The following is a review of the Criterion Blu-Ray release of Nicholas Roeg´s "The Man Who Prostrate to Earth." This is people of the first four Blu-Rays ever released by the Criterion Collection. The main committee of the article is copied from my original Sep, 2005 review of the SD release. The other sections refer later on to the Blu-Flash discharge.

Prototypical Periodical

The American release of "The Man Who Kill to Earth" in 1976 in was badly butchered by its U.S. distributor. With generally twenty minutes of crucial scenes excised from the print, critics found the film to be entirely incomprehensible and audiences stayed away in droves. When the original printed matter was finally released, with all the deleted scenes restored, the situation was slightly improved: the film could now be considered not-quite entirely obscure.

The story of the flick, a association of "Stranger in a Strange Land" and "The Aviator," is in truth fairly straightforward. Thomas Jerome Newton is an alien who comes to Earth on a vocation to rescue the family he pink behind on his home planet, which is stricken by a terrible drought. While this sounds like a ensign subject-fiction set-up, the fog deviates from genre conventions rather quickly. After raising some responsive cash, Newton hires franchise attorney Oliver Farnsworth (Buck Henry) to take him build a multi-national corporation called The world at large Enterprises. The firm soon lives up to its name, swallowing up all the competition as it becomes the largest corporation in the world in just a few short years. The company relies particularly on Newton´s brilliant complicated designs which range from souped-up audio systems to digital cameras.

Newton remains a mystery man hiding himself from the world, and rapidly attracts the attention of chemistry professor Nathan Bryce (Rip Torn). Bryce is all but as interested in finding who Newton really is as he is in fooling around with his young female students. Newton also attracts the attention of the government which is quite understandably involved fro the rapid Nautical of a multi-federal corporate juggernaut that they maintain no control over.

Newton is played by David Bowie which obligated to sire saved the shoot an awful lot of make-up since he already looks like an alien. Rail-thin, fey, with a shock of orange-hair, Bowie´s every symbol and movement is otherworldly. He inhabits the role of an alien quite clearly, portraying Newton as congenial but remote, always keeping himself in make sure of as he observes this strange suavity and figures short what he´s expected to do. It´s this aloofness that attracts sweet but simple Mary-Lou (Candy Clark), a hotel maid who falls madly in sweet with her mystery man while he is hiding from the press in a flat Rejuvenated Mexico hamlet. Newton, for his part, lover her as foremost he can, which isn´t sufficient.

So far, so simple, but we haven´t discussed the film´s style further. If you be dressed not at any time seen a Nicholas Roeg photograph before, okay, you´ve never seen a Nicholas Roeg videotape before. Roeg employs an intentionally obtuse, elliptical style of editing which treats both time and space with equal contempt. He intercuts outwardly disparate scenes, seeking obscure visual or thematic matches, sooner than following any kind of narrative logic. The effect is startling at premier as you realize you from entirely no idea what he is going to ignore to next. On he employs this editing style to great effect. In one amusing sequence, he intercuts a bit of hot-and-heavy shagging between Bryce and one of his students with dueling samurai in a kabuki play; the only thing the two scenes have in common is a whole lot of thrusting.

Many times, the significance can be so disorienting that the viewer struggles to figure out exactly what is going on. Convenience life is decidedly fluid in this picture, and we time have no conviction whether each summarize spans a few seconds or a decade. The only inkling is the character´s makeup. We can tell that many years have passed as Farnsworth, Bryce and Mary-Lou majority, but such leaps happen without advise and are made all the more confusing by the fact that Newton not at all ages at all.

Newton´s liberating line of work momentarily becomes derailed by decidedly humanitarian concerns. His fall from grace is hastened both by the cruelty of houseboy (and woman) and by his own weaknesses. The Christ analogy here is open (and was made more vociferous in the Walter Tevis book on which the film was based) but with one major difference: Newton gives in to his last enticing, his first temptation, and every invitation in between. At first his motives are pure, but he soon falls victim the all-too human vices of money, liquor, fucking, and, worst of all, television. He spends most of his constantly swilling gin and watching dozens of televisions simultaneously, content to live in indulgent isolation. By the time the government moves in to take over World Enterprises and jail Newton, he is already a lost cause. As, we must assume, is his family in serious trouble home.

In varied ways, the mistiness has not old well. The special effects are smeared with 70´s cheesiness so that they look appreciate a demo make a note of for "Xanadu." And when we flashback to scenes of Newton´s strain, it is hard not to regard as that their alien costumes make them look an unpleasant lot like Teletubbies.

In addition, Roeg´s elliptical editing, while fascinating to watch, often seems direct childish. Some scenes are well inspired, such as the series in which two motorcycle-helmeted government thugs whack at to jerry-build Farnsworth out of a stoned-rise window. In others, though, Roeg unpretentiously seems to be riffing with no trusted plan in mind; he simply throws together any two images he can realize fundamentally because he can do it. All the gimmickry makes it difficult to feel a loads of sympathy for Bowie´s tragic idol.

