Marc Seguy’s blog

By Paul Tatara

CNN.com reviewer

(CNN) —


"The Score" is director Frank Oz's first dramatic feature - after years of whipping up commercial comedies like "Little Shop of Horrors" and "In and Out" - so it comes as something of a surprise that he's never seemed so sure of himself. This is a good old-fashioned heist picture that emphasizes meticulous pacing and character development over optical effects and speed-freak editing techniques.

Now, Oz is no dummy. You don't have to get fancy when your movie features Robert De Niro, Edward Norton, and a hefty scene stealer named Marlon Brando. It's best to just sit back and let them do their thing … and pray that Brando doesn't sink the entire project with his oddball antics.

De Niro plays Nick, a Montreal-based professional thief who, in the time-honored tradition of this type of movie, is looking to make one final score before he permanently settles down. He also runs a successful jazz club, and would like to walk the straight-and-narrow for the sake of his long suffering girlfriend, Diane (Angela Bassett, who's utterly wasted in her empty role).

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Robert De Niro and Edward Norton star in 'The Score' (July 13)
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One day, Nick's fence, Max (Brando), proposes a job that might do the trick. Deep in the basement of the Montreal customs house, there's a 17th century French scepter that's worth millions of dollars. If Nick can break into the high-security building and grab the goods, he'll be able to hang out at his club listening to Mose Allison and Cassandra Wilson (both of whom provide live performances in the picture) for the rest of his life.

Unfortunately, there's a catch. To pull off the job, Nick has to break two of his cardinal rules: never steal anything in the city where you live, and never work with a partner.

Max explains that an up-and-comer named Jack (Norton) has been scoping out the customs house for several weeks. Jack, posing as a mentally challenged janitor named Brian, has been charting the security systems that protect the scepter. The guards love the fidgety, simple-minded Brian, so he gets to wander around the building at will. But even Jack's extensive knowledge of the layout doesn't assure that everything will go smoothly. If it did, there wouldn't be any movie.

Technically speaking, there's not much movie anyway, but it really doesn't matter. Until the lengthy final sequence, there's a strange lack of tension. No one is ever suspects the crew of anything. The cops aren't breathing down their necks, and any possible glitches in the process are basically mentioned in passing.

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Oz and his screenwriters (Kario Salem, Lem Dobbs, and Scott Marshall Smith) are interested in the details. His steady camera movements draw you into the story, rather than slamming information into your head. Nick and Jack have to maintain their cool in order to do their work. They each have a role to play, and they perform their tasks as calmly as possible. The fun comes from a prickly war of wills between the Old Pro and the Cocky Kid. (If you haven't noticed by now, crime movie cliche fans will not be disappointed.)

Angela Bassett plays Robert De Niro's girlfriend in "The Score"

De Niro and Norton play off of each other beautifully. For the first time in a while, De Niro isn't expected to blow his stack every five minutes. You can sense the urgency in what Nick is doing, but he seldom allows anyone to see how intensely focused he is. He knows what steps have to be taken to perform his duties, and he's determined to take them gracefully.

Norton's blunt acting style supplies the possible recklessness. Jack only wants respect from his older, more experienced partner. You can see that he bristles when he's told what to do, a trait that eventually has consequences.

And then there's Brando.

It's no industry secret that this guy has spent the past 30 years doing everything he can to drive filmmakers — and audience members — up the wall. (Perhaps the most memorable instance is when he wanted to wear a dolphin suit while playing the title character in "The Island of Dr. Moreau.") But his casual work in "The Score" is nothing less than charming.

Max is a fey, terminally amused type who likes to poke fun at everyone in his orbit; he seems to be chuckling even when he isn't. Brando works props like a master, and his immense girth never interferes with the character the way it did when he was expected to be a romantic lead in "Don Juan DeMarco."

The Academy should give him another Oscar, then enjoy the free publicity when he strategically desecrates their olive branch. Maybe he could send an endangered whale to accept the award.

