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The Core (2003)
I knew about 15 minutes in that The Core was not going to take its science too seriously. Aaron Eckhart, as a hunky science professor, is addressing military generals and essentially says, “We broke the Earth.” He tells them that because the Earth no longer spins (don’t think about it, you’ll only hurt yourself) the electromagnetic shield will dissipate and the sun will cook our planet. And just to make sure people understand the term “cook” he sets a peach on fire as an example. At this point I knew The Core was going to be a ridiculous disaster flick with its tongue firmly planted in its cheek.
Earth’s core has stopped spinning and horrific disasters are starting to be unleashed with anything from drunken bird attacks to lightening strikes in Rome. I always love how in disaster films Mother Nature always instinctively goes after the monuments, the landmarks, the things of cultural importance. The United States government hires a ragtag group of scientists and NASA pilots to journey to the center of the Earth and jump-start our planet. Of course everything that can go wrong on this fantastic journey will eventually go wrong.
The Core is so improbable, so silly, that it ends up being guilty fun. If you let go, ignore the incredible amounts of birth imagery (the sperm-like ship tunneling through to get to the egg-like core), then the very game cast will take you for a fun ride.
There’s a scene where the government approaches kooky scientist Delroy Lindo to build the super-ship that will take them to said core. When asked how much he thinks it’ll cost Lindo laughs and says, ”Try fifty billion dollars.” The government responds, ”Can you take a check?” I was pleasantly reminded of an episode of Futurama where the space-time continuum is disrupted and time keeps skipping forward. The old scientist and a Harlem Globetrotter (it was a very funny episode) theorize that to create a machine to stop this problem they would need all the money on the Earth. Flash immediately to the two of them being handed a check that says, “All the money of the Earth.” Richard Nixons head, in its glass jar, then says, “Get going, you know we cant spend All the Money on the Earth every day.”
The assembled cast is quite nice. Hilary Swank assumes a leadership role quite nicely. Eckhart is suitably hunky and dashing. Stanley Tucci is very funny as an arrogant science snob. Tcheky Karyo (the poor mans Jean Reno) is … uh, French. I don’t think anyone would believe that these people were the best in their fields (only in movies are scientists not old white men but hunky and sexy fun-lovin folk).
Director Jon Amiel (Entrapment) seems to know the preposterous nature of his films proceedings and amps up the campy thrills. An impromptu landing of the space shuttle in an LA reservoir is a fantastic action set piece, yet is likely the reason the film was delayed after the Columbia crash. The cornball science and steady pacing make The Core an enjoyable, if goofy ride. The film does run out of steam and goes on for 20 minutes longer than it should.
The Core is pure escapist entertainment without a thought in its head. And in dire times of war and harsh realism blaring at us every evening, there’s nothing wrong with a little juicy escapist fair. Buy a big tub of popcorn and enjoy. Does anyone else wonder if we broke the Earth just after its 5 billion year warranty was up?
Nate’s Grade: C+
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Dreamcatcher (2003)
Stephen King movie adaptations are usually a mixed bag. For every Carrie there’s a Sleep Walkers or a Sometimes They Come Back. Let’s not even discuss how many straight-to-video Children of the Corn releases there are (the answer, of course, is far too many). So what can we expect from a novel that featured butt weasels?
Dreamcatcher centers on four friends and their annual hunting trip in the woods recounting an earlier time when they befriended a mentally retarded child who would later give each of them psychic gifts. At the same time it appears an alien invasion is nearby, the military are to quarantine the area, and the lost hunter has expelled a bloody serpentine-like creature from his bowels. What does it add up to? The craziest spring break ever man!
There are several moments in Dreamcatcher where you think to yourself, ”Well, it can’t possibly get more stupid,” and yet the movie routinely will find a way. It doesn’t know when to stop. Just when you think the bottom of the Stupid Hole has been hit, here comes an alien possession where the alien uses a freaking British accent (and actually says the word ”guvna,” proving to be the most dangerous interstellar chimney sweep). The only reason I knew what was going on was because I read the book over the summer.
The story is a mixture of different King staples: schmaltzy coming-of-age buddy stuff (It), alien invasions (Tommyknockers), gory monsters (take your pick). Dreamcatcher feels like a Stephen King greatest hits tape. The different narrative elements have great trouble gelling, as you can only segue from mentally challenged boy with mystical powers to crazy Morgan Freeman shootin’ up slimy aliens so often. The story does not work and has too many leftover bits it doesn’t know what to do with. Dreamcatcher is a proverbial square peg being jammed into a round hole.
