Days of Thunder (1990)

19 febbraio 2010


“You build me a car, and I’ll prevail in Daytona next year.”

Here’s another bunch pleaser done up in high-definition picture and undamaged. Star Tom Boat and top banana Tony Scott made “Days of Thunder” in 1990 as a follow-up to their warmly in the money “Top Gun” of a few years earlier. Replace jet fighters with stock-car racers and you get the idea.

Somewhere, I remember reading that ordinary-car racing is one of the biggest spectator sports in America, dialect mayhap the biggest, which is surprising considering the popularity of football, baseball, and basketball. But there you are. With Journey and Scott at the where and a well-made fan base behind the stars and the pleasure, the movie had a a heap of built-in support.

“Days of Thunder” is realistically interchangeable with “Top Gun.” You’ll reward from the first film that it featured a cocky, uninitiated hotshot; an domineering rival; a grizzled old hand; a love interest with a appealing, well-educated woman; and a whole load of conflicts involving all of them in one way or another. So, instanter you understand the plot for “Days of Thunder.”

Personally, I’ve never seen the appeal of watching a bunch of cars driving around in circles. I can understand, though, how it would be easier than a track course for the spectators to see what’s growing on. With a Modus operandi One GP incident and most sports-car races, for example, you can only observe a wedge of the trail. But what do I know. I don’t like to wary of baseball or basketball, either, and prefer football and boxing. To each his own. Go for “Top Gun,” “Days of Thunder” attempts to inject a heap of Thespian between the racing scenes, and it tries to make the disparaging lives of the characters at least as watchable as those in “Top Gun.” Too bad the racing performance in “Days of Thunder” doesn’t compete with the excitement of the dogfights in “Top Gun.”

Director Tony Scott is no stranger to exploit movies. Besides “Top Gun,” he’s done things adore “Crimson Tide,” “Enemy of the Asseverate,” and “Man on Fire.” This time, however, he collaborated with screenwriter Robert Towne (”Chinatown,” “Personal Master,” “Mission Impossible”) and Yacht himself on the script. Apparently, it was too amenable just to modify marginally the “Top Gun” structure, which is what the resultant movie turns out like a light love in any casket.

In “Days of Thunder” the filmmakers continue to departure no cliché unvisited. Nothing happens in the tidings that we don’t fully surmise. Travel plays a cocky, persistent inexperienced rookie stock-car driver named Cole Trickle, who, naturally, has to make good himself to everyone, including himself. Coast is good at doing cocky and predetermined whether it’s “Top Gun” or “Mission Impossible” or “War of the Worlds.” If you like what he does, you’ll like him here. Robert Duvall plays an crumbling racing-crate engineer and corps chief, Harry Hogge, whom a limited car relations, Tim Daland (Randy Quaid), lures escape of retirement to paramount up a racing combine he’s putting together. John C. Reilly plays their chief mechanic, Buck Bretherton. The antique-on villain in the shred is a rival driver, Uproarious Burns (Michael Rooker). Did the screenwriters think these names sounded like Southern good ol’ boys: Cole, Hogge, Buck, Uproarious? I dunno. The names just sound corny to me and third-rate excuses after creating real characters.

Cole seems to have the mentality of a six-year-old, and Yahoo is no preferably, so they go to it on the follow, crashing their cars into one another as instances as workable. According to the film, this is ordinary practice in pro stock-car racing. Do drivers in real freshness nudge one another occasionally, either accidentally or on firmness, and are collisions a part of the mockery tease? You bet. Do the drivers constantly function on the track as granting they’re in a demolition derby? Hardly. They’re professionals, after all. And in the movie, not a united of the 800,000 people watching them as they throw their cars at each another notices anything untoward. Far, at least no one notices except the racing commissioner, Grown-up John, played by Fred Dalton Thompson. Thompson, you’ll remember, is the guy who looked so much like a senator, he became one. Rarely he’s back to playing ample shots like his character in “Law and Order.” Anyway, after half a racing mature of Cole and Rowdy roughhousing on the track, Big John (I renounce, that’s what he’s called in the film) finally orders them to stop. Usefulness eyes, big guy.


