DVD Reviews

AVP: Alien vs. Predator Focus Features/Universal





Starring Sanaa Lathan, Raoul Bova, Lance Henriksen, etc.

Directed by Paul W.S. Anderson

Rated: PG

The release of this film last summer prompted the predictable round of jokes: Wookie vs. Klingon! Gremlins vs. Hannibal Lecter! But the idea of uniting two of the most successful action sci-fi properties of all time made sense. The first Predator movie and the first two Alien films were all classics of the sci-fi/action genre. And of course there was the wildly successful AVP video game.

AVP even has a decent back story to bring the two franchises together. Earth is a proving ground for young predators, where they test themselves against aliens in specially-designed temples. A fresh crop of humans is necessary each time, in order to incubate the aliens. While this never worked out well for the actual humans involved, humanity as a whole apparently gained from the experience, as predator architecture and technology influenced cultures ranging from the Egyptians to the Aztecs. One of these temples is spotted by a satellite owned by a dying magnate (Lance Henriksen). He decides to make its exploration his legacy, thereby providing the necessary humans for the next round.

Unfortunately, the setup is all that AVP gets right. The biggest problem is the pacing, which has all the artfulness of a Jean-Claude Van Damme flick. This mercifully short (87 minutes) film is neatly divided into three parts. The first third consists of pointless development of stock characters. The most extreme example is Agathe De La Boulaye as the token hot chick. Before the team heads into the temple, heroine Alexa Woods (non-token hot chick Sanaa Lathan) asks her why she needs a gun to explore an abandoned temple. She replies with one of those hackneyed and pointlessly sexualized lines that the token hot chick usually gives in films like this: “The same reason I carry a condom. I’d rather have it and not need one than need it and not have one.” Needless to say, she doesn’t end up needing the condom.

Nor does she ever get to use the gun. After the interminable buildup, almost all of the characters are killed off so quickly, and with so little drama, that you find yourself wondering why you sat through the first half hour. The beauty of the DVD is you don’t have to. By the last third, AVP achieves a comedy of sorts, becoming a twisted version of a buddy flick.

If the action had lived up to its billing, one could forgive the comic book dialog and atrocious pacing. But it rarely does. The beauty of both the original Predator and Alien films is that we so rarely got a good look at the monsters until near the end. Here, they’re out for all to see, and they’re often not doing much. When you see too much of the Predator, he goes from a hallucinogenic homicidal hologram to looking like an NBA reject in a silly costume. Many of the sequences suffer from camera-too-close syndrome, reducing the fights to impossible to follow motion and cuts.

Twentieth Century Fox has tried to market the DVD based on deleted scenes, but they amount to a couple minutes of footage that don’t add much. If you’re looking for a movie to base a drinking game around, this might be a good candidate. If you’re a big fan of either series, don’t expect much from this film.

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Battle Royale Tartan

Starring Tastuya Fujiwara, Aki Maeda, Taro Yamamoto, Masanobu Ando, Kou Shibasaki, and Chiaki Kuriyama

Reviewed by Malcolm Maclachlan

To American audiences, the misbehavior that leads to Class B’s sentence will seem so minor, so out of proportion to the punishment as to be absurd. But what really made this film so hard to release in this country was not the violence. It’s graphic but cartoonish, no worse than that seen any day on cable television. It’s the fact that it takes place between a group of ninth graders. Imagine a coed Lord of the Flies with far higher body count. 

Forced to kill their friends, reactions break down in a number of predictable yet interesting ways. Some commit suicide, mainly couples and best friends. Some try to reason with the other students, as if there is some way out. Others form factions. A few turn into killing machines. This film is not so much about the violence itself as the gradual breakdowns that take place once taboos against it are removed.

This is by no means a great film, but it brilliantly accomplishes what it sets out to do: entertaining you while making you feel icky about it. For one thing, the characters are often sexualized. There is no actual nudity or sex, but the viewer is treated/subjected to numerous sequences of attractive girls fighting it out in skimpy school uniforms. As the situation deteriorates, students specifically seek out romantic rivals to kill.

