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The question is, did you put them to a defensible purpose? I believed you did not. I urged my readers to avoid seeing the lm.

I have also urged them to see many lms. Moviegoers make up their own minds. Like many at the screening I attended, I left saddened and disgusted.

In a time of dismay and dread, is it admirable for lmmakers to depict pure evil? At the end of your lm, after the other characters have been killed in sadistic and gruesome ways, the only survivor is the one who is evil incarnate, and we hear his cold laughter under a screen that has incarnate, and we hear his cold laughter under a screen that has gone dark.

I believe art can certainly be nihilistic and express hopelessness; the powerful movie Open Water, about two scuba divers left behind by a tourist boat, is an example.

I believe evil can win in ction, as it often does in real life. But I prefer that the artist express an attitude toward that evil.

It is not enough to record it; what do you think and feel about it? If Chaos has a message, it is that evil reigns and will triumph. But what are they to learn?

That evil people will torture and murder them if they take any chances, go to parties, or walk in the woods? Your real purpose in making Chaos, I suspect, was not to educate, but to create a scandal that would draw an audience.

Sometimes there is also art to be found in that direction, but not this time. Predestination may be useful in theology, but as a narrative strategy, it is selfdefeating.

In it, a girl goes into the woods and is raped and murdered. Her killers later happen to stay overnight as guests of the grieving parents.

When they discover who they are, the father exacts his revenge. In the Craven version, there is also revenge; I gave the revenge.

In the Craven version, there is also revenge; I gave the movie a four-star rating, because I felt it was uncommonly e ective, even though it got many reviews as negative as my review of Chaos.

Craven, and to a greater degree Bergman, used the material as a way of dealing with tragedy, human loss, and human nature.

You use the material without pity, to look unblinkingly at a monster and his victims. The monster is given no responsibility, no motive, no context, no depth.

Like a shark, he exists to kill. I am reminded of a great movie about a serial killer, actually named Monster In it, innocent people were murdered, but we were not invited to simply stare.

The killer was allowed her humanity, which I believe all of us have, even the worst of us. It was possible to see her first as victim, then as murderer.

The lm did not excuse her behavior, but understood that it proceeded from evil done to her. If we do not want monsters like Aileen Wuornos in our world, we should not allow them to have the childhoods that she had.

What I miss in your lm is any sense of hope. Sometimes it is all that keeps us going. As the Greeks understood tragedy, it exists not to bury us in death and dismay, but to help us to deal with it, to accept it as apart of life, to learn about our own humanity from it.

That is why the Greek tragedies were poems: The language ennobled the material. Animals do not know they are going to die and require no way to deal with that implacable fact.

Humans, who know we will die, have been given the consolations of art, myth, hope, science, religion, philosophy, and even denial, even movies, to help us reconcile with that nal fact.

What I object to most of all in Chaos is not the sadism, the brutality, the torture, the nihilism, but the absence of any alternative to them.

If the world has indeed become as evil as you think, then we need the redemptive power of artists, poets, philosophers, and theologians more than ever.

Your answer, that the world is evil and therefore it is your responsibility to reflect it, is no answer at all, but a surrender. But that is not the headline.

The news is that on Tuesday night, Cannes showed a lm so shockingly bad that it created a scandal here on the Riviera not because of sex, violence, or politics, but simply because of its awfulness.

Those who missed it hope to get tickets, for no other lm has inspired such discussion. I have not seen every lm in the history of the festival, yet I feel my judgment will stand.

Imagine ninety tedious minutes of a man driving across America in a van. Imagine long shots through a windshield as it collects bug splats.

Imagine not one but two scenes in which he stops for gas. Imagine a long shot on the Bonneville Salt Flats where he races his motorcycle until it disappears as a speck in the distance, followed by another shot in which a speck in the distance becomes his motorcycle.

Imagine a lm so unendurably boring that at one point, when he gets out of his van to change his shirt, there is applause.

If Gallo had thrown away all of the rest of the movie and made the Sevigny scene into a short lm, he would have had something.

That this lm was admitted into Cannes as an O cial Selection is inexplicable. By no standard, through no lens, in any interpretation, does it qualify for Cannes.

The quip is: This is the most antiAmerican lm at Cannes, because it is so anti-American to show it as an example of American filmmaking.

Then he put a hex on me to give me colon cancer. I heard Gallo was in the elevator. I heard he was in the hallway.

I heard he was around the corner. Then there he was. The atmosphere lightened after he explained he had never wished colon cancer on me in the rst place.

He was misquoted. He actually specified prostate cancer. I go to this guy doctor in California. But I get these things called a prostate massage.

And she converted it into a curse on your colon. At that point, I had become the captain of black magic. To tell you the weirdest story, I started getting these letters from cultist people criticizing me for going back on what they thought was like a genius thing I did.

There was this guy in L. Did you know what state it was in? That was the tip of the iceberg. I was bringing all my good and bad habits into this project.

So the postponements cost me three months. And I was freaked out because I could control everything else but I needed Curtis not even so much for his talent but for his voice of reason, his maturity, and his ability to keep me balanced, you know, allowing me to have a point of view and to take radical chances but with balance, you know.

And I nd an assistant who would be one of at least ten assistants, each of them leaving on a bad note because I was extremely unpleasant to work with.

That would be the scene of graphic oral sex, which contrasts with the earlier scenes in the way pornography might contrast with a travelogue.

A deliberate suicide. I always write the lm with the suicide and then I nd a way out of it. The guy was gonna have a negative fantasy for a second of the van crashing.

There were some shots of bunnies, there was the shot of him on the side of the road. I sort of clipped it together with the song.

I refer to the press screening; at the public screening, reaction was more evenly divided between applause and boos, but the press hated the lm.

The impression got around that I led the boos, perhaps because the hex on my colon drew untoward attention toward me, but the British trade magazine Screen International, which convenes a panel of critics to score each entry, reported that The Brown Bunny got the lowest score in the history of its ratings.

To my shame, I did, but softly and brie y, before my wife dug her elbow into my side. By that point the screening was out of control anyway, with audience members hooting, whistling, and honking at the screen.

As it turns out, the French director Gaspar Noe was seated near me. He loves to wind me up. And he came out of the screening and left like six messages on my voice mail.

It got pretty demonstrative. No, of course not. What I said was this: Film has a purpose. Real art is an esoteric thing done by somebody without purpose in mind.

I love all movies. The Brown Bunny was my idea of what a good movie would be. It has a rhythm and tone that the Cannes version lacked.

It was clear that the Colorado and Utah piece was too long. There was also a dissolve where the lm turned black for a minute. That was a mistake in the lab.

Now if that mistake happened in a hundred other movies at Cannes, the audience would have been prepared to look past it. But because the lm was so extreme and so untightened at that time, it really stood out.

