Save one life, save the world entire

SCHINDLER'S LIST (1993)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

 

Steven Spielberg's "Schindler's List" remains both the most proficient and emotionally overpowering film of his career. It established Spielberg as a "serious" director, though he had already proven that with "The Color Purple" and "Empire of the Sun." Though "List" has its minute flaws, it is a frustrating, exhausting, emotionally manipulative, serene, pristinely beautiful and poetic film of the most tragic time in history, the Holocaust. It is not the definitive version but it stands as something of a raw though somewhat compromising cinematic event.

Based on the Tom Kennealy book, the film begins with Oskar Schindler (Liam Neeson) worming his way into the Nazi party by engaging in the munitions business. First, he integrates himself in nightclubs frequented by Nazi commandants and soldiers by paying for exquisite foods and liquor. Then he slowly builds interest in the higher elite by giving them chocolates, Cognac and shoe polish. Before you know it, Schindler has the financial backing from many supporters for a munitions plant, the kind of factory where arms and other weapons can be made with faulty mechanisms. All he needs is an accountant, and he finds one in Itzhak Stern (Ben Kingsley), a Jew who questions Schindler's motives from the start. Nevertheless, Schindler hires many Jews to work for him, to ensure that not one manufactured weapon will fire. He also hires a bunch of women as secretaries. You see, Schindler is a ladies' man, sleeping with women he meets at clubs or restaurants. His wife, Emile Schindler (Caroline Goodall), has grown to accept Schindler's infidelities though she prefers to be called Mrs. Schindler as opposed to "miss."

Oskar's goal is to make money, nothing more. He knows his stature will be observed by all the Nazi officers. So he achieves this goal by making a "presentation," an effort to save several Jews from dying in the concentration camps. There are obstacles. One is the deadly Amon Goeth (Ralph Fiennes), a brutal, handsome Nazi prison commandant who has no qualms of shooting a Jew in the head for any reason, including one with a work protest. Amon is merely serving the Fuhrer in his cause and helping to liquidate the ghettos is within his reach. He is also a killing machine, shooting Jews for sport from the balcony of his villa in one of the most chilling scenes in the film. He even wants a Jewish maid, Helen Hirsch (Embeth Davidtz), to live with him after the war is over. It takes someone like Schindler to convince Amon that it would be crazy to do such a thing. Schindler also convinces Amon to refrain from shooting every Jew he feels justified in killing.

In one of the most amazingly elaborate sequences ever directed by Spielberg, we witness the liquidation of a ghetto, from the forceful evacuation of people and their belongings in their apartments, to the random shootings on the streets and to the survivors being led into the trains. We also see children scurrying about to find hiding places under floorboards and other passageways. Schindler observes this chaos from a hill and when he sees one girl wearing a red coat wandering about on the streets, he decides he has a moral obligation - it is not about money anymore, it is about saving lives. And save lives he does, as he uses Itzhak to draw up a list of Jews who can work in the factory and prevent them from being shot or gassed to death. Ever the clever businessman, he uses money to persuade many officials to let these selected people go. "You are giving them hope. That's cruel," says Amon as he watches Schindler use fire hoses to give the prisoners in the trains water. Why did the real Oskar Schindler risk his own life to save 1,000 Jews from imminent death? Spielberg and screenwriter Steven Zaillian do not provide us the answers and we do not need them. We can draw our own conclusion that Schindler only did what he thought was right - money and artillery shells were no longer precious commodities. "The list is life" and "If you save one person, you save the world entire" are the themes of this Holocaust film. Schindler understands those things all too well. Yes, he is a cipher but he did what he thought was the right thing to do and not because he was sympathetic to the Jews (at least that is my impression).

"Schindler's List" succeeds greatly in absorbing us with all the details - especially seeing how Schindler thinks and maneuvers himself in this hellish world. The performances by all the actors contain refreshing restraint - no single actor towers over anyone else. The black-and-white cinematography by Janusz Kaminsi is nothing short of astounding, utilizing grain, deep contrast and shadows with the ease of early films from the same period. All told, the film is excellent but I'd be remiss if I agreed with the Academy in honoring it the Best Picture Award of 1993 (that honor should have gone to Scorsese's "Age of Innocence" or James Ivory's "Remains of the Day"). Spielberg's Holocaust is unflinching to be sure and masterfully horrific when expected, but there is a sense that the major characters are only affected by the horror emotionally. In other words, the major Jew characters, including Helen Hirsch, are memorably portrayed and their lingering faces of shock stay with us - we can't help but identify with them. But their characters survive thanks to Schindler's intervention so that we see the value of human life. That's fine but, call me jaded, I would have preferred if one of the main characters were killed. This would have made the ending more powerful, though I am aware the characters depicted did in fact survive (a fictional character could've been created to be one of the lead Jew prisoners). Consider an early sequence where a one-armed Jew worker is shot by the Nazis for being inefficient and useless. We hardly get to know the character (only that he is grateful to Schindler for giving him work) so that his execution is awful to witness but it affects us only because we know what horrors await these people.

The finale of "Schindler's List" is still genuinely moving, particularly the real-life survivors who place stones on the graves of people they knew. Just prior to that sequence is Schindler's emotional breakdown in front of all the people he saved. The emotions run the risk of being too sentimental, as if Spielberg wanted to suffocate the viewers with emotion. In real life, Schindler said goodbye to all the survivors and left in a car with his wife and mistress - no emotional breakdown took place. Still, these minor tidbits can be argued about endlessly by all Spielberg detractors and certainly don't diminish what Spielberg has invested in this grand epic. Harrowing, disturbing, terrifying and exhausting, this is Spielberg at his most humanistic and most vital.

The Future is Dumb and Dumber

IDIOCRACY (2006)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

(originally reviewed in 2007)

There is no better way to put it - America is headed for the dumb and dumber road. Just about everything in our culture, our pop culture, is watered down, bland and simply uninteresting. Well, maybe not everything. In the future world of "Idiocracy," being the smartest man in the room means you were once dumb.

Luke Wilson is ideally cast as Private Joe Bowers, an Army soldier who works in the library where he has not a single task to perform. The Army fires him from this post and uses him as a guinea pig for a government experiment - he will be kept frozen for a year, along with a prostitute, Rita (Maya Rudolph). They wake up five hundred years into the future, thanks to an Army mishap, and find themselves in a city populated by dunderheaded fools. We see two buildings held together by rope; garbage infesting every square inch of the city thanks to huge, fragile mounds of trash; a White House run by a former wrestler; a Costco that seems as big as the city; cinemas showing films about defecation and flatulence; TV shows where getting kicked in the testes is the biggest highlight; ER's where diagnostic machines provide information, not doctors; Starbucks offering literally more bang for your buck; lasers that read bar codes on people's wrists; and where whining is synonymous with homosexuality.

Some of this is quite amusing, especially the visual gags (the monster trucks at a show loaded with weapons, one of which doesn't quite fit through an entrance). I am more appreciative of the dialogue, some of which sparks with real ingenious situations (people of the future use advertising slogans consistently when they speak, a time machine is not what it seems, etc.). I also love how Joe sees that he is smarter than everyone, to the point that he garners attention from the White House. See, this city needs help. Clearing all the trash is not as important as clean air (clearing the trash might help first and foremost) but it might help if a sports drink isn't held as the healthiest drink (apparently water only comes out of toilets). Since there is no vegetation, Joe knows that water is needed to grow plants, not electrolytes. I also like how Rita, still a prostitute in the future, holds up her customers for several days while milking them for all their cash.

