Millions

I enjoyed MILLIONS well enough, but the movie just didn't capture my imagination.

Don't get me wrong: its vibrant palette and music are a pleasure to experience, its supporting cast is fine, and the 7-yr-old boy who plays the lead is so adorable I wanted to take him home to serve as a good example for my child. But I just couldn't get involved in his, or his family's, life. I'm having a hard time putting my finger on why, though I suspect that it may because I viewed it while still coming down off EVE'S BAYOU, a movie which really got me.

Not very insightful comments, I know. I offer them as a datapoint for your own decisionmaking.

Eve's Bayou

"Memory is a selection of images, some elusive, others printed indelibly on the brain. The summer I killed my father, I was 10 years old."

Who can resist a hook like that?

EVE'S BAYOU is a movie about that summer, but it's a movie about a lot more than that. It's about a time and a place; it's about being a 10-year-old girl in a loving but troubled Creole family; and it's about the sorrows we bear and the things we can never take back.

Jurnee Smollett plays Eve, a doctor's daughter in a 1950s Louisana swamp town. Her father, Samuel L. Jackson, is her hero and a respected man. He's also a philanderer, a reality that's slowly breaking the heart of her mother, the painfully beautiful Lynn Whitfield. Smollett is incredible as Eve, and she can thank a penetrating and intelligent script for her good fortune. This is not a movie with cute but struggling moppets, nor is it one about adults in children's bodies. It's about a smart and insightful young girl who's trying to make sense of things that she's simply not ready to understand. Jackson, playing the father, reminds us that he is a gifted actor in addition to being a guy audiences can believe is ready to take on a passel of dangerous, planebound snakes. His doctor is smart and foolish, dashing and clumsy. He's a man. And Lynn Whitfield, well, Lynn Whitfield has this scene: she doesn't say a word, and she absolutely broke my heart. You'll know it when you see it.

EVE'S BAYOU is more than its script and its actors, of course. The movie looks and sounds great, with a deep, inviting palette, perfect costumes and sets, and an intriguing mix of light and shadow. Its music only brings attention to itself when it wants to and manages to get under our skin. Additionally, its selection of zydeco tunes for some scenes reflects a deep understanding for and appreciation of Louisiana swamp music, and it succeeds in bringing the milieu home.

In short, all the pieces of EVE'S BAYOU work. The movie takes us places we've never been, into the lives of people we'll never know, and it does so with insight, compassion, and beauty. This movie is a winner.

Hollywoodland

HOLLYWOODLAND redeems Ben Affleck's career.

Here's a guy who started out strong, then went downhill fast. From the unwatchable ARMAGEDDON to the criminally bad DAREDEVIL, Affleck's career had gotten so far away from the promise of GOOD WILL HUNTING that, frankly, his name on a marquee had become a reason to avoid a movie. And so I planned to avoid HOLLYWOODLAND, regardless of the involvement of such luminaries as Diane Lane and Bob Hoskins. At least, I planned to avoid it until I read the critical reaction to the movie.

HOLLYWOODLAND is two movies: one excellent, one mediocre. The mediocre one, a noirish detective picture featuring Adrien Brody investigating the apparent suicide of one George Reeves, serves to inform and access the excellent film, the one about Reeves himself. Affleck portrays Reeve with a combination of bravado, resignation, and desperation that's touching, sad, and altogether sympathetic. I felt for this guy, rooted for this guy, bled for this guy. I never thought an Affleck performance could make me feel that way.

Here's the deal: George Reeves got lucky early with a respectable supporting role in GONE WITH THE WIND. He couldn't build on that role and get his career rolling, and the movie introduces him at a lousy table in a first-class nightclub, trying to get noticed by the directors and studio heads who could give him a break. He does get noticed, but by a one Mrs. Mannix, played by Diane Lane. He and Mrs. Mannix fall for each other, which might even help the earnest George: Mr. Mannix (Bob Hoskins) is a studio head, which means Mrs. Mannix might be able to land George a job.