I shortened the race, which was a good four and a half minutes longer. The whole lm at Cannes was exactly twenty-six minutes longer.

The credits were three and a half minutes longer at the end, and one minute longer in the beginning. When he comes out of the Kansas motel, he does not wash the car, he does not change his sweater, and he does not go on that sequence through Colorado and Utah.

Eight minutes and thirty seconds came out of that driving sequence. And those road shots at the end were about another minute leading up to the closing sequence, and then I cut out the end, which was three and a half or four minutes.

Some people respond to it deeply in the way that it was intended. We talked a lot longer. I mean, I know what I look like. I disagree; I nd him a striking screen presence.

His comment provided me with an insight into his character in The Brown Bunny, a lonely, solitary wanderer whose life traverses a great emptiness punctuated by unsuccessful, incomplete, or imaginary respites with women.

I would just stare at them. And I stared at her and at 11 p. Three in the morning she was hammered. She was on the oor and the guys in the room were sort of moving around her.

They noticed this sort of broken-winged bird or wounded animal. They were like hyenas. I saw them eventually leave with her. And it upset me conceptually.

I said I thought it was the worst lm in the history of the festival. The audience was loud and scornful in its dislike for the movie; hundreds walked out, and many of those who remained stayed only because they wanted to boo.

Imagine, I wrote, a lm so unendurably boring that when the hero changes into a clean shirt, there is applause.

The panel of critics convened by Screen International, the British trade paper, gave the movie the lowest rating in the history of their annual voting.

But then a funny thing happened. Gallo went back into the editing room and cut 26 minutes of his minute lm, or almost editing room and cut 26 minutes of his minute lm, or almost a fourth of the running time.

And in the process he transformed it. It is said that editing is the soul of the cinema; in the case of The Brown Bunny, it is its salvation.

But he is not the director of the same Brown Bunny I saw at Cannes, and the lm now plays so di erently that I suggest the original Cannes cut be included as part of the eventual DVD, so that viewers can see for themselves how twenty-six minutes of aggressively pointless and empty footage can sink a potentially successful lm.

That helps in two ways: 1 It saves the scene from an unintended laugh, and 2 it provides an emotional purpose, since to disappear into the 2 it provides an emotional purpose, since to disappear into the distance is a much di erent thing than to ride away and then ride back again.

The movie stars Gallo as Bud Clay, a professional motorcycle racer who loses a race on the East Coast and then drives his van cross-country.

The race in the original lm lasted seconds longer than in the current version, and was all in one shot, of cycles going around and around a track.

Bud is a lonely, inward, needy man, who thinks much about a former lover whose name in American literature has come to embody idealized, inaccessible love: Daisy.

Gallo allows himself to be defenseless and unprotected in front of the camera, and that is a strength.

Consider an early scene where he asks a girl behind the counter at a convenience store to join him on the trip to California. In a town somewhere in the middle of America, at a table in a park, a woman Cheryl Tiegs sits by herself.

Bud Clay parks his van, walks over to her, senses her despair, asks her some questions, and wordlessly hugs and kisses her.

She never says a word. After a time he leaves again. There is a kind of communication going on here that is complete and heartbreaking, and needs not one word of explanation, and gets none.

In the original version, there was an endless, pointless sequence of Bud driving through Western states and collecting bug splats on his windshield; the eight and a half minutes Gallo has taken out of that sequence were as exciting as watching paint after it has already dried.

Yes, it is explicit, and no, it is not gratuitous. But to reveal how it works on a level more complex than the physical would be to undermine the way the scene pays o.

Even at Cannes, sexuality, his guilt, and his feelings about women. That scene is many things, but erotic is not one of them. A female friend of mine observed that Bud Clay, like many men, has a way of asking a woman questions just when she is least prepared to answer them.

So he hires a stenographer to take dictation, and they fall in love. Very bad. I just expected him to write something presentable. This other story takes place in and involves people who dress and act like the characters in The Great Gatsby.

Alex is played by Luke Wilson. Emma is played by Kate Hudson. So the story is a bore. The act of writing the story is also a bore, because it consists mostly of trying out variations on the plot and then seeing how they look in the parallel story.

Of course chemistry develops between Alex and Emma, who fall in love, and just as well: There is a Hollywood law requiring ctional characters in such a situation to fall in love, and the penalty for violating it is death at the box office.

Curious, the ease with which Alex is able to dictate his novel. Words ow in an uninterrupted stream, all perfectly punctuated.

No false starts, wrong word choices, or despair. Emma writes everything down and then o ers helpful suggestions, although she fails to supply the most useful observation of all, which would be to observe that the entire novel is complete crap.

Despite the deadly deadline, which looms ever closer, the young couple nds time to get out of the apartment and enjoy a SemiObligatory Lyrical Interlude, that old standby where they walk through the park, eat hot dogs, etc.

Now about his apartment. He has art hanging all over his apartment, except in front of those slats. All Alex has to do is sublet, and his financial worries are over.

He will make wonderful movies in the future. He has not, however, made a wonderful movie in the present.

This story is said to be based on fact. If it is, I am amazed that such promising material would yield such pitiful results. This underground hero turns out to be the lovely and fragrant This underground hero turns out to be the lovely and fragrant Romy Nicolette Krebitz , a librarian who, for the convenience of the plot, lives in a loft under the roof of the library, so that during one of many unbelievable scenes the spies are able to lift a skylight window in order to eavesdrop on an interrogation.

The plot requires them to in ltrate the factory, steal an Enigma machine, and return to England with it. The movie has an answer to it, but it comes so late in the lm that although it makes sense technically, the damage has already been done.

How it becomes clear that he is not a woman is not nearly as interesting as how anyone could possibly have thought he was a woman in the first place.

The action in the movie would be ludicrous anyway, but is even more peculiar in a cross-dressing comedy.

Surely they know he is, if not a spy, at least a drag queen? I fear the movie makes it appear the Nazis think he is a sexy woman, something that will come as a surprise to anyone who is familiar with Eddie Izzard, including Eddie Izzard.

And yet we bought them in that comedy, and it remains a classic. Apart from the inescapable di erence in actual talent, could it have anything to do with the use of color?

Black-and-white is better suited to many kinds of comedy because it underlines the dialogue and movement while diminishing the importance of fashions and eliminating the emotional content of various colors.

Billy Wilder fought for black-and-white on Some Like It Hot because he thought his drag queens would never be accepted by the audience in color, and he was right.

The casting is also a problem. Matt LeBlanc does not belong in this movie in any role other than, possibly, that of a Nazi who believes Eddie Izzard is a woman.

He is all wrong for the lead, with no lightness, no humor, no sympathy for his fellow spies, and no comic timing. I can imagine this movie as a black-and-white British comedy, circa , with Peter Sellers, Kenneth Williams, et al.

