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 BEAVIS AND BUTTHEAD DO AMERICA. Yes! Everybody's favorite
fartknockers make the leap to the big screen in an animated extravaganza
that's got enough idiotic moments and cavity searches to please
any Beavis and Butthead fan. (Of course, Beavis and Butthead fans
have low standards.) The cartoon, which follows Beavis and Butthead's
cross-country imbecility, is augmented by a bitchin' soundtrack,
featuring the Red Hot Chili Peppers, the Butthole Surfers and
Englebert Humperdink. Beavis' uncanny transformation into Cornholio
and back again may just win him an Oscar. This movie rules!--Slab
THE CRUCIBLE. This filmic redux of Arthur Miller's theatrical
parable is somewhat out of place on the modern landscape. What
was no doubt a powerful and emotive effort in the 1950s, when
it was written as a scathing critique of Senator McCarthy's crusade
against supposed communist sympathizers, falls flat in the '90s.
Because this element seems toned down in the film, it's impossible
to tell the filmmakers' intent. If it bears political relevance,
it's wide open for interpretation as to who the bad guys are.
Yet the tale is far too pointed to serve as an historical note
on the very real events in Salem. The story, roughly told, traces
the Salem witch trials back to the antics of a group of bored
(and later frightened) girls coming of age in the ascetic, Puritanical
town. Winona Ryder and Daniel Day-Lewis star in this two-hour
yelling match between good and evil. Not recommended for those
with a low tolerance for '50s-style misogyny and moralistic posturing.
--M.W.
THE ENGLISH PATIENT. Against all probability, Canadian
novelist Michael Ondaantje's award-winning novel translates into
an impressive, sepia-toned love story of epic proportions (that
is, it clocks in at 162 minutes). Alternately filmed on location
in Italy and North Africa, the screenplay sidesteps the magical
realist bent of the novel in favor of an historic drama spanning
the conquest of North Africa by the Brits and the horrors of war-torn
Italy in 1945. Ralph Fiennes stars as the title character, with
strong support from Kristin Scott Thomas (the object of his obsession)
and Juliet Binoche (his nurse after the accident which leaves
him, and his amazing story, charred and dying). Visually stunning
and, at times, painfully moving, The English Patient paradoxically
forges a new, invented story that nonetheless remains true to
the original novel.--M.W.
JERRY MAGUIRE. This chirpy, semi-sweet bit of holiday cheer
comes to us straight from the heart of Cameron Crowe, the talented
writer and director of Singles and Say Anything.
Here, he shoots for Capra-esque comedy with mixed results. The
title character, a mega watt sports agent, loses his job, his
fiancée, and his bearings, requiring love (in all of its
forms) to come to the rescue. To say this is a vehicle for Tom
Cruise is an understatement: He's got more face time than Tammy
Faye in a hall of mirrors, and he gets to utilize all of his impressive
vulnerabilities in giant, unseemly close-up. Still, there are
more clever bits than you'd imagine; and Crowe is always funny,
though here he plays it sentimental, copping shameless milage
out of adorable kids and tearful speeches. Enjoyable enough, but
it's got more pop than fizz.--P.M.
MARS ATTACKS! Evil Martians attempt to conquer Earth in
Tim Burton's affectionate homage to campy sci-fi movies of the
fifties. Iridescent bad guys who say "ack ack" quick-fry
flaky earthlings from Las Vegas in a movie eerily reminiscent
of this summer's Independence Day, with one major difference:
Independence Day was stupid by accident, but Mars Attacks
is stupid on purpose! Though occasional flashes of Burton's odd,
childlike brilliance break through, this film is fun mostly because
of its constant special effects, glittery sets, and those great
scenes featuring Sarah Jessica Parker's head stapled to a dog's
body. On the down side, Jack Nicholson, in a dual role, is predictably
annoying.--S.R.