She does, but it's about the most loathsome job the ambitious young actor could hope for: a career-defining (and killing) role as Superman in a wildly popular children's television show. Reeves gamely tries to play the hero, but he knows that he's a long way from GWTW, and he can't get over the disappointment.

And that's not even the heartbreaking part. Because when that gig ends and he's been thoroughly typecast, where does he have to go? The answer, and the black-and-white reel in which we see him give it his best shot, just plain broke my heart.

So, there it is. I forgive you for DAREDEVIL, Ben. Now get back out there and show us what you can really do.

Superman

You know that tagline for SUPERMAN? The one that goes, "You'll believe a man can fly"? Well, after screening SUPERMAN, my boy drew a letter on his chest and asked me to toss him onto the bed not once, not twice, but until my arms felt like they were going to drop off my shoulders. Those SUPERMAN guys weren't kidding.

I hadn't seen SUPERMAN in decades, and I'm happy to report that the movie holds up quite well. It's out on a fantastic DVD transfer, so mom can appreciate Christopher Reeve in all his glory while dad marks time 'til Miss Tessbacher shows up again. It's fun to see Gene Hackman and Ned Beatty camp it up, and I particularly enjoyed noticing (for the first time) a young John Travolta's blink-and-you'll-miss-it contribution. SUPERMAN is just plain fun, and it's welcome dessert after the gloomfest that must necessarily be a Batman movie. The closing shot, with Chris Reeve grinning to the audience as he flies off to heroism, is such a winner that I'm surprised it doesn't show up in all those "Best shots in Hollywood History" lists.

What a delight.

PS I miss Christopher Reeve. That guy was a class act. Did anyone else read his book? It's almost enough to make you forgive Robin Williams for that "Dr. Clown" movie

300

Every now and then, the chance to see a movie in a theater drops into my lap. When those chances come around, I try to see pictures that I know just won't be the same when viewed on a laptop.

This weekend, I had just such an opportunity, and I used it to see 300. As far as tellings of the tale of the Battle of Thermopylae go, it's worse than Gates of Fire and better than the Frank Miller comic book 300, which it brings to life. I haven't gotten that far in my Herodotus just yet - give me time. As far as movies go, 300 is extraordinary.

300's stylized world, created almost entirely on a TRS-80 (or so I'm told), manages to both immerse and dazzle us. It takes us to a heightened reality, invites us to believe it, and rewards us for so doing with spectacle and audacity. I bought Gerard Butler's Leonidas, Rodrigo Santoro's Xerxes, and all the rest of the grunts and and monsters. I forgave the Spartans their convenient (and action packed!) deviations from their own military doctrine and I was willing to overlook the fact that steroids were not available in ancient Greece. I dug the look, I dug the story, and I dug the imagination.

I'm glad I saw this one on the big screen.

Mindhunters

Here's one from the archives. Happy Easter!
===

You'll enjoy MINDHUNTERS if you don't know anything about physics, chemistry, biology, psychology, fluid dynamics, weaponscraft, law enforcement, military operations, or the actual FBI profiling program. If, in other words, you're a below-average student in a Bratislavan middle school, this movie's for you. MINDHUNTERS is one of those movies in which you tell yourself, "Okay, I choose to accept that this movie is set in a universe in which X could possibly happen." Then, you tell it to yourself again, and again, and again. This movie is so relentlessly, aggressively ridiculous that it's simply impossible to suspend one's disbelief.

Here's the setup: it's TEN LITTLE INDIANS with FBI agents on a spooky island. But there's a twist: where TEN LITTLE INDIANS is intriguing, MINDHUNTERS is insulting. Where TEN LITTLE INDIANS is gripping, MINDHUNTERS is loud. And where TEN LITTLE INDIANS has an ending that leaves you fascinated, amused, and not a little surprised, MINDHUNTERS has an ending that makes you want to hurl your DVD player against the wall in disgust.