Shame about the plot. The people are real, but the story devices are clunkers from Fiction ; the movie generates goodwill in its setup, but in the last act it goes haywire with revelations and secrets and dramatic gestures.

The movie takes place in Cholame, the California town where James Dean died in , and maybe the only way to save it would have been to leave out everything involving James Dean.

John Mahoney stars as Max Harris, the proprietor of a diner in a sparsely populated backwater. Virginia Madsen is Clare, his waitress, and other locals include Nate Davis, as an old-timer who peddles James Dean souvenirs from a roadside table, and Ian Gomez, as the salt-of-theearth cook.

The town experiences an unusual urry of activity. A lm crew arrives to shoot a movie about the death of James Dean. And a magazine writer named Nina Ellington Linda Emond arrives to do a feature about the reopening of the gas station.

If this seems like an unlikely subject for a story, re ect that she stays so long she could do the reporting on the reopening of a re nery.

The place and the people are sound. Mahoney has the gift of bringing quiet believability to a character; his Max seems dependable, kind, and loyal.

Virginia Madsen is the spark of the place, not a stereotyped, gum-chewing hash slinger, but a woman who takes an interest in the people who come her way.

Better, perhaps, to make her a woman with no reason at all to be in Cholame. Let her stay because she has no place better to go, and then let her fall in love.

The arrival of the lm crew, with its own model of the same car, introduces a series of parallels between past and present that it would be unfair to reveal.

Spoiler warning! Without spelling everything out, let us observe, however, that it is unlikely that a character who was locally famous in could stay in the same area and become anonymous just by changing his name.

It is also unlikely that he would be moved, so many years later, to the actions he takes in the lm. And cosmically unlikely that they would have the results that they do.

Not to mention how pissed off the film company would be. My fears were well grounded. Almost Salinas generates enormous goodwill and then loses it by betraying its generates enormous goodwill and then loses it by betraying its characters to the needs of a plot that wants to inspire pathos and sympathy, but inspires instead, alas, groans and the rolling of eyes.

Jude, patron saint of lost causes. Maybe he could perform a miracle and turn this into a cable offering, so no one has to pay to see it. Alone among them, Mercedes Ruehl somehow salvages her dignity while all about her are losing theirs.

Too large, considering that every character has a crisis, and the story races from one to another like the guy on TV who kept all the plates spinning on top of the poles.

This family not only has a matriarch Cloris Leachman but her super uous sister Lee Grant and their even more super uous sister Edith Field.

Denise and Christine think Grace is ruining her life with guilt because when she was a little girl she ran away and her mother chased her and fell, which of course caused Dolores to be retarded.

Sample subplot: Dolores decides she wants a boyfriend. This has not resulted in Armand being a once-normal person with brain damage, but, miraculously, in his being exactly like Dolores.

At the movies, after they kiss, he shyly puts his hand on her breast, and she shyly puts her hand on his. No less than two fathers do it in this movie.

Both Joe Sorvino and Paul have daughters in a ballet recital, and not only does Joe overcome his loathing for ballet and even attend rehearsals, but Paul overcomes his workaholism and arrives backstage in time to appear with his daughter.

The movie has one unexpected death, of course. That inspires a crisis of faith, and Dolores breaks loose from the funeral home, enters the church, and uses a candlestick to demolish several saints, although she is stopped before she gets to the BVM.

There are also many meals in which everyone sits around long tables and talks at once. There is the obligatory debate about who is better, Frank Sinatra or Tony Bennett.

And an irritating editing twitch: We are shown the outside of every location before we cut inside. She cut off her hair and became a Carmelite.

Now comes American Outlaws, proof that even the B Western is dead. It only wants to be a bad movie, and fails. Imagine the cast of American Pie given a camera, lots of money, costumes, and horses, and told to act serious and pretend to be cowboys, and this is what you might get.

It is curious that they are against the railroad. In much better movies like The Claim, the coming of the railroad is seen by everybody as an economic windfall, and it creates fortunes by where it decides to lay its tracks.

But the James farm is one of those movie farms where nothing much is done. There are no visible herds or crops, just some chickens scratching in the dirt, and Ma James Kathy Bates apparently works it by herself while the boys are o to war.

Her hardest labor during the whole movie is her death scene. Jesse James is played by Colin Farrell, who turned on instant star quality in the Vietnam War picture Tigerland and turns it off here.

Farrell here seems less like the leader of a gang than the lead singer in a boy band, and indeed he and the boys spend time arguing about their billing.

Should it be the James Gang? The James-Younger Gang? The Younger-James Gang? After getting his revenge and knocking over countless banks, what he basically wants to do is retire from the gang and get himself a farm and settle down with pretty Zee Mimms Ali Larter.

While we are musing about how many nighttime robberies there had been in American history, we meet the villains. Dozens of extras are killed and countless stuntmen topple forward off buildings, but the stars are treated with the greatest economy, their deaths doled out parsimoniously according to the needs of the formula screenplay.

The style, class, and intelligence of a Western like that in an era which also gave us The Wild Bunch is like a rebuke to American Outlaws.

What happened to the rough-hewn American intelligence that gave us the Westerns of Ford, Hawks, and Peckinpah? When did cowboys become teen pop idols?

She goes into the toilet and cuts her wrist. He follows her in, sees what she has done, and takes her to a drugstore, where the wound is bandaged.

He asks her why she did it. Sometimes she is wise about it, as in 36 Fillette , the story of a troubled teenager who begins a series of risky irtations with older men.

Or in Fat Girl , about the seething resentment of a pudgy twelve-year-old toward her sexpot older sister. But sometimes she is just plain goofy, as in Anatomy of Hell, which plays like porn dubbed by bitter deconstructionist theoreticians.

The Woman makes an o er to The Man. She will pay him good money to watch her, simply watch her, for four nights. He keeps his end of the bargain, but there were times when I would have paid good money to not watch them, simply not watch them.

I remember when hardcore rst became commonplace, and there were discussions about what it would be like if a serious director ever made a porn movie.

The answer, judging by Anatomy of Hell, ever made a porn movie. The answer, judging by Anatomy of Hell, is that the audience would decide they did not require such a serious director after all.

The Woman believes men hate women, and that gay men hate them even more than straight men, who, however, hate them quite enough.

Men fear women, fear their menstrual secrets, fear their gynecological mysteries, fear that during sex they might disappear entirely within the woman and be imprisoned again by the womb.

To demonstrate her beliefs, The Woman disrobes completely and displays herself on a bed, while The Man sits in a chair and watches her, occasionally rousing himself for a shot of Jack on the rocks.

They talk. They speak as only the French can speak, as if it is not enough for a concept to be di cult, it must be impenetrable. Some events in this movie cannot be hinted at in a family newspaper.

Objects emerge to the light of day that would distinguish target practice in a Bangkok sex show. The poor guy is just as much a prop here as men usually are in porn lms.

