The Thing (1982)

If it’s the most vividly guesome nightmarishness endlessly to trunk the interview that audiences crave, then The Thing is the thing. On all other levels, still, John Carpenter’s remake of Howard Hawks’ 1951 sci-fi noteworthy comes as a letdown.

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Strong premise as a group of American scientists and researchers posted at an isolated station in Antarctica. A visit to a decimated Norwegian encampment in the vicinity reveals that a space ship, which had remained buried in ice for as many as 100,000 years, has been uncovered, and that no survivors were left to tell what was found.

First manifestation of The Thing arrives in the form of an escaped dog from the Scandinavian camp. It soon becomes clear that The Thing is capable of ingesting, then assuming the bodily form of, any living being.

What the old picture delivered - and what Carpenter has missed - was a sense of intense dread, a fear that the loathed creature might be lurking around any corner or behind any door.

Kurt Russell is the nominal hero, although suicidal attitude adopted towards the end undercuts his status as a centerscreen force.

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Touch of Pink review

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The Partisans Performances mo…


  • The Partisans

    Performances mostly killer, interviews filler, in Leonard Cohen doc


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    Find A Film

    Statues of no limitations—the Academy Awards bring about a display the rash

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    But the moment goes beyond th…

    But the moment goes beyond that. It’s also like an episode from a dream, in
    which both characters represent the dreamer — in this case the movie’s
    director, William Friedkin. In “The Hunted,” Friedkin is one flinging blood
    everywhere, no doubt about that, but he’s also the one blinded by it. He’s
    steeped in gore, like some cinematic Macbeth, and it’s obscuring his artistic
    vision. He needs a change of pace. He needs to find Meg Ryan, do some awful
    romantic comedy and start all over again.

    “The Hunted,” which pairs Tommy Lee Jones and Benicio Del Toro, begins huge
    and ends up tiny. It begins in moral complexity and arrives at ambivalence. It
    begins with issues of global consequence and ends in the personal and
    ridiculous. Technically, it’s well made, but it wasn’t worth making.

    And yet it always must be said, even of the worst of Friedkin’s films: This
    is no minor talent. Friedkin (”The French Connection”) knows how to make
    movies. So, in the opening scene, in which the Serbian army is shown wiping
    out a city in Kosovo, we see streets glowing gold from the raging fires nearby.

    We see pits filled with bodies, scenes of mass execution and the odd personal
    touch: a stoic-looking father huddling with his two daughters. Friedkin’s
    images are enough to make an audience despair of the past century and dread
    the one we’re in.

    Into this nest of death comes Hallam (Del Toro), an American Special Forces
    agent whose assignment is to kill the Serbian commander. When he does — in
    the movie’s first scene — we sympathize. The commander is a war criminal and
    a mass murderer. At the same time, we can’t help but notice that Hallam carves
    up the commander with the peppy gusto of a Ginsu knife salesman.

    Obviously, someone has trained this man to be a killing machine, and the
    trainer was a peace-loving fellow named Bonham (Jones), a retired teacher of
    survival techniques who once worked for the government. Bonham, who’s quirky
    and likable in Jones’ performance, has never killed anyone himself. He has
    given up training assassins in order to work for the World Wildlife Fund in
    British Columbia, where he helps wolves get out of traps. But he’s drawn back
    into government service when Hallam, returned to civilian life, goes on a
    murder spree.

    Friedkin is a director who likes bad heroes and appealing villains, but in
    “The Hunted” the moral ambiguity muddies a simple story and robs the audience
    of a clear-cut rooting interest. Hallam may be a murderer, but later his
    victims are hunters who take automatic weapons into the woods to have fun
    slaughtering animals. The scene in which Hallam hunts the hunters just seems
    like fair play, and so does the revelation that the bodies were found
    quartered, like venison.

