Hang on by your fingertips

CLIFFHANGER (1993)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

Sylvester Stallone has had a wayward career when it comes to action flicks. He never got beyond action thrillers like some of his contemporaries did, such as Harrison Ford and Bruce Willis. Stallone has never proven to be a solid actor though he does have oodles of charisma. For every "Rambo" and "Rocky" picture, there was a "Rhinestone" or a "Over the Top" or even worse, "Stop! Or My Mom will Shoot." In 1993, Stallone made a brief resurgence in the mainstream with the occasionally effective and downright preposterous "Cliffhanger," a movie that is so completely implausible that you simply have to give up logic and go full speed ahead with it.

Stallone is Gabe Walker, a superhuman rock climber who is part of a rescue mission to help stranded folk who get caught in areas deep in the mountains. At the start of the film, there is Gabe's buddy, Hal (Michael Rooker) and his girlfriend, the latter who gets her hooks unfastened while suspended on a rope between two cliffs and falls to her death. Gabe tried to save her but failed, though it wasn't his fault. Meanwhile, a few treasury agents get mixed up in a plot with a nefarious madman (the always scenery-chewing John Lithgow) to steal millions in cash from a U.S. Treasury plane by using a wire rope extended from their own plane! Naturally, a few people get killed, their plane careens out of control through some thick brush, and the villains end up in the mountains with suitcases of cash stuck somewhere in the snowy pikes. Guess who is going to accompany the villains on their mission to find the cash? Why Gabe and his buddy Hal, of course, but they are having a tough time getting over their past history over a certain girl's death.

You want action and you got it in "Cliffhanger." There are several chases through the snowy hills, extensive climbing, lots of shootings, lots of fireballs, a cave full of bats, icy caverns, etc. But there is also a general sense of nastiness and plenty of gore. We get several beatings in the film with punches and kicks so curiously amplified in digital sound that you wonder how nobody ever breaks a bone in their body. There is a scene in icy waters where a barechested Stallone is underwater and manages to shoot the bad guy. Someone even gets impaled on a stalactite - that's an inventive killing method. There are even two scenes where bullets are fired from a machine gun yet they are not heard - some operatic music plays on the soundtrack instead. But the heavy gore and reliance on pure meanness leaves a bad taste.

I shouldn't leave out Janine Turner as Jessie, another rock climber who loves Gabe. Turner is so unconvincing as his love interest, however, that whatever magical spark existed in "Northern Exposure" is missing here. I will say that, outside of Talia Shire, Stallone has never convinced me to be any woman's dream come true so that may be partially his fault.

As directed by Renny Harlin, "Cliffhanger" is still marginally effective as a "Die Hard" clone but it lacks a compelling hero. Stallone has the stuff of an action hero but he is more muted and expressionless than usual. And scenes where he is forced to climb those rocks wearing nothing but a T-shirt in zero-below weather really strains credibility - by the looks of it, Gabe would've suffered from hypothermia and have died. But then we wouldn't have a movie.

Over-the-hill Don Juan

BROKEN FLOWERS (2005)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

Jim Jarmursch is the very definition of quirky and offbeat. Consider films like "Stranger than Paradise," "Mystery Train," "Down By Law," "Dead Man," and "Night on Earth." They are all films of people finding themselves in an existential world - loneliness pervades their existence. That is clearly felt in "Broken Flowers," which may very well be the definitive Jim Jarmusch film. It is a heartfelt, quiet, wonderful drama with comedic overtones that is so understated, it qualifies as something of a small masterpiece.

The laconic Bill Murray is perfect as Don Johnston, a retiree living alone in his house, spending his time watching old movies. He made his fortune from computers yet he doesn't own one. His last girlfriend (Julie Delpy) has moved out since she is tired of Don's need to have a mistress rather than a wife and a family ("You are an over-the-hill Don Juan"). So he is alone, tired and perhaps emotionally spent. His next-door Ethiopian neighbor, Winston (Jeffrey Wright), is a detective mystery fanatic and wants to perhaps inject some spice in Don's life.

One day, Don finds a pink envelope with a note from some anonymous past girlfriend that claims he bore a son with her, and the now 19-year-old son is coming to look for him. Since there is no return address, Don can only think of his past conquests and love affairs. But who is it? Winston suggests that Don visit every former girlfriend to find his son, and does all the Internet research of finding their addresses.