MICHAEL. Save your money--every redeeming aspect of this
film can be seen in the previews. It's just plain bad. I think
it was written in six days, and then they rested on the seventh
and never got around to finishing it. It's supposed to be a heart-warming
tale about two tabloid journalists and an "angel expert"
who go off to Iowa in search of Michael, who's shacked up in a
place called the Milk Bottle Motel. Michael, on the other hand,
has presumably been sent to Earth to complete a few final miracles
before being confined to Heaven, which apparently does not have
sugar, for the rest of eternity. William Hurt (as always) looks
pained throughout, but we can hardly blame him. Andie MacDowell
also stars, in a reprisal of all the worst moments of Groundhog
Day and Four Weddings and a Funeral. And the only amazing
aspect of Travolta's performance is the amount of weight he gained
(and lost) for the one scene in which he appears with his gut
hanging low. If there's a shard of genuine emotion anywhere in
this film, you'd need a miracle to find it. --M.W.
RANSOM. A Ron Howard film is like a Hallmark card: You
know what it's going to say, but who doesn't get excited about
seeing one? This is a by-the-numbers sleazy bad-guy flick about
a corrupt cop (Gary Sinise) who abducts the son of a billionaire
airline mogul (Mel Gibson). The latter's fine-honed business sense
tells him to place a $4-million bounty on the kidnapper's head
rather than pay the $2 million ransom, which leads to two full
hours of screaming cell phone conversations and moralistic banter.
Gibson and Rene Russo turn out impressive performances as the
distraught parents, and Sinise is appropriately evil.--M.W.
ROMEO AND JULIET. In his second film, director Baz Luhrman
gives the Bard's only teen-movie script an MTV/Miami-Cubano style,
producing the noisiest rendition any Elizabethan play has ever
received. Still, he remains largely faithful to the original,
not only in the language, but also in the youth and aching immediacy
of the protagonists. Claire Danes is especially good as Juliet,
uttering Shakespeare's difficult English without affect, and John
Leguizamo defines the role of the petulant Tybalt, playing the
part with an insightful butch-camp swagger. Kenneth Branagh could
learn a thing or two about bringing the Bard to the big screen
from this effort--it's not only exciting, stylish and witty in
its small details, it's also accessible without being condescending.
The action conveys so much sense that the teen audiences even
laughed at Shakespeare's puns. If you need to see bodkins and
ruffled collars to enjoy your Veronese tragedies, stay home; but
if a boy's choir singing "When Doves Cry" seems the
perfect accompaniment to the wedding of two star-cross'd lovers,
you'll surely enjoy the two hours' traffic of this staging.--J.D.
STAR TREK: FIRST CONTACT. The crew of the enterprise take
on the Borg, the nearly omnipotent cyberhive, in this latest star-crossing
adventure, spinning off whence many sci-fi flicks have boldly
gone before. The dashing Jonathan Frakes (aka Number One, Wil
Ryker) directs this latest special effects festival of (George
Lucas') Industrial Light and Magic. There's no denying it: The
Borg looks great on the big screen. While First Contact isn't
likely to convert new Trekkies, the effort suggests the Trek franchise
will continue to live long and prosper.--Slab
LEEPERS. Director Barry Levinson overshoots the mark in Sleepers,
a long, overly dramatic movie emphatically about the loss of innocence.
Though the first part of the film, about a group of mischievous
friends growing up in Hell's Kitchen, has some of the neighborhood
charm of Levinson's Diner, the story unravels in the second half
into an annoying series of flashbacks that are basically all the
same. The plot concerns a group of boys who pull a prank that
gets out of hand; as a result they're sent away to a Draconian
boy's prison where the guards torture and abuse them. Fifteen
years later the boys (haunted by black and white flashbacks),
take their revenge on the guards. (One astute viewer leaving the
theater commented on the similarities to First Wives' Club.) Though
the plot gains some power through the fact that it's based on
a true story, the tension never feels genuine, and the boys never
seem as real as adults as they did as happy children. Dustin Hoffman
gives a nice performance in his plum little role, and Robert Deniro
manages a kind of manly rectitude as the neighborhood priest;
unfortunately, the adult versions of the boys aren't played nearly
as well. --S.R.
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