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STAR WARS EPISODE VII CAST REVEALED: A FEW SURPRISES AND MORE...

By Jerry Saravia

LATEST NEWS: Luke Skywalker is a Sith?

Director J.J Abrams and some unnamed puppet creature from "Star Wars Episode VII"

Unnamed and non-CGI pig creature from "Star Wars Episode VII"

June 19th, 2014 - Watch the video for updates on new casting members and Harrison Ford's ankle injury.

 On April 29th, 2014, a cast photo was released to the public for the in-production film of the eagerly anticipated "Star Wars: Episode VII," due for theatrical release in December 2015. It is no surprise that actors Harrison Ford, Mark Hamill and Carrie Fisher were officially confirmed to return as Han Solo, Luke Skywalker and Princess Leia, respectively. This is big news in the Star Wars universe because the original trio have not played these roles since 1983's "Return of the Jedi." Peter Mayhew is of course returning as Chewbacca (confirmed a couple of weeks ago), not to mention Kenny Baker as R2-D2, Anthony Daniels as C3PO, and new cast members who include Adam Driver (HBO's "Girls"), Oscar Issac ("Inside Llewyn Davis," "Drive"), Domnhall Gleason (who appeared in the last two "Harry Potter" flicks), Daisy Ridley (a new fresh face from Britain), and John Boyega ("Attack the Block"). There is also Max Von Sydow, a major surprise, and I bet he will be playing some sort of older Jedi, perhaps carrying on the tradition of Christopher Lee and Alec Guinness, or maybe an archvillain. It is all up in the air at this point. I neglected to mention Andy Serkis of "Lord of the Rings" fame is also cast, although as what is unconfirmed. In fact, aside from Solo, Leia and Luke, there is no information on the characters these other actors will be playing.

My hope for this movie is that Leia will be "the other." She's got to use a lightsaber at some point. No word yet on Billy Dee Williams returning as Lando Calrissian, or any other cast members (I am sure there is more that will still be revealed). More updates are forthcoming and will be mentioned and added to this page. Stay tuned, and consider my interest renewed in this series.

Unpleasant Million Dollar Hotel

NIGHT AT THE GOLDEN EAGLE (2001)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

If you wanted to see a film set in skid row then "Night at the Golden Eagle" is the film for you. Seeped and drenched in solarized, sepia colors, "Night at the Golden Eagle" is an attempt to see the seamier side of life. I don't object to such films unless there is no core of humanity or degree of human sensibility. The Golden Eagle hotel is not a place I'd spend a night in.

The film is set in an L.A. fleabag hotel, the kind where those with lost dreams reside (think "Million Dollar Hotel"). One of the dreamers is Mic (Vinny Argiro), a former crook who wants to live the good life in Vegas. He's reunited with another former crook, Tommy (Donnie Montemarano), who's just gotten out of jail and his first thought is to steal a car. The hotel they stay in is festering with all forms of lowlifes and dreamers to be sure. There is a sneering pimp (Vinnie Jones from "Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels"), two hookers (Ann Magnuson and Natasha Lyonne), a former tap-dancing legend, Fayard Nicholas, another lost soul who spends an eternity watching TV in the lobby, and I am afraid to say, not much more.

"Night at the Golden Eagle" doesn't aim to dwell into these hotel guests because the characters are nothing more than types, not real people. I like some of the camaraderie and growing friction between Mic and Tommy and their aspirations to live the good life in Sin City, but they never grow beyond the one-dimensional stage.When a murder takes place that involves one of these crooks, their growing banter quickly becomes tedious because we barely care about them (and one of them could care less about the murder). The prostitutes, including a pubescent girl, are reduced to fodder for those who think prostitutes are not real people. In fact, writer-director Adam Rifkin doesn't invest much emotion into anyone - they are all stereotypes who have as much purpose as several chia pets on a window sill. Either Rifkin is afraid to explore the nature of his subjects or he'd rather just shock the audience - the latter is common amongst young filmmakers today in light of the ironic edge every noir film seems to possess.

I do not resent a film that intends to present a time and place and nothing more. But even in plotless films such as, for lack of a better example, Godard's "Breathless" or Fellini's "8 1/2" or Scorsese's "Mean Streets," the people populating those films inspired some curiosity, some level of interest. In "Night of the Golden Eagle, the characters of the mean streets of L.A. would be better off occupying a video game, not a movie. "Grand Theft Auto," anyone?

Shoot it in 3 days, or else!

CORMAN'S WORLD: EXPLOITS OF A HOLLYWOOD REBEL (2011)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

It is often forgotten that Roger Corman helped launch the careers of many distinguished actors and directors back in the day. The king of B movies has also been active himself for more than 60 years, ranging from producing and directing sci-fi to fantasy to action exploitation pictures to even a couple of "social message films." "Corman's World: Exploits of a Hollywood Rebel" aims to paint a flattering portrait of a low-budget producer who already made his 100th film by the time "The Wild Angels" was out in cinemas in 1966.

"Corman's World" covers a lot of ground as it explores the business mind behind what became the staple of low-budget filmmaking. Making a film on a shoestring budget in 3 days, and using leftover sets to make another entire picture in practically the same amount of time, is the stuff of legend and the kind of quick-thinking and on-the-nose business sense that most other independent filmmakers could only hope to aspire to. Roger Corman's list of credits are practically legendary, from having helmed cult classics such as the original "Little Shop of Horrors" to (one of my favorites) "The Terror" which starred Boris Karloff and an early performance by Jack Nicholson, not to mention "The Cry-Baby Killer"; "Piranha"; adaptations of Edgar Allan Poe including "The Pit and the Pendulum"; "Deathsport"; "Grand Theft Auto"; "Bloody Mama," and too many more to list (400-plus total). Most intriguing is the segment dealing with the controversial 1962's "The Intruder," showcasing a young William Shatner as a racist who tries to stop integration of schools in the segregated Missouri. The film was a box-office failure, one of the few exceptions in Corman's filmography, but it did hint at Corman's willingness to go beyond just sheer exploitation. He was also instrumental in getting foreign films noticed through his company New World Pictures, with films like Ingmar Bergman's "Cries and Whispers" and Federico Fellini's "Amarcord" (some of these films were actually shown at drive-ins!)

"Corman's World" features dynamite, in-depth interviews from luminaries such as Jack Nicholson, Martin Scorsese (who correctly identifies Corman's work as a different kind of "art"), Joe Dante, Ron Howard, Peter Bogdanovich, David Carradine, and even Corman's own wife, Julie. All lavish nothing but praise for a man who was anything but the stereotype of a cigar-chomping, boorish producer - Roger simply knew how to get the best out of actors and directors and hoped they would migrate to "A" movies.