So Don reluctantly travels to meet them and perhaps find his son (and the typewriter used to type the note). He travels by plane and rental car to each destination. First there is Laura (Sharon Stone), a professional organizer, and her typically nude daughter named Lolita - strike one. Then there is Dora (Frances Conroy), who is married, has no kids and sells real estate - strike two. Strike three is Carmen (Jessica Lange), a former lawyer who communicates with animals and has no son. Finally we get to Penny (Tilda Swinton), an angry woman living in seemingly squalor conditions who clearly hates Don. Well, three strikes and you are out.

Part of the pleasure of "Broken Flowers" is the anticipation of Don finding his son, not necessarily of Don reuniting with the mother, whoever it may be. And that pleasure is increased hundred-fold with Bill Murray. Murray's resistance to overstatement or rolling his eyes in disbelief has nurtured his work in recent films such as "Rushmore" and "Lost in Translation." Here, he gives his most nuanced, understated performance as Don, a man seeking answers to his past when he should consider the present. The fact that he finally does reach the end of his emotionally exasperating journey is a testament to Bill Murray who could have overplayed emotional reactions or facial tics with ease, as he has in the underappreciated "Scrooged." He wisely chooses not to - he is like a silent comedian. His body language, his gestures, give ample indication of what this man is thinking from moment to moment. No sentiment is required.

Jarmusch finds a rhythm in this film that is as close to poetic as anyone can get. From his typical fades to black after each segment and his minimalist use of camera movement, "Broken Flowers" slowly and suspense-fully reaches a conclusion that will leave you breathless. From Sharon Stone's sly smile to Don almost flirting with a flower shop female clerk to Winston's wife always greeting Don with a sunny smile, "Broken Flowers" is the kind of film that can be enjoyed for its leisurely rhythms and charms (and there are a few laughs too). But it is also a sad, observant, reflective film of a man who has somehow lost his passion, not just for women but for anything. Don't be surprised if you shed a tear at the end.

Jarmusch's ghost of a chance

GHOST DOG: THE WAY OF THE SAMURAI (1999)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

(Originally reviewed in 2001)

It pains me to write off Jim Jarmusch's "Ghost Dog: The Way of the Samurai" as half-baked, but it truly is. It is also a half-cooked and undernourished tale of a cold-blooded hit man with little or no sense of individuality.

Ghost Dog is the name of the hit man (Forest Whitaker), a lone wolf in an urban wasteland who performs hits for the mob. Basically, Ghost Dog is the retainer but he carries no phone and seems to have no mailing address. His only contact in the outside world is through a pigeon carrier that sends notes back and forth to his "master." You see Ghost Dog was once saved by this mob affiliate, referred to as the master, and now he has paid him back his respect by killing people for a living. Ghost Dog also avidly reads the ways of the Samurai, figuring his sense of loyalty and his brand of violence stems from it. He couldn't be more wrong as both are tested to the limit when a hit goes awry and now the mob want to kill the elusive, enigmatic hit man.

"Ghost Dog" tries to be a fusion of hip-hop and gangster cliches coupled with Jarmusch's own brand of poetry, mixing in the urban wasteland of the titled character with the sense of grace and freedom as witnessed by several shots of birds above tenements. There are many scenes of beauty and grace and all are succinctly photographed by Robby Muller (who also shot the beautiful black-and-white "Dead Man," also directed by Jarmusch). Jarmusch, however, is not a stickler for narrative consistency and fails to bring any inner life to the crucial character of Ghost Dog.

How are we suppose to view this man? As played with panache and glum looks by Forest Whitaker (who also played a similar character in "Diary of a Hitman"), Ghost Dog is the classic Man With No Name character with no real background or real sense of individuality. He seems to bond with the local French ice-cream truck vendor and with a young girl who likes to read books such as "Frankenstein" but, essentially, this man has no friends and no family. All he has are his nest of pigeons and his loyalty to the so-called master whom he hardly sees much of. In an ironic twist, Ghost Dog gets paid only once a year and always during the first day of autumn as part of his contract by the master. Rarely do we get a glimpse of any humanity in the character - as played by Whitaker, he is a hooded hulk bereft of emotion or purpose other than to kill. He may lack individuality and truly has erroneous views on what being a samurai is next to being a cold-blooded hit man, but coldness and detachment seem central to the character. I simply felt nothing, not even pity, for this remorseless man. Why did he choose to lead such a life?

