Last Minority Retort
Movies from seen in mid 2002
Originally written: August 2002
Minority Report
Charlotte Grey
Last Orders
Bend It Like Beckham
Importance of Being Earnest
Heist
Spiderman
Men in Black 2
Enigma
Spy Kids
The Gift
Amelie
Dune (mini-series)
Uni holidays and somewhat better movies have led to more cinema going experiences, supplemented by some catching up with videos.
I am about to utter a sentence I never thought I would be forced to write: Stephen Spielberg has managed to direct a good and consistent SF/fantasy movie, and sustain it (almost) to the last drop. Minority Report is damned good SF and even better movie-making. Several eons ago, I wrote a piece for one of my various fanzines (WAHF-full probably) arguing that Spielberg's fantasy movies all laid down a strong foundation but collapsed in the second half, which failed to sustain the logic inherent in the beginning. (I also noted this in respect of AI.) Well, Minority Report has confounded this analysis and demonstrated, once again, the value of a good script form an experienced writer. Based on a PKDick short story, Minority Report is credited to Scott Frank and Jon Cohen. This is the latter's first writing credit (and it may be a pseudoplume), but Frank is a good and experienced hand in film noir/crime writing, his scripts including Get Shorty and Out of Sight, the two best Elmore Leonard adaptations of recent times.
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Minority Report concerns itself with a police unit in Washington which, based on predictions from a trinity of pre-cognitives, arrests murderers before they commit the crime. The unit is headed by Burgess (Max von Sydow) and run by Chief John Anderton (Tom Cruise). An early case, involving a jealous husband, and the presence of an investigator (Colin Farrell) from the federal government (which is considering the use of the pre-crime system nationally), is used to take us through the workings of the system and introduce us to the main characters. The film's central narrative starts when Anderton is fingered as a potential murderer and needs to escape his colleagues while trying to prove his innocence. He believes he's being set up which means that there's dirty work afoot within the pre-crime unit. Spielberg's primary achievement is the successful marrying of this traditional film noir trope, man on the run trying to prove his innocence, set against a truly imaginative backdrop, the world fifty years in our future.
Here it is apposite to move sideways, into a discourse on the Cath McDonnell theory of SF movies. She argues that, at least since Blade Runner, the primary feel of SF movies has been dark. Blade Runner, set in a bleak dystopian future, has been the template on which subsequent futures have been based. It has been rarein the last twenty years, she argues, for technically-based futures in films to be other than dark. But Spielberg and art director Alex McDowell have departed from the norm: their future Washington is not the bleak canyoned metropolis of Ridley Scott's LA or Tim Burton's Gotham but an open and light world, even among the high density buildings. The workings of the future world are equally well-realised: the strange road systems that move in verticals, as well as horizontals; the design of cars and houses (and the integration of the two); the giant computer screens and the interactive gloves that enable them to be manipulated; the energy weapons; the flying SWAT cars that deliver the police to their destination; and, particularly, the iris-scan technology, used not only for law enforcement but for personalised advertising within the city. In respect of the latter, this is one movie where the product placement is incessant but incredibly well integrated into the story. I had some troubles with the jerkiness of some of the CGI shots, particularly in the chase sequence, and it may be that, like Attack of the Clones, Minority Report's effects were designed more for the digital product than for the screen. Leaving aside that quibble, Minority Report gets the look and feel well and it becomes part of the narrative and character development, not just effects for their own sake (as those in Clones and Spiderman appear too frequently to be).