At 84 minutes, "Idiocracy" is almost too short and the finale, monster trucks and Joe hanging from a set of wires, seems too drawn out and anticlimactic. Mike Judge, the creator and writer-director, doesn't sustain the comic edge to really push the film to a more satisfying conclusion. However, Judge knows how to draw insight from the banalities of this future world where all one particular character can say is, "I like money." Money and sex, and breeding like cats, is all that matters (sort of the situation today as well). Advertising and commercial endorsements are part of the English language, and to say the future justice system is a joke is to miss the point - an effeminate quality or seemingly homosexual behavior leads to a guilty charge. How interesting.

"Idiocracy" was barely released in theaters thanks to Fox studios who had no real interest in this smart, subversive satire. Perhaps they saw too much of today's stupidity manifested in the film (or they missed the message about a lack of culture in these trying times). When pop stars like Britney Spears and Paris Hilton take precedence in the media over the war in Iraq, you can then see what Mike Judge is hinting at - pop culture is the culture. Or perhaps the Fox executives are worried that we are already headed in that direction. Either way, "Idiocracy" is a pure, engaging delight that ends too soon to really score a direct hit to the, um, nuts.

Manson spits at Abraxas

CHARLES MANSON SUPERSTAR (1989)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

In the eyes of the media, Charles Manson remains the epitome of evil, the counterculture carbon-copy of a Hitler on the rise who never quite fulfilled his agenda. As we all know, in the dark days of August of 1969, Charles Manson led a group of followers in Death Valley, known as the Family, to murder unsuspecting people in their own homes. They were actress Sharon Tate and friends in their home. The next day, it was the LaBianca couple in another home. The killers weren't apprehended for some time, but the nature of the crimes was so bestial that homicide detectives were vomiting in the bathrooms. The Family was eventually captured, Manson's piercing eyes graced Life magazine covers, and the rest is history.
Many films and books were written about this infamous chapter in the annals of crime, but little has been examined about Manson himself. Who was this little man (professing to be a hippie) and why did he think he was Jesus, Satan and above everything and anything, and what was this talk of a racial war? "Charles Manson Superstar," a crudely and badly edited yet never less than compelling document, attempts to deal with such questions but it never really succeeds.

Writer-director Nikolas Schreck filmed Manson in an interview at San Quentin to get some answers. Manson is seen sitting at a chair, uncuffed and not wearing shackles, waving his arms, getting into karate positions and diddling with a lavalier mike. He speaks admiringly of his Family members, including "Squeaky" Fromme who once attempted to kill former President Ford. He understands "Tex" Watson's desire to be a born-again Christian, though he insists that Tex is making a mistake following the Lord, something people have been doing for 2000 years. Manson claims he has all the answers and that he no longer inhabits the human form - he is a ubiquitous spiritual manifestation. He speaks admiringly of Abraxas, the ancient Gnostic god who is the "Symbol of the Eternal Now." Manson also claims to be a "beautiful woman," a "matriarch" for all the Manson girls! Now, I am no philosopher but this is obviously more than a man in touch with his feminine side.

Schreck seems to say that Manson was wronged by society, by the media, and turned into a monster because nobody understood his philosophies. Schreck also implies that killing Hollywood celebrities is no big deal, further supported rather chillingly in a powerful cameo by James N. Mason, the leader of the Universal Order, a U.S.-based Nazi organization. The question remains, what exactly is Manson's philosophy? To be the new Jesus? The new Hitler? The one who thought he could persuade 100,000 people to do his murderous bidding? Why start a racial war and stay in a bottomless pit? Why favor death as opposed to life, stating that death was a beautiful thing? This same pseudo-revolutionary was afraid to die when he thought he was going to get the death sentence. So Manson got away scot-free and remains in prison to this day, denied parole again and again. True, he was not allowed to testify for rather ambiguous reasons - it must have helped that President Nixon famously declared Manson guilty. How could the defense team top that?

Editing is not one of Schreck's strong suits, as his audio and video transitions are haphazardly pasted together. At times, Schreck seems to cut himself off before he starts a question, and even cuts off Manson in the middle of a speech. Also, his narration and his wife's, Zeena LaVey (Anton LaVey's daughter), can get grating but the use of Manson's bootlegged songs and other obscure music bring a sense of foreboding gloom to the proceedings.

"Charles Manson Superstar" is quite compelling overall, and many will find Manson either incomprehensible or profound. Still, seeing this man professing to be one thing or another while we, the audience, know what he had done makes one feel queasy and uncomfortable. In the end, you'll be left with those piercing eyes and more questions than answers.

Icy, cold, haunting Gallo

BUFFALO '66 (1998)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

"Buffalo '66" is the type of film that serves as a reminder of those small, lonely towns throughout America where you don't see or hear much, and the only excitement to be found is maybe at a third-rate bowling alley or a pool table at some tavern on a squalid street corner. In other words, a film about the kind of places you know exist but would never think of visiting - a place not unlike Buffalo. Vincent Gallo's directorial debut "Buffalo '66" focuses greatly on the squalid nature of such towns.

The scrawny Gallo stars as Billy Brown, a young man released from prison after six years for a crime he didn't commit. And what's the first thing Billy does after exiting the prison's front gate? He asks the guard if he can use the bathroom. This is something Billy tries to do for the first fifteen minutes of the film, but he can't seem to find one. Finally, he relieves himself at a tap-dance studio where he abruptly kidnaps a blonde, Lolita-like teenage student named Layla (Christina Ricci), and threatens her with words like "Don't wash the front windshield of the car like that!"

Billy's motive for kidnapping Layla is to make her pretend she is his wife so he can present her to his parents as a sign of maturity and responsibility. She calmly agrees, but wonders if his parents will cook meat since she's a vegetarian. When they arrive at his parents' house, they are greeted with indifference and the cheerless dinner scene, an absolute riot to watch, is beset by past humiliations, particularly when Billy is reminded that as a kid he was allergic to chocolate doughnuts though his mother didn't care.

"Buffalo '66" captures the seediness and icy coldness of Buffalo better than any other film could, but it's deficient in the screenwriting department. Gallo does a marvelous job of developing the hirsute antihero Billy, who is really just a lost soul in search of something. I also liked the way he wrote and shot the dinner table scenes, emphasizing the pain and dysfunction between Billy and his parents by composing a wide spatial distance in the reverse angle shots (the parents are superbly played by Ben Gazzara and Anjelica Huston). But the film suffers by not divulging much information about Layla - who is this girl? Is she a sexpot, a hooker, a forlorn dance student, an angel, or none of the above? The cherub-like Ricci plays her with great sex appeal and perfect comic timing, but she is much too enigmatic a character for my tastes - a nobody who is still a nobody by the end. And the feel-good ending negates most of what preceded it.

Still, in an era of bland blockbuster phenomenons and clever post-modernist horror flicks, "Buffalo '66" is surely different and it has an edge. It betrays its own edginess and sense of anxiety, but it holds your interest right from the opening black-and-white title credits to Gallo's imposing presence. He has one of the more hauntingly expressive faces I've seen in a long time, and it suggests anything but peace.

Revisiting Malick's War

THE THIN RED LINE (1998)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia 

(Original review written in January '99)

It took director Terrence Malick twenty years to make a film, which is about a decade longer than it would take Stanley Kubrick. Did he run out of ideas or was he sick of Hollywood? It is an inconsequential matter because Malick has crafted one of the most poetic, life-affirming statements on war that has ever been produced by a Hollywood studio. "The Thin Red Line" is a masterpiece - a quiet, powerful observation of men in war, their lingering thoughts on what war means to them, and how violent human behaviors affect nature.

