Playwright George Bernard Sha…
Playwright George Bernard Shaw was a longtime socialist and member of the Fabian Society in early 20th-century Britain. As such, he was a critic of Britain’s rigid pedigree structure and the believed dominance of the aristocracy. While being socially studied, Shaw could also be very off-the-wall. He exquisitely combines these two threads in Pygmalion, which was later transformed into the musical My Fair Lady.
Leslie Howard both co-directs and stars as Prof. Henry Higgins, an first-rate on phonetics, by profession and relaxation. He runs across a Cockney unfold tally, Eliza Doolittle (Wendy Hiller), with her appalling dialect and illusion. He bets with fellow phoneticist Col. Pickering (Scott Sunderhand) that he can pass her below par as a duchess with six months of work on her philippic and manners. As Eliza has difficulty adapting to upper-taste fellowship, she also manages to charm members of the aristocracy. Along the way, we get a gifted extent of Shavian common sense and not-so-subtle jabs at British classism.
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Part of what makes this video opus so much superior than My Fair Lady (aside from the improbabilities of breaking into song every hardly minutes) is the casting. The later mellifluous rather subverted Shaw’s intent, by putting Audrey Hepburn in the position of Eliza. We grasp she’s a silent picture star right off the bat, making the Cockney orientation a mere mummery. Unknown Wendy Hiller, on the other hand, is not particularly charming, making her transformation all the more astounding, and making much clearer Shaw’s point that class is a only matter of training, and has nothing to do at all with the ourselves.
The other point of worthy casting is priggish Leslie Howard as Henry Higgins. His prideful and demeaning attitude fits the character wonderfully so, play a part go overboard better than Rex Harrison could ever do; his pasty and frail appearance much more befits the phonetic pedant that the role calls to save. Wilfrid Lawson as Eliza’s boozing father is also a masterstroke, as he brings a nice contrast of beefy rectitude to his ruin position.
The photography is a beautiful coal-black and white, with masterful editing by future director David Lean. Eliza’s training is taken care of with a brisk montage that carries the consciousness of enormous accomplishment and repetition in the array of a only one seconds. Even though the time is brief, we get the note quite nicely, in a lavish control of filmmaking.
Roman music buffs will want to receive this disc, for the score is written by well-known composer Arthur Honegger. While less experimental than some of his earlier compositions, the slightly unconscious flocks fits the film’s theme of the artificiality of manners absolutely well. The original BBFC “A” Certificate is included at the genesis of the haziness. The tournament spell is over five minutes longer than indicated on the keepcase. Pygmalion is #85 in the Criterion Anthology numbering, in support of those keeping scratch.
A very funny film which was nominated looking for four Academy Awards®, including Best Picture and Superior Screenplay for Shaw, Pygmalion is solitary of the gems of British filmmaking. The scene where Eliza is inclined her first bath is by itself worth the amount of admission. Garn!
44 Minutes (2003)
In a tense and blood-soaked 44 minutes on February 28, 1997, the Los Angeles police took part in what is considered to be one of the longest gun battles in urban warfare retelling. Two bank robbers, known as the “High Incidence Bandits,” targeted a Bank of America building in North Hollywood and, in the system, attracted a slew of LAPD officers. Their exit from the bank would go down in history as “The North Hollywood Shootout,” and change the basis an eye to this made-for-television film, 44 Minutes.
As the film over opens, we are introduced to Frank (Madsen), a member of the renowned Theft Homicide Division in Los Angeles. As Frank kisses his pregnant wife goodbye, we shift attention to Donnie Anderson (Livingston), a S.W.A.T. officer dealing with the brand-new dying of his found, and his struggles on the job. Finally, we meet Henry Dee (Van Peebles), a scrupulous whip cop who not in any degree misses a chance to offer devotional teaching to suspects. For the time being, we also see the two trendy infamous bank robbers, Larry (Bryniarski) and Emil (Taktarov), who posses a stockpile of weapons that antagonist those of some small countries. What happens from there is 44 minutes of steep scourge for each involved.