Watching petty jealousies turn to murder emphases the youth of the characters. Similarly, many give death speeches that are like finding a note passed by a middle-schooler, shallow yet heartfelt. “I always thought you were cool,” one girl says to her would-be boyfriend before she expires. “You were the coolest girl in school,” he replies, crying. One girl who kills several classmates says “I just didn’t want to be a loser anymore.”

If I have one major complaint about Battle Royale, it’s that it pulls its punches by adding two ringers; older boys unknown to the other students whose skills with violence are far greater. One of these turns out to be the homicidal silent type. He’s played as a cross between two Johnny Depp characters, Edward Scissorhands and Agent Sands from Once Upon a Time in Mexico. He’s a stock bad guy; the killing he does is far less shocking than watching friends turn on each other.

Battle Royale is best summed up by a survivor, who utters these words while sailing away from the island: “It’s beautiful, even though it’s where everybody died.”

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The Brak Show is the pinnacle of 21^st century comedy.  It is both comedy alpha and comedy omega. When Nietzsche said all that crap about gazing into the abyss and fighting monsters until you become a monster yourself, he was talking about The Brak Show, except by "abyss" he meant "funniness," and by "monsters" he meant laughing so hard you spray milk out of your nose all over that pretty girl you were talking to. And then she moves to Denver.

The fine people at the Cartoon Network have compiled this giggle abyss into a glorious two-disc set. On the one hand, I react to this news with the giddy elation of a hobo on the second day of a four-day bender. On the other hand, I'm freakin' terrified. For to me falls the unenviable task of explaining to all you cats what this mess is about.

There's Brak, see? He was a villain on the stultifyingly lame 1960s Hanna-Barbera cartoon Space Ghost. He's some kind of weird human-cat hybrid thing. When the Cartoon Network revived Space Ghost as the world's greatest talk-show host, Brak was transformed from a world-beating supervillain into a gibbering lunatic prone to random screaming fits, bursts of song and irrational crying jags. Or, as those of us in the reviewing game like to call it, "Comedy Gold."

Brak was then spun off into the convulsively hilarious Cartoon Planet, a cartoon clip show in which existing cartoons were dissected into unrecognizable shard over which Space Ghost, Brak and evil mantis Zorak sang, screamed and cried. The result was a stunning work of laff-riot brilliance, and as such, was quickly cancelled.

The survivors dusted themselves off and created The Brak Show, a brutally absurd savaging of Joseph Campbell's "Leave it to Beaver Cycle."  Brak plays the Beaver, Zorak serves as a murderous Eddie Haskell, and Ward Cleaver has been replaced by a three-foot high Salvador Dali parody. Also, Brak's neighbor is a gigantic robot warrior named Thundercleese. It's all pretty sweet, dude.

The DVD is beautifully packaged, Brak sings all the menus, and the extras include clips of the aforementioned Cartoon Planet, along with other miscellaneous snippets of Brak hilarity, most of which made me laugh until I passed out. It was hard to finish this DVD, but well worth it.  Best of all is the commentary track on Episode One, "Goldfish," which is done by Brak himself. It's idiotic. Hooray!

Donnie Darko - The Director's Cut Fox Home Entertainment

Starring Jake Gyllenhaal

Reviewed by Malcolm Maclachlan



Donnie Darko is one of those rare movies that sounds like it should be terrible but, somehow, works. To simply recount the plot would be to miss how it accomplishes many seemingly contradictory goals. It is sarcastic yet compassionate, both spiritual and intellectual, surreal but compelling, and darkly comic throughout.

Audiences didn’t know what to make of this film when it came out in 2001. It wasn’t a horror film, a teen comedy or an anguished coming of age movie, even though it functions better on all of these levels than most films that try for only one. Luckily, it became perhaps the most extreme example since The Shawshank Redemption of a film that tanked at the box office only to be reborn on video and DVD.

This is the film David Lynch should wish that he made. The setting is a very Lynchian bit of mid-1980s suburbia. It opens with Donnie (Jake Gyllenhaal) waking up at dawn on a golf course. A troubled preppy misfit, he isn’t surprised to find himself there—he’s been having some pretty extreme fits of sleepwalking lately. But he returns home to find a jet engine has landed in his room. The sleepwalking kept him from an untimely death.