Here's the worst part: the movie was foisted on me by a guy at work, a guy who loved it so much that he put his copy in my hands and insisted that I give it a spin. This afternoon, while we're waiting for the bus, he's going to ask me what I thought of it. I'm thinking of going with, "Wow! Nothing you said could have prepared me for this movie!" I don't know if I can sell the line.

PS On the plus side, the movie does have one kill that's so unexpected that it almost overcomes its utter implausibility. Additionally, MINDHUNTERS features the best anti-smoking sequence I've ever seen. So at least there's that.

Galaxy Quest

GALAXY QUEST is one of those movies that never get old. There's always something more to see, and this time around I grooved on the performance of one Alan Rickman.

This guy takes what looks like a simple couple of lines, "By Grabthar's Hammer! What savings!" and turns it into a symphony of self-loathing and resignation. While doing so, he manages to maintain a certain reserve that reminds that, yes, this is supposed to be a comedy. Later, when when he means a "By Grabthar's Hammer!" exclamation, he pours enough real passion into the reading that we, as the audience, buy his character's embrace of, well, his character.

It's great stuff, in a movie full of great stuff. By Grabthar's Hammer, I expect to see this movie over and over again.

TMNT

TMNT is too busy to bother with a proper title: an acronym will have to do. Unfortunately, it's also too busy to develop backstory, flesh out characters, or bother to entertain anyone over the age of ten. The result is a horrifically dull action-adventure that will serve the dual temporal purpose of speeding time up for the young 'uns and dragging it out for any parents unlucky enough to wander into this movie.

Here's the setup: the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles have broken up. Paradoxically, Leonardo has gone off to Central America to learn leadership by working alone. Raphael has stayed home in New York, where he also fights crime alone, but this is somehow bad because, well, the never really explains. The other two, whose names I forget, have regular jobs, and all this is, somehow, very, very bad. When Leonardo returns, he essentially has to get the band back together so they can do battle with (a) a band of Ninja that are led by a white woman with a Chinese accent, (b) a bunch of monsters, (c) the reanimated statues of ancient warriors, and (d) a guy whom I assume to be Tiglath-Pileser I.

This could be fun, except for three movie-killing errors. First, TMNT never sets up the turtles properly. It assumes that its audience is already vested in their unity and well-being, which I was not. Consequently, I found the first act to be plodding and dull - this was the character stuff, and I didn't care about the characters. Things picked up a bit in the second act and actually got interesting for a few minutes near the end, but the climax suffered from the next error: computer-generated martial arts fight scenes just aren't interesting. It's fun to watch stuntmen fight, in the same way it's fun to watch dancers perform. But who wants to sit around and watch a CGI Swan Lake? Lastly, the film's third error laid in its choice of aesthetic: the women are so wasp-waisted that their girdles must make breathing impossible. The men are so top-heavy that they shouldn't be able to balance on two legs. And the world is just not interesting. Sorry. It just isn't.

If I had to sum up TMNT with an acronym, that acronym would be SUCKS. Sorry, no time - you'll have to figure out what it stands for on your own.

How to Marry a Millionaire

HOW TO MARRY A MILLIONAIRE strikes a blow against the commodotization of women by telling a story about the commoditization of men. While some complain that the film is, in reality, arguing for the former, that notion is subverted by the film's infamous fashion show / Thai whorehouse sequence, in which the lone man in the room is so overwhelmed by the raw power of female sexuality that his only possible response is an emasculated retreat.

In the world of popular culture, women were (and are!) nothing more than the sum of their parts. In HOW TO MAM, the men become nothing more than the sum of their monthly paychecks. Gone are considerations of their intrinsic worth, their honor, or their intellect, or any of the uncountable (in)tangibles that make a man a man. In a bold move that would go unanswered until 1997's IN THE COMPANY OF MEN, women boil men down to the one thing about which the (What's the opposite of fairer - uglier? Harumph!) sex is most insecure - the size of their bank accounts. These women dare to express what every creature on the planet knows: it really all comes down to "What can you do for me?"

