You'll forget it in a flash

FLASHPOINT (1984)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

Friends, Conspiracy Theorists, Thriller Fans, Lend me your Insights! "Flashpoint" is another one of those disposable conspiracy thrillers that has a concept that could've flown high. Instead, it crash lands to smithereens leaving nothing but dust in its wake. Killer concept, though, pardon the pun.

Kris Kristofferson and Treat Williams (two actors I would love to see paired again) are border patrol cops, Logan and Wyatt, who sense their jobs are in jeopardy. A computer system, complete with motion-detection sensors, is to be installed thanks to the federal government, and all the agents have to dig in the hard desert earth and plant them. Sounds like a shit job, and it is. Wyatt fears they will be staring at computer screens all day, though I do have a nagging question - aren't border agents still needed to bring in the illegals who cross the border? Meanwhile, Logan discovers a buried Jeep in the desert that contains a skeleton, a briefcase with $800,000, and another case containing a fishing rod and a rifle. The money is dated 1962-1963 and its origin is Dallas, and the skeletal remains are of some individual from San Antonio. Clearly, it is a criminal of some kind, but whom? Movie buffs will instantly see a connection between this mystery (at least in terms of the actual discovery) and the plot of "Lone Star" from 1996 which also starred Kris Kristofferson in a killer role, pun intended. Movie buffs will further see a connection between this film and Treat Williams in the 1981 flick, "The Pursuit of D.B. Cooper." This is all I could think about while watching this run-of-the-mill flick.

"Flashpoint" has a great concept that could have led to a fantastic mystery thriller with some clever twists and turns. For a while, the movie is involving and invites curiosity as Logan tries to find the clues to this mysterious dead fellow - was the guy an assassin or a bank robber? As soon as federal agents come into the scene, led by the inquisitive and devilish Carson (the always splendid Kurtwood Smith), the movie loses focus, the body count rises, and we are left with our heroes driving around the desert and engaging in quick shootouts. The final revelation will come as no surprise (let's say the year 1963 has some significance) but its execution is just stupid and comes out of left field. Plus, the two women in the film, Tess Harper and Jean Smart, are the alleged love interests but they barely have time to give our hero cops a rest from the conspiracy doldrums.

"Flashpoint" is a movie I saw on cable way back when and forgot about. Seeing it again didn't leave me nostalgic for the 1980's - it reminded me that crappy, disposable cinema has its place in every decade. Perhaps like the skeleton found in the movie, the movie's theme could apply to the movie itself - stay buried. 

Gay-themed Killers from Space

DON'T ASK DON'T TELL (2002)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

"Mystery Science Theatre" was the first TV show to ever mock bad movies by filming actors voicing their rants and raves. Now imagine a movie where a bad movie's initial intentions are eradicated by inserting a whole new storyline, new voices to match the original actors and newly inserted scenes. It's been done before with Woody Allen's "What's Up Tiger Lily?" back in 1969 and some more obscure efforts since, but "Don't Ask Don't Tell" ratchets it up a few notches by making a statement about sexual orientation in America in the 21st century. It does so with lots of laughs, too.

The movie in question is 1954's "Killers From Space," a science-fiction thriller that starred the young Peter Graves. Except this movie is not strictly about aliens but rather about gays! Some sort of alien laser is changing straight people into gays and Graves, playing a scientist known as Dr. Fartin (voiced by Erik Frandsen), is the latest victim after an unsuccessful mission to Operation Manhole. He becomes bewildered, distraught, can't walk straight and keeps saying everything is "fabulous." Dr. Fartin will not make love to his wife Ellen (Barbara Bestar, voice of Rosa Rugosa), which proves frustrating especially after numerous attempts to entice him by lifting her skirt. Finally, she consults the help of a German doctor who advises her to try more provocative poses. The military, represented by Colonel Butts and Major Problemo, try to find out how the good doctor got himself into this mess. They also recommend the best solutions to regaining his straight, virile self. One solution had me laughing out loud: "Did you try driving a tow truck?"

So we have truly bug-eyed aliens, provocative nurses named Nurse Bendover, sexual shenanigans involving blueberries and pancakes, townsfolk from Inbred, Texas, a few cracks at the Bush administration (including a portrait of Ike that morphs into Bush), a Freudian shrink, and so much more. The best moments center on the new lines given to these forgotten actors from the 1950's (excepting Peter Graves, who had narrated TV's "Biography"). Thanks to editor Jackie Eagan, most of it is quite seamless, though the depth of field for sound could have been better (it sounds like the actors are just speaking into the mikes). There is one great gag where Colonel Butts shows how menacing he is by indicating that everything except his eyes are masked (masking was a common editing effect since the silent era). Nice touch. And I also enjoyed the scenes of a toll-booth attendant (or was he a gas-station attendant?) giving the latest information on Fartin's whereabouts. And for gratuitous musical number fans, there is one involving the aliens that will rock your boat.

Now, of course, this is all as silly and overdone as one can expect. Comedian Lloyd Floyd, who appears in the newly shot and inserted scenes, plays a bunch of different characters like Nurse Bendover and other inhabitants devoid of intelligence from Inbred, Texas. They are not side-splittingly funny and some simply mark time. The sexual innuendoes and shots of crotches may induce more groans than laughs. And repeated use of the same close-up head shots of the military figures grows monotonous after a while.

Still, "Don't Ask Don't Tell" is a goofy, often hysterical time at the movies. Director Doug Miles and writer Tex Hauser infuse the 1954 film with a refreshingly comical and sordid tone. As for satire, it makes the claim that homosexuality is not something that should be feared, and acceptance can grow even in the military. Sounds like it has more up its sleeve than "Killers From Space."

Joyless Kaiju destruction

GODZILLA (2014)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

There is one scene in "Godzilla," the newest remake of the Japanese creation from the 1950's, that so indelibly captures the King of the Monsters that fans will rejoice. Godzilla, after reducing most of an American city to ruins, wakes up from a nap and walks towards the sea. Everyone stares at this massive reptile, including two key characters who look at him with a sense of wonder and amazement. A shame this is the last scene of a lumbering, underwritten and lazy monster flick that I watched with a collective yawn.

