Dreamgirls

Bill Condon's DREAMGIRLS had me smiling and tapping my foot almost from the opening credits. Here's a musical with infectious songs, interesting characters, and productioon values like you wouldn't believe. It looks great, it sounds great, and it feels great - what more could you ask for?

Here's the deal: DREAMGIRLS runs like a musical biopic about Barry Gordy, Diana Ross, and The Supremes. The film is enough like real life to add versimilitude, but it's different enough to (a) avoid litigation and (b) pump things up a little. And pump things up, it does. It uses its numbers to do so and, if they work for you, you're going to love this movie. Jennifer Hudson is revelatory, Beyonce Knowles is predictably fabulous, and Eddie Murphy managed to do something I didn't think possible - he broke my heart. If only Jamie Foxx had had a number of his own: his career-defining performance in RAY, it seems like a waste not to use him here.

You know what? I loved this movie. I loved the performances, the framing, the set design, the story, and the music. This, not CHICAGO, should be the template for the filmed musical. Now, if only I could get this theme song out of my mind.

The Phantom Menace

Back in 1999, I walked in to STAR WARS: EPISODE 4: THE PHANTOM MENACE with diminished, yet still living, expectations. I'd disliked the Special Editions of the original trilogy, but I thought that Lucas's vision might work better in an original film than it did in the reworks. I was wrong, and I loathed THE PHANTOM MENACE. Was that an honest evaluation, however, or was that the disappointment talking?

Well, I saw the PHANTOM MENACE again this weekend, and I think I can give the picture a fairer shake today.

It's one of the worst major motion pictures ever made.

So many things about this movie are wrong, it's hard to know where to begin. So, how about at the beginning? The opening crawl starts with, "Turmoil has engulfed the Galactic Republic. The taxation of trade routes to outlying star systems is in dispute." That may be a great kickoff for an episode of "The McLaughlin Group," but nothing about it says Adventure. Soon, we're in a road movie. Characters fly, walk, swim, scoot, and otherwise go here and there, and the whole proceedings have the immediacy of an f/x real from a picture still a year out from its release date.

Then, we get to Tattooine and things get really bad. Young Jake Lloyd, who plays Darth Child, is not up to the task. He's horribly bad, elementary-school-recital bad, and he makes his character wholly uninteresting. Not that he had much to work with: how does a movie get an audience to invest in a character that its members hope will wind up a greasy stain on a canyon wall?

And so it goes, until THE PHANTOM MENACE climaxes with a lukewarm rehash of STAR WARS's destruction of the death star that could only satisfy someone who's first SW film this is. It's ghastly, it's creatively bankrupt, and it isn't even entertaining.

But wait, there's more: that's not even the big finish. There's a coup de grace when some retainer in a silly costume delivers the payoff line to the big villain: "So much for your trade franchise, Viceroy!" We began with "The McLaughlin Group" and we end with "Wall Street Week." It's fitting.

When I settled down for THE PHANTOM MENACE, I thought my opinion had nowhwere to go but up. Boy, was I wrong. I used to dislike this movie. Now, I loathe it. What an utter waste of time and talent.

Son of Godzilla

I once wrote that I'm a sucker for father-son stories. "No matter how lame, no matter how schmaltzy," I wrote, "toss in some father/son bonding and you've got me."

I take it back.

"Son of Godzilla" is so brain-rendingly, time-stoppingly bad that all the father-son-giant-lizard bonding in the world can't redeem it. Here's the setup: there's this egg on this island populated by giant praying mantises and a Japanese research team. The mantises crack the egg and out pops baby Godzilla, the cutest little monster an androgynous giant city-stomper could hope for. Dad's a bit protective, of course, which leads to some issues with the mantises, a giant spider, and the unfortunate humans who keep getting underfoot. The effects are horrible, the story is ghastly, and the movie's so earnestly bad that it can't even redeem itself on camp value.

Give "Son of Godzilla" a pass. Trust me on this one.