He is played by Rocco Si redi, an Italian porn star. The Woman is played by Amira Casar, who is completely nude most of the time, although the opening titles inform us that a body double will be playing her close-ups in the more action-packed scenes.

No doubt the truth can be unpleasant, but I am not sure that unpleasantness is the same as the truth.

There are scenes here where Breillat deliberately disgusts us, not because we are disgusted by the natural life functions of women, as she implies, but simply because The Woman does things that would make any reasonable Man, or Woman, for that matter, throw up.

This was a risky, original lm by a brilliant new director, who told the story of a group of Asian kids from a uent families in Orange County, who backed into a life of crime with their eyes wide open.

Let the young directors at Sundance set aside their glowing reviews and gaze with sad eyes upon this movie, for it is a cautionary lesson.

The movie stars James Franco as Jake Huard, a working-class kid who works as a riveter in a Chesapeake Bay shipyard and gazes in yearning across the waters to the U.

Naval Academy, which his dead mother always wanted him to attend. His father, Bill Brian Goodman , opposes the idea: He thinks his kid is too hotheaded to stick it out.

But Jake is accepted for an unlikely last-minute opening, and the movie is the story of his plebe year. That year is the present time, I guess, since Jake is referred to as a member of the class that will graduate in That means that the Navy is presumably ghting a war somewhere or other in this old world of ours, although there is not a single word about it in the movie.

The plebes seem mostly engaged in memorizing the longitude and latitude of Annapolis to avoid doing push-ups. There is much suspense over whether Twins can complete the obstacle course in less than ve minutes by the end of the year.

If I had a year to train under a brutal Marine drill sergeant with his boot up my butt, I could complete the goddamn obstacle course in under ve minutes, and so could Queen Latifah.

The drill sergeant is Lt. Cole Tyrese Gibson , who is a combatveteran Marine on loan to the academy. Where he saw combat is never mentioned, even when he returns to it at the end of the movie.

But this movie is not about war. It is about boxing. Because Jake has an attitude and because Cole doubts his ability to lead men, they become enemies, and everything points toward the big match where Jake and Cole will be able to hammer each other in the ring.

I forgot to mention that Jake was an amateur ghter before he entered the academy. His father thought he was a loser at that, too.

Surely a director who made Better Luck Tomorrow would have nothing to do with such an ancient wheeze, which is not only o the shelf, but o the shelf at the resale store?

Yes, the Navy is at war, and it all comes down to a boxing match. There is only one character in the movie who comes alive and whose dialogue is worth being heard.

That is the fat kid, Twins. His reason may not make audiences in Arkansas and Mississippi very happy, but at least it has the quality of sounding as if a human being might say it out loud.

I ask this question because I do not know the answer. It alternates between graphic, explicit sex scenes, and murder scenes of brutal cruelty.

Later, you ask what the lmmakers had in mind. They are French, and so we know some kind of ideology and rationalization must lurk beneath the blood and semen.

The lm has been written and directed by Virginie Despentes, based on her novel; she enlisted Coralie Trin Thi, a porno actress, as her codirector whether to help with the visual strategy or because of her understanding of the mechanical requirements of onscreen sex, it is hard to say.

It was written and directed by Takeshi Kitano, who starred under his acting name, Beat Takeshi. Kitano under any name is the Japanese master of lean, violent, heartless action pictures, and in this one the plot is punctuated every ve minutes or so by a bloodbath in which enemies are shot dead.

Many, many enemies. The killings are separated in Brother by about the same length of time as those in Baise-Moi, or the sex acts in a porno lm.

Obviously all three kinds of lm are providing payo s by the clock. Would Brother be as depressing as Baise-Moi if all the victims had sex before they were gunned down?

A case can be made that Baise-Moi wants to attack sexism in the movies at the same time it raises the stakes.

An equally controversial new American movie named Bully is also about stupid, senseless murder, but it has the wit to know what it thinks about its characters.

Baise-Moi is more of a blu. The directors know their lm is so extreme that most will be repelled, but some will devise intellectual defenses and interpretations for it, saving them the trouble of making it clear what they want to say.

Ernest Hemingway, who was no doubt a sexist pig, said it is moral if you feel good after it, and immoral if you feel bad after it. Manu and Nadine do not feel bad, and that is immoral.

Ballistic: Ecks vs. Sever that renaming it Ballistic would not have solved. The movie is a chaotic mess, overloaded with special e ects and explosions, light on continuity, sanity, and coherence.

He has obtained a miniaturized robot so small it can float in the bloodstream and cause strokes and heart attacks. All very well, but consider for a moment the problem of cost overruns in these times of economic uncertainty.

A miniaturized assassination robot small enough to slip through the bloodstream would cost how much? And it is delivered by dart?

When the FBI goes looking for Ecks, for example, they nd him sitting morosely on a bar stool, drinking and smoking. That is, of course, where sad former agents always are found, but the strange thing is, after years of drinking he is still in great shape, has all his karate moves, and goes directly into violent action without even a tiny tremor of DTs.

The movie ends in a stock movie location I thought had been retired: a steam and ame factory where the combatants stalk each other on catwalks and from behind steel pillars, while the otherwise deserted factory supplies vast quantities of ame and steam.

Vancouver itself, for that matter, is mostly deserted, and no wonder, if word has gotten around that two U. Sever was directed by Wych Kaosayananda of Thailand, whose pseudonym, you may not be surprised to learn, is Kaos.

As the plot unfolded, and unfolded, and unfolded, and unfolded, I leaned forward earnestly in my seat, trying to remember where we had been and what we had learned.

Reader, I gave it my best shot. But with a sinking heart I realized that my e orts were not going to be enough, because this was not a lm that could be understood.

With style and energy from the actors, with every sign of self-con dence from the director, with pictures that were in focus and dialogue that you could hear, the movie descended into a morass of narrative quicksand.

By the end, I wanted to do cruel and vicious things to the screenplay. It sets up a situation and then does a bait and switch.

You never know which walnut the truth is under. You invest your trust and are betrayed. I felt The Usual Suspects was a long ride for a short day at the beach, but at least as I traced back through it, I could see how it held together.

But as nearly as I can tell, Basic exists with no respect for objective reality. It is all smoke and no mirrors.

The lm is set in a rainy jungle in Panama. I suspect it rains so much as an irritant, to make everything harder to see and hear.

Or maybe the sky gods are angry at the film. We are introduced to the hard-assed Sgt. Nathan West Jackson , a sadistic perfectionist who is roundly hated by his unit.

When various characters are killed during the confusion of the storm, there is the feeling the deaths may not have been accidental, may indeed have involved drug dealing.

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He has art hanging all over his apartment, except in front of those slats. All Alex has to do is sublet, and his financial worries are over.