The entire shootout, true to time, covers the last forty-four minutes of the film, but what occurs in the first 41 minutes showcases the film’s proclivity. The introduction of the characters is fine to an immensity, but the pen by Tim Metcalfe seems to be too involved with giving each of the three strength characters an emotional crutch—be it a pregnant better half or a deceased father—to relieve create a quicker emotional connection to the character. This actually cheapens the legitimate purpose and it does not upset in order with the bracket stop of the film.
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Another tainted production decision is the uniting of interviews that bookend crucial developments in the allotment. The interviews themselves are handled nicely, but the actually that they are done by the actors portraying the the heat officers lessens the impact and takes the viewer far away from any sort of appropriateness with the brave and manful LAPD officers. As we learn in the short, behind-the-scenes be upset included on the DVD, sundry members of the LAPD who were there that fateful heyday served as advisers, so why not include them in the vetting portions?
The film represents a commendable look into the events of that day, but overall, I felt cheated. Events that transpired after the shootout involving the death and subsequent lawsuit from the relations of one of the robbers is skipped done with, while other events that could have been included in a delicate epilogue are omitted as well.
by Kam Williams Santa Woos Ov…
by Kam Williams
Santa Woos Overburdened Mom in Syrupy Sweet Christmas Comedy
Nancy (Gabrielle Union) has had her hands full trying to raise three kids alone since her divorce from J-Jizzy (Charlie Murphy), a narcissistic rap star who's too self-absorbed to bear his fair share of the responsibility of raising the children. Since he doesn't devote enough quality time to them, she's ended up overburdened and neglecting her own needs.
This state of affairs hasn't been lost on the youngest, Emily (Khail Bryant), who altruistically whispers to Santa Claus that her Christmas wish is for a man to pay her mother a compliment to make her happy again. What the little girl doesn't know is that Benjamin (Morris Chestnut), the mall Santa whose lap she's sitting in, just happens to be a very handsome hunk underneath the fake beard and red fat suit. More importantly, he's available and instantly smitten as soon as he looks over and gets a load of what her beautiful momma looks like.
The problem is that Benjamin is just seasonal help and, after Christmas, he'll be back at his more mundane job as an office supply salesman, although he does dream of becoming a famous songwriter. So, even after he does summon up the courage to approach Nancy in street clothes at the cleaners, he's still suffers from low self esteem, he hightails it out of the store before she can respond.
Thus unfolds the underlying premise established at the outset of The Perfect Holiday, one of those syrupy sweet romantic comedies which keeps a pair of lovebirds obviously meant for each other apart via a series of frustrating circumstances. In this case, the flies in the ointment are Benjamin's shyness, Nancy's cluelessness, her son, John-John's (Malik Hammond), attempt to sabotage the relationship, and her ex's interference, too.
The flick picture show marks the sophomore offering by Javelin Rivera, and a wealthy improvement over his dubious inauguration, The Cookout. Rivera had a most evocative ensemble of African-American actors at his disposal, but he unfortunately squandered most of their services.
For instance, this is the first film in which I ever found Katt Williams boring. Ordinarily a flamboyant scene-stealer, he totally tones down his trademark trash-talking act here to play J-Jizzy's assistant. Equally unremarkable are Oscar-nominees Queen Latifah (for Chicago) and Terrence Howard (for Hustle and Flow) who were wasted in throwaway roles as a miracle-performing fairy and latter-day Scrooge, respectively.
No, the picture belongs to Gabrielle Union and Morris Chestnut, who certainly generate the genre's requisite chemistry. This should come as no surprise, since it's the fourth time they've co-starred in a romantic romp (also The Brothers, Two Can Play That Game and Breakin' All the Rules). They handle their parts with perfect aplomb but the production's still flawed because getting there ought to be half the fun when a flick has as predictable a plotline as this one.
Again and again, the support players are shallow, one-dimensional characters, whether that be Faizon Love as Benjamin's buddy/lovable buffoon or Jill Marie Jones and Rachel True as Nancy's girlfriends/amen chorus. With the humor and sidebars so underwhelming, all that's left to hold your attention is the transparent central love story which makes you wait 90 minutes for a happily-ever-after ending you saw coming practically from the opening credits.
I axiom mommy kissin' Santa Claus, ghetto polish. Be thankful that Gabrielle Unity and Morris Chestnut be subjected to the wherewithal to elevate a third-rate script.
