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The Magdalene Sisters (2003)
There’s a certain genre of films as well-defined as say, the Western, Film Noir, or even Romantic Comedies. The genre Im speaking of is I-can’t-believe-that-happened cinema. This is a genre made up of little-known true stories where people with power abuse those below them. These include films like Rosewood, Rabbit Proof Fence, Matewan, Mississippi Burning, and just about every movie with a Holocaust setting. These films are intended to antagonize the audience and to get them to ask, How could something like this happen? The Magdalene Sisters is a film that an audience will walk away with very much wondering how something so cruel, amoral, and heartless could carry on in our modern world.
In 1960s Ireland, the Catholic Church was life. The Magdalene Sisters sheds light on the little known work asylums, which were institutions set up to help girls who had transgressed against God. The girls admitted to the asylum, a kind of extreme reform school, are there to work away their sins and reach forgiveness, thus saving their immortal souls. Rose (Dorothy Duffy) had a child out of wedlock. Bernadette (Nora-Jane Noone) was caught by school officials for being too pretty and tempting teen boys. But perhaps the most startling admission is Margaret (Anne-Marie Duff), admitted to the asylum by her own father for the grievous sin of being raped by a cousin. The Magdalene Sisterhood asylum is run by Sister Bridget (Geraldine McEwan), an old nun who subscribes to the cruel to be kind theory in spades. The girls at the asylum toil tirelessly in sweatshop conditions, are physically abused by the nuns, sexually abused by the asylums priest and are left hopeless of escaping. Girls who run away are turned back in by their parents or cooperative police. Some of the women at Magdalene have been there for their entire lives. It seems the only ways out are death or joining the convent. Get thee to a nunnery indeed.
The Magdalene Sisters is full of sadistic moments that will shock an audience. One of the most disturbing scenes transpires late into the film. The girls of the asylum line up completely nude, shivering and crying. Two nuns, with a nauseating smugness, chortle and play a game seeing who has the largest breasts and the smallest nipples, among other things. When the winner of this sick experiment stands forward and clenches her teeth from crying so hard, one of the nuns asks, ”What are you crying for? It’s just a game.”
The young ladies at the films core deliver magnificent performances tinged with honest emotional devastation. Noone is the standout as Bernadette. She utilizes steely rebellious gazes that speak volumes about her characters resourcefulness. Noone can convey more poignant emotion in the raising of an eyebrow or the biting of her thumb than most starlets can ever hope to express.
McEwan is terrifying as the head nun and head source of torment. Her grandmotherly voice, tinted with an Irish brogue, is enough to send shivers down your spine. She is surely 2003’s greatest movie villain, next to Johnny Depp in Once Upon a Time in Mexico.
Writer/director Peter Mullan keeps the suffering at an almost unbearable level but allows the spark of human resistance to keep us going. His film is one brimming with anger and disbelief; ensuring the audience will experience that same burning anger before the credits roll. Mullan’s passionate story can be deemed one-sided, but then again, what exactly is the other side going to say about the abuse of innocent girls for life-long slave labor? Not much I suspect.
The Magdalene Sisters is a somber, unflinching look at the abuses of the church as well as the upward battle for equality women faced. This film is tough to sit through. It might be too much for some, especially if they don’t have a strong relationship with the Catholic church to begin with. The decades of abuse The Magdalene Sisters sheds light on is incredible, but it’s also a beginning for healing. Before we can overcome atrocities we must acknowledge them, and this is something I’m sure Mullan is arguing that the Church is failing to do. In fact, the Catholic church has denounced The Magdalene Sisters for its portrayal of church abuses. Something tells me Mullan is not surprised.
Not only is The Magdalene Sisters an eye-opener, it’s also great cinema. The characters, pacing, realistic sharp-eyed direction, and superb acting render it more than just a snuff film. This film is more than watching people mistreated and suffer; this is a film about perseverance and resolve. It’s about the enduring human spirit. I’ll gladly (well, not gladly) watch sequences of misery in order to see human triumph. This isn’t just a sad story, it’s exceptionally well told and acted and it bathes you in the pain of its characters. You feel their heartbreak and tragedy, but you also feel their victory.
