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 54. This is essentially Whit Stillman's Last Days of
Disco and Paul Thomas Anderson's Boogie Nights mixed
together and mildly dumbed down. It tells the story of Shane (played
in Greek-god-with-a-lobotomy style by Ryanne Phillippe), a beautiful
New Jersey boy who comes to the big city and finds happiness in
the drug-crazed party atmosphere of legendary discotheque Studio
54. While we're treated to endless images of tasty men cavorting
shirtless in the club of dreams, the movie lacks substance beyond
the free play of manly nipples. Mike Meyers is particularly awful
as Steve Rubell, Studio 54's Quaalude-loving impresario, hamming
it up like a drunker, gayer version of Austin Powers. Director
Mark Christopher may have meant to make a downbeat, moralizing
film, but in failing at that he at least makes something that
shows how much fun the New York club scene was. There seems to
be no consequence to any action in this fairy-tale version of
the late '70s/early '80s: Shane's drug use is condemned but never
gets him into any trouble; the marriage of his two closest friends
is strained by their club life, but not terribly so; and even
Rubell's prison sentence seems like nothing more than a brief
vacation from the rigors of all-night partying. This film manages
to capture the ambiance of the disco scene in a way that other
films have not, making 54 a lightly pleasant nostalgia
piece that casts an unwittingly kind and loving glance at that
magical era that brought us Donna Summers, the herpes epidemic,
and glittery spandex posing straps. --DiGiovanna
COUSIN BETTE. Pre-20th-century period pieces can be frightening
propositions: boring, slow-paced films about weak aristocratic
women who faint at the mention of Heathcliff. Don't let that too-often-true
generalization keep you from Cousin Bette, though. It's
kind of like Terminator set in mid-19th-century France,
as Bette (Jessica Lange) methodically plans the demise of those
around her. Her family degrades her and consistently contributes
to her rather skewed sense of self, but rather than throwing herself
into a river she devises a plan of revenge that would make Alexis
Colby proud. Bette's especially refreshing in that she doesn't
need to use sex to get what she wants; she uses other people and
their desires to achieve her goals instead. Elisabeth Shue and
her bare ass co-star as her confidants and key elements in her
schemes and provide moments of cheeky (sorry) humor. Really, the
only offense in the whole film is a multitude of bad hair. So
set your VCR to tape Melrose Place this week, and go to
the Loft for two hours of backstabbing melodrama and sweet sisterly
justice. --Higgins
DANCE WITH ME. In this piece that appears to have been
penned by a standardized script-writing computer, a beautiful
Cuban youth comes to America to find his father, the girl of his
dreams, and a career as a celebrated ballroom dancer. I wonder
if he will succeed?! The editing is perhaps the most atrocious
I've ever seen in a big-budget production. One phone conversation
is doubled in length by the fact that director Randa Haines can't
seem to cut away from the last speaker fast enough, alternately
leaving Vanessa Williams and male lead Chayanne standing there
with strained "can we cut now?" expressions on their
faces for several seconds after they speak each line. Even worse
is the cinematography: The dance scenes are all shot in close-up.
This travesty made me want to ask Haines if the word "duh"
meant anything to her. All she had to do was rent any Gene Kelly
or Fred Astaire movie to see how to shoot people dancing. Here's
a clue: Include their feet in the shot; and while you're at it,
why not include the rest of their bodies? Other than the fact
that it successfully creates the illusion of movement through
the rapid succession of still images, this film is a complete
and utter waste of time. --DiGiovanna
THE GOVERNESS. Minnie Driver plays Rosina, a beautiful
and spirited 19th-century Jewish girl whose life changes after
her father dies, leaving the family destitute. To survive she
must either marry a smelly old fishmonger, become a whore, or
pass for a gentile and go work among the uptight goyim.
So she becomes a governess (disguised under the vaguely Goth pseudonym
Mary Blackchurch), and somehow manages to combine all three. She
finds a position on an island and ends up falling for the man
of the house, Mr. Cavendish (the utterly unappealing Tom Wilkinson),
a brooding man of science. The two invent photography, oddly enough,
but Cavendish is so repressed he freaks out because Rosina/Mary
Blackchurch is forever wanting to get naked with him. (If you're
dying to see Minnie Driver in the buff, this film is for you.)
Meanwhile Cavendish's hot young son is swooning for Rosina, rolling
around in her bedcovers and such, but she'll have nothing to do
with him. This has the feel of a once-good script that's been
homogenized and dumbed down by the movie studio for ease of digestion.
