Aronofsky's Tree of Life

THE FOUNTAIN (2006)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

(Original review from 2008)

I have said that Darren Aronofsky is a force to be reckoned with. After seeing "The Fountain," no apt description could make it less apropos than to call Aronofsky a force to be reckoned with. "The Fountain" is a beautiful, luscious, often compelling film that is severely limited in the dramatic and emotional departments. It has a story of epic proportions but the running time limits any epic appeal.

Another force to be reckoned with is Hugh Jackman (an actor whose whole state-of-being belongs in this kind of story), who plays Tom in three alternate timelines. In one timeline set 500 years earlier, he is Tomas, a conquistador who wants to kill a and has a love for Queen Isabella (Rachel Weisz). He is willing to do anything for her, including finding the Tree of Life (the one tree that God did not inform Adam and Eve about) that will allow one for immortality if you drink the tree sap.

It seems, however, that the conquistador is part of a novel called "The Fountain," which is written by Izzy (also played by Rachel Weisz). Izzy has a brain tumor and is close to death while her husband, Tommy Creo (also played by Hugh Jackman), is trying to develop a drug that may cure her (he is also conducting experiments with a monkey). Izzy hasn't finished her novel and hopes that Tommy will write her last chapter. A strange wish since he is a doctor, not a writer.

Flash forward to the 26th century where Tommy Creo is a bald man, practicing presumably tai-chi, who has a tree of life that he sleeps next to inside a bubble of sorts. He also travels in a ship that looks like a golden orb, and hopes to connect with Xibalba, the nebula that Izzy spoke of that the Mayans believe is the origin of life. Speaking of presumptions (and some interesting explanations from avid watchers of this film), the 26th century element may be well be the final chapter of the book that Tommy has written.

"The Fountain" has little visual grandeur, overall, containing several blindingly lit close-ups of the fascinating faces of Weisz and Jackman. This makes it tough to digest any of the emotional connections in the story, especially with a towering actor like Jackman. I say this with great respect to the actor but he is not meant to be squeezed into a pretty love story. Jackman is too larger-than-life, too energetic and fanciful a performer to be restricted to shallow depths of despair. He comes off best as the Spanish conquistador or as the bald Buddhist Tom of the future because he is allowed to break free and pounce. The central, present-day story comes off weakest when he appears. I just can't fathom or believe Jackman as a doctor who yells at his staff when a cure isn't found quickly enough.

Rachel Weisz is the soul of the film and brings the yearning for an ethereal woman whom Jackman pines for. She has fragility and vulnerability in her that you almost feel she is about to break. Ellen Burstyn briefly appears as Tom's supervisor, and her eulogy for Izzy is heartbreaking and one of the emotionally sensitive scenes in the film.

"The Fountain" is a noble and savvy experiment by Aronofsky but, as an epic, it loses much momentum and it is dwarfed in its ambitions by the 90 minute running time. This is one time when I wish for a director's cut.

Riggs and the 3 Stooges

LETHAL WEAPON 3 (1992)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

(original review from 1992)

I'd be hardpressed to dismiss "Lethal Weapon 3" because, as an essentially pure action movie, it works. Yet, stacked up against the first two, it falls quite short despite delivering exactly what it promises.

The movie, though, doesn't begin very promisingly. A huge building implodes, thanks to occasionally unreliable cops, Murtaugh and Riggs (played by Danny Glover and Mel Gibson). Rather than wait for the bomb squad to arrive, Riggs gets the bright idea of cutting the wires to the bomb, the wrong wires of course. Thanks to their conduct, they are relegated to traffic duty, which of course leads into an armored car chase (the movie hasn't really even started). Then we eventually get to the plot - a brutal ex-cop (Stuart Wilson) is selling illegal firearms to street gangs and also maintains an interest in real estate! Newest character to the series is the Internal Affairs officer, Lorna Cole (Rene Russo) who keeps cameras in interrogation rooms, unbeknownst to the police. A crime has occurred in one of those rooms and this ex-cop is the culprit. So it is up to the reckless Riggs, the retiring Murtaugh and this karate-chopping IA officer to bring down the cop and his henchmen, as well as some members from "Boyz and the Hood." There is also an annoying distraction with returnee Joe Pesci as Leo Getz, the mob informant from Part 2. I love Pesci but there is only so much I can take from a peroxide motormouth who is also interested in real estate!