He will make wonderful movies in the future. He has not, however, made a wonderful movie in the present. This story is said to be based on fact.

If it is, I am amazed that such promising material would yield such pitiful results. This underground hero turns out to be the lovely and fragrant This underground hero turns out to be the lovely and fragrant Romy Nicolette Krebitz , a librarian who, for the convenience of the plot, lives in a loft under the roof of the library, so that during one of many unbelievable scenes the spies are able to lift a skylight window in order to eavesdrop on an interrogation.

The plot requires them to in ltrate the factory, steal an Enigma machine, and return to England with it. The movie has an answer to it, but it comes so late in the lm that although it makes sense technically, the damage has already been done.

How it becomes clear that he is not a woman is not nearly as interesting as how anyone could possibly have thought he was a woman in the first place.

The action in the movie would be ludicrous anyway, but is even more peculiar in a cross-dressing comedy. Surely they know he is, if not a spy, at least a drag queen?

I fear the movie makes it appear the Nazis think he is a sexy woman, something that will come as a surprise to anyone who is familiar with Eddie Izzard, including Eddie Izzard.

And yet we bought them in that comedy, and it remains a classic. Apart from the inescapable di erence in actual talent, could it have anything to do with the use of color?

Black-and-white is better suited to many kinds of comedy because it underlines the dialogue and movement while diminishing the importance of fashions and eliminating the emotional content of various colors.

Billy Wilder fought for black-and-white on Some Like It Hot because he thought his drag queens would never be accepted by the audience in color, and he was right.

The casting is also a problem. Matt LeBlanc does not belong in this movie in any role other than, possibly, that of a Nazi who believes Eddie Izzard is a woman.

He is all wrong for the lead, with no lightness, no humor, no sympathy for his fellow spies, and no comic timing. I can imagine this movie as a black-and-white British comedy, circa , with Peter Sellers, Kenneth Williams, et al.

Shame about the plot. The people are real, but the story devices are clunkers from Fiction ; the movie generates goodwill in its setup, but in the last act it goes haywire with revelations and secrets and dramatic gestures.

The movie takes place in Cholame, the California town where James Dean died in , and maybe the only way to save it would have been to leave out everything involving James Dean.

John Mahoney stars as Max Harris, the proprietor of a diner in a sparsely populated backwater. Virginia Madsen is Clare, his waitress, and other locals include Nate Davis, as an old-timer who peddles James Dean souvenirs from a roadside table, and Ian Gomez, as the salt-of-theearth cook.

The town experiences an unusual urry of activity. A lm crew arrives to shoot a movie about the death of James Dean. And a magazine writer named Nina Ellington Linda Emond arrives to do a feature about the reopening of the gas station.

If this seems like an unlikely subject for a story, re ect that she stays so long she could do the reporting on the reopening of a re nery.

The place and the people are sound. Mahoney has the gift of bringing quiet believability to a character; his Max seems dependable, kind, and loyal.

Virginia Madsen is the spark of the place, not a stereotyped, gum-chewing hash slinger, but a woman who takes an interest in the people who come her way.

Better, perhaps, to make her a woman with no reason at all to be in Cholame. Let her stay because she has no place better to go, and then let her fall in love.

The arrival of the lm crew, with its own model of the same car, introduces a series of parallels between past and present that it would be unfair to reveal.

Spoiler warning! Without spelling everything out, let us observe, however, that it is unlikely that a character who was locally famous in could stay in the same area and become anonymous just by changing his name.

It is also unlikely that he would be moved, so many years later, to the actions he takes in the lm. And cosmically unlikely that they would have the results that they do.

Not to mention how pissed off the film company would be. My fears were well grounded. Almost Salinas generates enormous goodwill and then loses it by betraying its generates enormous goodwill and then loses it by betraying its characters to the needs of a plot that wants to inspire pathos and sympathy, but inspires instead, alas, groans and the rolling of eyes.

Jude, patron saint of lost causes. Maybe he could perform a miracle and turn this into a cable offering, so no one has to pay to see it.

Alone among them, Mercedes Ruehl somehow salvages her dignity while all about her are losing theirs. Too large, considering that every character has a crisis, and the story races from one to another like the guy on TV who kept all the plates spinning on top of the poles.

This family not only has a matriarch Cloris Leachman but her super uous sister Lee Grant and their even more super uous sister Edith Field.

Denise and Christine think Grace is ruining her life with guilt because when she was a little girl she ran away and her mother chased her and fell, which of course caused Dolores to be retarded.

Sample subplot: Dolores decides she wants a boyfriend. This has not resulted in Armand being a once-normal person with brain damage, but, miraculously, in his being exactly like Dolores.

At the movies, after they kiss, he shyly puts his hand on her breast, and she shyly puts her hand on his. No less than two fathers do it in this movie.

Both Joe Sorvino and Paul have daughters in a ballet recital, and not only does Joe overcome his loathing for ballet and even attend rehearsals, but Paul overcomes his workaholism and arrives backstage in time to appear with his daughter.

The movie has one unexpected death, of course. That inspires a crisis of faith, and Dolores breaks loose from the funeral home, enters the church, and uses a candlestick to demolish several saints, although she is stopped before she gets to the BVM.

There are also many meals in which everyone sits around long tables and talks at once. There is the obligatory debate about who is better, Frank Sinatra or Tony Bennett.

And an irritating editing twitch: We are shown the outside of every location before we cut inside. She cut off her hair and became a Carmelite.

Now comes American Outlaws, proof that even the B Western is dead. It only wants to be a bad movie, and fails. Imagine the cast of American Pie given a camera, lots of money, costumes, and horses, and told to act serious and pretend to be cowboys, and this is what you might get.

It is curious that they are against the railroad. In much better movies like The Claim, the coming of the railroad is seen by everybody as an economic windfall, and it creates fortunes by where it decides to lay its tracks.

But the James farm is one of those movie farms where nothing much is done. There are no visible herds or crops, just some chickens scratching in the dirt, and Ma James Kathy Bates apparently works it by herself while the boys are o to war.

Her hardest labor during the whole movie is her death scene. Jesse James is played by Colin Farrell, who turned on instant star quality in the Vietnam War picture Tigerland and turns it off here.

Farrell here seems less like the leader of a gang than the lead singer in a boy band, and indeed he and the boys spend time arguing about their billing.

Should it be the James Gang? The James-Younger Gang? The Younger-James Gang? After getting his revenge and knocking over countless banks, what he basically wants to do is retire from the gang and get himself a farm and settle down with pretty Zee Mimms Ali Larter.

While we are musing about how many nighttime robberies there had been in American history, we meet the villains.

Dozens of extras are killed and countless stuntmen topple forward off buildings, but the stars are treated with the greatest economy, their deaths doled out parsimoniously according to the needs of the formula screenplay.

The style, class, and intelligence of a Western like that in an era which also gave us The Wild Bunch is like a rebuke to American Outlaws.