Edible (2 stars)
Rated PG for mild epithets and suggestive humor.
Race on many occasions: 96 minutes
Studio: Yari Film Union
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Walter Neff (Fred MacMurray) i…
Walter Neff (Fred MacMurray) is a smooth talking insurance salesman. When he calls to reopen the Dietrichsons’ motor vehicle insurances, he falls for the magnificent Phyllis (Barbara Stanwyck) and graceful in the last the two of them cook up a scheme to murder her husband (Tom Powers) for his life indemnification - with its double indemnity clause in the circumstance of unexpected cessation. But Neff’s advocacy smells a scam and begins investigating.
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When young Marty finds a runa…
When young Marty finds a escaped, unknown beagle, the pair become fast friends. Marty instantly wants to adopt the pooch, whom he names Shiloh. But unfortunately, the whelp already has an owner, a very brutal hunter named Judd. When Shiloh flees from his brutish possessor again, Marty decides to hide the dog from Judd. This forces a confrontation, pitting Marty and his family against Judd.
One more in a witless onslaug…
One more in a witless onslaught of Quentin Tarantino knockoffs,
“Feeling Minnesota” opens today at Bay Area theaters and stars
Reeves as Jjaks, a petty thief and ex-con who meets the tramp of his
dreams, played by the beautiful Cameron Diaz, on the day she marries
Jjaks’ older brother, Sam (Vincent D’Onofrio).
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Freddie (Diaz) hates Sam and marries him only at gunpoint because
she ripped off $10,000 from Sam’s boss, a strip-joint owner played by
Delroy Lindo. “He’s my punishment,” Freddie tells Jjaks after
boffing him in her soiled wedding dress during the reception. “And
I’m his reward.”
Resentment has always run deep between Jjaks and Sam. It goes back 20
years to the day their mother, played by Tuesday Weld in a sad cameo,
gave Jjaks away to another family. The brothers hate each other, and
when Sam bites a chunk off Jjaks’ ear in a brawl, Jjaks saves it as a
badge of honor.
Directed and written by first-time filmmaker Steven Baigelman, who
grew up in Canada near the Minnesota border, “Feeling Minnesota”
tries to sentimentalize its sorry-duck characters and their trashy
milieu at the same time it spoofs them.
A gifted director can manage that balancing act, as Jonathan Demme
did in “Melvin and Howard” or Ethan Coen in
“Fargo” and “Raising Arizona,” but Baigelman lacks their style
and skill and delivers a film that’s dumb, loud and devoid of grace
notes.
Diaz, at least, has an easy affinity for this material and her
cheap-trick character: She’s a good actress and you can feel
Freddie’s yearning when she talks of a future in Vegas with poolside
waiters and free-flowing daiquiris. Judging by Diaz’s work in this,
“She’s the One” and “The Last Supper,” she may be in for a long
ride.
Reeves, on the other hand, hasn’t a clue how to convey irony or
depth. Give this guy a buzz cut, an Uzi and a blank expression and
he’s fine — as he proved in his best movie, “Speed.” Otherwise
he’s stiff and hopeless.
For the record, you’ll also find Dan Aykroyd as a corrupt
detective, having a goof with that Minnesota accent we heard in
“Fargo.” It’s a throwaway performance, and you can sense the
disgust he must have felt playing material this shoddy.
Bulletproof Monk (2003)
"BULLETPROOF MONK"
(2003) (Chow Yun-Fruitful, Seann William Scott) (PG-13)
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Action/Adventure: An American pickpocket joins forces with a Tibetan monk to protect an ancient, but powerful scroll from falling into the hands of a Nazi who's been after it for the past sixty years.
PLOT:
For the past 60 years, an unnamed Tibetan Monk (CHOW YUN-FAT) has protected an ancient, but all-powerful scroll that could cause horrible chaos should it fall into the wrong hands, such as those of Struker (KAREL RODEN). He's a WWII era Nazi who's been after it as long as the Monk has been protecting it, and now his granddaughter, Nina (VICTORIA SMURFIT), and her team of thugs have joined in the search.