The Magdalene Sisters is, without a doubt, the must-see feel-bad movie of this year. Now, there will be plenty out there saying, Why should I pay to see a movie that will make me feel bad? This is my defense: because the movie is so good at having its fears, tortures, and ultimate triumphs resonate that it makes you authentically feel something. And isn’t this the purpose of art, to feel something? The Magdalene Sisters is unflinching, passionately powerful and unforgettable. Just one more item to get your blood boiling: the last of these Sisterhood work asylum closed in 1996.
Nate’s Grade: A
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Secondhand Lions (2003)
Walter (Haley Joel Osment) is being shipped off by his absent-minded mother (Kyra Sedgwick) to spend the summer with his two great uncles (Michael Caine and Robert Duvall). His mother is secretly hoping that Walter will cozy up to his eccentric relatives because of rumors that they have stockpiled millions of dollars. She sends Walter off with a mission to find the location of that money. Walter is a weenie, and Caine and Duvall are mans men that can still show them cocksure youngins a thing or two. The summer passes and Walter learns more than he could have ever known about his uncles and their supposedly amazing lives.
Caine and Duvall, two of the best actors we have, are wasted with material that pushes them into grizzled ole curmudgeons that inevitably soften up. Duvall plays the same rough and tumble character he plays in so many better movies, and Caine just seems like hes bored. Osment loses some cuteness as he hits puberty. He still has the face of a teddy bear (really look sometime) but Im sure hell rebound and it’ll only be a matter of time before he’s dating one of the Olsen twins. Wow, this is weird for me to write about.
The film feels like its in the hands of a novice with no confidence. The director (whose only other experience was a film called, [Dancer,Texas Pop. 81) doesn’t seem to know of anything reaching subtlety. The storyline with Osment’s flighty mother is just painful to watch. She’s an embarrassment of a character. Scenes are awkwardly framed and there are way too many fun montages of Caine and Duvall shooting things endlessly. I don’t know about your movie lore, but when I see old men firing at people from their porch, this doesn’t register as crazy yet lovable old timer but only as crazy. The entire lion subplot is just silly. The film even gets worse as it spins into a fantastical epilogue that stretches the bounds of reality. You’ll know it when the helicopter touches down.
Some elements of Secondhand Lions work despite themselves. Theres an ongoing subplot where Caine spins a great yarn about him and Duvall’s adventures as young men in the French Foreign Legion. We cut to some B-movie inserts that provide some fun, despite a preponderance of sword swinging violence that may question the family label people are too freely applying to Secondhand Lions. Watching this tall tale was far more entertaining than the reality Secondhand Lions[ was trying to dish. I kept wanting the film to somehow invert, and then this film would be the B-movie adventures where some person is telling a story about a whiny kid who gets an old lion and learns a thing or two about life and being a man from his two crazy uncles. Do you see what Im getting at.
Secondhand Lions is an overly sentimental Hallmark card of a movie. I dont think I’ve yawned this much during a movie in a long time. Secondhand Lions is an uninspired trick pony trying to appear like a wise coming of age nostalgic tale. Instead, the entire film feels secondhand. Beware, contents may have shifted upon delivery. Mark this box return to sender. Okay, I’m done with the postal puns.
Nate’s Grade: C
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Luther (2003)
Certain things can pass under my radar. Previously it’s been items like female flirtation and the due dates of papers. So imagine my befuddled surprise when last weekend my father, himself a Lutheran minister, said the family was going to hop on over to the movie theater and catch a historic bio-flick about Martin Luther, plainly titled Luther. I had no idea this movie existed. And after seeing it, it left no strong memory that it did.
Luther (Joseph Fiennes, Shakespeare in Love) is a 16th century German monk with some quibbles with the Catholic Church. Seems Luther doesn’t like how the Church is preying upon people’s faith for money, most notably its chief indulgence seller Johann Tetzel (Alfred Molina, with a criminally scant appearance). He makes up a list of 95 grievances, nails them to the doors of a church, and thus Protestantism is born. Luther’s ideas catch on wit the lower classes through rampant publication, thanks to the newfound printing press. The princes of the German states also like what this monk is cooking, and they decide to hold him in safety. The Catholic Church, however, is none too pleased. They threaten excommunication and eventually death, and keep pushing for Luther to recant. But Luther feels he must stand strong in his convictions.
