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With its lush Technicolor palette of autumn hues and lavish Elmer Bernstein score and slightly stylized acting and crisp costumes of crinoline and taffeta and gray flannel, Far from Heaven is a note-perfect pastiche of early studio melodramas.
The cleanest, neatest discount store you’ve ever seen appears in Mark Romanek’s *One Hour Photo,* a clean, neat, all-corners-squared psychological thriller whose quiet precision is the most unnerving thing about it.
There’s not a thing that isn’t hauntingly, quietly electrifying about this, the first truly grown-up comic book movie. Fans of the medium have known for years that the form had no trouble being Important, but the film industry (though perhaps not all filmmakers themselves) has stubbornly insisted on treating comic adaptations as juvenile.
It sends a shiver up my spine just thinking about the movie now, even as I gaze out the window onto a gorgeous, happy, sunshiny day. It’ll be great when this one finally comes out on DVD, cuz then I’ll be able to curl up on the couch in the middle of the night wrapped in an old afghan for protection and give myself the wild heebie-jeebies watching it.
I told myself I wasn’t gonna cry…
Toss a coin: Which do you prefer: A Heartwarming(TM) tale of one man’s triumph over mental illness? Or one director’s biting off more than he can chew and falling rather flat on his face? Or one more mostly terrific performance from Crowe? No need to look for a three-sided coin — you get all three in A Beautiful Mind.
Oh my god, is Owen Wilson gonna be a huge star or what? This weekend, millions of people who have never seen Bottle Rocket, have never heard of Wes Anderson, and have no idea that Wilson is a screenwriter of no small talent will be cheering on an Owen Wilson who channels the spirit of Steve McQueen while kicking some collective Bosnian ass and being all that he can be. Cuz Bruce Willis is gettin’ too old for this shit, I guess.
It takes a wolf to catch a wolf, says Los Angeles narcotics detective Alonzo Harris. All us little sheep need a wolf on our side to protect us from the other wolves. But shouldn’t we be afraid that “our” wolf might turn on us one day, and even if he doesn’t and keeps the dangerous wolves at bay, isn’t it only wolves who win in the end?
But cast Tilda Swinton in the role of, as she is offhandedly referred to by a bit player here, “somebody’s mom,” and all of a sudden you’ve got a story about domestic discord that is compulsively watchable.
This is classy gothic horror, old-fashioned in the best way: there are no CGI specters, just mysterious footsteps and distant cries and movement in the shadows and hushed whispers and slamming doors.
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