To top it all off, there are chases galore with thundering sound effects and punches delivered to the noggin and the nuts that sound like clashing refrigerators (I saw this movie with a THX-sound-system back in 1992 that had a bass that would rock your seats). Bullets pierce flesh like there's no tomorrow. Riggs falls from three stories with only a dislocated shoulder (an injury he had in Part 2). People are hit by cars and trucks, including some of the villains, and the worst injury they get is a bruise. This is more of a cartoon comedy than the other films ever came close to being.

We get countless scenes of Gibson mugging, hollering and spitting at the camera with absolute relish. Gibson also has his share of one-liners, and Glover merely looks dumbfounded (best moment is when he fires his gun accidentally in a locker room). Rene Russo is simply too unbelievable as an Internal Affairs officer. Yet the frenetic pacing matches the frenetic acting. And for "Jaws" fans, there is a scene where Riggs and Lorna compare battle scars. Cute, but more appropriate to "Jaws" than this movie.

For sheer entertainment, "Lethal Weapon 3" fits the bill. But with an anonymous villain, a perfunctory plot and far too many action sequences, the film rings hollow and lacks the spirit of camaraderie that the other entries had. This movie tries to do too much with too little. It is clear that Gibson and Glover have chemistry and work as a cop team yet, unlike Murtaugh's final decision regarding retirement, "Lethal Weapon 3" was not the last word on this franchise.

Hotbed of racial hate

JUNGLE FEVER (1991)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

Spike Lee's "Jungle Fever" is one of his most audacious and entertaining films yet, curiously, one of his most flawed. But we can forgive Spike for not sticking as close to his subject matter as one might have hoped - his film rocks and strikes at us with some of the frankest discussions about race ever committed to film.

"Jungle Fever" begins with Flipper (Wesley Snipes), a successful architect with a light-skinned black wife (Lonette McKee) and a precious daughter who pretends she never hears their lovemaking each morning. Life is as normal as can be (as established by the boy throwing the New York Times at their doorstep in slow-motion). Of course, tension exists from the start. Flipper has a new receptionist, an Italian-American named Angie (Annabella Sciorra), when in fact he requested an African-American (he put it in writing after all). But the more Flipper gets accustomed to Angie, the more he feels the "fever." He craves Angie because he wants to know what it is like to bed a white woman. Angie falls into it as well, though her initial reasons (outside of horniness) are never made clear. At one point Flipper tells her, "You were curious about black," yet Angie is not so sure.

If "Jungle Fever" stuck to its guns in delivering insights on interracial couples, it might have been a small masterpiece. But writer-director Spike Lee explores other issues. We learn Flipper has a God-fearing family, including his father, the Good Reverend Dr. Purify (Ossie Davis), and his mother, Lucinda (Ruby Dee), both of whom praise God while Mathalia Jackson music plays in the background. We also learn that Flipper's brother, Gator (Samuel L. Jackson, in an electrifying performance that won him a Cannes Best Actor award), is a crackhead who frequents a corroded, uninviting crack den called the Taj Majal with his woman, Viv (the virtually unrecognizable Halle Berry).

Then we learn about Angie's family, which includes her widowed father (Frank Vincent) and her two foul-mouthed brothers. Every night she has to cook dinner for them. She is also engaged to Paulie (John Turturro) who works at a luncheonette owned by his overbearing father (Anthony Quinn), who refuses to carry the New York Times because it doesn't sell. Angie mistakenly confides in her two best friends, Denise (Debi Mazar) and Louise (Gina Mastrogiacomo), about her affair with Flipper. Let's just say that this ignites the hotbed of racial hate.

