Is that what kung fu has come to? Latest American Jet Li flick trying, I guess, to one-up Black Mask. Nothing new here. First-time director Chris Nahon, instead of studying the greats (Li does Lee in Fist of Legend), takes all his hints from American directors working with Hong Kong stars, and so instead of getting the Jet Li of Twin Warriors, we get an Americanized version, which is not to say Li is Americanized (though of course they find a way to call him Johnny in the flick) so much as to say that the direction is like the direction in other recent American-HK flicks. Nahon takes all his cues from The Replacement Killers, and Antoine Fuqua isn’t exactly 1992 John Woo; 1999 John Woo isn’t exactly 1992 John Woo, though at least he knows the source material. Fuqua, a music video guy, destroyed Replacement Killers by losing the action: he fired a lot of rounds, but he failed to ground the action, opting instead for what he considered the kineticism of quick-cut, and for some unfortunate and unknown reason, this, along with early US/HK collaborations like Simon Sez (what?) became the style of the American HK. Simon Sez, made by a legit HK director, Ringo Lam, seems to have been taken at face value by the Fuquas of the world, but Lam was never as much of an action director as a gunfire man. Jet Li needs his directors to have seen his old work.

As if aware of the need for some old-school, non-Propaganda Films street cred, Kiss of the Dragon builds on the rep and skills of Luc Besson, co-writer and producer, and as La Femme Nikita and Leon (The Professional) are thematically the building blocks here, Besson's hand is heavy, down to his favorite gags: the laundry chute, the police station, the elevator kick, the hand grenade.

Kiss of the Dragon does have some news, and the news is the kill shot. If the plot is rotten, the dialogue worse, the camerawork shaky where it needs to be solid (literally, not judgmentally), and the action Jackie Chan one scene and 100% Besson the next, Nahon's Faces of Death interest in the portrayal of the grisly demise seems to be what sets him apart from Fuqua.

The deaths are gruesome, and in fact their over-the-top quality is the only aspect to set Kiss of the Dragon apart. Here are a few: look away if you're squeamish about destruction or giving away the point of movies.

Besson's laundry-chute escape, lifted straight from La Femme Nikita, goes one step beyond: the grenade (missile) doesn’t just force Li (Parillaud) into rapid escape, but blows one henchman apart, sending legs fluttering (?) slo-mo to the ground and eliciting the first of many Eeeewwws from the audience.

The neck snap, a heavy staple of US action film for years, enjoying a resurgence since its use in Total Recall, is used here to serious effect, and Nahon has enough faith in it to use it twice in a single scene, a daring move which is upheld only through very creative use in a WWF kind of tombstone move fairly rare in the "serious" action film.

The movie's point, in a lot of ways, is the Kiss of the Dragon, revealed at the end to be the final kill, when we learn that Jet Li is skilled in the ancient and mystical art of David Cronenberg, and Nahon's insistence on showing us the whole thing, even without any semblance at all of Roger Avary glee or James Bondish tongue-in-cheek, is revealed to be his ultimate justification for making this movie: the willingness to show...

Read the rest of the review!

Topics: movies

I should probably start off, in the spirit of full disclosure, that my overall outlook on the world has been overly influenced by Archie Comics. It wasn't until fairly recently that I realized that variations on the "Chinese Food is great, but I'm always hungry a half-hour later" observeration are not considered humorous by the world at large. Nor do others seem to notice if I insert a dimly-remembered line from an old Archie comic into daily conversation. For much of my life, my standard response to "Tell me something I don't know!" was "Boiled rudabegas cure bunions," which always produced confused looks, but never once did anyone say, "Hey! I remember that issue of Josie and the Pussycats! I remember when Melody said that to Pepper!"

Clearly, I don't hang out with the right sort of people.

Anyway, that brings me to the recent movie adaptation of Josie and the Pussycats. I am clearly the sort of person who will take umbrage with the fact that Pepper is not in the film. Nor is Alexandra a witch. Nor does she have a cat with matching hairdo. Nor is Alan M. a stud. Nor is Alexander a sleazy, Reggie-esque cad. These are the sorts of comic-to-movie translations that tend to drive fanboys like me up the wall (Are there Archie Comics fanboys? I mean, ones who can drive and don't live with their parents?)

Obviously, I went into this film expecting to be worked up into a righteous fervor. I was hoping to storm out screaming, "How dare they put Carson Daly into a Josie movie?" Truth be told, I only managed to maintain this attitude about five minutes into the film. Maybe it was the fact that I had just sat through Joe Dirt and a swift kick to the teeth would have seemed like a pleasant treat. Maybe it was the Kay Hanley songs, which, short of letting Lisa Mar sing Sean Tollefson songs, was about the best we could hope for as far as musical backing goes. Maybe it was Rachael Leigh Cook (Admitting that I actually like Rachael Leigh Cook is equivalent, in my mind, to driving around town in a recently purchased Pontiac Aztek -- a public admission that the entertainment monoliths can shove anything down my throat and I will not only buy it, but scream for more.)