There's a quick moment of violence in "The Score," and the usual grab-bag of profanity. Note that De Niro still accentuates his toughness by refusing to speak with contractions. God only knows why it works, but it does. Rated R.

Reviewed by Dennis Schwartz

“Basic” is a lemon poured over unappetizing red herrings. The film
tastelessly piles on one plot twist after another and in an unfair way
attempts to continually mislead the viewer with erroneous info. Perhaps
the worst cinema crime Basic commits is that after all the disinformation,
the viewer stops caring about the characters and the story. The plot is
so muddled that I don’t think it can reasonably be explained, as not only
the viewer but the cast is also probably confused (By the film’s end the
cast seems to be reeling from all the silly changes in plot). The good
news is that the unbelievable plot can’t be revealed as a spoiler to those
who haven’t seen the film.

Director John McTiernan’s (”DieHard“/”The Hunt for Red
October“) military thriller stars John Travolta, sexily garbed in a
tight fitting black T-shirt and sporting a short military haircut, who
keeps his cold streak alive of being in one bad film after another since
“Pulp Fiction.” Travolta’s co-star in Pulp Fiction, Samuel L. Jackson,
joins him for the first time since “Pulp.” Jackson plays a sadistic Army
Ranger drill-sergeant with a cocky swagger, Nathan West. Jackson is in
another motormouth bad guy role but this time with punchless dialogue and
as a less than appealing character. “Basic” takes the entire cast down
as James Vanderbilt’s script is so retarded that despite the efficiency
of the filming techniques, there are so many soggy holes in the film that
it seems as if a couple of the reels got lost in a hurricane and the reels
that played should have been lost in a hurricane. I guess the idea was
to do a Rashomon thing and build a mystery story around an army investigation,
where each witness has a different version. The film stuck with that theme
for awhile, and then became more obscure as it mixed in plot lines from
a host of other recent military films such as “A Few Good Men” and “A Soldier’s
Story” until the basic story went into a freefall. “Basic” jettisoned the
basic rules of filmmaking and went so far overboard in trying to be cleverly
vague that it just became a lost cause as a movie venture. A film that
was so bad, that it was really bad (It was hard to laugh at this dumb military
thriller because it was so numbing). Kurosawa’s Rashomon is a classic on
how such a themed film should be executed, while Basic points to how it’s
done when you get hacks to carry out the mission.

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The film begins well enough explaining how the French failed to build
the Panama Canal. But it’s all downhill after the film’s first minute.
We are introduced to a former Ranger bounced for undislosed reasons who
is now a party animal. He is a rogue DEA agent named Tom Hardy (Travolta),
who is being investigated under bribery charges. Hardy’s the bad-boy who
makes a grand entrance on the set as he showers, handles calls on his cell
phone, flirts with a Mardi Gras party-goer on the street below his balcony
residence, and smokes so coolly that one would think lung cancer was a
myth. Hardy is asked as a favor by his old army pal, the commander of a
military police base in Panama City, Colonel Bill Styles (Daly), to secretly
help his woman in-house investigator, the rigid by-the-book, Captain Osborne
(Connie Nielsen), whose main problem in acting is trying to maintain a
proper southern accent (Something she never accomplishes), in a possible
murder investigation (No dead bodies were found). This is a messy murder
case involving a possible fragging and the colonel strongly suggests, to
the captain’s chagrin, that this calls for a man in charge of the investigation
and the man he has in mind is conveniently located nearby in Panama City.
The colonel introduces Hardy as the best interrogator anyone’s ever seen,
someone who can “get into your head faster than you can tie your shoes.”
Yes sir, I can understand why the sexist colonel wants a man — a man is
more likely to tie his shoes than a woman!