The movie shows some promise in its opening, displaying the camaraderie of actors Thomas Jane, Jason Lee, Damien Lewis and Timothy Olyphant (a younger looking Bill Paxton if I ever saw one). The notion of the memory warehouse is a fun idea that is used for nice comic touches.
Director/co-writer Lawrence Kasdan has written some of the most exciting films of the past 25 years, and screenwriter William Goldman is an old hand at adapting King (having done the masterful Misery and the mawkish Hearts in Atlantis). So what in the world went so horrendously wrong? For starters, the book is a whopping 620 pages and would be more suited in the frame of mini-series. Condensed into a messy two-hour movie, Dreamcatcher is sloppy with its pacing and scope. The movie drags for an eternity and then makes a mad dash at a finish (I wont spoil its unbelievable awfulness but will say it veers SHARPLY from the novel).
The most interesting part of the novel, for me, was the second half that involved the alien (Mr. Gray) taking over the body of Jonesy (Lewis). What kept me reading was Mr. Gray finding a liking to human temptations like bacon and, later, murder. Seeing Mr. Gray become intoxicated with humanity and perplexed by it at the same time was interesting. Sadly, all you get in the movie is the British accent and some goofy faces as Lewis holds two conversations in one person.
Few movies come along that are as incredibly stupid as Dreamcatcher. I cant exactly recommend it for this quality. They are playing that Matrix cartoon after it (my theater showed it before the film started). It looks like a video game and features a woman doing flips and sword fighting in a thong, because, quite simply, that’s what women do in these things. It’s not really that good either.
Nate’s Grade: D
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City of God (2003)
Looking for a film that really packs a genuine wallop? Take the visual panache of a pre-Madonna Guy Ritchie (Snatch) film, the juvenile delinquency and debauchery of a Larry Clark (Kids) film, the propulsive narration and bloody violence of a Martin Scorsese (Raging Bull) film and mix it with a cast of about 40 characters. What you get is City of God, a brilliant and vibrant film that pulsates with exhilarating action, thoughtful commentary and devastating power.
In the 1960s, the Brazilian government transported its impoverished citizens outside of Rio de Janeiro, a glamorous tourist magnet. This new place of residency was a distant housing project of shabby slums, ironically titled City of God. In this begotten neighborhood the police rarely emerge (except to occasionally pick dead people’s pockets) and crime has become rampant. A mixture of poverty and an overabundance of guns and testosterone have bred a culture of criminals where teenagers populate ruthless gangs.
Our story focuses on Rocket (Alexandre Rodrigues) narrating the rise, and many falls, of all the flashy thugs of the City of God and the ripples they create in the community. Hes a young boy who is too scrawny to be a hoodlum like his older brother Goose. His brother belongs to a gang known as the Tender Trio, who are used to hijacking propane tanks for small gain. They get the idea to knock off a brothel at the urging of Lil Dice, a younger kid with ambition and a heart like a stone. After the successful robbery Lil Dice cleans up after the Trio, sifting through the brothel killing everyone inside and laughing insidiously.
The murder spree has long lasting effects, with each member of the Tender Trio finding an untimely end. Lil Dice grows from calculating child into a big-time burgeoning cruel gangster, who now calls himself Lil Ze (Leandro Firmino De Hora Phellipe). Ze has climbed to the level of kingpin the most pragmatic way possible: systematically eliminating all of the competition. Ze attains reign over the city. He instructs others not to do anything to arouse the outside police (the locals are paid off), and thus has made the City of God a safe place for rich tourists to drive in and purchase their drugs. It seems that Ze ruling by fear has brought newfound safety and prosperity.
Rocket’s path is quite different. As he matures into a teenager he discovers a love of photography. His attempts at a life of crime are short-lived; he simply likes his victims too much to rob them. Ze has Rocket take pictures of his gang strutting their machismo that eventually gets published onto the front page of a newspaper. Rockets reaction is that he thinks his death certificate has been signed. Ze’s reaction is delight. Lil Ze’s great weakness is his self-believed sexual inadequacy. When turned down by a girl he seeks out her good-looking boyfriend, Knockout Ned (Seu Jorge), and humiliates him. He terrorizes Ned, raping his girlfriend in front of him and inspiring him to long bloodthirsty battles of vengeance against Ze that will engulf the City of God.
A complaint that could be levied against City of God is the numbing effect of its violence. The gangsters in this film aren’t the mustache-twirling types of Gangs of New York, but merely kids. This isn’t any kind of glamorized Hollywood gun battle. When these kids get hit their bodies go limp; they drop to the ground in weeping masses. The films message of the hereditary nature of barbarism is clear. One of the amazing parts of the film is that it was mainly filmed in the actual City of God and uses a cast almost entirely of non-actors.