The acting is good as well, despite the casting of Cruise, an actor with whom I have no empathy. Anderton is a potentially interesting character: he is motivated by the disappearance and presumed death some years earlier of his young son. This has led to the disintegration of his marriage and, by and large, his private life, wherein he resorts to illegal artificial stimulants to add some spice to his existence when his sole satisfactions come from his work. But Cruise is basically a one-trick pony and here it is a level of sustained anger that becomes the only level for his performance. Nonetheless, in this role, he does reasonably and that's the level of my faint praise. He is assisted by several stand-out performances. The best (and award-winning material it is) is by Samantha Morton as one of the pre-cogs, Agatha (as in Christie, you know; the other pre-cogs are Dashiell and Arthur, even though, as they are twins, Dashiell and Raymond would have made more sense). I particularly liked her scene with Cruise in the mall, where her character's abilities are used to evade capture in a way that is both witty and well-choreographed. Tim Blake Nelson (last seen to effect in O Brother Where Art Thou), Peter Stomare (one of Fargo's killers) and Steve Harris (an alumnus from The Practice) all have good and effective cameos. Farrell and von Sydow also do well in their contrasting roles. Having built me up, I really expected Spielberg (as usual) to let me down in the end. I have some minor quibbles with the logic of the climax but it is in keeping with, and arises with some logic from, the earlier plot developments. For those familiar with the modes of film noir, and mystery fiction generally, there is no great surprise in the whodunnit or the twist ending. My first thought was that I would have preferred the movie to have ended earlier (note: possible plot spoiler coming up) with Anderton's arrest and incarceration but, on reflection, I understand the logic of Spielberg's additions, carrying the narrative through to a different, and equally effective, climax. But, Spielberg being Spielberg, there is still an anti-climax (albeit briefer than normal) to re-assure the audience that the boy hasn't lost his touch for schmaltz at the end of his films.
This is undoubtedly the best film of 2002 so far and the best pure SF movie in yonks. At the 2002 National SF Convention, on the film panel, we argued whether SF film is more a visual medium or a medium of ideas. Here is an SF movie which manages to be both and works viscerally as well as intellectually. Which leaves only one real whinge: the title. It derives from a plot McGuffin which Anderton pursues throughout the film as he tries to prove his innocence but, in the end, like all genuine McGuffins, is a completely irrelevant issue. You'll have to see the movie to understand this.
Resistance is futile
It may be those penetrating blue eyes that betray depth and intelligence or those cheek-bones that seem to create unbelievable angles in the face or sincerity of her delivery or the simple fact that camera appears to caress her while filming her, but for whatever reason, Cate Blanchett is the current epitome of great acting in movies and she lifts whatever vehicle she's in to great heights. That she (with the assistance of Michael Gambon and Billy Crudup) transforms a fairly ordinary script about the WW2 French Resistance to movie credibility in Charlotte Gray speaks volumes for her ability, and something for the directing style of Gillian Armstrong.
In recent years, Blanchett has essayed a wide variety of roles, with a great range of accents, from her native Australian, through various iterations of regional America, to the Russian emigre in The Man Who Cried and the various British accents in Elizabeth and The Ideal Husband, among others. Her Charlotte Grey is armed with a Scots burr which she maintains throughout (even when speaking what is supposed to be fluent French). Again the performance is pitch perfect but, unlike Streep, there is no indication of the gears working beneath the face. She is just Charlotte, at times being Dominique. She is an office worker recruited into British Intelligence because of her experience and expertise in French and trained to be a courier. She accepts an assignment in the hope of helping her lover, an RAF pilot, who has been shot down over France. Instead she becomes involved in a intricate plot involving a small (Communist) Resistance cell, a couple of French-Jewish children, and the estranged father of the cell's leader. There are the expected twists and turns: the Vichy collaborators, the snarling Nazis, the rounding up and deportation of Jews, betrayals, ambushes, death and disillusion. None of this is too surprising but the best thing is that the script does not try and dot every 't' and explain every action. In the end Charlotte, and we the audience, is no more aware of who betrays the cell, and why, than she was at the time, allowing for the hints she's given and the implications of some of the action. The actors give it a depth and emotion greater than the material with which they are working. Gambon, as the older man, is particularly effective while Crudup, last seen in Almost Famous, almost matches his co-stars.
The movie is let down by having not one, but two anti-climaxes, which americanise the ending unnecessarily. Despite this, Blanchett's skilful portrayal and the sympathy elicited for the point of view character carry the movie through the limitations created by the material. It becomes, in her hands and of those of her director, a more than acceptable war movie which is adult in feel and ideas, which places it well ahead of most of the mindless rubbish that is purveyed as modern movies during the American summer (and our winter of movie discontent).
