Reviews

Prepare to get serious, very, very serious. Viggo Mortensen plays an average guy with an average family... Well they're fantastic looking but nothing's extraordinary about their personal lives: residing in a small town dream house and running a local diner, life's as easy as it's simple. Until two vicious thugs rob the place and Viggo displays too much tactical know-how in taking them out single handed, becoming a media hero and bringing attention to… well there's the plot of this searing, melodramatic tale of a man who might not be what he appears.

Maria Bello, as his beautiful wife, remains in a blissful, dazed denial about her husband's true identity, until bigger fish Ed Harris and his formidable goons move in to take Viggo out since he was once, in their opinion, a successful hit man. After all, how could an average Joe be that good with a gun? While EASTERN PROMISES director David Cronenberg sets a nice platform of slowburn suspense, reminiscent of exterior, woodsy Film Noirs like HIGH SIERRA, the good stuff i.e. our hero becoming an antihero takes too long to get happen and once it does… with the 11th hour introduction of a mob boss played by a completely miscast William Hurt… it's too little, too late. Although Viggo Mortensen, displaying an old school tough guy countenance (think early 70's Charles Bronson) does play the part well – there's simply not enough for his true self to fight for, or against.

Based on a graphic novel, this needed to be more... enjoyably violent. But the main problem is the script, so full of ponderous clichés and drawn-out, uninteresting bouts of dialog with brooding characters talking and talking about things almost happening, or just about to happen, yet nothing really ever does.

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Three teenage boys, after discovering a mysterious hole in the ground, acquire telekinetic powers. The main character, Andrew, the nerdiest of the group with a dying mother and abusive dad, is determined – even before the transformation – to film everything on his home video camera.

The best scenes involve the trio first discovering their skills by lifting smaller objects around, performing miraculous tricks at the school's talent show, and eventually maneuvering vehicles: think if Sissy Spacek's CARRIE directed JACKASS.

The reactions of the wizardly teens, playing God with the unaware dolts around them, is infectious – you'll wonder what they'll think of next. But when things kick up a few notches, and they begin flying around like teenage superheroes, it resembles a computerized mainstream motion picture, losing the spontaneous edge of the "chronicling camera" device.

Here's where the characters get lost in the mix: especially after Andrew becomes a formidable villain that can't be stopped, resulting in an air battle you'd see in a video game. But as entertainment goes, this does entertain. It's too bad the film, like the characters therein, eventually takes its powers, and itself, way too far and far too seriously.

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In the spirit of the HAMMER FILMS of yesteryear, here's an old-school horror with a familiar premise: a handsome young lawyer's sent to a dark town that harbors secrets and winds up being stalked by an ominous presence. Using the implied method of building suspense, and never clearly showing the antagonist, does have its merits: except when there's more work than payoff.

Daniel Radcliffe embodies the right amount of clean-slate expressions for the story's gloomy pawn, narrowly searching through the main setting – a haunted house where the ghost of a shrouded woman resides. But save for loud music erupting whenever the titular wraith peaks her head around a corner, or sulks through the mist-laden exterior, his curiosity... the basis of any horror tale... seems in vain.

So by the time he attempts resolution for the menacing ghost, learning the motivations of her vengeful purpose to remain an active trickster in the doomed little villa, the audience is hoping for all those cheap, fun, and most important, scary thrills that are never realized.

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If one Jean-Claude Van Damme was never enough, here's the movie for you: a decent action melodrama beginning with two infants separated during a bloody shootout in Hong Kong… Their father did a favor for a mobster who didn't need his services any longer. Thanks to Geoffrey Lewis as a bodyguard turned "uncle" who saves one of the brothers, winding up a pretty boy karate instructor to rich women in Los Angeles.

But he's drawn back to cutthroat Hong Kong where he meets his shady twin, an arms dealer who couldn't be more different. Together, along with Geoffrey Lewis and of course a beautiful love interest, they take on the mob boss who killed their parents, and even with two Dammes, it won't be easy.

The best scenes involve the milquetoast brother getting tougher through various fights, especially with the iconic ENTER THE DRAGON bulky tough guy Bolo Yeung (fitfully scarred-up from the opening scene, making him even more intimidating). But the crooked brother, who had so much promise as a rogue maverick in the beginning, becomes but a jealous whiner as his put-upon lady starts preferring Abel to Cain.