City of God is a loud announcement to the world of the arrival of a fresh, invigorating and monumental talent with director Fernando Meirelles. The visual flair he utilizes to advance his storyline is amazing yet never falters into the land of gimmickry. The narrative folds in on itself time-wise (much like Tarantino films) yet rhythmically connects the numerous lives and history of the City of God in one lustrous and captivating tapestry of urban decay. A fantastic example is a scene that chronicles the entire history of one apartment and the origins of the entrance of drugs in one un-moving shot. Imagine the Natalie Imbruglia “Torn” video but with drugs and guns.
There is one sequence of crushing emotional power that has been burned into my memory. The sequence involves a bawling child, no older than seven, being forced to decide where he would rather be shot, in his foot or his tiny trembling hand as punishment for his mischief. The reality of City of God is a harrowing one. As you can clearly see, City of God is not for the weak. The movie has its definite squirm-worthy moments of discomfort and will not be a good choice if you and your date are looking for that perfect weekend movie. This is a difficult movie to sit through at times, and the reality can be grim and uncompromising, but City of God is rewarding in respect to the amazing narrative and visual accomplishments. This is an unforgettable film.
The film piles on the body count while at the same time advancing a pacifist message between the bursts of adrenaline and bullets. Meirelles’ film will leave your jaw dropped to the floor by its sprawling complexity. This is what great filmmaking is all about. City of God is one of those movies that once you’ve left the theater you excitedly claim, “Now thats why I see movies.” City of God is simply a cinematic masterpiece and not only the best film I’d seen in 2003 but also one of the best movies I’ve seen in my life.
Nate’s Grade: A+
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Tears of the Sun (2003)
Bruce Willis is an ARMY squad leader called in to rescue a doctor (the sultry Monica Belucci) at a missionary in Nigeria. The country is in great turmoil after very very evil rebels have assassinated the entire royal family. Oh, but the good and very hot doctor refuses to leave without Willis’ squad taking the refugees out of the missionary with them. He begrudgingly accepts and they as a group travel through the countryside of Nigeria, all the while the very rebels are not far behind.
The film takes a tonal shift when Willis’ men come to the choice of staying with the refugees and trying to save them all, or following their mission protocol and getting the hot doctor onto an ARMY helicopter and shipped out ASAP, with no regards to the refugees. The shift in morality isn’t as smooth as Three Kings but now the film tries to place an emphasis on the human scale of genocide (even though ALL of these refugees who have lived in squalor have sterling white teeth, go fig). The weight of the topic easily alludes what is little more than a by-the-numbers action film.
With action films there will always be gaps of logic. However, there was one monumentally glaring miscalculation of forward thinking that prevented me from getting into the film again (*Spoilers ahead, big angry spoilers*).
Okay, so African Rebels are chasing Willis and his team and the refugees. Got it. But then we find out later that one of the refugees is actually the, wait for it, heir to the throne of the country! All right, sounds hokey and more than a little culturally pretentious but I can follow. Hold on a second then. This heir to the country, who is obviously so important that people would risk their lives and safety for his own, why did these people not put him on the ARMY helicopters earlier that flew a handful of refugees out and to the safety of a U.S. air craft carrier. It makes no freaking sense whatsoever to have this golden opportunity that would 100% ensure the safety and longevity of THE HEIR TO THE KINGDOM and say, “Nah, you know what? Well catch the next ARMY helicopter guaranteeing safety to the man who would be king. Well sweat it out and have the rebels chase us, we could use the exercise anyway.” What has just happened to this movie?! After this, it was never the same for me; not that it was anything special to begin with.
Tears of the Sun is an action movie that attempts to be an action flick with a heart and a social conscious. There is a segment of the film where Willis and his cadre stumble onto ANOTHER batch of DIFFERENT but still very EVIL rebels assaulting a town, you know, rape and pillage and the like. Willis and company essentially save these people from the rebel tyranny but at this point the films core message has been well lodged into your gray matter: Africa needs the white man’s saving. More than a little arrogant and a tad racist, don’t you think? I mean not every country can wait patiently for Willis to liberate them.
Tears of the Sun does have some lovely examples of cinematography and some competent pieces of action here and there. In the end the film is an overblown and culturally insulting entry into the genre of people shooting and people falling down.
Nate’s Grade: C
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Daredevil (2003)
Not as bad as it could have been. That’s the best way to sum up Ben Affleck in tights.
