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.