Month: July 2007

Sublimely naïve yet boisterously entertaining, Hairspray may be the best movie musical since Grease. Its celebration of human tolerance, cross-cultural communication, desegregation, and interracial romance may be simplistic, but it is a simplicity enhanced by a light-hearted irreverence and a collection of infectiously toe-tapping show tunes by Marc Sherman (South Park: Bigger, Longer and Uncut). Adam Shankman stages everything with eccentric, enthusiastic flair (he directs and choreographs). No slice and dice MTV-style editing here, but a loving tribute to what makes the American musical great: strong material, excellent acting and singing, soaring highs and a climatic set-piece that made me want to dance in the aisle (don’t worry Arnab, I didn’t). Sure it lacks John Waters’ squalidly romantic nostalgia for the Baltimore of his childhood, but that doesn’t mean Hairspray–a campy, magical confection for all tastes–isn’t a supremely confident work of pop culture.

Viewed this with the wife a couple of days ago, and it truly caught me by surprise. Whimsical, silly, fantastical, heartbreaking, glorious, honest and joyful, Paris Je T’aime is a delight. At two hours these eighteen short films/vingettes (each shot in a separate arondissement) almost beg to be watched on DVD, but there is something to be said for seeing them all at once as there is only a couple of duds (surprisingly, Alphonso Cuaron turns in a particularly banal sequence), a number of enjoyable throwaways (often built around a comic anagnorisis), and many true gems. Continue reading Paris Je T’aime

Not bad, just disappointing. Granted this movie is based on the weakest of the books: the overall plot of the series was not advanced at all, Rowling’s efforts to portray her hero’s stormy psychological development into adolescence consisted entirely of long passages rendered in block capitals, and story rests on acts of incredible stupidity on the part of adults. So, there was not much to start with. But even so, this is a mess. It is so badly edited (from what must have been a much longer movie) that whole scenes make no sense because earlier events which are referenced later never actually made it off the cutting room floor (Cho’s betrayal, Luna’s possessions, Dumbledore on love). My kids spent the entire trip back from the movie counting the mistakes. The movie is very dark – all night sweats and moments of claustrophic panic – unleavened by any sense of wonderment. There is a single scene, when the older Weasley twins create chaos in the examination room and chase Umbridge, that reminds viewers of the excitement of magic and the pleasures of being a student at Hogwarts. Otherwise it is a conventional teen thriller. A word about the adult British cast. As always, it is a who’s who of talented British actors, with the addition this time of Helena Bonham Carter and Imelda Staunton. But, with the usual exception of Alan Rickman’s Snape, they are all wasted. They are either asked to ham it up (Staunton is completely over the top as a very smug Dolores Umbridge, and Bonham Carter just cackles like a maniac), or given lines of such banality that it must be strain to have to utter them (Gary Oldham is tortured with dialogue that cannot be said with a straight face; I suspect he administered the Avada Kedavra curse on himself to get it over with). Why do these actors do it? Is it some conceit about bringing their craft to a wider audience?

I thought someone had posted on this already, but I couldn’t find anything. Maybe I’m thinking of reynolds’s comments about Ocean’s 12. Or maybe our new search function sucks. Anyway, I can’t even find reynolds’s stuff on any of the Ocean films, which is perhaps just as well. I’ll try to recreate his comments from memory. I think you liked 11 and 12, is that right reynolds? Just good fun, all style and no substance but so what, actors are clearly having fun? Continue reading Ocean’s 13

For some reason, I have been reading the slew of atheist books that have recently appeared: Dawkins, Harris, Hitchens. There was a reference in the Hitchens (God is not Great) to this documentary, which won an Oscar for best documentary in 1973. It is the study of a young Pentecostal preacher named Marjoe Gortner, where Marjoe is a contraction of Mary and Joseph. Raised by revivalist preachers, Marjoe began preaching at age 4, and continued into his teens. He became disaffected, and moved into the California counter-culture. He then returned to preaching in his twenties, this time cynically milking the crowds, and dreaming of a career as rock star or movie actor.
Continue reading Marjoe (1972)

Aside from a soundtrack that seems pleasant but overly familiar, the same guitar noodling found in five of seven independent films, this was a total, wonderful surprise. Michael Kang’s film follows Ernest (Jeffrey Chyau), a chubby 13-year-old trapped cleaning rooms at his family’s half-legitimate/hourly-rated motel, dealing with being 13. Not too much happens–none of the big moments or simple arcs of the conventional independent film, and equal parts funny and sad without ever reaching. It’s just a lovely, great little film. Continue reading The Motel