It's a movie that doesn't take itself too seriously, and there's an abundance of insert/close-ups that lead one to believe the budget wasn't too high. But the characters are interesting enough to care about and it's the fights that matter, occurring enough to appease hardcore karate buffs.

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The opening scene, as intrepid rescue worker Sylvester Stallone attempts saving a woman hanging onto a cable connected from a really high mountaintop to a helicopter, sets a nice stage to one of the better (or perhaps the only decent) Sly action flicks during the 1990s.

Cut to a group of T-MEN embarking on a plane trip to move three suitcases of money, and wouldn't you know: they just happen to crash on the same mountain where Stallone had worked before quitting and, eight months later, returning for his woman. But she's content with the same job as a rescuer who, along with Michael Rooker, Ralph Waite and a reluctant Stallone, is thrust into "saving" the plane-wrecked villains led by a really nasty John Lithgow, who really wants the money residing in various locations throughout the storm-ridden mountaintops. And it's up to Stallone and Rooker to recover it, or else.

Stallone makes for a worthy action hero, which is no surprise, but since you can tell he's doing most of his own stunts in genuinely dangerous settings, his physicality, along with Renny Harlin's weaving camera, makes for a star-director collaboration that, although loaded with corny dialog, is a fun ride. With every scene there's another goon to thwart (including Rex Linn in a great performance) and a new peak to climb.

Janine Turner is more than eye-candy as Stallone's independently daring girlfriend, while John Lithgow not only chews the scenery but blows bubbles with it. And that's okay – because even the silly stuff works.

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For a mainstream 1970's flick, SKATEBOARD sticks firmly to the exploitation style of spontaneous direction, freestyle dialog, and capricious plot line. And although billed as a Leif Garret vehicle, the bulk belongs to character-actor Allen Garfield as a tubby, struggling talent agent who owes big bucks to a dangerous bookie so, after discovering a group of wayward teenage skateboarders, Manny starts a hopeful team that travels in a decapitated bus doing borderline minstrel shows disguised as freestyle competitions.

While Garrett meanders in the background as one of the younger skaters, too shy to really take chances, the true hotshots are real life rollers Richard Van der Wyk, Tony Alva and Ellen O'Neal. And while the trio skate better than act, there's something genuine in the deadpan deliveries: after all, it's their territory more than Garfield who, with a constantly frantic bicker, seems more part of a low-rent gangster flick than skateboarding propaganda: which this needed more action shots of.

But Manny's a likable antihero, especially after Kathleen Lloyd joins the ranks as the chaperon/nurse. Although scenes where Manny attempts talking ingénue Pam Kenneally from sleeping with Van der Wyk seem a bit creepy, he eventually becomes the endearing sloppy uncle as the team climbs to the final competition where – after the star skater drops out – it's up to underdog Garrett to win a do-or-die downhill race, providing more suspense in the buildup than the real thing.

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Glenn Close, resembling an aged/stiff Peter Pan mixed with Levon Helm (Sissy Spacek's father) in COAL MINER'S DAUGHTER, has some good scenes: especially when reflecting on a childhood experience which led to… for means of employment but, as we eventually realize, deeper reasons… becoming a man who works in a 19th century England Hotel.

But most of the time she's got the countenance of a frightened deer, and seems too old for the part. And Mia Wasikowska as Helen, the gorgeous hotel maid that Albert loves, is too young – making the age difference feel odd to not only the audience, but Helen as well.

Perhaps this is intentional: Albert's yearning to find her, or rather, his place in the world – and dreams of owning a Tobacco Store – seem as far-fetched as landing Helen as a future wife, who's in love with a brash young drifter displaying all the negative aspects of the male species: including charm!

But the best character, and the glue to the entire picture, is Janet McTeer as "Mr. Moore," a confident freelance painter whose secret mirrors Albert's. The scenes where both discover their true identity (to each other) are more surprising to the characters than the audience, since they really don't look like men: but the acting, especially one hilarious scene as both go for an awkward stroll dressed like elegant women, makes it all seem genuine.

And the biggest achievement is turning one contained setting – the posh Hotel – into a world of its own: giving each player their own importance therein.

