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dir: Roman Polanski
Not The Penis, The Pianist
"Breathtaking!" "Stunning!" "A Masterpiece!" "Grunties!"

These words are used to describe everything from the most recent Jerry Bruckheimer film to the latest hemorrhoid creams on the market. Superlatives are such an integral part of the marketing hyperbole industry that the words have lost all meaning. Certainly their use, by anyone, especially film critics should be taken not with a grain of salt, but with a quantity of salt not exceeding that available in your average ocean.

That being said, when people you respect (for whatever reason, whether it be their professional credibility or the way they keep handing you lollies until you get into the car with them) start using words like that about a film, you prick up your ears. In this context, some of those words have been applied to The Pianist, and perhaps not without merit. The film has even been honoured at this year's Academy circlejerk, which, whilst not usually an indicator of anything more important than the fact that Hollywood is more insular and inbred than a hillbilly family from the Appalachian mountains (you know, Deliverance country), has for once potentially gotten it right.

dir: Niki Caro
Whales. Maoris. Hilarity ensues.
Whale Rider is certainly a touching, sweet film, but people shouldn’t make the mistake of thinking that it’s a children’s movie. It is a story of far greater complexity and depth than what one comes to expect from films that seem to be aimed at the kiddie market.

It’s clear, at least to me that there is much more going on here. As well, dismissing it as a glib post-feminist treatise about how wonderful girl power is would be doing the film a disservice, and would denigrate the work all the people involved put into crafting this little gem of a film. It is not a masterpiece by any estimation. It is however a sweet film about a little girl finding her destiny and teaching an old man that the links between the past, present and future can be strongest in the places we are least able to see.

You have to like a film where an old dog learns new tricks. Too often are we saddled with naïve, self-serving stories about old people whose wisdom and experience exist as a beacon, a lighthouse sanctuary for the young above the treacherous shoals of modern life. From that vantage point they can dish out little slices of pious non sequiturs to the thirsty ears of stupid young people and make audiences go “Awww” as if Forrest Gump’s in the house again. Personally I think it’s bullshit. I’ve known plenty of old people, and for each one that has experienced and tasted life, and actually is wise and able to transfer that wisdom to others, you have hundreds of the aged whose most profound thought is figuring out when to get their colostomy bag emptied. Anyone that’s worked in a hospital or in an old folk’s home knows exactly what I’m talking about.

But the old dog in this film, Koro (played superbly by Rawiri Paratene) is a genuinely wise and venerable elder. That wisdom and experience doesn’t prevent him from acting the stubborn old fool, however, until it’s almost too late to come back. Though gruff and sometimes nasty, at least for myself he never stopped being a sympathetic character. The reason is that his actions are motivated from a sense of the profound importance of his people’s heritage, the all-encompassing nature of the legends of his people, and the dissolution of that validity through two factors: a) the abandonment of the old ways in modern life and b), the lack of an heir to the heritage of their creator, Paikea, from whom the tribal leaders (mythically) descend from. And from whom our main characters descend as well.

dir: Yoji Yamada
Oh noble samurai, why must feudalism be so unfair for you and yours?
The Twilight Samurai is a deceptively simple, measured Japanese film about a low-ranked samurai with no ambitions in life apart from looking after his children and senile mother in peace and quiet. If every character aspiring to a life of peace and quiet ever got their wish from the start, these flicks would never get made.

Seibei Iguchi (Hiroyada Sanada) is the derisively-named Twilight Samurai, so named by his workmates because when dusk comes around and their daily labours end, instead of boozing and whoring it up with his colleagues, he scurries home in the increasing dark to see his daughters and mother. Seems like a strange thing to insult a guy over.

Seibei’s wife has recently died of consumption, which used to be the pretty way of saying tuberculosis. As such, he is flat out working and taking care of his remaining family, and doesn’t have the money or time to look after himself or fix up his clothes. In that light, he is unwashed and unkempt, and his kimonos are dirty and torn.

He is loyal to his clan, but plays no part in their interactions and machinations with / against the local Lord. He is of the lowest ranks of samurai, as measured by his miniscule stipend of 50 koku. I don’t know what a koku is. But it doesn’t sound like much.