The film's opening shot is not of bullets grazing and imploding on the beach of Omaha, but of a crocodile entering a lake. The next few shots centers on Private Witt (James Caviezel) cavorting among the natives on an island off the coast, but where are we? Why are we here? Isn't this a war film? Later, an American patrol ship spots Witt and another soldier, and it is up to First Sgt. Edward Welsh (Sean Penn) to remind Witt what their God-like mission is. Their mission, as Lieut. Col. Tall (Nick Nolte) explains, is to ascend upon a certain hill on the Guadalcanal island to infiltrate a Japanese bunker. This is the conventional section of the film - the war itself to find the bunker, and the risk of being shot down like flies by the Japanese. With its sweeping grandeur, artfully shot and edited battles and incongruous points-of-view, this long sequence caught me off guard and is thus tinged with more emotion and heartbreak than anything in "Saving Private Ryan." I think the reason it works so well is that we are aware how unfair and unpredictable war is - bullets and gunfire can come from anywhere. One soldier (played by Woody Harrelson) accidentally pulls the pin on a grenade thus literally blowing himself apart!

Malick also invests time on how his characters think of war in the context of their lives, and their loved ones back home. One particular soldier, Private Bell (Ben Chaplin), is always reminiscing of his days with his wife whom we see in short shrift during flashbacks. He wants to be with her, but knows that he may meet her "in the dark waters." Nolte's ferocious lieutenant wonders why he's fighting, then he realizes that war is what he's been working up to for twenty years. His fierce attitude is upheld by his notion that war makes a man virile - "My son is a bait salesman." When he speaks eloquently about his tough career to Captain Gaff (John Cusack), he says to him: "You are my son."

Malick also makes vivid points about nature, and how the brutal inhumanity of war affects it. This is where his artistry truly lies - his films, "Badlands" and "Days of Heaven," are inherently about nature. This time, along with the help of cinematographer John Toll, he shows us the raping of the earth by men of war. Although nature is a process of violence, war rapes the blades of grass and the soil by its incessant violence upon it, including explosions. This is a theme that the mass audience will not care to understand - close-ups of colorful parrots, bats, rattlesnakes, and crocodiles do not a war film make, do they? Yet these innocent animal species did not ask to be part of it, nor did the natives who walk among the pastures or the soldiers who are killed arbitrarily. That close symmetry between man and animal is repeatedly and intelligently paralleled by Malick.

"The Thin Red Line" is not the type of film that is character-driven but rather character-oriented. In other words, this is a film about faces within the confines of nature, and the chaos that surrounds them. The interior monologues are told through voice-overs (originally voiced by Billy Bob Thornton) of individual men and their perceptions of what war entails.

The actors who make the strongest impression are James Caveziel's divine Private Witt (the dreamy, poignant hero of the film), Nick Nolte's memorably furious Colonel, Elias Koteas's straight-arrow Captain Staros who refuses to send his men to death, Sean Penn's amazingly watchable Sgt. Welsh, Ben Chaplin's courageous Private Bell, and the stoic, eccentric quality of John Savage's McCron. Other actors (John Travolta, George Clooney, John C. Reilly, Adrien Brody) are left in the dust (there was extensive recutting), but Malick's astute direction always rivets our attention.

Malick has crafted a beautiful film full of some potent, sublime images. I'll never forget the shots of the tortured Japanese soldiers and their cries of pain; Caveziel's beatific face and the moment he's confronted by the enemy; the deployed cargoes crashing on the water; the sunlight peering through the trees. Overall, "The Thin Red Line's" overt, lingering lyricism indicates that nature should be restored and not ignored, in light of virile fighters on the terrain. Rarely has such a war film made the point that our surroundings, and what we make of them, is infinitely more important than the evil that men do. 

Pam Grier is FOXY!

JACKIE BROWN (1997)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

(original review from Dec. 1997)

Aside from "Reservoir Dogs" and "Pulp Fiction," Quentin Tarantino has not exactly grabbed audiences with some of his later work. Anyone care to remember his minute directing bit for the awful anthology "Four Rooms"? Except for the over-the-top vampire activity of "From Dusk Till Dawn," Tarantino was in danger of overexposure since he appeared in dozens of less-than-wonderful supporting roles in other directors' movies. Now, at last, comes Tarantino's first major film as writer and director since "Pulp Fiction," and what a joy it is to see him back. "Jackie Brown" is Tarantino at the top of his game - foul-mouthed, wickedly funny writing with ball-of-fire performances by the whole cast.

The titled character is played by glamorous, former blaxploitation star Pam Grier as a 44-year-old airline stewardess who's carrying smuggled money from Mexico to a suave arms dealer, Ordell Robbie (Samuel L. Jackson). Jackie, however, is eventually apprehended and arrested by two ATF agents (Michael Keaton and Michael Bowen) as she arrives in California. She doesn't want to spend the rest of her days in jail so she cuts a deal with the agents to double-cross Ordell (and, naturally, the agents) out of his remaining half-million dollar stash. The switchover is to take place in a less conspicuous rendezvous - a mall.

Ordell's own life is always on the fringe. He has to contend with his beach bunny, pot-smoking girlfriend Melanie (Bridget Fonda) who reluctantly answers his business calls, and his sedate partner Louis Gara (Robert De Niro) who continually smokes pot with Melanie. Ordell bails out Jackie by talking to the taciturn, sensible bail bondsman Max Cherry (Robert Forster), who has been in the business for far too long. When Max escorts Jackie out of jail, he becomes deeply smitten by her. She loves the Delfonics, particularly on vinyl. He goes out and buys the album on cassette, not understanding why she hasn't succumbed to the "CD revolution." What develops is a sweet, subtle love story that is quite unusual for Tarantino, but he handles it with grace and vigor.

"Jackie Brown" is an unusual crime picture - it is slow, stately and handled with refreshing restraint. There are no car chases, no heads are blown up and there's not much gunfire. There are only four murders in the entire film and they are handled discreetly. Did I say this was a crime picture? You bet. If you're expecting the loud, pumped up volume of Quentin's earlier work, you'll be sorely disappointed. Based on Elmore Leonard's solidly good crime novel "Rum Punch," Tarantino's colorful, fast-talking writing is the movie's main star and his rhythmic dialogue has not failed him.

Another major plus is the star-studded performances. Samuel L. Jackson is terrifically engaging as the murderous, long-haired Ordell who is simultaneously trying to support three different girlfriends and run a business. He has a great scene, one of several, where he tries to coax "former employee" Beaumont (Chris Tucker) into going in the trunk of his car. Robert De Niro does a great job playing the unbelievably stupid, oily Louis who has a brief fling with Melanie. De Niro goes ballistic towards the end (during the switchover) in one of the most riotous scenes in the movie. Bridget Fonda is also cast against type as the flirty, naive Melanie who claims to "know as much about guns as Ordell does."

Pam Grier and Robert Forster, however, are the main attractions of this film. They both imbue the screen with a certain maturity and level of growing old with grace that is both sweet and regaling. Grier exudes sex appeal, toughness, charm and intelligence in various stages of distress and romantic interludes - she has no qualms about sticking a gun at Ordell's privates. Forster gives a beautifully modulated performance of understated humor and panache; it is one of his best character roles since "Medium Cool." Academy Award nominations are certainly in order here.