With his 60-year term up, the Monk is searching for his replacement, but can't believe that all signs are pointing to American pickpocket Kar (SEANN WILLIAM SCOTT). With the police chasing him and Nina's goons pursuing the Monk, the two end up as unlikely partners in protecting the scroll. With the aid of street girl Jade (JAIME KING), who's really a Russian mafia princess, they try to repel repeat attempts by Nina and thus Struker from obtaining and using it for their own nefarious agenda.
OUR TAKE: 3.5 out of 10
With each passing year, hundreds of new movies hit the theaters and just as many or more titles go straight to video. With such a yearly onslaught, moviegoers and particularly critics have to accept that the chances of any given release being unique or completely different continually decrease to the point that it's almost not worth hoping, wishing or praying that a film will exhibit such qualities.
Accordingly, one must also accept that more and more releases are increasingly going to look more and more like previous films or at least emulate, borrow or steal bits and pieces from them. As much as I hate to admit it, that's okay as long as the new effort puts enough of a fresh spin on said material to make it appear or at least feel somewhat fresh. Such was the case with 2002's "The Transporter" that didn't have an original bone its body, yet managed to make its recycled material fun and engaging.
An example where it doesn't work is this year's "Bulletproof Monk." Part "Rush Hour, " part "Raiders of the Lost Ark/Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, " with bits of "The Matrix," "Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon," "The Karate Kid" and even James Bond thrown in for "good" measure, the film features the culture clash pairing of Hong Kong favorite Chow Yun-Fat with "American Pie's" own Seann William Scott.
Yet another comedy/action hybrid, the film is a mess from start to finish, and never quite veers far enough into complete camp (although it often comes close) to make it fun in such regards. It probably doesn't help that I'm not a big fan of the cinematic martial arts style where characters literally defy gravity and/or physics by jumping, leaping, spinning and doing other moves not even the great Jackie Chan can muster.
Unlike similar ones in "Crouching Tiger" that were done to appear graceful (but still turned me off), the ones here are done for comedy and/or straight action. They're far more successful in the former where Yun-Fat's character personifies the old saying that Weebles wobble, but don't fall down.
The action bits, however, are poorly done. As directed by first-time filmmaker Paul Hunter (from the world of music videos), they're a mess, with lots of quick editing to do a "Steven Seagal" in covering up whatever obvious shortcomings the performers had in "realistically" pulling off the stunts and fighting. Coupled with some bad and obviously faked visual effects, such scenes come off as laughable bad and certainly less than engaging.
The script by Ethan Reiff & Cyrus Voris ("Demon Knight," "Men of War"), which is based on a brief comic book series, doesn't help matters. The villains who are Nazis bit is too much cliché and not enough camp. The "Karate Kid"/ "Rush Hour" mix of Yun-Fat and Scott doesn't yield enough laughs - although there are a handful - and instead simply goes through the expected motions.
Yun-Fat ("Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon," "Anna and the King") exudes his usual amount of onscreen charisma and confidence, and even gets in one, brief slow-motion spinning move while shooting guns that will remind fans of his far better films of yesteryear. He's best here in the lighter and more amusing moments, but the rest is too easily forgettable.
Scott ("Evolution," "Dude, Where's My Car?") picks up the contemporary American bit from where Owen Wilson and Chris Tucker left off in their films. While obviously bulked up for the role, he can't do much with the paint by number (or is that by screenwriting software) character.
Jaime King ("Slackers," "Pearl Harbor") appears as the obligatory kick-butt love interest (who just so happens to a be Russian mafia princess), Victoria Smurfit ("About a Boy," "The Beach") plays her steely, Aryan adversary, while Karel Roden ("Blade II," "15 Minutes") plays the boring and flat, but occasionally Bond-like villain (late in the film).
I'm not sure if the film would have really worked on anything but a pure camp or spoof level. Whatever the case, it clearly needed either that or some more finely tuned and crafted action and comedy to make its recycled material more palatable. Certainly not critic or even average viewer-proof, "Bulletproof Monk" rates as just a 3.5 out of 10.
Reviewed April 14, 2003 / Posted April 16, 2003
Dust to Glory (2005)
That Brown is moderately successful in “Dust to Glory” is a tribute to
the amount of effort that the director and his gutsy crew of 90 put into the
cross-country motorcycle, dune buggy, truck and Volkswagen Bug race across 800
miles of Mexico no-man’s land. They have cameras in three helicopters, dozens
more on the sidelines and what seems like unconditional access to every
participant — even in the middle of the competition.