The wisp of a plot details an earthquake at a Japanese nuclear facility where conspiracy-wired nuclear engineer (a stellar Bryan Cranston) believes that a meltdown was caused by something else, a couple of atomic monsters no less. Cranston's wife, a nuclear scientist (Juliette Binoche, an excellent actress who deserves better), dies during the meltdown (the trailer gave one the impression that they were in the entire movie). Fast-forward to fifteen years later where Cranston tries to convince his son (Aaron Taylor-Thomas), a U.S. Navy explosives expert, to investigate the dormant facility. Problems arise when a huge winged creature takes flight, killing Cranston in the process. The rest of "Godzilla" barely has our favorite atomic monster and features endless scenes of destruction while spectators watch in disbelief as their cities are drowned by tsunamis and a heck of a lot of 9/11 imagery. Too much, in fact, to the point that all fun is drained from severely underlit night footage of the monsters battling it out.

Cranston, a real fireball of an actor, is the best thing in "Godzilla" and his appearance is premature. Elizabeth Olsen is not given much to do besides being the token worried wife. Ken Watanabe as Dr. Ishiro Serizawa, the lead scientist of a certain Project Monarch, merely looks concerned throughout - a waste of a remarkable actor who first sprouted real acting chops in "The Last Samurai." The actors are mere window dressing for special-effects that are not much to look at, I am afraid. I think I appreciate the old 1950's "Godzilla" features more so than this snore-inducing CGI fest. In recent years, "Cloverfield" and "Pacific Rim" proved to be far more successful at surprising us and including a sense of fun. This "Godzilla" is for the birds with not an ounce of suspense or real thrills in it.

"Godzilla" is a marginal improvement over the colossally bad 1998 remake that featured the most ridiculous-looking King of the Monsters in history, but that is not exactly a fitting recommendation. When all the DTS sound effects and ugly-looking visuals are over, you will wonder why Godzilla and company are only filmed at night rather than during the day - ah, perhaps because as Roger Ebert once said, nighttime covers up flaws. It didn't cover up screenplay flaws, though.

Rising above Guy Ritchie

SEXY BEAST (2000)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

(Originally written in 2001)

(Ten Best Films of the 2000's)

I have declared my distaste for the postmodern Tarantino crime genre ad nauseam so I feel no need to continue voicing it. Nevertheless, a film like "Sexy Beast" usually comes marching along to ignite the genre beyond the usual expectations and boy, does it ever. "Sexy Beast" is a firecracker thriller, as intense and entertaining as "Reservoir Dogs" and about as menacing as "GoodFellas."

The opening scene sets in a different tone than expected. We see a man basking in the hot sun as he is lying on a chair near the pool. He starts using synonyms for his peace of mind and relaxation. Before you know it, a boulder comes crashing into his pool almost killing him in the process. His relaxation is over, as is the audiences'. The man at peace in his glorious house and pool is Gal Dove (Ray Winstone), a retired gangster who is trying to sooth his nerves. Those nerves become jangled as the imminent arrival of a Don Logan (Ben Kingsley) is announced by Gal's close friends, an ex-gangster sidekick (Cavan Kendall) and his exotic blonde wife (Julianne White). Don Logan is feared by these people and rightly so. Logan has come to recruit Gal for one last heist in London, a job commissioned by a crime lord known as Teddy "Mr. Black Magic" (Ian McShane). Problem is that Gal has no interest but boy, does Don try to persuade him. Persuasion and insistence are Don's codes of coercion - he will not take no for an answer. Don verbally and physically attacks everyone in his sight, including Gal and his former porn star wife (Amanda Redman), not to mention Gal's aforementioned friends. Never before have I witnessed a cliched plot device delivered so brilliantly in terms of desperation and sheer persuasion as shown here.

Eventually, Gal ends up in London to perform the complicated heist, which involves a highly secure bank and a Turkish bath! Teddy is the mastermind of this heist and also inquisitive and persuasive, particularly involving the mysterious disappearance of Don. This all results in one of the most conniving, cunning and surprising climaxes I've seen in eons.

Ben Kingsley is clearly the marvel of the film, a supreme scene-stealer. His startling, piercing eyes and thick East End London accent will drive you bonkers wishing he would just disappear. It is a performance of amazing intensity, all the more amazing coming from Kingsley who has played bona fide saints in "Gandhi" and "Schindler's List." He did play a suave gangster in "Bugsy" and left a haunting impression in "Death and the Maiden," but neither role can prepare you for what is easily the toughest villain since Joe Pesci's trigger-happy act in "GoodFellas." Ray Winstone is also as assured as the quiet, implosive Gal. He wants out of the crime world but one gets the sneaky suspicion that he craves the leisure and laid-back living it can provide. Only someone like Don has given him reason to quit for good and ever.

One final performance that left me riveted was Ian McShane's icy, cold-blooded Teddy - a character that is as dangerous and steely-eyed as Don. Combining these two magnificent performances in one film can create terror in everyone's mind for months on end. They would make James Bond's heart palpitate.

"Sexy Beast" is directed by first-timer Jonathan Glazer, whose background is in directing music videos. One would expect jump cuts galore and lots of loud rock music from the Guy Ritchie crime school. Glazer eschews the in-your-face style for a more formal, stable palette of fixed compositions (the swimming pool even looks menacing at times). His focus is also on the characters, and the best scenes are when Don and Gal are sitting by an umbrella table by the pool as the sun sets its glow on Don's bald head. It is moments of that nature that bring an unsettling tension to the film. No one-liners or clever postmodern, wink-it's-only-a-movie moments that would cut away from the tension. Glazer is as graceful and composed as most seasoned directors.

"Sexy Beast" is not as much a heist film as it is about people involved in an emotional crisis and mood swinging tempos, especially Gal's wife who loves her husband dearly yet feels threatened as does everyone in the film. Exceptionally performed, directed and photographed, "Sexy Beast" is like no crime film I've seen before - a surreal, sometimes mind-bending trip into the allure of crime and the leisure it offers. There are unforeseen obstacles and sometimes it is less than glamorous in the underworld. When someone like Don Logan comes along, there may be no way out.