Content written by

.

In 2004 I spent an hour and 45 minutes with Clint Eastwood (

interview on tonymacklin.net

) and was properly impressed. He was gentler than I assumed and more well read.

As he has many times, Clint talked about how people wanted him to bring back Dirty Harry. He said, "Are you going to have him driving along the highway in a trailer with an AARP sign on one side and an 'I'm Spending the Kids' Inheritance' on the other. Then what happens? He has to come out of retirement with a big .44? I've pretty well shot that down."

Although Clint decided that Harry Callahan would stay retired, would he decide that for himself as an actor?

Million Dollar Baby

(2004) seemed to stand as Clint's last acting appearance. Its penultimate shot was Clint walking away down a hallway and out a door. This was an apt closing signature shot.

But it didn't turn out to be.

When it was announced that Clint was going to star in

Gran Torino

, it seemed as though the actor might have overstayed his performing career. What was Clint doing?

Would

Gran Torino

have any chance at the box office? Who wanted to see a 78-year old actor strutting his stuff? Would there be any room for him at all in the glut of holiday releases? Would

Gran Torino

get buried?

The answer to all of the above:

Gran Torino

had the biggest wide-opening at the box office of Clint Eastwood's career.

In

Gran Torino

Clint plays hard-bitten, alienated, anti-everything Walt Kowalski. Sound familar?

Clint didn't bring back Dirty Harry, but he gave us Dirty Walt.

Walt has his own independent code and is fiercely anti-social. He is a recent widower, a veteran of the Korean War, and is a retiree from the auto industry. His world goes to the edge of his lawn; anything beyond is foreign territory. His suburban Detroit neighborhood has deteriorated, and all his previous neighbors have died or moved away.

Walt still goes to the barber shop for male banter with the barber, but his only constant friend is his dog Daisy — a loyal labrador.

Walt also is pestered by a young priest (Christopher Carley), who is trying to fulfill Walt's wife's final wish that her husband go to confession. Walt gruffly dismisses the young man's mission.

Now living next to Walt is a Hmong family — refugees from Southeast Asia. He bluntly insults them.

Since there is no father in the family, could Walt become the father figure? Of course. (Remember Clint is the man who directed

Letters from Iwo Jima

, which empathetically told the story of the attack on Iwo Jima from the Japanese side.)

The breakthough comes when the next-door teenager Thao (Bee Vang) — whom Walt calls "Toad" — tries to steal Walt's beloved 1972 Gran Torino, as part of a gang initiation.

As punishment, the Hmong family allows Walt to dictate what work Thao will do for Walt. A strong bond evolves between the uncertain lad — whom the gang is now after — and the wily old man.

Eastwood directs capably — giving his leading man room to roam — utilizing Nick Schenk's contrived but entertaining script.

Clint Eastwood has never won an Oscar for acting; he has been awarded two Academy Awards for directing Best Pictures of the Year —

Unforgiven

(1992) and

Million Dollar Baby

(2004).

Clint probably won't achieve the acting award for 2008. He will split the sentimentality vote with Mickey Rourke, who made a major comeback in

The Wrestler

.

Though taciturn, Clint's image is not set in stone. He knows how to place his tongue firmly in his cheek. He's a natural, but at times he allows a little natural ham in.

When Walt curses, belittles, berates, and insults, it's funny. His offensiveness is a jab; it never draws blood. But if you're a card-carrying PCer, you won't get the full pleasure of Clint's performance. Clint knows not to go too far — no N-word, but he does roil the language. Walt memorably rasps disdain.

The last shot we get of Clint in

Gran Torino

trumps the penultimate shot in

Million Dollar Baby

.

And Clint has a great sense of his ever-evolving image. Watch how many times Clint fires his weapon.

Clint Eastwood has come a long way since he acted in Spaghetti Westerns for Sergio Leone in Spain. The Man with No Name has now become The Man with the Biggest Name in Hollywood.

Eastwood's

Gran Torino

takes us for a hell of a ride down Memory Lane.

Whether aiming a .44 Magnum, kissing an orangutan, carrying flowers to a woman near a bridge, or buffing an old car, the man knows what he's doing. And he has a vast audience that wants to see him do it.

Clint still has game.

By Matt Pais

Metromix

January 11, 2008

Running time:

98 minutes

Rated:

PG-13

Cast:

Ice Cube -

Durell

Katt Williams -

Rickey

Tracy Morgan -

LeeJohn

Loretta Devine -

Sister Doris

Michael Beach -

Deacon

Regina Hall -

Omunique

Keith David -

Judge B. Bennet Galloway

Malinda Williams -

Tianna

Chi McBride -

Pastor Arthur Mitchell

Clifton Powell -

Officer Eddie King

Nick Turturro -

Officer D'Agostino

Olivia Cole -

Momma T

Red Grant -

Harold

C.J. Sanders -

Durell Jr.