The acting is fine, and the direction is passable, but the pacing of Luther is like tracking the movement of a glacier. Some representative decisions are also fairly stupid. To try and communicate Luthers internal struggle he hits his head and yells like at voices. The first time it’s funny. The next five times, it’s dumb. There’s also a dirty peasant child who’s crippled but still a big fan of the Luther Man. Her gaping tooth smile has more screen time than some characters. Later in the film the peasant revolts ravage through the country with thousands massacred. Luther visits the ruins and comes across the little girl’s broken crutch and breaks down and cries. If you were in my theater you probably heard me hitting my forehead repeatedly (no voices though).
The film is an admirable effort, but Luther ultimately fails because of the measures of film. To try and tell the story of Luther would be more appropriate for the confines of a miniseries, not a two-hour movie. The Reformation and its players lose its impact in such a shrift retelling. What the audience gets is a pared Cliff notes version that misses the richness, and gives lip service to the historical importance. What were left with are endless scenes where people dress up and talk and talk and talk. Without a sense of weight for character or story, the countless talky moments blur into tedium. If I had a sleeping bag with me I would have curled up into it.
Another problem is the lack of makeup. The film spans thirty-some years and yet Fiennes doesn’t age a day. My mother proposed that maybe he didn’t want to look old and decrepit in the film. I responded by saying, He let them shave his head but he didn’t want anybody to splash some gray in his hair?
I guess if you judge movies on costumes or production values, Luther would be competent. But does anyone go to a film saying, ”Man, I sure hope those costumes and sets are incredible! Fingers crossed!?” Luther is a well-meaning bore that only historical enthusiasts and Lutherans might enjoy.
Nate’s Grade: C
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Lost in Translation (2003)
Sophia Coppola probably has had one of the most infamous beginnings in showbiz. Her father, Francis Ford, is one of the most famous directors of our times. He was getting ready to film Godfather Part III when Winona Ryder dropped out weeks before filming. Sophia Coppola, just at the age of 18, stepped into the role of Michael Corleone’s daughter. The level of scathing reviews Coppolas acting received is something perhaps only Tom Green and Britney Spears can relate to. Coppola never really acted again. Instead she married Spike Jonze (Being John Malkovich) and adapted and directed the acclaimed indie flick, The Virgin Suicides. So now Coppola is back again with Lost in Translation, and if this is the kind of rewards reaped by bad reviews early in your career, then I’m circling the 2008 Oscar date for Britney.
Bob Harris (Bill Murray) is a washed up actor visiting Tokyo to film some well-paying whiskey commercials. Bob’s long marriage is fading and he feels the pains of loneliness dig its claws into his soul. Bob finds a kindred spirit in Charlotte (Scarlet Johansson), a young newlywed who has followed her photographer husband (Giovanni Ribisi) to Japan and is second-guessing herself and her marriage. The two strike up a friendship of resistance as strangers in a strange land. They run around the big city and share enough adventures to leave an indelible impression on each other’s life.
Lost in Translation is, simply put, a marvelously beautiful film. The emphasis for Coppola is less on a rigidly structured story and more on a consistently lovely mood of melancholy. There are many scenes of potent visual power, nuance of absence, that the viewer is left aching like the moments after a long, cleansing cry. There are certain images (like Johansson or Murray staring out at the impersonal glittering Tokyo) and certain scenes (like the final, tearful hug between the leads) that I will never forget. Its one thing when a film opens on the quiet image of a womans derriere in pink panties and just holds onto it. It’s quite another thing to do it and not draw laughs from an audience.
Murray is outstanding and heartbreaking. Had he not finally gotten the recognition he deserved with last year’s Oscar nomination I would have raged for a recounting of hanging chads. Murray has long been one of our most gifted funnymen, but later in his career he has been turning in soulful and stirring performances playing lonely men. When Murray sings Roxy Music’s “More Than This” to Johansson during a wild night out at a karaoke bar, the words penetrate you and symbolize the leads’ evolving relationship.
Johansson (Ghost World) herself is proving to be an acting revelation. It is the understatement of her words, the presence of a mature intelligence, and the totality of her wistful staring that nail the emotion of Charlotte. Never does the character falter into a Lolita-esque vibe. Shes a lonely soul and finds a beautiful match in Murray.
