reviews

Director Tom Shadyac is obsessed with cancer kids. He fetishizes their huge, red-rimmed eyes and pasty, transparent skin stretched tight over bald little heads. It’s vaguely disgusting, but he does it anyway.

Being a vampire is hard work. There’s all the practicing of your indecipherable Eurotrashy accent. There’re the constant wardrobe changes. You have to rehearse the snarling and the narrowing of your eyes to denote your immortal ennui. And all that is besides the lounging in coffins and the caressing of creamy, anonymous necks and, of course, the bloodsucking.

The gentle flow of genuine emotion in which Dark Blue World immerses the audience becomes all the more refreshing and stirring when the inevitable comparison is made: This bittersweet and heartbreaking tale of two World War II pilots in love with the same woman is everything Michael Bay’s overblown and sticky-sweet Pearl Harbor could have been.

Lookin’ forward to that big new Bruce Willis action movie this weekend? Die Hard in Stalag 17, I think it’s called, and it’s got lots of stuff blowin’ up real good and Bruce playing some guy called Hart who runs around screaming ‘Yippie-ki-ay, Nazi motherfuckers!’ Right?

It makes me feel weird / Thinking about all the bad things in the world / Like puppies with broken legs / And butterflies that die / And movies starring pop queens

It makes me feel weird / Thinking about all the bad things in the world / Like puppies with broken legs / And butterflies that die / And movies starring pop queens

Hurrah for Denzel Washington. No, really. He’s perhaps the only black actor to have made the transition to color-blind Hollywood roles, but never in a movie like John Q, calculated for mass appeal, which it will almost certainly enjoy. Aimed squarely at blue-collar family guys and designed to infuriate them about their own precarious financial situations, and to give them a taste of sweet revenge to boot, this working-class anthem of a movie could easily substitute Nic or Bruce or Mel for Denzel without changing a single thing.

In 1975, Rollerball was science fiction. Today, it’s barely fiction. Substitute ‘Prozac’ for ‘soma’ and ‘Survivor’ for ‘rollerball,’ and we live in this world today. Corporations rule, executives are in charge, and movies like John McTiernan’s ‘remake’ of ‘Rollerball’ are our rollerball. Bread and circuses are back, and they are playing at a multiplex near you.

Call it Macbeth with Cheese. First-time writer/director Billy Morrissette transports Shakespeare’s Macbeth to 1970s small-town Pennsylvania, with cheeky self-awareness of how silly such a metamorphosis is, and the result is inspired. The Bard’s tale of backstabbing, betrayal, and murder now occurs over a soft-serve cone at the counter of a burger joint, where spineless, sweet-but-dumb … more…

Finally, the truth can be told. Hollywood movies — you know, the kind that are declared blockbusters a year in advance of their release — are actually written by 14- year- old boys in three hours under penalty of failing English class. And then the stories get stolen by unscrupulous movie producers. How else to … more…