First-time writer and director Sandra Goldbacher shows some spunk,
but this ends up being just another one of those pointless period
movies where everyone's always overcoming repressive times by
having sex. --Richter
PERMANENT MIDNIGHT. If you hate Ben Stiller's acting, you'll
want to avoid Permanent Midnight like it was a weekend
with Richard Simmons. If not, this is definitely worth checking
out. Although not long on originality, this true story of Jerry
Stahl, the heroin-addicted writer for the TV series Alf,
has some creative and engaging moments, including the best crack-smoking
scene ever filmed. In the role of Stahl, Stiller does his entire
quivering, double-talking, hyper-active shtick here, and it works
well in conveying the excited desperation of someone on the edge
of fame. Still, I know a good number of people who find Stiller
unbearable, and this is him at his most intense. Maria Bello (of
ER) turns in a creditable performance as the anonymous
woman who finds him working at a drive-through burger stand after
his rehabilitation; and Elizabeth Hurley plays her standard role
as Stahl's beautiful green-card wife, but really it's Stiller's
show. Even if you can't stand him, at least slip in for the last
few minutes where, as Stahl, he goes on all the talk shows for
the obligatory post-modern, post-addiction, post-recovery, public
self-flagellation. --DiGiovanna
PI. A New York mathematician searches for a number that,
when placed in a formula, can effectively predict the ebb and
flow of the stock market. In the process, he may just be discovering
the secret to life and God--by way of Wall Street, Hebrew scripture,
spiral patterns, and the ancient game of Go. Darren Aronofsky
produced this audaciously premised first feature on the tiniest
of budgets, but he gets the most out of his settings by using
gritty black-and-white photography, smart editing and high-contrast
lighting. And dig that techno music soundtrack! In addition to
technical savvy, Aronofsky also proves himself a first-rate director
of ideas, effectively communicating the kinds of connective concepts
that might be more at home in a book like The Tao of Physics
than on the screen. It's too bad, then, that Aronofsky decided
to reduce Pi's second half to a neat little plot. He throws
ideas on the back burner and instead opts for chase scenes and
insanity. Consequently, lead actor Sean Gullette, whose hand shakes
even more violently than that of Tom Hanks in Saving Private
Ryan, totally freaks out. Then the Robert DeNiro Rules take
over: If there is hair, you must shave it; if there is a mirror,
you must punch it; if there is a drill, you must use it on your
skull; and so on. It's a silly finale for an otherwise stimulating
film. --Woodruff
UNDER THE SKIN. This mediocre drama is a working-class
English take on Waiting for Mr. Goodbar. Samantha Morton
does a credible job as Iris, a young woman who tries a turn at
sluttiness after the death of her mother, though she probably
doesn't have quite the acting skills to pull off a role that has
to make up for a rather thin storyline. The plot is mostly an
excuse to string together a series of sex scenes and close-ups
of Morton's face while she has "feelings." All of the
close-ups are hand-held shots, which makes them a little hard
to watch, though there are some nicely photographed sequences
when the camera is allowed to pull back and expose the cramped
quarters in which Iris takes her sexual odyssey. Certainly more
engaging than most summer blockbusters, but it never rises to
great heights. --DiGiovanna
WHY DO FOOLS FALL IN LOVE. This bio-pic about Frankie Lymon,
doo-wop heartthrob of 1950s pop group "Frankie Lymon and
the Teenagers," is so oddly intriguing that it overcomes
many of its faults, including a penchant for melodrama and some
goof-ball acting by Lela Rochon and Vivica Fox. The story of a
teen idol's fall from fame and his marriages to three different
women is framed by a courtroom sequence wherein the three wives
fight over his estate. Told in flashbacks that start from the
witness stand, Lymon's life is a compelling oddity, charting what
happens to someone who must outlive his brief flirtation with
celebrity. Larenz Tate's performance as Frankie has a get-under-your-skin
quality that's perfect for both his overly-optimistic early years
and nostalgic, junkie decline; and Paul Mazursky does his usual
stand-up job as the paradigmatically sleazy record executive.
Worth a look, though perhaps not the two hours that it asks for.
--DiGiovanna
YOUR FRIENDS AND NEIGHBORS. Pessimistic filmmaker Neil
LaBute follows up his much-lauded first film The Company of
Men with this bleak and funny look at couple-dynamics. Everyone
is named Cary or Jerry or Barry or Cherry or Mary or something
here, and they all hop in and out of bed with each other in search
of something like satisfaction. Of course, they just end up feeling
more despair. LaBute really pushes things over the top with some
wonderfully evil characters (Jason Patrick plays a wildly misogynistic
gynecologist), and by stubbornly refusing all the characters the
tiniest shard of redemption. It's mean, but it's funny too--sort
of like if Woody Allen had written Carnal Knowledge. --Richter
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