It would be cool to fight William Shatner

FIGHT CLUB (1999)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

(Originally reviewed in 1999)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Passing the torch of film criticism?

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

By Jerry Saravia

Owen Gleiberman

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

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

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

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

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

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

That sword was priceless

KILL BILL: VOL. 2 (2004)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia
(Originally reviewed in 2004)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mercy, compassion I lack

KILL BILL VOL. 1 (2003)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

(Originally reviewed in 2003)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Upstairs, Downstairs Murder Mystery

GOSFORD PARK (2001)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

(Originally reviewed in 2001)

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

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

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

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

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

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

70's Song Remains the Same

A DECADE UNDER THE INFLUENCE (2003)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

(Originally reviewed in 2004)

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

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

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

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

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

Chevy Chase is D.O.A and AWOL

FLETCH LIVES (1989)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

(Originally reviewed in 1989)

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

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

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