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Never has a cast of characters so deserved to suffer – they're just begging for it. That being a rowdy group of oil drilling roughnecks in Alaska, and one man, played by a brooding Liam Neeson, hired to keep wolves off the premises who, after a plane crash, are all left vulnerable to a surrounding pack: yellow eyes glowing in the dark like a cartoon and growls more befitting the MGM lion.

The camera shakes around so much the fanged antagonists are practically unseen, and thus, not very frightening. It's basically a wraithlike feeding frenzy of shouting, screaming, and kicking to stay alive. But something happens when the count dwindles to four survivors – a few of the performances stand out beyond Neeson's maverick: especially Frank Grillo as an existential badass who can't admit he's scared to death.

But even the well-acted campfire scenes, as the men expose their soft side in the face of doom, drag so long you'll forget what the movie's about. Till the growling sustains and the group ventures further towards… where exactly? Since no one had much of a life to begin with, it's hard to imagine, or care about, anyone surviving.

But the main problem is the nerve-wracking direction that, with the jangly, documentary style camera-work, does successfully put you into the situation – only it's not a place you'll want to be for very long. (For a much better film with practically the same premise, rent THE EDGE, where the characters go through hell, not the audience.)

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A year after Steven Soderbergh directed a searing drama about people dropping dead from a horrible virus, someone must have told him to take a vacation – and here it is: a bombastic "paid holiday" for rogue government agent Mallory, both the hunted and the hunter while various co-agents, including Michael Fassbender and Channing Tatum, attempt punching her lights out.

Nice try, fellas.

In the lead role, Gina Carano, delivering lines in a constant monotone and not always adding the right amount of glib charm essential for endearing action/espionage stars, does kick ass with genuine style and velocity.

A retro soundtrack, as if Quentin Tarantino wound up directing a James Bond film, keeps the pace steady and lean. And while Soderbuergh rolls the camera a bit too long during scenes where Mallory ambles from one dangerous setting to the next, it's somewhat reminiscent of flicks like BULLITT where downtime serves a necessary platform for each action sequence: which are plentiful.

And on the peripheral... Bill Paxton as her novelist father, Antonio Banderas as a cautious connection, and Michael Douglas as the Washington D.C. insider provide essential yet filler cameos, but it's Ewan McGregor's slick operative who really matters – till our wraith-like antiheroine, a character deserving of more adventures, moves in.

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If Gus Van Sant directed Cameron Crowe's SINGLES, you'd have BEGINNERS, or pieces of it: like whenever Ewan McGregor, as a brooding thirty-eight year old single artist whose dying father comes out of the closet, contemplates life: making up most of the screen time with an intoxicating art-house rhythm and a bouquet of devises (other than narration) to tell what the main character's feeling… using photographs, graffiti, or a Jack Russell Terrier's subtitles… but the ponderous navel-gazing gets tiresome.

And while Christopher Plummer turns in a good performance as the dying man embracing his new lifestyle, and Ewan McGregor maintains a dependable subtlety taking on a new life of his own… consisting of a relationship with an artsy French girl more troubled than he is… they're not interesting enough characters to make up for a nonexistent plot, which, being so obviously intentional, makes sense in its own unique fashion. Although the characters are too ponderously dressed up to be genuinely fleshed out, making for a visual pleasing yet ultimately vacant experience. But as vacant experiences go...

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Anyone familiar with the George Lucas Productions of the past fifteen years won't be surprised the special effects exceed the storyline – although the story itself is a great one because it's true: centering on The Tuskegee Airmen, a unit of African American pilots given a chance to fly missions during the Second World War.

But there's no real plot (or plots) within the important history lesson, only one-dimensional characters that, while understandably motivated to overcome racism and prove their worth as pilots, hang around the barracks either complaining about the initially peripheral missions or spouting banter straight from a sitcom, and not a funny one.

Two characters work together the best: Nate Parker as "Easy," the insecure squad leader constantly attempting restraint on the maverick hotshot pilot "Lightning" who, when not part of a superfluous romance with a local Italian villager/supermodel, takes way too many chances in the sky where the film truly belongs, unhindered by wasted side-characters and a quickie subplot involving a German Gulag.

And while the dialog remains cheesy and cartoonish during the dogfights, each battle, replete with C.G.I. but still looking quite real, provides a new challenge for the men – it's just too bad we don't get to know them better on the ground to make their achievements really matter.