Some may argue that HOW TO MAM breaks down at the end, when Lauren Bacall winds up marrying a grease monkey, only to discover that he's a proficient exploiter of the workers of the world's petroleum industry. I say those people focus on the text, the sacrifice and reward, when they should be focusing on the subtext, the alpha female's ability to spot that member of the pack most likely to give her what she needs and to home in on that individual, consciously or no. The film's resolution both rewards that instictive ability while slyly acknowledging its women's understanding of the dynamic and the men's fatalistic acceptance of it.

In a world in which the strong eat the weak, HOW TO MAM reminds us just who is which, and what the stakes are. What a brilliantly subversive little picture.

And don't get me started on that overture.

Hellboy Revisited

I've been on a Hellboy kick lately, mostly because I'll reinforce pretty much anything that gets my kid to read. That said, I revisited Guilllermo del Toro's live-action HELLBOY film over the weekend. I enjoyed it much more this time around.

When I saw HELLBOY during its theatrical run, the comics were fresher in my mind. This, of course, led to constant comparisons between what I was seeing and what I'd read and, while I liked what I was seeing, it simply couldn't compare to my imagination. That, and there was no Lobster Johnson.

This time around, the comics have faded in memory and I was able to enjoy the film more on its own terms. The audience surrogate -character doesn't grate, the throwaway references don't feel underdone, and themes of Hellboy really carry through. You see, HELLBOY is all about choice: it's just the thing to appeal to believers in the Leibnizian monadic soul, like me. In the film, as in the comics, Hellboy was created to be the Antichrist and unleash cosmic, Lovecraftian horror upon the world. He was brought into the world by evil forces to do evil deeds, but gets an early exposure to the good guys. Ultimately, he chooses sides, and his self-determining choice defines him more than all the external factors that combine to force his hand.

This is great stuff, and HELLBOY delivers it in a package filled with slimy monsters, catchy one-liners, and a double helping of fun.

Still no Lobster Johnson, though. Perhaps in HELLBOY 2.

The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy

THE HITCHHIKER'S GUIDE TO THE GALAXY is consistently amusing, occasionally hilarious, and always gorgeous.

Here's the setup: Arthur Dent's home is about to be destroyed, and there's nothing he can do to stop it. Sure, he lie down in front of the tractors positioned to destroy his house, but that won't stop the Vogon demolition fleet positioned to annihilate the Earth. Though it's a bad day for Earth, it's a great day for Arthur, however. His strange buddy, the one who doesn't quite fit in, turns out to be an alien. To make matters better, he's an alien who writes for _The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy_, and he shows up just in time to help Arthur hitch a ride to, well, the galaxy.

The next 80 minutes or so bring us the horrors of Vogon poetry, a new definition of the technicolor yawn, the best extended riff on our sitting President I've yet to see in a motion picture, and the Ultimate Answer to the Ultimate Question of Life, the Universe, and Everything. Oh, and we find out who made the fjords. He won a prize.

Though the movie breaks down a bit during the second act, it pulls itself together admirably well and closes on a very strong note. I expected this movie to be reasonably amusing, but it wound up making my day. Have fun.

So long, and thanks for all the fish.

PS While watching this movie, I couldn't help but compare it to I HEART HUCKABEES. IHH purported to be an existential comedy, but it was really a comedy about self-importance. THHGTTG is the real thing.

The Comedians of Comedy

Netflix is getting into the business of producing its own material, and one of its first products was THE COMEDIANS OF COMEDY. It's a documentary about the Comedians of Comedy tour, a show that unites a number of (unknown to me) comics and has them play nonstandard venues, such as rock clubs and town social halls.

The documentary's premise and the comedians' self image is one of cutting edge -itude, of people who refuse to sell out while they probe the limitations of their art form. In other words, they haven't hit it big and they say "fuck" a lot. I thought their sets were amusing, and I even chuckled once or twice, but there isn't an Eddie Izzard among them. Ah, well.

Grandma's Boy

Harold Lloyd's GRANDMA'S BOY is laugh-out-loud funny. Not "amusing, but I'm mostly watching it for its historical significance" funny, but no-kidding, laugh-out-loud funny.