War of the Worlds

Logic and science quibbles aside, WAR OF THE WORLDS is simply an unsatisfying movie. It's spectacular, yes, and I appreciate its decision to make its centerpiece the human drama of a family coming together. Problem is, I didn't have any investment in that drama. Tom Cruise gave me no reason to root for him instead of the guy next to him; Dakota Fanning is a disturbing little childbot; and the guy who plays the son needs a good swift kick in the ass.

I couldn't help but compare this movie to SIGNS, a picture with a similar premise and much less spectacle. SIGNS, I think, was much more effective in its portrayal of a family under pressure, and I was right there with Mel Gibson every step of the way.

Chances are, I'll never sit down for another screening of WAR OF THE WORLDS. I would, however, be happy to spend some more time with the people from SIGNS.

The Last King of Scotland

When callow Americans need to grow up, they buy a backpack and hustle off to Europe. When callow Scotsmen need to grow up, they go anywhere but Canada.

In THE LAST KING OF SCOTLAND, callow Scotsman Nicholas Garrigan heads off to Uganda in search of mission, meaning, and adventure. Apparently, he doesn't bother to read the paper first, because Uganda is a nation in turmoil. He has barely arrived when General Idi Amin Dada takes power in a bloody coup and, before he knows it, he's treating the General for an injury incurred near the medical mission at which Garrigan works (alongside a fetching Gillian Anderson). Amin takes a shine to Garrigan, invites him down to the capitol to offer him a job, and Garrigan's off and running in the adventure of a lifetime. Of course, if he only bothered to read the paper, he might have second thoughts. But he doesn't.

Garrigan's willful stupidity could sink THE LAST KING OF SCOTLAND, but we can understand it, at least at first, as the film introduces us to Forest Whitaker's Idi Amin. Amin is charismatic, exciting - he's a doer, and he offers privilege and adventure beyond Garrigan's wildest fantasies. But we know things Garrigan doesn't know and, as Amin's facade slowly crumbles to reveal the monster beneath, we come to fear not only for Garrigan and the rest of the General's inner circle, but for Uganda itself. Amin is so evil, so controlled, so utterly without boundaries that, by the end, we have no idea where he'll stop. It's captivating stuff, and it rests on the shoulders of Forest Whitaker as Amin. Fortunately, Whitaker delivers his best work since GHOST DOG: WAY OF THE SAMURAI. He's human and alien, the kind of man another man could follow and the kind of man another man could kill. Whenever he's on screen, there's a palpable tension in the air; and he never releases it, even in moments of levity.

THE LAST KING OF SCOTLAND does a masterful job of portraying its time and place. I believed in the Uganda it showed me, and I believed in the people I met there. More importantly, this movie wrapped me up in knots for nearly two hours. It was terrific stuff.

Volver

What's not to love about VOLVER? It's funny, it's sad, and it features utterly fascinating characters involved in compelling situations. Cruz, an actress who hadn't interested me before this film, comes alive here: she is so dynamic, so fascinating, so jaw-droppingly beautiful, that she manages to keep us completely on her side even as her character does things that a lesser actress would have us condemning.

The movie isn't just a showpiece for Cruz, however. Lola Dueñas, one of the best things about Almodóvar's TALK TO HER, goes from brittle to hapless to joyful and sells us on every step along the way. The movie looks great, with a colorful, lively palette that underscores the celebration of life that begins with the very first frame. The relationships feel right, the people wholly fleshed out. While viewing this film, I felt like I was a part of these people's lives, and I didn't want the lights to come up. I liked these people, I cared about them, and I want to see what happens next.

With VOLVER, Almodóvar knocks yet another one out of the park. This guy is one of the finest filmmakers working today.

El Dorado

John Wayne. Robert Mitchum. James Cann. Howard Hawks in the director's chair. EL DORADO has so much testosterone, I'm growing hair on my knuckles just typing this.