Raiding tombs by the numbers

LARA CROFT: TOMB RAIDER (2001)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

(Originally written in 2001)

People go to the movies to escape reality, not confront it. I have no problem spending two hours in front of a movie and being merely entertained, and then forget it about the next day. They are called popcorn movies, forged since the advent of "Star Wars" and "Raiders of the Lost Ark" 20 years ago. But "Lara Croft: Tomb Raider" is one hour and a half of such tired nonsensical gibberish that you will definitely forget about it the next day.

I know this movie is based on a popular video game. I know Angelina Jolie (one of the most charismatic actresses in cinema now) plays Lara Croft as bewitchingly as she is allowed to play her. I also know the plot, dealing with a hidden clock that has an eyepiece that can be used at the precise moment of planetary alignment to unlock secrets of the universe or something to that effect, is meant to be a device, a MacGuffin, for the action sequences. Whoops! What did I just say? Yes, folks, you do recall what the MacGuffin is, don't you? It is a term derived from Alfred Hitchcock's suspense oeuvre referring to the object that the characters are looking for that the audience could care less about. The audience is really just interested in the relationships between the characters. But "Lara Croft: Tomb Raider" uses the MacGuffin as a showcase for showing Jolie shooting her way out of crumbling temples with two .45 pistols, all at the expense of character development. There is a villain for Lara to match wits with and a former boyfriend who becomes a traitor but they are just window dressing for the action on display.

This movie is a big-screen commercial for a video game, nothing more. The characters are thin, the plotting more than just merely confounding, the action is slipshod complete with milisecond cuts and glaring techno pop music reminding us to be excited and so on. Locations change randomly with abrupt transitions. One minute Jolie is showering, the next she is shooting some stone monkeys and all with a delicate British accent. She winks, smiles, flaunts her breasts even in an icy tundra and that is it. The fact that she is an archaeology professor is a moot point (one line of dialogue makes a reference to her profession and even then it seems unbelievable). Usually this is the kind of movie one makes before winning an Oscar, not after.

The summer of 2001 will go down in history as the worst summer for movies ever, and "Tomb Raider" will be further proof of it. Basing a movie on a video game is not a terrible idea - it's just that one has to separate the game from the movie. Here, they are one and the same.

Mary Jo Doesn't Live Here Anymore

TUMBLEWEEDS (1999)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

(Originally reviewed in 1999)

The road movie is a genre not likely to die anytime soon because it represents the American landscape of searching for your identity. Now the road movie about a single/divorced/widowed mother searching for a new place and a new man with a daughter or son in tow is nothing new, and a certifiable genre in its own right. From "Alice Doesn't Live Here Anymore" to "This Boy's Life," the genre has been milked dry of all possibilities but then comes "Tumbleweeds," which mildly reverses expectations.

The change is the casting of English actress Janet McTeer as the Southerner from North Carolina, Mary Jo Walker, a vibrant, energetic woman who has just left her husband and hastily leaves with her daughter, Ava (Kimberly Brown), to another state. They disagree over where to go to and finally decide on San Diego, California, near a beach. Ava goes to school and discovers she a talent for acting, and thus prepares for a role as Romeo in the school play of "Romeo and Juliet." Mary Jo works for a telephone wake-up call service, and has a strange boss (Michael J. Pollard) watching her every move. Everything seems perfect including the truck driver she's dating, Jack Ranson (Gavin O'Connor), who asks them to move in to his house. Ava smells trouble from the start, already devising an escape route from her bedroom.

Mary Jo has always escaped from her life and her abusive boyfriends and husbands, and Ava loves her mother dearly but she also knows her too well. Their relationship and need for each other is at the core of "Tumbleweeds," and it is pinpointed in one scene where Ava explains to Mary that everything may seem fine with the new beau, but six months is longer than Mary should expect to stay attached.

Everyone who is a film buff can predict where "Tumbleweeds" will go with its premise. Jack seems nice but he's also temperamental, and ignores Ava. We know that Jack will be all wrong for Mary Jo, yet her co-worker, Dan Miller (Jay O. Sanders) may be what she needs - someone who can take care of her and who understands the iambic pentameter in Shakespeare. We also are aware that Mary Jo will finally realize that she is, in effect, only running away from herself.

Janet McTeer is sheerly perfect as Mary Jo - those penetrating yet soothing eyes and luscious smile give us everything we need to sympathize with her and her plight. She has a very touching scene with her co-worker and best friend, Laurie (Laurel Holloman), where she admits that she does not know why she's always leaving. The beauty is all there in this beaming, dreamy Mary Jo, but she is also emotionally fragile. Kimberly Brown gives one of the best, purest and most naturalistic performances of any child actor this year as the presumptuous, smart Ava. I found myself laughing heartily whenever she secretly winked or nodded to her mother, and plus she has some truly humane scenes with McTeer. One particular example is when Mary Jo is showing Ava how to kiss using apples, and the way it is shot and timed makes the scene as simple and real as any other film could be. I also liked an earlier scene where they toss out old clothes from their car, trying to start anew.

My big reservation about "Tumbleweeds" is that it ends just as the story is getting more interesting. This is one of those independent films that would have benefited from a 2 hour-plus running time, especially with the introduction of characters such as the widower Jack, the kind gardener Ginger (Lois Smith), or Mary's best pal, Laurie. I also would have preferred a less formulaic approach and not so many cliches (the film often feels more episodic than the rambling character study it aimed to be). Still, benefiting from the amazing performances by McTeer and Brown, "Tumbleweeds" has moments of true beauty and realism that will make you tumble with joy.

Tales from the Underimagined Crypt

AFTER MIDNIGHT (1989)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

"After Midnight" is one of those el cheapo horror anthologies that teeters between tongue-in-cheek horror with a gradual touch of knowing self-winks, and real terror. Its major faults are that the tongue-in-cheek lacks sufficient wit and the real terror would barely scare any toddler less than a year old.

