2001 Reviews
11/28/01
SPY GAME is a gamy little movie, in all of its usual definitions: it's a little bit plucky, a little bit racy, but with more than a little bit of the strong stench of tainted meat. Its pluckiness comes from trying to take a tainted and undercooked "fight the system and save the maverick movie-hero from the foreign bad guys and the CIA bureaucrats who would sacrifice him for the dubious good of the service plot." The raciness comes from the anything but subtle homosexual attraction between the aging CIA agent played by a neat and prissy Robert Redford and the aggressively handsome and ballsy young stud played by Brad Pitt that Redford slyly seduces, recruits, initiates and mentors into the underground lifestyle of covert operations, shirtless adventures and shared intimacies.
The old dude and the young stud succeed amiably in upsetting, for a few years, the stodgy status quo of the straight squares in The Agency; but their relationship falls apart when Brad falls for a rather mannish Catherine McCormack and a miffed Redford feels disposed to dispose of the competition by arranging her capture by a viciously malevolent Chinese enemy. Brad is then forced to decide which way to swing as the dual road is no longer available to him. He makes a clumsy and brash attempt to save the girl that lands them both in the Chinese soup with but twenty-fours to stew before their goose is fully cooked by the stoked up firing squad.
Though the movie seems to play out in 24:00 hours of real time, I did stay awake long enough to see that Redford did the right and noble and generous thing by foreclosing on his own retirement property in the Bahamas in order to pay for the release of the young lovers. There is no final clinch, however, as we see in Brad's eyes the haunting question of where he really belongs.
Director John McTiernan also handles this same theme in his romantic adventure, THE HUNT FOR RED OCTOBER, wherein the bearded and rugged Russian submarine captain played by Sean Connery offers to turn over his atomic-powered vessel to the American Government if the pretty and epicene Alec Baldwin is willing to join him in the transaction. Needless to say, they, like Redford and Pitt, prevail mightily against all the crude bullies and bureaucrats who stand in their way, and end the film in intimate conversation on a moonlit, starry night while drifting through calm waters in the conning tower of the now-surrendered sub. Just as they promise to meet again when all the unpleasantness of the cold war is over, I am sure that Bob and Brad will also be reunited in that haven of Hollywood heroes that dare not speak its name.
7/19/01
I'd seen enough bad movies this month I thought I could handle MOULIN ROUGE. And then--Voila! It's a good movie. It is big, wild, rambunctious, audacious, bawdacious, eclectic, energizing and entertaining. I well know--as some critics have aptly pointed out--that Moulin Rouge is far from what a well-made movie should be. But I say, Let Moulin Rouge be Moulin Rouge.
8/10/01
John Cameron Mitchell titles his creation HEDWIG AND THE ANGRY INCH, prompting a professional friend of mine named Vanecia to award it 3 ½inches and a shrug on her personal rating scale. But then she always likes to say that the only place where size matters to her is in the bankroll, not the bedroll. I think Vanecia liked the movie more than I did. I think it should be called Hedwig is an Angry Wimp. I found it a tedious, strident, teutonic cry for love and acceptance with Mitchell playing both Siegfried und Brunhilda as a rock opera hermaphodite. But Hedwig is so in love with himself that the other objects of his affection can't handle the competition and always leave him whining. It is said to be pointless to compare a film adaptation to its original production but since I have already seen the stage version it can't be helped. Knowing Vanecia as I do, I think she would have given it up to 8 inches on her rating scale, and, with such a disparity, comparisons cannot be avoided.
HEDWIG on stage was darn good theater. The staging, the music, lyrics, choreography and Hedwig's autobiographical narrative, diatribes and seeming ad-libs combined to create an energy in the audience. Not only entertained, the theater-goer was treated to shock, surprise and a sort of roller coaster sense of danger. None of which came through in the movie which, no matter how chock full of performance energy it is, generates none of it in the audience. I think we were all pretty placid and flaccid throughout.
HEDWIG contains a lot of sound and fury, but it is played at us, not to us, much like the Hedwig Band treats their cartoonish, strip-mall restaurant chain audiences in the film.
The new MOULIN ROUGE seems to be getting the cold shoulder from a lot of critics, but when I screened it in a large theater with a small afternoon audience the other day there was a lot of enthusiastic handclapping popping up throughout. On stage, HEDWIG AND THE ANGRY INCH enjoyed great audience enthusiasm and response. Sitting in the backrow of a West Hollywood ( you know, the Gay City, South) movie theater, I couldn't tell if that audience was even awake. Or breathing. Well, as Einstein said, (that's Vanecia Einstein) everything is relative and maybe a 3 ½ inch movie is as satisfying as an 8 inchstage show. Chacun à son gout.