What happened to the rough-hewn American intelligence that gave us the Westerns of Ford, Hawks, and Peckinpah? When did cowboys become teen pop idols?

She goes into the toilet and cuts her wrist. He follows her in, sees what she has done, and takes her to a drugstore, where the wound is bandaged.

He asks her why she did it. Sometimes she is wise about it, as in 36 Fillette , the story of a troubled teenager who begins a series of risky irtations with older men.

Or in Fat Girl , about the seething resentment of a pudgy twelve-year-old toward her sexpot older sister. But sometimes she is just plain goofy, as in Anatomy of Hell, which plays like porn dubbed by bitter deconstructionist theoreticians.

The Woman makes an o er to The Man. She will pay him good money to watch her, simply watch her, for four nights. He keeps his end of the bargain, but there were times when I would have paid good money to not watch them, simply not watch them.

I remember when hardcore rst became commonplace, and there were discussions about what it would be like if a serious director ever made a porn movie.

The answer, judging by Anatomy of Hell, ever made a porn movie. The answer, judging by Anatomy of Hell, is that the audience would decide they did not require such a serious director after all.

The Woman believes men hate women, and that gay men hate them even more than straight men, who, however, hate them quite enough. Men fear women, fear their menstrual secrets, fear their gynecological mysteries, fear that during sex they might disappear entirely within the woman and be imprisoned again by the womb.

To demonstrate her beliefs, The Woman disrobes completely and displays herself on a bed, while The Man sits in a chair and watches her, occasionally rousing himself for a shot of Jack on the rocks.

They talk. They speak as only the French can speak, as if it is not enough for a concept to be di cult, it must be impenetrable.

Some events in this movie cannot be hinted at in a family newspaper. Objects emerge to the light of day that would distinguish target practice in a Bangkok sex show.

The poor guy is just as much a prop here as men usually are in porn lms. He is played by Rocco Si redi, an Italian porn star.

The Woman is played by Amira Casar, who is completely nude most of the time, although the opening titles inform us that a body double will be playing her close-ups in the more action-packed scenes.

No doubt the truth can be unpleasant, but I am not sure that unpleasantness is the same as the truth.

There are scenes here where Breillat deliberately disgusts us, not because we are disgusted by the natural life functions of women, as she implies, but simply because The Woman does things that would make any reasonable Man, or Woman, for that matter, throw up.

This was a risky, original lm by a brilliant new director, who told the story of a group of Asian kids from a uent families in Orange County, who backed into a life of crime with their eyes wide open.

Let the young directors at Sundance set aside their glowing reviews and gaze with sad eyes upon this movie, for it is a cautionary lesson.

The movie stars James Franco as Jake Huard, a working-class kid who works as a riveter in a Chesapeake Bay shipyard and gazes in yearning across the waters to the U.

Naval Academy, which his dead mother always wanted him to attend. His father, Bill Brian Goodman , opposes the idea: He thinks his kid is too hotheaded to stick it out.

But Jake is accepted for an unlikely last-minute opening, and the movie is the story of his plebe year.

That year is the present time, I guess, since Jake is referred to as a member of the class that will graduate in That means that the Navy is presumably ghting a war somewhere or other in this old world of ours, although there is not a single word about it in the movie.

The plebes seem mostly engaged in memorizing the longitude and latitude of Annapolis to avoid doing push-ups.

There is much suspense over whether Twins can complete the obstacle course in less than ve minutes by the end of the year. If I had a year to train under a brutal Marine drill sergeant with his boot up my butt, I could complete the goddamn obstacle course in under ve minutes, and so could Queen Latifah.

The drill sergeant is Lt. Cole Tyrese Gibson , who is a combatveteran Marine on loan to the academy. Where he saw combat is never mentioned, even when he returns to it at the end of the movie.

But this movie is not about war. It is about boxing. Because Jake has an attitude and because Cole doubts his ability to lead men, they become enemies, and everything points toward the big match where Jake and Cole will be able to hammer each other in the ring.

I forgot to mention that Jake was an amateur ghter before he entered the academy. His father thought he was a loser at that, too.

Surely a director who made Better Luck Tomorrow would have nothing to do with such an ancient wheeze, which is not only o the shelf, but o the shelf at the resale store?

Yes, the Navy is at war, and it all comes down to a boxing match. There is only one character in the movie who comes alive and whose dialogue is worth being heard.

That is the fat kid, Twins. His reason may not make audiences in Arkansas and Mississippi very happy, but at least it has the quality of sounding as if a human being might say it out loud.

I ask this question because I do not know the answer. It alternates between graphic, explicit sex scenes, and murder scenes of brutal cruelty.

Later, you ask what the lmmakers had in mind. They are French, and so we know some kind of ideology and rationalization must lurk beneath the blood and semen.

The lm has been written and directed by Virginie Despentes, based on her novel; she enlisted Coralie Trin Thi, a porno actress, as her codirector whether to help with the visual strategy or because of her understanding of the mechanical requirements of onscreen sex, it is hard to say.

It was written and directed by Takeshi Kitano, who starred under his acting name, Beat Takeshi.

Kitano under any name is the Japanese master of lean, violent, heartless action pictures, and in this one the plot is punctuated every ve minutes or so by a bloodbath in which enemies are shot dead.

Many, many enemies. The killings are separated in Brother by about the same length of time as those in Baise-Moi, or the sex acts in a porno lm.

Obviously all three kinds of lm are providing payo s by the clock. Would Brother be as depressing as Baise-Moi if all the victims had sex before they were gunned down?

A case can be made that Baise-Moi wants to attack sexism in the movies at the same time it raises the stakes.

An equally controversial new American movie named Bully is also about stupid, senseless murder, but it has the wit to know what it thinks about its characters.

Baise-Moi is more of a blu. The directors know their lm is so extreme that most will be repelled, but some will devise intellectual defenses and interpretations for it, saving them the trouble of making it clear what they want to say.

Ernest Hemingway, who was no doubt a sexist pig, said it is moral if you feel good after it, and immoral if you feel bad after it. Manu and Nadine do not feel bad, and that is immoral.

Ballistic: Ecks vs. Sever that renaming it Ballistic would not have solved. The movie is a chaotic mess, overloaded with special e ects and explosions, light on continuity, sanity, and coherence.

He has obtained a miniaturized robot so small it can float in the bloodstream and cause strokes and heart attacks. All very well, but consider for a moment the problem of cost overruns in these times of economic uncertainty.

A miniaturized assassination robot small enough to slip through the bloodstream would cost how much? And it is delivered by dart?

When the FBI goes looking for Ecks, for example, they nd him sitting morosely on a bar stool, drinking and smoking.

That is, of course, where sad former agents always are found, but the strange thing is, after years of drinking he is still in great shape, has all his karate moves, and goes directly into violent action without even a tiny tremor of DTs.