For starters, Paulie's Italian-American customers and friends turn on him for liking the friendly black woman that buys the Times each morning (and for not expressing more outrage over Angie's conduct). Angie's father beats up Angie in a scene of tremendous violence. Flipper's wife flips out to say the least, and it leads to a wonderful, much-discussed sequence where a group of black women frankly discuss where the good, faithful black men are (apparently, they are sanitation workers and bus drivers).

"Jungle Fever" is feverish, exciting, alert filmmaking by Spike Lee but he tends to dwarf his own premise and reduce it, slimming it down to something about nothing less than racial myths. Flipper may feel that way about the relationship but he is also speaking for Angie, who is not allowed to express her own view. After they are both slighted at an all-black restaurant, she asks a simple question: "What are we doing?" Flipper responds by saying, "I honestly...don't know." Lee says this couple is not in love - they are experimenting with their own racial attitudes and living up to certain idealized myths. It is a shame that Sciorra shows far more depth in her character than the screenplay allows. A shame largely because Spike Lee refuses to be encumbered by at least one scene where the couple discuss anything but race.

The best scenes are the discussions of race, racism and interracial relationships among the characters. Once again, I'd argue that an interracial couple spends as little time as possible discussing their race than making passionate love. Still, the honesty of how each character feels is expressed with enough persuasive power to hopefully make the audience wonder why race has to be the standard in defining anything. But once too often, Lee gets sidetracked into all the drug business with Gator which, as powerful as most of those scenes are, have little to do with the central theme. Still, for a movie this tantalizing and brave and expertly performed, "Jungle Fever" shouldn't be ignored.

Where are my TITS?

MYRA BRECKINRIDGE (1970)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

"Myra Breckinridge" is a wacky, nonsensical mess of a travesty, and I liked it. I suppose it is a guilty pleasure on all counts but it is never boring and consistenly mesmerizing in its attemps to film the unfilmable, namely a book by Gore Vidal of the same name. I've read portions of the book (written as a diary) and it is so suffused with sexual explicitness and innuendoes of every kind at every turn that no film could ever really do it justice, especially when the book's main theme is that heterosexual men can be made into homosexuals. The film adaptation doesn't quite fulfill the book's themes, nor is it as pointed in its criticism of WASP values as it is a critique of Hollywood at its most base. Still, the fact that someone tried to make a film out of it is cause for a minor celebration.

Rex Reed (in his sole leading role) is a homosexual writer named Myron, who undergoes a major sex operation and becomes Myra (played by Raquel Welch). Never mind that Welch looks nothing like Reed - hey, it's a movie - but that there is no real correlation in their behavior either. This is probably why writer-director Michael Sarne chooses to have Rex Reed on screen at the same time as Welch, and they both talk to each other! At one point, Reed masturbates and imagines fellatio with Myra, I gather, in a scene that must have caused more laughter than hysteria of the inclusion of such a scene in an X-rated film of 1970.

So we have John Huston as a former movie cowboy with an oversized hat running an acting school that admonishes the film acting found in B-movies, though Myra is of the opinion there is value to be found in them. There is also a stoned John Carradine smoking a cigarette as he performs the movie's opening operation; Mae West as a Hollywood talent agent who has an affinity for male hunks and makes more sexual remarks and double entendres than any of her past movies combined; Farrah Fawcett as a slightly dim blonde who loves Myra; and a scene involving sodomy with a dildo that is neither as ugly or unwatchable as its reputation seems to suggest.

In fact, "Myra Breckinridge" is hardly as wrenchingly bad as its reputation suggests. This is a far better wacky film of wacky proportions than Gus Van Sant's unwatchable atrocity of an unfilmable novel, "Even Cowgirls Get the Blues." "Myra Breckinridge" forges sex jokes galore but it is also a condemnation of any Hollywood movie made before the MPAA ratings were implemented. Scenes of Rex Reed are a bit long on the tooth - he is not a charismatic actor and looks zombiefied throughout - but he himself has expressed more admiration for any movie made before 1950.

