FILM REVIEW: THE WHITE RIBBON

A scene from Germany's Oscar entry, The White Ribbon.
 
Unhappy Haneke
 
By Don Simpson

Welcome to the cold and grey environs of the Protestant north-German village of Eichwald during the fall harvest of 1913. Not long before the outbreak of World War I, Eichwald is still functioning as a semi-feudal society. The lord of the manor, the baron (Ulrich Tukur), possesses a majority of the wealth and workforce of the village; the pastor (Burghart Klaußner) and the doctor (Rainer Bock) also wield some power due to their societal status. The three men enjoy absolute moral authority over the women, children and peasants of Eichwald.

The baron treats his workers like slaves, caring little of their health and safety –- one woman falls to her death through rotten floorboards of the baron’s sawmill, yet no one seems to care but her children. The baron has a strained relationship with his wife (Ursina Lardi), who seems petrified to remain in Eichwald –- thus she spends a majority of the film off-screen with their son Sigmund (Fion Mutert) in the warm and safe seclusion of the Mediterranean coast.

The uber-puritanical pastor causes his pubescent children to have guilty consciences over trivial offences. When his son Martin (Leonard Proxauf) confesses to losing sleep due to masturbation the pastor has Martin’s hands tied to his bed frame to alleviate the nighttime temptation of his wayward hands. Additionally, Martin and his sister Klara (Maria-Victoria Dragus) are forced to don white ribbons of purity to remind them of the path of righteousness from which both perpetually stray.

The doctor seems on the surface to be a good person –- treating the village children in a kindly way. That is until we discover that he enjoys humiliating and taking sexual advantage of his housekeeper (Susanne Lothar) and molesting his young daughter, Anna (Roxane Duran).

As the baron, pastor and doctor attempt to retain their tyrannical brand of moral sanctity within their community, mysterious and violent events occur in Eichwald: a trip wire is stretched between two trees causing the doctor to fall from his horse; the baron’s son is abducted; a window is purposefully opened to expose a newborn baby to the intense winter cold; the handicapped son of the midwife is brutally attacked; the pastor’s canary is cruelly killed. 

The purpose and perpetrator(s) of these seemingly random acts is unknown. Are these acts of unbridled retaliatory malice? Or merely signs to prompt societal change? Or purely a means to ignite fear within the village?

One might say there is a terrorist afoot in Eichwald and chances are the terrorist is a direct result of the tyranny and fundamentalism inherent within Eichwald’s social structure. The strict class structure of the feudal society traps the village’s inhabitants in their roles thus propagating greed, jealousy, animosity and suspicion amongst neighbors; while the unforgiving nature of the Protestant religion –- the sole religion of the village -– promotes guilt, fear and hatred.

Then, think of the children –- with their perfect Aryan appearance –- growing up in such a restricted, unforgiving and negative atmosphere. These children are the very same people for whom Adolph Hitler will be their savior in 20 years. The White Ribbon thoughtfully contemplates how German villages such as Eichwald literally bred Nazis; just as fundamentalist (and other close-minded) societies of today breed fear, hatred and terrorism.

The White Ribbon is narrated by the village’s school teacher (Ernst Jacobi) as he contemplates the facts and fictions of his memory in an absurd attempt to piece this oblique and dire puzzle together from some point in the distant future (onscreen, the school teacher is played by Christian Friedel). Because the story is being told from school teacher’s perspective, it is somewhat suspect that he is privy to the solitary heartwarming and uplifting subplot of The White Ribbon –- as he relentlessly courts the lovely and innocent Eva (Leonie Benesch).

Judging by the sparse opening title sequence, black and white cinematography, and simplistic editing and lighting design, this is by no means a modern piece of filmmaking by Michael Haneke (one might say that The White Ribbon is the antithesis of his oeuvre to date). The White Ribbon possesses the finely-aged quality of northern European films from the 1930s and 1940s. The films of Robert Bresson -– a director whom Haneke has often sited as an influence –- would be a good reference point for The White Ribbon.
 