EL DORADO is the second of Hawks' and Wayne's three varations on the same story, told also in RIO BRAVO and RIO LOBO. In this iteration, John Wayne's a hired gun come to town to sell his services to one Ed Asner, a rancher involved in a local range war. Robert Mitchum's the sheriff and trusted friend who warns Wayne that he's signing up with the wrong side. Western Stuff ensues.

The problem with John Wayne movies is that the actor often blows his coworkers off the screen. In Robert Mitchum, Hawks found a man that could hold his own with Wayne, one that audiences can believe isn't just his friend but his peer. The casting choice adds that much more punch to the unexpected and delightful tonal shift that marks the beginning of the second act. I'd never seen Mitchum do slapstick before, and I'd never have guessed that the man had the power to make me laugh out loud. The impossibly young James Cann acquits himself well in the heartthrob role, getting in enough of moments of genuine toughness to show us what the film's grizzled vets may have seen in this greenhorn. As for the rest of the cast, well, they're just fine: Asner snarls, Christopher George is a principled competing gunman, and Michele Carey defies gravity as the courageous daughter of the good-guy rancher.

I noticed that Edith Head designed the costumes for this picture, by the way. I suspect she had loads of fun because while these people wear clothes that'd never work in the real West, they sure look great.

I've been in the mood for a solid western for some time now. EL DORADO filled the bill.

Spider-Man 3

Last weekend, I took my family to see SPIDER-MAN 3. Judging by the difference in our reactions, I saw a totally different movie than they did. In fact, judging by the fact that I was often the only one laughing in the theater, I saw a totally different movie than everyone else in the theater.

That's ok. I loved the movie I saw.

SPIDER-MAN 3's opening credits give us a quick recap of the previous two movies, and before you know it we're right in the middle of the action. Things are going pretty well for Peter/Spidey. He's managing a good work/life balance, he makes time to attend Mary Jane's big Broadway premier, and he's happy as a beloved New York icon. But wouldn't you know, as in most two-career relationships, one partner's career starts falling behind. Before you know it, Peter's life is filled with animosity, jealousy, and guyscara. This is not good.

Speaking of things that are not good, Harry Osbourne is all Goblined out and ready for revenge; that guy from SIDEWAYS has been working out and he's mad as hell; and there's this new photographer at the Bugle who isn't above a little photoshopping if it'll help to make the perfect shot. Oh, and now Peter has to cope with a new black tar habit, to boot.

So, there's your drama. But director Sam Raimi isn't just about the drama: SM3 is laced with comedy that runs from the subtle dig to the broad John Cleese impression (I swear to God, I was waiting for Bruce Campbell to offer Peter a wafer-thin mint.) to the full-on SATURDAY NIGHT FEVER parody. Additionally, SM3's action set-pieces manage both beauty and excitement. Mix in a nice moral, solid work in even the smaller supporting roles, and you have a recipe for big-ticket, blockbuster fun.

SPIDER-MAN 3 is just the thing for a summer afternoon, even if you are the only one laughing in the theater. The more I think about it, the more I like it.

Godzilla Raids Again

The first of the GODZILLA sequels, GODZILLA RAIDS AGAIN sheds its predecessor's sense of horror with gaining its successors' sense of fun. It's a long, dull, slog of a movie about your standard group of pals who must band together to - oh, never mind. The folks who made this movie clearly didn't give itself much thought. Why should I?

GRA (Now, there's a title!) features Godzilla's battle with Anguirus, a giant cross between an armadillo and a porcupine, and Takashi Shimura shows up to fulfill his contractual obligations, and that's about all the movie has going for it. When the best part of your movie is the flashback to its predecessor, you're in big trouble.

It's a wonder GODZILLA RAIDS AGAIN didn't sink the franchise.

The Legend of 1900

Guiseppe Tornatore's THE LEGEND OF 1900 functions as a fine showcase for the compositions of Ennio Morricone. Since the filmed fable offers little in the way of drama or compelling characterization, however, it became a showcase that failed to attract much attention. Too bad - Morricone's music is out of this world.