One more for the road
Fred Schepisi's Last Orders is good British adaptation of a major literary work even though the writer-director is an Australian (he's been largely an expatriate for the last twenty years). Here he adapts Graham Swift's novel about a group of mates taking their friend's ashes to the seaside. But this central narrative, interesting as it is in shining some light on the various personalities, is a shell against which are a series of flashbacks provide the back story about these men and their families. The central character, the one who held the group together, is Jack whose ashes are being transported. Played by Michael Caine, Jack is a butcher, married to Amy (Helen Mirren). Central to his character is his refusal to recognise the existence of their retarded daughter and the fact that his son (Ray Winstone) won't join him in running the butchery. His three mates are Ray (Bob Hosking), the out-going punter who loses his wife and daughter, Vic (Tom Courtenay), a self-contained undertaker, and Lenny (David Hemmings), a failed boxer who makes his living from a fruit barrow. Each of the characters is also played as a wartime youngster by another actor (in Hemmings' case, by his son).
What is most gratifying about Last Orders is the brilliance of the screenplay. Schepisi early on wrote his own scenarios but has of more recent times used scripts written by others. Here he reverts to the metier he used so well in adapting Thomas Kenneally's novels about Catholic schools and Indigenous-white relations. The plot is one of the onion-type: various layers of the characters' interactions are revealed as the trip to Margate continues. Interestingly, many of the layers are foreshadowed by comments and hints made by characters, which are not explained until much later in the story. There are some expected twists and a few unexpected ones and each has the effect of illuminating aspects of the characters and their relationships.
Many of the actors have been together before, Caine and Hoskins in Sweet Liberty and in Mona Lisa; Hoskins and Mirren in The Long Good Friday. And Hemmings (Blow Up) and Courtenay (Loneliness of a Long Distance Runner and, much later, The Dresser) are two of the stars from the sixties who have made few major movies since. And all are as good as you would expect. Former pretty boy Hemmings has become an interesting character actor (as shown in Spy Game and Gladiator, among others) and is here given a much meatier role, which he relishes. But it is Hoskins and Mirren who steal the film, particularly in their scenes together. Their relationship with each other and their individual relationships with Caine's character form the central core of the story.
This is at times a funny movie but it is, ultimately, a touching and romantic exploration of friendship, mateship and loss. Schepisi keeps the story moving and does not dwell on the maudlin nor overly sentimentalise his characters. Another good adult movie for those who want something more than slam-bang actioners.
Curly as Kewell
Just about the only edible restaurant food in England the last time I was there was Indian. Despite the occasional 'race riot' in northern England, the addition of a sub-continental culture into the British monoculture has been one of the few successful moves in the Old Dart towards a more multicultural society. And now there is a definite incursion of the same cultural influences into the British cinema: exhibit A, Bend it Like Beckham, being a nicely-crafted sports-coming-of-age film set largely in the Anglo-Indian community near Heathrow. The creative talent here is Gurinder Chadra, whose family roots comes from India, via Kenya, and who has, in two previous movies, shown a talent for the humorous and the strange.
This is a little more mainstream, although not without its frisson of weirdness. Jesminda ("Jess") is a late teenage Anglo-Indian girl with a talent for football which she has only exercised in muck around games in the park. But in her imagination she is playing alongside her eponymous hero, David Beckham, probably the most prodigiously talented of England's footballers. The family is in conniptions because her elder sister has recently got engaged but Jess' life is made by a meeting with Jules, an Anglo who plays on the local girls' football team, coached by Joe, an Irish lad barely old enough to have sustained a career-ending leg injury. The narrative is reasonably straight-forward, involving a love triangle, as both girls lust for Joe, deception of parents and parental inability to understand what their daughters' want. The story skips along at a merry rate, with many an expected plot twist and a few fey ones, but is sustained largely by the personableness of the unknown actors playing the main threesome and the excellence of those portraying Jess' dad (Anupam Kher) and Jules' mum (Juliet Stevenson).