The film has some virtues, such as the casting of Cliff Gorman as the second-in-command of the mob who has trouble keeping up the rent for a Chinese restaurant backroom. I also enjoyed the scenes where Whitaker bonds with the French-speaking ice-cream truck vendor whom he never understands yet reiterates exactly what the other says. The violence is strong and brief, and there is a fine moment where a drainpipe is used as an unusual method of shooting someone (a moment lifted from Godard's "A Band Apart"). I also enjoyed seeing the exhausted gangsters trying to find the hit man, going from one tenement to another and coming up empty. It is also nice to see Jarmusch leaving his main character mute for the first forty-five minutes, thus allowing us to watch a man who is coming apart at the seams through Whitaker's expressive, haunting face. Unfortunately, just when a glimmer of hope appears at the end, we are still left with the same glum Ghost Dog we started with.

Boogie on the road with drugs

ANOTHER DAY IN PARADISE (1998)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia
(Originally reviewed in 1998)

Larry Clark, the gifted realist behind the powerful "Kids," is back again with another titillating, less harrowing, grungy "Drugstore Cowboy"-type film called "Another Day in Paradise." The similarities don't end there, but what it lacks is the juice and ferocity of either of those entries.

The film stars Vincent Kartheiser as Bobbie (looking like a young Alex McArthur from "Rampage"), a long-haired, vicious hoodlum who, at the start of the film, robs a vending machine before being badly wounded by a security guard. He's nurtured back to health by Uncle Mel (James Woods) who shoots him up with heroin. It is no surprise to discover that Mel is a drug dealer and thief, not the best role model for Bobbie. Mel's supportive girlfriend, Sid (Melanie Griffith), is at his side and occasionally shoots some heroin into her neck.

Eventually, the film evolves into a road movie with Bobbie and his waif-like girlfriend, Rosie (Natasha Gregson Wagner), embarking on a trip with Mel and Sid enduring one near-fatal drug deal after another. Mel is persuasive towards Bobbie and insists that money is waiting for them in paradise. Bobbie becomes enraptured by Mel, taken by his ferocious energy but slowly realizes that something is quite awry. Mel is temperamental and has a full dependency on drugs - he'll get them by any means necessary.

"Another Day in Paradise" is absolutely nothing new - a road movie with more than one reference to "Drugstore Cowboy" and Quentin Tarantino's works. Some lines are actually lifted from "Jackie Brown" such as, "I am as serious as a heart attack" (a line originally from De Niro's "The Fan" though I can't say for sure if that wretched De Niro flick bares the inception of that line). There are also the comparisons of different guns and their distinguishing features, an obligatory scene in any one of these films. This is your basic run-of-the-mill drug-crazed film with deftly handled performances to compensate for lack of imagination.

James Woods proves to be as volatile and charismatic as always, back in tip-top form after the debacle of "Vampires." He charges every scene he's in with tension and presence - what else can you expect from Mr. Woods? I also like Melanie Griffith in a twisted parody of her "Something Wild" femme fatale character - her big upper lip, no doubt a collagen implant, is distracting though.

One can also savor the sensitive portrayal by Kartheiser as the lanky, greasy Bobbie, and Natasha Wagner brings an added element of poignance as the excitable, often druggy Rosie. I also admired the beauty queen theatrics of Lou Diamond Philips as a rough, homosexual drug dealer. And, if you are quick, you'll spot Lou Fitzpatrick (Telly from "Kids") as a bearded guard.

If I am not too excited by "Another Day in Paradise" it is because it's really nothing new and seems to lift and reference just about any film having to do with drugs and guns and more (you may also spot some from "Boogie Nights"). Still, there is energy in it, as well as grit, realism, violence and a plethora of drug-taking scenes and a surprising ending . A guilty pleasure to be sure, and a decent B-movie at best.

Where the Excesses roam

FEAR AND LOATHING IN LAS VEGAS (1998)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

I have always wondered what it would be like to make a film about two drug addicts who do nothing more than consume drugs through an entire movie. Okay, that would be Cheech and Chong's "Up in Smoke," but that was a comedy. "The Doors" was about an unlikable, boorish addict who got high on the idea of death. You might also think of the superbly giddy "Boogie Nights," which showed more scenes of drug use than any movie ever made. That is until I saw the wildly off-balance spectacle of Terry Gilliam's "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas," a putrid, excessive assault on the senses. Excess doesn't even begin to describe this odyssey. This is more like enduring a bad road trip while stuck in New York City traffic. The scenery may be nice, but it's hell to sit through.