The movie ends in a stock movie location I thought had been retired: a steam and ame factory where the combatants stalk each other on catwalks and from behind steel pillars, while the otherwise deserted factory supplies vast quantities of ame and steam.

Vancouver itself, for that matter, is mostly deserted, and no wonder, if word has gotten around that two U.

Sever was directed by Wych Kaosayananda of Thailand, whose pseudonym, you may not be surprised to learn, is Kaos.

As the plot unfolded, and unfolded, and unfolded, and unfolded, I leaned forward earnestly in my seat, trying to remember where we had been and what we had learned.

Reader, I gave it my best shot. But with a sinking heart I realized that my e orts were not going to be enough, because this was not a lm that could be understood.

With style and energy from the actors, with every sign of self-con dence from the director, with pictures that were in focus and dialogue that you could hear, the movie descended into a morass of narrative quicksand.

By the end, I wanted to do cruel and vicious things to the screenplay. It sets up a situation and then does a bait and switch. You never know which walnut the truth is under.

You invest your trust and are betrayed. I felt The Usual Suspects was a long ride for a short day at the beach, but at least as I traced back through it, I could see how it held together.

But as nearly as I can tell, Basic exists with no respect for objective reality. It is all smoke and no mirrors. The lm is set in a rainy jungle in Panama.

I suspect it rains so much as an irritant, to make everything harder to see and hear. Or maybe the sky gods are angry at the film.

We are introduced to the hard-assed Sgt. Nathan West Jackson , a sadistic perfectionist who is roundly hated by his unit.

When various characters are killed during the confusion of the storm, there is the feeling the deaths may not have been accidental, may indeed have involved drug dealing.

Julia Osborne Connie Nielsen. The murders and the investigation are both told in untrustworthy ashbacks.

We get versions of events from such di ering points of view, indeed, that we yearn for a good old-fashioned omnipotent POV to come in and slap everybody around.

There are so many di erent views of the same happenings that, hell, why not throw in a musical version? Of course, there are moments that are engaging in themselves.

Finally we arrive at an ending that gives a final jerk to our chain and we realize we never had a chance. What is the point of a movie like Basic?

To make us feel cleverly deceived? To do that, the lm would have to convince us of one reality and then give us another, equally valid classics like Laura did that.

This movie gives no indication even at the end that we have nally gotten to the bottom of things. There is a feeling that Basic II could carry right on, undoing the nal shots, bringing a few characters back to life and sending the whole crowd o on another tango of gratuitous deception.

The visuals are grubby and drab. The characters are unkempt and have rotten teeth. Breathing tubes hang from their noses like ropes of snot.

The sound track sounds like the boom mike is being slammed against the inside of a fifty-five-gallon drum.

This movie is awful in so many But let me catch my breath. This movie is awful in so many di erent ways.

Even the opening titles are cheesy. Sci- epics usually begin with a stab at impressive titles, but this one just displays green letters on the screen in a type font that came with my Macintosh.

It is the year The race of Psychlos have conquered Earth. Humans survive in scattered bands, living like actors auditioning for the sequel to Quest for Fire.

Soon a few leave the wilderness and prowl through the ruins of theme parks and the city of Denver.

The ruins have held up well after one thousand years. The books in the library are dusty but readable, and a ight simulator still works, although where it gets the electricity is a mystery.

The hero, named Jonnie Goodboy Tyler, is played by Barry Pepper as a smart human who gets smarter thanks to a Psychlo gizmo that zaps his eyeballs with knowledge.

He learns Euclidean geometry and how to y a jet, and otherwise proves to be a quick learner for a caveman.

Terl is head of security for the Psychlos, and has a secret scheme to use the humans as slaves to mine gold for him.

Jonnie Goodboy gures out a way to avoid slave labor in the gold mines. He and his men simply go to Fort Knox, break in, and steal it.

What Terl says when his slaves hand him smelted bars of gold is beyond explanation. We can sit back and watch it choose its food. An experiment like that, you pray for a chicken.

Their costumes look purchased from the Goodwill store on Tatoine. Travolta can be charming, funny, touching, and brave in his best roles; why disguise him as a smelly alien creep?

The Psychlos can y between galaxies, but look at their nails: Their civilization has mastered the hyperdrive but not the manicure.

Lots of great movies have squalid heroes. But when the characters seem noxious on principle, we wonder if the art and costume departments were allowed to run wild.

Battle eld Earth was written in by L. Ron Hubbard, the founder of Scientology. The lm contains no evidence of Scientology or any other system of thought; it is shapeless and senseless, without a compelling plot or characters we care for in the slightest.

The director, Roger Christian, has learned from better lms that directors sometimes tilt their cameras, but he has not learned why.

Some movies run o the rails. This one is like the train crash in The Fugitive. I watched it in mounting gloom, realizing I was witnessing something historic, a lm that for decades to come will be the punch line of jokes about bad movies.

If the lm had been destroyed in a similar cataclysm, there might have been a standing ovation. The movie tells the story of Mona, a girl who dreams of becoming a beauty queen and grows up to become obsessed with her dream.

Her life is not without di culties. As a child from Naperville, Illinois, she is graceless, wears braces, chooses costumes Miss Clarabell would not be seen in, cheats, and is insu erably selfcentered.

As an adult, played by Minnie Driver, she gets rid of the braces but keeps right on cheating, until by the time she becomes Miss Illinois she has survived her third scandal.

Sample scandal. A competitor in a pageant plans to twirl a re baton. As a girl, Mona is best pals with Ruby, a girl who for no good reason adores her.

Why does Ruby devote her entire life to Mona and become a surrogate mother? Search me. Because the plot makes her, I guess.

Mona has parents of her own, a mother and a stepfather who are sullen, unhelpful, drink too much, and spend most of their time being seen in unhelpful reaction shots.

The screenplay is no help in explaining their personalities or histories. She suspects Mona is her real mom and seems fed up being used as a pawn at one point she gets on the phone to order some foster parents.

She knows Mona has a child and is planning to break the story, but no one who has watched television for as long as a day could conceivably believe her character or what she does.

She is obviously not on the same channel as the pageant, so she must be on another channel. Joyce, I guess, since she addresses them in real time whenever she feels like it.

The staging is so inept she is actually seen eavesdropping on the pageant by placing her ear near to a wall. No press gallery? Not even a portable TV for her to watch?

As for Mona herself, Minnie Driver nds herself in an acting triathlon. Mona changes personalities, strategies, and IQ levels from scene to scene.

I was amazed at one point when people told Mona what the matter with her was, and then she went home and lay down on the sofa and we got ashback voice-overs as memories of the accusing voices echoed in her head.

That device was dated in Driver would have been miscast even if the screenplay had been competent. And what about Ruby, the nurse played by Adams?