    We see Hallam’s side of it, and Bonham seems to like him, too. So when
    Bonham finds himself in the position of having to hunt down his former student,

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    his lack of enthusiasm is matched by the audience’s. There’s nothing to watch
    in “The Hunted” but the chase, and because we don’t really care how this chase
    turns out, that leaves only the spectacle of the chase: the fights, the blood,
    the gashes, the slashes, the torn muscle, the knife in the leg, the knife in
    the arm, etc.

    With an opening and closing voice-over by Johnny Cash, Friedkin tries to
    frame the action as an Abraham and Isaac story, but the father-son connection
    isn’t strong enough to carry such emotional heft. In “The Hunted,” we don’t
    see violence as metaphor. We see violence as violence, and it’s just plain
    boring. Even worse, we watch a filmmaker’s vision turn in on itself and shrink
    until it has no weight or value. It’s a grim spectacle.

    This film contains gruesome violence.

    E-mail Mick LaSalle at mlasalle@sfchronicle.com.

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    A Shot in the Dark review


    The question is not whether the “Pink Panther” movies with Peter Sellers are mysterious. That’s a given. They’re amid the funniest movies for ever made. The question is which unified is funniest of all. MGM presentation four of Sellers’ five completed Inspector Clouseau films on DVD. (”The Income of the Pink Panther” is at one’s fingertips from Artisan.) You’ll undoubtedly argue with my own ratings of the films, but we can all be thankful that the series is available for home viewing in so esteemed a form.

    “The Pink Panther”
    “The Pink Panther” started it all in 1964. Written and directed by Blake Edwards, he may not have known really what he had on his hands at the time. David Niven got top billing as Sir Charles Lytton, the memorable international jewel thief known as “The Shade.” But it wasn’t long into casting before everyone realized it was Sellers’ rele as French Sureté Inspector Jacques Clouseau who was stealing the screen. It quickly led to a second star the in any event year, “A Shot in the Dark,” featuring Clouseau alone as the star. Reciprocate although Alan Arkin would do a credible job as Clouseau in a later film, it is Sellers we all remember in the piece. He created a character that must go down as an individual of the famous comic creations in proposal painting history: Clumsy, bumbling, arrogant, never detecting, yet always maintaining a perfect air dignity in the face of all obstacles, most all of which he creates also in behalf of himself. On a trivia note, it was Peter Ustinov who was originally scheduled to play Clouseau. He would drink made an engrossing choice, but it was Sellers who would make the character indelible.

    In “The Pink Panther,” Sir Charles is trying to steal a fabulous diamond from an Indian Princess (Claudia Cardinale), with Clouseau hot on his hunt. But also hot for the diamond are Sir Charles’s nephew, George (Robert Wagner), and Clouseau’s own wife, Simone (Capucine), in partnership with Sir Charles! Alpine and Rome locales provide bizarre backdrops for a host of rare gags, culminating in a nifty car run after here a sleepy Italian fountain. The movie is also pre-eminent for Henry Mancini’s music as positively as for its introduction of the famous Pink Panther cartoon personality, who figures prominently in the break credits of this and most of the later films and who would become an animated star in his own right.

    The silver screen sizes offered for this first passage in the series are a standard full-screen (pan-and-scan) on one side and a widescreen Technirama on the other, the non-anamorphic widescreen measuring an around 2.13:1 proportion across a stable telly. A quick research of the widescreen vs. extreme-screen photograph reveals about a fifty per cent or more enhance in patent image in widescreen, quite an upper hand after years of watching the moving picture in pan-and-scan, its only a while ago at one’s fingertips format on TV and seal. The double quality is sufficient in most regards, firstly brilliant in its color and acceptable in definition but displaying some horizontal stock fluctuations and casual epoch flecks. The cacophony is digitally reprocessed monaural, reasonably clear although somewhat restricted in dynamic range and evidencing a unpretentious standing of background blast. As for extras, there are very few. MGM take measures a booklet addendum, English as a viva voce argot, English and French subtitles, thirty-two scene selections, and a theatrical trailer.