Whatever the reason, I found myself really enjoying the film. Rachael Leigh Cook is very nice to watch (Although she has developed some bizarre tics. I'm not sure if this is her idea of "acting" or if she's tweaking on speed.) Tara Reid was much better than expected, though, at this point, I think the engagement to Carson Daly weighs much more heavily in my mind than any of her performances. The biggest treats are, not surprisingly, Alan Cumming and Parker Posey, both of whom have superb track records of brightening up every film they are in (granted, there wasn't much they could do for Spice World and You've Got Mail, respectively, but just imagine how those would have been without them)

The film does drag a bit in spots, mostly due to three characters the screenwriters apparently felt obliged to bring over from the comics (Alan M - Josie's boyfriend, Alexander - The Pussycats' manager, and Alexandra, Alex's sister and Josie's rival for Alan's affections) They really serve very little purpose. Alan should have been built up a little more as a love interest (and recast, incidentally -- scrawny James Spader lookalikes are not believable as the hottest boy in Riverdale) Alex and Alexandra could...

Read the rest of the review!

Rating: B

Topics: movies

After several years of reading the Los Angeles Times, I had gathered the impression that Hedwig and the Angry Inch was, far and away, the single greatest musical ever made. I seem to recall that there was an article concerning the musical at least once a week. Something about John Cameron Mitchell. Something about the Stone Temple Pilots perfoming as The Angry Inch in various clubs around Los Angeles. Something about the impending movie adaptation.

Of course, having now moved to the deep provinces of New England, coverage of Hedwig has certainly dropped off. Disappeared, rather. So, the movie comes out with no advertising, no notably press coverage, no word of mouth, nothing. It did, however, show up at the local art theatre here, where it was scarcely populated. I'm sure the subject matter is a tough sell with vacationing bankers from Hartford, but it's really unfortunate because Hedwig deserves all the praise that has been heaped upon it.

In short, Hedwig and the Angry Inch tells the story of Hansel, a young East German rock fan, who has a botched sex change operation (becoming Hedwig), marries an American army officer, moves to Kansas, gets dumped, hooks up with a 17 year old named Tommy, writes a bunch of (great) songs with him, then watches him become world-famous rocker Tommy Gnosis, while he has to play at buffet restaurants. All this is told in flashback, mostly to the audiences of the aforementioned buffet restaurants.

A lot of people have been comparing it to Rocky Horror Picture Show which is really unfortunate. Hedwig really isn't about camp. Yes, the characters dress in absurd glam rock costumes, but within about 10 minutes, it becomes very clear that this movie really isn't about style at all. The whole movie revolves around characters, not costuming. There's never really a moment where the characters take the time to point out how "outrageous" their costumes are; it's just the way they dress. The whole film does an amazing job with pastiche without irony.

This lack of irony is probably most apparent in the songs. It's pretty hard to pull off a song entitled "The Origins of Love" (and containing references to deities from Norse, Greek, and Egyptian mythology) without pointing out how absurd and corny the song is. But the characters accept the song as-is and, more importantly, so do we. It's a really good song. Yeah, the lyrics are cheesy, but the song rocks. Just like good glam rock should.

Yes, the film has problems. It bogs down a bit towards the end. The final sequence is either boring (as some think) or the high point of irony-free pastiche of 70's mystic imagery (as I think). I can't think of another film that has no problem assuming that people are fairly familiar not only with traditional interpretations of Gnosticism, but also the more recent theory that all of alchemy is an attempt to unite the male and the female. I admire any film that assumes (correctly) that much of its audience.

Rating: A-

Topics: movies

As long as I can remember Dr. Pepper's advertising campaign has always been very jingle-oriented. In fact, I distincly remember writing a computer program in 4th grade that would play, on command, the "I'm A Pepper, She's A Pepper, Wouldn'tcha Like To Be A Pepper Too?" song, which indicates that the jingle had pretty thoroughly penetrated my tiny little child brain.

So it comes as no surprise that Dr. Pepper would turn to popular musicians to sell their product, in this case, the soon-to-be-retired Garth Brooks. This is all well and good. Mr. Brooks sings a pleasant country-tinged jingle about being a non-conformist and drinking Dr. Pepper (a centerpiece in the Dr. Pepper ad campaign for as long as I can remember). The song's fine. Garth's performance is fine (though he does wear kind of a goofy mock-turtleneck -- I don't really associated mock-turtlenecks with country wear, but I suppose if you're the biggest selling country artist in the world, you can wear whatever you please)

No, what really bothers me about this ad is the deranged zombie in the prison jumpsuit flailing about just left of Garth. At least I assume it's a zombie. Old man. Orange jumpsuit. Crazed expression on his face. Muscular movements that looks somewhat akin to a marionette as manipulated by a spasmotic child. If that doesn't say Prison Zombie, I'm not sure what does.

All right. Maybe he's not a zombie. Maybe he just likes swinging his arms around like he's fighting a wicked case of rigor mortis. Maybe he just likes wearing his ol' prison jumpsuit. I prefer to imagine that some deranged brain-eating zombie that just busted out of Angola wandered onto the set of this ad, and noone had the guts to try to get him to leave.

Rating: A (Waaay more entertaining than it should be)

Topics: advertisements