The Review Archive

A very beautiful, highly suggestive, and ultimately haunting non-narrative experience; lives up to its name by acting as a mirror for the viewer's thoughts and emotions.

Quickly forgotten and often overdone, but it does contain moments of impressive aesthetic elegance, and the action is sleek and exciting. It's fresh - but barely.

Difficult, personal, opaque, but profound and ultimately moving exploration of spiritual displacement and existence. The performances and direction and tremendous.

The 36th Chamber of Shaolin:
(The Shaw Brothers, 1978)

A common, and in my opinion unfortunate, characteristic of modern Hollywood action films is an ever-present streak of cynicism and self-awareness. The characters who populate today's thrillers no longer take anything seriously - even in the most dire of moments, the protagonist has the time to crack a cynical, hard-edged joke. The 36th Chamber of Shaolin, the legendary, cult Shaw Brothers kung-fu epic, is entirely uncynical. It takes its pulpy, over-the-top, almost comic-book-ish atmosphere seriously, making an already entertaining experience all the more refreshing. The film, set in a Canton during the rule of the tyrannical tartars, follows the young rebel Liu (a memorable Gordon Liu), as he flees the city after being discovered and takes refuge in a Shaolin temple. There, he decides to learn kung-fu, and overcomes the obstacles and difficulties of the 35 chambers of the Shaolin. His training over, he returns to Canton, and faces his long-time enemies. Director Liu brings the story, settings, and characters to life with generous broad strokes, and uses the mostly physical nature of the action to shape the story. He also uses the settings to great effect, crafting memorable set-pieces out of each scene. The work done behind the camera is also effective: the camerawork is smooth and fluid, the visuals colorful and lush, and the production design brings the Asian settings to life. Most importantly, there's isn't a single self-deriding wink at the audience - everyone takes the film seriously, and that proves to be its greatest strength. In fact, for all its pulpy, low-budget nature, The 36th Chamber of Shaolin is more entertaining that most action movies nowadays.

A massive, complex, utterly entrancing and ultimately haunting experience. The story is as complex and rewarding as any novel, the direction is rich and moving, and the performances superlative. One of the best to come out of the '80s, and one of my favorite films.

An excellent film whose totality doesn't quite live up to the masterful nature of its individual elements (such as the dynamite script and compelling direction). Mention must be made of Brando's performance, which lives up to its fame.

The atmosphere is magnificently realized, omnipresent, and genuinely petrifying - I can't remember a single movie in recent memory with such a prevalent sense of dread; the visual style is also exceptional, emphasizing loneliness and isolation marvelously. Also remarkable is the way Kurosawa poises his film between the explainable nature of most horror films and the obviously metaphorical nature, harnessing the power of both without falling prey to their shortcomings.

An elegant, rich and moving adaptation that captures both the themes and the texture of Graham Greene's novel. The film is anchored by Michael Caine's performance, which is magnificent.

Emotionally and visually lavish tale of 19th century China. Zhang Yimou's direction brings the various conflicts to vivid life, and Gong Li is sublime in the lead role.

[Second viewing notes: while Yimou's formal mastery and Gong Li's breathtaking performance remain above reproach, the film's slight distance to the conflicts doesn't. The story's tragedy, while palpable, never wrenches as much as it should, and I find myself increasingly preferring the director's later features (especially To Live). Nevertheless, a beautiful film.]

Contains some of the most amazing car chase sequences ever put to film, and as far as the screenplay and acting are concerned, stands as a terrific example of tightly wound, no-frills action filmmaking. Not a great movie, but the very definition of "solid".

It is imperfect in some regards (uneven pacing, a somewhat incoherent script), but as all of Zhang Yimou's films, it possesses a great visual eloquence, and moments of exquisite emotional sensibility. Moreso, this may be one of the finest collaborations between Yimou and actress Gong Li, who gives a complex and beautiful performance.

Scathing, yet elegant, exploration of the destructive nature of show business; the screenplay is fast-paced and sharp, the direction spot-on, and the acting (particularily by Swanson) pitch-perfect.