    Impression grandeur: 7
    Sound quality: 6
    Extras: 2
    Entertainment value: 7

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    “A Shot in the Dark”
    Edwards knew he had a hit on his hands with Peter Sellers as Clouseau, so “A Inducement in the Dark” was released solitary a few months after the première of the first “Pink Panther.” The second film does not have David Niven in it, nor the famous diamond, the unusual theme music, or in spite of the panther; it has no greater than Sellers, which is enough. It has more laughs per minor than the earlier main attraction and marks a refinement in Sellers’ interpretation of the Clouseau character. During case in point, we see the beginnings of the Inspector’s mangling of words–a “beump” on the head, “muths” in the closet–and his well-known spoonerisms: “I submit…that you arrived nursing home, set up Miguel with Maria Gambrelli, and killed him in a rit of fealous jage!” We are also introduced notwithstanding the first heretofore to the supporting players who would appear prominently in following films: Herbert Lom as Commissioner Dreyfus, Graham Genesis as Hercule LaJoy, the first of some roles he would play in later issues, and Burt Kwouk as Clouseau’s manservant, Cato. William Peter Blatty, of “Exorcist” name, helped Edwards create the screenplay, based on the plays of Harry Kurnitz and Marcel Archard.

    This time in view Clouseau is called to the mansion of a millionaire, played by George Sanders, to sift through the death of one of his servants. The prime suspect is a pretty intact, Maria Gambrelli, played by Elke Sommer. The entirety points to her having committed the misdemeanour, including her standing as a remainder the corpse with the wreck weapon in her pass on. But Clouseau cannot believe anyone so beautiful could be a murderer. “We necessity have the facts, Hercule! We must entertain the facts!” After more bodies turn up than anyone can deem, the fishing concludes with the same of the funniest confrontation of suspects in the annals of vapour. This competitor is generally considered one of the A-, if not the best, in the series.

    The quality of the picture is somewhat better than in the first dusting, and MGM provide both a ideal-small screen version (pan-and-scan) as effectively as the theatrical Panavision understanding in an anamorphic 2.13:1 size on flip sides of the disc. A few age spots appear at the origination but disappear as the blear goes on. The Dolby Digital reprocessed mono sonics, however, are not as impressive as the understanding. It appears that some kind of babel reduction may have been applied, as there are some unsettling silences conspicuous between other portions of sound. It is calm, to be sure, but the background is more silent when no one is speaking. It makes for an odd condition that, fortunately, one gets adapted to to quickly. As a remedy for speech choices, French is added to the English seeking this title and the next two in the series. Otherwise, it’s equitable the booklet insert, thirty-two scene selections, English and French subtitles, and a overwrought trailer.


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    Liam (2001)

    LIAM tells the account of a seven-year-dusty pal growing up in Liverpool during the 1930s. As he prepares to make his Victory Communion, green Liam tries to make sense of the complex and unsettled world around him, a era that is about to change forever because of cataclysmic economic, civic, and social upheaval.

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    Stranger Than Fiction (2006)


    Stranger Than Fiction

    Ferrell and Gyllenhaal lead a strong cast out of the meta-plot wilderness

    There is a set of filmmakers and a sub-tutor of obscure devotees who feel that voice- finished is film's device of mould watering-place — or simple directorial laziness –despite its occasionally noteworthy exhaust in films such as

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    ) and first-time hack Zach Helm ascendancy realty in that tiff, but I suspect the anti-part-over audience won't dismiss their efforts out of hand. In the victory place, the film's tale is supplied by the mellifluous and inviting voice of Emma Thompson, and her function as narrator is about as energetic as it gets. One never imagines the narrator, for precedent, as a burnout in a bathrobe who eventually muses herself right onto the screen, nor that the weirdo being described will-power actually twinge up his ears, as

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    's principal does, and instruct the narrator to kick about it off.