Arachnid review

17 febbraio 2010

When a group of scientists journey to a South Pacific in order to find the cause of a deadly virus, their even crashes stranding them on a tropical isle. They discover a strange substance all over the atoll, which they are horrified to hit upon originates from a deeply large spider that was transported to Earth from a far-off world. Behemoth bungle distress from Jack Sholder, the man of cult favorite THE HIDDEN (1987).

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All Dogs Go to Heaven (1989)

13 febbraio 2010

Animator Don Bluth enlisted Burt Reynolds when he created the canine leading man of his curious inventiveness “All Dogs Go to Utopia.” We were expecting a coon dog with hair plugs, but the actor is the voice of a shady German shepherd. Reynolds sure has a bone to pick with his woofish convert ego, who has all the actor’s swagger but little of his diffident bewitch.

Charlie B. Barkin (Reynolds) alone, however, doesn’t quite sink this animated “Here Comes Mr. Jordan,” an uneven musical fable that varies from dull to just darling. There are plenty more unsympathetic, underdeveloped critters in Bluth’s kennel. Set in a New Orleans junkyard, this nursery rhyme noir is also home to piranha, rats, gators and other pests indigenous to the bayou.

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As in “The Land Before Time” and “The Secret of NIMH,” Bluth gives the kiddies a “judicious scare,” the better to teach them a lesson. “Dogs” is a cautionary fable wherein the greedy hero learns selflessness from Anne-Marie (Judith Barsi), an orphan who talks to animals, and Itchy (Dom De Luise), his dachshund cellmate at the dog pound.

After breaking out of the pound, Charlie and Itchy expect to rejoin Carface (Vic Tayback), Charlie’s partner in a gambling casino. Unwilling to give him “a cut of the steaks,” the shifty pit bull gets Charlie drunk and ices him with the help of his henchman (Charles Nelson Reilly). Suddenly Charlie awakes in doggie heaven, where pups in pink halos are supervised by a magenta whippet (Melba Moore). A quick look around tells Charlie that heaven is really arful. After romancing the Heavenly Whippet, he steals back to earth to settle the score with Carface.

Charlie is no Rin Tin Tin himself, but an unscrupulous, shiftless cur. Among other things, he sired a litter with a collie (Burt’s wife, Loni Anderson), then left her to raise the pastel pups alone. He’s a rover all right. He does bring the puppies a couple of pizzas when he wins a bundle at the rat races through the misuse of Anne-Marie’s Dolittle powers. Though he pretends to befriend the big-eyed waif, Charlie is using her to line his pockets and bring down Carface.

The sensibilities of a cellblock drama clash with the sappy ditties by Charles Strouse of “Annie” and T.J. Kuenster, the co-director’s brother. The jolly exception is “Let’s Make Music Together,” one of the movie’s few surprises as performed by the flamboyant King Gator (Ken Page), who sings while he splashes through an Esther Williams-style water ballet.

With 10 writers gnawing on it, there is little originality left in the story. The hero’s redemption seems certain, and when a nice couple, the Maples, are introduced we know they’ll adopt Anne-Marie. When it comes to children’s movies, an easy plot is perhaps to be expected, but is this dark tale for children? Bluth says yes, arguing that a story without evil gives kiddies a distorted view of life. But did he have to murder the magic?


All Dogs Go to Heaven is rated G

Les Vampires review

11 febbraio 2010

Les Vampires  is
one of France’s great classic contributions to the world of popular cinema…”

Reviewed by Dennis Schwartz

This is a silent serial told in 10 chapters about subversive vampire
thieves as they suck the blood out of sleeping bourgeois Parisian society,
stealing their jewels in novel ways. The public loved these films, until
the “talkie” pictures came into being and this film was forgotten until
rediscovered in the 1950s by Henri Langlois and popularized in the 1960s
by noted French directors such as Alain Resnais and Jacques Rivette.