FILM REVIEW: SHERLOCK HOLMES

Robert Downey Jr. is Guy Ritchie's kind of Sherlock Holmes.  

No Schlock, Sherlock

Guy Ritchie’s Sherlock Holmes is a bigger dog than the hound of the Baskervilles.

By Ed Rampell
 

You don’t need the scientific sleuth’s powers of perception to deduce that director Guy Ritchie’s Holmes mostly resembles Sir Conan Doyle’s creation in name only. The flick does have fleeting forensic references -- Sherlock was the original crime scene investigator, and Warner Bros. desperately seems to want to lure CSI fans to the scene of this cinematic crime to recoup its squandered $80 million. Ritchie’s high concept Holmes transforms the cerebral scrutinizer into an action hero -– long on mindless violence, stunts, special effects and CGI gimmickry. I’s short on character, atmospherics and imagination.

Not content to rip-off one creator of an immortal British law enforcer, Ritchie and the film's writers seem to have drawn inspiration from the novels of  Ian Fleming. In their schlock, Sherlock is more like a 19th century James Bond than Doyle’s private eye, and they promiscuously shoplift from 007’s oeuvre. Especially Goldfinger: Holmes’ brutish Dredger (Robert Maillet) recalls Bond’s fearsome foe, Oddjob, and the panic to prevent a WMD from detonating in London’s Parliament suggests the ticking atomic time bomb at Fort Knox.

But Ritchie is no Guy Hamilton (Goldfinger’s director), just as Robert Downey Jr. is to Sherlock what George Lazenby  (a forgettable onetime Bond) is to 007, while Jude Law is to Dr. Watson what Edsels are to autos. Compared to Doyle’s adventures Ritchie’s Holmes is what his laughable flop, the 2002 remake of Swept Away starring then-wife Madonna, is to Lina Wertmuller’s 1974 classic, Swept Away.

Indeed, there’s more charm, characterization, ambiance and mystery in any short story Doyle penned than in Ritchie’s overblown dud. Compounding matters, Holmes’ Irene Adler (Rachel McAdams) collaborates with nefarious Professor Moriarty, “the Napoleon of crime.” 

According to Sherlock Holmes Society of Austin’s Sarah Ann Robertson, “Please. Irene Adler was not a criminal, did not consort with criminals and certainly was not in league with Moriarty.” Guy Marriott, President of the Sherlock Holmes Society of London, adds: “No, Irene Adler (who appears in A Scandal in Bohemia) is a retired opera singer who had a liaison with the King of Bohemia, who seeks Holmes’ assistance to recover a photograph of the[m].  She’s not a criminal, or associated with criminals [or] Professor Moriarty.”

Holmes pits the shamus and his sidekick against a Victorian version of the “War on Terror,” battling Lord Blackwood’s (Mark Strong) Al-Qaeda-like cult, which practices human sacrifice and conspires to topple Britain’s government using IEDs, WMDs, etc. Fair enough -- Basil Rathbone and Nigel Bruce, who portrayed Holmes and Watson in 14 films from 1939-1946, fought Nazis in WWII movies such as Sherlock Holmes and the Secret Weapon. But the most egregiously offensive scene in Ritchie’s wretched excess is when Hebrew letters are shown during the occult secret society’s gathering. (This apparently has escaped the notice of other critics.)

Linking Jews to sinister scheming cabals that perpetrate blood sacrifice and world domination conspiracies is the vilest anti-Semitic stereotype perpetuated by The Protocols of the Elders of Zion, which the Anti-Defamation League calls “a classic in paranoid, racist literature.” Its discredited lunacy has been propagated by hate mongers from Hitler to the Blackwood-like Osama Bin Laden. Through Madonna Ritchie was associated with Kabbalah (Jewish mysticism), and it’s doubtful he deliberately slurred Jews. Plus, Warner Bros. led Hollywood’s struggle against Nazism. However, the fact that Hebrew is onscreen when Holmes’ fanatical conspirators meet reveals how grossly insensitive these filmmakers who, willy-nilly, take liberties with a popular fictional character. (At least Ritchie doesn’t call Sherlock “Shylock.”)