On the basis of Hunter S. Thompson's cult novel, the adventurous Johnny Depp plays the bald-headed journalist (known here as Raoul Duke) who goes to Las Vegas to cover a story on the Mint 400, a desert motorcycle race. Thompson brings his Samoan attorney, Lazlo, also known as Dr. Gonzo, to Vegas. Duke is less interested in the race though than in smashing up hotel rooms - an eerie reminder of Depp's own real-life tabloid tales. In the trunk of their car, they carry every drug known to man, including uppers, downers, laughers, acid, mescaline - you name it, they got it. They start seeing visions of reptiles, giant bats, faces morphing into weird shapes, raging demons and other grotesque hallucinations. And it was around this point that I started to lose interest in the movie.

Don't get me wrong. I have no problem with films showing the abuse of drugs and the effects of excessive consumption. "Trainspotting" was one film that showed the pleasure and the danger of heroin addiction yet it was instilled with a sense of purpose and a sense of humanity. "Fear and Loathing..." is basically about addiction, but it does not reveal much about the addicts. To put it another way, the depiction of drug use is all on the surface and there's no theme underneath to support it. The histrionic performances do not help the one-sided material.

Depp is a gifted, talented actor but his interpretation of Duke is reduced to a series of tics, double-takes and wild-eyed nausea. He doesn't even seem to be a journalist, and comes across more as a caricature (occasionally depicted in the Doonesbury comics) with no inner surface or humanity. He's a drug freak, nothing more. The same can be said for Benicio Del Toro as the extremely wasted Dr. Gonzo (a name more applicable to Thompson) who doesn't do much with his role except yell countless obscenities while emoting a singularly angry expression throughout. Another detriment to this actor is his constant muttering - I couldn't grasp one syllable of what he said. Clarity and nuance are not exactly in Del Toro's vocabulary.

The best moments in "Fear and Loathing..." are the comic set pieces such as Duke's inability to avoid paying for his hotel room; Gonzo's hilarious attempt to convince an underage girl (Christina Ricci) that he's being watched by the FBI; a scared blond hitchhiker (Tobey Maguire) who runs away from the duo; and the pièce de résistance: a drug enforcement conference where the Duke is ingesting LSD instead of covering the event for his paper. One of the quietest scenes in the film featuring a dour Ellen Barkin as a diner waitress who harbors a certain contempt towards customers, including the leering Dr. Gonzo. It's a terrific scene, flawlessly timed and edited, but what does it have to do with the rest of the movie?

There are some clever cameos by other actors including James Woods, Mark Harmon, Lyle Lovett and, best of all, Gary Busey as a lonely highway cop who asks Duke for a kiss. In the end, they are part of a menagerie of trivial, witless sequences with no structure or meaning. Somehow, none of this resembles Thompson's prose.

"Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas" is directed by Terry Gilliam ("Twelve Monkeys"), a former Monty Python comic who is best known for his bizarre, overrated film, "Brazil." Gilliam's main problem in past directorial efforts was his tendency to waver from one extreme visual cue to another. It worked for "Twelve Monkeys" but it was detrimental in "Time Bandits." Perhaps, he is the perfect director for Thompson's surreal novel - the film is shot with extreme wide-angle lenses that greatly distort the reality on screen. Thompson, however, didn't just emphasize distorting reality. He also wanted us to see the world through his eyes, including the "fear and loathing" of living and searching for something in the 1970's. All we really get in this film is the distortion.

Going nowhere fast

STRANGER THAN PARADISE (1984)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

Some films only seem to be about nothing. You can say that modern post-90's action pictures try to be entertaining by having a sudden explosion and a wisecrack every few minutes - so much happens in some action films that so little is actually being said. "Stranger Than Paradise" is not an action film. In fact, it is almost inert and has no plot yet it is chock full of story and fascinating characters. It's just that you do not realize what is happening until the film is over.

Set in New York City, we are quickly introduced to Willie (John Laurie), formerly of Hungary and now living in America, doing very little. He lives in a small apartment, plays poker, sleeps, plays some more poker, goes to the racetrack with his buddy Eddie (Richard Edson), and that is it. It is an empty life until his sixteen-year-old cousin, Eva (Eszter Balint), comes into the picture. She plans to stay with Willie for one week and then stay with her aunt in Ohio. She has her suitcase full of clothes and listens constantly to Screamin' Jay Hawkins' "I Put a Spell on You" over and over again. Willie will not allow her to speak in their native language, and is obviously bothered by her presence. Still, all they do is watch TV and eat TV dinners. Eddie comes over one day and is smitten by her, perhaps because she is at least a new presence in his and Willie's lives. Willie finally accepts her one day when she swipes cigarrettes and groceries - "Hey, you are all right," says Willie. Just when he accepts her, so do we. At that precise moment, Eva has to leave for Cleveland, Ohio and slowly we sense Willie has lost a bit of his soul too (not that he had much to begin with). There is one marvelous scene where Willie and Eddie stand around in his kitchen, and WIllie looks sullen and dejected and no dialogue is exchanged between the two. We know why.