My main concern is with the multiplicity of endings. Having reached the natural climax, Chadra adds a second, which is reasonable, and a third, which is barely OK. The fourth definitely reeks of anti-climax, although not quite in the Spielbergian league. Nonetheless, Bend it Like Beckham is a fun romp that adds very little to our knowledge of the human universe but does divert us more than somewhat. It adds another film to the small but growing list of good sports films and demonstrates again (as do the two previous films, even though both were directed by Australians) that British film is going through a fecund period as it discovers new roots and tropes that defy the hollywoodisation of its industry.
To lose one male lead is unfortunate ...
Another example of British defiance is the recent filming of a new version of The Importance of Being Earnest. (Even allowing for the use of a Yank and an Aussie in the two lead female roles.) Oscar Wilde's witty drawing room farce, with its withering satire on Victorian manners is given some cinematic touches to supplement the staged talkiness of the original. Alan Parker, who earlier adapted An Ideal Husband, has here done a good job of taking the play outside the confining walls of the stage set, and re-ordering some of the scenes in order to create a more modern narrative while still maintaining the essential elements of the play. He has also interpolated some interesting fantasy elements to flesh out Cicely's character and given us a (mainly unnecessary) flashback for Lady Bracknell. The film is, surprisingly in the light of Wilde's original, dominated by the women, all of whom are uniformly excellent and who flesh out the rather underwritten characters: Judy Dench's underplayed Lady Bracknell, Frances O'Connor's adventurous Gwendolyn, Reese Witherspoon's flighty Cicely, and Anna Massey's very good Prism. On the other hand, Rupert Everett shows again (as he did in the earlier movie) that he is not an ideal lead in a romantic comedy. His slope-shouldered and fairly insipid looks do not make him the actor to play Cicely's knight in shining armour, Algy. Colin Firth is good as Jack.
Most of Wilde's original humour survives the transition and the film scoots along, after a fairly slow start. I like the way Parker has integrated the music as well, particularly an original Oscar Wilde lyric used by Algy and jack to help woo the women. To me, The Importance of Being Earnest is a sort of cultural icon, now over 100 years old, representing English society at a particular time and place. Unlike the twee 1950s version of the play, dominated by the incredibly theatrical Edith Evans as Bracknell, this film is more balanced and more of a modern version of the original Victorian relic. That it is genuinely funny and the characters remain (by and large) sympathetic is a testament to good film-making.
That's why they call it money
David Mamet loves the con. He loves labyrinthine plots and crooks who inhabit the demi-monde. Ones that make their living by their brains and nerve, not by gun-play, brute force and ignorance. Heist is a movie about such guys and, following The Spanish Prisoner (also about such characters) and State and Main (where movie folks get outsmarted by local yokels), is a third very successful outing for this playwright turned writer-director. Mamet loves dialog as well and his scripts bristle with intelligent and witty repartee. Here he is particularly well-served by Gene Hackman and Delroy Lindo as the two main crooks. They are ably assisted by two members of the Mamet group of players, Ricky Jay and Rebecca Pidgeon, who each had major roles in the other two movies as well.
Heist starts with a jewel store robbery, which goes awry sufficiently for the Hackman character to be identified. He wants to take his young wife (Pidgeon) and his boat and head south but is in hock to Danny de Vito, the money man. De Vito wants him to complete on last job, a shit load of gold, and forces him to take his nephew (Sam Rockwell, Guy in Galaxy Quest) along on the job. After various twists and turns, they carry out the robbery, which is half con anyway and then the double-crosses really get going. As you would expect from Mamet, the intricate plotting is a joy to behold, although much of it is far more obvious than the truly twisted knots of the plot in The Spanish Prisoner, a film which ultimately I enjoyed a lot more. Hackman and Lindo are particularly good and Jay is effective as the third wheel in their partnership. Rebecca Pidgeon's character is a little more problematic but she invests it with just the right level of enigma to keep you guessing. Because Mamet is more at home with the intelligent than with the brute, the de Vito and Rockwell parts are less successful although the former gets the line of the movie: "Everybody wants money. That's why they call it money."