Nate’s Grade: B-
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Better Luck Tomorrow (2002)
This film shows a fascinating side to the underbelly to suburban malaise. The story centers on a group of Asian-American friends that are social delinquents and petty criminals that can get away with it because theyre star students. Its an interesting dichotomy in Justin Lin’s directorial debut. The cast is strong and the pacing is brisk. The opening five minutes yanks you into this world and places you in the hands of a confidant voice. Familiar elements abound like unrequited love, jealousy, crashing lows, but Better Luck Tomorrow gives them a mildly fresh spin. The films familiar territory gets the better of it in a languid final act, but the ride is still an enjoyable and entertaining one at that.
Nate’s Grade: B
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About Schmidt (2002)
January at the theaters is a tale of two kinds of films. One type are the studio bombs (take Just Married and Darkness Falls, please take them far away). The other type are the prestige pictures expanding their releases in hopes of garnering some of that Oscar magic. A lot of prestige films were released around the holidays and though not every one could be a winner, they were all better than Kangaroo Jack. Well, except for The Hours.
About Schmidt (2002)
Premise: Retired and recently widowed, Warren Schmidt (Jack Nicholson) must learn to live his own life for the first time. Warren travels across the country to rediscover himself and stop his resentful daughter from marrying a man-child with a mullet.
Results: Nicholson downplays his usual shark grin to deliver one of his best performances in a funny, tragic, savage yet warm-hearted film. About Schmidt, from the creators of Election and Citizen Ruth, is one of the best films of 2002.
Nate’s Grade: A
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The Hours (2002)
Okay, after watching the Golden Globes award show and seeing The Hours crowned with the highest prize, and hearing incessantly about Nicole Kidman’s fake prosthetic nose in the movie, it was time to venture into that darkened theater and see how good the awards-friendly The Hours was. Little did I fully realize what I was getting myself into.
Nicole Kidman plays Virginia Woolf, who is in the midst of writing her novel Mrs. Dalloway, where she proposes to display a womans entire life through the events of a single day. Julianne Moore plays Laura Brown, a housewife in 1951 having difficulty adjusting to a domestic life that she feels ill equipped for. Meryl Streep plays Clarissa Vaughan, a gay copy-editor in 2001 planning a party for a poet and former lover (an emaciated Ed Harris), who is suffering from the late stages of AIDS. These three storylines will be juggled as the film progresses, with each womans life deeply changing before the end of the day.
The Hours is a meandering mess where the jigsaw pieces can be easily identified. The attempt at a resolution for an ending, tying the three storylines together, is handled very clumsily. The film spins on and on that you start to believe the title may be more appropriate than intended. What this movie needed was a rappin kangaroo, post haste! The film is wrought with victimization and screams ”Give me an award already!” Before you know it youre being bludgeoned to death with what is profoundly the most over serious Lifetime network movie ever assembled. And there’s nothing fundamentally wrong with Lifetime movies but The Hours does not share the sensibilities of its TV brethren.
Kidman, nose and all, gives a strong performance displaying the torture and frailty of a writer trapped within her own mind but too often relies on wistful staring or icy glares. Moore is effectively demoralized but cannot resonate with such a shallow character. Streep is the least effective of the three and fizzles among an over-stuffed assembly of characters.
The supporting cast is unjustly left for dead. The characters are seen as parody (Toni Collette as Moore’s un-liberated homemaker neighbor), extraneous (Claire Danes as Streep’s daughter, Allison Janney as Streep’s lover, Jeff Daniels as Harris ex-lover, you know what, almost anyone in the Streep storyline), one-note (the workmanlike John C. Reilly who plays yet another doting and demystified husband) or merely obnoxious (Moore’s brat child that refuses to separate from her). It appears The Hours is the three lead actress game, and everyone else is not invited to play along.
Stephen Daldry’s direction shows surprising stability and instinct after his art-house pandering Billy Elliot showed little. The technical aspects of The Hours are quite competent, especially the sharp editing and musical score, which just points out further how slickly hollow and manufactured the film is.
The Hours is an over-glossed, morose film that is too self-important for its own good. It sucks the life out of everything. And for all its doom and gloom and tsunami of tears, the only insightful thing The Hours is trying to pass off onto the public is that women are more depressed than you think.