The Talented Mr. Ripley
(Anthony Minghella, 1999)

Uncannily reminiscent of the best of Alfred Hitchcock (particularly To Catch a Thief and Vertigo), Minghella's adaptation of the acclaimed novel is a complex, intelligent, remarkably crafted film. Particularly notable is the director's attention to detail: every shot, edit, and technical detail serves a specific purpose, be it thematic or stylistic. The performances are also worth mentioning: Matt Damon is excellent as the enigmatic titular character; Jude Law uses his image to great effect as insensitive playboy Dickie Greenleaf; Gwyneth Paltrow is particularily evocative as his perceptive but hopelessly-in-love writer love interest; and in key supporting roles, Cate Blanchett, James Rebhorn, Philip Seymour Hoffman and Philip Baker Hall shine.

****
^{(A must-see)}

Three Colors Trilogy
(Krzysztof Kieslowski, 1993-94)

Click for Full Review

****
^{(Masterpiece)}

Tetsuo I: The Iron Man
(Shinya Tsukamoto, 1988)

Fast-paced, bizarre techno-metallic nightmare that, despite its lack of cohesion, captures the insane, surreal nature of the modern mechanical world. The ending, bizarrely funny, is perfect too.

**
^{(A must-see)}

Trouble in Paradise
(Ernst Lubitsch, 1932)

An utter and complete pleasure, and quite possibly the best romantic comedy I've ever seen. The sly, witty, character-based script is brought to vibrant life by Ernst Lubitsch's elegant direction, and a spot-on cast of actors brings every quirky situation to life. Mention must also be made of how well the film has aged - after 74 year's, its lines are still funny, its jabs at high society still scathingly effective, and its sexual side still remarkable present. A great pleasure, and a great film.

****
^{(Masterpiece)}

It's quiet, understated, and intelligent, qualities that might seem odd in the context of a thriller, but that imbue the film with a chilling realism. The ending, in particular, is haunting.

A disappointingly bland entry from the usually-masterful Almodovar, lacking both the vibrant garishness of his earlier works and the rich, compassionate maturity of his later ones. The soap-opera storyline, while fairly well-developed and possessing a certain subtlety, is devoid of truly compelling characters, and Almodovar's direction lacks the emotional resonance that usually makes it so distinctive. For a much a more satisfying attempt at the same type of film, check out his next feature, the excellent "Carne Tremula".

Alejandro Jodorowsky's long-suppressed western El Topo certainly lives up to its cult reputation as one of the strangest movies ever made. Evolving around the stylistic skeleton of Leone and Peckinpah westerns, it stands as a surreal, fantastic, and often grotesque experience. The imagery is distinctive, and searing: Franciscan monks maimed with cactus branches; the entrails of a horse spewing into the street; castration; mass murder ... and yet there are also moments of serenity and almost divine peace. The story is similarly paradoxical: during the first hour, a black-clad gunslinger, accompanied by a few strange henchmen, strives to kill, through cunning and treachery, the four Masters of the Gun that rule the desert; in the second hour, of striking tonal difference, the same character is transformed into a Brahma-inspired messiah as he vows to dig through a mountain and save the oppressed, deformed race that lives underneath it. What El Topo's hallucinatory elements build up to is an alternately beautiful and repulsive vision of Western civilization, seen through the kaleidoscopic, often extraordinary sensibilities of a unique filmmaker. Here is one film whose reputation is wholly justified.

Vibrant, imaginative, wonderfully crafted science-fiction epic with enormous (of obvious) social relevance. Miyazaki succeeds in creating memorable character and evocative situations, and paces the story masterfully, creating a film that should satisfy both children and adults and encourage repeat viewings. A pleasure.

The last Shaw Bros. film directed by the legendary Chia-Liang Liu (Enter the 36th Chamber of Shaolin) is an awesome, highly-entertaining martial arts epic. In true genre form, the story of treachery, secret training and revenge serves as a slim thread between the true stars of the show: the action sequences, which start small and increase in size and energy to a rip-roaring, teeth-shattering (literally) finale that rivals anything I've seen in the genre until a certain Tarantino gore-fest. If you can find it, watch it. If you can't, well ... keep looking! It's worth it.

A reasonably entertaining diversion, thanks to Tarantino's crackerjack dialogue and Scott's stylish direction, it nevertheless fails to cohere into anything more. Good soundtrack, though, along with some great one-liners, and the Hopper versus Walken confrontation scene is a diamond in the rough, and one of Quentin's best screenwriting moments.