The film then flashes forward to one year later as Willie and Eddie head to Cleveland to see Eva. She had been working at a hot dog stand, and the aunt, Aunt Lottie (Cecilia Stark), is an expert at poker and wins every hand. Willie and Eddie decide to split to Florida and take Eva with them. The aunt disapproves but there is not much that can be done. When they arrive in Florida, they all stay in some fleabag motel by the beach. Eva is not impressed, particularly when Willie and Eddie leave her alone in the motel room while they go to the racetrack for more winnings. Do these people have any other ways of enjoying themselves?

Jim Jarmusch's "Stranger Than Paradise" seems to be going nowhere but it isn't. It is an examination of three characters and the lives they lead. They do not know where they are headed or where they are going. Jarmusch is also not interested in detailing who they are as much as what they are. This is a film about stagnation and anomie - no direction and no hope and possibly no meaning. The film seems to say that existence has no purpose other than to exist because every place in America looks exactly the same. Eva might have some prospects but we are still left wondering what they might be. These characters have nothing to say yet say so much with their lack of purpose. This is really a study of these characters, following them every step of the way to nowhere. But a miracle does occur at the end that proves life-changing and possibly life-affirming. It is a brilliant masterstroke but you have to be patient to get there.

In his directorial debut, Jim Jarmusch has done something quite unusual - he has observed lives without intruding. He is like a documentary filmmaker who observes and studies. The performances never feel forced and help to make the realism palatable. Musician John Lurie, the funny Richard Edson and the passive Estzer Balint are so natural that you forget you are watching actors. They have lots of terrific moments and all are shot in one take. Jarmusch shows one scene and then cuts to black, another scene and then cuts to black, and so on. This raises the momentum somewhat, and makes us curious to see where it will lead next. Let's just say that the ending brings a satisfaction that is unexpected - it brings a shread of hope to such lonely, directionless people.

"Stranger Than Paradise" has been called a masterpiece in many circles. It has also been categorized as giving independent cinema a bad name. It is not a masterpiece but it is a wonderful slice-of-life of America where everything seems to be the same in every town, as realized by Eddie in one scene. Here, the idea is that the characters are probably bored with their existence and seek to find some enjoyment in it. Eva may have discovered that change is necessary, and Willie and Eddie are still stuck in a stagnant stage without catching up.

I am a fan of films that do not reveal their purpose until the end. A film where the filmmaker trusts his audience and doesn't spell out what his intentions are. "Stranger Than Paradise" is one of those films, and it is as mesmerizing and spellbinding as anything I have seen.

Underrated Black-Humored Ambulance ride

BRINGING OUT THE DEAD (1999)

Re-reviewed by Jerry Saravia

It has been more than two decades since the world had witnessed the frighteningly prophetic "Taxi Driver" and its vision of a hellish New York courtesy of director Martin Scorsese and writer Paul Schrader. Scorsese and Schrader revisited those same mean streets to tell us they are just as mean and almost as hellish. "Bringing Out the Dead" was the latest in the sin, guilt, redemption and paranoia of the gritty side of Scorsese's New York and its inhabitants and it left me feeling a little empty the first time I saw it. Seeing it many times since, it is often strangely compelling and spiritual but not nearly on the same par with previous Schrader and Scorsese collaborations. It is one hell of a film though - nightmarish, hallucinatory and difficult to stay with but there are rewards for those who stick with it.

The almost gaunt-like Nicolas Cage stars as Frank Pierce, an exhausted ambulance paramedic who mostly works nights. He has not saved a life in months, and is starting to feel weary and sleepless - he cannot function in this crazed city anymore (this story is set in pre-Guiliani New York). Frank sees visions of an asthmatic girl he could not save in the past - he feels he has killed her and sees her in the faces of others walking the streets.

Frank is haunted by these visions, and resorts to drinking gin and eating junk food on the job. He works with three different medics. One is a detached, overweight slob, Larry (John Goodman), the other is a Motown-Biblical-preaching individual named Marcus (Ving Rhames) who flirts with dispatchers and is high on saving lives, and lastly there's a vicious medic, Tom Walls (Tom Sizemore) who uses a baseball bat on drug dealers and lives on "the blood spilling on the streets."