From then on, Donnie becomes increasingly distanced from reality, able to see things other people aren’t.  He can increasingly guess people’s dark secrets and begins to reject all conventions of behavior. He becomes obsessed with a strange book and an eccentric old woman who is the laughing stock of the neighborhood. And then of course there is the now-famous guy in the rabbit suit who plays host to Donnie’s growing hallucinations. What all of these really amount to are the universal existential and spiritual questions that many young people are trying to answer, but it shows us the conflict rather than telling us about it.

This is a film that leaves audiences arguing about what happened. But unlike, say, Lynch’s Mulholland Drive, in which all logical explanations cancel each other out, it is possible to form multiple coherent narratives of Donnie Darko. Is he merely going crazy, or is there something larger going on? Literally hundreds of films have this as their major question, and most fail because they pick a single answer. Eventually, Donnie is faced with a choice between two unbearable alternatives and thus becomes something surrealist films almost always lack: a hero, rather than a victim, as a central character.

In case this all sounds too heavy, Donnie Darko is also brilliantly funny at times. Many of the bits belong to Donnie’s mom (the always excellent Mary McDonnell), even when she isn’t speaking.  Her expression when confronted with the accusation “I’m beginning to question your dedication to Sparkle Motion,” is priceless. Patrick Swayze is great in a small role, the latest 1980s leading man to show that he is the best choice for parodying his own former image.

Without giving too much away, the extra 20 minutes of the director’s cut expands on all of these themes in a very satisfying way. After all, to its cult following, Donnie Darko is one film they didn’t want to see end.

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The Fifth Element: Ultimate Edition Columbia/Tristar


Starring Bruce Willis, Gary Oldman, Chris Tucker, Milla Jovovich, etc.

Written & Directed by Luc Besson

Rated: PG-13






Reviewed by D.R. Scott


 

Two down, one lousy movie to go.

What I’m talking about is the upcoming Revenge of The Sith, hopefully the last movie George Lucas will ever make. No, I’m not clairvoyant, but hell, after The Phantom Menace and Attack of the Clones, it’s hard to not be pessimistic.

In spite of all the high-tech, multi-million dollar gimmicks Lucas and those clever rascals at Industrial Light and Magic shoved down our throats, we still got left with two very bad movies in the end. Afterwards, I had the uncomfortable feeling that if Lucas were dissected on a coroner’s steel table, I would see plastic, glass and wires inside his chest instead of flesh and blood.

Before, I used to think that maybe Lucas needed to be tied up in a chair and forced to watch Star Wars repeatedly until his creative amnesia was cured. But then, I realized that the new DVD of Luc Besson’s The Fifth Element would be the better choice.

Yes, I know there are probably thousands of obsessive, snot-nosed fanboys dressed like Darth Vader who would beat me to death with their cardboard lightsabers for my heresy.  I don’t care. The Phantom Menace and Attack of The Clones felt like getting a plate of brussels sprouts at my birthday party. The Fifth Element is a tasty French pastry that made me smile as I licked my lips, ready for more.

So, even though it won’t help much, here’s the plot: It’s the 23^rd century and there’s a big evil hungry indestructible cosmic thing named “Mr. Shadow” that wants to eat the entire universe, starting with Earth as an appetizer. Now, the only people who can save the world and stop the villainous “Mr. Shadow” are Leeloo (Jovovich), a beautiful, super-powered warrior created by an alien race to be the perfect weapon; and Korben Dallas (Willis), an ex-military war hero now working as a New York taxi driver who meets Leeloo when she falls through the roof of his vehicle one fine morning.

Admittedly, from re-reading that last paragraph, The Fifth Element sure doesn’t sound promising. Before I saw it, my first thought was, “Oh well—it’s just another tired Stars Wars rip-off.” But unlike other timid students mindlessly scribbling notes in the classroom of Professor Lucas, Besson is the mischievous kid exiled in the corner wearing a dunce cap. Because he isn’t afraid to be different, so is his movie.