Here's the setup: Lloyd's the town coward. He's competing with the town bully for the hand of a local lass, but will he rise above his fears and become the man she needs? Ok, it's not that exciting a setup, but it's all in the execution.

Lloyd executes as well as anybody. His film moves right along from one gag to the next, and his inherent likeability keeps us engaged throughout. The supporting characters are interesting and memorable, and the whole picture sets just the right tone of comic danger and conflict. What a treat!

The 5 Worst Films of 2005

I haven't had time to see a movie lately, so here's one from the archives:

5. CRASH
I don't require that the films I see have people like those I know in real life. I don't require that they have characters who speak like people I know in real life. I do, however, require that, unless the movies feature balrogs or wookies or toupeed actors screaming "Khaaaaaann!", they have people that could, conceivably, walk the earth.

4. STAR WARS III
Y'know, I just can't get into the STAR WARS prequels. Then again, my father couldn't get into STAR WARS. Time marches on.

3. WAR OF THE WORLDS
Imagine spending two hours watching the end of the world. Now imagine spending two hours watching the end of the world through the eyes of a guy you wish would just die, already. WAR OF THE WORLDS gave us spectacle without character. Without character, of course, we may as well be watching paint dry.

2. FANTASTIC FOUR
I didn't care about Ben Grimm. I didn't care about Victor Von Doom. I didn't care about Mr. Fantastic, Inviso-Girl, or the Human Torch. This movie should have spent less time CGI-ing incredible action sequences and more time CGI-ing a decent script.

1. MINDHUNTERS
This movie is so extraordinarily, aggressively bad that I suspect its creators personally hate each and every single one of us. MINDHUNTERS defies the laws of physics, chemistry, psychology, and the State of Nebraska in its attempt to bring us fun, dumb entertainment. I'll say this much: they got the dumb part right. P.S. I love Iceland and its wonderful, warm, and forgiving people.

Godzilla vs. The Sea Monster

GODZILLA VS. THE SEA MONSTER (1966) is a bright, funky, and painless monster movie featuring a danceoff, Duane Eddy - style jangling guitars, and a Godzilla monster with a handy screen in his throat for improved vision. It's high camp in a psychedelic mode, missing only cameos from Gidget and the Big Kahuna.

The titular sea monster is a giant lobster, and it must be one of the least scary monsters in the Godzilla pantheon. I understand why they named the movie after it, however. It's scarier than the giant buzzard Godzilla faces in the runup to the big fight, a fearsome battler that's easily dispatched with just one blast of the Big Guy's breath. Nevertheless, what's the point of going with a giant lobster if you're not going to have Godzilla boil it up for the big beach party / clambake? Ah, well. Another opportunity lost.

Anyway, GODZILLA VS. THE SEA MONSTER is just plain fun. If you like monsters and you like camp, you'll like this one.

Stalag 17

STALAG 17 is one of those pictures that I knew I was supposed to see, that I knew I was eventually going to see, and that, frankly, I was really looking forward to seeing. How did it fare? Not too well. STALAG 17 is a movie that, for me, lands in the "just ok" file.

STALAG 17 can't figure out what kind of movie it wants to be. Is it a psychological thriller? A buddy movie? A comedy? A critique of capitalism? I don't know. Neither, I suspect, did Billy Wilder, the fellow behind this picture.

There's a spy among the POWs in a German camp, and suspicion falls on Sgt. Sefton (William Holden), a selfish, unfeeling dealer who seems to know all the angles. Sounds great, right? As a study of suspicion and fear, I think it could have been. Problem is, as soon as it grabs us, the movie shifts its attention to Animal and Sugar Lips (Robert Strauss and Harvey Lembeck), a comic-relief pair of buddies who appear to be direct cinematic forebears of Timon and Pumbaa. These caricatures are so broadly drawn that they yank me out of the movie every time they're onscreen, and they're onscreen a lot. Just when I'm ready to submit, however, and play along with their little jokes, I'm confronted with the amazing self-centeredness of Sgt. Sefton, a man who cares only about the bigger, better deal. He sobers me right up every time. This constant whipsawing between various tones kept me off balance. Consequently, I couldn't immerse myself in the universe of the film.