There is a brief, honest and rather mind-blowing section dealing with how Hollywood megahits of the mid-to-late 70's, ostensibly B movies in their own right like "Jaws" and "Star Wars," made huge profits with bigger budgets, eradicating the low-budget model set by Roger Corman and eviscerating the drive-in market. It is upsetting and as Corman astutely pinpoints, there is no reason to spend millions on a movie when the same money could be used in an utilitarian way, such as saving a slum and rebuilding a neighborhood. Now, the old low-budget B movies go direct to DVD or show up on Syfy channel, where Corman makes his mark on occasion. Interestingly, actor's salaries are not discussed, and we all know how much money Jack Nicholson made from his role in Tim Burton's "Batman" (a movie Corman could've directed in about the amount of time it would take for Burton to get his haircut).

If I have to nitpick, I wish there was time devoted to Corman's last directorial effort, "Frankenstein Unbound," one of the most fascinating Frankenstein adaptations ever (based on a terrific novel by Brian Aldiss). Also, his 1994 "Fantastic Four" film (heavily lambasted by comic fans at conventions) could've used a little exposure. These films and many others showed Roger Corman was a force to be reckoned with, a man who loved movies and loved making them. It showed, and it explains why Jack Nicholson sheds a tear for his old mentor. 

Martian warriors destroy Rover

GHOSTS OF MARS (2001)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

(Originally reviewed in 2002)

The great John Carpenter film awaits a cinema near you. "Halloween," "Assault on Precinct 13," "In the Mouth of Madness" and "Starman" were a few stellar examples but mostly we have been saddled with fascinating experiments like "Village of the Damned," "The Thing" and grave disappointments like "Prince of Darkness" and "Vampires." And like it or not, Carpenter knows how to use his resources to stir and entertain when he does it right. "Ghosts of Mars" is no classic by any stretch of the imagination but it is a marked improvement over "Vampires" and has some nifty ideas and fun performances.

Essentially a western taking place on the planet Mars, we have Lt. Melanie Ballard (Natasha Henstridge) and other members of a police force including Commander Helena Braddock (Pam Grier) and Bashira Kincaid (Clea Duvall) as they travel by train to some mining colony where a supposedly notorious killer, "Destination" Williams, is being held (played by Ice Cube, who continues to surprise me in every film role). Oh, lest we forget there is a male in this small police force played by Jason Statham ("Snatch") who makes sexual remarks to Lt. Ballard at his every convenience. Meanwhile, just as Ballard's force is ready to take Williams and bring him to justice, a force is unleashed that awakens Martian warriors who love to decapitate humans and shout as loudly as Ozzy Osbourne. These ghosts have the ability of taking over the minds of the miners on this colony and all hell breaks loose. Lots of gunfire and karate kicks ensue.

"Ghosts of Mars" should not be mistaken for an intellectual sci-fi film but rather an in-your-face action melodrama with lots of special effects. One of the best effects scenes takes place when an archaeologist, Professor Whitlock (Joanna Cassidy), crash lands on the possessed colony in her air balloon. I also love all the train scenes since they are the quietest scenes in the movie, allowing us to explore the characters' personalities and interaction. For a while, the film aims to be a character-oriented update of "Assault on Precinct 13" by way of Howard Hawks's "Rio Bravo" but when the action scenes start, they take over the movie and become the focus. Nothing wrong with that though I never really thought of Carpenter as an action director, despite his "Escape to New York." His talent lies in horror and some scenes inside the mines made me jump.

On a fundamental level, "Ghosts of Mars" is lots of fun to watch and has commanding actors at the forefront (though I found it cruel to see Duvall and Grier given such short-shrift in their roles). Henstridge plays a woman of authority and strong will and Ice Cube gets to show what a continuingly strong presence he has on screen - both characters could stand on their own as the leads of a movie. Maybe in the sequel.

Run Baby Run

THE WARD (2010)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

There is no doubt that a horror movie about a mental ward facility has been done before. Samuel Fuller's "Shock Corridor" is the most horrific and scariest example, along with a semi-remake of sorts, "Shutter Island" (though the latter is based on an equally creepy novel). Novel twist endings at such wards are not an uncommon practice - we have seen them before and can predict them with ease. So can director John Carpenter make it sing, or sink? He makes it sing. "The Ward" is an elegant, frightful horror flick done with the brio of a real master, and among Carpenter's best films since "In the Mouth of Madness."

Amber Heard is a traumatized woman running away from something, though we are not sure what. She burns down a farmhouse in the opening scene where something clearly traumatic had occurred there.  Cut to North Bend Psychiatric Hospital where Heard, playing a woman named Kristen, is held in a mental ward along with four other troubled girls. Kristen doesn't want to be at the loony bin (pardon the parlance) but then again, what mental patient doesn't say such things?  The other girls who hope to be promptly released include: Iris (Lyndsy Fonseca), a sketch artist; Zoey (Laura-Leigh), a near-mute who clutches a stuffed doll and suffers from arrested development;  Emily (Mamie Gummer, Meryl Streep's daughter), the toughie who taunts the others, and Sarah (Danielle Panabaker) who tries to woo one of the orderlies. All of them seem to come out of the 60's period though more modern Amber Heard look a little out of place, or maybe that is the idea. Rounding out the rest of the hospital's small staff includes Dr. Stringer (Jared Harris), who tries to help his patients yet is not above providing shock treatment (remember, this film is set in 1966). Oh, and there is a Nurse Ratched as well, but she is hardly as wretched.

Some may see "The Ward" as "Identity" crossed with "Girl, Interrupted" spiked with an extra touch of malice. I see it as John Carpenter's return to form, providing us with a dank, almost forbidden sense of atmosphere and a few well-executed scares that really come out of nowhere. Most important is that Carpenter and writers Michael and Shawn Rasmussen makes us care for all the female patients - we cling to them and hope that Kristen, in particular, gets away. "The Ward" also throws in moments that toy with us a little, like the girls dancing to the Newbeats' "Run, Baby, Run." The movie, though not as wholly original or as striking in its visual design as "Shock Corridor" or "Shutter Island," is a welcome return to horror that is neither geeky nor full of grisly, gratuitous gore. Instead, it will make your skin crawl.

Take pills, feel nicer

TERRI (2011)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

Terri (Jacob Wysocki) is a heavy-set high-school kid who is indifferent to his surroundings. When he walks to school, he dresses in pajamas and angrily tosses his knapsack on the field. When Terri is home, he cares for his Uncle James (Creed Bratton) who needs his meds to stay sharp, but otherwise the old man is an emotionless vegetable. Terri also plants mouse traps in his house and reads "Gulliver's Travels." Anything, one would assume, to bring some light into this dreary world.

"Terri" is the kind of independent picture that I have heard people groan on about. It is small-town life where everything is offbeat and where "stuff happens" that could only appeal to those who have outgrown Hollywood fantasies. Only "Terri" deals with details of small-town life and high-school in an implicit comical manner. Take the character of Heather (Olivia Crocicchia), a young girl who succumbs to getting fingered during cooking class by a male high-school student. There is something funny about the fact that this girl thinks such a public act of indecency wouldn't induce wandering eyes, especially Terri's. When Terri has to visit the assistant principal once a week (the principal is played by John C. Reilly), the school official occasionally wears shades and mimics shouting at his students to please his slowly- withering-away secretary.