"Jackie Brown" is longish and suffers somewhat from Michael Keaton's mannered performance, but it is always entertaining and involving. It brims with many pleasures and surprises, and there are the trademark pop-culture references and sudden shocks of violence that are a major part of Tarantino terrain. Chock full of snappy 70's tunes, "Jackie Brown" is Quentin's most accomplished work by far - a twisty, exhilarating, revisionist take on film noir crossed with pulp fiction.

A pyramid scheme of kindness

PAY IT FORWARD (2000)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

You have heard the concept before. You receive an e-mail or a letter in the mail regarding a great new opportunity - you send one dollar to seven addresses and they will send one dollar to seven others, and so on. Before you know it, you will make thousands of dollars a month. The idea forms a chain or a pyramid strategy, hence, chain letters. The reason the idea does not work is because it feels like a rip-off, plus whose to say that people will follow through and pay it forward? The film "Pay it Forward" wants us to believe that people repaying acts of kindness for kindness done upon them can work if a kid makes them believe in the idea. But how many people are genuinely kind enough to follow through with such a plan? Do we want to be forced to act kindly?

Consider the opening sequence of the film set in an elementary school. Trevor McKinney (Haley Joel Osment), a seventh grader, listens attentively in class as his social-studies teacher, Mr. Simonet (Kevin Spacey), gives an extra-credit assignment for the semester. The class is to come up with a plan of action to make the world a better place and follow through by performing said action. Trevor devises an original plan: one person does an act of kindness for someone and that person will pay it forward by helping three other people. A chain reaction is expected as numbers will grow and, before you know it, the world will be at peace again. But there are flaws with such a plan, aren't there? Could such a chain reaction occur with no money involved? There may be benefits if the acts are reciprocated but what if they aren't? This movie never dares to consider that certain people do not want to be helped or even want to act kindly.

For example, there is the homeless drug addict, Jerry (Jim Caviezel), who is taken home by Trevor. We sense that Jerry is only interested in his next fix, which he is, but he also claims that this kid has helped him to see the light and get another chance at life. There is the homeless alcoholic (Angie Dickinson), her own alcoholic daughter, Arlene, Trevor's mother (Helen Hunt), who always keep a bottle stashed in her washer. There is also another drug addict and a couple of school bullies. And then there is Mr. Simonet, who has burn scars all over his body, uses "a lot of big words" and whom Trevor tries to fix up with his mother, Arlene. Trevor hopes to at least help his mother and Mr. Simonet, as well as his friend who is beaten up by bullies. He is trying to pay it forward. Suddenly, a movement is born, or so it seems.

"Pay it Forward's" structure is all over the place, as it jumps backwards and forwards in time. We see a reporter (Jay Mohr) at a crime scene where his car is nearly demolished. A lawyer sees him, and offers his Jaguar as compensation for the reporter's loss. The lawyer is paying it forward, and thus begins the reporter's quest to discover the origins of this movement. "Four Months Earlier" is the title reminding us of where we are in time yet throughout the film, Jay Mohr's character seems to occupy the same timeline as Trevor's, particularly during the genesis of his plan.

Time shifting is not this film's problem. A bigger flaw is the lack of time spent on this ingenious plan, its pros and cons and so on. Too much time is devoted to the silly romance between Mr. Simonet and Trevor's mother to the point of nausea. Helen Hunt is astoundingly good as the trashy waitress but her alcoholic mood swings seem too abrupt to really believe, or as abrupt as it should be. She undergoes such a quick recovery that it hardly seems plausible she was ever an alcoholic to begin with. Kevin Spacey is adequately restrained as the scarred Mr. Simonet, and has all the best dialogue scenes. But hardly much of this matters as much as Trevor's plan of action. We see samples of it but not enough is balanced with the film's increasingly tepid romance, not to mention the inclusion of Trevor's own father (Jon Bon Jovi) who appears and disappears so fast that you'll forget he ever existed. I would also have liked to have seen more of Dickinson's character or even Caviezel's.

Some have called "Pay it Forward" shamelessly manipulative and overly sentimental. Some have called it touching. I just found the Spacey and Hunt characters real and engaging yet they are mostly saddled with unrealistic dialogue and shameless cliches, and the rest of the characters are mere stereotypes. The film is strangely watchable but also devoid of real human emotion, and plus there is a tragic, unbelievable coda that negates most of the film's two hour running time. All in all, not terrible but too thin and cliche-ridden to recommend to anyone, let alone three people.

Hey, there, heartbreaker

SHANNA COLLINS: A HEARTBREAKING STARLET IN THE MAKING

By Jerry Saravia

Shanna Collins in "Cinema Verite"

Shanna Collins in "Swingtown"

I am shocked that actress Shanna Collins hasn't taken Hollywood or the independent scene or both by storm yet. Who is Shanna Collins you might ask? For those few who have seen the 2008 short-lived TV series, "Swingtown," she was Laurie Miller, the young daughter of Bruce and Susan Miller who was something of a free spirit. She was so free that she had an affair with a college professor! It is a show that was barely given enough of a chance and it died after 13 episodes, but her character was the most memorable for me. She exhibited the spirited young 1970's woman who was more mature than even the adults in her life, hence the relationship with the professor, and she looked the part with such conviction that really any American story from that era should feature Shanna.


As a matter of fact, Shanna Collins also appeared in the excellent TV movie "Cinema Verite" playing a member of the television crew who are filming the first reality show ever, PBS's "An American Family." Although Shanna doesn't have many lines, her presence enlivens the film and she projects a certain emotional understanding and, perhaps, regret about filming a family's private moments - it is all in her looks and gestures. And the film of course takes place during the 1970's.

Shanna Collins in CSI:NY

Aside from roles in "The Haunting of Molly Hartley" and Spielberg's "War of the Worlds," Shanna has done her share of television including episodes of "Veronica Mars," "Malcolm in the Middle," "Without a Trace," "Medium," "Criminal Minds" and, most recently, a special Valentine's episode of "CSI: NY" entitled "Blood Actually." In the popular forensic procedural show, she plays Wendy, a woman going through a divorce with a wealthy husband who wants to kill her. Shanna shows sensitivity and vulnerability in true splendor as Wendy - she is like a wallflower or a dark red rose that you need to take care of before it splits open and dies (Imagine her for a moment as Audrey Hepburn). These are Shanna Collins' main strengths. She also has such a tiny part as a bartender in the 2012 short film "Americans" that stars Sean Penn and Kid Rock that you kinda wished her part had been switched with Kid Rock (who is not much of an actor). She needs a leading role - a breakthrough part that can and should make actresses in her age group envious. Her screen presence haunts me, and I hope it does the same for others.

Shanna Collins and Sean Penn in 2010's "Americans"

George Valentin SPEAKS...one word!

THE ARTIST (2011)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

Any time I see a silent film, it is like looking back at an earlier century of a world that no longer exists. In fact, black-and-white film stock barely exists anymore. Actors mugging for the camera in heavy eyeliner (excepting Johnny Depp in "Pirates of the Caribbean" mode) in single takes with no zooms and no sound or talking (orchestras at theaters provided the music score) no longer exists - the silents are artifacts of another time. The good news is that many have been restored and saved for future posterity. The great news is that "The Artist" is a genuine sweet treat - a movie for movie lovers and a reminder of the power of silent films.