The titular 1900, played by Tim Roth, was born on an ocean liner, left on top of a piano, and taken in by the crew. He grows up on that ship, develops into a piano virtuoso, and even defeats Jelly Roll Morton in a jazz duel there. But he never leaves, he never matures beyond manchild stage, and he becomes uninteresting after a while. When you protagonist is delivering his climactic monologue and your audience is thinking, "Oh, get on with it, already," you have a problem.

I'd have advised you to skip the movie and listen to the soundtrack, but a little digging has shown that the U.S. release is missing two of the most compelling pieces in the score: "Magic Waltz" (the cure for seasickness) and "Enduring Movement" (the number that defeated Jelly Roll Morton). Apparently, they're available in the Italian version, so I'll be sure to look for it the next time I'm in an Italian record store. Morricone's work here is just plain beautiful - unfortunately, I lack the music vocabulary to give you much more than that.

If only it had enjoyed a better showcase.

Joint Security Area

Chan Wook-Park's JOINT SECURITY AREA is a noble, and reasonably successful, attempt to grapple with issues of power, warfare, and common humanity. It doesn't say anything new or particularly startling about the human condition, but it does a fine job of capturing its time, place, and people. For a movie billed as an action thriller, this is a pleasant surprise.

Here's the setup: a Swiss major of Korean ancestry (and a Korean accent, but watcha gonna do?) reports for duty at the Joint Security Area, the zone in Panmunjong that's run by Switzerland and Sweden and serves as a meeting point and negotiating center for the Koreas. There's been a border skirmish that could get ugly, as the South accuses the North of having kidnapped one of its men and the North accuses the South of violating its territory. There's an injured South Korean sergeant who was either a victim or provocateur, there's a Northern sergeant who was either a victim or provocateur, and there's a guardpost full of dead communists. This being Korea, everyone's hewing to their respective party lines. What happened? Who was to blame? Can the major avert a war?

JOINT SECURITY AREA proceeds along the lines of an investigative thriller, building tension in anticipation of the inevitable skirmish as it meditates on the nature of nationalism, friendship, and human nature. We get to know both sergeants, we get to like them, and we come to mourn the requirements of patriotism and power. JSA puts us in that guardpost and it breaks our hearts. Not bad for an action thriller.

Sky High

I enjoyed the heck out of SKY HIGH.

SKY HIGH's hero is one Will Stronghold, a young man born of superhero parents whose power, it seems, is his ability to look just like an adolescent Scott Bakula. It's Will's first day of superhero high school, and he hasn't yet manifested powers cool enough to elevate him above "sidekick." That's the least of his problems, however. He has to make friends; find his way; handle a new enemy; and choose between the unbelievably hot Gwen, a sexually aggressive girl with super-techno powers, and Layla, the reasonably attractive childhood friend who's good with plants. Hmm, tough call: do you go with the knockout who builds cool gadgets and wants to jump your bones, or the proto-hippie who can, uhh, grow fruit? My answer: I went to the wrong high school.

One of SKY HIGH's pleasures is its cast. From a perfectly cast Kurt Russell as Pa Stronghold/The Commander to Kelly Preston, Cloris Leachman, Bruce Campbell, Kevin Heffernan, and Lynda Carter, this movie can afford to coast by on goodwill alone. It doesn't, whoever, boasting instead a clever script, excellent effects, and a pleasing, consistent palette.

Did I love SKY HIGH? No, I can't say that I did. The heavier stuff tends to exercise a firmer hold on my imagination. Did the movie make for an enjoyable family evening gathered around the enormovision? Absolutely. SKY HIGH is worth the rental.

Children of Men

Ahh, the Sixties. The dope was great, the people were groovy, the music had a conscience, and everything would have been all right, man, if only the fascist pigs hadn't screwed it all up. CHILDREN OF MEN, supposedly a science fiction movie, is the most backward-looking film I've seen in a long time.