Holden's Sgt. Sefton is a selfish, nasty, cruel, totally unlikeable and totally unsympathetic son of a bitch. That we care about him anyway is a testament to the amazing performance on display here. As we see him go from self-imposed isolation to group-imposed isolation, we see just how much of his disdain is a front, hiding his desperate need for respect. When he finally makes his play, we cheer him on, even though we know he has a lot more in common with Ken Lay than with any of us. Holden's performance is 100% gold, I tell ya, and it redeems the whole picture.

Turtles Can Fly

In Bahman Ghobadi's TURTLES CAN FLY, the writer/director introduces us to a world that we generally know only in the abstract: the world of young Kurdish orphans in particular, and the world of refugees in general. We have much to learn in that world and, though it wasn't a pleasant journey, I'm grateful for my time there.

TURTLES CAN FLY centers on Satellite, a thirteen-year-old boy who's going to wind up a millionaire if he doesn't get himself killed first. Satellite is gifted with both technical and business sense, he's a natural and effective leader, and he's personally brave (He also happens to be full of shit half of the time, but that's part of his charm.). This boy basically runs his small Kurdish town on the Iraq/Turkey border, and he seems content in his alpha male status - that is, until a mysterious family enters the picture. This family could be from anywhere where war and brutality are long-term facts of life; there are no adults, just a teenaged boy whose arms appear to have been lost to a mine, a teenaged girl with the maturity of the profoundly traumatized, and the blind toddler who needs them to survive. The boy seems like an alpha male in his own right, the girl holds a profound attraction for Satellite, and the toddler, well, the toddler will touch them all in ways they couldn't possibly predict.

TURTLES CAN FLY is a harsh movie, but it isn't the harshness of cruelty or exploitation. It's the knowledge that life is incredibly hard for most people on the planet, and that the modern concept of childhood is the gentle province of the rich and secure. These kids have lived through things that would make the COME AND SEE's Florya put a gun in his mouth, and they adapt - as real kids do. Their realism and everyday courage makes it all the more touching when one of them cracks under the strain, because we've come to see them not as others separated by geography, ethnicity, or age, but as ourselves if our luck hadn't been so cosmically good.

To say I enjoyed this movie wouldn't be quite right. I'm glad I saw it, however, as it does what the best movies do. It took me to a time and place with which I'd been unfamiliar and made them real. It told me a story that perhaps I didn't want to hear, but that I needed to hear, and it did so with artistry and urgency. TURTLES CAN FLY is an excellent motion picture.

Brotherhood of the Wolf

Although I was all set to love BROTHERHOOD OF THE WOLF, the picture had me checking my watch well before the end of its excruciatingly long 144-minute running time.

BROTHERHOOD OF THE WOLF is a monster/martial arts/drawing room movie in which a chevalier from the court of Louis XV (Complete with Mohawk sidekick! In stores soon!) comes to the provinces to hunt a mysterious creature that's killing off the peasants. It starts off well enough, with a fun Jaws tribute that's quickly followed by a good martial arts set piece with the solid, if somewhat vacant, Mark Dacascos.

Things go south, however, once the chevalier meets the noble gentry and gets down to the business of solving the mystery. Unfortunately, this happens pretty early in the first act. The primary love interest can't hold a candle to the secondary love interest, leaving the viewer seriously doubting the chevalier's judgment. The Big Villain is telegraphed so early that there's no surprise later on. The Creature, which works fine as long as it stays in the shadows, is so clearly a CGI creation that it yanked me right out of the movie; and The Evil Posse is completely ridiculous -- I pitied these people for being born 210 years too early for Thunderdome. They get a couple of big battles against the heroes and, though they give it their all, I couldn't help but think, "They're no Crazy 88s."