The vampires are led by the irrepressible Irma Vep (Musidora), her
name being an anagram for “vampire.” Musidora was a former Music Hall star
whose raven hair and seductive looks suited her villainous black-garbed
heroine role in contrast to the sugary sweet-blonde American heroines at
the time, who starred in popular serials such as
The Perils of Pauline
and
The Exploits of Elaine.

The films were shot cheaply and fast in the Gaumont studios and on
the surrounding Parisian streets. The film consists of combinations of
lyrical and melodramatic scenes, and of an evolving crime-fiction story.
The story line is full of disappearances and disguises, sudden deaths and
uncanny resurrections, hidden trapdoors and secret tunnels, bus chases
and rooftop escapes — which gave the film its power and its sense of dread
(perfectly matching the public’s mood at the time of World War 1). And
it was that, coupled with their almost anarchistic view of society (the
vampires steal only from the rich), and their often contemptuous disregard
of logic that made the films so popular.
Les Vampires was
treasured by Surrealists like Andre Breton and Louis Aragon, which gave
it weight in intellectual circles.

The serial ran into some trouble with the Parisian chief of police,
who had one of the  episodes banned for glamorizing the criminals.
Feuillade, the former cavalryman and journalist, atoned for his ’sin’ with
more moralistic films in the future, such as his
Judex (1916).

Les Vampires is one of France’s great classic contributions
to the world of popular cinema; and fortunately, this once lost film has
now been restored and is available on video.

Dirty War (2004)

9 febbraio 2010

Experts leak us that the likelihood of a terrorist group detonating a dirty bomb&#8212essentially a traditional sensitive filled with radioactive materials that can be dispersed over a large area&#8212is almost a certainty. It’s really just a occasion of when and where. In Daniel Percival’s film Deceitful Combat, the target is London, and it is up to an assorted collection of agencies and authorities to conclude together in a period of great turning-point to not single control the frightened masses, but to get the bad guys, in this case a stall of Muslim extremists.

The underlying message in the first half of Percival’s film is that all the talk of preparations and good will by the direction is akin to so many famished promises, as facts and figures don’t really match up with the hard truth. Equipment, training, supplies, lore are all splendidly beneath OK standards that are needed to play a joke on a proper force that can not neutral control the aftermath of an attack, but inhibit it in the first place.

The Reverend of London (Helen Schlesinger), who speaks of a “balance between truth and assurance,” puts on weak media in advance that the state of readiness and training is acceptable. A dedicated Watch Commander at a local fire station (Alastair Galbraith), who has first hand experience at the ineffectiveness of preparedness training, speaks out harshly regarding the real inadequacies, citing his perceptions of “national refuge as an rationalize for uselessness.” Meanwhile, as the arrest of three mistrustful North Africans leads Scotland Yard (including Koel Purie as a gorgeous Muslim detective) on a search for for unseen terrorist cells in the nub of London, Percival alternates the chronicling by focusing on the Muslim extremists who are structure a series of dirty bombs in the basement of a crowded North London flat.

Some of the police work subplots, such as them watching a terrorist guess as he sits in the window of a restaurant wiping his fingerprints misguided of a coffee cup, are a little too convenient, but are essential to provision the mist moving along at a brisk 90 minutes. It is the bedlam that ensues after the terrorists successfully detonate the first of their explosives when Dirty Wage war with truly ratchets up the tension, because the blend of horror, confusion, order and the unknown seems tough-minded. In a hieroglyph of hope, so the story is not completely downbeat, the implied ineffectiveness of London’s training is balanced alongside the commitment of those convoluted, operating on perspicacity and limited supplies in categorization to try and subdue a catastrophe.

It’s clear we can no longer afford to shrug off the plausibility of an attack corresponding to this taking recognize. Dirty War is class of a terryifying primer on what can go wrong—mixed with some textbook melodrama&#8212and it seems that if and when something like this happens, there is toy that can be done to really make it any wagerer. It’s all respecting containment and authority.

Irreversible review

7 febbraio 2010

Director Gaspar Noe continues to solidify his reputation as a provocateur with 2002’s Irreversible which, cast his previous obscure I Stand Alone, seemed to court controversy low it played.

