wife.
This is such a badly misconceived idea and surely someone could have had the
balls to tell the director? Spielberg’s orgiastic blend of physical ecstasy and
moral agony, passion and guilt is way too overwrought after the subtleties that
have preceded it; in fact, it’s and borderline obscene. This bizarre ending
notwithstanding, Munich is still
probably Spielberg’s best film since E.T,
and one of the only recent American movies to evoke the muted, gritty intensity
of ’70s US cinema. It is also, after Schindler’s
List, pleasingly ambiguous (and ambivalent) in its politics. A flawed but
rich cinematic experience.
A History of
Violence
Despite (or maybe because of) being his first more or
less straightforward movie since The Dead
Zone, this is probably David Cronenberg’s most fully satisfying work to
date. Though (title not-withstanding) it’s nothing profound or visionary, this
is a tight, controlled, well-shaped, edgy film with a suitably shifty
performance by Cronenberg’s latest faintly reptilian leading man (and a
wonderfully unexpected turn from William Hurt). Cronenberg even manages to
present violence in a disturbing new light, bringing something like a fresh
take to—that quintessential American movie theme—male regeneration through
violence. A Straw Dogs for the 21st
century.
The Corpse
Bride
Vastly more satisfying that Tim Burton’s last movie, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, this
is an inspired, witty, visually sumptuous, and admirably brief excursion on
Burtonland, probably the most joyful and imaginative use of CGI animation in a
feature movie to date (until Mirrormask
came alone). Johnny Depp is perfectly cast as the hapless hero, Albert Finney
has a ball, as does everyone involved, apparently. For once, audiences are
included.
Matador
Charming fluff that manages more or less to do justice
to its pleasing premise—lonely hit man (Pierce Brosnan) befriends family man
(Greg Kinnear)—mostly thanks to a winning performance from Brosnan (who just
about redeems himself for the execrable After
the Sunset), and characteristic-ally solid back-up from Kinnear. The movie
stays light and snappy, avoiding queasy moral dilemmas, managing to be hip and
heartfelt at the same time: no mean feat. A lively addition to a growing
subgenre of lovable-hitman movies (starting with
Kiss Kiss
Bang Bang
Entertaining trifle that benefits incalculably from
perhaps the most promising actor team-up since
Inside Man
Slick, solid, fast-paced and somewhat routine bank heist
thriller, held together by the sterling cast of Clive Owen, Denzel Washington,
and Willem Dafoe; add to the mix a sleazy Christopher Plummer and an almost
creepy Jodie Foster, and you have an impressive ensemble for what remains a
basically by-the-numbers actioner. As a director, Spike Lee continues to go
from strength to strength at the same time as he seems to be moving further and
further from personal filmmaking, into something that strays disturbingly close
to hackwork.
The Constant
Gardener
Tasteful, moving, dexterously modulated conspiracy
thriller from the John Le Carre book,. An extremely topical plot involves the
medical-industrial complex’s exploitation of the third world, and the hero’s
uncovering of the truth slowly builds to a wrenching climax. Anchored in the
ordinary human realm of emotions by an affecting triangle of performances, from
Ralph Fiennes, Rachel Weiss, and Danny Huston.
Breakfast on
Pluto
Neil Jordan returns to his Irish roots and comes up
triumphant with this oddball comedy about a transvestite (Gilliam Murphy) who
goes in search of his mother. The film is almost Almodovan in its pop-arty
panache, its affection for the perverse, its sympathy for all its characters,
no matter how bizarre or dubious, and an impressively expressionistic use of
music, color, and performance to create a hyper-reality in which everything is
slightly more than meets the eye.
All the Real
Girls
David Gordon Green’s sensitive, measured, impressively
authentic depiction of small-town American lives and loves. With almost
flawless dialogue, a winning central performance from Paul Schneider, and some
of the best ensemble character scenes since Diner.
Casanova
A big surprise this one.
Reviews pending:
The Three
Burials of whatshisface---
3: Decent Distraction
Spartan (David Mamet)
A movie tailor made for Val Kilmer, who here plays a special
op agent investigating the abduction of the president’s daughter by a white
prostitution ring. As a performer, Kilmer has a rare cinematic presence.
Whenever he’s on the screen, he holds the scene simply by being there. It’s not
that he’s so authentic, rather that he is utterly present. His strange, ineffable charm is so powerful it knocks down
the fourth wall and makes direct contact with his audience. Kilmer isn’t a
showy actor, like Nicholson or Pacino; he’s not the meticulous, internal kind
like De Niro or Hoffman. But he’s not a nice guy who plays up to his audiences
either, like Newman or
The Weather
Man
Intriguing little movie from Gore Verbinski
(Pirates of Caribbean) that revolves
entirely around Nicholas Cage’s appealing performance as a news weather-man in
mid-life crisis. Mildly amusing, gentle, well-acted, and never less than
involving, the film’s most outstanding
scenes are those between Nicholas Cage and Michael Caine—improbably cast
as the weatherman’s hugely successful writer-father. As played by these two
giants, the relationship is something wonderful to see. Hope Davis plays the
ex-wife.