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Although two New York hit men, Henry Silva and Woody Strode, supposedly templates of Quentin Tarantino's Jules and Vincent PULP FICTION thugs, are far better villains than local Mario Adorf is a antihero, this Italian mobsploitation juggles each character decently enough... and everything narrows down to one thing only: Adorf, as small time pimp Luca Canali, is – if Silva and Strode can help it – a dead man.

The endearing traits of imported crime movies are here in droves: the wah-wah peddle guitar vibrates through the bursting horn section orchestrating insert-heavy action scenes, naked ladies, and a pivotal car chase as Canali, with a fierce boar-like countenance, seeks the thug who killed his family.

More attention on Silva, a sly womanizing braggart, and Strode, the brooding baseline, would have been nice – they're far too cool to serve as an eventual backdrop to Canali's quest to survive and then seek answers. That is, until the incredible climactic shootout between all three within a junkyard.

Tarantino swears by this one, and who's to argue?

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Give us an antihero that's gonna break the law for a substantial reason and not only can anything happen, but the audience will embrace it with open arms. But prepare to sustain disbelief through this action/suspense yarn involving a freshly retired contraband smuggler who, because of his brother-in-law's involvement in the same trade but with unlucky results, returns to his old life to straighten things out.

It's a piece of cake… with exploding candles… as Mark Walhberg goes from ship to land back to ship: dodging bullets, tricking drug dealers, and getting smashed up… after which the real fun begins. Old school melodrama envelopes the b-story as his wife and two children, vulnerably at odds with grimy, over the top mobster Giovanni Ribisi – but the suspense relies on how the ex smuggler can figure to sneak stuff through without being caught, and most importantly, to save his family as the goons move in.

Wahlberg carries the movie with more cool than edge, and even when the story gets mazy and convoluted, he's a genuine enough protagonist to make everything seem precisely clear: exactly when it needs to be.

And welcome back veteran actor William Lucking to a big budget movie, looking perfectly gruff as Walhberg's imprisoned father.

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During a montage where Margaret Thatcher's rising in the polls and is, for her party at least, on top of her political game, an aggressive punk rock tune blasts over the scene – and it's against Margaret Thatcher. There you have the underlying tone of this biopic weaving back and forth from an aged Thatcher, hallucinating her dead husband and trying to recall pieces from a jigsaw puzzle life, to the young climber growing up poor, asserting herself as a lone woman amongst the barking men of Parliament, and eventually becoming Prime Minister of England.

But we never get to know who she was, what she did, or why she did it; unless you count sporadic jump cuts of mobs protesting against her, which, like that punk song, provides a subliminal cue card to remind the audience how and what to feel, but never why.

Now the question: How was Meryl Streep's performance? Well the iconic actress, donning surprisingly realistic Aged makeup, does a fine job as the older Thatcher struggling to hold her mind together – but it's impossible to judge her as the historical figure since another actress played the assertive young woman who fought for that place where, by the time Streep takes over, is lost in a jumbled collection of newsreels and pointless monologues... always returning to the old lady suffering the beginning stages of dementia, who, like the film itself, is never quite sure what's going on.

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Those long gone and sorely missed ABC Weekend Specials, the introduction with the animated wizard conjuring butterflies flying from an open book, snared the attention of many youngsters who, at a certain point on Saturday Morning, wanted something beyond cartoons i.e. real humans and real stories but not without a touch of whim and fantasy: Like in this creative two-part episode about a spectacle-wearing kid, Zack, visiting his Aunt's (played by Jane Withers) dilapidated magic factory that, while shabby on the outside, harbors a score of neat tricks by two talented magicians within.

REPO MAN ingénue Olivia Barash, then a child actress who appeared in TV shows ranging from THE INCREDIBLE HULK to LITTLE HOUSE ON THE PRAIRIE, is a magician's daughter that joins Zack in trying to rescue the building from a geeky yet sinister tax attorney, who, with the aid of a bitter custodian, tries closing it down for good.

Zack, despite being bullied at school, plans a big magic show in the school auditorium, and with Olivia as his assistant they have but one shot at saving the beloved old factory.

A pretty good storyline and likable characters will keep you interested in the turnout, and best of all, there's a lotta cool magic tricks.