Had these no-talent hacks produced work with dramatis personae bearing monikers they’d concocted, I wouldn’t object (except to the anti-Semitism). But what’s particularly odious is Ritchie’s crew wrecking a well-established brand it did nothing to create. They’re deploying the same crowd pleasing formula Mel Gibson used in The Passion of the Christ: exploit preexisting brand names and add violence. Intriguingly, both films contain anti-Jewish references.


 
 
  

 


 

   



   
   

        

         

   

EXCLUSIVE INTERVIEW: VERNE TROYER

Verne Troyer (right) with the late Heath Ledger (left) in The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus. 

Short attention spanning

By John Esther 

As one of the shortest men in the world, Verne Troyer has had a lot of attention thrust upon him throughout his life. While a lot of this attention has been unwanted, sometimes annoying, the stunt double-turned-actor has used his height to his advantage, forging a sturdy career in film and television.

Born and raised in Centreville, Michigan, after his high school graduation in 1987, Troyer moved to Frisco, Texas, where he got his first break as a stunt double for a nine-month-old in the 1994 film, Baby's Day Out. Picking up more stunt work, then acting, along the way in both TV and film, the two-foot, eight-inch Troyer got his big break with the role of Mini-Me in Jay Roach and Mike Myers' movies Austin Powers: The Spy Who Shagged Me (1999) and Austin Powers in Goldmember (2002).

Among the many roles before and after Mini-Me, the lifelong bachelor had a brief appearance in Terry Gilliam's excellent 1998 film, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. Apparently this encounter with Troyer made an impression on the former member of Monty Python (the only American member) because Gilliam wrote the role of Percy in his latest film, The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus, just for Troyer.

A fantastic world where imaginations are allowed to run wild through the magical mind of Doctor Parnassus (Christopher Plummer), the cynically inclined Percy and his mates move from town to town enticing people to break free of their prisons via the Imaginarium. But there will be cost for all involved.

Like many of Gilliam's previous films, The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus, hit a big obstacle during the making of the film. On January 22, 2008, the film's protagonist, Heath Ledger, accidentally died of from a lethal combination of prescription drugs at the age of 28. Undeterred and motivated by Ledger's untimely death, filming of The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus continued when Johnny Depp, Jude Law and Colin Farrell agreed to perform in scenes never filmed with Ledger.

When we spoke to Troyer in November, it was obvious the experience of making The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus was very bittersweet experience, with much being left unsaid.

JEsther Entertainment: Why did you want to be in this film?

Verne Troyer: Because Terry wanted me in it [Laughs]. That's all it took.

JE: What do you think you have in common with your character?

VT: Terry actually wrote it with me in mind. That's an honor by itself. He knew a lot about me. A lot of me went into this character -- from the sarcasm to me being sadistic. If you really get to know me I'm a bit like that.

JE: What were some of the things you discovered about yourself doing the role or having someone like Terry write a role for you?

VT: I discovered that -- as nervous and challenging as I thought it was going to be -- it was actually fun. I really enjoyed more than I thought I would so it's something I want to pursue a little more of.

JE: You mention how fun it was making the film, but obviously there was a great tragedy during production. How did the passing of Heath alter the atmosphere of the project?

VT: It altered the whole gamma of shooting. The strong group of people we had were dedicated; we just came together as a family to finish the film. We wanted to finish this film, not only for ourselves, but also for Heath. We all just helped each other in a very difficult moment. We all knew what we wanted to do.

JE: What is it like working with Terry Gilliam as opposed to different film directors?

VT: I enjoy Terry. It's not like I don't enjoy other directors. I love working with [Austin Powers' director] Jay Roach, too. But Terry is crazy cool. He knows what he wants. He knows what he's going for. You see these weird angles where he's putting the camera and you say, "What's he trying to get with that?" Then you go look at the screen and it's like "Wow, how's he getting all 

this light? It's all coming together and it's really amazing."

JE: In the film there is the psychological aspect of people going into his or her imaginarium. What do you think your imaginarium would look like?