A creepy professor of a class called "The Psychology of Fear" (Ramy Sada) wants to do away with textbooks and really scare his students by example. First, he points a gun with one bullet in its chamber at a student. Next, he offs himself by firing a gun at his head. Well, he does not really off himself but the terminally stupid students do not know this at first. What is troubling is that the students do not react to either incident with much more than a collective, "oh, my God!" as opposed to "OH, MY GOD!, OUR TEACHER JUST KILLED HIMSELF!" This is the first day of class, mind you. The professor, who later learns his teaching methods are unorthodox, decides to have his students partake in an experiment at his house! UH, UHHH!!!

During a rainy night, a handful of students tell scary stories to the professor and this sets up the horror anthology aspect of the film. My problem is that it takes too long to get to the alleged good stuff, not that these stories are worth anything in the midnight fright factor. "The Old Dark House" segment has a little "Creepshow" vibe though most of it feels too short to resonate (Marc McClure and Nadine Van der Velde are the married couple in it who stop at an abandoned mansion - Nadine being the older sister in the memorable "Critters"). I also intermittently enjoyed the "All Night Messenger" with Marg Helgenberger as a telephone answer operator in crutches but the villain (Al Rosenberg) is so over-the-top that all sense of wicked fun is thrown out the window. The middle story, easily the worst, concerns four girls at a gas station with dogs chasing their tail. Lame, especially when the highlight is an explosion. Wow. For 1980's devotees, Judie Aronson of "Weird Science" and Penelope Sudrow of "A Nightmare on Elm Street 3" appear in this mediocre segment but all they do is run and scream.

I adore watching Pamela Segall (a curiously small role) and Marg Helgenberger in anything but they are not enough to save this trite, sparsely imagined horror anthology. Stick to "Creepshow" or even the older "Vault of Horror" or "Tales From the Crypt." 

Doesn't jump the shark, it freakin' nukes it!

NATIONAL TREASURE: BOOK OF SECRETS (2007)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

I love pulp adventure, especially the escapist variety, both literary and cinematic. Alan Quatermain, Indiana Jones, and well, even Conan the Barbarian come to mind. I especially love the sight of intrepid heroes in caves carrying torches, looking for buried treasure. The original "National Treasure" fulfilled my appetite for such movies. "National Treasure: Book of Secrets" starts off with a fascinating backstory that is paced like a rip-roaring engine and then, it sputters and dies, pulling the rug from under us to reveal nothing.

Nicolas Cage (who was far more animated in the first "National Treasure") is back as Dr. Ben Gates, a treasure hunter who is an expert on history and deciphering codes. A stranger makes an admission, in a scene that looks vaguely "Da Vinci Code-like", that Gates' own great grandfather had a hand in Lincoln's assassination. Ben Gates and his father, Patrick Henry Gates (Jon Voight), are astounded and disturbed by this admission. So Gates and company, including returnees Abigail (Diane Kruger) and the computer savvy sidekick, Riley (Justin Bartha), are on a mission based on a fading 19th century letter that takes them to France's Statue of Liberty, Buckingham Palace and, finally, Mt. Rushmore where a fabled city of gold exists. For some reason or another, the Lincoln assassination may or may not have a connection to this impenetrable city of Gold, and one of the clues is hidden in the Statue of Liberty and in a secret book belonging to the President of the U.S.!

This "National Treasure" movie initially had me glued from the beginning, and I was curious to see where the details and deciphering of codes would take me. The problem is that the whole film is a convoluted, contrived mess of a movie that grows more and more preposterous as it proceeds. I am willing to forsake logic and disbelief if the story or the characters are at least mildly intriguing, but this is nothing more than an extended chase scene that leads nowhere. The connection between Lincoln's death and the city of gold is so tenuous, it merely feels like it is tacked on for the hell of it. After a while, I began to stop caring and the finale inside this city of Gold, more of an elaborate chamber that can quickly fill with water, is only a faint, tedious echo of what would work infinitely better in an Indiana Jones movie.

Nicolas Cage tries hard and he has a couple of funny moments where he overacts (I like the homage to "Roman Holiday"), but he looks mostly indifferent throughout this film. Diane Kruger as Abigail, the girlfriend, is reduced to an anonymous blonde whose central preoccupation is tagging along with Gates because he is allegedly the hero - unfortunately, there is still no chemistry between them. Jon Voight and Helen Mirren both look perplexed and confused, lending zilch to nothing roles as Ben Gates' parents. Ed Harris always manages to bring integrity to his roles but I can't quite figure out his character's purpose. Harvey Keitel slips in and out of this movie like a snake. Only Justin Bartha gives a lively enough performance. I love his first few scenes where his Ferrari is taken by the IRS and how he tries to sell his conspiracy book to no avail. If he had been the lead, this would've been a more fun ride (and I do ordinarily like Nicolas Cage).

"National Treasure: Book of Secrets" is empty popcorn filmmaking designed to entertain us yet it fails to since it has nothing up its sleeve and no real story. It is by-the-numbers filmmaking of the worst kind - it is bereft of imagination and has no sense of wonder or excitement.

Cage's passion for antiquities

NATIONAL TREASURE (2004)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

(Originally written in 2005)

"National Treasure" is pure escapism, a sort of latter-day Indiana Jones with Nicolas Cage as the treasure hunter with a heart of gold. Though one may scoff at casting Cage as a hero with a passion for antiquities (well, not quite, but he is knowledgeable about them), do not fret: he gives such a freely entertaining performance that it doesn't matter the film and the character aren't 100% believable.