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In my podcast interview with actress Gloria Hendry, who co-starred in classic Blaxploitation films BLACK BELT JONES, BLACK CAESAR, HELL UP IN HARLEM, ACROSS 110th STREET, and SLAUGHTER'S BIG RIPOFF, she said the demise of that particular genre, immensely popular in the early seventies and putting talented African American actors and actresses to work, had to do with groups that felt Blaxplotation films catered to, and lionized, clichéd stereotypes of the black community.

Well here, thirty years later, a movie pokes fun at these traits more than celebrates them. Blaxploitations were low-budget movies that wielded quick zooms and shaky-camera techniques, funky music and piles of melodrama, and not a second goes by in BLACK DYNAMITE that we're reminded of these particularities: the actors go overboard on purpose, as does the music while the camera struggles to zero in on the action or characters.

Musclebound hero Michael Jai White looks great in the role, and there are times, especially during the karate scenes as he takes down every goon in his path… seeking the bad guys who killed his little brother in a drug deal… that it could have easily turned into a genuine action film instead of grasping too tight on the parody template.

What the audience, and especially the underrated White, truly deserved was what Quentin Tarantino provided with JACKIE BROWN: a loving homage to the works of groundbreaking directors like Jack Hill and Larry Cohen… and blaxpl-icons like Pam Grier, Fred Williamson, Jim Kelly and Jim Brown… instead of an overlong comedy skit that tries too hard for laughs, forgetting what those movies were really about: great actors, great music, great action, and creative story lines.

The bottom line is: BLACK DYNAMITE is a movie that doesn't have a real identity... It's not funny enough to be an AIRPLANE! or NAKED GUN, and not interesting enough to be a TRUCK TURNER or... you name it.

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Here's a far-fetched premise remarkably based on a true story which includes a good cast, great tunes (including Bob Dylan), and loads of the usual sunny optimism ala director Cameron Crowe to make even the biggest flaws not matter.

Matt Damon, six months after losing his wife, takes his two children – a sweet little girl and a brooding teenage boy – to find a new house in a new town. Turns out their dream home is on the property of... a zoo! Most of the film deals with the restoration and coping with the sporadic obstacles including an uptight inspector who could shut everything down; an aged sick tiger; a dangerous bear; and worst of all, dwindling funds.

Scarlett Johansson is a nice distraction, serving more than the obvious love-interest; as chief of operations and the only real expert on board, she's the one character who keeps it all moving. It's fun seeing the zoo morph from a shamble to the real thing, but overlong scenes dealing with the teenage son – too deep and honest to be realistic – ruins the overall flow... As do moments when the little girl tries way too hard to win the cutie pie of the year award.

But with all the people and animals on board, it's really Damon's solo venture: In dealing with the memory of his wife while battling constant snags that could keep his dreams from coming true, he's a down-home protagonist to not only care about, but root for.

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In 1979's THE BLACK STALLION, it took only the first glance by a kid and a horse to build a connection that would carry through the entire film. That kind of emotional synergy is not only lacking in this old school epic directed by Steven Spielberg, but is practically nonexistent.

We begin with a horse that, after being auctioned and sold to a poor farmer who spent more than it's worth, is tamed by his son to plow the fields: even though it's not built for this kind of work. Spielberg spends too much attention on the dusky skyline, the searing soundtrack, and the gorgeous scenery that the characters seem like props in the background.

When World War I breaks out, the horse is sold – along with a black horse that seems its counterpart – and we're handed off to a new owner: a young British soldier equally entranced as the father and son. The battles scenes are filmed wonderfully, the camera rolling with the action as bombs blast like they're right behind us – but once again, the characters get lost in the visual spectacle.

But it's when the horses find harbor in a small French farm, hidden by a wise old man (Niels Arestrup) and his beautiful granddaughter (Celine Buckens), that the only real connection occurs. In one suspenseful scene, the girl hides the mares as German officers arrive to take what they need, and we finally have a human story.

Meanwhile, the farmer's son, and supposedly the main protagonist, is thrown back into the movie as a soldier in the front lines… And although his battle scenes are somewhat intense, where's the plot we paid for? If this were about the young girl and the creature she risked her life to protect, it would have been a much better, more meaningful film.