I've always been a sucker for heist movies, particularly those where the plan is as much a con game as it is a robbery. Recently we've seen a good remake of Ocean's Eleven which has such a plot and the relatively unsuccessful The Score, in the sub-genre where the heist itself is virtually the whole movie. Here the robbery scenes are relatively brief and the interests are in the before and after - much like the plot arc of The Spanish Prisoner. If you haven't caught up with Mamet's recent work, I highly recommend all three movies. They'll remind you that there are still movie-makers around who believe in literacy and in treating their audience like adults.
Sticky Wicket
Making a superhero movie is not exactly rocket science. You need one nerdy civilian who acquires 'powers and abilities far beyond those of mortal men'; a love interest who is much more interested in the hero than in the nerd; a mad scientist/villain with strange abilities who loves stealing scenes; a plausible narrative that brings all of these elements into some form of unity, preferably with a cigar-chomping editor or other nasty media figure thrown in; and some special effects (please nowadays refer to them as 'CGI' or you'll be incredibly September the tenth). The 1989 Batman showed how easy it is to mix and match these elements (although Kim Basinger was appalling as the love interest) but its sequels showed equally that repetition of the same elements is not always the key to success. Ditto the 1980s Superman and its sequels. The X-Men movie a coupla years ago demonstrated that Marvel Comics could provide adequate source material for a decent superhero movie.
So where did Spiderman go wrong?
To begin with, the effects part of the movie is off. The shots of Spidey leaping between the building or the Green Goblin (the nemesis de jour) riding his incredibly smoky jet-sled (where's the EPA when you need them?) just do not work. There's not enough gravity to the hero's movements, so they never look convincing. Secondly, Tobey Maguire's Peter Parker is quite OK but the transition to super-hero never quite works. It's almost the reverse of Michael Keaton's Batman. In that characterisation Bruce Wayne is inarticulate and almost appears retarded and only as the Batman can he properly function; here Parker has more personality and wit, and the Spiderman appears to inherit the spider's brains as well as its brawn. Nor does the chemistry between him and Kirsten Dunst, whose just about the best thing in the movie, work most of the time. I liked the reversal of the super-mythos by having the girl fall for the nerd at the expense of the hero, but the script didn't handle it all well in the graveyard scene. Perhaps they're saving something for the sequel.
One good point was a decent cameo part for Cliff Robertson who's had it pretty tough since his Oscar-winning role in one of Hollywood's more intelligent SF films, Charly. According to a recent Vanity Fair article, Robertson was virtually blacklisted after giving evidence against a senior studio executive who'd forged his (Robertson's) name on a $10,000 cheque. The bosses stuck by their own and Robertson couldn't get a part. Here he is Peter Parker's uncle, whose death motivates the putative superhero, taking him from merely exploiting his newly-discovered talents to using them for good.
On the other hand, there's William Dafoe's Norman Osburn who becomes the Green Goblin: how come when he attacks Osburn's enemies and rides on the jet-sled Osburn designed and does everything that would advance Osburn and his company, no-one can work out who's behind the Green Goblin mask? In any case, the character is more redolent of Jim Carrey's utterly psychotic Riddler, out of one of the Batman sequels, than he is of the truly weird but effective villains, like Luthor or the Joker. I really liked the mirror scene, meant to convey the character's split personality but the dark side of the villain is too dark for the tone of the rest of the film. For example, the antithetical editor is played with almost slapstick exaggeration and, while the primary 'feel' is dark, there is no consistent element of the darkness of vision which made Tim Burton's vision of Gotham so peculiarly apt for the Batman.
And there are other problems: for example, Parker/Spiderman develops 'sticky' palms early on in his transformation (cutlery stick to it etc) but this detrimental ability disappears part-way through the film. And you've got time to think about all this because the episodic nature of the movie and the long, sometimes very mannered, dialog scenes make for a slow development - it took an interminable time for Parker to become the Spiderman.
I should know by now that runaway success at the US box-office is no indicator of quality - usually quite the opposite most of the time. Yet Spiderman was a real disappointment only in part because of raised expectations. It is just not a very good movie, even within the limited confines of a CGI-driven super-hero flick.