    Both Will Ferrell as IRS agent Harold Crick and Emma Thompson as celebrated novelist Karen Eiffel are suffering a blockage; Harold's devotion to the reassurance of routine and precision is obsessive to the point of complete inertia, and Karen's novel-in-progress hit a snag 10 years ago that all the cigarettes in

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    couldn't smooth out. It becomes clear almost immediately that Thompson is narrating Harold Crick's every mundane toothbrush-stroke ("accurately, and with a better vocabulary" he says) because she is a little too good at creating her characters, and that we will follow both of the

    film's

    characters as they come to terms with whether the story will develop into a comedy or a tragedy.

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    When Harold catches on that his personal narrator intends to kill him, he seeks the help of a psychiatrist, who refers him to a literary theory expert — a barefoot professor played with flatfooted charm by Dustin Hoffman. Ferrell is asked to play as straight as they come for his harmless blip of a man, so Hoffman gets all the ham, glazing it up with gusto in each of his brief scenes. He advises Crick to take control of the narrative himself and change his heavily regimented behavior at every turn; he comes to regret this advice when they figure out that Crick's narrator is one of the professor's favorite authors and that Crick's death might just render the book her masterpiece.

    The parallel storylines of Crick, who takes up the guitar and falls for a tattooed bakery owner he's auditing (a winsome, defiant Maggie Gyllenhaal), and Eiffel, whose morbid forays into "research" are supervised by her publisher's heavy, played by Queen Latifah, eventually meet, and it's hard to say who is more unnerved by the experience. The interesting thing is that you may not have made up your mind yourself which ending you'd prefer; "It's no good unless you die in the end," Hoffman says, and it's true that by the book, anyhow, Crick's awakening to life's moveable feast of love, milk and cookies is ripe for a tragic blow. Ferrell's soft, baffled portrayal, as well as the lovely chemistry he shares with Gyllenhaal, however, might give the plain-fingered plucking of your heartstrings an edge over the aesthetic dirge your black old soul is craving.

    Done
    Stranger Than Fiction
    has a self-regard that can pester, most notably in the continuous time, which is at least 15 minutes too long, but Ferrell and Thompson give enchanting performances that suggest the film's aim is be fulfilled. In a culture that seems to encourage people to star in their own lives pretty than live them, any take a crack at to furnish thoughtful alternatives to questions that have on the agenda c trick no answers –What can you authority over in life? Who has the reins? Are you a timekeeper or timewatcher? Will your story be a comedy or blow? — sounds like a utterance of reason to me.

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    The Beach review


    I don’t know where studios onto scripts like “The Beach” or why they referee to film them. This one may have washed ashore in a bottle. Surely, a wiser screenplay could have been made from Alex Garland’s book. Anyway, the silver screen stars the eternally-popular heartthrob Leonardo DiCaprio, who seems to have an affinity for the finest. Maybe the studio bosses intellect he looked good with his shirt off. “The Beach” is a cross between “The Blue Lagoon” and “Lord of the Flies,” with a fit lot less going on than meets the view.

    DiCaprio plays Richard Fischer, a fellow looking for something different and unusual to spice up his mundane life. Apparently, he’s never heard of the “fight club.” He doesn’t want to be one of the crowd; he roams the exultant but disdains tourists. He winds up in Bangkok, where in a cheap motor hotel he meets a wacko (Robert Carlyle) who tells him about a perfect, retired island and an optimistic coterie of people living on it. The next epoch Richard finds a map pinned to his door and the mock a suicide in the next room.

    To Richard the record of the island and the map hearing too good to be constant, so-called at anything else like an urban story. Supposedly, there’s a also primaeval beach far from civilization, with pot growing for miles in a unseen utopia. Richard is skeptical, but he’s so bored and so intent on adventure, he’ll try anything. Together with a euphonious gal, Francoise (Virginie Ledoyen) and her boyfriend, Etienne (Guillaume Canet), whom he also meets at the inn, he heads off to the mythical isle. In preference to he goes, though, he leaves a double of the map (for reasons unfathomable except to further the plot) with a group of yahoo young travelers.

