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JULY 2002 FILMS BEING JOHN MALKOVICH Late love here. Under the laughter and the twists this film talks so much about desire. But why Malkovich? Laughs are had from the frisson generated by his unexpected popularity as celebrity vessel - he's respected but is he tabloid - ergo fantasy - fodder? In the end it doesn't matter what celebrity was used as their inner selves wouldn't have mattered at all - witness how the resident Malkovich is so disposable in the film in comparison to the Malkovich vessel. BEING JOHN MALKOVICH suggests an undeniably pop attitude towards our celebrities. Who they are doesn't matter. What matters is that our desire may shine upon them, but when that desire lights upon someone else, just walk away. [A-] DEAD OR ALIVE DEAD OR ALIVE is like a hurricane: a frenzied start and finish bookend the calm at the eye of the storm. Unfortunately, this dead calm comprises most of DEAD OR ALIVE. To describe this as uneven would raise expectations that there are bumps midway - the film shows no such signs of life in between. After the first 10 minutes you may safely fast-forward to the final 10 when the thirst for revenge of both high-waisted rivals reaches for cartoonish ridiculousness. [D] JAN DARA Films shouldn't open with apologies as one may not lower expectations sufficiently for the expected bad viewing ahead. JAN DARA begins with an apology from the author (the film is based on a book) - this is his debut and he warns those with delicate sensibilities. Where's the director's apology? He manages to belittle the book (basically, Son of Porky wreaks revenge and becomes a Man thanks to his father's harem) and at the same time magnify his dependence on the now-diminished source. The cardboard characterization and stilted dialogue betray a negligence borne from reliance on the audience's ability to reconnect the dots. This does not bode well for those not familiar with the book, which is pretty much everyone outside of Thailand. The absence of plausibility is so acute every scene might as well have a mute with a blank sandwich board front-and-centre. To distract there's lots of sex in dust-free, Pottery Barn-friendly interiors, all of it extraneous, sterile, cosmetic, those glistening epidermises so choreographed it smothers eroticism like a urine-soaked blanket (unless that's your thing). Sultriness shouldn't be laboured. The lack of facility extends to the uniformly bad acting (hide your moustache twirlers) so one-dimensional this might as well be called THE SEX LIVES OF CLOWNS. Suddenly, non-pretentious erotic thrillers seem preferable. [D] NOTORIOUS C.H.O. If you didn't see Margaret Cho's first film, I'M THE ONE THAT I WANT - and you should - the first few minutes of in-jokes and blurb whoring here by adoring fans will fly right over your head. Conversion is unlikely if your tolerance to raunch is low. The core of Cho's first film were her ups-and-downs as lead in the first ever Asian-American sitcom, and now a sexual vanguard has emerged out of the ashes of those identity crises. Cho seems to have voluntarily put herself through extremes: the unexpected vagina wash at the emergency room is replaced by appointments for colonic irrigation (where we learn that assholes are like snowflakes), trips to an S&M club, and there's fisting, too. As Cho the activist goes off to explore the nether regions the random poignancy of the first film is lost in the hunt. [B-] VISITOR Q Spoilers follow. Sigh - what have I done to deserve this? The clerk at the video store was right when he warned me not to operate heavy machinery after watching this; with its desperation to break taboos it's a downer that'll activate a craving for antidepressants. If there's a race to set standards lower, Miike just leapfrogged way ahead with little competition in sight (although Kim Ki-duk, the only other offender that comes to mind with VISITOR Q's combo of artlessness and a suffocating need to repulse, has a new film on the way - oh joy). To repel is the easy thing to do (easy as chaos) but Miike doesn't seem too motivated to achieve intrigue. He rubs your face into his efforts to offend - incest, drug use, murder, necrophilia and plenty more - but most, uh, compelling are his visual metaphors for the mother's self-actualization. She emerges triumphant with her dive into the cesspool. Motherhood ends up primary here due to Miike's laziness to provide the rest of the family with satisfying arcs. There is no coming to terms with perversity (Miike's too preoccupied having them flit hurriedly like corpse flies from stink to stink to have them pause to express dissatisfaction at being corpse flies) just a reallocation of repugnance. As more degeneracy gravitates to the mother the children wind up a smidgen less offensive (they also lack her self-determination) thus maintaining the equilibrium of distastefulness. Reassuring to the bourgeois Miike tries to epater is the son's new commitment to studying after his parents save his ass from bullies. If you're keeping track of this director's arc VISITOR Q is his most tonally consistent film yet but that gives one little pause before flushing this punishing piece down the toilet. [D+] | ||