Yet the main problem is the horse itself – although being an extremely talented "actor," as a character with so many captivated owners, the relationship with its original family means very little by the end.

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During the first part, as we learn the ins and outs of a 1970s and '80s Las Vegas casino… taking us so close to the mechanics of the operation we feel part of the roulette table or the dice rolling across... is intentionally created in the same fashion director Martin Scorsese showed us the mob's operation in GOODFELLAS.

But then something happens, or stops happening, or both.

The main character, Sam "Ace" Rothstein, played by Robert DeNiro, is a man of mind, not action. He's to gambling what Scorsese is to directing… a natural… and the casino itself becomes an absorbing character: we feel pulse of the tables and machines, and the men behind the scenes, keeping the moneymaking beast alive while protecting her from cheaters, con artists, and crooked politicians.

Enter Joe Pesci as Nicky, Rothstein's childhood friend: the muscle who's cocky, dangerous, and ultimately undependable. And the flavor of the month, Sharon Stone, as Sam's trophy girlfriend turned wife, Ginger, who becomes the wormed apple of his eye – and soon, for a man who seemed infallible, nothing matters but trusting a woman who repeatedly warned him not to. The movie hits a wall with the escalating relationship between Sam and Ginger, but it was faltering beforehand – DeNiro, Pesci, and some of the other shady characters, although colorful and formidable, aren't very interesting nor are they people to care about – unlike GOODFELLAS, RAGING BULL, or TAXI DRIVER, they all seem more written than real.

And the duel-narration, beautifully wielded in GOODFELLAS between Ray Liotta and Lorraine Bracco, works and it doesn't: DeNiro's metronomic account of the proceedings is fine in the beginning, giving us a firsthand account of how the casino runs from the inside, it becomes a rambling safety net for the lack of a streamlined plot: especially when his business luck turns sour. While Joe Pesci's counterpoint is completely unnecessary, sounding like a goon version of Bugs Bunny, filling us with details better left for the audience to figure on their own.

And the last half runs itself completely ragged: juggling a doomed love story straight out of a nighttime soap with Ace and Nicky's doomed friendship that meanders to a predictably violent conclusion (and they never seemed that tight to begin with for an unraveling to really matter).

If Scorsese and scriptwriter Nicholas Pillegi stuck closer to the Casino, perhaps the film, and characters, might have had more purpose. What we're left with is too much style without substance. So to pay homage to vice presidential candidate Lloyd Bentsen's comment to Dan Quayle's comparison of Jack Kennedy: "I saw Goodfellas. I know Goodfellas. You, Casino, are NO Goodfellas."

And (spoiler alert) has there ever been a character more deserving a bloody death than James Wood's pimp/hustler who not only repeatedly steals Stone from DeNiro, but kidnaps, and continually threatens, his daughter? While we witness the immense, overboard bloodshed of everyone else, James comes out with a few bruises. What the hell were they thinking?!

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While being a more faithful rendition of Tarzan, the ape lord created by Edgar Rice Burroughs turned into an endearing airhead in older films, the brooding saga, made by CHARIOTS OF FIRE director Hugh Hudson, ultimately misses the vine.

The prologue introduces us to the gorillas in their African jungle habitat during a volcanic eruption, seeming like a creation of sorts. The simians (created by Rick Baker) are esthetically pleasing but all their screams get annoying, and they never feel like characters to invest time in.

The humans in England are a bit more deserving our attention… Ralph Richardson, in his final screen role, plays the Earl of Greystoke: consisting of a giant mansion sprawled along a plush countryside. His son Jack, discontented with easy living, takes his wife to Africa where, after a shipwreck (that we unfortunately never witness) is stranding in the jungle and… Let's cut to the chase: the parents die and their infant is raised by apes. The scenes with the young Tarzan (who's never referred to as such) are wonderful looking, but the coming-of-ape montage cuts so sporadically we never feel he's in any danger, nor is an effective kinship established with his new parental figures.

He grows to be Christopher Lambert, with narrowed eyes and swiftly cunning agility, but he seems more posing the role than performing it. And eventually Tarzan aka John Clayton is taken by Ian Holm, the surviving member of a massacred hunting party – after much too easy tutoring lessons to make him more human – to be with his grandfather in England.