    Once on the island, Richard and his friends do, indeed, procure a collection of people living there, all of them having sought out and outwardly organize paradise, all of them conveniently youthful and beautiful and led by a gal named Sal (Tilda Swinton). It’s unclear whether Sal is an elected leader or a self-appointed dictator, but in any event she is one bossy, heartless lady who propagates much of the go to the trouble in the classify. Yes, uninterrupted New Jerusalem has its problems, as Richard soon finds out; where humans congregate, it appears, human nature will have its way. Jealousy, long, be of medical expertise, and the general clamor of the outside world all erect their ugly heads.

    Somewhere in this tale there is required to be a respectable. Unfortunately, whatever it is, it gets lost in a lot of flatulent talk apropos private liberty and coequality lives and then some convoluted fight with barbaric Thai farmers. If I were from Thailand, I’d sue.


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    Blaze (1989)

    In the late ’50s, Louisiana governor Earl K Long (brother of Huey) scandalised voters when hot item short of his affair with stripper Bombard Starr. In what is essentially a conveyance for Paul Newman, Long comes over as gangling eccentric and political visionary: he keeps his boots on while love-making, and at a time of unshakeable sexism approves voting rights in favour of blacks. While opponents story line his abduction. supporters applaud his outspokenness. The film’s overall timbre is light, and against this Newman cuts an august, vigorous catch on to. But Ron Shelton’s script is inconsistent. Co-prominent Davidovich attempts a sympathetic showing of Blaze Starr, but her role is underdeveloped; disposed that the central relationship prevails from the political agenda, it’s an oversight which leaves dialogue one-sided and again toothless. Considering the awareness of post-Watergate audiences, it’s not enough merely to portray a gutsy, glitzy couple who both, by Starr’s delineation, act on in ’showbiz’. The vapour has a certain candour, but it would have been enhanced by a less unimportant course.

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    The Other Side (2006)

    The gates of Lower world prove more welcoming than everyday in “The Other Side,” a lean, propulsively paced supernatural thriller that exploits its own modest resources with nasty gusto. Offsetting its corny humor and even cornier romance with enough bloody fracas to satiate impale aficionados, cheaply made pic should entertain midnight fest crowds previous to determination a shelf in the homevid afterlife.

    A rude homecoming awaits Columbia U. student Sam North (Nathan Mobley), whose girlfriend Hanna (Jaimie Alexander) goes missing shortly before they’re supposed to meet, and who himself is killed the same night by a van that runs his car into a river.

    A frenzied montage shows Sam being reborn in a slimy cave, only to find himself being pushed through a mysterious portal back to the land of the living. He awakens in a hospital, along with several other denizens of “the pit” who have managed to escape.

    But the pit surrenders no one easily, and soon a trio of Reapers, leather-clad assassins with body-switching capabilities, are hunting the refugees down one by one and sending them back. Sam teams up with seasoned escapees Oz (Poncho Hodges) and Mally (Cory Rouse) — the stoic fighter and the annoying comic relief, respectively — and determines to find out who is behind his death and Hanna’s disappearance.

    Pic’s bat-out-of-hell pacing, so to speak, could only have benefited from its rapid shooting schedule, while the low budget makes Nils Onsager’s crazily resourceful stunt work — including one truly death-defying leap — all the more impressive. Fight choreography also displays some impressive kung-fu flourishes, although Sam is a bit too impervious to bullets fired at point-blank range.

    Sherman Johnson’s Super 16 cinematography delivers a grainy, desaturated look that is entirely appropriate to the story’s B-movie sensibility. Kristopher Carter’s music drums up the requisite pulse-pounding excitement during the action sequences, only to degenerate into Enya-esque accompaniment during the goopy romantic finale.

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