In the late 1920's, the fictitious actor George Valentin (Jean Dujardin) was the toast of the Hollywood town. His films were major successes and, yes novice film lovers who never heard of the early 20th century, they were silent. Valentin is often cast as the dashing man of films like "A Russian Affair," along with his cute Jack Russell terrier, Uggy. As long as the box-office receipts are high, studio boss Al Zimmer (John Goodman, perfectly cast in a role that mirrors his 50's producer/director from 1993's "Matinee") is happy.

Valentin catches the eye of an amorous fan, Peppy Miller (Bérénice Bejo, the only actor who added any luster to "A Knight's Tale"), who is an able dancer and a hell of a sparkling screen presence herself as she proves to land her foot on the door. Just as she is matriculating in the film business, the talkies take over the silents. The fact is that audiences want to hear the actors "talk" thanks to the advent of sound. Pretty soon Valentin, who scoffs at the idea of talkies, finances his own silent adventure epic and loses a bundle (also thanks to the Stock Market Crash of 1929) and faces imminent divorce from his wife (Penelope Ann Miller). Meanwhile, Peppy becomes a box-office attraction.

"The Artist" is written and directed by Michel Hazanavicius who has crafted an indelible portrait of a time long lost to us, but not forgotten. I first heard about the film at Cannes and wondered how such a film would fare in this day and age. The answer may be that those who watch the TCM channel and/or have an adoration for the silent era that began in 1895 may not be such a small audience after all. I am one of them, as is my wife, and we both love silent films in general. That is not to say that all of them are great and wonderful but there are many that reign supreme ("Napoleon," "Sunrise," Nosferatu," which all have a heavy heart) and there are some that make you laugh and some that leave one in awe at their sheer inventiveness (anything by Chaplin, Buster Keaton and Méliès for starters). "The Artist" is almost a medley of films from the 1920's crossed with early 1930's musicals ("Top Hat" and "Singin' In the Rain" appear to be films that these filmmakers have looked at time and again for inspiration).

Dujardin impressively expresses an array of emotions just by his body language and gestures. He also looks like an actor from the 1920's - a mixture of a dramatic John Gilbert crossed with the romantic charms of Rudolph Valentino. Argentine-born Bérénice Bejo is a dazzling charmer herself and conveys a joy of being in a town that once prided itself on the art and imagination of moviemaking. Moreover, both Dujardin and Bejo express a joy of living because their movie stardom and their movies bring joy to others.

I simply could not find a false note in "The Artist." It is as good as any silent film from the same era except that it has something the other silents don't - a melancholy expression of the actors who couldn't and wouldn't make the transition to the talkies. I don't want to sound like the paid movie critics who scream pointless exclamations about a movie's strengths in advertisements but I can't help myself. You'll LAUGH! You'll CRY! There is ADVENTURE! ROMANCE! A CUTE DOG! STIRRING MUSIC! A FITTING REMINDER AND HOMAGE TO THE SILENT ERA! A MUST-SEE! THEY DO MAKE THEM LIKE THEY USED TO!

Willis carried original 'Die Hard' to epic heights

DIE HARD (1988)

An appreciation by Jerry Saravia

When Bruce Willis first appeared in 1988's masterful action film, "Die Hard," there was little to no hope that Willis could carry an action film. After all, he was no Stallone or Schwarzenegger nor any kind of macho, musclebound hero - he wasn't even Chuck Norris. Prior to "Die Hard," he appeared in the wacky "Blind Date" and the shockingly awful "Sunset" with James Garner. Most knew him from TV's inventive and witty "Moonlighting" but clearly audiences were getting tired of Willis's smirk and jocose nature. "Die Hard" proved everyone wrong - it is a nail-biting, claustrophobic, suspenseful action picture that uses one designated place - the tall Nakatomi towers - to deliver a highly charged and potent film with a vulnerable action hero who could lose.

Everyone knows Willis is the recalcitrant New York cop, John McClane, who is visiting his wife, Holly (Bonnie Bedelia) for Christmas in the West Coast. Holly works for Nakatomi Plaza and has done well for herself and her kids. John has been abandoned, or he may have abandoned them by not living with his family in La-La Land. Before one can say there is trouble in the McClane marriage, a group of German terrorists led by Hans Gruber (Alan Rickman as one of the suavest villains ever who is critical of business suits) have seized Nakatomi. The reason: Hans wants the 640 million in bearer bonds located in the Nakatomi vault. "What kind of terrorists are you?," asks the CEO. Geez, this Hans is not truly interested in certain prisoners held in political asylum either. Money is his game.

"Die Hard" has one cleverly designed, thrilling, nerve-wracking sequence after another. If you have a fear of heights, it might be wise to view the film with covered eyes or not at all. Seeing Willis riding on top of elevators that zoom up and down floors, or when he attempts to jump off the building while strapped to a firehose, or when he tries to scale down an elevator shaft are scenes that will leave you breathless with sweaty palms and nervous jitters. "Die Hard" amps up the dire and chaotic situation that John McClane is in by swiftly jumping from one moment of trepidation to another, never losing sight of the hero's weaknesses or his vulnerability. McClane hurts and bleeds easily and not one person will be less than scared for the guy when his bloodied feet (he is barefoot throughout the movie) slam against a window as he hangs on for dear life.

There are two touching sequences in the film. The first is when McClane tears up and tell his friend, Sgt. Powell (Reginald VelJohnson) whom he communicates by radio transmitter, that Holly is the best thing that has ever happened to him. And (*SPOILER ALERT) the last scene has McClane meeting Powell for the first time - a bond has been shared that will make most action fans misty-eyed.

Director John McTiernan has assembled all the elements to make one hell of an action masterpiece. All the action scenes and explosions are part of the fabric of the story - they enhance it rather than deter from it. There are many humorous asides including Argyle (De'voreaux White), the limo driver, Willis's pointed repartee, and I hate to exclude a tense scene where Hans pretends to use an American accent in front of McClane, who has no idea what the terrorist leader looks like. The movie is a revved-up roller-coaster ride that gives us goosebumps, laughs, terror, escapism, rigid and devious villains, and a hero who would make the aforementioned brawny heroes of the 80's seem infinitesimal by comparison. Nobody has come close to making anything as great an action film as "Die Hard" (and there have been sequels and numerous clones). Forget even Irwin Allen's "Towering Inferno" - Irwin Allen only wished he made a movie like "Die Hard."

Family is the Drug

CROOKED HEARTS (1991)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

"Crooked Hearts" is an ashamedly forgotten dysfunctional family drama that should have had a bigger audience. With its roster of actors who all come up aces, it should have also had a bigger theatrical release but MGM may or may not have had faith in it. Video and DVD lends to a ripe discovery of an independent film (made in Canada) that should be talked about and discussed. It is that good.

Based on Robert Boswell's even sadder novel and adapted by writer-director Michael Bortman, "Crooked Hearts" focuses on the Warrens, a family that celebrates failure. When Tom (Peter Berg) returns home after barely finishing his first college semester, a party is thrown. The parents (Cindy Pickett, Peter Coyote) take it all in stride, expressing their joy that their son is home though no conversation on why he didn't finish his semester. Noah Wyle is the younger brother, Ask, who has written a set of rules that he follows, such as never throwing water on an electrical fire. Juliette Lewis (prior to her breakthrough "Cape Fear" performance and in her debut performance, a fact shared by Juliette herself) is Cassie who falls asleep at the most inopportune times. And there is the troublemaker, Charley (Vincent D'Onofrio), who has slept with every girl in town and got a bakery girl pregnant! He is the fire that burns in this family, the one who wants to get away but his father will not let him.