Alas Smith and Jones
Another disappointment is the sequel to the 1997 CGI-driven comedy, Men in Black. The original zinged along at a frantic pace, aided by an overlay of true weirdness that demanded that you accept the movie (and its premises) on its own terms. The aliens were both window-dressing and plot-essential and the inspired teaming of the laconic Tommy Lee Jones with the frenetic Will Smith worked. So what went wrong with Men In Black 2: just about everything. The film takes too long to bring Jones into it, leaving Smith alone at the start unbalances the film and it never quite recovers. And, even when Tommy Lee re-appears, he is a passenger for a long time, not a partner. The aliens never appear to be essential to the narrative, almost as if they're added in for the effects alone. The villain de jour is an intergalactic quasi-Medusa yclept Serleena (played by a strangely made-up Lara Flynn Boyle), and for most of the time she's relegated to the sidelines as Jay and Kay race around connecting the clue dots to solve the McGuffin. And guess what? (Plot spoiler coming up) The Light of whatever is just like the Jewel of the Nile, the Fifth Element and umpteen similar plot devices in similar movies. The worst thing about MiB2 is that it is not funny enough. The jokes and banter that kept the original moving are missing here - it's almost by the numbers and very predictable. There were a couple of bits that I liked: the locker at Grand Central filled with mini-greeblies who worship the holder of the key and the Twister-playing worms. But, for the rest, it failed the basic Joe Bob sequel test: a good sequel, Joe Bob Briggs argues, should be essentially the same movie. Lacking the inspiration of the original, this follow-up is a pale imitation.
Elgar variations
The war-time activities at Bletchley Park were largely unknown for thirty years. There a group of British boffins dealt with the German Enigma Code and broke it. This code-breaking was instrumental in the victory in the North Atlantic and to the war effort. In the last few years there have been some attempts to deal with the WW2 code breakers. Neal Stephenson's Cryptonomicon is, in part, about their activities (although I still don't understand how it is classed as SF for the purposes of the Hugo Award). The tragic story of the mathematical genius chiefly responsible for breaking Enigma, and the foster-father of the modern computer, Alan Turing, is told in Breaking the Code (a title with a lovely double meaning), which jumps from Turing's successes in the 1940s to his persecution and destruction at the hands of the anti-gay police in the 1950s. Derek Jacobi is very effective as Turing. U571 tells an aspect (completely fictionalised and americanised) of the code breaking. I'm not all that fussed about the Yanks claiming credit for the Poms' activities with Enigma - after all, the Poms suggested Ralph Richardson, rather than Chuck Yeager, broke the sound barrier. And they still have not explained to Thailand the misrepresentations in Ms Leonowens' memoirs. All of which brings us to Enigma, which we saw recently on video and which I thoroughly recommend.
Here the gay Turing is transformed into Tom Jericho (Dougray Scott), a heterosexual recovering from a 'nervous breakdown' attributed to his unrequited love for the leggy blonde, Claire (Saffron Burrows). In addition to the cast of mixed boffins and contemptuous overseers, there is a barely recognisable Kate Winslet (as Claire's roomie who becomes Tom's new squeeze) and Jeremy Northam (as Wigram, the spook). The McGuffin is the breaking of 'Shark', a new and more complex form of the Enigma Code, but around this is wrapped a ripping adventure yarn and a romance. Claire is missing, presumed dead; there's the possibility of a German spy in Bletchley; and the two may be part of the same problem. The script is literate as would be expected from Tom Stoppard, a doyen of the British stage, and one of the co-writers of Shakespeare in Love and the film is well directed by Michael Apted (7 Up et al).
In addition to the eponymous code, the central plot is an enigma which needs to be solved, and problem-solving is a trait not just reserved for the code-breakers. Additionally, each of the main characters is an enigma as well and, in part, the film is about the audience's gradual understanding of each of them and their understanding of each other. The film is adapted from a novel by Robert Harris which, on the evidence in the film, may be worth reading. I enjoyed this immensely: it is a war movie that doesn't rely on shoot-em-ups and set pieces but tells a fascinating story about an important sidelight to the battles which form the main narrative of the War. In this it is like Charlotte Gray and both are very British war stories. Perhaps, taken with Enemy at the Gates, they might convince the Yanks that they did not win WW2 single-handedly. But I doubt it.
