2002 in brief: One second,
I have to go grab some coffee...
TWO WEEKS NOTICE
(Marc Lawrence)
Reviewed: 12/30/02
You know when you go away to visit relatives for a week and eventually the gathering
becomes so dreadfully boring you long to escape at all costs? Circumstances dictated
either I ran to Two Weeks Notice or stayed put, an easy decision, I assure
you. This isn't painful (though it is miserable to think Susan E. Morse, Woody
Allen's former longtime editor, left him to cut these kind of films). Alicia Witt
and especially Heather Burns remain two of the most criminally underused actresses
in American cinema.
8 WOMEN
(François Ozon)
Reviewed: 12/9/02
Ozon's prior film, Under the Sand, was one of my favorites of 2001; though
it's nice to see the filmmaker severely switching gears, 8 Women's a
letdown. The musical sequences are magical and transporting, but few and far between;
everything else varies between amusing and tired. Same basic problem I had with
Gosford Park, which is that flawless technical contributions and astute
casting aside, neither film transcends that feeling of "Hey, look at me,
I'm doing a little riff on Agathie Christie without adding much of anything."
Every character uneventfully has their big scene, everything is compact and neat.
Also disappointing to see a film that so ably celebrates estrogen for most of
its length tack on a misogynist ending.
ROGER DODGER
(Dylan Kidd) R
Reviewed: 11/4/02
Not exactly treading novel ground in subject matter (a NYC womanizer teaches his
16 year old nephew about the opposite sex; the poster bills Roger Dodger
about "The naked differences between men and women."), debut writer/director
Dylan Kidd's enjoyably scalding mentor/protégé relationship is worthwhile
primarily for Campbell Scott's oft hilarious, explosive lead performance. (Jesse
Eisenberg as the nephew does some impressive work too.) The beauty of the film
is that it understands for all of Roger's dialogue, well... the guy's pretty much
a dejected loser. Scott cannily navigates a tightroped line here: he has to be
charismatic and energetic as all hell while retaining some humanity, and though
the immediate danger is to dismiss him as Aaron Eckhart's character from
In the Company of Men, you soon realize Roger is kinder, gentler, sadder,
weaker. Kidd's visual style uses almost no artificial light (most of the movie
seems to unfold in an anxious shroud of darkness) and no tripod (did Kidd apply
for a Dogme 95 certificate?), but the scheme works, what with the shaky images
mirroring the fast-talking characters. Kidd's knack for developing character via
throwaway lines proves mostly wise (favorite example: Isabella Rossellini telling
Roger there are a hundred resumes on her desk just like his), but the implication
that Roger's the way he is cause his dad's a needy prick is weak and hackneyed.
Main problem with the film is it loses narrative steam at approximately the forty-five
minute mark and never quite recovers; pic's coda is especially unnecessary.
MOONLIGHT MILE
(Brad Silberling)
Reviewed: 10/13/02
Probably as thoughtful an examination of grief as we'll ever get from Disney and
a first time writer/seasoned television director, which is to say one that is
sporadically moving, well put together, features three superlative performances
(Dustin Hoffman, Susan Sarandon and newcomer Ellen Pompeo, who bears an uncanny
resemblance to Renée Zellweger and whose potentially uber-interesting character
is detrimentally underwritten), but marred by extraneous shit (the excessive Hoffman/Jake
Gyllenhaal are going into business stuff, the courtroom scenes, the never-ending
array of classic songs) and a repetitious, forced, oh-God-my-teeth-hurt-must-go-to-dentist-immediately-just-ingested-the-most-insanely-sweet-substance-of-all-time
final fifteen minutes ("you're a truth enema!" line had my audience in stitches).
I know Silberling based the autobiographical film on the senseless murder of his
girlfriend, and perhaps everything in the movie -- including the oh-so-happy ending
-- really happened (though I doubt it), but dramatic viability cannot be gauged
by reality alone. Note to casting directors: It's high time for Gyllenhaal to
play a gregarious con man.
BLUE CAR (Karen
Moncrieff) 58 (first
viewing: 60s)
Reviewed: 10/12/02
Surprisingly engrossing, if unoriginal, story of teenage girl (Agnes Bruckner),
browbeaten by her rough family life, who takes one of those proverbial, filmic,
coming-of age journeys. Pic is particularly notable for its two mesmerizing, Oscar-worthy,
lead performances: Bruckner, only fifteen at the time of filming, plays protagonist
Meg, who builds a questionable student/teacher relationship with David Strathaim
(in a gorgeously subdued, workingman persona). Poetry's involved, but it's a MacGuffin.
Sounds like chick-flick, though fear not: the writing's direct enough and acting
strong enough to more than hold attention. Granted, the dramatic icing is laid
way-too-thick sometimes, especially with "Lily." But Blue Car has lots
of energy, which last month's coming-of-age-teenage-girl flick Swimming,
so dourly and fatally lacked.
BELOW (David
Twohy)
Reviewed: 10/11/02
Boring, insipid, confusing, trapped-in-(possibly?)-haunted submarine, genre piece.
Not truly awful per se -- as in the dialogue didn't make me cringe and Twohy actually
attempts character differentiation -- but certainly worthless. A disappointment
considering Darren Aronofsky (Pi, Requiem for a Dream) co-wrote
and co-produced (I can only assume nothing from his original script remains).
Only reason to ever sit through this thing is the enchanting, authoritative Olivia
Williams (of The Sixth Sense & Rushmore fame). Someone give this
woman her own starring vehicle, stat.
Return home.