VT: I imagine I'm Hugh Hefner [Laughs].

JE: Mini-me became a cultural icon. How did that change your perception of acting?

VT: It changed my life dramatically. It came from me doing stunt work and people not knowing who I was to being known all around the world. People know my name. That surprises me. It's a big thing. Sometimes I don't like to think about it, but I have to [Laughs]. I'm very honored to be given this opportunity.

JE: For many reasons you have drawn attention throughout your life. 

VT: Yes. When I was younger I always got attention because of my height. People would just stare. Now they notice me as an actor, and not necessarily because of my height. The whole process of how my life has changed, I'm enjoying it as long as I can because I don't know when it's going to end. Unfortunately, these days everyone has a camera phone or something like that. The paparazzi right now is ridiculous. You just got to be careful what you do in public.

JE: What is the one question you are tired of being asked?

VT: I'm tired of being asked, "How was it working with Heath?" Everyone asks it in every interview.

JE: Phew!

VT: Yeah, you didn't. That's good. [Laughs.]

JE: Lastly, what do you think about these interviews where you talk about your work and yourself? Does it serve the work? Should the work speak for itself?

VT: They both compliment each other. It's good to stay in touch with people who actually go out and watch your films. Actors and entertainment writers need each other in order for us both to continue working. 

 

CULTURE: LAST MINUTE GIFT IDEAS

Naughty up your holiday stockings with Kylie Jones' new book. 

Last minute book-ings

By Ed Rampell

 

If you haven’t completed your holiday shopping yet and are still looking for last minute stocking stuffers, here are four book ideas for your naughty and nice holiday list (or if you just want a good read).

Naughty: Lies My Mother Never Told Me by Kaylie Jones (William Morrow)

“I was always afraid my writing would be compared to my Dad’s,” confesses Kaylie Jones, daughter of the literary lion, James Jones, the World War II combat veteran who immortalized Hawaii’s peacetime Army and the Pearl Harbor sneak attack. In 1952 his From Here to Eternity beat out novels by Truman Capote, William Faulkner, William Styron, Herman Wouk, Thomas Mann and even J.D. Salinger’s The Catcher in the Rye to win the National Book Award. Jones, who’s widely considered to be the greatest novelist about men at war, followed Eternity up with a novel about the Guadalcanal battle, The Thin Red Line. Both books were made into successful films.

 
Confronted by this daunting literary legacy, when she joined the “family business,” Kaylie fought to become an author in her own “write.” Her five novels include the autobiographical A Soldier’s Daughter Never Cries, which became a Merchant/ Ivory film in 1998 starring Leelee Sobieski as Kaylie’s alter ego. Kaylie has not only dealt with being the Great American Novelist’s daughter, but with the fact that her father was a heavy drinker and her mother, Gloria Jones, an abusive, outright alcoholic.

After Gloria’s death in 2006, for the first time Kaylie turned to nonfiction, taking off the gloves in Lies My Mother Never Told Me, a no-holds-barred memoir about growing up in a dysfunctional household that moved from Paris to the Hamptons to Miami, but where liquor always flowed as freely as words. Kaylie’s tell-all about her family and their famous friends spares no one: Humphry Bogart's widow Lauren Bacall warns Gloria against having rebound sex with Frank Sinatra; William Styron, author of Sophie’s Choice, propositions Kaylie -- his close friend’s daughter; Norman Mailer’s feud with James; Kaylie’s promiscuity and her own battle with the bottle; etc. Above all, Gloria's Grey Gardens-like alcoholic antics, abusiveness and cruelty are exposed, including disinheriting her only daughter. One can only imagine what Gloria would have done to her prodigal child had she lived to read this take-no-prisoners account.

Naughtier: I See Rude People by Amy Alkon (McGraw-Hill)

Syndicated advice columnist Amy Alkon is a “Dear Abby” for the age of road rage, telemarketers, brats screaming on airplanes, cell phones, overcrowding, et al. With an acerbic wit the gutsy redhead takes on “the new rudeness,” an epidemic of “meanness, a hostile self-centeredness, that’s overtaken our society since around the turn of the millennium, and nobody’s safe from the pushing, shoving, and shouting.” Quoting philosophers, sociologists, psychologists, anthropologists and apologists the so-called “Advice Goddess” analyzes today’s anti-politeness plague and boldly goes where few have gone before: Attempting to cure society’s poor manners.