The best film of 1995 is also what might just be the best and most natural romance I've ever seen. Ethan Hawke and Julie Delpy are wonderful to behold (in career-best performances, matched only by Before Sunset) and Linklater's script is as layered and intelligent as it is replete with small surprises. A pleasure, and a masterpiece.

Rarely does one find, in a film of such power, such sincerity, and such a refusal to pander to the lower forms of emotional manipulation. Written and directed by Atom Egoyan, the film charts, using a fractured narrative, the repercussions (social, emotional, intellectual) that surround a tragic accident in a small rural community. The film is anchored (and the audience guided) by two magnificent performances: Ian Holm, who burns with cold rage as the lawyer who strives to stir up the community and who fights his own demons, and Sarah Polley, the luminous lone survivor cast out by fate and those around her. Through these two avatars, the audience experiences the grief, the anger, and ultimately, the cold clarity that eventually sets in when the dust settles. As such, the film is not only an exploration of grief, but also a sharp tale of intellectual awakening and of coming to terms with the injustice of life. Technically dazzling, intellectually provocative, and emotionally draining, it's one of the best films of its decade.

My previous experiences with Dario Argento have been a bit of a mixed bag. Phenomena, while interesting in premise and competent in execution, was a rather tepid affair overall, and Opera, while visually fascinating, was too murky in narrative to truly excel. Enter Suspiria, Argento's legendary foray into gothic horror: it's not only his best work, but one of the best examples of the genre I've ever seen. What one notices first and foremost -and what acts as the film's magnetic core- is the sheer artistry of the aesthetics. The film is lit almost exclusively in vibrant reds, blues, and greens, bathing the characters in a psychedelic mirage of colors. The sets, which evoke a Salvador Dali fairy tale by way of Escher, are stunning and a constant source of surprise and delight, and the music, composed and performed by the Goblins and Argento himself, is a tremendously creepy mix of metallic percussions, eerie whispers, and discordant chimes. The unique sensual experience thus created keeps the audience immersed even as the narrative occasionally sputters (especially during the climax), or as the acting hits some strange notes (Jessica Harper, the lead, is not a very good actress, but proves oddly essential to the film's effectiveness; call it charisma). A few sentences ago, I called Suspiria one of the best gothic horror films I've ever come across, and it's true. Does that make it a great film? I'm not sure. But it's memorable and unlike anything I've seen before, and that makes it an undeniable must-see.

One of Bergman's best film (and thus, among the very best of the art form itself), it is a powerful and moving examination of faith, crises, and the strange and secret rhythms of existence. It's also a tour-de-force example of tonal balance, perfectly poised between realism and metaphors, history and fantasy. The dark-robed figure of death intermingles with knights and squires, fools and priests, men and women, and Bergman alchemizes these images into moments of great emotional and philosophical power. But perhaps the intent and effect of the film is best described by a term coined by J.R.R. Tolkien: the eucatastrophe, or the "good catastrophe", in which sadness and euphoria coexist harmoniously, and encompass both sides of humanity's existence.

As is the case in most Shadyac films, your like or dislike of Ace Ventura is directly proportional to your disposition towards the wacky side of Jim Carrey. The film itself is simply a showcase for the polarizing comic actor; to speak of things like plot and direction is to blow hot air. As such, if you can't stand his admittedly moronic vaudeville, then you should probably stay as far away as possible from this film; if, however, his rubber-faced charisma strikes your fancy, you'll probably derive at least some enjoyment from his turn as the Pet Detective. As to my own experience? I'm a fan, so I enjoyed it. It's nothing to write home about, but seeing a grown man tackle a dolphin makes it all worthwhile for me.

A star vehicle in the narrowest sense of the expression, The Mask is little more than a cartoon-like showcase for the rubber-faced comedy of Jim Carrey. That being said, there's nothing wrong with showcasing undeniable talent, and while bare and unremarkable, the film manages to entertain.

(It's worth mentioning that Cameron Diaz has never looked as good as in her entrance shot in this film.)

If not an equal to Zhang Yimou's later melodramas, it's certainly a potent and promising stepping stone. All the staples of the director's work are present in budding form: the evocative performance by Gong Li, the lush, vivid cinematography, the socio-political undertones, the tragedy. What is unfortunately not present is coherence and polish, especially at the screenplay stage: the film is poorly paced and simplistic, with incomplete characters and unconvincing developments. For fans of Yimou's work, Red Sorghum is recommended; others would do well to appreciate his better films before attempting this one.