In the world of the future, the conservatives won. They had their wars, they polluted their planet, and they blew it. Now, Mother Nature is exacting her revenge by wiping out the human race through the infertility of its women, and the only thing standing between us and human extinction is a sold-out ex-yippie; an idealistic hippie; and the personification of Earthly fecundity, a pregnant young African woman named, obviously enough, Kee. In the world of the present, the bores won.

What is it about the '60s countercultural movement that so captures the creative imagination of generations too young to remember it? Director Alfonso Cuarón was born in Mexico City in 1961, so he wasn't even around for the really good stuff. Nevertheless, the film's moral center (played by an always-engaging Michael Caine) is a guy for whom time stopped in 1969. He grows his weed, he listens to his Beatles records, and he cares for his invalid wife (crushed under the boot of The Man, of course) in an eco-friendly home that's safely tucked away from the horrors of the outside world. Here's the thing, however: if the movie's set in 2027 and the Caine character is 74 years old, that means that he has dedicated his life to a world that moved along when he was twenty years old. It's as if I decided to dedicate my life to the Reagan '80s and moved my family to a country house where I could revel in supply-side economics and Devo music 'til the end of my days. It's crazy. It doesn't make sense. In the world of CHILDREN OF MEN, it's about the best possible thing a man can do.

Anachronistic ideology aside, CHILDREN OF MEN is a decent chase thriller with the requisite twists and set pieces. Though it criminally misuses Chiwetel Ejiofor in the Sean Bean role and its denoument clunks like the shed chains of the Liberated, it does have some magnficent bits and it does move along. Now if we could just get a science fiction movie set in the future.

Faraway, So Close!

FAR AWAY, SO CLOSE!, the unnecessary sequel to the superlative WINGS OF DESIRE, has two special treats that make it worth the viewing: it tells us whatever happened to WINGS' Damiel and Marion, and it gives us Willem Dafoe as one of cinema's best demons. WINGS fans will be delighted to find Damiel and Marion happily married, very much in love, and the parents of an adored daughter who's developing gymnastics skills of her own. That's sweet, and I'm a sucker for sweet, but Dafoe's performance here is what really brings the goods home.

Here's the setup: Cassiel the Angel is feeling the angst. Growing tired of watching, he's ready to put his hand in the mix. When events conspire to push him into making an abrupt choice, he does the right thing and sheds his angelic nature so that he may walk among the humans. I was ready for a different take on assimilation into a foreign world, but the film's actually a little disappointing, here. Cassiel has an innocence that strikes me as ridiculous, and while his adventures culminate in an appropriate and satisfying way, I was much more interested in Dafoe's demon.

The character is never clearly identified as a demon, but he has the ability to shift between the angelic and the mundane world, which makes him neither angel nor human. I doubt that he's the Devil, though he could be, because I get the sense that Wenders' major theological antagonists are somehow more cosmic than the angels he's shown us thus far. That the character is Satanic in the Hebraic sense of the word, I have no doubt: he describes himself not as merciless, but as pitiless: a prosecutor who will pursue and aggravate every flaw; who will create temptations and then pass judgement when men succumb. And Dafoe, cinema's finest Christ, plays him just right. He's seductive, friendly, and mean. He's brutally harsh, engaged yet calculating, and he neither expects nor gives quarter.

That's why I don't understand the climax. Why does he do what he does, and what does that mean about his relationship with Cassiel and Raphaela (Cassiel's angelic friend)? And speaking of the climax, where did that minor villain come from?

I think the answers may be found on an editing room floor somewhere, but you know what? It doesn't really matter. In ten years, I'm not going to remember FAR AWAY, SO CLOSE!'s plot points. I am, however, going to remember that Dafoe performance. What an actor.

Rocky III

You know the difference between a good friend and a great friend? A good friend gives you all the ROCKY movies for your birthday; a great friend gives you all the ROCKY movies, minus ROCKY V, for your birthday.