There were six Ranger soldiers Mueller, Pike, Dunbar, Kendall, Castro,
Nunez, who as part of their training exercise go into the jungle in a chopper
in a full-blown hurricane with Sergeant West, and only two returned–the
temperamental Dunbar (Brian Van Holt) and the anxiety-ridden ostracized
homosexual son of a general, a hospitalized Kendall (Giovanni Ribisi).
The straight-laced Captain Osborne gets nowhere questioning Dunbar, as
the Ranger says he will only speak to a fellow Ranger. The colonel then
sends for Hardy to make a hurry up investigation before the FBI investigates,
as his career can be ruined by such a scandal. Hardy manuevers the suspects
by using unorthodox questioning methods to get one version from Dunbar
and another version from Kendall, while Osborne’s role calls for her to
frown with disapproval over the loose way Hardy interrogates each suspect
and be put off by Travolta’s flirtations. Osborne is to get it on with
Travolta, perhaps, in another movie, because with the investigation and
all there was just no time to fool around in this film. With each witness
version the film goes into a flashback to see how West, a hated man, was
murdered and how the remaining soldiers took sides and fought among themselves.
But complications develop and the film runs with its theme that ‘nothing
is as it seems.’ The only thing that seems to check out is that the film
seems empty and by the time of its last conclusion, after many false ones,
a drug operation and a rogue unit of former Rangers who call themselves
Section 8 are involved in an endlessly chaotic plot that concludes just
as obscurely as when the film began.

A weird one, this ambitious exaggeration of two conjoined twins , Tom and Barry Howe (Luke and Harry Treadaway) from deepest, foggiest Norfolk who become rock stars in the mid 1970s, existent the decadent vivacity between the rush of the stratum and the captivity of a rural mansion and force horribly as victims of their own success. On the united hand, the film’s faux-doc organization, consisting of handheld shots, grabbed talk and talking heads (including Brian Aldriss as the paragrapher of the original outset novelette and Ken Russell as the director of the not-so-legitimate biopic, ‘Two Way Romeo’), roots the enterprise smartly in the dangerous culture it damns. On the other, this constitution is so minutely devised that it often distracts from the blow of the pair’s story.

The credible feel of this film-within-the-covering remains an achievement; it’s neither mocking nor parodic and approximately continually vicious earnest. Directors Keith Fulton and Louis Pepe (who made ‘Lost in La Mancha’, the description of Terry Gilliam’s sad fate at the hands of Don Quixote) put on the market reflected comment on the entertainment contraption, then and again. There are hints of Andrew Loog Oldham, Malcolm Maclaren and other past puppeteers of beyond repair c destitute – but the filmmakers’ thesis could equally be applied to Simon Fuller and Simon Cowell and their latter-day harnessing of completely-eyed young talent. It’s not all finger-pointing: the pic questions the longevity of all creative partnerships, especially those born from without and whose longevity and success rides on each member’s willingness to continue. The Pert Girls were not in any degree conjoined – but their journey was no less freaky.

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Attention, moms, Brownstoner:
The Landlord recalls bygone Brooklyn

Materializing during the

Kent State

spring of 1970, with

M*A*S*H

in release and

The

Angel Levine


, not to mention

Where's Poppa?

, on the horizon,

The Landlord

?revived for a week at Film Forum in a new 35mm print?remains one of the funniest social comedies of the period, as well as the most human.

Details

The Landowner

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Directed by Hal Ashby

MGM

September 19 into done with 25, Film Forum

Related Content

This mock bildungsroman, directed by

Hal Ashby

from

Bill Gunn

's adaptation of

Kristin Hunter

's novel, is at once broad and nuanced in its characterizations. (Gunn was also responsible for scripting

The Angel Levine

's kindred fable of racial tension in a New York tenement.)

The Landlord

received mixed reviews, in part because of its shifts in tone, from the screwball antics of Bridges's idiotic family to the pathos of

Diane Sands

's career performance as the tenant with whom the landlord becomes most involved.