It is a tragedy told in reverse, quite literally beginning with the film credits and unfolding from the end. The opening (or closing) line of the film is spoken by a flophouse resident, “You know what? Time destroys all things.” What we then see are two men, Marcus (Vincent Cassel) and Pierre (Albert Dupontel), being taken out of a nightclub called The Rectum. The clubs gay s&m denizens sneer and chide them. Marcus is laid out on a stretcher and Pierre is in handcuffs. Next, filmed with an unnerving looping camera shot, we see what led them to this. Marcus and Pierre enter the club and scour every hellish corner for a man called Tenia. A fuming Marcus stalks through the club like a bull. Pierre pleads with him but is unable to calm him down. They are finally lead to who may be Tenia, and they fight the man, the result of which is Marcus having his arm broken and Pierre pummeling the man’s head with a fire extinguisher, crushing the mans face and skull to a pulp.

As the film continues we see why the two were brought to this delirious state of animalistic revenge.
Marcus and Pierre leave a party only to find Marcus’ lover and Pierre’s ex, Alex (Monica Bellucci), brutally beaten and comatose on a stretcher. Informed by two local hoods, they try to track down who was responsible, eventually getting the name of a pimp, Tenia, and his whereabouts at The Rectum. We then witness her harrowing rape in a street underpass, a nearly ten minute sequence that doesn’t shy away from the disgusting attack. We see them at a party. Alex is a beautiful vision and is upset at Marcus taking drugs and bouncing off the walls, being childlike, and obnoxious, so she decides to leave. The we see the trio hanging out, taking a train, comically talking about sex. Then we see Marcus and Alex waking in bed naked, playful, sensual, content in each others arms, talking about Alex’s dream, meeting Pierre later, and their future. And so the film ends with an idyllic begging, the comfort of two lovers heading into the promise of a new life, and it makes the outcome we have already seen even harder to stomach.

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Noe has been called everything from a nihilistic genius to a mean-spirited art snob, and considering his chosen subject matter and willingness to disorient and disturb his viewers, it is understandable. The reactions to his films are often as extreme as the films themselves. Noe’s camera doesn’t flinch. His visuals and sound design facilitates and increases every shocking terrible moment. While it makes the scenes like Alex’s rape and the fatal beating almost unbearable, these are unbearably cruel acts and Noe is unwilling and probably artistically unable to dilute his vision. Because he doesn’t flinch it makes the scenes neither sensationalistic or exploitative and all the more brutal and devastating.

The backwards narrative makes the simple revenge tale enhanced by introspection. At the beginning of every story, things are impersonal as we get to know the characters. With the film’s reverse viewpoint this takes on a whole different meaning, still unfolding like a normal story in that we gradually get acquainted with the characters, but by knowing their fate it makes every detail in every new scene all the more revelatory and heartbreaking. And, that is what Noe aims to do, to break your heart, and make you think differently about time and consequence.

The performances are fantastic, loose, and natural with an improvised feel. Cassel and Bellucci were married at the time (and I believe they still are), and their ease with one another enriches the film (unlike say, Tom And Nicole). Bellucci is so often overshadowed by her jaw dropping beauty, so it is easy to forget that at her best she is a formidable actress. And such is the case here, not only in her casual friendly conversation on the subway with Pierre about the elusive female orgasm, but also in her wince-inducing rape scene that makes Jodie Foster’s assault in The Accused look like an absolute emotional cakewalk.

The DVD: Lions Gate… Now, I know people will ask whether the film is uncut or not. You find various runtimes all over the internet (and we all know how solid info is on the internet). From all I read, Lions Gate released it uncut in US theaters and this version is unrated and runs just over 93 mins. Therefore I assume it is uncut.