"Crooked Hearts" doesn't skimp on how this family hurts each other without really noticing. The Warrens are not capable of speaking to each other or communicating without highlighting failure as some sort of reward. No real insight into why the family behaves this way is given except that secrets must not be divulged to the sleepy daughter of the Warren household, Cassie. This can be frustrating to the viewer (especially after the tragic loss of their home leads to a party at a motor inn) but it is indicative of a family that can't and won't let go of each other. Cindy Pickett as the Warren matriarch wants her husband to let go of Charley, who feels his father's vise-like grip tightening. Charley purposefully screws up so that he can be free but nothing works (he even admits to Tom that he impregnated Tom's ex). One too many tragedies lead to an emotional close that will have you straining to breathe, with the hope that the Warrens can move on. Do they and can they speak in real truths without celebrating who screws up next? Hard to say.

"Crooked Hearts" is a tough, unsentimental picture about how family love can suffocate everyone. The novel by Boswell also drains our emotions and our sorrows but the film deals with its themes through a quiet, unrelenting unease. Despite some humorous touches (such as Jennifer Jason Leigh as a girl who believes in signing a contract before a relationship begins), this is technically one of the bleakest family dramas I've seen in ages. "This family is like a drug and we are all junkies," says Charley. A salient point from an underappreciated gem. 

Super-Neo-Noir, Soulless City

SIN CITY (2005)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

Let's get one thing sparklingly clear - I love film noir. I love the look, the feel, the atmosphere. More importantly, I also love how noir exists in a purely existential universe where sin, guilt and immorality run rampant. This is my own definition but I think it clearly defines noir. Since 1990's "The Grifters" and 1997's "L.A. Confidential" (arguably the last official "true" noir films), we have seen the stylized look in many films but not the soul. "Lost Highway" and "Mulholland Dr." had the staples of noir but they exist in David Lynch's own crossbreed of dreams and nightmares. "Sin City" has the look down pat, but this picture exists in a vacuum of such cartoonish, monotonous repetition that it will leave you exhausted and bored out of your mind.

Based on Frank Miller's cult graphic novel, Sin City is actually Basin City, a place where primarily murderers, prostitutes, mobsters, crooked politicians and the police, who seem just as crooked, exist. There is one good cop in this wretched mix of scum and villainy, and his name is Hartigan (Bruce Willis). He is a near-60-year-old crusty man with ambition to solve one last crime involving a little girl who has been molested by a truly evil serial pedophile (Nick Stahl). But then it seems that Hartigan's partner (Michael Madsen) is not such a nice guy either since both are after the same nutcase. I should also mention that Jessica Alba is introduced as a stripper with a heart of gold who works at a sleazy bar where all the characters occasionally pop up.

One such character is a murderous hulk who defies the laws of gravity named Marv (Mickey Rourke). He has a night of bliss with a prostitute named Goldie (Jamie King), who is afterwards murdered. Of course, Marv is the suspect and he spends the rest of the movie killing every person in his path, including scores of policemen and hit men, trying to find the truth. He also has a confrontation with a mute cannibal with piercing fingernails (Elijah Wood) who moves too fast for anyone. And let's not forget a naked Carla Gugino as Marv's parole officer!

Then there is a prototypically weird story involving Clive Owen as some wanted man who has a prostitute for a girlfriend (Rosario Dawson). Owen is also protecting most of the city's prostitutes from a vicious cop named Jack Rafferty (Benicio Del Toro), and an extended scene in a car in which Toro is in some sort of disembodied state will be discussed in great detail by future avaricious film students (this one sequence is directed by Quentin Tarantino).

"Sin City" has grit and has pure style in great strokes - this is a painterly vision of noir where everyone talks as if they were in a 1940's detective yarn (the voice-over narration certainly amplifies that). Of course, the new additions to the mix are seeing isolated color patterns in a black-and-white world. We see a woman in the first scene wearing a red gown while the rest of her is in black-and-white. Sometimes eyes are illuminated by color, especially green or blue. Sometimes blood is crimson red, and other times it is white or a custard yellow (depending on the character). In terms of visual imagination and the use of rear-screen projection, "Sin City" is not just a comic-book yarn come to life - it is noir as reimagined in all its luster by a film noir addict.

Unfortunately, the characters can't bear such close scrutiny. Marv's story is easily the best and Mickey Rourke steals the movie with his persona and his manner of provoking his enemies ("Can't you do any better than that?") His story is that he wants to know who framed him and who killed his beloved Goldie, whom he didn't know was a prostitute. The story has purpose but no real drive - all Marv does is kill and kill and we lose focus as to whom he's after.

Same with Hartigan, the crusty cop who gets plugged throughout the movie without ever going down. Willis does the best he can with a one-dimensional character but there is nothing to chew on - he is shot and left for dead only to come back for more. His character is trying to find the little girl he saved from the pedophile. His quest takes him about eight years since he's been wrongly jailed for the crime. He finds her and the pedophile, who is now a snarling, ugly creature known as Yellow Bastard (Nick Stahl), the deformed freak armed with a whip who gets an orgasm when a woman screams. Though this story ends with a touching coda, it lacks any real weight.

Director Robert Rodriguez invests this mish-mash with real style but what he has not done is inject the same life into the characters, all of whom are as arbitrary and dull as one can imagine. There is not one character that you feel any real connection with - they exist as pawns in a world of sin and vice. Rodriguez and comic-book creator Frank Miller assume that this central conceit is enough to carry a movie but it isn't. And the narrative style, which feels slightly borrowed from Tarantino's classic goofy crime caper "Pulp Fiction," does little to enhance any of the characters' attributes. Shallowness is the name of the game. People get brutally beaten to a pulp from one scene to the next. Bullets fly everywhere and do little to decimate the main characters, though the supporting players get offed immediately. And there are more fistfights, decapitations, beatings, and so on (at one point, a skinhead gets an arrow pierced through his heart and he just stands around waiting for someone to call a medic). It becomes so repetitive because there is no sense of urgency - it is like watching a cartoon where people jump from great heights and land on their two feet with nary a scratch or a broken bone.

"Sin City" is too long-winded yet it is also too visually arresting to dismiss entirely. It has the style of the genre but not the soul, not the humanism and certainly has no interest in the complex morality of an existential universe. As I've said before, audiences today could care less about such weighty matters - they just want action. Perhaps fans of the comic book will get what they pay for. But even such tough noir pictures like "Chinatown" or "Detour" or "The Big Heat," or even the devil-may-care thriller "Angel Heart," required some emotional investment. Here, the only investment is in seeing how highly-charged Rodriguez's giddy filmic mind can get. Count me out.

Love and Suicide in the time of Cat Stevens

HAROLD AND MAUDE (1971)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

Hal Ashby's "Harold and Maude" is one of the most offbeat and humane black comedies of all time. Its subject is dour but its presentation is impeccably bright in every respect, dealing with life and death in surprisingly dramatic and obscenely funny ways.