The story is set in the late 1800s, before the old ways and structures were swept away by the new order. A people in decline who don’t even know it continue doing what they do every day until they no longer can.

Around Seibei’s clan there is stuff going on, but he isn’t privy to it and isn’t likely to play any part. He lives his life in as noble and quiet a way as possible. But, like all protagonists, he gets dragged into situations he has no control over.

A childhood friend, Tomoe (Rie Miyazawa), returns to her samurai brother’s home, and tries to rekindle her ‘friendship’ with Seibei by doing his laundry and helping out with his kids and mother. Nothing says love like cleaning and cooking, apparently, at least in feudal – Meiji era Japan. Personally I think nothing says love like someone giving you very enthusiastic head, but what do I know.

dir: Neil Jordan
Let's be all French and cool
Doing a remake of a classic by one of the renowned masters of the cinematic art form takes a lot of balls, or ovaries, as the case may be. Jean Pierre Melville is that master, and Bob le Flambeur is that classic. Of course from a commercial point of view few potential audience members are going to care, but the wizened ye olde film reviewers will stroke their beards and tut tut loudly if it doesn’t sufficiently honour or even surpass the original (which let’s face it never happens). I’m not one of those beard stroking pipe smoking crones, but it makes me sit up and take notice when someone has the gall to embark on this type of endeavour.

Audiences don’t care on the most part. Although if, as often gets bandied about like the Sword of Damocles, they decide to do an official remake of Casablanca starring some guy from a boy band as Rick and co-starring someone whose last name is Hilton as Elsa, you’re going to have ugly, angry mob riots on your hands. Theatres being burnt to the ground. Celebrities being hunted in the streets. Colourful language.

dir: Ron Shelton
Dark Blue Kurt
This film succeeds where Training Day dismally failed. Which is good, because it means that in peddling the same script twice David Ayer gets to double dip and earn twice the money that he deserves. But all the same, second time lucky, eh? This time they got it right. Or at least they got it more right than in the terribly overrated Denzel vehicle.

dir: Louis Leterrier
Is it my body odour knocking you guys out? I swear, my mom bought me deoderant
Again, I got suckered in by a goddamn tv commercial. I don't know how the marketing people keep doing it to me, but when it comes to sub-standard martial arts / gun-fu orientated films, they know just what to put in to get me interested, and there on opening day. I'm ashamed of myself.

This is a dumb film. Dumb as a box full of hammers. Dumber than a locker room full of football players. But is it big dumb fun?

The other thing that burns me about being suckered in by the trailer was the fact that there are scenes in the trailer that have been edited out of the film. And that there are obvious overdubs and cuts presumably to lower the MPAA rating as well, which is funny, though they never stooped so low as to do the "melonfarmer" substitute that I adore so much.

When the film works (which is for 30 minutes of its overall length), it's on fire. The fight scenes and various action scenes are well choreographed and Jason Statham looks suitably professionally hard when he is belting three shades of fuck out of the various bad guys. I need me some of the chewable steroids they've been feeding this guy, because he looks like a lean, corded, vicious machine. He also seems pretty good in the action sequences in terms of looking believable as a fighter.

I was almost going to say that this film represents a departure for Jason Statham in that he doesn't really get or need to display any acting chops in this dumb film, but then I remembered that his last four films have been dunderheaded action vehicles. He is obviously hoping to become a bit of an action icon, which
is all right by me. We need a new generation of steroid heads to replace aging icons like the odious Van Damme and the Austrian lunkhead Arnold. If Jason Statham be the man, then I don't mind, because he is a decent actor as it is, and would be able to carry the dramatic elements of a role as long as they weren't
written by a crack addicted monkey. Which in this case they apparently were.

dir: Peter Jackson
The Two Towers. It's about two towers, apparently
There's no disputing that this is a technically competent film. What is debatable is whether it stands as a decent film on its own, which is the litmus test for any and every film.

Why? Well, I just didn't enjoy the film that much. Admittedly I was wretchedly hungover at the time, but I've enjoyed plenty of other films in a similar if not worse state.