Most of the film "Terri" tells its story in an unhurried and very matter-of-factly manner. One extended sequence stands out where Terri, Heather and another troubled outcast, Chad (Bridger Zadina), drink some whisky and take some pills to feel "nicer." It is a startling sequence because it is a bit unsettling and we think it will end one way, and it does not. No scene in "Terri" ever feels insincere or out of place or predictable. When Terri decides to defend Heather in class, he picks up a pair of sunglasses and mimics an embarrassing TV commercial pitch.

Terri himself begins to see change in his own life when he develops three new friendships, especially with the sympathetic assistant principal. Only the film is not willing to see that change as life-affirming or earth-shakingly revolutionary, merely a stepping stone. As a film, "Terri" is filled with small pleasures and one wishes there was more, more time spent with any of these intimate characters. As written and directed by Azazel Jacobs, the running time feels like it is just enough of a stepping stone to a greater film. The fact that I wanted more is the mark of a real talent, who genuinely loves his characters and empathizes with them.

Mickey and Mallory's love beats the demon

NATURAL BORN KILLERS (1994)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

20th anniversary - An appreciation

In 1994, I sat through "Natural Born Killers" in a movie theater and absolutely hated every minute of it. However, it was not a film I could escape from - something about it took a hold of me. In 2001, I wrote: "Natural Born Killers" is the kind of over-the-top nonsense only Oliver Stone could make. He is a brilliant director and, throughout his fine career, has crafted fine films such as "J.F.K," "Wall Street," "Platoon," "Talk Radio" and "Born on the Fourth of July." "Natural Born Killers" may be his weakest film by far and his most self-indulgent, a film where he claims to have not censored himself." I stand corrected because nothing in Stone's kaleidoscopic imagery from "The Doors" can begin to describe the superfluous flourishes of what is essentially the most controversial film of 1994. "Natural Born Killers" is a nuclear fever dream - an expose of what was the reality of celebrity murder in 1994, and what stands as the most evocative film of that year, the most prescient. I suppose I love and hate this movie.

The "Killers" in this movie are two white-trash kids named Mickey and Mallory, played respectively by Woody Harrelson and Juliette Lewis. The blonde-haired, vicious Mickey is in prison for grand theft auto but he still has the hots for the young, sexy, alluring Mallory Knox who frequently visits him in prison. Through pure intervention or "fate" (Mickey's own philosophy), he escapes from prison on horseback during a tornado and proceeds to rescue Mal from her vile parents by murdering them. How vile? Porcine Rodney Dangerfield plays Mallory's incestuous, blubbering wrestling fanatic of a father who is beaten to death and drowned (the mother is tied to a bed and burned to a crisp and Mal's brother is left as the sole survivor). After this already cartoonish sequence of violence, the two lovebirds go on the run, get married by an enormous New Mexico gorge, and indulge in a murderous spree all around the West killing at least fifty people. Naturally, Mickey and Mallory are branded as celebrities by another cruel force of nature, the media! The two killers are depicted as sexy criminals admired by globally by desensitized twentysomething fools who call them, "the best thing to happen to the media since Charles Manson." One grungy character ironically admits that if he were a serial killer, he would be Mickey and Mallory!

The Bonnie and Clyde pair are eventually caught by a crazed cop/writer, Jack Scagnetti (Tom Sizemore) who specializes in writing about the minds of serial killers and in breaking women's necks. Tommy Lee Jones is the prison warden who is nearly as loony as any inmate in his prison where M and M are kept. And let's not forget Robert Downey Jr. as Wayne Gayle, an Australian TV host for the high-rated show "American Maniacs," who is eager to interview Mickey in a live special after the Super Bowl in the hopes of beating the ratings for the infamous Manson trial. This all ends in pure fire and fury during an eerily effective, blood-on-the-walls prison riot climax that remains the most horrifying footage Stone has ever shot on film.

As I stated earlier, I hated "Natural Born Killers" when I first saw it in a theater in August of 1994. I knew the reactions of the primarily young audience in the theater - who laughed and cheered at Mickey's actions during a particularly vicious opening sequence - was a definite sign of how times were changing. 1994 was the year where "Pulp Fiction," released a month later, changed film forever with its portrait of criminal antiheroes as the protagonists to root for. With "Natural Born Killers," the visual style is what bothered me the most initially. I could not sit still and watch such disorienting images coming in at a faster clip per second than say the bullets of a gun. I gave it a second chance much later on video and I can say that it is not as visually exhausting as it was in theaters. There are performances that stand out amidst all the noise. For example, Tom Sizemore does a marvelous job of balancing sorrow and sheer apathy for his character Jack, who grows more and more attached to the wild Mallory. Robert Downey Jr. is hilarious and pathetic as the loquacious TV host who will do anything for higher ratings, even if it means killing people himself. There are also some volatile turns by Joe Spinelli and Pruitt Taylor Vince as the warden's most trusted guards.

What works to a lesser degree is Tommy Lee Jones, overacting as much as anyone else in the movie - a simply cartoonish character who would be at home in a Road Runner short. It is also hard to remove the memory of Woody Harrelson from TV's "Cheers" - he appears to be too nice to play such a rough character like Mickey. Harrelson does try and there is a nicely underplayed scene where he is interviewed by Downey and claims his rather unbelievable reasons for bloodletting (all based on the words of Charles Manson during an infamous 1980's Geraldo Rivera interview).

Mallory is played superbly by Juliette Lewis and she certainly stands out the most in Stone's universe. She manages to make Mallory into a beautiful, believably scary and sometimes sweet monster almost ready to explode at any moment. Lewis is so good and inhabits the movie so often that becomes the soul center of the amoral world of this movie. This performance was so unusual for Lewis considering she's played mostly ordinary girlish types in films like "What's Eating Gilbert Grape" - the closest in proximity to Mallory is Lewis's role in "Kalifornia" and a TV movie she did with Brad Pitt called "Too Young to Die." Her work in "Natural Born Killers" will long be remembered, especially when she memorably utters "How sexy do you think I am now punk?" before brutally pounding an overzealous male. Lewis's appearance changes dramatically from short black hair to long blonde wigs, and she also wears cowboy hats, outlandish dresses, and bright red lipstick complete with a dangling cigarette.

Part of Oliver Stone's problem is that he is good at directing an out-of-control traffic jam rather than a subdued satire - he is just out to thrill us. A satire can make its points truly through exaggeration but also through pointed black humor. Consider Stanley Kubrick's anti-violent masterpiece "A Clockwork Orange," which is done with far more subtlety and restraint. One can argue that "Natural Born Killers" is not meant to be a satire but a mere condemnation of our media-obsessed world where killing is a stepping stone to celebrity on the same wavelength as movie stars. But even an outright condemnation needs a little breath of air or else you end up canceling yourself out - you can't fight fire with fire. Stone has made a desensitized movie about desensitized killers and has filled the canvas with lots of cartoonish violence - the sort of violence one would associate with an Arnold Schwarzenegger movie, not an Oliver Stone flick. The violence is silly and trivial with none of the reality evident in Stone's hard-hitting war films such as "Platoon" or "Born on the Fourth of July." Sure, it is a movie about amoral killers in a typically amoral, devalued society but such rampant amorality would have served Ollie better as a sharp character study. Yet, it doesn't make the film any less than the sum of its parts - such overkill may be a hint of trauma in Mickey and Mallory's pasts. And maybe the lack of sting in the violence is only Oliver's way of saying: hey, that is our society! Truer words cannot be spoken than for today's culture of violence, hence why my opinion of this varies every few years.