ROCKY III has a great beginning: we start with the opening bars of the Bill Conti anthem, then segue into "Eye of the Tiger" for the opening montage that tells us what Rocky's been up to. "Eye of the Tiger" is perfect for dancing with a baby, and it's so catchy that my older boy has been making, "Dvvt. Dvvvvt dvvvvt dvvt." noises for the last three days. ROCKY III is slicker than the two previous entries in the franchise, and this works as a reflection of Rocky's new, slicker life. He's on the covers of magazines. He has a custom tailor and a nice house. He looks like a body builder and not a power lifter. He thinks he has it all together, but Mickey knows better: he's lost his hunger.

Enter Mister T as Clubber Lang, easily the best of Rocky's opponents. He's dedicated, he's tough, he's mean, and he gives the greatest pre-fight interview imaginable:
"What's your prediction for the fight?"
"My prediction?"
"Yes, your prediction."
(Looks into camera)
"Paaaaiiiiinnnnnn!"
Man, I had to rewind that twice.

The film takes us through a crisis of confidence, a training montage that is absolutely out of this world, and an extraordinarily well-choreographed final bout that's a masterpiece of choreography, cinematography, editing, and sound design. If real boxing was half as exciting as a ROCKY movie, I'd watch it all the time.

Murderball

MURDERBALL wants to have it both ways. It demands that we see its subjects as regular guys, not quadriplegics, but it has a problem: most of these guys are assholes. In trying to overcome this handicap, it goes with shameless heartstring-pulling, an emotional manipulation dependent on the fact that no, these guys aren't regular at all, but courageous quadriplegics. Which is it, gang?

It's a standard documentary formula, and it worked for RIZE: find a subculture, select some sympathetic members of that subculture, and show how the subculture has helped them overcome their handicaps. This subculture happens to be the one of elite wheelchair rugby, a bone-jarring, highly competitive full contact sport. Its sympathetic members include Mark Zurpan, a dominant player for Team USA, and Joe Soares, the coach of archrival Canada. They hate each other and I didn't much like either of them. They're both louts, though Soares does develop over the course of the film. Unfortunately, these principles, as well as other team members, refuse to discuss how their subculture has helped them: they're too busy pouring their hearts into it to leave much room for reflection.

So what we're left with, really, is a documentary about a couple of seasons in the life of a rugby team. That would be fine, but the filmmakers don't have enough faith in that story to run with it and really sell their point. Instead, they spend significant time with a recently injured quadriplegic man who for whom wheelchair rugby might be a reason to live. They end with the team's visit to Walter Reed Army Medical Center, where they introduce the sport to wounded soldiers just back from the war. These detours are emotionally engaging, but they focus our attention on these guys' handicaps, rather than their athleticism.

MURDERBALL wants to be a sports documentary. MURDERBALL wants to be a documentary about quadriplegics overcoming their handicaps. MURDERBALL doesn't have the courage to be either, or both. Given the material, MURDERBALL could have been great. Too bad its lack of courage stops it in its tracks.

The Polar Express

The ads and trailers for THE POLAR EXPRESS did not capture my imagination. In fact, they looked a little creepy, and I was all too happy to wave off. My loss.

THE POLAR EXPRESS is an excellent movie. It's visually stunning, with the kind of roller-coaster events that heighten its sense of adventure, and its audio presentation is absolutely top-notch, with a number of scenes that put the viewer right in the middle of things. Further, the movie has something that's rare in children's shows: a palpable sense of danger, that things could go very, very wrong. This is important, because it's all to common for movies to trumpet the importance of courage without presenting their children with any real dangers.

THE POLAR EXPRESS does have a downside, however. I was quite happy with my DLP enormovision right up until I saw the movie on a relative's Sony DLP/LCD hybrid TV. Calibration disk, here I come!

