October 12 - October 18, 1995

Assassins. Finally, finally, a Sylvester Stallone movie in which the actor utters not a single idiotic line. Sure, there are dumb moments aplenty in this tale of an assassin (Stallone) who decides to go straight when his "mark" (Julianne Moore) turns out to have more integrity than his unseen boss and the other assassin (Antonio Banderas) who's competing for the kill. Ably directed by Richard Donner (Lethal Weapon), the movie reinvigorates Stallone's claim to stardom by restraining his worst impulses, and allows Banderas to balance things out by going wild.

Clockers. Spike Lee's adaptation of Richard Price's intricate novel follows a young park-bench drug dealer (Mekhi Phifer) who may or may not have been the gunman in a murder. In spite of his over-emphasis on style, Lee successfully juggles a number of characters whose lives affect each others' like chess pieces in a microcosmic Brooklyn neighborhood, including the wire-pulling dealer who runs the show (Delroy Lindo) and a friendly homicide cop played (very engagingly) by Harvey Keitel. Because the story is more a societal character study than a mystery, don't expect the oomph of Do the Right Thing; the film deals in texture and dialogue, not bright action. And while it's a cut above most other movies in drug-related black cinema, the content unfortunately fails to reach deeper.

Dead Presidents. The Hughes brothers, the twin directing team behing the stark, unsettling Menace II Society, try for too much with their second effort. Starring Larenz Tate, the film starts in '60s coming-of-age territory, then turns into a Platoon-ish Vietnam movie, then a violent '70s-style bank-robbery-gone-wrong movie. It's a major waste of talent, and the idea that this taped-together series of Hollywood conventions represents "the black man's experience" is nothing short of ludicrous. Danny Elfman's unusual score is the most notable aspect of the picture.

Devil in a Blue Dress. No, Denzel Washington doesn't get into drag here--you're thinking Wesley Snipes in that Wong Foo thing. In this noirish period piece, Washington confidently stars in the kind of role Humphrey Bogart was known for 50 years ago: a small-timer who, finding himself enmeshed in a mysterious scandal, must negotiate with a series of colorful (and dangerous) characters in order to climb his way out. Director Carl Franklin does only a fair job forging the basic elements of intrigue and personality necessary to sustain this sort of picture; his film is more notable for re-imagining the genre from a black perspective, placing Washington in a world where he must overcome not only seedy characters, but racial boundaries as well.

Jeffrey. Based on the play by Paul Rudnick (the scribe behind the wildly funny Libby Gelman-Waxner movie reviews in Premiere), this tale of love and sex in the age of AIDS has caustic wit to spare. The movie becomes stale, however, whenever the love story between Jeffrey (Steven Weber) and HIV-positive Steve (Michael Weiss) receives focus; the sparks don't fly and you become too aware you're watching a stage adaptation. If only Jeffrey had concentrated a little more on Rudnick's rude, crazy comedy, it would have been a great film--the kind of entertainment that could break down barriers between straights and gays with laughter. Also starring Sigourney Weaver, Nathan Lane and Patrick Stewart, whose supporting performance as an intelligent, tough-minded decorator couldn't be more perfect.

Seven. David Fincher, the mind behind Alien 3, has visual ingenuity to spare:This gruesome thriller, overflowing with pitch-black shadows, dank rain and artfully detailed corpses (each representing one of the Seven Deadly Sins), generates an unforgettably macabre atmosphere. But thematically, the movie stumbles over itself, trying desperately to shape a mechanical and brutally exploitative puzzle-piece plot into a story with deep philosophical ramifications. Led by a tremendously effective cast that includes Morgan Freeman, Brad Pitt, Gwyneth Paltrow and Kevin Spacey, watching the film is like being led into a magnificent, sepulchral library only to find stacks of National Enquirers.

Showgirls. With this heavily hyped NC-17 travesty, Robocop-director Paul Verhoeven has created a new type of robo-erotica where robocharacters have robosex in the roboscummiest areas of that robocity they call Las Vegas. Roboscreenwriter Joe Eszterhas fills his inane, behind-the-scenes roboexposé with gobs of crude robosub-plots and robodialogue, creating plenty of excuses for roboactress Elizabeth Berkely and others to bare their robobreasts and robopelvises with increasing regularity. If you're a robot, you'll no doubt be turned on. (All others stay away.)

To Die For. Gus Van Sant, ailing after making a movie with too loose a storyline (Even Cowgirls Get the Blues), tries to make up for it with this small-minded, easy-to-analyze portrait of a media whore. Taking cues from Network, The Positively True Adventures of the Alleged Texas Cheerleader-Murdering Mom and that line in Madonna: Truth or Dare when Warren Beatty criticizes Madonna's obsessive exhibitionism, Buck Henry's bleak script may be an accurate vision of a growing societal sickness; but it's not a very new or interesting one. And Van Sant's decision to turn Nicole Kidman's ice queen into a ditzy caricature lessens the picture's impact. What effectiveness the film does have comes from the solidly sympathetic performances of Illeana Douglas, as the sister of the murdered Matt Dillon, and especially teen-actor Joaquin Phoenix.

Unstrung Heroes. Diane Keaton directed this quirky nostalgic tale about a young boy whose troubles dealing with the death of his mother (Andi Macdowell) are exacerbated by the cold, scientific mentality of his father (John Turturro). Ironically, the boy finds emotional release by staying with his two crazy uncles, played by Maury Chaykin and Michael Richards (a.k.a. Seinfeld's Kramer). The result is a low-key, subtly magical-realist film with a welcome European flavor. The film works very well in its modest terms, though viewers should be warned that the picture is as much a weepie as it is a comedy.

Special Screenings

Friday screenings include World and Time Enough, a feature about two men's relationship when HIV becomes an issue; and Relax--when it's time to take "the test," one man's past catches up with him.

Saturday will feature an evening of four short lesbian films: Things We Said Today, Maya, Minor Disturbances and Carmelita Tropicana: Your Knust is Your Waffen, a day in the life of a fabulously funny New York performance artist (rumor has it Carmelita will make a live appearance).

And finally, Sunday closes the series with Demons, a video of two average guys caught in a web of murder, intrigue and romance--on a hog farm; and He Is Bold, He Is Gay, He Is Racist, He Is Fascist, a short video about German skinheads and the contradictions in their lives. All films will be at The Screening Room, 127 E. Congress St. Individual tickets are $5 at the door; or buy a festival pass for $16 from Wingspan Gallery. A reception will follow the 7 p.m. screening on Sunday. Call 624-1779 for information.

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