Amorality is all that represents Mickey and Mallory, and what saves them in the end is love ("Love beats the demon.") They are essentially romantic rebels wronged by society for acting out their fantasy of a post-modern road movie where killers kill and get away with it. Since every other character in the film is as nasty and dehumanized as they are (particularly Scagnetti and the warden), then it is difficult not to empathize with Mickey and Mallory. This point-of-view was represented by Kubrick's "Clockwork Orange" but not to the degree that Stone's film does. After all, "Clockwork's" killer protagonist Alex is far more human and clever than all the cartoonish types in this film, and thus a thematically richer film dealing with the nature of violence and how it can't be controlled.

Visually, Oliver Stone is on a dizzying mind trip as he continually shifts our point-of-view using everything from color to black-and-white to color negatives, scratchy film, 35mm, 16mm, video and stylized animation in various film stocks and speeds. These shifts in images are not sparingly used - they usually occur within one specific scene. The editing is brilliant, the filmmaking is dazzling (courtesy of noted cinematographer Robert Richardson), yet the overall effect is nauseating (there are reportedly 3,000 images in the entire film). If Ollie chose to use this breakthrough editing technique less frequently, then his various opinions of Mickey, Mallory and the media would have been more fully realized. Clearly, Oliver's point is to keep us continually on edge.

The best scenes in "Natural Born Killers" are the quiet ones where Stone allows motion to move smoothly without bludgeoning the camera. I love the scene after the ultraviolent cafe attack where Mallory dances on top of a car (to the tune of Cowboy Junkies' version of Lou Reed's "Sweet Jane") and superimposed images of angels, red horses, and bright colored lights flash by. There is also the masterfully edited and composed scene where Mickey and Mallory declare their love for each other by a bridge overlooking a gorge. They make a blood pact, eschewing the traditional wedding engagement, and their blood trickles into the water in animation style forming twin serpents (a recurring motif in the film).

After having seen "Natural Born Killers" several times, I am convinced that Stone's grandiose visions are spectacular to watch but, storywise, the film is interestingly muddled. I recommend the experience of watching this film as virtually a visual odyssey of rampant images, a crosscutting style of excess. It is a film I am not able to take off my mind, and everyone will read it differently. Some will see it as a dangerous polemic of our times, and others will see it as the very same trashy exploitative violence that Stone was only pretending to skewer. It makes you wonder how one should view this film when we are asked to root for the remorseless killers - they do survive the bloodbath and (spoiler alert) they have a family and move on. The more I think about it, the more it is apparent that the film is infused with hyperbolic anger so it falls somewhere between being an exaggerated polemic and a rock n' roll, nasty, violent exploitation picture. Or maybe just both.

It would be cool to fight William Shatner

FIGHT CLUB (1999)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

(Originally reviewed in 1999)

"Fight Club" is an audacious experiment in filmmaking. It also redefines the term multilayered. It has so many layers that not even a simple miniseries like "Les Miserables" or "The Winds of War" could match the density of this film. "Fight Club" is a unique, neo-noir, fascistic film - undefinable and unquestionably brilliant. I've never seen anything like it.

Edward Norton plays Jack, an insurance-claims investigator leading a lonely life of IKEA furniture and not much else. Jack is constantly on plane trips where he hopes his plane will crash since the life insurance is so much higher on a business trip. One day, he decides to frequent self-help groups, including one for testicular cancer. Of course, Jack has no testicular cancer, but what else can a lonely guy do? Meeting these people, including Bob (Meat Loaf), has given this insomniac an emotional release and an ability to sleep like a baby. Jack's life seems in order until he finds his female counterpart, Marla (Helena Bonham Carter), attending all these meetings (including, hilariously, the cancer group) for the thrill of it. Marla is certainly a pill. She steals clothes from laundromats and fakes suicide calls, and always runs in front of traffic. Marla has reduced Jack back to his former self. He can't sleep again, feeling threatened by this loose, volatile woman.

Eventually, Jack meets Tyler Durden (Brad Pitt), a soap salesman who frees Jack from his isolation. Tyler also works at a hotel and occasionally as a projectionist where he splices in a single frame of pornography in children's films. One night, while drinking beers, Tyler suggest a new form of therapy for Jack, who has lost his possessions in an apparent accidental explosion in his apartment. Tyler engages Jack in "fight club," a club where barechested men engage in fistfights without gloves. The club is born as Jack moves into Tyler's nearly decrepit house and learns how to make soap, how to get a chemical burn, how to have sex with Marla - basically, how to be born again from a generation of men raised by women. This fight club engineers a movement all across the country. Even men like Bob (who had too much testosterone and grew breasts) learn to tackle their inner machoistic and masochistic behavior - men are men again without material possessions. They are on the course of self-destruction, as opposed to self-improvement.

Naturally, this club is not just about fighting as it slowly evolves. Tyler's club also includes "Project Mayhem," where businesses like Starbucks and corporate art symbols are destroyed (sometimes, an explosion on the surface of a building resembles a smiley face). What Tyler is forming is a terrorist organization without killing anyone. He is trying to bring out freedom, encouraging his members to pick a fight (one incredibly funny moment involves spraying water on a priest) and be free from the constraints of society. Jack doesn't quite see it that way, or does he?

"Fight Club" is not an average filmgoing experience. The film has its own rhythm, gliding along its own patterns and layers of storytelling. Director David Fincher ("The Game") has utilized distancing devices such as narration (used sparingly here), freeze-frames, subliminal cuts, impossible point-of-view shots (such as Jack's own nerves and nose hairs), and so on. The film is quite subjective, showcasing Jack's wild imagination, which includes icy caverns with sliding penguins, planes crashing into each other, split-second shots of forests, an advertisement for IKEA furniture with their prices superimposed, and much more. "Fight Club" unfolds in such a rapid succession of images and montage editing that it will leave you cinematically punch-drunk.

After one viewing, it is easy to miss some of the satire. In fact, you may not exactly know what it is you have witnessed. "Fight Club" seems more like an extension of a man's place in a consumerist society. But then there is all the mayhem from placing explosives in corporate buildings, credit card companies, and anything with a brand name. But it also buries itself in Jack's head, as in one incredulous moment where he punches himself repeatedly in front of his boss! One can say that "Fight Club" is an anti-consumerist, anti-society, anti-job, pro-male bravado-type film from the point-of-view of an emasculated insomniac. Earlier in 1999, there was Albert Brooks's "The Muse" where Martin Scorsese described making a "Raging Bull" remake with a really thin guy. Edward Norton seems to be the likely candidate in a movie that riffs on "Raging Bull" with blood-soaked glory.