Cage is Ben Franklin Gates, a devoted "Treasure Protector" who is looking for an ancient treasure that his family of many generations have been seeking, and endured a bad reputation as a result since it has never been found. Gates would like to change all that. After suffering a near-fatal confrontation with some greedy treasure hunters in the Arctic, Gates learns that the map leading to the treasure is written in invisible ink in the back of the Declaration of Independence! The problem is in obtaining this document from the National Archives where it is kept in a highly secure and highly impenetrable system. Not an impossible mission for Ben Gates. Needless to say, he obtains the document (in a sequence so improbable that it will leave you laughing at the sheer ridicule of it) and leaves with the unwilling Dr. Abigail Chase (Diane Kruger), a National Archivist who is also devastatingly beautiful and blonde as expected in a movie like this (note the sarcasm). Chase spends a long time being upset that Gates stole a national document but, hey, she changes her mind when sprinkling lemon juice on the document to...well, you get the idea. I'd loved it if she accidentally spilled her perfume or lipstick on it but then that would be highly improbable, wouldn't it?

So the chase goes on when those evil treasure hunters from the Arctic, headed by Ian (Sean Bean, the villain du jour), track down Cage and his friends and, well, this becomes a sort of latter-day Indiana Jones flick. Their journey takes them from Washington, D.C. to New York City (the latter where we note that the caves from "Gangs of New York" still exist). There are clock towers with hidden letters, countless museums to peruse, those cliched laser beams that guard documents, revolving doors that reveal dusty rooms, icy sailing ships that are hundreds of years old, torches, collapsing stairwells, and so on.

Watching a movie like this is a form of escapism, nothing more. And Nicolas Cage is more than game for it, running and jumping and yelling in the best Cage tradition. He can be so over-the-top that he looks like a madman from Looney Tunes cartoons, and yet remains focused and restrained enough to make us care for him as he embarks on this wild adventure. The less said of Diane Kruger, the Vanity Fair girl from "Troy," the better. There is mild comic relief from Riley (Justin Bartha), Gates's sidekick, who tries to be as clever as Gates. And Sean Bean, who mostly played villains before he played Boromir in "The Lord of the Rings," is appropriately threatening and evil enough. Only Harvey Keitel, Jon Voight and Christopher Plummer are wasted in secondary roles that anyone could have played.

The movie is overlong and has its lulls. At times, it is tremendously funny and exciting, and sometimes it sputters into oblivion when it tries to be romantic (Cage and Kruger are no romantic pair). If nothing else, "National Treasure" may whet your appetite until the next Indiana Jones flick.

Insufferable sitcom noir

GOODBYE LOVER (1998)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

(Originally reviewed in 1998)

Roger Ebert devised a term for film noir that is jokey, sanitized and lacking that air of desperation so central to the genre. He called it "deadpan noir", which is precisely what "Destiny Turns on the Radio" was, and what Roland Joffe's execrable new film "Goodbye, Lover" is. It is so groundless and putrid that you'll leave the theater in disgust for all the wrong reasons.

Patricia Arquette stars as Sandra, a real-estate dealer who is having an affair with a PR executive (Don Johnson) who is also an organist at the local church. Their frequent trysts occur at the houses she plans to sell to prospective buyers. Johnson wants to quit the affair, though, because Sandra's alcoholic husband (the always unconvincing Dermot Mulroney) is suspicious and poised to kill her lover. What makes things even worse is that the two men involved are brothers. And Johnson, you see, is beginning an affair with his secretary, the underused Mary-Louise Parker. Yes, I could feel the puzzle pieces of noir start to fit neatly with aplomb and true danger. And it is around this time that the movie comes tumbling down like the Berlin Wall.

Without giving too much of the plot away, I can safely add that the movie's twists and turns are predictable to the core, and that the motive behind a murder in the film is so that the protagonists can collect a tidy insurance settlement. We have heard that plot idea before - it goes back as far as the classic "Double Indemnity," along with a million other films. But "Goodbye, Lover" does a curious thing - it becomes a sitcom-ish noir tale. In other words, the perilous machinations of noir becomes a set-up for an elongated joke, a put-on, especially when Ellen DeGeneres turns up as a cynical detective. Her comic timing is flawless and she is fun to watch...but what is she doing in this movie? It seems as if we are in the latest "Ellen" episode with a colorful cast of characters behaving like buffoons.

"Goodbye, Lover" is an unredeeming piece of junk with no trace of humanity or purpose. Arquette hardly dazzles as a siren with a fetish for "The Sound of Music," unlike the alluring quality she displays in the underrated "Lost Highway." Only Johnson seems to invest some interest and charisma in his shopworn role but it is short-lived. Roland Joffe's direction is surefooted, but all the superb camerawork and canted angles can't do justice to an absurdly uneven, rottenly scripted film.

This tough girl won't cry

MILLION DOLLAR BABY (2004)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

(Originally reviewed in 2004)

"Million Dollar Baby" has all the elements of Clint Eastwood's finest work. It is competently acted and directed, it is beautifully understated, and it has its heart on its sleeve. But, at its core, we have to deal with a female protagonist who has not been handled well by the director or the screenwriter, and some heavy-handed scenes that scream illogical and inconsistent. Let me explain further.

Clint Eastwood, in one of his better roles in the last ten years, plays Frankie Dunn, an aging boxing instructor and promoter who owns a boxing gym. He has a former boxer, Scrap (Morgan Freeman), working for him as a janitor. They avoid confronting their past, especially when Frankie used to train Scrap for a title shot where, in his 109th fight, Scrap lost his sight in one eye after a severe blow to the head. The boxers in this gym are all male, that is until Maggie (Hilary Swank), a 31-year-old Missouri waitress, shows up and wants to be trained by Frankie. He refuses but Maggie doesn't budge as she trains every day and works up a sweat past the closing time. Frankie is reluctant to train a girl but is impressed by her zeal for the sport and her guts, despite lacking any real ability to throw a punch. Scrap, in his own quiet manner and ensuing commentary on Frankie's decisions, persuades Frankie to train her. This comes soon after Frankie loses one of his prizefighters to the big-time managers who can grant anyone a title shot.

Maggie vigorously trains. Frankie teaches her how to move her feet, how to punch a bag and how to take a hit. Maggie learns quickly, or so it seems in one of those extended "Rocky" montages, that she blows the competition out of the roof. When she gets in the ring, she knocks out a fighter in the first round. Money and fame are coming in her direction, though this movie wisely avoids the fatal flaws of something like "Rocky V." Eastwood the director is more interested in his characters, their emotions, their own inner flaws and their guilt.