Also on video
Three other movies seen on video recently are well worth your while, all for very different reasons.
Richard Rodriguez' Spy Kids is an exuberant romp full of imagination and invention. The eponymous characters are the pre-teen children of two retired spies, who are lured out of retirement and end up prisoners of Fegan Floop, a kids TV show host with delusions of megalomania and a most unusual Minion. Essentially a kids' movie, which adults can enjoy on the simple adventure level but which has some subtle and interesting twists to keep the big'uns amused, it features some great gadgets, all of which are toys grown into weapons and transports, and a couple of good, hammy performances from Alan Cumming as Floop, Tony Shalhoub (good recently in Galaxy Quest and in The Man Who Wasn't There, among many other great bit parts) as Minion and Teri Hatcher (trying to overcome the twin curses of Lois Lane and being a Bond girl). Carla Gugino (from Judas Kiss) and Antonio Banderas (see all the gossip magazines) are good as the parents but watch out for Alexa Vega and, especially, Daryl Sabara as the kids. See it before the sequel appears to make the original seem less good.
Directed by Sam Raimi (A Simple Plan and Spiderman) from a story co-written by Billy Bob Thornton, The Gift at first seems like a run-of-the-mill southern Gothic crime melodrama, with the usual tramps, rednecks and crackpots that inhabit the species. What elevates it is not the hackneyed murder plot and court-room antics, but the central character, a widow woman with psychic powers, played here by the incomparable Cate Blanchett who is (as noted above in the review of Charlotte Gray) perfect in the part. She is Annie Wilson and she believes in her gift (which many would see as her curse). The film also gives decent roles to Hilary Swank (who has not quite found her niche following Boys Don't Cry, although I am looking forward to Insomnia for which she has good reviews) and Michael Jeter (too frequently reduced to cameos of unallayed weirdness, as he was in The Fisher King). The film is less well-served by Keanu Reeves, Katie Holmes and Greg Kinnear, the latter again demonstrating his lack of charisma. But this is another Blanchett masterpiece, combining accent, wardrobe and look to create another outstanding part. See it for Cate.
Jean-Pierre Jeunet's Amelie, as it was titled here, is one of the more whimsical movies I've seen. The title character is a product of her up-bringing and doesn't discover her destiny - to bring serendipitous happiness to strangers and those around her - until a chance discovery immediately following the death of Diana, Princess of Wales. Played with great charm by Audrey Tautou, Amelie goes about her business with a will. I especially like the method she uses to encourage her father to travel, using his garden gnome as an exemplar. To try and explain the narrative thread of this movie any further would be counter-productive. It has a fey charm of its own and a cast of weird characters sufficient to carry it off. This is a movie of sweetness and of light, from the French film industry that is often dark and cynical. I recommend this one as an off-beat confection for anyone looking for a little light relief from the rigours of the daily grind.
We also saw on video (three tapes) the Sci-Fi Channel version of Dune - a three part mini series - a more complete and faithful adaptation of the book than the David Lynch movie. Wouldn't be hard. It is a workmanlike version that never quite captures the vibrancy of Herbert's book. There were a couple of changes that I liked, particularly the increased role given Princess Irulan who, in slightly changed circumstances, undertakes Fehring's missions to Arrakis and Geidi Prime. Her more central role and insight into the problems on Arrakis actually improves aspects of the story. I also liked Alec Newman's Paul (anyone would be an improvement over Kyle McLachlan) and Saskia Reeves' Jessica (although, as in the book, she disappears in the second half). There were two major whinges I had about the series: none of the Fremen looked like they lived in a water-poor environment, they looked too well-watered for that; and the millinery, especially the Bene Gesserit headgear and that of the Princess Royal, looked like Lillian Frank's Melbourne Cup hat-maker had become channelled by the future designers. There was enough in this mini-series to suggest it is worth a look. (And they are currently making a sequel.)
[Note: Information about the movies mentioned, including cast and crew lists and all sorts of trivia, is available at the Internet Movie Database (IMDb).]