The first film to reach Britain made by the notorious Lewis, who shocked the US drive-in audiences of the ’60s with some of the goriest films till doomsday made, importantly Blood Commemoration and 2000 Maniacs. If this lone is anything to go by, Lewis’ films make Friday the 13th, etc, look take pleasure in they were directed by Orson Welles. The history - about an artist who paints with human blood - is so nominal that it verges on abstraction, the acting is unspeakable, even the give one the impression-track sometimes disappears. Set as it is in no kind of situation, the mindless, sadistic stick seems all the more depressing, and the coat itself becomes unwatchable.

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Olden servant

Genealogy values score a knockout in

Cinderella Male

BY PETER KEOUGH


Cinderella Check

Directed by Ron Howard. Written by Cuesta Hollingsworth and Akiva Goldsman. With Russell Crowe, Renée Zellweger, Paul Giamatti, Craig Bierko, Bruce McGill, and Paddy Considine. A Pandemic Pictures release (144 minutes). At the Boston Common, the Fenway, the Fresh Pond, and the Circle/Chestnut Hill and in the suburbs.


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Unlike his hero, Ron Howard never bothers to develop a left hook in his affecting

Cinderella Man

. True, mounted police trample one of Jim Braddock?s neighbors to death when he joins the protest in a "Hooverville," a makeshift camp for those the Depression left unemployed. A sad case, but the guy was a hothead and not a reliable family man. Jim, on the other hand, is an uncomplaining toiler and a true-blue provider who would repay the relief office the money it gave him in his hardest times. He?d be the last to blame anyone else for his misfortunes, certainly not the government or society or the capitalists who raked in the bucks from the blood and sweat shed on the docks and in the ring. Braddock will take it all on his granitic chin and persevere and become heavyweight champion of the world. He was the underdog hero of the masses, the "Cinderella Man," as Damon Runyon titled him. That?s the fairy tale that Ron Howard believes in, and so will most of those who see his movie.

The bad news for cynics like me is that the film not only succeeds in its manipulations but is also, in essence, true. If Paul Schaap?s biography is to be believed, the New Jersey?born common man did embody all the simple virtues the film credits him with, and a few others too complicated to fit in. Howard and screenwriter Akiva Goldsman might have distorted Braddock the way they did John Nash in

A Beautiful Mind

, but they didn?t need to. Except for a little fancy footwork to underline the obvious and skew the ambiguous, the inspiring story was there for the taking. It required only a detailed production to evoke the chill and the soot of the 1930s, a decent screenplay to incorporate the sport?s colorful argot, and some rousing, Thomas Eakins?like bouts to put a crowd-pleasing and Oscar-enticing gloss on the plight of the individual in the face of universal calamity.

Casting helps too. Russell Crowe brings to mind a doughy John Garfield as Braddock, a man comfortable in his own efficient flesh and matter-of-fact about his ability to knock out the most formidable opponents with his vaunted right hand. He doesn?t talk much; he leaves that to his manager, Joe Gould, who?s played with almost irritating energy by Paul Giamatti. Indeed,

Cinderella Man

is a buddy film, with Jim seeking refuge with Joe in the ring from the Evil Stepmother. That would be Ren?e Zellweger at her pastiest as Jim?s wife, a weak sister who nags him when there?s not enough money to buy milk for their three kids and nags him again when he earns it in the ring because she?s afraid he might get hurt. Give us a break, Mae. No wonder Jim spends so much time wandering the waterfront.

That?s after his initial success as a young, up-and-coming light heavyweight in the late ?20s. But like the overwrought capitalism of America itself, Braddock relied too much on his right. A series of fractures of his right hand coincided with the collapse of the stock market, and after a string of lackluster bouts, he?s on the street and waiting dockside with the rest of the refuse in the hope of getting picked to unload shipping for paltry wages. You wonder that Howard and Goldsman don?t throw in a

Rocky

-style montage demonstrating how Braddock?s work with a baling hook built up his left arm and helped him reinvent himself as a fighter and begin his unlikely comeback.