Having said that, "Million Dollar Baby" has its own flaws in its screenplay by Paul Haggis. Frankie is a cast iron, wrinkled, steadfast man with specific problems. For one, he is estranged from his daughter, though he has written letters to her for years only to have them returned. He goes to church on a regular basis and has verbal quarrels with Father Horvak (Brain F. O'Byrne) over matters of faith and demigods. The question is why does Frankie even bother with church? Why is he drawn to Maggie? Is she the daughter he never had because of her interest in boxing? The movie curiously avoids asking such questions and assumes we can figure it out. The problem is that Frankie is more of a cursory character - a question mark in the annals of Eastwood's past character incarnations. I learned more about Eastwood's William Munny in "Unforgiven" than I did about Frankie. I don't mind enigmas but I sensed that Frankie's own valued teachings wouldn't allow him anywhere near someone like Maggie. Suddenly, he takes her on, despite her age and lack of experience. Of course, she turns out to be a terrific fighter but this is the result of irony, not depth. Nevertheless, Eastwood lends gravity to the role to stand out.

In contrast, Morgan Freeman seems to embody a fuller character in Scrap. Here is someone who has always stood in the shadows, watching the action unfold as he cleans the toilet seats. He had his past glory and lost it all, squarely sitting in a drab bedroom in the gym. That sense of loss in Scraps is more poignant and moving than anything else in the film.

But the biggest problem is Hilary Swank who, let the hate mail begin, is miscast as Maggie. Did I just say that? Yes, I know she won the Oscar for it. Yes, the character is tough, determined, honest. Swank, however, just seems to embody one facial characteristic - a terrific smile. We see the glory in her eyes and the need to belong to something besides a family surviving on welfare who don't seem to care much about her. In hindsight, we care about her only because she is a female boxer who needs a father figure. Swank never reaches, or is allowed to reach, for any real complexity out of Maggie. And her final scenes will make you wonder what are her real intentions as to her well-being and her demands to Frankie. Swank captures the spirit of Maggie but not the soul. I still think she gave the most forceful, riveting performance of her career in "Boys Don't Cry," just so you know where I stand. It may have helped if the film was not told from Scrap's point-of-view, but rather from Maggie's. What we finally get is a decent performance by Swank but not a great performance.

"Million Dollar Baby" has an ironic title more appropriate to Disney but don't be fooled - this is not an uplifting "Rocky" clone. It is occasionally powerful and has moments of real truth. Eastwood and Freeman are often sublime, especially in their own subtle exchanges. Swank is fierce and watchable but not completely believable. As compared to Eastwood's masterful "Mystic River," "Million Dollar Baby" does not plumb the depths of its characters. I suppose I expected more from Eastwood than a film of graceful footnotes and curiously misguided intentions.

Old pros in Sin City

LAST VEGAS (2013)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

"Last Vegas" is what it is. But what is it, exactly? A well-meaning, well-intentioned, astute and sporadically funny and dramatic enough movie that will not offend anyone. It is the last kind of picture I would ever expect Michael Douglas, Robert De Niro, Kevin Kline and Morgan Freeman to make but they had fun making it, and the movie is sort of fun to watch.

The Flatbush Four (Billy, Paddy, Archie and Sam) are raucous neighborhood kids from Brooklyn who have stayed in touch for 58 years. The spry Billy (Douglas) is a successful businessman who is marrying a woman almost 30-plus years younger than him. Paddy (De Niro), a miserable grump, is living alone in his apartment that is adorned with various pictures of his dearly departed wife. Archie (Freeman) lives with his son, Ezra, and feels he is living in a cage. Sam (Kline) is married to his Miriam (Joanna Gleason) and is hoping to get his mojo working again soon. Oh, he will since he has been invited to Billy's wedding in Las Vegas, along with the old chums and the very reluctant Paddy. Don't think for a moment that this is a leisurely-paced reworking of "The Hangover" - not even close. The movie reminded me of "Grumpy Old Men" except that they are now in Vegas. We also get one of the few delightful and magical actresses in modern movies, the one and only Mary Steenburgen as a Vegas lounge singer who can't find much of an audience. Guess who will pine for her? Guess why Paddy is so reluctant to attend this potentially disastrous wedding? Guess if Sam will actually get his Hall Pass fulfilled? Yep, a Hall Pass permitted by Miriam!

"Last Vegas" is a sweet little movie that aims to be nothing but pleasing entertainment. I do wish there was more ingenuity and less of a formulaic connect-the-dots script by Dan Fogelman ("Cars," "Fred Claus"). These old pros have played these roles before and there is nothing fresh about them except their age. Adding some pizzazz is April Billingsley (from TV's "Resurrection") as Sam's Hall Pass who sees his tenderness. Like revisiting your past with a certain brand of nostalgia, it is lively and entertaining to see these actors strut their stuff, even in well-traveled roads like Sin City.

Murder on the Oneida Yacht

THE CAT'S MEOW (2001)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

Watching Peter Bogdanovich's take on that day in November in 1924 when certain movie stars and moguls were involved in a scandalous murder, I was reminded of the lurid details films often confront nowadays. A murder is not just detailed, it is shown in extreme close-ups with the kind of frantic cutting you might see on TV's "C.S.I." So it is an unmistakable privilege to see a film whose focus is not so much murder as much the people behind the murder. "The Cat's Meow" is like taking a chill pill - it is quiet, toned-down, restrained cinema that is unlikely to cause much of a ruckus but it will please folks who feel words speak louder than actions. Think of it as an Agatha Christie mystery, only this is a true story.