Picture: Anamorphic Widescreen. Each scene is composed in handheld/crane shots, in seemingly single takes, and are dizzyingly mobile, leaving one to wonder just how in the Hell Noe did them. In the begging it is a dark film with a dark look, composed with very heavy shadows. As it goes into the more tranquil times, it is bright and full of some beautiful imagery. Sharpness and color details are rich. Contrast is quite deep, though in some of the films early scenes it could maybe be a tad more black. No edge enhancement or artifacts. A very good image transfer.

Sound: Dolby Digital 5.1 or 2.0 French with optional yellow English or Spanish subtitles. The sound is key here and adds just as much emotion as the acting or any visual. Whether it be a looping bassline at the club or the fx of a skull crushing, the audio is crisp and clear. The mix is quite good, realistic, like Marcus and Alex’s dialogue in the house party, straining, nearly drenched by the party music, yet still audible. The techno score by Thomas Bangalter (of Daft Punk) is appropriately nightmarish.

Extras: Chapter Selections— Teaser Trailers for the film (3:07)— Soundtrack Trailer— Two videos “STRESS” (4:37) and “OUTRAGE” (4:19). Featuring music from the film, both are looping camera shots, the first of the red underpass hallway, the second inside the house party. I’d say they are guaranteed to induce motion sickness.

Conclusion: A horrific film- or I guess it is fairer to say a film about life’s horrors- not for everyone’s tastes. But, although disturbing and an experience most viewers wont want to repeat, it does have merit, both in being technically stunning and thought provoking. The basic extras are a disappointment. This is a film that cinephiles would love to see just how Noe pulled off some of the shots as well as the actors feelings about the formidable material. However, it seems that even in other regions there aren’t any English–friendly editions with loads of extras. The presentation by Lions Gate does a great job in the audio/video department, making it well worth a purchase for the curious and brave filmgoer with a strong stomach.

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February 3, 2010 by Dief 

Auto-Tune king T-Pain has produced an animated homage to 1990’s Atlanta Spring Break fiesta Freaknik, which is scheduled to air on the Cartoon Network’s Adult Swim on March 7. The one-hour special, ‘Freaknik: The Musical,’ took Pain two years to create, and features vocal appearances by Lil Wayne (playing Jesus), Snoop Dogg, Keri Hilson, Kelis, Big Boi, Rick Ross, George Clinton and Bootsy Collins. Saturday Night Live comedians Andy Samberg and Bill Hader also round out the bill. T-Pain also voices “a party ghost.” ‘Freaknik’ focuses on a group of students hoping to revive the party, which at one point attracted more than 250,000 people, until it was shut down in the late 90’s. Check out the trailer here. ‘Freaknik: The Musical’ airs March 7 at 11:30PM on Cartoon Network. …

New York filmmaking soloist Alan Berliner bookends his highly regarded “Intimate Stranger” (1991) with another humorous, poignant, densely textured look at relations and personality in “Nobody’s Vocation.” While its length weighs against theatrical splash, the idiosyncratic doc’s curious charms and stylistic verve make it a regular for fests, strikingly those specializing in nonfiction or Jewish themes.

While Berliner’s earlier film pondered the strange, peripatetic life of his maternal grandfather, the subject here, Berliner’s father, Oscar, is very much alive and hilariously cranky. That makes for a film that often resembles a verbal slapstick duet, though the infectious comedy has a serious, very personal edge.

Pic’s central thread, and an inexhaustible comic reservoir, is Oscar’s feistily contrarian and sarcastic attitude toward his son’s efforts to chronicle his life.

The two are heard discussing the film even as Alan narrates it, and Oscar’s scoffing and derogation are constant. No one could possibly care about a life as ordinary as his, he maintains, though in words that are far more scabrous and colorful.

When Alan brings out maps and documents his research has uncovered regarding the Polish village where his grandparents were born, Oscar says he couldn’t be less interested. Alan seems incredulous that the family’s origin could be of absolutely no concern to his father, but Oscar remains as adamant on this subject as he does on many others: If it’s of no immediate use to him, it can go to hell.

Despite such salty protestations, pic easily wins its implicit argument that no life is insignificant. Though Oscar may not have written symphonies or discovered a cure for cancer, his experience has a fascinating richness that spans many of the century’s big themes, from the immigration of European Jews to America, to World War II and the Holocaust, to the loneliness that can befall people amid outward prosperity and success.