I would say some novels are not meant for film adaptation but "Myra Breckinridge" features Rex Reed at his liveliest only when dancing and cavorting with Welch while listening to Shirley Temple's song "You Gotta S-M-I-L-E (To Be H-A-Double P-Y)", and he even gets to say the line, "Where are my tits?" I can say that although the movie's pleasures may be small, I did get a kick out of it and enjoyed this garish, brightly lit opus that is like a zonked-out, flashy erotic dream drained of eroticism. Interesting.

Soon he will know

'STRANGE' TEASER

By Jerry Saravia

The narration seems to have been read by either Ian McKellen or Thomas Hardy. There is black-and-white footage of a man with scraggly long hair and his wrists seem to be bound. He is walking in the beach at night and he drops to his knees as the waves surround him. The narrator indicates that this man doesn't know who he is, but soon he will know. "Men become lost. Men vanish. Men become erased...and reborn." Then we see another man holding a light of some sort (flashlight, lantern), and his lips are seemingly stitched together. The title reads: "Soon he will know" which appears on the screen and then slowly each word fades away leaving us with the word "Soon."

What in creation is this? All we know is that this is Bad Robot production and it is perhaps produced, if not directed, by J.J. Abrams. Considering his directorial plate is full now with "Star Wars Episode VII" and a new "Star Trek" feature in the horizon, it is hard to say if this is a new project he had worked on already and still in post-production or if it is something he is currently filming with some other director, or if this is a sneak peek at the new "Star Wars" film (I somehow doubt it). Whatever it is, it has piqued my interest just like J.J's "Super 8" teaser from 2010. Check it out below.

Dusty, dank, dreary Oz

RETURN TO OZ (1985)

Reviewed By Jerry Saravia

"The Wizard of Oz" remains arguably the most beloved fantasy film of all time. No other film has inspired audiences as much as "Oz" and its cult status remains high. Who doesn't know Dorothy and her pals in that magic land over the rainbow? What is surprising is that the books by L. Frank Baum are scarier and darker than the film was. "Return to Oz" is an attempt to mix some of that darkness with Oz, and the result is a mixed bag at best. Though there are some fantastic images, the movie is inert and lacking a crucial ingredient - magic.

As the film opens, Dorothy (Fairuza Balk, in her astonishing debut performance) is still living with Aunt Em (Piper Laurie) and Uncle Henry (Matt Clark) in good old Kansas. Only this Kansas is not in sepia tones, it is more of a dour place to live in. What's worse is that Aunt and Uncle decide that Dorothy, who can't separate reality from her own dreams, should see the local town doctor. This means that Dorothy has to undergo electric shock-therapy (!) to rid of her dreams and make her realize that Oz does not exist. However, an electrical storm takes place one night which enables Dorothy to run away from the hospital. She conks her head and suddenly she is back in the magical land of Oz. But this Oz is not any better than Kansas. The magical city of Oz is in ruins with creatures running around on wheels, known as the Wheelers, taunting anyone that comes in their path. There is also a skeletal-like creature with a pumpkin on his head, a strange robot named Tik-Tok, and the return of old favorites like the Scarecrow, the Cowardly Lion and the Tin Man. And there is a being known as the Nome King (voiced by Nicol Williamson) who is essentially made of rock.

The movie is dazzling in its special-effects and incredible production design, such as the Nome's rocky digs or a princess's palace where animated heads decorate her walls. Although I agree that the tone should be darker than the 1939 classic, something else is off. Fairy tales often have a dark edge to them, particularly Roald Dahl's work, but what is missing here is conviction, amazement and wonder. Oz is perceived as a place where no magic ever existed - what child would want to dream of a magic land that is always nightmarish? Well, "Alice in Wonderland" is akin to that style, a nightmare that one can't wake up from. But the movie lacks the wonder, the awe that is central to a child's innocence, especially someone like Dorothy. In the 1939 film, one never got the impression that Dorothy wasn't astounded at the sights she saw. Here, Dorothy acts like Oz is a run-down town like Kansas, nothing here to take away from the experience. I never got the impression Dorothy saw any difference between Oz and Kansas.