Brad Pitt is about as live wire in this film as he ever gets as Tyler, expounding on Nietzschean philosophies and using bare fists as freedom fists. The question remains: does Tyler really think that his cult group is free if they have to conform to his ways? At one point, he says: "God doesn't like you." It could be that Tyler is just a rambling, egotistical, rabble-rousing Hitler whose own plans outweigh the results. Pitt shows the humor, the irony and the machismo of Tyler - this guy probably just wants some attention.

Edward Norton plays the most complex character of his career, showing Jack's frailty and emasculation flawlessly. He looks like a punching bag, and it is crudely funny how he shows up at his dead-end job with a black eye and a bloody lip. Norton also depicts Jack's recognition that this fight club has become too dangerous. There is a major twist involving his character which shows that Norton, one of the most gifted actors in the last twenty years, can convincingly mimic any facial expression at the turn of a dime.

Helena Bonham Carter, known for costume dramas, plays an unusual, atypical character. Her Marla has a weird hairstyle and a knack for doing anything for kicks, but she is also treated like a sex object by Tyler. The character may not have much juice, but Carter is game for sexual hijinks.

I am still not sure what "Fight Club" is really saying because it is difficult to discern if the film condones or condemns Tyler's neo-Nazi-bordering-on-punk actions. It is hard to say if the ending is optimistic or downbeat. Still, isn't the mystery the result of a great film? Mostly, "Fight Club" is a galvanizing, relentlessly violent, occasionally funny black comedy with satiric overtones. What Fincher has accomplished in this maddening parade is to inform us that society and consumerism have become social ills, preventing the males from being free to let loose and let the chips fall where they may. Oh, yes, and that it would be cool to fight William Shatner.

Passing the torch of film criticism?

EW LAYS OFF FILM CRITIC, AND MAY LOSE READERS...

By Jerry Saravia

Owen Gleiberman

On April 2nd, 2014, Entertainment Weekly announced the layoffs of seven staff writers, one of them being film critic Owen Gleiberman who had been an active and, I thought, prestigious member of the EW team since 1989. Former colleague and film critic, Lisa Schwarzbaum, left last February, 2013 and took a buyout. Owen is not the only one to leave; music critic Nick Catucci, staff writer Annie Barrett, Jeff Giles and executive editor Jason Adams were also let go. Some had planned to leave, others had upcoming projects in the winds. But Owen's departure is a little upsetting, at least to me. It may affect my overall view of the magazine as a whole. This is not intended to be a reminder of what happened to Bosley Crowther (New York Film film critic/journalist) whose damning review of "Bonnie and Clyde" might have led to his departure. I have not heard anyone say that Gleiberman is out of touch nor that his reviews cause any level of consternation from readers - it is quite the opposite. So what gives?

I had started reading Entertainment Weekly back in early 1990 and haven't stopped since, primarily due to Owen Gleiberman. His film reviews were honest and, at times, incendiary. He gave a grade D to 1990's "Pretty Woman," though later he expressed second thoughts. He also gave a grade B to "GoodFellas," expressing that he was disappointed there was little soul in Scorsese's gangster masterpiece (though it ended up in the annual Best Movies of the Year list). In fact, Gleiberman fans might have noticed an echo of his thoughts on "GoodFellas" expressed in his review for "Wolf of Wall Street." Owen always stuck to his guns, giving his reviews the impression of an overall experience, much like his idol Pauline Kael. Every week, I couldn't wait to see what he had to say about any movie - he was sometimes as entertaining as the movie he was reviewing. I didn't always agree with his opinions ("Eyes Wide Shut" is far better than a "C" grade, and I do love "Saving Private Ryan" but it is not an "A" movie) but it didn't matter - his reviews took my love for Ebert and Kael in the 1980's to a whole new level of understanding of what an experience of a film dictates - engaging the emotions. He would occasionally make mention of a film's soundtrack, specific songs used to underscore a hidden meaning in a shot or sequence, that few film critics ever do.

According to Hollywood Reporter, "The entertainment magazine's layoffs are part of a broader reorganization at Time Inc that has seen staff reductions at titles across the company. 

EW debuted a redesigned website in June 2013, three months after Time Warner announced the spinoff. The publishing company is set to officially be split from Time Warner in the second quarter of this year, according to a regulatory filing last November. 

Recently, the publication launched a platform where a network of mostly unpaid bloggers can post recaps of TV shows and contribute lists and articles, Digiday reported last week. Titled The Community, the vertical is currently in beta mode with the first post listed as being published on Feb. 21. EW describes the section in a FAQ as 'featuring superfans with passion and unique voices'."

Now look, I am not a good film critic or blogger but I try my damnedest and I would love to be paid for my efforts. So is it a money issue overall, hence the unpaid bloggers making written contributions? Or is it the split from Time Warner - the latest in bad corporate decisions? Chris Nashawaty is staying on (he is equally delightful to read in the increasingly abbreviated DVD/Video section of EW) and will do a fine job filling in but Owen, among other contributors at the magazine, made Entertainment Weekly into the film/music/pop culture mag it is. Let's hope Owen finds a good fit elsewhere because the average film blogger, with exceptions, can't write two words that come close to the cultured musings of Owen.

That sword was priceless

KILL BILL: VOL. 2 (2004)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia
(Originally reviewed in 2004)

Quentin Tarantino may be a demonic, mental case of a filmmaker, but isn't that why his fans and others warm up to him? In fact, his demonic, resplendent cribbing of other movies to make his own crime action epics is what juices him up, and what juices our senses. That being said, I was not a huge fan of "Kill Bill, Vol. 1," though I admired certain aspects of it. Overall, it was an often entertaining and incredibly shallow action picture with a shallowly conceived female assassin at its center. The story was unfinished, so here we are served up a Volume 2. I am happy to report that it is as good as the first volume, more restrained and more narrowly focused on the female assassin's motives. And I was initially right - Tarantino had more up his sleeve.

The movie begins with a recap of Uma Thurman's Black Mamba's aka The Bride's bloodied face shot to hell by Bill (David Carradine) in gripping black-and-white images. Then we see Uma driving down a road, again in glamorous black-and-white, explaining that her primary purpose is about to be fulfilled - she will kill Bill. And so off we are into Tarantino's cartoonish world of loners who look exhausted by life. The Black Mamba, actually known as Beatrix Kiddo, has to kill a few more fellow assassins along the way, including Budd aka Sidewinder, Bill's brother (Michael Madsen); the eyepatch-wearing Elle Driver (Daryl Hannah); and the lord of the manor, the king of the hill himself, Bill.