Here's where a real story could have sunk in... but the scenes skip around so much it's like half a film – and a long one at that. As Lambert makes noises like lions, and leaps around bedrooms like an ape, it often feels more parody than serious; and Andie McDowell's dubbed voice (by Glenn Close) is preposterously distracting.

All in all, our titular hero's never successfully established as the lord of the jungle or a man trying to find his place in England. Even Ian Holm tells Clayton to realize he's human in order to fit into the jungle or civilization. Too bad for the audience he never really does.

James M. Tate, For More Reviews: www.cultfilmfreaks.com

Steven Spielberg's computer animated adventure about a young boy Tintin, his little white dog Snowy, and an endearingly drunken Captain Haddock might be too much of a good thing – but it's a good thing nonetheless.

The frantic action is non-stop: from the minute Tintin sees a model ship called THE UNICORN, he's dead set on buying it. But a few seedy characters want it for themselves and the daring young investigative reporter needs to find out why – all having to do with the lineage of the underdog alcoholic Captain, held hostage at sea by the main antagonist: a greedy yet cunningly classy villain named Sakharine, much like Belloq from Spielberg's RAIDERS OF THE LOST ARK, which this movie tries hard to emulate by wielding a constant handing-off of perilous escapades.

The problem is we don't get to know any of the characters enough (who'd be more interesting if they were actually human) to care about them, or take part emotionally in their quest: which is too hackneyed to sustain genuine interest, although the dialog sets up each situation well enough and there are a few semi-witty moments by two keystone cops. But the best scenes involve Haddock, voiced wonderfully by Andy Serkis, recalling his father's pirate ship battles: the imagery of the tale surrounding the scene as he talks. And the rambunctious Snowy merely provides a peripheral mascot to the action, yet he's a character worth loving for no other reason than being furry and cute.

As for Tintin, he's got a heart for adventure but why exactly? Well perhaps it doesn't matter… If you want two hours of nothing but thrills, this will do it for you. And with the constantly moving camera gliding in, out, up and around like a ghost on pep pills, it feels more like producer Peter Jackson's baby than Spielberg's.

But it's the John Williams score, and the feeling of being young again, that gives the iconic director his signature throughout: too bad the last half, as the action goes overboard, is written in vanishing ink.

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During the opening credits, the name David Simkins doesn't appear anywhere... He's the writer of ADVENTURES IN BABYSITTING, the 1987 comedy starring Elizabeth Shue as a reluctant, frustrated teen who takes the kids downtown to help a friend; then gets chased by bad guys and... Everything else that this movies imitates.

Jonah Hill wields his usual mellow guy with stunned sarcasm but his signature dry humor's all dress up with nowhere to go. Most of the time he's putting up with each child's annoying personality: the little girl wears makeup, sings dirty lyrics, and sprays perfume in his mouth; her neurotic older (but still young) brother takes pills to feel normal; and an adopted Puerto Rican boy blows up toilets.

From one dull situation to the next, it never seems the characters are in any real danger, even though a maniacal drug dealer, overacted by Sam Rockwell, wants them all dead.

And the biggest (unintentional) laugh occurs when an extremely gorgeous girl admits she's had a crush on Hill since high school, and even acts nervous around him. Makes you wonder, is the overweight actor playing himself: a millionaire movie star? This is perhaps one of the worst comedies in a long time, going in one ear and out the other: like a bullet from a shotgun. And a particular scene where Hill gives one of the kids advice on life is so politically-correct, you'll long for days when comedies were meant for laughs, not agendas.

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During the 1970's, Steven Spielberg and Richard Dreyfuss made a great team. The intense little actor played a likable shark expert in JAWS and a suburban alien-obsessed dad in CLOSE ENCOUNTERS OF THE THIRD KIND. And ten years later, they attempt to rekindle that magic. And although there's some good use of The Spielberg Touch… flowing camera-work weaving in and out of glorious special effects… this is a romance that tries too hard to pull heartstrings.

Dreyfuss and sidekick John Goodman are firefighting pilots with a dangerous job. Dreyfuss is a daredevil who, with each venture, risks his life more than necessary. The first thirty minutes consists of Holly Hunter, Dreyfus's girlfriend who works ground control, and Goodman trying to tell their friend he's taking too many chances. But this occurs between sappy dialog and the building of a relationship that wasn't very special to begin with.

