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JUNE 2002 FILMS Dogtown and Z-Boys Get a bunch of guys together to talk about their glory days and, if you're unlucky, you may wind up with this cliquish circle jerk where self-descriptions are full of rock star analogies and variations of the word "revolution" are abused. Luckily, the historical trajectory of skateboarding to aerial and its accompanying photos and stock footage are rich. Still, those talking heads are as engaging as sitting in on some faded jock's high school reunion. Concrete cowboys may be more tolerant. [C] Gemini His parents' secret history comes back to haunt a doctor and his amnesiac wife. Noh opera influences abound: understated, refined, with actors sporting the mask-like faces of pissed-off supermodels. Allusive and atmospheric with an unexpected romantic element that can't quite distract from the absence of scares. [C] Adrenaline Drive ADRENALINE DRIVE manages to make greed a positive personality trait. Unexpected yakuza loot is the carrot that draws two young people out of their shells and on the road to self-discovery. The yakuza, chaos and romance follow. There's a refreshing bluntness to the comedy and a gentle current through most of the film. [B] Lagaan: Once Upon a Time in India Aside #1 (LAGAAN's running time affords many of these): The rainy celebrations at the end of both LAGAAN and MONSOON WEDDING (spoiler!) remind me of my agrarian roots. Unless their lawns are turning brown due to some watering ban, city folk rarely celebrate the rain. Aside #2: Drastically reduce the playing time, get rid of the starched outfits and encourage the players to spit and adjust their crotches and cricket may just displace baseball as America's national pastime. The rules are similar enough, and look at the three-digit scores! Look, ma - no scoreless draws! Wise move not to anglicize and demystify the title to "Taxes, The Bollywood Musical!: Once Upon a Wicket in India." Aside #3: Upon finding out that lagaan is not the name of a lost exotic paradise or a curiosity-drawing ages-old guide like Kama Sutra but a word for tax, my mind drifted back to the opening crawl of STAR WARS EPISODE 1: THE PHANTOM MENACE when taxes were cited as the (deflating) cause of it all. In LAGAAN a Snidely Whiplash character as annoying as Jar Jar Binks goes up against the only one in the farming village who wears shoes during the musical numbers, a pontification-prone Yoda. When Yoda gets foot-in-mouth, the village must win a cricket MATCH against the colonials for tax relief. Like the Podrace, the cricket game gives the last half of LAGAAN some sense of momentum as stock characters can't yet talk and bat at the same time. [C] And since I mentioned STAR WARS, I saw THE PHANTOM MENACE twice within weeks despite Jar Jar. Unfortunately for the Lucas coffers, the force isn't in me to revisit ATTACK OF THE CLONES (George Lucas, 2002) again in the foreseeable future. Beyond the busy CGI vistas CLONES has no legs (landscapes were never my thing). This one's all mouth (sleep-inducing Politics 001 whenever it's not pain-inducingly clumsy) and no action. Oh, and it's not a good thing when one yearns for the acting of FINAL FANTASY calibre. [D] Manji Imagine a movie by dreamy-eyed, heat-stricken lesbians playing dress-up with a treasure chest of romantic plot staples - blood oaths, potions, revenge and suicide pacts - and, if you're lucky, you'd get MANJI. As an unhappily married woman breathlessly pursues an increasingly troublesome lesbian love, MANJI barrels through liaisons and legalese oblivious to all else, plot twists tossed with abandon for the next one to show off. There's a child-like fury to the telling, each scene wide-eyed, pleading and passionate, as if Masumura feared you'd forget it all that very instant. It's all arch, but there's a child-like innocence to its soul-baring, a shamelessness that never knew shame itself, enough to set it apart from camp. An artful, solemn rollercoaster ride. Minority Report MINORITY REPORT may just be Spielberg at his most musical. Put this one on mute (quite handy for evading nagging thoughts about the plot) and the images mightily sing: Cruise hyperthinking through the clues like a composer manually assembling a concerto, murdererer-filled capsules like determined zombies on the rise - the word "symphonic" came to mind several times while watching it. When he has to say it with images he gets it right and then some. Of promise are touches atypical for Spielberg such as the greenhouse kiss, and he lets loose his sense of humour a bit more often. Unfortunately the Spielberg equilibrium tilts back to level when MINORITY REPORT relies on words instead towards the end. Like A.I., MINORITY REPORT can't restrain itself from talking for about 20 minutes after what feels like its righful conclusion, the downer after all the euphoria to better underscore a take-home value. [B] Sleepless For me, Dario Argento is still an acquired taste with DEEP RED the least wince-inducing of his films that I have seen (OPERA, SUSPIRIA, the almost unforgiveable STENDHAL SYNDROME). For non-fans, watching an Argento film requires its own viewing protocol, not only a suspension of disbelief but really a suspension of standards. One may barter away the logic lapses, flimsy psychology and horrid acting/dialogue/dubbing in exchange for those moments of violence porn but don't expect the stuff of Argento's heydays here. Even with the presence of Max von Sydow as the insomniac Italian(!) investigator, the returns have diminished for viewers this time around. SLEEPLESS is embarassingly bad - yes, even for Argento. Perhaps he was hamstrung by budget constraints as the effects are now sub-sub-par and he even uncharacteristically uses quick edits to suggest very bad things instead of the long, loving closeups on gore in the past. He was like a kid with a new steadycam in OPERA where every scene seemed like a choreographed tracking shot; SLEEPLESS features the cheap, lazy version, a shot that follows shoes along a roll of carpet and ends with your dropped dimestore dismembered head. Everyone, von Sydow excepted, could've tried much, much harder. [D] In even more convenient capsule form: Change is on the way in Hong Kong and Fruit Chan is hopeful. The Hong Kong half of DURIAN DURIAN (Fruit Chan, 2000) meanders enough to exhaust one's patience before one of the characters finally asserts herself in the focused latter half set in northeast China. [C+] Limbs askew, saucer-eyed with eyebags and proving wise beyond his years, nine-year old Yiu Yuet-ming is the projectile that weaves the small comedies and careful observations of LITTLE CHEUNG (Fruit Chan, 1999) together. [B] GLASS TEARS (Carol Lai Miu-set, 2001) got stillborn on its way to competence. It substitutes malnourished ideas of cool for character, though a tolerance for Takeshi Kitano may help. The arty montages are wretched. [D-] | ||