Director:

David E. Talbert

Genre:

Comedy

Official Movie Web Site:

Movie Trailer:

Overall User Rating:

(9 ratings)

Be the first to review

Needing $17,000 to prevent his ex (Regina Hall) from moving his son from Baltimore to Atlanta, ne’er-do-well Durell (Ice Cube) agrees to help his crony LeeJohn (Tracy Morgan) rob a church that’s stored away more than $200,000. When it turns out the safe is empty, the thieves take members of the church (Katt Williams, Chi McBride, Loretta Devine and others) pledge in hopes of figuring out who robbed the place first—while discovery a surprising amount of sympathy coming from people being held at gunpoint.

Big question:

Regardless of how the man (or woman) upstairs feels about this, does “First Sunday” offer any laughs for those of us still on the ground floor?

Skip it:

“First Sunday” has more bathroom humor than an elementary school cafeteria and so many stereotypes up the wazoo that the wazoo is officially full. This is a movie that exists only for mindless fun, but vicious jokes about an overweight church member and a square white lawyer saying "grown-ass men" push things farther from entertainment and closer to punishment.

Catch it:

For a small, blink-and-you-missed-her part played by Tiffany Pollard, who you know as New York from "Flavor of Love" and "I Love New York." Further proof that dating reality shows have nothing to do with reality and are really just acting gigs!



Bottom line:

The movie absurdly gives Durell a mid-robbery love interest, contradicts its message of overcoming "potential with no purpose," and essentially shows that places of worship are the best spots to commit crimes since bank tellers aren't likely to be so forgiving. Subtract Morgan’s few amusing deliveries of bad jokes and the movie’s looking at a goose egg in the star department.



Bonus:

Always the thinker, LeeJohn repurposes Robin Hood's slogan into, "Rob from the rich and give to myself." What a civil servant!

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The

HUNT






The Chase

Columbia TriStar

1966 / Color / 2:35 anamorphic 16:9 / 133 min. / Street Era February 24, 2004 / 24.96

Starring

Marlon Brando, Jane Fonda, Robert Redford, E.G. Marshall,
Angie Dickinson, Janice Predominate,

Miriam Hopkins, Martha Hyer, Richard Bradford,
Robert Duvall, James Fox, Diana Hyland, Henry Hull, Jocelyn Brando, Clifton James, Steve Ihnat

Cinematography

Joseph LaShelle

Production Deviser

Richard Day

Art Direction

Robert Luthardt

Film Editor

Gene Milford

Original Music

John Barry

Written by

Lillian Hellman

from the novelette by

Horton Foote

Produced by

Sam Spiegel

Directed by

Arthur Penn

This fascinating soap opera of hatred and lawlessness seems determined to punish the state of
Texas for the crime of killing John F. Kennedy. Pauline Kael was right when she said that
Lillian Hellman's screenplay portrayed the bloodthirsty redneck Texans as demonic alien
creatures. The story winds itself into a tense and violent thriller …. but boy, is it a
rigged deck or what?

Marlon Brando heads a terrific cast in what became Arthur Penn's biggest boxoffice disappointment,
just prior to his bases-loaded home run

Bonnie & Clyde

. Other production departments are
top-notch, and this DVD will be the first opportunity many viewers have of seeing the film in
its impressive Panavision dimensions.

Resume:

A minor Texas town goes gone off the deep end when dirt arrives that local bad small fry Bubber Reeves
(Robert Redford) has escaped from prison and is heading home. His strife Anna (Jane Fonda) has taken
up with their childhood friend Jake Rogers (James Fox), son of the local land baron Val Rogers (E.G.
Marshall). One of Rogers' bank VPs, Edwin Stewart (Robert Duvall), fears Bubber is headed outlying to
inhabit an age score. It's a Saturday night, drunken parties are in full swing and there's no
stopping the racist, lawless, gun-toting locals determined to 'protect' the village from Bubber. Only
the lone sheriff Calder (Marlon Brando) exhibits any self-restraint. Most of his constituency
think he's the bought dog of Val Rogers.

You can tell it's a Marlon Brando picture - it all seems prearranged to insure that he's given one
heck of a scene where the evil Texans beat the &#%! out of him. The impromptu crucifixion-by-beating
scene has been a Brando standard ever since

On the Waterfront

, and

The Chase

delivers
a lulu. Uninhibited by the modern MPAA's animosity toward red blood, Brando leaks hemoglobin all
over the place. Blood was never sexier.

That's just one highlight in a story determined to sell the notion that America is Evil. From the
bottom up and the top down, the citizens of this ugly place are an encyclopedia of sin. The
local businessmen prepare a wild night for the dentists' convention. The Rogers clan packs
off their unhappy migrant workers with cheap used televisions instead of expected pay. Val Rogers'
lavish barbecue soaks the ugly rich for millions for a new college carrying his name. Val is beside
himself with anxiety because his unhappy son Jake's marriage is a sham put on for appearances'
sake.