Howard, of course, can?t blame the system for his hero?s travails, so he posits a few villains. Max Baer is played by Craig Bierko as a cross between a heavy-metal star and Mike Tyson. On the way to the heavyweight championship, he?s killed two men in the ring, and he has only contempt for the sport and his adversaries. Braddock fights because he needs to feed the kids; Baer is in it for the fame and fortune and the babes. Twenty-five years ago, Baer would have been the focus of this film, a charismatic, conflicted anti-hero. Now he?s a scapegoat. In one unfortunate, no doubt invented scene, Jim and Mae are set up to confront Baer at a fancy restaurant on the eve of the title bout. The natty champion is a pig, suggesting that he and Mae get together after he kills her hubby in the fight. Braddock wins this round with his quiet dignity; he?ll do his talking in the ring.

And Howard does transform what some have described as the dullest championship bout in history into an epic event. More engaging, though, is an earlier scene in which Braddock, driven to desperation, enters a club full of boxing cronies hat in hand, begging for rent money. If this indeed ever happened, it might have the most courageous act of a man whom Joe Louis (who KO?d Braddock in the eighth round of the new champ?s first title defense) called the most courageous man he ever fought. For Crowe, it might be his most brilliant moment on screen. It?s a reminder, too, that for every Cinderella Man in the ?30s, there were a million others saying, "Buddy, can you spare a dime?"

Issue Date: June 3 - 9, 2005

ISN'T SHE MARVELLOUS
A membrane review by Steve Rhodes
Copyright 2000 Steve Rhodes
RATING (0 TO ****): * 1/2

Andrew Bergman (STRIPTEASE) rolls out the treacle trucks in ISN'T SHE
GREAT, a story based on the life of Jacqueline Susann ("The Valley of
the Dolls"). Giving her life a bizarrely saccharine, Ozzie-and-Harriet
gloss, Bergman turns the queen of sleaze into a literary heroine. And
he makes her life so excessively cute and over-the-top fun that you may
gag. At any minute you expect the cast to stop and ask the audience "Is
everybody happy?"

Starring Bette Midler, as Jacqueline Susann, and Nathan Lane, as her
husband and agent, Irving Mansfield, the movie, thanks to Bergman's
overdirection, manages to bring out the most annoying parts of each
actor. Although the movie is short, you'll find yourself secretly
hoping for the obviously fatal conclusion — Susann is diagnosed early
in the picture with cancer — to occur much sooner than it does.

Filmed by Karl Walter Lindenlaub with bright, peppy colors and scored by
Burt Bacharach for maximum cloyingness, the film doesn't have a subtle
moment. Although Jacqueline wrote about a world of sex and drugs, the
movie provides no background on this. In the picture, Jacqueline acts
like a woman who sometimes talks dirty but who doesn't have any sins,
save her tacky wardrobes. She does sometime speak harshly to God, who
appears as the sunlight that filters through a Central Park tree.

As Jacqueline's lap dog of a husband, Nathan Lane plays obsequiousness
to the hilt. During her fake suicide episode, he walks into the lake to
save her before she drowns. He stops first, of course, to slowly take
off his shoes and sox and roll up his pants' legs.

The only saving graces in the movie are two of the supporting cast, to
whom writer Paul Rudnick (IN & OUT) gives some of the few lines with any
possibilities. Stockard Channing, as Jacqueline's smart-mouthed friend
Flo, likes to tell it like it is. When Irving suggests a book to
Jacqueline as the salvation for her sagging acting career, Flo, not
realizing that he means writing, tells him how stupid his idea is. "Oh
come on, Irving," Flo says, "reading never solved anything."

As her anal-retentive, Brooks-Brothers-dressed editor, Michael, David
Hyde Pierce gives a prissy performance that's cute at first, but it's a
one joke idea. His slow transformation out of his regimented life is as
predictable as the rest of the story.

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"Talent isn't everything," Flo says. And the mere collection of a
talented cast does not ensure that the movie can demonstrate any. ISN'T
SHE GREAT was probably a bad idea from the beginning, and nothing in
this movie convinces us otherwise.