The son brings considerable visual snap to his father’s tale, employing fast-cutting, stop-motion and stylized graphics while incorporating interviews with his mother, sister and various cousins as well as old photos and home movies.

Looking at the yellowed stills, Oscar recalls that his immigrant father was a cold, unemotional man who left the affectional side of child rearing to his wife. Other photos show a handsome teenaged Oscar cavorting with buddies and young women while in naval training for World War II; in unequivocal tones, he recalls this as the happiest time of his life.

Oscar’s old 8mm footage, showing the Berliners as an archetypal nuclear family of the ’50s, provokes the one incident in which his verbal barrage suddenly stops. Alan asks why he took the home movies, and his father literally can’t say.

Yet the non-response speaks volumes about his pained regrets over marrying an arty, vivacious European woman who bore him two children but soon felt trapped in the marriage and only stayed, through several strained, unhappy years, for the sake of the kids.

In pic’s final section, Alan remarks sadly that his father has no friends. Besides a daily chat with his doorman, Oscar in retirement has practically no human contact with anyone outside of the small circle provided by his two kids and their families.

One is left to wonder, however, about other possible sources of meaning. Throughout, pic touches only glancingly on the issues of work and religion, subjects that could have stood more direct address.

Still, it is affecting as well as revealing. Alan evidently intended it not only as a way of understanding himself through understanding Oscar, but also as a way of reaching out to his father in his final years.

Such a gesture may not stand much of a chance against a lifetime of emotional reserve, yet pic buries that poignancy in a final and fitting bit of hilarity: Over the end credits, Oscar chides Alan for being a filmmaker rather than an accountant.

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Flirting review

1 febbraio 2010

Normally, the adverbial phrase “charming movie” has me reaching since my broad sword. But John Duigan’s 1989 “Flirting” meets that description with non-icky aplomb.

Set in a boarding school in rural Australia in 1965, it’s about the romantic alliance between gangly outcast Noah Taylor and Ugandan boarder Thandie Newton. Braving resistance from staff and fellow students, their affair is one of the funniest, affecting institutional-life stories to bolt out of the gates for a long time.

“Flirting” is the sequel to “The Year My Voice Broke,” which whispered through Washington in 1988. A wry, coming-of-age drama, “Voice” is about Taylor’s unrequited longing for the sultry heartthrob he’s grown up with in Southwest Australia.

In “Flirting,” set three years later, Taylor finds himself in uniform and out of friends. In this quasi-fascistic, conformist atmosphere, Taylor narrates, you either ran with the herd or “dug a cave deep inside your head, peering through your eye sockets.”

Teased for his stuttering, Taylor opts for the latter. But he deserts all introspective protection when he meets Newton. Temporarily situated at the neighboring girl’s school while her diplomat father works in Canberra, Newton is already getting her share of abuse from her racist colleagues. These two were obviously made for each other.

As the two arrange nighttime meetings — Taylor rowing across the small lake between their respective buildings — they have to contend with an amusing collection of quirkos.

On Newton’s side of the water, there’s stern Scottish mistress Maggie Blinco (as the wonderfully named Miss Guinevere Macready) and snooty head-girl Nicole Kidman (looking decidedly coltish in those pre-Tom Cruise days). At his end, Taylor has to deal with sarcastic pupils, as well as psychotic, cane-happy house master Jeff Truman.

The movie is full of wonderful scenes: Newton caught hiding in a boys’ toilet stall as the unsuspecting lads come in to shower, a line of uniformed boys ritualistically facing a row of ballroom-gowned girls at a school dance, and so on.

“Flirting” is also full of amusing rejoinders and comments: “Remember her needs as well as yours,” suggests Taylor’s friend with secondhand Kamasutra wisdom when Taylor heads toward an intended sensual tryst. “If you can give her pleasure, she’ll be back for more.”

If Duigan maintains the dark yet humanistic humor that has graced both films, we should all be back for more.