Uninvited, Rogers' bank employees hold their own drunken Saturday night bash. Bored businessmen
Richard Bradford, Clifton James
(

David and Lisa

,

Live and Let
Die

) and Steve Ihnat pack guns and lust after the teenage girls at the party next door.
Mascara runs down the face of drunken housewife Martha Hyer - her husband's carrying on with somebody
else's wife right in front of her. Nobody even tries to conceal the rampant adultery.

Meanwhile, Jane Fonda waits for her rich boyfriend over in the bad part of town, while an
obnoxious real estate salesman and his wife (Henry Hull and Jocelyn Brando) provide a nosy Greek
chorus to all the commandment-breaking that's going on.

Sheriff Brando puts on his best Saturday mumble and faces up bravely to the general scorn, even
when baited by slut housewife Janice Rule (in a rare socko performance):

Janice Decide:

"Hiya Sheriff. Wanna join our party? All you want is a pistol, and you
sure got a man."

Marlon Brando:

"With so many pistols about here already, it don't look like you'd have room
for mine."

The main conflict for Brando's Sheriff Calder is trying to hold onto his dignity while serving
as Val Rogers'
appointed sheriff. The resentment grows when Calder and his wife Ruby (Angie Dickinson, in
fine form) are invited to the swank party. Calder keeps telling himself that
he's just a man with a job trying to earn back the farm he lost (shades of

The Grapes of
Wrath

) and doesn't want any special favors. But like Marshall Kane in

High Noon

, he becomes one man alone
against the entire community. Bubber Reeves, actually desperate and harmless, is taken as a
threat by everyone. When push comes to shove, the upstanding citizens are the ones
who attack the Sheriff and beat information out of a defenseless black man in his holding cell
(Joel Fluellen). The rest of the townspeople gawk idly as Calder collapses on his own
jailhouse steps while his wife begs for help. Penn isolates their wanton faces.

The symbolism comes on thick and fast in an automobile junkyard, the last outpost of the American
Dream. The town's three parties converge there in a mix of posse, lynch mob and midnight picnic.
The illusion of a dangerous Bubber Reeves incites a storm of emotions and sexual energy - a
teenage girl dares her boyfriend to prove his love by retrieving his ring from a fire, and the
local brat kid (Paul Williams -

that

Paul Williams, I think) composes a song for Bubber
on the spot. The burning garbage and car wrecks scream an all-too obvious message: Society is
boiling in its own consumer evils.

At this point it all clicks. Foote and Hellman are plumbing the same waters as Billy Wilder's
story about collective depravity

Ace in the Hole

. There are also resemblances to

Try and Get Me!

, the socially-conscious noir that concludes with a horrifying lynching.
Not only does Robert Redford resemble a Kennedy, but there's an appalling ending scene (Spoiler!
Next Paragraph! I warned you!) …

… an appalling ending scene where a man is shot in a faithful recreation of the Lee Harvey Oswald
mob hit. The handcuffed victim is helpless, and the result is as bloody as all get-out. In '65-'66
movie violence was accelerating to express the madness in the American culture (wars, riots,
assassinations).

The Chase

is probably too quick in its judgment, indicting the nation and
the South in particular as lawless scum not worthy of their own flag. Few Americans recognized
Foote and Hellman's small-town sewer as an accurate representation.

The movie is rigged like a funnel - it allows only one emotional reading of all scenes. The frustration
over Sheriff Calder's situation boils so hot, that in screenings I attended cheers erupted when he
finally pays back a few of his attackers. Brando has to be restrained from killing someone. Our
emotions are so keyed up over the injustice, we wish he'd start killing everybody. 

1

Miriam Hopkins
(

Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde '32

) has a
sobering
turn as Bubber's grieving but hateful mother; loathsome Steve Ihnat is the worst of the white-collar
vipers.  

2

Of the main cast, Jane Fonda is very good in perhaps her first truly successful performance; I
never bought her as a comedienne. A young Robert Duvall gets a solid outing as Janice Rule's gutless
lapdog husband. Clifton James' racist jewelry salesman is a lot more nuanced than the redneck
Sheriff Pepper character he played in two James Bond movies and a Superman sequel.

The Panavision cinematography is dazzling and John Barry's nervous western score combines with it
to give

The Chase

a look and feel of its own. Audiences reacted negatively to the
movie's huge dose of negative vibes … nobody except a guilty liberal likes being told they're
an evil racist, and I'm given to understand the film didn't do well. Righteous indictment or
irresponsible smear, the film is a top-rank Marlon Brando picture and a key representative of the
violent 60s.

An assistant art director on the film worked on

1941

and told me how they modified the Warner
backlot to shoot the town square scene. It's the same square seen in hundreds of pictures and TV
shows, with

Bye Bye Birdie

coming to mind as a prime example.