That is, until Dreyfus is killed and, while wandering around a earth-based purgatory, New Age angel Audrey Hepburn gives him an afterlife mission: to help a handsome young pilot, Brad Johnson, earn his wings. But Johnson's true aim is to win over Holly Hunter – turning an interesting twist into a wasted subplot.

Dreyfuss, as a ghost, seems more like a creepy stalker, placing thoughts into people's minds to maneuver their choices – especially Hunter, who he won't let go of. Meanwhile, he reluctantly helps Johnson… who unsuccessfully balances a suave yet dorky character… become a great pilot.

Holly Hunter, while being a cute, spunky actress, is miscast as an ingénue every man desires. Goodman does his usual fat funny guy, but to an annoying level – he and everyone else seem to be playing for opening night audiences. And Dreyfus goes so overboard with forced sentimentality you'll wish the shark had got him or that those aliens never brought him home.

The Ariel shots, while filmed beautifully (especially the pivotal death scene), are simply used as breaks from an overlong Hallmark Card. And Steven Spielberg would thankfully end his creative mid-life crisis with HOOK and get back to business at hand.

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The Muppets brought a generation of youngsters (myself included) out of Sesame Street and into a world where they didn't feel like airhead children any longer.

With THE MUPPET MOVIE, Kermit, Fozzie, Miss Piggy and the gang discovered each other on a cross-country adventure that was a true odyssey. But here we've mentally gone back to Sesame Street with some silly sing-alongs, flat jokes, and an unexciting journey out of a small town where resides Jason Segel, his school teacher girlfriend, and a puppet named Walter who loves watching – and relating to – the original TV series.

They decide to take a trip to the Muppet studio, but it's but a wasteland. And here they discover a greedy oilman wants to turn the dilapidated theater into his very own goldmine.

The trio find a melancholy Kermit and they head off to collect the remaining group throughout America and Europe. Thus the road trip begins, which could have (should have) taken most of the film like the original, but it's but a fifteen-minute rushed romp where not much happens, leading to a big show where the Muppets have to raise ten million dollars to save their studio.

The Muppets themselves are all present, but they don't do much nor are they individually vital to the story – but then again, there's not much of a story to begin (or end) with.

The fundraiser itself is a rushed montage of skits lacking what The Muppet Show had in creativity and humor. As for star/producer Jason Segel, whose effort to get the classic icons all back in one movie has merit, the result is too banal for what these characters, and their audience (old and young), truly deserve.

And the entire film centers on the long-lost nostalgia of the Muppets during the late seventies/early eighties, forgetting all the movies made after the death of Jim Henson, which might have explained their departure. But perhaps Segel wanted to only remember the golden era; it's too bad he failed to recreate it.

If you wonder why Martin Scorsese (delving into Tim Burton territory) chose to direct a "children's story" of a young orphan living inside of – and surreptitiously working the clocks of – a tower in a Paris train station… just wait for the second half: when the somewhat slow-paced but beautifully shot contained journey turns into a whimsical celebration of one of the greatest innovators of cinema. But that's another story – making this feel like two tales in one.

The first has our young hero, straight out of a Dickens novel, named Hugo Cabret with only the memories of his deceased father, who left behind an automaton robot that needs a heart-shaped key to make it run: perhaps providing a message from beyond. Enter the granddaughter of an old and bitter toy dealer; she has the key needed – but leading to this point is a somewhat thin story stretched out too long.

On the peripheral, and making up the comedy, action, and suspense is the station inspector played by Sacha Baron Cohen, doing a somewhat tongue-in-cheek nod to clumsy silent film antagonists. With a Doberman at his side, the lone keystone cop strives to catch the young tinkerer: whose only goal is to get that automaton working.

Then the second half – after a crucial discovery – is where Scorsese's true aim lies. But with the built-up mystery gone, the youthful awe is only partially replaced by a cinematic history lesson more dreamlike than fact based.

The young star Asa Butterfield, with sad eyes and a curiously insightful expression, while looking the part makes for a somewhat bland title character. But it's Chloë Grace Moretz, as his lovely young sidekick, that not only brightens the film with her tremendous acting but whose bookworm dreamer yearns for adventure more than Scorsese's film delivers it.

Yet despite the flaws, there's enough residual magic for (creative) kids and (patient) adults to enjoy.

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