This movie needed a more ruthless editor. Slo-mo-ing a victim in mid-turn as she faces the Beast? Cut it. Some guy picking up a pitcher, pouring a beverage, quick-closeup on the beverage, then back to the guy? Cut it. Just tell me what he has to say. Long scene of the chevalier practicing his quick-draw, only to have him never call upon that skill later in the picture? Cut it. Long scenes designed to show off the mystic nature of the Indian dude? Cut it: let's get this picture moving!

As I said, I wanted to like BROTHERHOOD OF THE WOLF. Too bad - it could've been so much better.

Kill Bill, Vol. 1

I loved every frame of KILL BILL.

This movie has everything: fast swords, fast cars, and so many gallons of Kensington Gore that my audience laughed in awe, dismay, and bemusement at the sheer absurdity of the production.

Here's the story: Uma Thurman is a member of the Deadly Viper Assassination Squad (DiVAS), sort of a Fox Force Five gone horribly wrong. When, on her wedding day, the DiVAS strongly object to the union, Uma winds up single, angry, and out for revenge.

KILL BILL turns on three hinges: charisma, music, and fight choreography. I've never been an Uma Thurman fan before. I didn't really buy her in PULP FICTION, she helped (temporarily) kill the BATMAN franchise, and, frankly, I don't find her particularly attractive. But I'm an Uma Thurman fan now. Thurman owns every minute she's onscreen, and I never dreamed she had the athletic ability or the acting range she displays here. Lucy Liu was another revelation. Though she'd never sparked my interest before, her O-Ren Ishii is easily the coolest bad guy I've seen all year. Her character's unique management style makes DeNiro's Al Capone look like a cheap thug. Finally, there's Sonny Chiba in a role Mifune would've played had this movie been made 20 years back. Chiba, as the master swordsmith who gives Uma her blade, exudes a calm command that makes me want to see this guy in action.

Music has been a big part of all of Tarantino's movies, and this is no exception. KILL BILL's music is infectious, and by the time Tomoyasu Hotei's "Battle Without Honor or Humanity" came blaring out of the theater's speakers, I was literally bopping in my seat. I've only done that once before, and that was for the KILL BILL trailer. I'm buying a copy of this soundtrack.

In a movie like this, the fights are the big enchilada. KILL BILL doesn't let you down. The fights are brutal, visceral experiences that look like they hurt. A lot. Combatants get tired. When they're cut, they bleed. Done differently, these (really quite long) fights could be grueling experiences for the audience, but Tarantino goes so ridiculously over the top that, instead of flinching, we're dazzled. The film's biggest production number, the battle at the House of Blue Leaves, begins with a wink to MONTY PYTHON AND THE HOLY GRAIL that's so gratuitous you can't help but shake your head and laugh. In Tarantino's world, a 125-lb woman with the right katana can slice through bone as if it were butter. By the time the battle ends with an homage to Thomas Harris, you know you've gone so far over the top that you're on a different planet.

Some people don't dig the Tarantino vibe. That's cool. If, however, you can accept that there's an airline that'll allow you to bring your katana into the cabin with you, that the police wouldn't think to post a lookout for the world's most identifiable vehicle, or that the yakuza thinks that guns are for sissies, then this is the movie for you.

Batman Begins

BATMAN BEGINS in a nutshell:

End of Act 1: Wow! This is as good as big summer blockbusters get!

End of Act 2: Boy, they sure did hire a lot of great actors for supporting roles. Why did the process fail in the casting of Murphy and Holmes, who can't sell their roles? They're a negative, but I'm still enjoying the movie.

End of Act 3: Ugh; two solid thirds hurt by a final third that's just loud and ridiculous. And this movie could have been great.

Bits I liked, overall: Bale, Hauer, Caine, Freeman, Wilkinson, Oldman.
Bits I disliked, overall: Murphy, Holmes. The editing of the fight scenes (Why hire the Equilibrium guy if you aren't going to show us what he can do?). The downgrading of Sgt. Gordon to a goofball.

Verdict: Eh, it was ok.