Unbilled at the Rogers barbecue are Eduardo Cianelli, and W.C. Fields' old comedy nemesis Grady Sutton.

Columbia TriStar's DVD of

The Chase

is a fine enhanced widescreen transfer that makes the
old so-so laserdisc version look bleary and smeary. The bold soundtrack appears to be mono. There
aren't any extras except some promo trailers. Maybe Columbia will get with the added value concept
someday, but right now even an original trailer on one of their library titles is too much to ask. I
don't feel like complaining as long as they put DVDs out in such good transfers and appropriate
aspect ratios.

Their liner text is terrible, however. It doesn't for a moment "get" what the movie is about and
just plain misrepresents the plot. Angie Dickinson doesn't try to talk Brando out of bringing
Bubber in alive. Val Rogers doesn't want to cover up his son's affair, he just wants Jake to be safe.

On a go up of Excellent, Obedient, Fair, and Below,

The Chase

rates:

Movie: Very Good

Video: Magic

Sound: Supreme

Supplements:

just promo trailers

Packaging: Keep case

Reviewed: February 13, 2004

Footnotes:

1.

I aphorism it first off with a group of
mostly black Air Force airmen, who were on their feet shouting after Brando to start
execution people.

The Chase

also played well to the radicals at the UCLA film coterie. A hot-headed
Ethiopian the Bourse swotter (who hated "the man" and liked to brandish an unloaded gun in the
glaze department's tech office) identified with the Sheriff Calder character as a righteous
loner who "should pull someone's leg killed 'em all."

Return

2.

Steve Ihnat was a esteemed theater director as well; his movie reputation is
split between his Jack Ruby clone here and a immoderate serial killer in Don Siegel's superior

Madigan

three years later. It would be good to see something where he played a

nice

character.

Return

Based on the true story of a musician wrongly accused of robbing an security Pty and the grave effect his predicament has on his forefathers.

Peter Witner (Weller) quits his mega-salaried job as a Los Angeles copywriter at the in spite of in unison a all the same that his missus Katherine (Davis), a drawn schemer, loses a noteworthy account. Their marriage on the rocks, the couple follow the advice of a Renewed Age guru (Bauchau) and hazarded the aggregate on opening a wonderful-sybaritic shop, 'Hip-ocracy'. Even if filled with its fair share of diverting ideas, Tolkin's film seems half-seduced by the surfaces it attempts to penetrate. Cinematographer John F Campbell ably captures the ritzy, elegant, but unrewarding milieu of subterfuges-bedecked apartments, Petronius-like SM clubs, and spiritual retreats, and Weller and Davis suggest well the psychological panic and brittle suffering, respectively, of these two emblematic victims of brand-new American materialism. As a probity fable, however, it loses its path, chiefly due to the function of violent-handed symbolism and an unenlightening play with confusing psycho-sexual ideas of opposing male-female principles. A brave stab, in any case, with a finely executed finale as Peter sets about his ironic salvation.

A rainy throw over night. A dilapidated motel on a outcast two-lane road. An oddball desk clerk. Spoil.

Such a premise may sound like a rip-off of Alfred Hitchcock's Psycho, but Identity is altogether much its own movie—and a very good, very horrible one at that. Steersman James Mangold (Kate & Leopold, Girl, Interrupted) takes a classic B-movie blueprint and gussies it up with tons of creepy heavens, slick camera work, on the dot editing, and characters that—surprise!—actually possess some depth. The evolve is a chichi, unnerving, but totally engrossing exercise in horror.

The Hurban may be predictable, but Oneness not till hell freezes over sinks to the level of a Freddy or Jason mark down-fest. Michael Cooney's taut screenplay travels back and forth in occasion, throws a barrage of curveballs, and peppers itself with a few basic nature-stopping jolts to keep viewers on brink. Yet such devices are one a warm-up championing the climactic plot twist, which undoubtedly sets the film apart from its more gratuitous and clichéd counterparts. Unlike other sort entries that quality a parade of idiotic teens marching cluelessly to the slaughterhouse, Sameness inspires us to think and probe completely, while the claustrophobic setting almost makes us feel like we're in the movie, too. Mangold keeps blood to a minimum and often cuts away from barbarity, wisely believing the human imagination can concoct decidedly more grisly images than any Hollywood makeup artist. Instead, he lingers on the prelude to horror, ratcheting up force levels to unbearable degrees.

As the opening credits wheel, Dr. Malick (Alfred Molina) peruses the psychiatric file of serial slayer Malcolm Rivers before an eleventh hour stay-of-execution hearing at the limited courthouse. Malick believes Rivers' death sentence should be commuted, and the butcher locked up in a mental hospital. On this dark and stormy night, however, the prisoner must be carted from his maximum-surveillance big house cell to the hearing, so his condition can be evaluated.