Lost in Translation is an epic exploration of connection, and the quintessential film that perfectly frames those inescapable moments of life where we come into contact with people who shape our lives by their short stays. This is a reserved love story where the most tender of actions are moments like Murray carrying a sleeping Johansson to her room, tucking her in, then locking the door behind. The comedy of disconnect is delightful, like when Murray receives incomprehensible direction at a photo shoot. The score by Jean-Benoît Dunckel, front man of the French duo Air, is ambient and wraps around you like a warm blanket. The cinematography is also an amazing experience to behold, especially the many shots of the vast glittering life of Tokyo and, equally, its strange emptiness.
Everything works so well in Lost in Translation, from the bravura acting, to the stirring story, to the confident direction, that the viewer will be caught up in its lovely swirl. The film ends up becoming a humanistic love letter to what brings us together and what shapes how we are as people. Coppola’s film is bursting with such sharply insightful, quietly touching moments, that the viewer is overwhelmed at seeing such a remarkably mature and honest movie. The enjoyment of Lost in Translation lies in the understanding the audience can feel with the characters and their plight for connection and human warmth. A work of art like this sure doesn’t come around every day.
Writer/director Sophia Coppola’s come a long way from being Winona Ryder’s last-second replacement, and if Lost in Translation, arguably the best film of 2003, is any indication, hopefully well see even more brilliance yet to come. This is not going to be a film for everyone. A common argument from detractors is that Lost in Translation is a film lost without a plot. I’ve had just as many friends call this movie “boring and pointless” as I’ve had friends call it “brilliant and touching.” The right audience to enjoy Lost in Translation would be people who have some patience and are willing to immerse themselves in the nuances of character and silence.
Nate’s Grade: A
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The Station Agent (2003)
This is the most charming film of 2003, and Im not just saying this because I had an interview with one of its stars, Michelle Williams (Dawson’s Creek). Fin McBride (Peter Dinklage) is a man with dwarfism. With every step he takes every look he gives, you witness the years of torture hes been through with glares and comments. Hes shut himself away from people and travels to an isolated train station to live. There he meets two other oddballs, a live-wire hot dog vendor (Bobby Cannavale) and a divorced mother (Patricia Clarkson). Together the three find a wonderful companionship and deep friendship. The moments showing the evolution of the relationship between the three are the films highlights. Its a film driven by characters but well-rounded and remarkable characters. Dinklage gives perhaps one of the coolest performances ever as the unforgettable Fin. Cannavale is hilarious as the loudmouth best friend that wants a human connection. Clarkson is equally impressive as yet another fragile mother (a similar role in the equally good Pieces of April). The writing and acting of The Station Agent are superb. Its an unforgettable slice of Americana brought together by three oddballs and their real friendship. Youll leave The Station Agent abuzz in good feelings. This is a film you tell your friends about afterwards. Theres likely no shot for a dwarf to be nominated for an Oscar in our prejudiced times but Dinklage is deserving. The Station Agent is everything you could want in an excellent independent movie. It tells a tale that would normally not get told. And this is one beauty of a tale.
Nate’s Grade: A
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The Battle of Shaker Heights (2003)
Ben Affleck and Matt Damon, being the egalitarian champions we all know celebrities to be, started a contest called Project Greenlight that allowed aspiring screenwriters to enter for a chance to have the winning script made into a movie by Miramax and the process documented for a behind the scenes reality show to run on HBO. Project Greenlight‘s first winner was the hapless Pete Jones. His winning screenplay gave birth to Stolen Summer, a maudlin coming-of-age story about a Catholic boy trying to get his ailing Jewish friend into heaven. You can feel the grating precociousness already. While Stolen Summer was an artistic yawn the HBO series was a hit as we the viewers saw every stupid mistake, naïve decision, and screaming matches during the production. Pete Jones’ pain was our gain.
Unlike the first contest, this one had a separate entry for directors and the tag-team of Efram Potelle and Kyle Rankin were picked to direct the winning screenplay The Battle of Shaker Heights, by Columbus, Ohio (represent) grad student Erica Beeny. Project Greenlight on HBO showcased the tension created by these butting heads. Beeny seemed ready to meltdown at a moments notice, probably because she let her good nature be taken advantage of by the egotistical, passive-aggressive, non-communicative, hilariously self-absorbed directors. This raises the question; did Affleck and Damon pick the best people or the people most likely to create the best television?