The lmmakers have no sense of proportion; Ruby could just as easily have been stuck in a gas station with a at tire and provided the same reaction shots watching TV in the climax.

Why kill the sweet old lady? Now consider. Mona has been involved in three scandals. She scarred one of her competitors for life.

Her roommate and manager is in jail charged as an Angel of Death. A TV newswoman knows she has a secret child. What are the odds any beauty pageant would let that contestant on stage?

The executives who green-lighted it did her no favors. Here is a movie about two of the most loathsome women in recent cinema, and the movie thinks the male characters are the villains.

It gets away with this only because we have been taught that women are to be presumed good and men are to be presumed evil.

Flip the genders in this screenplay, and there would not be the slightest doubt that the characters named Petula and Dorothy are monsters.

Consider, for example, the setup. Dorothy Susan Lynch has been Consider, for example, the setup. Dorothy Susan Lynch has been unwise enough to shack up with a boyfriend who is not only a junkie but also a golfer.

This makes her a two-time loser. She pawns his golf clubs. He gets revenge by throwing her brassiere in boiling water, dyeing her dog pink, and stealing her money, which is from the pawned golf clubs.

Any golfer or junkie will tell you that at this point, they are approximately morally even. Dorothy leaves the house and comes upon a disturbance in the street.

Why is he doing this? Because the movie requires this demonstration of typical male behavior. Dorothy is already mad, and now she loses it.

Imagine a scene where a man slams a woman with a pipe, and then joins her boyfriend in dragging the body into the bathtub and sharing a joint while she dies.

Di cult. Even more di cult in a comedy, which, I neglected to mention, Beautiful Creatures intends to be.

Men are more violent than women, yes, and guilty of abuse, yes, although the percentage of male monsters is incalculably higher in the movies than in life.

Like Thelma and Louise, Dorothy and Petula commit crimes that are morally justi able because of their gender. We even like them for it.

My own theory is that any jury in Scotland would believe their story that the man was violent and Dorothy had come to the defense of a sister.

The movie, set in Glasgow and one of the many o spring of Trainspotting, uses local color for a lot of its gags. Instead of picketing The Sopranos, Italian-Americans should protest the new wave of lms from Scotland, which indicate Scots make funnier, more violent, more eccentric, and more verbal gangsters than they do.

Films and TV shows that portray ethnic groups as interesting and colorful are generally a plus, since those viewers dumb enough to think every story is an accurate portrait are beyond our help anyway.

The plot. The dead man has a brother who is a rich bad guy. A detective Alex Norton comes to investigate, gets in on the scheme, and alters it with designs of his own.

Meanwhile, the junkie boyfriend turns up again, and one thing leads to another. You know how it is.

There is some dark humor in the movie, of the kind where you laugh that you may not gag. And the kind of convoluted plotting that seems obligatory in crime lms from Scotland consider Shallow Grave.

In fact, if the movie had been able to make me laugh, I might have forgiven it almost anything. He revived his career by dancing with Uma Thurman in Pulp Fiction In Be Cool, Uma Thurman asks if he dances.

The hard part is, what do we do with it? Be Cool is a movie that knows it is a movie. It knows it is a sequel and contains disparaging references to sequels.

All very cute at the screenplay stage, where everybody can sit around at story conferences and assume that a scene will work because the scene it refers to worked.

So we remember Fever and then we forget it, because the new scene is working on its own. Now look at the dance scene in Be Cool. Travolta and Thurman dance in a perfectly competent way that is neither good nor bad.

Emotionally they are neither happy nor sad. The scene is not necessary to the story. The lmmakers have put them on the dance oor without a safety net.

The whole movie has the same problem. It is a sequel to Get Shorty , which was based on a novel by Elmore Leonard just as this is based on a sequel to that novel.

Funnier if he had advanced to the front ranks of movie producers and was making a movie with A-list stars when his past catches up with him.

Instead, he tries to take over the contract of a singer named Linda Moon Christina Milian , whose agent Vince Vaughn acts as if he is black.

But where do you go with it? Maybe by sinking him so deeply into dialect that he cannot make himself understood, and has to write notes.

I pause here long enough to note that Elliot Wilhelm is the name of a friend of mine who runs the Detroit Film Theater, and that Elmore Leonard undoubtedly knows this because he also lives in Detroit.

He makes dire threats against Chili Palmer, who disarms him with attery, telling him in the middle of a confrontation that he has all the right elements to be a movie star.

There are other casting decisions that are intended to be hilarious. Sin LaSalle has a chief of sta played by Andre , who is a famous music type, although I did not know that and neither, in my opinion, would Chili.

There is also a gag involving Steven Tyler turning up as himself. Be Cool becomes a classic species of bore: a self-referential movie with no self to refer to.

One character after another, one scene after another, one cute line of dialogue after another, refers to another movie, a similar character, a contrasting image or whatever.

The movie is like a bureaucrat who keeps sending you to another office. To have The Rock play a gay narcissist is not funny because all we can think about is that The Rock is not a gay narcissist.

Think what The Rock could do with a Harvey Keitel character. In other words: 1 Come up with an actual story, and 2 if you must have satire and self-reference, rotate it 90 degrees o the horizontal instead of making it ground level.

Also 3 go easy on the material that requires a familiarity with the earlier movie, as in the scenes with Danny DeVito, who can be the funniest man in a movie, but not when it has to be a movie other than the one he is appearing in.

I wonder if it played as a comedy. This is not the story of a fugitive trying to sneak through enemy terrain and be rescued but of a movie character magically transported from one photo opportunity to another.

The pilots eject. Stackhouse is found by Tracker Vladimir Mashkov , who tells his commander, Lokar Olek Krupa , to forget about a big pursuit and simply allow him to track Burnett.

Admiral Piquet, who sounds French, is played by a Portuguese actor. What Burnett does do is stroll through Bosnia like a bird-watcher, exposing himself in open areas and making himself a silhouette against the skyline.

First rule of not getting caught: No loud involuntary yells within the hearing of the enemy.

This guy is a piece of work. Consider the scene where Burnett substitutes uniforms with a Serbian ghter.

He even wears a black ski mask covering his entire face. He walks past a truck of enemy troops, and then what does he do? How did this guy get through combat training?

Must have been a social promotion to keep him with his age group. At times Burnett is pursued by the entire Serbian army, which res at him with machine guns, ri es, and tanks, of course never hitting him.

I smiled during the scene where Admiral Reigart is able to use heat-sensitive satellite imagery to look at high-res silhouettes of Burnett stretched out within feet of the enemy.

Maybe this is possible. What I do not believe is that the enemies in this scene could not spot the American uniform in a pile of enemy corpses.

Do I need to tell you that the ending involves a montage of rueful grins, broad smiles, and meaningful little victorious nods, scored with upbeat rock music?

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