Ice Harvest
Rather lackluster, visually weak comedy thriller,
redeemed by inventive dialogue and a dreamy cast—John Cusack, Billy Bob
Thornton, Connie Nielson, and Randy Quaid, as the fat guy. As ever, Harold
Ramis faxes in his direction, but luckily the actors and the story, though
unconvincing and far from original, carry us through it. Enjoyably forgettable;
or is that vice versa?
Un Dia Sin
Mexicanos
Stunt movie done mockumentary style about a day in
V for
Vendetta
Incredibly subversive, at times hypnotic dystopian
sci-fi superhero drama, in which the hero is a terrorist. Based on Alan Moore’s
classic comic book series (
Basic (John McTiernan)
Clever-clever action thriller with more twists than it
knows what to do with. A great role for Travolta and some pleasing enough
chemistry between him and Connie Nielson, this is basically disposable stuff,
but as a solid a genre divertissement, it delivers the goods. About on a par
with Simon West’s The General’s Daughter
without James Woods (though here we have Giovanni Ribisi’s creepy performance
instead, as well as a scenery-munching Samuel Jackson). The film zips along
with narely a slack moment, all the way to its “what the hell just happened?”
smart-ass twist ending, by which time the audience probably won’t have a clue
if it makes sense or not, but probably won’t much care either.
The Sum of
All Fears (Phil Alden Robinson)
For a Clancy-inspired thriller, this is fairly tight
entertainment, much better than the first two movies with Harrison Ford, though
Affleck is not really convincing as a CIA librarian, but then, Affleck isn’t
really convincing as anything but Ben Affleck. An unexpected development
halfway through involving a nuclear attack on the
Shaun of the
Dead
The first part of the movie—in which Londoners start
turning into zombies in town and the hero doesn’t even notice—is by far the
best. After that, once the zombies become real, and an actual threat to our
heroes, there’s no way for the filmmakers to avoid turning their movie into an
horror flick, and the laughs begin to seem forced and desperate. Inventive,
low-budget British lark, just the same.
For some reason this was savaged by critics, but the
film I saw (despite a terminally bland Orlando Bloom and a terminally cute Kirsten Dunst) was just fine, sweet and
funny, and much closer to Almost Famous
than Vanilla Sky.
40-Year Old
Virgin
Hard to believe this isn’t worse than it is, but the
film is raised above its drearily unpromising premise by Steve and Catherine Keener and actually manages to be quite
charming. Closer to Crocodile
Brick
Pretentious, often incomprehensible indie movie, similar
to the Coens’ Blood Simple in being a
wholly contrived homage to pulp fiction designed as a showcase cum calling card
for its makers to storm Hollywood. Empty and unremarkable, but well-made and
reasonably intelligent.
An Unfinished
Life (Lasse Haelstrom)
At last a decent role for Robert Redford, who must by
now be in his seventies, as the itinerate farm owner who cares for a
bear-mauled Morgan Freeman but barely tolerates the presence of his returned
daughter in law (husband-bashed Jennifer Lopez). Exactly the kind of lyrical
whimsy we have come to expect from the director, but grounded by the marvelous
performances.
Stay
Pretentious but intriguing
mind-bender with a promising cast—Ewen McGregor, Naomi Watts, and Ryan
Gosling—never really given enough to do.
Upside of
Anger
A hugely appealing Kevin Costner and the
ever-inventive Joan Allen…
(to be reviewed)
Friends With Money
Finding Neverland
Good Night
and Good Luck
Capote
Game 6
Two for the
Money
Lucky Number Slevin
4: Just About Worth It
Manderlay
Disappointing and—frankly—dull sequel to Dogville, with no Nicole Kidman or James
Caan to relive the tedium, and only a brief appearance by Willem Dafoe to keep
us amused. More of a polemic than a movie, this has none of the bite or the
audacity of the original.
Jarhead
Disappointing and misguided attempt by Sam Mendes to
make a searing Gulf War movie that winds up closer to Full Metal Jacket than
Apocalypse now, i.e., more vapid and tedious than anything.
(still to be reviewed)
Willard
Cry Wolf
Secret Window
Charlie and
the Chocolate Factory
Primo
The Family
Stone
Mr. and Mrs.
Smith
X-Men
The DaVinci
Code
The Omen
Fun with Dick
and Jane
Frailty
5: Forgeddaboudit
Maybe I will find something to say about these, or
maybe not.
King Kong
The
Rumor Has It
The Wedding
Crashers
Freedomland