Once again, the winning screenplay involved a coming-of-age story, this time revolving around the life of Kelly (Shia LeBeouf), a glib teenage war re-enactor. Kelly befriends Bart (Elden Henson) during a battle reenactment. Bart is from a wealthy Wasp-y household where his college is already predetermined. Kelly, on the other hand, must sullenly deal with his father (William Sadler), a former junkie who wasted away his college fund, and his flighty mother (Kathleen Quinlan). Bart and Kelly scheme to teach a schoolyard bully a lesson, and in the process Kelly starts falling for Bart’s attractive older sister Tabby (Amy Smart).
The character of Kelly doesn”t seem to have any deep reflections of life or anything of substance, just wicked one-liners. The fact that Kelly comes off as a sympathetic hero goes fully to the charming LeBeouf, who displays a laid back sense of humor and allure that is reminiscent of a young John Cusack. LeBeouf gives a star-making performance that keeps the audience engaged, even if the story is turning them off.
One of several problems Shaker Heights suffers from is that the finished product is a one-man show. Kelly is such a dominating character, a whirlwind of misplaced rage that everyone that gets in his path suffers. His relationship with Tabby seems like nothing more than unrequited puppy love that doesn’t need so much screen time being spent on a tired will they or wont they diversion. Kelly’s parents come off like theyre invisible. If you blink you may miss their entire time on screen. The father is more an absent force to drive Kellys angst, while his mother doesn’t seem to have any purpose or influence whatsoever.
Shaker Heights feels like a film made by committee because as Project Greenlight astutely documented it was made by a committee. Miramax executives decided they could sell the film better as a pure comedy so they removed most of the winning screenplays drama. So now, with this new incarnation of Shaker Heights, the comedy never really emerges from more than a handful of superficially cute lines, and whenever a bit of drama does emerge it seems alien and disorienting. The heavy-handed direction by Potelle and Rankin paints in broad strokes, so the dramatic efforts come off as forced and overblown when they sneak up on an audience.
This incarnation of the movie may be entertaining to some, but with these cuts and directorial choices Shaker Heights seems horribly ordinary. Kelly is a disaffected teen with smart-ass comments; he lusts after the older girl who, of course, is with a supposed loser; his parents just don’t know what to do with him. The story is dulled down and all the edges seem polished off, and what an audience is left with is scenes, characters, and a story we’re already well familiar with. Does Project Greenlight seem to have a desire to select coming-of-age stories and then water them down to the point of distilling any original voice? The only interesting diversion in Shaker Heights is the war reenactment section, which is tragically too short.
The Battle of Shaker Heights is another theatrical dud from the Project Greenlight crew. Fans of teen melodrama might get some moderate enjoyment from it, but realistically, the only people who are going to pay any sort of money to see Shaker Heights are the people who avidly followed the Project Greenlight TV series. And in the end, one cant shake the feeling that The Battle of Shaker Heights ultimately feels like a disappointing season finale to Project Greenlight.
Nate’s Grade: C+
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Thirteen (2003)
No one said being a 13-year-old was easy. Tracy (Evan Rachel Wood, a dead ringer for a young Jennifer Garner) is a straight-A student living with her mother Melanie (Holly Hunter, nominated for an Oscar). Her family fights to get by with Melanies at-home hair salon. People, usually accompanied by wee kids, stroll in and out of their house like it was a bed and breakfast. Melanie’s previous boyfriend Brady (Jeremy Sisto) has sobered up and settled back into her life, despite Tracy’s wishes.
Evie (Nikki Reed, who co-wrote the film with the director) is that cool girl at Portola Middle School. Tracy desperately wishes to join Evies inner sanctum of friends, enough that shell steal the pocketbook of a stranger to impress Evie. Tracy is taken under Evies wing and learns how to flirt, dress, dance, kiss, and terrify her mother. Melanies concern is a slow simmer, but she cant ignore all the signs of what is happening momma’s little girl. The girls revel in bared midriffs, body piercing, and gallons of shiny make-up. Evie lives with her guardian Brooke (Deborah Kara Unger), herself a sad woman ravaged by booze and pills. When she tells Melanie that Brooke beats her, the maternal instincts overpower her concern. She invites Evie to stay with her family. Evie even calls Melanie mom. More disintegration of Tracy follows.
Thirteen does exhibit a rare maturity in the displaying of teenage emotions, namely the pull to belong. It also pays incisive attention to our consumer society marketing teen sexuality and the implicit effects. Thirteen creates a more realistic teenager by showing the vulnerability that’s inherent in growing up.