Harold (Bud Cort) is a seemingly troubled 20-year-old who loves to fake suicide attempts. He does them in front of his mother (Vivian Pickles), who is more annoyed than she is frightened by them. Harold pretends to drown, shoot himself, hang himself, slit his wrists, chop off his hand, immolate himself, etc. None of these attempts work on his mother. All his mother does is arrange computer dates with Harold, each of whom he promptly scares away. We do not learn much about Harold except that he enjoys driving a hearse and frequents funerals of people he doesn't know. One day, Harold meets his match at a funeral. She is Maude (Ruth Gordon), a seventy nine-year-old woman who steals cars and just about everything else. She even steals Harold's hearse at one point which is how they meet. Maude teaches Harold to love life, to embrace it and nurture it. She lives in a train car which is full of flowers, guitar-playing instruments, and other assorted trinkets. She shows him the beauty of sunsets and of stealing planted trees on street corners and putting them where they belong: in the forest. Thanks to her free-spirited and nonchalant manner, they almost get into trouble with a motorcycle cop.

At Harold's home, things are not any better. When Harold's mother finds out about Harold's new friend, she tries to get him in the military by way of his Uncle Victor (Charles Tyner), Douglas McCarthur's right-hand man. Harold's response to war is to mimic shooting the enemy and to enjoy it a bit too much. A priest tells Harold that marrying an older woman with sagging breasts and buttocks makes him want to "vomit." Harold's psychiatrist has the funniest line as a Freud portrait stands in back of him: "You want to sleep with your grandmother." But none of this means anything to Maude - she wants Harold to grow and stick to his dreams, his wants, his needs.

"Harold and Maude" evolves with complete assuredness, thanks to a terrific screenplay by Colin Higgins and unobtrusive direction by the late Hal Ashby. Its blend of the macabre with moments of sensibility and pathos makes for a remarkably emotional experience. It also helps that Cat Stevens' songs populate the soundtrack every once in a while, an ironic counterpoint to Harold's own posh digs. If you think about it, it is rather funny to hear a Cat Stevens song playing while Harold drives his hearse.

Bud Cort ("Brewster McCloud") became forever typecast as the elusive Harold, preoccupied with death but also with trying to get attention from his mother. His performance is minimal in terms of expression but slowly he starts to evolve from a wan looking, inexpressive young man into someone who sees there is a life to live in this cruel world.

Ruth Gordon is the real centerpiece of the film, showing a woman of such joy and fleeting sadness (notice the concentration camp number on her wrist) that it makes a film of nihilistic rebellion (Harold and Maude's) into something much deeper and optimistic. Her ironic last sequence will make you tear up.

"Harold and Maude" is the 70's answer to the classic "The Graduate" but more focused and clever at every turn. Yes, there are some stereotypes and perhaps obvious symbolism yet for a film of such black comic overtones, there is a degree of intelligence and humanity that reigns above any other film of its type (it doesn't survive on black humor alone). Love it or hate it, there haven't been many films like "Harold and Maude."

Kill or be killed - that is Rambo's motto

RAMBO (2008)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

I confess that I am no fan of the "Rambo" series. I liked "First Blood" enough to wish later entries followed its suit of a loner Vietnam vet forced into action who realized that America in the Pacific Northwest was as violent as anything in Vietnam. "Rambo: First Blood Part II" and the unforgivably awful and monotonous "Rambo III" created a superhuman Rambo who was all about blood and guts and mowing down dozens of anonymous and villainous cretins without remorse or consequence (As Rex Reed succinctly put it, Rambo became "Superman with helicopters.") Rambo was considered the ideal Reagan-era, flag-waving, jingoistic hero - the ultra-macho superman of very few words. The new "Rambo" (originally titled "John Rambo") is the same old song and, though it is riddled with flaws, it is far superior to the last two sequels. That is still faint praise.

Brawny-as-ever Sylvester Stallone is back as the Man of Far Less Words Than Usual, Johnny Rambo, who is living in exile in Thailand catching snakes! A group of church missionaries want to bring food, water, prayer and medical attention to the Karen ethnic tribe in Burma (now known as Myanmar). The Karen people are facing a genocidal apocalypse thanks to the murderous Burmese regime who have them under their control. The Burmese soldiers rape, pillage, implode and explode these villagers one by one. The missionaries need a guide, a man who knows how to steer a riverboat, and that is none other than Rambo himself. These missionaries know they are treading into dangerous territory but they have no idea what their musclebound guide had been up to in the old days. Remember that in "Part II," Rambo's mission was to photograph any MIA's. Yeah, right! Now in this movie, Rambo has that thousand-yard stare and a toughness that screams "machine gun in cold dead hands." But no, the missionaries must think he is some sort of liberal Mr. Softy.

Rambo agrees reluctantly to help the missionaries and he must know they might get killed but he leaves them, and then comes back with a few mercenaries who are ready to kill. There is almost some one-upmanship from the mercenaries that is abandoned for the old-school level of gratuitous violence of the earlier pictures. Rambo shows his skills with bows and arrows, slices up abdomens and limbs and other body parts, and uses a machine gun on a turret while roaring in the trademark Stallone roar (he is also handy with explosives). The last half-hour of this film is chock full of graphic violence that includes everything from disembowelment to decapitation to exploding limbs but since the Burmese military are just one-dimensional savages, it is hard to work up much more than righteous applause in seeing them get their eventual just deserts. That is one thing strangely missing from this "Rambo" sequel: a new villain. Here, the villain seems to be the entire Burmese military and that is not satisfying enough for any action movie fans.

Stallone is an able writer and director in his own right but he reduces his iconic war hero to nothing more than a one-man war machine. Yes, I know, the earlier films portrayed the same kind of character but I was expecting more since it was Stallone at the reins and not director George P. Cosmatos. Stallone got more mileage out of Rocky in "Rocky Balboa" than he does out of Rambo. If nothing else, Sly knows how to frame the action with dizzying results (using the kind of frantic cutting, jittery camera and purposeful dust prints of post-"Saving Private Ryan" action pics). And to be fair, the movie doesn't feature endless explosions like most of "Rambo III." But this movie's politics are given short-shrift and we see the violence poured on us from both the good guys and the bad in such grisly detail that it proves to be nothing more than exploitation of a real-life crisis. It is not technically entertaining, just nauseating. All in all, I felt a measure of nostalgia for what is arguably an amped and revved up 80's action picture. But I got more of a kick with depth from 65-year-old Harrison Ford in the last "Indiana Jones" picture than I did from a 63-year-old brawny, taciturn hero who loves to slice and dice.

Rex Reed is the faux film critic version of Don Rickles

REX REED: A MAN OF MANY INSULTS

By Jerry Saravia

For more than forty years, film critic Rex Reed has attacked celebrities of all sizes and shapes. Usually they are pointed remarks, and some might be perceived as pointedly offensive. He referred to Robin Williams' shaved body in the stupefyingly dull "Hook" as resembling "boiled pork butt." He once referred to Madonna's armpits as smelling like "Bloody Marys" in regards to her performance in 1990's "Dick Tracy." (Yeah, they might if we had Odorama in the movie theater and that was not the case with "Dick Tracy") I cannot leave out another criticism of Madonna's features by Mr. Reed - "Her vulgar, raunchy undulation, her execrable music, her white zombie makeup all add up to the specter of an anguished and rather pitifully sexless corpse selling necrophilia wholesale." OUCH! Not even talk-show host Piers Morgan ever went that far in his criticism of Madonna - he just has a problem with her faux British accent.

And if you think that is bad, get a load of Reed's criticism of Juliette Lewis's appearance (not her performance) in Scorsese's lurid, over-the-top "Cape Fear" remake - "This pouting, oversexed, and unfocused brat is the best defense I can think of for having your tubes tied. Played by the dreadful Juliette Lewis, she's a repulsive, retarded little jerk too." DOUBLE OUCH! It is funny how much Mr. Reed used to get away with in the past. These are just some samples.