Nate’s Grade: C
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Narc (2002)
Stop me if you’ve heard this before. A hard-nosed and diligent cop (Jason Patrick) gets taken off the force after in accident while serving in the field. The bureau brings him back in the help of solving a case collecting cobwebs, the death of an officer undercover. This cop gets teamed up with a hothead (Ray Liotta) who doesn’t play by all the rules who becomes increasingly more suspicious that said hothead breaks more rules than enforces. Oh, and diligent cops neglected wife and child incessantly worry over his well being as he becomes consumed by the work. Whats that, you want me to stop? Well okay then.
So what do we get with Narc? Well, Ray Liotta yells. A lot. He’ll huff and puff until smoke blows out his ears and veins jump from his neck. Liotta eats scenery uncontrollably like Marlon Brando left alone at the Cheesecake Factory.
Narc attempts to tell a gritty police drama in the same manner of The French Connection but, instead, turns into every other gritty cop movie. The twists (I use this word lightly because every turn is easily telegraphed) do nothing to liven up this rote rogue copper flick. Let’s face it, every cop drama is plot driven, even the classics like L.A. Confidential and The French Connection. So if you don’t have a good story then theres no gas in this car. And Narc barely runs on fumes.
Writer/director Joe Carnahan tries to play window dressing with some superfluous camera tricks in an attempt to jazz up the proceedings. The opening handheld chase scene could give the makers of The Blair Witch Project motion sickness. The editing can at times simulate an annoying fly buzzing around your ear. The result of these tricks is like covering a turd with chocolate and selling it to the masses.
Narc won’t quicken any pulses or knock any socks out of their vicinity. So what will you get? Well Ray Liotta yelling at you, which, surprisingly, could lead to audience narc-olepsy. Even that horrible pun is better than watching the film. I think that says it all.
Nate’s Grade: C
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Talk to Her (2002)
Before one can assess Talk to Her, the new Spanish import from famed writer/director Pedro Almodovar, one must come to grips with what they have seen. It’s not every film you see that has a giant vagina. Yes, you read correctly dear reader, a gigantic yet scalable recreation of the most sensitive part of the female anatomy. Was there also a giant penis you might reasonably ask? No, but there was an incredible shrinking man that burrowed into the enormous vagina and lived the rest of his days with the labia and clitoris as his next-door neighbors. And what may be even more surreal is that all of this, thematically and metaphorically upon retrospect, makes absolute sense.
So maybe this opening salacious salvo was a bit hyperbolic, but describing Almodovar’s unusual meditation on life, love and death can prove quite ponderous. To explain the story of Talk to Her is to miss its complexity and richness. This is a film destined to spark conversation afterwards.
Almodovar’s colorful melodrama centers on two sets of relationships. Benigno (Javier Camara) is the most attentive boyfriend a woman could have. He talks to former ballerina Alicia (Leonor Watling), washes her hair and makes sure she gets plenty of exercise and attention. Oh yeah, Alicia has also been in a coma for four years. Benigno carries on like he was involved in a normal relationship, except the woman of his heart cannot return a single glance.
Marco (Dario Grandinetti) is recovering from a former relationship when he falls completely in love with Lydia (Rosario Flores), a female bullfighter. She is having trouble competing in a very male dominated “sport” (I don’t really consider stabbing animals a sport per se). At the start of a bullfight Lydia is horribly gored and dragged around the arena like a rag doll. The results leave Lydia lying in a coma with no hope of ever waking up. It is at the hospital where Marco meets Benigno, who is one of the most helpful nurses. He helps Marco overcome his grief over his fallen love. Benigno shows that unresponsiveness and death cannot deter a man’s love. The two men bond and become very close; however, dark clouds are on the horizon, as Benigno’s fantasy cannot last much longer.
Almodovar has routinely enjoyed tweaking the establishment, especially gender roles and religion (there’s a few tacky priest molestation jokes), but with Talk to Her he attempts to forge serious drama through odd circumstances (ballerinas, bullfighters, giant vaginas, oh my!) and all without the use of irony. The result is a quietly affecting film that burrows its way inside you, much like the shrinking man burrows into … well, you remember.
The movie is darkly comic in its portrayal of Benigno’s delusional relationship, and yet Talk to Her is also a celebration of love and friendship. The affection that is shown is perplexing but also transfixing with the ability to love someone who is mentally not even there. The film questions the compensations we make for love. Some people pretend that their mate is a different person and glaze over character flaws. Could it not be possible then that someone would compensate for an entire person?
Almodovar has created a very female-centric film despite our female leads spending the majority of their screen time lying perfectly still. Talk to Her is an engrossing and intriguing character-driven story. It may start out like a sick joke but the layers of humanity Almodovar effortlessly injects into his story create the most bizarrely touching movie of 2002.
Nate’s Grade: A
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