Maybe my expectations were too high. My expectations were high for the first one as well, but they were satisfied tenfold that time. This time, well, I wondered a bit why I should care, a feeling I certainly did not get from the book this is based on.

By any objective measure I can think of the film does not stand on its own. Viewers who haven't seen the first one and have never read the books wouldn't have a fucking clue what's going on. That's not necessarily a fatal flaw, in that we want filmmakers who ask their audiences to put a bit more work into their viewing experience and not have to spoonfeed the dullards. But in general I like to believe that even individual parts of a trilogy should be complete stories in and of themselves. This film goes on for three hours and then kind of just ends, leaving me in the audience thinking "And? So?"

The film is split into A, B and C stories. The same stories occur in books 3 and 4, but they do not happen simultaneously. I can't begrudge Jackson deciding to do it this way; it's his show. But the transitions between storylines felt pretty clumsy to me, and were somewhat annoying.

dir: Spike Jonze
Don and Charlie, flowerpot men
This is one of the best films from last year that practically no-one is going to bother seeing, I can just feel it. It probably has one of the least marketable premises of any film I can think of in recent memory, and doesn't exactly scream 'rollercoaster ride of thrills and spills' for your $13.50

It is still in my anything but humble opinion one of the best films of 2002, and Nicolas Cage manages to surprise me heartily by delivering two sterling performances, when I expected nothing from the man. Nothing at all. His last bunch of films have been dogs, so I had begun mourning the talent that Cage used to possess.
And what does the fucker do? He delivers his best performance in over a decade.

Don't you just hate that, when you've written someone off and then they come back with an incredible performance? There is something to be said for actors who can get back to playing an actual character in a film as opposed to playing minor variations on the same fucker they play in every film. In that case I shall be waiting with malice aforethought for Kevin Spacey, Samuel L Jackson, De Niro and Pacino to do something
new. I think you know what I mean. Cage is so good that I can almost forgive him for Windtalkers and Captain Corelli's Mandolin. Actually, I can't. The film version of Captain Corelli's Mandolin still makes
me so angry that I want to find director John Madden on the street one day and then proceed to beat him senseless with a copy of Louis De Bernieres' original book, which I know he never bothered to read.

dir: Roger Avary

I don't have an agenda in reviewing it favourably, and I am not that egotistical as to believe that my reviews affect people's viewing decisions. I can resolutely state that I probably got more enjoyment out of it than most people would, and probably forgive its amateurish errors more readily than I should.

dir: Philip Noyce
I wonder how that war ended up going...
Wait, there was a war in Vietnam? Why didn't anyone tell me about it? Was it a big war? And why has Hollywood ignored this potential goldmine? They should get that room with the thousand monkeys chained to their typewriters cracking right away.

I am sick to death of films relating to the Vietnam war. Thoroughly sick to fucking death. Sure, there's been plenty of wonderful and touching films about America's obsession with that little communist country (Full Metal Jacket, Deer Hunter, Apocalypse Now, Platoon, Hamburger Hill) and the apparent deep scar it has left on the national psyche, but I think it's been done more than enough. Give it a rest, people. Hell, I love a good war film as much as the next sociopath, but there's this point where a dead horse has been whipped so much that you haven't even got enough horse left to make gravy with.

In that case am I glad that this film, though it deals again with that country, is focused upon the lead up to
the 'war' as opposed to the war itself? Well, kinda.

The film focuses on the mid-fifties, a time when the communist North under the divine leadership of Ho Chi Minh and Jane Fonda is trying to kick the French out of Vietnam, which everyone else keeps calling Indochina, even though it's obviously neither Indian or Chinese. The US government, at this stage, as an extension of the post-WWII Marshall Plan and the idea of 'containing' communism, is very concerned with the goings-on in Vietnam, and seeks to help out the wonderful people of that fair country with 'aid' and medical services helpfully provided by the compassionate guys and gals from the CIA.

Now that set up is pretty much based on most versions of what happened. Graham Greene, the author of the book this film is based on wrote the story in the 50's, so he didn't know just how much more dire the situation was going to get, especially for the Vietnamese but for the United States as well. Obviously, as in other books of his he was critical of US foreign policy. On the eve of another war in a seemingly
insignificant little country, I personally can't imagine why.