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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. And yes, that buttmunch
Cornholio makes an appearance or two. This movie rules! --Slab
EVITA. It is not a musical, okay? It's an opera. It's an
opera about a Fascist dictator of Argentina and his influential,
wildly popular wife, Eva Perón. Madonna is quite charming
as Eva, singing and dancing her way through pretty much every
single scene of this movie with her doe-colored contacts and perpetual
costume changes. The first half has the best numbers, but after
about an hour everything loses steam. Madonna has long since gone
blond, all of the best songs have been sung, and for the last
hour we're treated to reprise after reprise. The adaptation from
stage to screen seems to have gone a little less smoothly than
we would have hoped, too. The film falls prey to visual repetition
as well: In scene after scene, we see mobs of angry Argentineans,
or happy Argentineans, take to the street, carrying placards.
Over and over and over. Placard after placard. --Richter
MARS ATTACKS! Evil Martians attempt to conquer Earth in
Tim Burton's affectionate homage to campy sci-fi movies of the
'50s. 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. --Richter
MICHAEL. Save your money--any 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. --Wadsworth
JACKIE CHAN'S FIRST STRIKE. The newest Jackie Chan vehicle
takes our Hong Kong hero from the frozen tundra of Russia to the
sandy beaches of the Australian coast on a quest to recapture
a nuclear warhead and kick ass. This time around, Chan does less
of the ballet-inspired, choreographed fight scenes and more traditional
stunt work: high-speed crashes on snowboards, hand-to-hand combat
in shark-infested aquariums, and crashing expensive cars through
solid objects. It's a little more James Bond and a little less
Kung-fu theatre, but the result is, as always, thoroughly entertaining.
--Wadsworth
MOTHER. Albert Brook's latest film about a second-rate
writer suffering a midlife crisis leaves the impression of being...well...sadly
autobiographical. Following his second divorce, John (Brooks)
leaves L.A. to move back in with his hypercritical mother in order
to figure out why his relationships with women always end in disaster.
Equal parts amusing and excruciating to watch, this self-indulgent
sojourn in suburbia is certainly no Defending Your Life.
Although he strikes certain aspects of the mother-child relationship
with hilarious accuracy, the movie's attempts to take itself seriously
invariably end with dramatic scenes that are at best sophomoric
and at worst--like the last 10 minutes--flat-out embarrassing.
Laura Weeks is wonderful as Mother, but brothers Brooks and Rob
Morrow, and their annoying characters, should seek professional
help. Mother is an odd movie. My companion summed it up
best: You'll spend the better part of two hours laughing, then
leave the theater saying, "That sucked." --Wadsworth
THE PEOPLE VS. LARRY FLYNT. Milos Forman brings the infamous
publisher of Hustler magazine to the big screen in this stylish,
revisionist look at the life and times of the famously offensive
man. Woody Harrelson makes an impish, likable Flynt, blending
backwoods crudeness and little-boy charm with a crusader's lust
for adult entertainment; and Courtney Love is even better as his
overdressed, junkie wife. Together they take on Jerry Falwell,
the Supreme Court, and the good taste of millions of Americans
in this very funny, entertaining movie. --Richter
SHINE. A wonderful, uplifting movie about a child prodigy
who is damaged, then saved, by his art. Based on the true life
of pianist David Helfgott, Shine weaves together scenes
from his extremely lousy childhood and his very eccentric adulthood.
Geoffrey Rush is terrific as Helfgott, a man who's a mass of neurotic
habits and annoying tics, but who can create beautiful music as
well. Occasionally director Scott Hicks is a little too
direct in his method--you can see certain events coming miles
off, and he occasionally veers into the forbidden realm of sentimentality--but
on the whole Shine is visually unusual and fresh. --Richter
TURBULENCE. This movie does for scheming-serial-killer-on-airplane
flicks what Jaws IV did for scheming-shark-in-the-Bahamas
flicks, with at least as much panache. A tiresome Ray Liotta and
Lauren Holly showpiece, it gives its audience about a smidgen
more than they might have expected: glitzy special effects, perky
Holly in her skimpy airline-regulation negligée, suave
and cunning Liotta throwing out feeble one-liners, and many, many
plot holes. (For example, the flight is for about a dozen people,
yet the airline utilizes a 747; at a loss of, say, about
600 seats, it's no wonder so many of them are filing for Chapter
11). There are many wincing moments during the course of the
film, including Liotta's touching explanation of his craft: "First
I started with squirrels and birds, then I moved on to cats and
women." Lest your jones for the genre remains unfilled after
Turbulence, you still have the soon-to-be-released Con
Air to look forward to. We lead a charmed life. --Marchant
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