Set almost entirely aboard a yacht, "The Cat's Meow" sets its eye on Hollywood in the Prohibition Era. William Randolph Hearst (played with real vigor by Edward Herrmann) has a private yacht, a 280-footer named the "Oneida," where he invites all kinds of luminaries and movie stars. They include the renown Charles Chaplin (Eddie Izzard) whose latest film, "A Woman in Paris," flopped due to his non-appearance; a Hollywood producer named Thomas Ince (Cary Elwes), known as the "Father of the Western"; an interminably whiny gossip columnist, Louella Parsons (Jennifer Tilly), and others. Hearst is of course having a highly publicized affair with Marion Davies (Kirsten Dunst), another movie star who is also having an affair with Chaplin. When Hearst discovers this indiscreet affair, murder enters his mind. Unfortunately, he kills Ince, the studio head, whom he mistakes for Chaplin. "Murder of a Hollywood Producer" is the screaming headline we can imagine aboard this yacht - a tale of scandalous proportions that seems to have sprung from Kenneth Anger's "Hollywood Babylon" book (it is covered in-depth in the first volume).

Ultimately, "The Cat's Meow" is not a lurid melodrama but rather a sophisticated, dryly witty comedy-drama. The comedy may fly over most people's heads since it consists of asides thrown by the major characters without the exclamation points to make the sure everyone gets the joke. Like Altman's recent "Gosford Park," "The Cat's Meow" is more concerned with the characters and their own flaws and faults than an actual murder mystery. Hearst, as is well known, was already married despite having an affair with Marion Davies, so it is hypocritical of him to despise her fling with Chaplin. Chaplin was already known for dalliances with many women, and had decided to leave his pregnant teenage fiancee behind just to party and continue his love affair with Marion.

The film merely doesn't cover the conflict between Hearst, Marion and Chaplin but also sneaks a peek at other secondary characters. The wittiest is Elinor Glyn (Joanna Lumley), the British romance novelist and screenwriter who delivers quips and putdowns with tremendous ease. Particularly enjoyable is her retort towards the omnipresent Parsons, who keeps talking past beyond the point of anybody listening. Cary Elwes is appropriately arrogant as Tom Ince, who is aching for a box-office hit and hopes Hearst can help him. Unfortunately, other characters such as Ince's business manager and his mistress merely exist as decoration - their limited screen time reduces them to cardboard cutouts. They lack the juice and vitality of the principal characters and, thus, slow down the action.

"The Cat's Meow" is fitfully entertaining and pleasant, and doesn't aspire to be anything more. For director Peter Bogdanovich, it is certainly a return to form after doing TV sequels like "To Sir, With Love Part 2." And for those of us interested in Hollywood scandals galore, this sparkling film should fit the bill.

New York Date Doctor gives romantic advice

HITCH (2005)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

"Hitch" is a simple pleasure at the movies, undemanding and unforced. It is a pleasant time-

filler for couples who line up to see movies like this on Valentine's Day. In other words, no

sex, no violence, no jokes of the scatological variety. Just simple fun from start to finish.

Nowadays, that is something to treasure for most couples, young and old.

Will Smith is Alex "Hitch" Hitchens, a popular, anonymous New York Date Doctor. He gives advice to men on how to woo women, how to approach them, how to charm them, and what to do on the first date. Hitch has it down to a specific science - posture, eye contact are all important ingredients. His advice is for romantic longing leading to a healthy relationship, all for a small fee of course. If you want to just get laid, don't go to Hitch.

Kevin James is Albert, one of Hitch's clients, who is something of a slob and further proof that white men can't dance. He is one of the accountants for the beautiful, seemingly unattainable and wealthy Allegra Cole (Amber Valletta). Hitch's advice is for Albert to make himself known to her in some way, though not by breaking up a business meeting and insisting that her own financial interests be honored, thereby almost getting fired in the process! Albert has to learn to relax, to approach her with ease, even if it means getting mustard on his pants. You know this is only a movie when Allegra wouldn't approach an insecure guy like Albert with a ten foot pole.

Hitch has other clients, but he also practices what he preaches. He approaches a gossip columnist named Sara (Eva Mendes) at some ritzy bar, and actually scores. Their first date is at Ellis Island by way of motor boat. Everything clicks but Sara is unaware he is the Date Doctor (as does most of New York, excepting his clients). Will she find out? And will Albert get to score with Allegra or will he accidentally throw mustard on her face?

"Hitch" is a pleasing comedy, designed to please and nothing more. Like most romantic comedies in the last twenty years, it has nothing new to say about romance. Unlike the surreal, mind-bending "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind" or the adult-oriented "Sideways," this movie has no degree of surprise to it either. But do consider for a moment what might have been. The previews show Hitch doing his date doctor thing, accumulating several lonely hearts clients who don't know the first thing about dating. This is a great idea for a romantic comedy - Will Smith's Hitch could've been on the sidelines as opposed to front and center. It is no accident that Kevin James's Albert steals scenes from Smith's nose without so much as breaking a sweat - of course, James has already proved to be a comic powerhouse with TV's "The King of Queens."

I am afraid to say that as much as I enjoy the banter between Smith and Mendes, who have

considerable chemistry, the movie refuses to look at them intimately. There is more intimacy

between Kevin James and Amber Valetta than in all the scenes involving Hitch's private life. I

also take issue with the inevitable scene (you knew it was coming) where Mendes's Sara discovers that Hitch is the Date Doctor and loses her cool. Why on earth is she losing her cool? Because he never told her who he really was? All he does is give dating advice for a living.

There are pluses to "Hitch." The movie is rife with laughs and double entendres, mostly supplied by the poor, clumsy schmo Kevin James. Will Smith shows coolness in being laid-back - it is the most restrained performance of his career. I still wish Smith pursued the promise he showed in "Six Degrees of Separation" but I am not about to give career advice. Eva Mendes is fully alive as Sara, sparkling and spiking every scene she's in with wit and authority. And Amber Valletta is simply a phosphorous presence, not just a simple glamour girl. And for fans of TV's "Chicago Hope," Adam Arkin pops up as Sara's boss.

I certainly liked "Hitch" but I wish more chances were taken. The film is overlong and

undercooked, and there are too many pratfalls of the slapstick variety. I also could've lived

without the "food allergy" gag. In an era of safe, homogenized movies, "Hitch" is about as

outrageous as any Hollywood movie starring Will Smith will allow (which is not much). More

pungent wit and less safe betting would have made this a sleeper instead of just a safe bet.