But when the filmmaker has to choose between pleasing the Discovery
Channel “Monster Garage” crowd that will cherish this film and mainstream
audiences, he unapologetically picks the gearheads. And in the end the
documentary resembles the trajectory of the average Baja 1000 competitor —
an exciting ride that barely crosses the finish line intact.
Taking place entirely in Baja California, the race is a strange
combination of NASCAR and the first two “Mad Max” movies. Million-dollar
vehicles start out shiny and imposing, and experience 20 years of wear in less
than 24 hours. Many arrive at the end of the race looking like the Joads’
truck in “The Grapes of Wrath.” Along the way, the country’s inhabitants treat
the sport like a postapocalyptic running of the bulls, with crowds standing
frighteningly close to 2-ton vehicles that fly by for hours day and night.
Brown and his father, Bruce, are the Coppolas of fringe sports films,
with father making the 1966 surf classic “The Endless Summer” and son proving
his own mettle with “Step Into Liquid” three years ago. Brown wedges cameras
into every crevice of the Baja 1000 vehicles to capture the feel of racing,
then uses helicopters to give the audience an idea of scale.
Finally, he interviews competitors mid-race to show the exhaustion they
feel and the held-together-with-baling-wire-and-paper-clips nature of off-road
racing. While the contributions of NASCAR great Robbie Gordon and the late
Steve McQueen are covered, Brown’s crew is also there when a lesser-known
competitor welds wrenches and golf clubs to the front of a giant truck to
improvise a new grill — and then hurtles back into the action.
Scenes like the above are a dream for racing followers but far less
satisfying for moviegoers who send their cars to Jiffy Lube. Although Brown
does a good job of putting this strange world in context, he’s ultimately too
close to the subject. Like an Academy Award winner who has to thank everyone,
Brown crams in dozens of subjects, limiting character development to
explanations about how they’re all a bunch of great guys.
“Johnny Campbell is a good man,” Brown fawns in the narration. “His
father would be proud. His mother is.”
Surely there are some complete jerks in the Baja 1000, and their
inclusion would have gone a long way to make audiences care more about the
winners. Instead, it’s a world full of great times, happy competitors and
tough questions that go unanswered.
For example, Brown never adequately addresses the crowds of Mexican
nationals on the sides of the roads instead of hay bales. When the audience
gets a scene of a racing family receiving hugs from Mexican orphans, one can
only wonder if their parents were taken out by flying Baja 1000 trucks.
There are more over-the-top moments, but they never last long. And after
every groan-inducing piece of footage, a spectacular near-crash or daring
motorcycle chase comes along to leave the movie’s shortcomings in a cloud of
dust.
– Advisory: This film contains adult language, racing action and lots
of crazy spectators who stand too close to speeding traffic.
The Emperor’s New Clothes review
THE EMPEROR?S NEW CLOTHES
Maybe it?s director Alan Taylor?s CV (primarily a string of one-time stints helming television shows like
Six Feet Under
), but this pretty, whimsical slice of revisionist history could benefit from a Napoleon complex. That?s not to fault Ian Holm, who?s commanding in the dual roles of the avaricious Little Corporal and the boorish commoner drafted to impersonate him on St. Helena (thus allowing the bona fide Bonaparte to be spirited to Paris and stage his second recoup). Neither can we blame Iben Hjejle, who exudes empathy and tenderness as the buxom melon vendor who offers succor to the undercover emperor and, unaware of his identity, falls in love with him and forces him to see the small beauties of life as a commoner. But despite flashes of originality, as when the once-great leader passes incognito through Waterloo to find that it?s become a tourist attraction selling tri-colored souvenirs of defeat, the film suffers from too many deadened longueurs. It?s as if Taylor didn?t quite know what to do with a full two hours. In the end, neither cinematographer Alessio Gelsini Torresi?s crystalline perspicacity nor the fine performances of Holm and Hjejle can save
The Emperor?s New Clothes
from being as inconsequential as one of the pastries that bears Napoleon?s name. (106 minutes)
BY MIKE MILIARD
Issue Date: June 27 - July 4, 2002
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