First of all, the movie is visually stunning. Not just eye candy, it is chocolate mousse lovingly served in a chilled silver bowl. By hiring the famous comic book artists Jean Claude Mezieres and Jean Miraud (aka Moebius) to design the sets, The Fifth Element has a unique signature every bit as distinctive as H.R. Giger’s visionary work on Alien.

Another underappreciated aspect of the movie that I liked was its progressive, hey-its-no-big-deal racial diversity in the casting of the actors. When I watched The Fifth Element, it was wonderful to see a world in the future that didn’t look like a melanin-free Valhalla dreamed up by Nazis. And hey, don’t even talk about Lando (“Hello, I’m your friendly intergalactic token!”) Calrissian to me, all right?

But, more importantly, seeing the way Besson playfully handles his actors in The Fifth Element clearly illustrates the difference between him and Lucas. In both The Phantom Menace and Attack of The Clones, you knew the actors weren’t having any fun. It must have been a hard job trying to resurrect those dead words and empty characters in the screenplay. They looked like dull-eyed prisoners trapped in Abu Ghraib. Poor bastards.

Not The Fifth Element, however. Because of Luc Besson’s joyous exuberance, everybody in the movie leaves their adulthood behind and acts like laughing children in the playground on the last day of school fighting to get on the swing. Tongues not-so-firmly in their cheeks, Bruce Willis, Gary Oldman, Chris Tucker and Milla Jovovich give sly, hilarious, and full-bodied performances that never win Oscars but always leave people smiling.

I won’t pretend that The Fifth Element is a great movie, but it’s a funny, intelligent, well-made escapist fantasy where you won’t feel guilty turning off your common sense before sitting back and enjoying the ride.  Y’know, just like when we used to live in the theater years ago and watched Star Wars.  Remember? 

What happened, Mr. Lucas?  Do you lie in your bed at Skywalker Ranch and dream of electric sheep?

New York, New York MGM




Starring Robert De Niro and Liza Minelli

Reviewed by Nathan Williams



MGM is widely regarded as the very worst of the studio DVD distributors.  They routinely cut corners with a mediocre, non-anamorphic transfer, and few, if any, extras.  It is a blessing that their enviable back catalog was long ago purchased by Ted Turner and now resides in the secure hands of Warner Brothers (the reigning king of DVD).  All too often heartbreak occurs when a very good film (or an entire Bergman box set) gets the typical, half-assed MGM treatment, so it is almost a relief that Martin Scorsese’s New York, New York is so terrible a film as to render its botched DVD presentation something of a curious sidenote.

The film is a three-hour, largely improvised depiction of a doomed relationship between a top-flight singer (Liza Minelli) and an ace saxophonist (Robert De Niro). In the commentary, critic Carrie Rickey admits that the first aggravating, bickering, and spiteful encounter between the two of them tells you as much as you’ll find out watching the rest of the film: these people don’t belong together. De Niro is a world-class asshole and Minelli clearly resents him. Through great contrivance they end up in a night club act together and eventually fall in love (before self-destructing), though there is nothing at all believable in any indication of affection between them. One gets the point very quickly and the film soon becomes a protracted death march to the obvious conclusion.

Scorsese decided to buck the reigning 70s aesthetic and shoot the film in a highly artificial 40s Hollywood style. The sets are obvious constructions. The lighting is hard and consciously dramatic. Rain, snow, rear projection and other effects wink loudly at the audience. There is occasional singing and dancing. The camera seems to yell loudly at you every time it feels like moving. The gimmick was, apparently, to depict a real, bitter Cassavettes-style relationship in a romanticized Hollywood package. Perhaps this idea has merit, but Scorsese’s execution is awful. Unlike the best films of Cassavettes (and Scorsese), the characters are profane and fractious, but quite unbelievable and massively unsympathetic. De Niro is capable of playing troubled, unpleasant men and finding some core humanity about them. His subsequent performance of Jake La Motta is one of the great performances of a flawed man. Here, he is shallow, callous, and juvenile, annoying everyone around him, particularly the audience. Additionally, Scorsese fails miserably in his attempt to emulate Liza’s father in stylization. His faux-Minelli composition and coverage do not provide an ironic counterpoint to the “realist” acting; instead their awkwardness emphasize that method acting is just as much a contrivance as any other tactic.