Rififi

Tony le Stephanois (Jean Servais) has problems. He's old, he's tired, his girl left him while he was in prison, and he sucks at poker. When his protege suggests a smash-n-grab at a local jewelry store as an easy way to make a few bucks, things seem as bad as they can be. He's a serious jewel thief, for pete's sake! Is he going to allow himself to be reduced to smalltime crook? Oubliez lui! le Stephanois has a better idea. Rather than waste his time on a smash-n-grab, he plans a serious heist of the most secure jeweler in town. Thus, we're all set up for one of the best heist pictures ever.

RIFIFI is the grandfather of the heist genre, a wonderful high noir look at the criminal world and its denizens. There's been plenty written on it, and there are folks right here on this list who are well qualified to discuss its historic significance. I'll leave that aside and say that RIFIFI is a just plain terrific movie. Servais has a face that looks like it's been lived in, and he does a fine job of keeping us engaged in a character that is, almost any way we look at it, a very bad man. The supporting cast is equally wonderful, taking now-stock characters like "top safecracker" and imbuing them with life and individuality. The heist itself, a sequence around thirty minutes long, takes place without a word of dialogue or a note of scoring support and reminds us just how effective silence can be. This is edge-of-your-seat stuff, very well executed, and a flat-out great time at the movies. I'm glad I rented it.

A Scanner Darkly

I didn't read the book, and I'm not much of a Keanu fan, but I rented A SCANNER DARKLY because I respect Linklater and I wanted to see rotoscoping in action.

I now have no desire to read the book, I'm still still not much of a Keanu fan, and I think rotoscoping is pretty cool. So, there's that.

See, here's the problem: A SCANNER DARKLY tells the story of a bunch of people I don't care about, living in conditions I don't care to visit even in my imagination, behaving with varying degrees of despicability. The rotoscoping process makes the proceedings more interesting and gives Linklater the ability to create characters and make visuals pop in a way live action can't, but I couldn't get around the fact that I didn't want to be around these people.

I still do respect Linklater, however. He's doing difficult, innovative things with his medium. Clearly, these characters and situations spoke to him in some way. Had they done the same for me, I might have enjoyed the ride.

The Taking of Pelham One Two Three

Some bad guys have hijacked a New York City subway train, but there's one thing they don't count on - there's an undercover member of the NYPD on board.

Then again, this is the mid '70s, so maybe that's not much of a problem.

Here's the other thing they don't count on - schlubby, reliable Walter Matthau, the Transit Police Detective who happens to be on shift in the control room that day. That is a problem, because Matthau, in his low key way, keeps his head while those about him are losing theirs.

So begins THE TAKING OF PELHAM ONE TWO THREE, a thriller that appears to be mostly about people sitting around and talking. It's really about the fog of war, that gap between reality and knowledge, in which everyone must work in a crisis. The criminals, led by the imposing Robert Shaw, seek to exploit the fog, even to induce some, as part of their plan to make a great deal of money in a short amount of time. The authorities, led by Matthau in a striking example of situational
leadership and authority (He isn't the highest ranking guy involved in the situation, but he's the guy everyone defers to because he's the most capable.), spend most of their time playing catch up and trying to coordinate their response. It's great stuff.

The film's takes a workmanlike approach to casting both cops and criminals. On the side of the good guys we have Matthau, Jerry Stiller, and Dick O'Neill; on the bad, the aforementionted Shaw, Hector Elizondo, Martin Balsam. These are reliable, decidedly un-flashy actors know how to deliver. In that respect, they're like their one-liner-free-characters: they're more worried about getting the job done than looking pretty doing it. The approach, which is mirrored in TAKING's overall look and feel, works because we feel we're watching real people doing things that could happen in the real world. In a movie about the fog of war, that realism makes all the difference in selling the picture.

Joe Sargent, who recently made the wonderful SOMETHING THE LORD MADE for HBO, directs the hell out of this movie, which is tightly paced, well crafted, and pretty much seamless. THE TAKING OF PELHAM ONE TWO THREE is a winner.