Now Rex Reed's negative review of "Identity Thief" has this little soundbite that has got everyone in a tizzy - "Melissa McCarthy (Bridesmaids) is a gimmick comedian who has devoted her short career to being obese and obnoxious with equal success." He also refers to her weight as "tractor-sized." To be fair, Reed once said that De Niro's obesity in 1980's "Raging Bull" was "bordering on the grotesque." Clearly Mr. Reed has a problem with overweight people on screen.

Melissa McCarthy in 1999's "Go"

Reed has defended his remarks claiming the following: “I have too many friends who’ve died [from obesity-related issues],” and “I object to using health issues like obesity as comedy talking points.” Well, excuse me but that is hardly what I think of Melissa McCarthy in general. Her TV show "Mike and Molly" does not exploit her weight for laughs - in fact, her weight is never an issue on the show nor should it be. McCarthy is charming, attractive, sensible and simply a joy to watch on screen. I loved "Bridesmaids" which is one of the funniest comedies I've seen in the 2010 era and her guest-hosting on "Saturday Night Live" was an absolute blast of laughs. Neither of these shows or films exploited her weight for laughs (perhaps SNL ever so slightly in a skit where she kept falling down the staircase). I cannot comment on "Identity Thief" but I doubt the film exploits her weight much, if at all (I read one comment from someone who did see the movie and claimed that there are more fat jokes in the review than the movie). And I seriously have not seen McCarthy ever be anything close to obnoxious - when and what character and what movie? Rex probably doesn't recall McCarthy's brief performance as a giggling soap-opera fan in 1999's "Go" - a movie Rex put on his ten best list of that year.

That is what is odd about Rex Reed. He may hate certain actors based on their appearance but he sometimes praises them for certain films. Reed inexplicably loved "The Evening Star," a dreadful sequel to "Terms of Endearment" that starred Juliette Lewis. I am not sure what he said about her appearance or her performance in the review but I doubt it was as insensitive as what he said about her in his "Cape Fear" review. Reed also liked "Evita" which had Madonna in the title role (my favorite role of hers is actually in the little-seen "Dangerous Game" by director Abel Ferrara). So maybe Melissa McCarthy will one day be mentioned in a review of his without regards to her weight, that is if it is a positive review. A negative review? Forget it, all bets are off.  

"It's fair to comment on any actor's appearance if it's relevant to the character the actor is playing, the performance, and how that actor's physical traits add to or detract from the performance," he tells Us. "But this just smacks of mean-spirited name-calling in lieu of genuine criticism." - Film critic Richard Roeper

Rex Reed has made a career out of personal insults. This is nothing new and, though it is insulting to Mrs. McCarthy, I can't say I am surprised by anything Rex Reed says anymore. McCarthy is a huge movie and TV star. If she had been an unknown, nobody would care.

Rated D for Dumb

ALPHABET CITY (1984)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

"Alphabet City" is a great-looking failure. It is an ostensibly gritty crime picture with flashy neon, bright street lamps, and bright and shiny ambulances - even the cavernous drug-dealing dwellings look inviting. It is a glossy crime movie and if only it were made with someone who had a tenth of Michael Mann or Mike Figgis's talent. The director here is Amos Poe, who can't write convincing dialogue or have much ability to direct actors.

Johnny (Vincent Spano) is the resident drug dealer of Alphabet City, a section of New York City that is divided up by Avenues A, B, C and so on. His drug-dealing begins early evening and presumably lasts the whole night. Johnny wears a whole leather get-up that looked cheesy even in the 1980's. His wife (Kate Vernon, her film debut) works on her paintings all night and raises their baby in a gigantic loft.

Bad news has arrived in Johnny's life when his boss tells him to torch an apartment building. The problem is that Johnny's little sister (Jami Gertz), an escort in the making, and his oblivious mother (Zohra Lampert) are living in that building! Meanwhile, Johnny spends the rest of the night collecting money from lowlifes and has to contend with a young kid who wants Johnny's way of life. Worthwhile mention is Michael Winslow (the motormouth sound-effects man from the "Police Academy" series) as a drug dealer who mimics the sound of police sirens!

There is one scene that works in "Alphabet City." Johnny speeds down the New York streets without looking at the road ahead to intimidate a hotshot kid who idolizes his lifestyle. Beyond that, "Alphabet City" is wayward and laughable, and the limited screenplay leaves out a lot of potential with Johnny's family, especially his sister. It is a shallow independent film with not one honest bone in its narrative body.

Sweet Horror Musings by Donald Pleasance

TERROR IN THE AISLES (1984)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

 "Terror in the Aisles" is one of my favorite horror documentaries from the 1980's, a movie I watched religiously when it was televised on weekday afternoons. It has Donald Pleasance and Nancy Allen inside a movie theater, along with scared audience members, giving commentary on everything from horror films to slashers to thrillers. Some of it might be a little uneven when it shows clips from 1981's thrilling "Nighthawks" and only a brief clip from "The Silent Partner," not to mention "The Exorcist" and odd clips from "Alone in the Dark" that eventually segue to "The Food of the Gods" (why?) to "Marathon Man", etc. You will still have a grand time savoring over everything horror and beyond - a chill will travel through your spine.

Clearly terror is the name of the game and there are choice clips from David Cronenberg's "Scanners," and there are unsavory clips from the largely forgotten 1982's "Vice Squad" with a killer pimp played by Wings Hauser (king of B movie during the 1980's). I rather forget "Vice Squad" and 1982's atrociously unwatchable "The Seduction" with Morgan Fairchild, which have little purpose beyond having their voyeuristic clips shown next to the truly scary "When a Stranger Calls," where Carol Kane is informed that the stalker on the phone is calling from inside her house. There are, however, various clips that come together with the right kind of selections. For example, clips from 1941's "The Wolf Man" are juxtaposed with "An American Werewolf in London" and "The Howling," showing how werewolf transformation scenes have changed substantially in thirty years.

Donald Pleasance has one of those distinct voices that makes you want to listen to his every word. It is fascinating in retrospect that Pleasance discusses real violence versus movie violence, showing a couple of so-called degenerates or undesirables in the audience and how real-life violence doesn't intrude upon the communal viewing experience (who could have anticipated the Aurora, Colorado movie theater shooting in 1984?) Then Nancy Allen shows her dismay for showing clips of women in peril - pardon, Ms. Allen? One of her own movies is shown, the fantastically suspenseful "Dressed to Kill" where she plays a vulnerable prostitute.

Interestingly, Ms. Allen also discusses how a filmmaker like Alfred Hitchcock would show more style and finesse in his own classic thrillers such as "Psycho" and "Strangers on a Train." There are clips lifted from the terrific Hitchcock documentary by Richard Schickel (as part of the "Men Who made the Movies" series), "Inside Hitchcock," where the Master of Suspense himself speaks on what makes a thriller work. In retrospect, Hitch never had use for gore and seeing how he terrified audiences versus the 80's slashers is a cinema lesson everyone needs to hear. Incidentally, I would've loved to have heard some comments from other directors such as John Carpenter but that is just pure nitpicking.

"Terror in the Aisles" is occasionally haphazard with selection of film clips overall and its annoying use of a mediocre re-recording of the Halloween theme played during clips from "Halloween II," but the movie is still spine-tingling fun.  It is probably the last documentary on horror films released theatrically and it is a bit of a shame that the rest that have been made since (such as the hair-raising "The American Nightmare") have been given a direct-to-DVD life.