Before we get to the revenge, we are treated to Tarantino's usual break up of linear narrative into chapter stops. The opening chapter, titled the Massacre at Two Pines Wedding Chapel, is also shot in black-and-white, and it shows the Bride's wedding rehearsal with Bo Svenson as the minister and Samuel L. Jackson as the organist. The mysterious figure that shows up is Bill, playing his flute (no doubt the same flute from "Circle of Iron"), and inquiring why the Bride is getting married. Then we realize that the real purpose of Bill's appearance at her wedding is to kill her. The sequence is chilling in that we know the inevitable is about to happen - and we cringe when the Bride kisses Bill and thanks him for giving her away before the massacre begins.

What these chapters do best is to signify the characters' importance in relation to their actions. One chapter focuses on Budd aka Sidewinder, something of a bloated loner who works a menial job at a strip club. He shows up late to work and is almost fired, until he is chosen for a special job by his boss: to clean the toilet. These scenes may not serve much purpose to most viewers but they show a sympathetic side to the Everyman who has to work menial jobs to support himself. To further signify the loneliness, we see that Budd is living in a trailer out in the middle of Sergio Leone's nowheresville desert landscape. Bill visits Budd to reassure him that the Bride will come looking for him. All Budd can do is drink and wait for her.

Less emphasis is given to Elle Driver (Daryl Hannah), the cold-blooded assassin whom we remember happily whistling Bernard Herrman's "Twisted Nerve" in "Vol. 1." Budd tells Elle that he not only has the Bride entombed in a few feet of dirt but also an original sword created by Hattori Hanzo (Sonny Chiba), the sword you'll recall that Hanzo claimed will cut God. It is a precious sword that Elle would love to have, though she completely hates Budd. Once again, Tarantino sets up for the inevitable and all I can say is that it involves a black mamba snake. Oh, the irony!

"Vol. 2" squarely focuses on the Bride, and her desperate need to kill Bill. However, as if we thought Tarantino used up all his cinematic tricks and grindhouse cliches, the last third of the film is unexpectedly touching and injected with pathos. What? Has Tarantino gone soft? Not at all, and for those who remember the character-oriented "Jackie Brown," this new volume's extended climax should come as no surprise.

As for the performances, well, it is no surprise that Tarantino still has that special gift of casting the right actor. Uma Thurman is game all the way for these blood-soaked volumes, and she gives us the Bride in all her complexity. We see her pain in the superb climax, her anger, her fears, her winsome smile, her frailty - basically, what was once a one-dimensional, shallow Bride has become a full-bodied portrait of an assassin who wants to come to terms with Bill. And I definitely felt something for her during her brief moment where she is buried alive by Budd. Okay, so this is not the best performance by an actress in 2004 (too early to tell for sure), but it is among Thurman's more dynamic characters in quite sometime.

David Carradine has the role that best sums up his career as the killer with a smile and a touch of class, namely Bill. In "Vol. 1," we never saw his face. Here, we see a man who is soothing, calm, intelligent, loves to play the flute and tell stories, and also a man capable of pure masochism - a murderer who feels he has wronged the Bride. But the 67-year-old actor also carries the "Kung-Fu" stamp of a man who has seen and weathered the crimes of his past - he knows he will meet an untimely end. It is Carradine's pathos that gives "Kill Bill" an extra notch above any of the grindhouse pictures of the past.

"Kill Bill Vol. 2" has a couple of tantalizing action scenes, though none as over-the-top as the first volume. The brief swordfight between Elle and the Bride in Budd's trailer is shockingly awesome and tightly shot (it can't be easy fighting anybody in a trailer). More exceptional are the enjoyable training sessions the Bride must endure from her master teacher, Pai Mei (Gordon Liu, with long, flowing white hair), who is strict with her even when she tries to eat rice with chopsticks. And the claustrophobic burial where the Bride is encased in a coffin is vintage Tarantino.

"Kill Bill Vol. 2" may disappoint those seeking the thrill-happy momentum of "Vol. 1." It is less an homage to everything Tarantino loves than it is a poignant story of loners who are stripped of their costumes to reveal their humanity. It may not be what you expect from a demonic mental case like Tarantino, but it shows that he continues to surprise us.

Mercy, compassion I lack

KILL BILL VOL. 1 (2003)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

(Originally reviewed in 2003)

It is too soon to be sure but "Kill Bill, Vol. 1" may be Quentin Tarantino's weakest film. The reason I say too soon is because we are only seeing the first half of a four hour-plus movie - Volume 2 will come to theatres in February. So why not release the whole film together as one package? We are not talking "Lord of the Rings" or "The Matrix" where their stories need to be spread out over three movies. This film is simply a revenge story, unless it develops into something else in "Volume 2."

"Kill Bill" begins very promisingly with the kind of intense, free-for-all, anything-goes, let's-give-them-a-show feeling that you can only get from a pop-culture master like Tarantino. We see Uma Thurman's bloodied face in black-and-white as someone wipes the blood from her face. Suddenly, a gunshot rings out. Then we hear Nancy Sinatra's "Bang Bang (My Baby Shot Me Down)" song. Great opening for a movie, and further proof that Tarantino knows how to hook you in immediately.

Thurman is the Bride a.k.a Black Mamba (and also known by her real name, which is often bleeped out). She was left for dead at her wedding, presumably killed by Bill (David Carradine), whom we never see except for his hands and boots. But the Bride survives and comes out of her coma four years later thanks to a mosquito bite! She is now seeking the members of the Deadly Viper Assassination Squad who are responsible for beating her to a bloody pulp. The curious members of this squad include O-Ren Ishi a.k.a. Cottonmouth (Lucy Liu), Vernita Green a.k.a. Copperhead (Vivica A. Fox), Budd a.k.a. Side Winder (Michael Madsen, who'll probably figure prominently in the next part), and Elle Driver a.k.a. California Mountain Snake (Daryl Hannah, sporting a wicked eyepatch with a red cross on it). The most interesting are Copperhead and California Mountain Snake, who exude charisma and sex appeal in two highly memorable sequences. The first one is an opening knife fight between the Bride and Copperhead as they duke it out in Copperhead's house, until her daughter comes home from school. Then Copperhead offers a cup of coffee to the Bride, until we see a gun firing inside a cereal box!

California Mountain Snake is ready to inject the comatose Bride (in a nifty flashback) with poison until she is interrupted by Bill. The scene is delirious in a Brian De Palma way with the screen dividing in half, showing Bride asleep as Snake walks down the hospital corridors to the tune of "Twisted Nerve." The tension builds incredibly in a weirdly cartoonish and dramatic manner, like most of the movie.