Perhaps it was Marty’s idea of a joke to shoot a film called New York, New York at an atrophying Hollywood studio’s soundstage. If so, the joke’s on us. Avoid at all costs.

The disc:

In both the audio commentary and the video introduction to the picture, Scorsese emphasizes how important the choice of aspect ratio was to him. He initially wanted to shoot the film in the traditional 1.33 format (the pre-widescreen box, which Coppola would use on One From the Heart). He eventually settled for the European-style 1.66. Despite these blatant reminders, MGM—in typical fashion—crops the film to the 16x9 ratio (1.78), displaying nothing but contempt for the careful composition of Scorsese and cinematographer Laszlo Kovacs.

The commentary is a paltry 45 minutes or so of engaging film scholar material from Scorsese (history of musicals in the studio system, death of Technicolor, etc.) and obvious comments from critic Carrie Rickey (“M. Powell is a reference to Scorsese’s hero, Michael Powell”) stretched out over the 163 minute running time. Consequently, there are long patches of silence from the commentators. The deleted scenes are merely snippets of bad improvisation by the main players, mostly from existing scenes. Apparently the takes in the finished product really are the best material they shot.  Astonishing.

Overall, a colossal failure of filmmaking and DVD presentation. Scorsese gets a pass because he must have learned some worthwhile lessons; his next narrative film was Raging Bull. MGM receives no such mercy; when their acquisition by Sony takes effect, the home video department should be the first against the wall.

 

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Shark Tale Dreamworks

Voices by Robert De Niro, Will Smith, Angelina Jolie, Renee Zellweger, Martin Scorsese, Jack Black, etc.

This is understandable, given how shallow most of the characterizations are. The A-list actors are present, in their cookie-cutter roles: Will Smith is the fast-talking, overreaching hero, Oscar. Rene Zellweger is his long-suffering, would-be girlfriend. Angelina Jolie—too cold and intimidatingly beautiful (even as a cartoon fish) to be the leading lady, too bankable to leave out—plays the competing love interest.

Oscar is a standard nobody who wants to be somebody. Just like his father before him, he works at the Whale Wash, which is exactly what it sounds like—a vehicle for gross out humor. Rather than making the father an actual character, he's just a symbolic stand in, depicted only as a snapshot looking exactly like Oscar except with a 70s-style afro. Never mind that none of the other characters have hair. The afro is a perfect emblem for this film, which relies heavily on its audience sharing a common cultural shorthand.

Oscar's big chance comes when he enters a mutually-beneficial, cockamamie scheme with a misfit, decidedly un-macho vegetarian shark named Lenny (Jack Black). Lenny is trying to escape the clutches of his Mafia family. Black’s character doesn't receive nearly enough screen time, but when he's there, he seems to be in a different film altogether. It's as if he's playing Mystery Science Theater 3000 with his surroundings.

Shark Tale comes off as a faint copycat of Finding Nemo.  Dreamworks stole one of Nemo’s throwaway jokes—vegetarian sharks—and turned it into the driving device of Shark Tale.  Nemo begins with a Barracuda eating Nemo's mom and siblings. This scene famously caused children to cry in theaters across America, but it also put audiences on notice that Nemo was not a film that would pull any punches. By comparison, Shark Tale" is punchless. The sharks look threatening, but you never see them do anything particularly frightening. The effect is sort of like The Godfather edited for children's television, all bluster and no bang. The sense of menace that had Nemo audiences twisting in their seats is entirely missing.

This is a somewhat enjoyable film, but not one you'll spend a lot of time thinking about afterward. The animation looks good, but lacks the "wow" moments of other recent digitally-created flicks. There are a few enjoyable bits that Black doesn't provide, such as a hapless shrimp pleading for his life—a joke that's funny mainly because it's milked shamelessly. A pair of Rastafarian jellyfish also provide some clever lines.

But this is a film that has to be judged almost entirely on its humor. Nothing else, certainly not a heart, escaped the committees and focus groups that seemingly created it.