Wood gives a strong performance as her character descends from goodie-good to teen vamp. Her square jaw and lanky frame are physically perfect at displaying a natural young awkwardness. She looks like a teenager I’d see on my block, not what Hollywood is trying to tell me. Wood gets a tad drunk on her characters emotions, like a scene where she tries to scare her mother by lurching forward and cooing, “No bra. No panties.”
Hunter’s depiction of Tracy’s mother is out to lunch about her daughter. This makes the character seem earnest yet stupidly naïve, and after the 200th request of we need to talk is met once again with a closed door, the audience begins to think that Melanie has some deep-seated issues herself.
The direction by first timer Catherine Harwicke starts off as annoying with self-gratifying camerawork. The handheld camera swoops in and out attempting to establish a fluid realism. She also utilizes muted or exaggerated colors to express Tracys highs and lows. What started as self-congratulatory direction actually warmed me over, and I began to take notice of how lovingly Hardwicke stuffs her frame and utilizes lighting. It seems like she could have a career ahead of her as a director.
Though the acting is strong and the direction grows on you, Thirteen never really rises above its ilk of cautionary tale. It’s your basic story set-up of good girl meets bad influence, gets bad, distances family and old friends, experiences highs and then crashing lows, usually capped off with some kind of lesson learned. This is Thirteen in a nutshell. Tracys change from good girl to pubescent trash occurs at an unbelievably fast speed.
You could make an argument that the film is trying to be daring and shocking, but this whole ”what’s wrong with kids today” routine has been done better in lesser films, like Larry Clark’s Kids. Even though Clark has a fixation for lingering on nubile bodies, his film portrays wayward teenagers and their hedonistic behavior without the constraints of trying to frame sympathetic characters. Thirteen hedges its resources; it cant be fully shocking if it keeps trying to make us like the characters, thus giving glimpses of remorse and doubt. In today’s world, I dont think its shocking anymore to see 13-year-olds engaged in drugs and sex, especially after witnessing kids killing kids in the brilliant City of God earlier last year.
Thirteen is a noble effort but fails in any attempt in functioning as preemptive wake-up call. The acting is quite capable (Wood appears to be headed for junior star status) but the film is ultimately unimpressive. Perhaps the only way to be shocked by this movie is if you’re a negligent parent with a disposable income. It would be worth a rental, but there’s nothing overpowering enough in the film to justify full movie ticket price. While I was watching Thirteen I kept recalling a piece of dialogue the grandfather in Fargo said: You let him go to McDonalds at this hour? They do more than drink milkshakes, I guarantee you that. In the end the message of Thirteen is simply this: one bad apple can spoil the bunch.
Nate’s Grade: C+
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Hulk (2003)
Comic book movies are all the rage these days. The X-Men films, Spider-Man, even Daredevil all managed some level of success because they were, at their heart, entertaining pulp and treated the source material with some sense of reverence. Now Ang Lee’s monstrous film Hulk lumbers into theaters and one could best describe it as being too serious for its own good.
Bruce Banner (Eric Bana) is the quiet guy, the one who bottles everything inside. His lab partner Betty Ross (Jennifer Connelly) has recently broken off their relationship due to his emotionally shut-off demeanor. Well Bruce gets hit with a lethal dose of gamma rays and it kicks up something inside him. You see, Bruces long-absent father (Nick Nolte, looking frightfully like his drunken mug shot photo) experimented some kind of regeneration serum on himself. When he fathered Bruce he passed on whatever genetic alteration. So now when Bruce gets mad he turns into a 15-foot raging Jolly Green Giant (the CGI in this movie is not good). He starts enjoying the freedom letting go can bring. Nothing gets him more mad than some yuppie (Josh Lucas, badly miscast) trying to buy out his lab and then kill him to sell his DNA to the military. Along the way, Betty’s father (Sam Elliott) tries to hunt Bruce and his greener-on-the-other-side alter ego for the good of us all.
Director Ang Lee has injected most of his films with a sense of depression and repression, from the biting and darkly astute The Ice Storm to the stoic Gary Cooper-like silence of the aerobatic samurai in Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon. He’s a master filmmaker without question. Lee bites off more than he can chew with Hulk much like the gifted Cameron Crowe did with the sci-fi Vanilla Sky. Lee is so damn ambitious that Hulk tries to be everything and it ends up fulfilling nothing. His film is the most ambitious and the most tedious super hero/comic book movie of all time. What does it say when the super green Hulk has more personality than the bland Bruce Banner?