The first forty minutes or so of "Kill Bill" is a cartoonish carnival of pop dreams - songs, camera movements and performances remind one of the old grindhouse pictures that Tarantino is enamored of. Except Tarantino is far more stylish and inventive than any of the directors at the old Shaw Brothers and Golden Harvest studios ever were. There is comedy and action in equal droves, firing at you with acute timing and wondrous rhythm. And when the film slows down with the introduction of the Man from Okinawa (Sonny Chiba), a sword maker, you feel Tarantino is playing us like a piano, speeding up for the kill and slowing us down like a grand maestro. But the rhythm can't last forever because once the story shifts from Okinawa to Tokyo. In Tokyo, the Bride begins a bloody rampage with her trusty bloody sword that would make the Shaolin martial-arts experts look away with disgust. We are talking fountains of blood spewed from severed limbs, severed heads, severed everything. The DTS sound effects amplify the killings to the point of over-the-top and beyond. It is the kind of gory action one would expect from Tarantino's ancestral cinematic origins, but it is also akin to Robert Rodriguez's "From Dusk Till Dawn" (which Tarantino wrote but did not direct). I have no problem with seeing fountains of blood (though it is well-executed in the delirious anime flashback) but Tarantino, dare I say, is better than that. His trademark is dialogue and shifting points-of-view, coupled with Sally Menke's editorial flourishes of time and space. Yes, we have seen gore in his other films, but nothing to the extent of what is offered here. This is like the "Dead Alive" of martial-arts epics, and though it is not as extreme as that horror flick, it is far more violent and repetitious than it needs to be. How many geysers of blood can one stand?

My other problem is that we are not offered reasons for the Bride's vengeful feelings. Yes, her husband-to-be and unborn baby were killed, but what is really at stake? Who is Bill and why were so many assassins needed when it seems Bill is the one who fires a bullet in her brain? I guess these questions will be answered in "Volume 2," but as of now, there is nothing really at stake in the story.

As the end credits came up for "Kill Bill," the small audience walked out quicker than you can yell "Fire!" This has been a common staple of audience screenings for the last few years, but I also sensed people were peeved that they have to wait four months before the rest of the story continues. I sensed they were disappointed with the final product, and I share that disappointment. "Kill Bill" is good enough despite its many flaws, including a shallowly conceived heroine, but I still wonder why this story needed to be split into two parts (and why is the combined whole more than four hours?) Is it just the standard revenge tale or does Tarantino have more up his sleeve? Let's hope it is the latter.

Upstairs, Downstairs Murder Mystery

GOSFORD PARK (2001)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

(Originally reviewed in 2001)

Robert Altman has had a wayward, haywire career as a filmmaker. For ever truly inspiring, creative film like "Short Cuts," "The Player" and "McCabe and Mrs. Miller," there were unfortunate, abysmal pictures like "Popeye" and "The Gingerbread Man." "Gosford Park" is not in the league of any of those, but it is a supremely entertaining, elegant comedy that shows Altman's strengths at handling ensembles with aplomb.

And what an ensemble he has on board this time. Set in the English countryside in 1932, the film begins with an arrival of guests at an estate belonging to Sir William McCordle (Michael Gambon), who is hosting a shooting party for the weekend. The guests include Constance, Countess of Trentham (Maggie Smith), who is discreet with her own secrets but not with the secrets of others; Lord Stockbridge (Charles Dance), who is hard of hearing; Morris Weissman (Bob Balaban), a gay Hollywood producer trying to back the latest Charlie Chan flick, and his supposed valet (Ryan Phillippe); and the famed actor, Ivor Novello (Jeremy Northam), who appeared in the flop remake of Hitchcock's "The Lodger," among other guests. One person is not a guest and that is Sir William's insufferably bored wife, Lady Sylvia (Kristin Scott Thomas).

The characters just mentioned sleep in the upstairs wings of the estate, and each of one has their own servant. Let's not forget the downstairs population, mostly servants, footmen, butlers, cooks and maids. The most prominent are Elsie (Emily Watson), a maid who is having a secret affair with Sir William; the head cook, Mrs. Croft (Eileen Atkins); the trusty butler, Mr. Jennings (Alan Bates), who reminded me of Mr. Stevens in "The Remains of the Day"; the Countess's seemingly virginal maid, Mary (Kelly Macdonald); Probert (Derek Jacobi), Sir William's valet; Lord Stockbridge's glowering valet, Robert (Clive Owen); and finally, and most significantly, the stern head of the household, Mrs. Wilson (Helen Mirren), who admits she is the perfect servant because she has no life.

All the characters from the upstairs and downstairs wings harbor secrets, infidelities and insecurities. Altman introduces so many characters that each one becomes part of a vignette, rather than part of a cohesive plot of well-developed characters (as it should be). That is the trademark Altman style in visual and aural terms. Visual in that he constantly moves the camera ever so slightly in tracking and zoom-in shots. Aural in that everyone talks by interrupting or overlapping other people's conversations. These are the kind of techniques that normally do not occupy a period piece of this nature, nothing like say the unobtrusive camerawork of the fabulous "The Shooting Party" or any classy Merchant Ivory production. As always, Altman seeks to deconstruct the genre he directs, and it works admirably. The characters are all so fascinating and interesting to listen to that they could each spawn their own one-hour slot on "Masterpiece Theatre."

In roughly the three-quarter mark, Altman introduces the murder of Sir William by an unseen killer, who uses both poison and a knife. Now, in true Agatha Christie fashion, every occupant of the estate is a suspect, and since everyone more or less despises the reviled, lewd Sir William, it makes them that much more guilty. But the film is not as interested in the details of the murder or whodunit (though we do discover who the culprit is) as much as the characters, and the subtle witticisms in everyone's personality and style of speaking. In other words, "Gosford Park" bears the hallmarks of all British dramas and satires as such, and it is as intriguing, sophisticated and engaging as any Merchant Ivory production.

"Gosford Park" doesn't approach any level of greatness nor is it as much fun as Altman's "Cookie's Fortune" or "M.A.S.H." for that matter. But it is an understated, juicy, playful delight, a walk in the sunny side for Mr. Altman. At the rich age of 76, he still knows how to coax the best out of any ensemble and one can only admire him for it.

70's Song Remains the Same

A DECADE UNDER THE INFLUENCE (2003)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

(Originally reviewed in 2004)

The late 60's and the 1970's were the golden age of cinema - a time of reflection on society and the seeping corruption at its core. Racism, a futile war, disco, porno, rebellion in droves, Kent State, Watergate - they all contributed to a different world than many had anticipated. The films of that era were in-your-face when it came to growing concerns over such problems, not to mention the emergence of the sexual revolution, homosexuality, feminism, and so on. "A Decade Under the Influence" aims to reflect those films that essentially were designed to wake us up with a cold slap in the face of such hooey like "Hello, Dolly" and those Doris Day romantic comedies. The problem is that the decade started off with a bang and ended with a whimper, and we are all still whimpering. And this film forgets about the whimper.

Though there are numerous clips from classics such as "French Connection," "Mean Streets," "Taxi Driver," "All the President's Men," "MASH" among many others, there is no real attempt to understand why such cinema was so well-regarded then by audiences when today, nobody could care less. We only get fleeting examples, some more notable than others. A more fitting documentary on such a similar subject was one of the episodes of "American Cinema," where Peter Biskind remarked that "Taxi Driver" could not be made in the 1990's, though it was a box-office success in 1976.