Christopher Guests' Folk Tales

A MIGHTY WIND (2003)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

(Originally reviewed in May 12th, 2003)

Christopher Guest's "A Mighty Wind" is unlike any other movie I have seen, or at least since the last Christopher Guest film. It is his latest mockumentary, and his subject this time is of 60's folk singers trying to recapture their magic to an audience. The film's terse realism and subdued comedy make this a strange if uneven delight.

The movie begins with the death of a renowned folk promoter, Irving Steinbloom, who led the careers of many aspiring folk singers. Since this is a pseudo-documentary, the folk singers are all fictitious yet I am sure there are some parallels to real-life singers. There is the New Main Street Singers, a commercial folk group that meditates by concentrating on a particular member of the male genitalia before performing cheerfully on stage. There is also the Folksmen (Christopher Guest, Harry Shearer and Michael McKean), a trio who are known for their sole hit that climaxes with the lyrics "Eat at O'." The best-loved and most inspiring group are Mitch (Eugene Levy) and Mickey (Catherine O'Hara), two singers who are reuniting after more than twenty years. Their songs are comprised of love and harmony (such as "A Kiss at the End of the Rainbow"), and the most famously televised moment in their careers was when they kissed on stage.

Writer-director Guest frames these characters as if they were in a documentary, and his special talent is for making it seem so truthful. The satire is there, mostly mocking the terrific documentary "The Weavers: Wasn't That a Time," but only perceptive audiences will catch the implicit humor since it is so matter-of-fact and so honest. Guest never aims for a cheap joke or a desperate gag, he takes folk-singing seriously enough and plays it with a straight face to make us believe everything that transpires on screen. Even the repetitious New Main Street singers promoter (played by Fred Willard), a one-time TV star known for the phrase "Wha' Happened," never becomes too colorful or animated. A great example is Catherine O'Hara's Mickey - her special trait is speaking with a soothing, calm tone that becomes intoxicating, particularly when interviewed. She is the best thing in the movie.

Levy does seem to overact at times as Mitch but his mechanically droning voice brings a level of anticipation and dread at the same time - he keeps us on alert and makes us nervous since we are never sure what he may say next. Mitch is shell-shocked ever since his separation from Mickey, and his dark spells helped to produce solo records of pain and regret. Even his concert at the end with Mickey made me tense, thinking he might screw it all up when their famous song climaxes with their famous kiss. The suspense is predicting Mitch's next move.

Most of the cast performs up to par with credibility. The Folksmen's bantering during rehearsal sessions feels real enough, and Guest is often left with the best one-liners at the end of each scene. The New Main Street Singers are a complete riot, though Parker Posey seems out of her element as the former junkie and runaway teen reformed by Bob Balaban, a master of the deadpan act, who is absolutely hilarious as Jonathan Steinbloom, Irving's son. His attention to the most rudimentary details of the concert (like a floral arrangement) will keep you in stitches.

"A Mighty Wind" is quite an entertaining blend of music and pathos - the latter being the most predominant factor in folk music . It is affectionate enough towards folk music to make most folk fans happy and happily amused.

BOY! What is going on here?

PHANTASM III (1994)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

After two creepy, elegiac and dreamlike films about the Tall Man, a ghost town and a mausoleum cast in white marble and holding some sort of netherworld, I am still unsure of what the heck this "Phantasm" series is all about but I do find it intriguing with various ideas about death, rebirth and some timeline between dreams and reality. "Phantasm III" doesn't make it easier to understand its own dream logic - where is this barrier between reality and dreams? David Lynch often touches on such mind-altering themes but, let's be honest, writer-director Don Coscarelli got there first or at least we might see the seeds of his fruition from a Luis-Bunuel-crossed-with Dario-Argento-flavored mix. What is sheerly amazing is that I was still hooked by this third-go-round - it is herky-jerky surrealism crossed with comedic banter and that makes it as entertaining as the first two films.

Ponytailed Reggie armed with a nifty shotgun (Reggie Bannister, still intact with his sense of humor) is still pursuing the dreaded supernatural being known as the Tall Man (Angus Scrimm) after seemingly destroying the gatekeeper of Hell On Earth mausoleums in part II. Of course you can never keep a fearsome Tall Man down for long, what with the several deadly flying spheres at this being's disposal. The psychic kid Mike (A. Michael Baldwin, who played Mike in the original film) has been in a coma for a while but all it takes to revive him is Mike's dead brother, Jody (Bill Thornbury), who sometimes assumes the form of one of those spheres! The Tall Man eventually snatches Mike back, leaving Reggie and Jody to travel to another mausoleum (though apparently Mike is trapped in an interdimensional portal) and then some newbies to the series arrive. Most entertaining and providing a major shot of adrenaline is nunchaku expert with military experience, Rocky (Gloria-Lynne-Henry), whom horny Reggie wants to roll in the hay with. There is also the "Home Alone"-kid Tim (Kevin Connors) who has amateur Rube Goldberg contraptions in his house and carries a loaded gun (his parents were killed by the Tall Man).

There are some revelations regarding the contents of those flying spheres that actually gave me the chills, and Mike's last scene indicates a new development in the series that even leaves Reggie mystified. "Phantasm III" has got what you expect - spheres crushing heads (though not as gory as previous entries), Reggie driving his kick-ass GTO, the Tall Man's occasional appearance (this time, we discover that excessive cold temperatures are his Kryptonite), some sexual innuendos and imagined sexscapades with the rockin' Rocky, and a trio of zombiefied hoods that would have been at home in a Tarantino flick (or maybe Romero). Not much of it makes a whole lot of sense (especially Reggie's stashed 100 dollar bills in his pockets - wasn't he just an ice cream vendor at one time?) The film also seems hastily-patched together with an even hastier resolution. Still, "Phantasm III" gives us what we expect and more (love the backstory about Tim) and it still gives me goosebumps (Scrimm is as haunting a presence as ever - imagine him in the days of the Universal Monsters). Shiver me crazy.