There is one life Frank almost saves, an elderly man who nearly dies of a heart attack. The grieving daughter, Mary Burke (Patricia Arquette), an ex-junkie, seeks consolation from Frank and hopes that her father will stay alive. This is the kind of news Frank wants to hear - the blood, the loss of lives (including a stillborn baby), the stench, the homeless are all reducing Frank to the level of a saint who lost his powers of healing. As Frank explains, "I was a grief mop." He can't even get fired from his job because he is needed, even in the midst of failure.

"Bringing Out the Dead" is based on an autobiographical book by Joseph Connelly (a former medic), and the film's episodic structure focuses on three hellish nights in Frank's life. As always, director Martin Scorsese knows these mean streets all too well and with cinematographer Robert Richardson, they create a New York of neon lights, red flashing sirens, sordid, shadowy environments such as unsanitized underground dwellings, punkish nightclubs, inviting drug dens, crazed, overcrowded hospital rooms, etc. In other words, this New York is not so different from the one depicted in Scorsese's finest film, "Taxi Driver." But whereas one felt that the New York of Travis Bickle's was an extension of his own paranoia, this New York feels strangely remote and listless, much like the title character who is slowly going mad. Initially, I felt Nicolas Cage turned in a mostly flat, restrained performance, bereft of any emotion or significance. Sure, his eyes gave the impression of being haunted but there is little to suggest a sense of individuality. Who is Frank Pierce anyway? Why does he cling to a job in desperation of saving lives when he needs to save his own? These are all complex questions but Cage's dignified stare in two hours running time could make the viewer wish Robert De Niro had been cast. Cage has some loopy moments and he does have moments of black humor with Rhames but the character is an endurance test. Of course, that is the point - he is tired and feels lifeless. Will he ever save one life? What Cage has are, again, those eyes that suggest a man who has seen too much death. He is haunted, pained, exasperated and exhausted. It is a performance of great anxiety and great pain. 

I liked Patricia Arquette's performance as the frail Mary and her soft-voiced, angelic presence that seems almost magical in quality. There is a moment when Scorsese and editor Thelma Schoonmaker exchange a series of dissolves between Arquette and Cage that establishes a connection between them. I also like the final image of Cage's head resting on Arquette's shoulder while a shade of white fills up the screen in a reverential manner. It is a truly moving ending and the only time that Frank feels some measure of peace.

The best performances are by Ving Rhames, John Goodman and Tom Sizemore as the fellow medics with different takes on what a job like this entails. Goodman is credibly detached, Rhames is delightfully sweet and uplifting especially when he fakes raising a punk rocker from the dead, and Sizemore is creepy and nervously tense giving us goosebumps each time he appears. Other honorable mentions must go to real-life singer Marc Anthony as a Rastafarian drifter who drinks too much water, New Zealander Cliff Curtis as a suave, smoothly serene drug dealer (recalling Harvey Keitel's lizard-like smoothness in "Taxi Driver"), Mary Beth Hurt as a stern, honest hospital worker, Arthur J. Nascarella as Captain Barney, Frank's boss, and Aida Turturro as a nurse.

Stylistically, Scorsese also has employed new techniques in film grammar, which are more often seen in Oliver Stone's films. The fast-motion, stroboscopic, neon-lit sequences recall "Natural Born Killers," a technique Scorsese has never used before. It is no accident that the fast and loose cinematographer is Robert Richardson, who has lensed many of Stone's films.

There is a lot to admire in "Bringing Out the Dead," but it is not a fun or entertaining movie though it is illuminating (granted such subject matter doesn't lend itself to simplistic entertainment). Moments like the impaling of the drug dealer or Rhames's brief interludes with dispatchers and Cage evoke a power unprecedented in any film seen in 1999. I still feel "Bringing Out the Dead" is the kind of Scorsese film that makes you want to go and see a truly passionate Scorsese film that comes from the gut. "Raging Bull" and "Taxi Driver" felt like they came straight from the gut and were intensely personal. Scorsese puts his stamp on this unusual tale and it feels personal but not as urgent. Still, for matters of morality and guilt unadorned with irony (Scorsese and Schrader's major fortes), "Bringing Out the Dead" is powerful enough to warrant a viewing and several more for the Scorsese viewers who felt underwhelmed on the first viewing. It is a hellish experience.