Another problem is that all these directors are treated with reverence and speak reverentially of their work. Not one of them ever discloses that their egoistic self-indulgences helped to ruin a nearly stellar decade. Martin Scorsese, one of America's finest directors, went way overbudget on the deservedly financial disaster known as "New York, New York," released the same year as "Star Wars," a financial blockbuster. William Friedkin's own "Sorcerer," a remake of "The Wages of Fear," was a box-office flop. Francis Ford Coppola is briefly discussed with his own financial gains and follies, as is Michael Cimino's own financial ruin with "Heaven's Gate," a film that destroyed a studio. Yes, yes, yes, the 1970's were never the same again after "Star Wars" and "Heaven's Gate," but the truth is that audiences didn't rely on the 70's mavericks to tell stories anymore - they wanted fantasy and adventure. Look at what transpired in the early 80's. We had "Raiders of the Lost Ark," "E.T.," "The Empire Strikes Back." "Superman II," all of which were major box-office hits. "Raging Bull" is considered the best film of the 1980's but it was a box-office flop. The war between success and talent continues - would you prefer the latest Spielberg extravaganza or a dark Scorsese film from the gut? Yes, brilliant films from the studio system continue to be made but with each passing year, there are less and less. The independent films are the ones to look for, if you can find them at your local theater. Hollywood distribution is the name of the game, particularly at festivals like Sundance. It is all about pure luck to get a highly personal film made today.

Though no documentary, even this one which runs nearly three hours (expanded from the truncated version shown on cable), can hope to represent every film from this period yet the late director Ted Demme and co-director Richard LaGravenese brings some measure of depth to certain directors. It is nice that Monte Hellman's terrific "Two Lane-Blacktop" is discussed, and how its script was published in Esquire before it even got released. It also helps that Hellman further discusses how the film changed drastically from the original script, initially hailed as the film of the year. There is also a brief retrospective of the long-forgotten Hal Ashby, who helmed beautifully made, offbeat films like "Shampoo" and "Coming Home." Jon Voight and Julie Christie throw in their two cents on what a wonderful director he was, even if the 1980's was not kind to him (though no light is shed on this matter). Sidney Lumet expounds on his technique and what he expected from his actors, but unremarkable films from the 1980's like "Family Business" and "Garbo Talks" are not discussed, nor is a brilliant film like "Running on Empty."

"A Decade Under the Influence" refuses to ask their interview subjects why they failed to enliven cinema, to make the kinds of personal films they used to make. So we are left with their highs and lows during the 1970's but rarely do they remark on their current work (some discuss recent independent films from other directors). They just don't make them like they used to.

Chevy Chase is D.O.A and AWOL

FLETCH LIVES (1989)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

(Originally reviewed in 1989)

There are two exceptionally funny scenes in "Fletch Lives." The wisecracking reporter who is always disguising himself and his voice, Irwin "Fletch" Fletcher (Chevy Chase), interrupts a KKK group by pretending to be one of them. He cozies up to them, performing some ritual that includes bopping one of them on the head - "It's a California thing." There is also an inspired bit where Fletch dreams a "Song of the South" song rendition of "Zip-a-Dee-Doo-Dah" with animated birds and the like. As I said, two funny scenes in a dreary 98-minute sequel to a riotous 1985 flick that is among Chevy Chase's best comedies.

"Fletch Lives" can't even deliver with the fake Fletch disguises (a blonde wig and using the name Peggy Lee Zorba is among the worst) and a plot that takes itself too seriously. The Deep South and televangelists could've been comic gold but as written by Leon Capetanos (replacing the talented Andrew Bergman from the original), it doesn't exactly tap into the material and exploit it. A whole hour can pass by and you'll hardly elicit a smile, especially with reliable pros like Hal Holbrook and R. Lee Ermey who seem to occupy a different movie. And what is so damn funny about Fletch finding a dead woman in bed with him (played by the wonderful Patricia Kalember of "thirtysomething" fame), whom he just slept with the night before, and having him utter the line, "Well, she was good but not that good." The Fletch from the original film would not have reacted in such a cold-blooded manner.

The original "Fletch" was smart, fast-paced and funny as hell, but it also helped that Chevy Chase made Fletch a human and sympathetic character who was also quick on his feet and could improvise his way out of any situation. This sequel has the late Cleavon Little playing a semi-stereotyped character named Calculus Entropy, and Chevy Chase essentially walks through the movie. Actually, he limps.

Kicking up a storm at the ice factory

THE BIG BOSS aka FISTS OF FURY (1971)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

The late and great Bruce Lee was said to have considered doing more historical martial-arts films post-"Enter the Dragon." I would presume the kind of 16th century or earlier costume epics, not unlike what we seen in the last decade with the likes of "Hero" or "Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon." Despite I gather some vicious gangsters wearing 70's fashions, "The Big Boss" could have been set in any era and that is part of its charm. This was the first kung-fu flick for Lee and, though it is awkwardly patched together and exceedingly violent (it is far more bloody than "The Chinese Connection" aka "Fist of Fury"), it is also stunning, lively and well-made.

Bruce Lee is Cheng, a country bumpkin (a role he had played for many years, and did his final version of it in "The Way of the Dragon") who makes a promise to his uncle not to fight, probably because the guy is too damn good a fighter and is always in trouble. Cheng wears a necklace to remind him to stay fight-free. He comes to Thailand to work with his cousins at an ice factory that is actually a front for cocaine smuggling. When any ice block is broken with the evidence in tow, accidentally or not by the workers, the drug syndicate has the workers killed - I do wonder if the workers are unionized. No matter, Cheng eventually finds out the truth and the inevitable slaughter of family members takes shape, leading to a dozen fight scenes in the last half hour.

As always the case with Bruce Lee's kung-fu films, the fight scenes are extraordinary and supernaturally good. They are also exaggerated to the nth degree, complete with flying kick jousts (something Lee objected to) and punches and kicks that are delivered with preternatural sounds (even when Lee tears off his shirt, you can hear it for miles). Sometimes a character can stand still and jump in the air by a good fifty feet without a running start (at one point, Lee jumps over a 12-foot fence without much exertion) Of course, these are the staples of kung-fu pictures by the hundredfold and, though such impossible feats of strength have not always appeared in Lee's films since he craved realism, it adds some flavor of wit.

Most of the actors are quite good for the paper-thin material. Maria Yi is a sweet, becalming actress playing a woman who is Cheng's cousin. James Tien plays another cousin who is seen as the family's leader and who gets into fights often. Yin-chieh Han is the formidable villain who owns the ice factory and is something of a low-level drug lord (he also choreographed the fight scenes) - his last few scenes with Bruce Lee are phantasmagoric and awesomely staged. 

The story in "The Big Boss" is minimal but it is enormously paid off by the electrifying presence of Bruce Lee (who gets to play drunk and show shards of innocence), playing a naive, sympathetic young man who possesses the eruptive anger of a fierce dragon. When he fights, the screen blazes with energy that showcases very clearly why Bruce Lee became a legend. "The Big Boss" is not one of Lee's best action films ("Fist of Fury" that followed clearly is the Master's finest hour) but it has legendary fight scenes that you will want to revisit again and again.

Footnote: The only Bruce Lee action picture not to feature Lee using nunchakus. Instead, he uses knives.