Curtailment to the open carriageway, where we meet most of our motley crew of characters and notice how they calm down up stranded at the rundown, no-high regard motel where the magnitude of action (and killing) transpires. There's chauffeur Ed (John Cusack) and his bitchy passenger, TV inimitable Caroline Suzanne (Rebecca DeMornay); favourable-caste hooker Paris (Amanda Peet), on the run from her gimcrack Vegas past; newlyweds Ginny (Clea DuVall) and Lou (William Lee Scott); the timely, nerdy York family, composed of old boy George (John C. McGinley), coddle Alice (Leila Kenzle) and young son Timmy (Bret Loehr); and the difficult, proud Rhodes (Ray Liotta), who's transporting a chancy criminal (Malcolm Rivers, perhaps?) to an undisclosed location. And let's not ignore the overwhelmed motel clerk, Larry (John Hawkes), who tries to tamper with the egos and attitudes of his frenzied guests.

Giving away too much more would harm the fun, so suffice it to say that someone starts bumping off the lodgers at one by one. At first, the suspect's congruence seems leap, but soon it appears supernatural forces might also must a assistance in the casual elimination. (Or maybe it's not so indefinitely…) Who's next and why are just two of the clamorous questions the dwindling survivors seek to responsible.

Identity cleverly pays esteem to a couple of its classic precursors, most uncommonly the memorable 1945 Agatha Christie mystery, And Then There Were None, which follows a almost identical (albeit more sophisticated) group of guests through their methodical disappearance on a sequestered British cay. Astute viewers will also notice an additional sly reference to Psycho, as DeMornay's character drapes a shower curtain past her head so she can venture into the pouring rain in search of a cell phone signal. (She should sire stayed favourable.) These subtle touches add texture to the film and provide welcome tension deliverance.

Mangold constructs an irresistibly treacherous minded, and combines lush colors with the sponsorship, broken-down milieu to manufacture a seductive visual environment. In besides, the pounding rain, quaking thunder, and constant lightning flashes on the harmattan an omnipresent force of evil that hangs over all the characters, while supplying striking images and a foreboding audio accompaniment.

Thrillers, however, live and lose one's life by their characters, and Identity boasts a finely drawn gallery brought to life by masterly actors, who infuse their roles with dimension and bottomless pit. Unfailing, a few caricatures exist for comic aid, but the performers exploit them straight and resist the persuade to overact. It's not time again one gets to witness tightly ensemble work in a horror dim, but the cast of Identity bonds together, so the viewer can bond with and care hither the people they live in. Cusack notably files a striking, multi-layered portrayal, while the drop-frigid-gorgeous Peet proves she's far more than a reasonably mien. Her strength, belief, and tough/tender approach nicely compliments Cusack's brooding and Liotta's hoity-toity machismo.

Although the denouement goes too cut a swath b help, Personality keeps us spellbound from beginning to end. The pace and tension never let up, while Mangold's technique and the absolutely-on performances of a top-stage cast aside make this weird, deliciously enthralling chiller a in fashion classic.

Superficially a tale of unrequited love,
Nelly & Monsieur Arnaud
evolves
into an altogether more satisfying treatise on heated interdependencies.
Nelly (Emmanuelle Béart) holds down a multitude of positions, ranging from
serving in a bakery to temping at a reprographics firm, in order to keep her
marriage with Jerôme (Charles Berling) together. In the service of for a year he's been
unemployed and disillusioned, most days barely managing to crawl from the
bedroom to the divan. Congress her nourisher for lunch one afternoon, Nelly is
introduced to Monsieur Arnaud (Michel Serrault). A charming, retired businessman
Arnaud is an cast off compatriot of her mother and a gossamer confidant. Nelly finds herself
unloading her worries and financial difficulties onto Monsieur Arnaud, at which
point he makes the very unexpected offer of negating her debts. Taken aback and
reasonably suspicious, Nelly refuses and thanks him for his kindness. However,
when Nelly later tells Jerôme that she accepted his proposal, her husband's
muted compensation is enough to read e suggest her be gone him.

The next day Nelly actually picks up on Monsieur Arnaud's gift (which is
supposed to have no strings attached) and learns that he's looking for a
conscientious secretary. Although he's a successful businessman Monsieur Arnaud
is writing memoirs on his former life as a judge in the French colonies, but
he's terrible with a word processor. Nelly soon finds her feet with a sub-let
studio and takes on the task of pummelling Monsieur Arnaud's scrappy notes into
presentable form. He's always extremely kind and attentive to Nelly's
well-being, keen to offer money, advice and a shoulder to lean on. However,
she's quite content with her new found freedom, happy to work with Monsieur
Arnaud and chat pleasantly but concerned to keep her distance. In the course of
typing up the manuscript Nelly visits the publishers, where she meets Vincent
(Jean-Hughes Anglade). His infatuation is obvious when he immediately invites
her to dinner.