ISN'T SHE GREAT runs 1:30. It is rated R for language and would be
acceptable for teenagers.

Email:

Steve.Rhodes@InternetReviews.com

Web:

http://www.InternetReviews.com

In the Two Sicilies of 1860, Fabrizio Corbero, the Prince Of Salina (Burt Lancaster) tries to uphold the old way of subsistence as laic war threatens to change it forever. His chic nephew Tancredi (Alain Delon) dashes off to fight with Garibaldi, who is attempting to fasten all of Italy into a specific nation. On his restore, the penniless Tancredi falls in mania with Angelica (Claudia Cardinale), the voluptuous daughter of a vulgarian snob who is richly endowed with olive groves. Fabrizio knows that a affiliation transfer compromise the kinsmen name, but with the aristocracy already in decline, the pragmatic patriarch realises that such a union resolution shore up the forefathers fortune and obstruct its inevitable fall.

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Growing up in Canada, a staple of our culture is the National Coat Board’s presence in the inception of Canadian film presentations, which time again portrayed lifestyles unfamiliar to me, though painting kind of romantic images against a backdrop of the harsh reality of life in some remote regions of this country. Produced with help from the NFB and twice voted the best Canadian covering, director/actor/writer Claude Jutra’s masterwork, Mon Oncle Antoine, tells the coming of age story of a childish boy in a pint-sized Quebec mining town during the 1940s. Written by Jutra and Clément Perron (whose 1973 film Taureau I’d like to woo on DVD sooner than later) and shot on location in Quebec at the Thetford Mines, as well as Infernal Lake City, the film chronicles the events of one pivotal Christmas season in this small community.

Jos Poulon (Lionel Villeneuve), father of five, is fed up with his job at the asbestos lode, and decides to abandon his derivation to go apply in the beams camp for the winter, leaving his wife (Hélène Loiselle) and eldest son to run their mundane farm and attend to the children. Young Benoit (Jacques Gagnon) lives several miles away in township with his aunt Cecile (Olivette Thibault) and uncle Antoine (Jean Duceppe) at the general store, which is the center of their community. He helps out at the church, assisting his uncle, who is also the town mortician. While Antoine should be the pillar of the community, he as a substitute for spends most of his day drinking in the overdue renege room, while his nephew Fernand (Jutra) attends to the books and runs the store, with the help of Benoit and a young girl, Carmen (Lyne Champagne), who shares both the attentions of Benoit and the unwelcomed leers of Fernand.

As Christmas moves ever nearer, the perennial window display at the store becomes the center of concentration, though wedding plans and the appearance of a budding corset for the community debutante (Monique Mercure) also paint hobby, primarily from the young boys wishing to snitch a perfection at Alexandrine as she tries on her latest acquiring.

When the eldest Poulon son falls terminally destruction and Benoit’s uncle is called upon to go out like a light to their farm, the events that follow at one’s desire be a communique as Benoit learns to look at sentience in a new way, and begins to understand the personalities and relationships of his elders, and his own growing responsibilities in the community.

It is nice to survive help more films from my homeland making their way to DVD, but the truancy of titles like Why Shoot The Counsellor (1977) and The Little Moll Who Lives Down The Lane leave me leaving much to be desired more. A charming theatricalism, balancing seriousness with a comedic touchy, portrayed in a very natural, and very Canadian technique. Mon Oncle Antoine counters the foibles of small municipality life with its realities, in a sensitive and touching film.

Three men in their 30s who that time want to conduct much the same as boys walk out on the women in their lives and proceed into a disconnected house on the fringe of a college campus. When they throw a wild and willing housewarming faction which many co-eds attend, they vex an uppity dean who makes moves to have them evicted. Mitch (Luke Wilson), Explicit (Will Ferrell) and Beanie (Vince Vaughn) uncover a evasion in the law which means they can guy on and dirt the place provided they can rookie enough misfits to regimen their own highly disruptive kinship.