"Return to Oz" is a technical triumph and tremendously well-cast, but it lacks innocence and a sense of magic. Something like 1984's "The Never-Ending Story" possessed all those ingredients. That film was about a kid reading a fairy tale book and getting hooked by the adventures he was reading and actually living them. Here, there is nothing to get hooked by. You are more likely to get hoodwinked.

Sarah is one devilish, dangerous comedienne

SARAH SILVERMAN: JESUS IS MAGIC (2005)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

"I don't care if you think I'm racist. I only care if you think I'm thin." - Sarah Silverman

Sarah Silverman is such a disarming, sweet, likable presence that you are almost shocked to hear the things that come of her mouth. But calling her a potty-mouthed, "dirty Jew" comedian would do her a great disservice. Sarah Silverman is unique in that she gets away with it - all the racist slurs she invokes with insight show she cares and sees the hipocrisy inherent in our culture. I believe she is one of our great comedians and has a superb future ahead of her, and this proof is delivered amply in "Sarah Silverman: Jesus is Magic."

This 72-minute quasi-concert film begins with Sarah seated with two show-biz friends (comedian Brian Posehn and Sarah's sister, Laura Silverman) who brag about their success. Then they ask her what she is up to. Sarah hesitantly tells them she'll be performing a one-woman show. And so we are off to the first musical number where she tries to come up with a show, and then the show begins. All I can say is "Jesus is Magic" is funny and shocking all at the same time. Like fellow comedian Joy Behar said, Sarah is dangerous and can make one nervous.

Take for example Sarah's joke about 9/11 (if you are already squeamish reading this, don't read further). She claims the slogan for American Airlines should be "the first airline to hit the towers." Yep, maybe not so funny when you read it in a sentence. But when Sarah delivers the line, it is somehow tempered with enough sincerity and coquettishness that you might be shocked, but you won't hold it against her. After all, she is making a point about how everyone has to slap a slogan on everything, including 9/11. And it is funny but not in an uncomfortable manner, especially when she realized on that day how many calories are in a soy milk latte. 900 calories, apparently.

Sarah gives us comfort or, more appropriately, she places us in a comfort zone. She looks like a Catholic schoolgirl - brunette, long neck, speaks in a Valley Girl accent (she would fit right in with the cast of "Heaven Help Us" or at my Catholic elementary school if it weren't for the fact that she is Jewish). We start to feel cozy with her because she is not threatening. Then she hits us with jokes about the Holocaust where her grandmother was once in a concentration camp; black teenage girls having babies; de-boning Ethiopian babies to get their tailbones for decorative rings; AIDS; Jewish people buying German cars; racial slurs and stereotypes; anal rape; strippers as role models; porno actors like Ron Jeremy, etc. To top it all off, there is a musical number where Sarah sings to the elderly patients reminding them over and over again that they will die. And to make those even more squeamish post-Michael Richards racist tirade, she uses the "N-word" in a musical number that ends with two black guys staring at our disarming, Pucci-dressed comedian.

Clearly, Sarah Silverman is not for everyone. You might recognize Ms. Silverman from talk shows (including her boyfriend's show, Jimmy Kimmel) and from Saturday Night Live, not to mention her short role in "School of Rock." But there is something truly clever and audacious and inspiring about Sarah Silverman. I think the key ingredient is the way she tells her humorous stories - there is a hesitancy and she is apologetic up to a point. Plus, she is attractive and sincere, not to mention disarming. Therefore, when she hits the jugular with confrontational jokes, you smile and you might even laugh but mostly, you do not hate her for it. To call her unique doesn't even begin to describe her natural comedic talent - she is a becalming force of nature that hits you like a ton of bricks.

At 72 minutes, "Jesus is Magic" is still too short (and the hospital music number could've been excised with no real damage). I love most of the colorful musical numbers, and Sarah's last bit involving multiple orgasms is hilarious. I still hope she can do a full-blown concert film someday, something a little long than an hour and ten minutes.