The acting is a non-issue here. Connelly remains one of the most beautiful women in all of movies and has incredibly expressive eyes and brows. She has this strand of hair thats always in the right side of her face. It’s so awkward. Bana gets the least fun part as the mentally scarred kid afraid of his own anger. He doesn’t do much but then he isn’t given much. Elliott overacts with impressive gusto whereas Nolte overacts like every line was his last breath.
After about an hour or so of beleaguered talking and flat characters, I started to become restless. I wanted to see Hulk smash, Hulk smash good. Instead what you get is endless scenes of cheesy speeches, sci-fi babble speech, phony philosophy, and mind-numbingly awful pacing. Seriously, Hulk has worse pacing than glaciers. You’ll see the Mona Lisa yellow faster than this movie will be over. And in some weird paradox, I think it will never be over.
Lee attempts to make the film a living comic book. You’ve never seen this many wipes short of a Brady Bunch marathon on TV Land. Lee splits his screen into multiple panels and slides them around much like the layout of a comic book. However, this visual cue is overused and calls attention to itself in a how arty are we kind of pretentious way. If Hulk was attempting to be a comic book movie, then where the hell did all the action go? This movie could have been subtitled The Hulk Goes to Therapy because everything excluding an over-the-top final act revolves around people working out childhood issues. Man, there’s nothing I like to see more during the summer than a $150 million dollar movie about people working out childhood issues. Oh yeah!
Hulk is an overlong and ambitiously meandering film thats incredibly serious, incredibly labored, and incredibly boring. Someone needs to tell the creators of this film to lighten up. The big-screen adaptation of the big green id may have heavy doses of Freudian psychoanalysis (try and tie THAT with the merchandizing onslaught) but the film is barren when it comes to fun. Even comic book fans should be disappointed. I heard a story of a kid who saw Hulk and asked his mom when the movie was going to start, and she replied, “90 minutes ago.” Should you see Hulk in the theater at full price? No. Instead, give your money to me. It will have more resonance and action than anything this bloated, joyless, self-important vacuum of entertainment could offer.
Hulk mad? Audience mad! Audience leave theater. See other better movies instead. Hulk sad. No Hulk 2. Audience happy.
Nate’s Grade: D+
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The Man on the Train (2003)
A dark stranger gets off a train in France. He has piercing blue eyes and a weathered face with a machine-like expression. This man is Milan (Johnny Hallyday) and he’s stopping by this small French town for a new job. Oh, Milan’s business is robbing banks. In this small village he befriends a garrulous retired poetry teacher, Monsieur Manesquie (Jean Rochefort). The two men spend their time wishing they had the life of the other. Milan openly seeks a comfortable life surrounded by books. Manesquie is a huge fan of Clint Eastwood movies and longs for some action in his life. He secretly dreams of one day robbing a bank just for the fun of it.
So, an interesting start for a film, right? Sure. But this IS the movie. The Man on the Train is a middling character experiment. The two men rub off each other, with Milan teaching a young boy the wonders of poetry, and Monsieur Manesquie learning how to properly fire a gun. The scenes are nice and both actors are splendid (especially French rocker Hallyday) but the film is one long muddled and meandering trip until our inevitable climax. The ending feels needlessly open-ended and a tad clumsy. There’s also a subplot featuring a young mistress for Monsieur Manesquie that sticks out like a sore thumb.
The Man on the Train is well shot and well acted but it only feels like the first half of a movie. I’m sure plenty of people out there will appreciate the character nuances and small moments, but this is a film completely driven by small moments that never adds up to anything larger. Maybe The Man on the Train just isn’t for me. Or maybe I need to just wait for the second half, if it ever gets made.
Nate’s Grade: C+
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X2: X-Men United (2003)
Rollicking entertainment until they reach the dam and things get really bogged down. However, still the action film to beat this year. I heart Bryan Cox. X-Men 2 shows the promise of the X-Men world after the somewhat dull first film. Thank God we got the jumping point out of the way because now we can have fun with these characters and their world. And X-Men 2 is great fun. This is how sequels should be.
Nate’s Grade: B+
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