SPY GAME is a gamy little movie, in all of its usual definitions: it's a little bit plucky, a little bit racy, but with more than a little bit of the strong stench of tainted meat. Its pluckiness comes from trying to take a tainted and undercooked "fight the system and save the maverick movie-hero from the foreign bad guys and the CIA bureaucrats who would sacrifice him for the dubious good of the service plot." The raciness comes from the anything but subtle homosexual attraction between the aging CIA agent played by a neat and prissy Robert Redford and the aggressively handsome and ballsy young stud played by Brad Pitt that Redford slyly seduces, recruits, initiates and mentors into the underground lifestyle of covert operations, shirtless adventures and shared intimacies.
The old dude and the young stud succeed amiably in upsetting, for a few years, the stodgy status quo of the straight squares in The Agency; but their relationship falls apart when Brad falls for a rather mannish Catherine McCormack and a miffed Redford feels disposed to dispose of the competition by arranging her capture by a viciously malevolent Chinese enemy. Brad is then forced to decide which way to swing as the dual road is no longer available to him. He makes a clumsy and brash attempt to save the girl that lands them both in the Chinese soup with but twenty-fours to stew before their goose is fully cooked by the stoked up firing squad.
Though the movie seems to play out in 24:00 hours of real time, I did stay awake long enough to see that Redford did the right and noble and generous thing by foreclosing on his own retirement property in the Bahamas in order to pay for the release of the young lovers. There is no final clinch, however, as we see in Brad's eyes the haunting question of where he really belongs.
Director John McTiernan also handles this same theme in his romantic adventure, THE HUNT FOR RED OCTOBER, wherein the bearded and rugged Russian submarine captain played by Sean Connery offers to turn over his atomic-powered vessel to the American Government if the pretty and epicene Alec Baldwin is willing to join him in the transaction. Needless to say, they, like Redford and Pitt, prevail mightily against all the crude bullies and bureaucrats who stand in their way, and end the film in intimate conversation on a moonlit, starry night while drifting through calm waters in the conning tower of the now-surrendered sub. Just as they promise to meet again when all the unpleasantness of the cold war is over, I am sure that Bob and Brad will also be reunited in that haven of Hollywood heroes that dare not speak its name.
7/19/01
I'd seen enough bad movies this month I thought I could handle MOULIN ROUGE. And then--Voila! It's a good movie. It is big, wild, rambunctious, audacious, bawdacious, eclectic, energizing and entertaining. I well know--as some critics have aptly pointed out--that Moulin Rouge is far from what a well-made movie should be. But I say, Let Moulin Rouge be Moulin Rouge.
8/10/01
John Cameron Mitchell titles his creation HEDWIG AND THE ANGRY INCH, prompting a professional friend of mine named Vanecia to award it 3 ½inches and a shrug on her personal rating scale. But then she always likes to say that the only place where size matters to her is in the bankroll, not the bedroll. I think Vanecia liked the movie more than I did. I think it should be called Hedwig is an Angry Wimp. I found it a tedious, strident, teutonic cry for love and acceptance with Mitchell playing both Siegfried und Brunhilda as a rock opera hermaphodite. But Hedwig is so in love with himself that the other objects of his affection can't handle the competition and always leave him whining. It is said to be pointless to compare a film adaptation to its original production but since I have already seen the stage version it can't be helped. Knowing Vanecia as I do, I think she would have given it up to 8 inches on her rating scale, and, with such a disparity, comparisons cannot be avoided.
HEDWIG on stage was darn good theater. The staging, the music, lyrics, choreography and Hedwig's autobiographical narrative, diatribes and seeming ad-libs combined to create an energy in the audience. Not only entertained, the theater-goer was treated to shock, surprise and a sort of roller coaster sense of danger. None of which came through in the movie which, no matter how chock full of performance energy it is, generates none of it in the audience. I think we were all pretty placid and flaccid throughout.
HEDWIG contains a lot of sound and fury, but it is played at us, not to us, much like the Hedwig Band treats their cartoonish, strip-mall restaurant chain audiences in the film.
The new MOULIN ROUGE seems to be getting the cold shoulder from a lot of critics, but when I screened it in a large theater with a small afternoon audience the other day there was a lot of enthusiastic handclapping popping up throughout. On stage, HEDWIG AND THE ANGRY INCH enjoyed great audience enthusiasm and response. Sitting in the backrow of a West Hollywood ( you know, the Gay City, South) movie theater, I couldn't tell if that audience was even awake. Or breathing. Well, as Einstein said, (that's Vanecia Einstein) everything is relative and maybe a 3 ½ inch movie is as satisfying as an 8 inchstage show. Chacun à son gout.
posted by BJMe at 10:02 AM
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