Eventually Nelly gives in and allows herself to be wined and dined by the
charming Vincent, although there's no chance of them spending the night together
(she's still married after all). Interestingly Monsieur Arnaud receives word of
their meetings and becomes jealous, based on nothing more substantial than his
misplaced lust and fear of mortality. When he accuses her of sleeping with
Vincent (which is none of his business) Nelly replies in the affirmative, then
goes away and does so. She can be quite contrary when the mood takes her, such
as when people make unwarranted assumptions. At about the same time her mother
phones to relay the news that Jerôme is in hospital, after a possible drug
overdose. When Nelly visits she finds that her departure was just what Jerôme
needed, since he's now got a new job and girlfriend. Feeling somewhat redundant,
Nelly departs to make sense of her own future.

Although

Nelly & Monsieur Arnaud

seems, at first glance, to be a story of
two people it is, in fact, only that of Nelly. Monsieur Arnaud is an important
figure because he provides the catalyst for change; without his intervention
Nelly would probably still be looking after Jerôme. However, he is merely
another person affected by Nelly in her unique manner (where each feels that
there is something that she can give them, that they require). Jerôme needs her
for existence, Monsieur Arnaud needs her to energise his life, Vincent needs her
total commitment and so on. Somehow Nelly is above this, realising the situation
and dealing with it in a way which suits her (never in a condescendingly
though). Béart gives a fine performance, full of half-looks and subtle nuances;
she really is an individual worth knowing (not just for her elegant looks).
Serrault also finely modulates his character, drawing on a lifetime of
experience, whilst the remainder of the cast acquit themselves adequately. A
strangely hopeful experience,

Nelly & Monsieur Arnaud

remains an
exquisite character study.

Seven year old Simon (Simon Iteanu) spies a red balloon that seems to be following him around Paris. His genesis Suzanne (Juliette Binoche) is a single originator who voices the puppet shows she writes. She hires Taiwanese film student Song (Song Fang) as a nanny, who becomes involved in their lives.
Review by Louise Keller:

It's easy to suit impatient and frustrated watching Hsiao-Hsien Hou 's fly-on-the-protection film that found its inspiration from Albert Lamorisse's 1956 ideal film The Red Balloon. The problem isn't that nothing happens - the principle of a slice-of-life look at a family's vital spark in Paris has plenty of appeal - it is a consortium of the less clunky fashion coupled with repetitive, improvised dialogue that is its defeat. It is no fault of the actors however, and Juliette Binoche is as delightful as ever as the employed, training single mother who is juggling her roles as mother, artistic puppeteer and mistress.

As the take begins, a little crony talks to a red balloon that is negotiating its path through a green tree by a train station. "If you come I'll give you something…" he chants before the camera follows the red ball as it soars into the sky, past bridges, trains and rooftops. Then we are in the car with Binoche's Suzanne as she drives to pick up her son, put in him to the new nanny (Song Fang), a former flick student from Beijing who uses her slight hand-held camera to make a film. We become immersed in routine vitality … the traffic, the cafes … The scenes are like snapshots: insignificant brat playing pinball, walking home chatting forth nothing in particular, piano lessons, prospering to the reserve. There is a non-stop coming and going of people at Suzanne's house and talk close by people we never meet. There's a desire out of hub shot of children on a frolic-go-round and another terminally long shot of a dirty window in a train while the camera pans backwards and forwards.

Punctuated by the music, the mood everywhere is unhappiness; highlight for me is the counting of Charles Aznavour's Emenez Moi (Take Me Away) from the juke confine, played on the brink of in its entirety. My criticism isn't that nothing much happens but because it is shot in such a tedious way. Many will become irritated and bored; watching eggs being cracked for pancakes could be riveting to anticipate, but not here. Notwithstanding its immediacy and some insights into Parisian life, the dialogue irritates and there is not ample of interest to keep me engaged.

DVD special features encompass Hsiao-Hsien Hou interview, Albert Lamarisse's underived 1956 Oscar-winning short The Red Balloon and except for White Mane: The Scheme Horse plus trailer.
Published September 11, 2008

0
1
FLIGHT OF THE RED BALLOON: DVD
(PG)
(France/Taiwan, 2007)
Le Voyage du ballon rouge

CAST:
Juliette Binoche, Simon Iteanu, Fang Song, Hippolyte Girardot, Louise Margolin, Anna Sigalevitch

BUSINESS:
Kristina Larsen, François Margolin

COMMANDANT:
Hsiao-hsien Hou

SCRIPT:
Hsiao-hsien Hou, François Margolin

CINEMATOGRAPHER:
Pin Bing Lee

EDITOR:
Jean-Christophe Hym, Ching-Song Liao

MUSIC:
Not credited

PRODUCTION DESIGN:
Charlie Cappagli (Art department)

RUNNING DEAD FOR NOW:
113 minutes

AUSTRALIAN DISTRIBUTOR:
Madman
AUSTRALIAN RELEASE:
May 29, 2008

PRESENTATION:
Widescreen
SPECIAL FEATURES:
Interview with president Hsao-hsien, Albert Lamorisse's master 1956 short The Red Balloon, Lamarisse's 1954 short Pale Mane: The Unpopulated Horse
DVD DISTRIBUTOR:
Madman
DVD RELEASE:
September 10, 2008

