Casino. A film that lodges midway between The Age of
Innocence and Taxi Driver on the Scorsese scale. DeNiro,
Joe Pesci and a bunch of jowly Italian guys have returned from
Good Fellas to screw, bash and plug one another again as
the director continues his romance with the Mafia mystique. DeNiro
plays a Casino chief who has everything: money, prestige and a
fox (Sharon Stone), which in Scorsese's world means he has everything
to lose. Set over more than a decade and thick with narration,
Casino is an uncannily alienating movie. It's hard to sympathize
with any of the characters and it's so long that sometimes you
just want it to be over. Still, no one has as much style as Scorsese;
the camera lurches and rolls through this film like the entire
town of Vegas is a sinking ship. Totally violent, but where else
can you watch silver-haired old men beating each other to a pulp?
FATHER OF THE BRIDE PART II. A squeaky-clean peek at the
stress of fatherhood, with Steve Martin doing double-duty as the
expectant father and the expectant grandfather. Something about
Steve Martin is just so damn likable; even watching him run through
idiotic gags barely worthy of a sitcom is mildly pleasant. Still,
his performance here is awfully safe. In fact, everything about
this movie reeks of safety and suburbia, from the family's nice
middle-class house to the nice middle-class plot. Father of
the Bride Part II is a remake of the 1951 film Father's
Little Dividend, and retains traces of a stereotyped, 1950s'
kind of birth anxiety. Remember when fathers fainted in the waiting
room? Haven't we grown up just a little bit since then?
Goldeneye. Sorry to disappoint, but this is the most lackluster
Bond movie in years. We can forgive 007 his sexism, his archaic
cloak-and-dagger ways, and those ridiculous one-liners; but we
simply can not forgive him for being boring. The opening scene
does boast the highest freefall in history, which was probably
a real adrenaline rush for the stunt-double. But from there, Goldeneye
continues on a downward spiral, in spite of the spirited vileness
of Famke Janssen as Xenia Onatopp, the Russian archbabe with the
lethal-weapon thighs. Pierce Brosnan is not to blame: It's the
script that's tired, not the acting. And there aren't nearly enough
gadgets. With all the obscene sums of money they're willing to
spend, the next one should be an IMAX production. Now that
would be something worth $7.50.
Money Train. They're buddies! They're cops! Woody Harrelson
and Wesley Snipes star in this by-the-numbers action movie about
transit cops patrolling the subways. The two play foster brothers
with an unhealthy dependency on each other: they work together,
they live next door to each other, they go for the same type of
girl. Smell a conflict? Their everyday routine of patrolling the
subways and playing drunk to entice thieves is a lot more fresh
and entertaining than the inevitable fighting/stealing/chasing
sequences. If you do live for action, be warned that most of the
moves in this movie are haphazard and come late in the game. There
aren't as many scenes on trains as you might think, and no one's
doing any interesting scheming here. By the way, nothing you see
in this movie should be attempted in real life.
Nick Of Time. Yes, it's 90 minutes of screen action shoe-horned
into one 90-minute movie. The only other film I know of set in
real time is the first half of Ingmar Bergman's 1962 Winter
Light. Winter Light is the existential tale of a priest
confronting his lack of faith. Nick Of Time is the thrill-packed
story of a man forced to attempt a political assassination to
ransom his kidnapped daughter. Winter Light observes subtle
nuances between frustrated characters. Nick of Time has
Johnny Depp in it. Both movies have a lot of clocks. Which is
the better film? You decide.
Now and Then. This coming-of-age comedy follows the nostalgic
flashback formula, with a chain-smoking Demi Moore narrating as
she hurtles down the highway toward a dreaded reunion in the master-planned
suburban setting of her childhood. Thankfully, most of the film
winds through the delightful and melodramatic summer of '69, with
fresh performances by young guns Gaby Hoffman, Thora Birch (My
Girl), Ashleigh Aston Moore and Christina Ricci (Casper).
While at times Now and Then promisingly touches upon the
social upheaval that lurks behind all those perfect suburban lawns
and single-family homes, these themes are never developed. This
sentimental journey comes with the requisite happy ending, tying
up all loose ends with a big, pink bow.
Powder. No groundbreaking cinematic effort here; but Powder
delivers as entertaining sci-fi, with the optimistic twist that
the highly evolved and intelligent "alien" life form
is actually from our own planet. We less-evolved beings find it
impossible not to ponder the connection between Victor Salva and
his creation, considering the writer/director recently did time
for child molestation. Promotional copy reads: "Alienated
from society, he tries to fit in but only finds intolerance. Despite
the cruelty inflicted upon him, Powder's extraordinary compassion
helps him to persist, and people begin to understand that their
harsh judgment is more a reflection of their own ignorance and
fear." Spooky. Sean Patrick Flanery, Mary Steenburgen and
Jeff Goldblum deliver engaging performances in a script that doesn't
ask for much.
Wild Bill. Despite a great start, Walter Hill's western
based on the life of Wild Bill Hickok ends up falling flat. The
opening series of vignettes from Hickok's life is exciting, non-linear
and has exactly the kind of legendary aura that makes westerns
so much fun. But after the vaguely Oedipal plot kicks in, you
can abandon all hope of glimpsing fun again as twenty minutes
of story get stretched into sixty minutes of movie. While the
plot chugs on you can check out the terrific sets; not since Altman's
McCabe & Mrs. Miller has the old west looked so muddy
and inconvenient. Jeff Bridges is great as Bill--too bad he doesn't
have much to do. He does, however, look mighty hunky in long hair
and suede britches, if you're into that kind of thing.
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