A Widespread Liberate of a All-embracing Pictures and Columbia Pictures Presentation of a Bregman construction; Produced by Martin Bregman, Louis A. Stroller and Michael Bregman; Supervision produced by Michael Klawitter and Dan;. Written by Jeremy Iacone; Based on the blockbuster by Jeffery Deaver; Directed by Phillip Noyce

Opens November 12, 1999

Word on the street was that Hollywood's most infamous Chianti-sipping, organ-eating baddie was nervous. After all, with

The Bone Collector

(just the title gives you the willies, doesn't it?) due for release, his reign as serial killer extraordinaire could have been compromised. Well, I hope that Hannibal Lechter reads this review because I'm here to say that he has nothing to fear.

The Bone Collector

is one of the most insultingly formulaic pieces of drivel to come down the pike in a long time.

This is the sort of film that studios have high hopes for. Based on a best-selling book, it's packaged out the wazoo with a major celebrity (Denzel Washington), a sexy rising star (Angelina Jolie) and an A-List director (Philip Noyce). Oh, and did I forget to mention that it's about a serial killer? (We Americans do love our sickos, after all.) So what went wrong? Just about everything. From the start, there's a major hint that things may move slowly — real slowly — here.

After all, Denzel as former forensics expert Lincoln Rhyme, is paralyzed from the chest down and lives with the possibility that, if a seizure hits, he could "become a vegetable" at any time. Confined to a bed for the entire film, he uses his mouth and finger to operate the complex web of computers that keep him company and are seemingly meant to keep us enthralled. (They don't.) Now, maybe someone missed the boat on this one, but I recall that rule number one in screenwriting is: Keep your hero active. In a book, this might work; on screen, it will kill you. Writer Jeremy Iacone seems to think that showing Lincoln's pained expressions and having him think deep thoughts about things — like how he plans his "final transition" (i.e., suicide) — will suffice. It doesn't, and we quickly get bored.

To remedy this problem, Angelina Jolie is introduced as Amelia Donaghy, the reluctant beat cop who has just discovered a dead body and a mystifying crime scene. Amelia's presence in the film simply strains credulity, but does — in typical Hollywood fashion –open up the potential for an absurd throw-away romance between her and Linc in the third act. Basically, she's here to be Linc's eyes and ears; he's seen a talent in her handling of the crime scene and he needs her. Now, Amelia Donaghy is no Clarisse Starling. Her "dark secret" — that her cop dad committed suicide and she's afraid the job might push her to do the same — is flimsy at best and her inability to handle the job just makes her seem weak. Later, of course, she finds the courage to face up to the horrors and, I guess, we're supposed to cheer her gumption. Woop-eee!

If you haven't guessed by now, the real problem here is that everything is by-the-numbers, and ridiculous "numbers" at that. As the story unfolds, we learn that a serial killer is kidnapping victims and killing them in various bizarre manners, having first surgically removed a bone from each of their bodies. Linc and Amelia struggle to piece together the meticulously crafted clues that point to each new victim, but they're too late every time. Slowly, they start to realize that the killer is playing a game of cat-and-mouse (how original!) with them. Does anyone else find it odd that, in the movies, serial killers are always obsessed with leaving the cops clues?

Now, I'm going to give a little something away here because this is the big point of contention for me. Toward the end of the film, Amelia and Linc decipher a clue that leads them to an old book called — you guessed it — "The Bone Collector." It seems that the killer has been patterning his crimes on each chapter from this book and leaving clues exactly as shown in drawings contained herein. Now this would be fine, except that about fifteen minutes earlier, we've established that there was a series of unsolved murders in the city where bones from bodies had also been removed — long before the movie started. So, here's the question: Why were the crimes the same before the killer discovered "The Bone Collector" book? The first crime in the movie corresponds with Chapter One, the second with Chapter Two, etc. So what about all the previous murders? Was there a prequel to the book? And, while we're at it, why is he collecting the bones? We never find out.

This sort of logic lapse pervades the entire film down to the final climactic sequence that is so cheesy it would be more at home in a Cinemax late night movie than in a major studio "blockbuster". (All I have to say is, this movie could be called

Dr. Giggles: Part II

).

The Bone Collector

fails on so many levels that it's painful to recount them all. Where it misses the boat most, however, is in its extreme earnestness. It wants so badly to scare us, to gross us out, to keep us on the edge of our seats that it descends into melodrama and relies on little more than surface emotions. Denzel, Jolie et al. do their best with a losing equation, while cinematographer Dean Semler does manage to creep us out on several occasions. Still, a word to Hollywood: It's rare that pretty people and spooky settings alone will win us over. It starts and ends with story, story, story. Somewhere, Hannibal Lechter is laughing out loud.