Arguing that “rude people are actually stealing from the rest of us by taking communal resources [such as time, space, peace and quiet] as their own,” like a Howard Beale of etiquette, Alkon is mad as hell and isn’t taking it anymore. The self-described “Revengerella” is striking back –- shooshing bigmouths publicly shrieking into their mobiles; correcting the misbehavior of under-parented children for whom the whole “world is their daycare center”; and, most famously, tracking down telemarketers’ phone numbers and calling them at home during dinner. Ah, vengeance is sweet –- but not always.

Alkon notes a puzzling phenomenon: Those who speak up against discourtesy are often themselves criticized as being rude scolds. And not only by the perps –- but by twerps who are actually, along with Alkon, being victimized by the miscreants’ antisocial boorishness. The “Advice Goddess” considers this to be a form of “Stockholm syndrome,” and calls those who pay a price for the public good “costly punishers.”

We live in an era of unaccountability, wherein war criminals get off and are even awarded the Medal of Freedom; Wall Streeters who devastated our economy are given multi-billion dollar bailouts with money taken from the same taxpayers they’ve ripped off and thrown out of work; etc. I See Rude People is a badly needed tonic on the micro level, a step towards holding people accountable for their actions. Alkon strikes a blow for an all too uncommon common courtesy.

Naughtiest: Going Rogue by Sarah Palin (HarperCollins)

When I was 14 I was beaten and arrested at an antiwar demo by the pigs (aka NYPD) and had the misfortune of having a copy of Eldridge Cleaver’s Soul On Ice with me while I was booked at the stationhouse. One of the cops surprised me and his fellow flatfoots by declaring he’d read the Black Panther’s book. “Now I’m really in for it,” I mused. His explanation? “You’ve got to know your enemy.” It was in this spirit that I read Sarah Palin’s autobiography in an effort to find out just what makes Alaska’s quitter-in-chief tick.

When, as the book jacket puts it, “Palin burst onto the national political stage like a comet” after GOP presidential candidate John McCain tapped her as his unlikely running mate, Palin made a supposedly “electrifying” speech at the Republican National Convention that, like her tome, was quite revealing. Speaking of “rude people,” the person dubbed “Sarah Barracuda” in high school (a nationally known nickname she conveniently ignores in Rogue) compared herself on live TV to a pit-bull as part of a snarling speech that, among others, derided “community organizers” –- you know, those underpaid civic-minded people who go door-to-door in suffering communities to aid the poor, fight substance abuse, etc. Of course, “community organizer” is a code word for Blacks (uh, like her Democratic opponent) and activists who help the downtrodden. (This from a female athlete who admits to benefiting from Title IX.) Palin’s accusations that Barack Obama “palled around with domestic terrorists” and proposed healthcare reform would create “death panels” also expose her viciousness, as does her score-settling screed.

Despite the fact Jesus was arguably the archetypal “community organizer,” Rogue is full of intimations that Palin has been anointed by god to lead the rightwing to the promised land -- although the book doesn’t have too much to say about her Pentecostal church per se. Rogue is actually full of convenient contradictions and omissions. When reciting the Gospel according to Ronald Reagan, she manages not to mention the Iran-Contra scandal. A page after lauding Reagan, Palin proceeds to break Reagan’s so-called “11th commandment” that prohibits GOPers from speaking ill of other Republicans.

We also learn that the candidate who couldn’t tell Katie Couric what she read was supposedly a bookworm and “nerd” in her youth. The “loving” wife and mother spends long periods of time apart from her husband (but not a peep about those tabloid affair rumors) and children. Palin was apparently too preoccupied with her career to tell her daughter the facts of life so Bristol wouldn’t get knocked up. Palin’s abdication from Alaska’s governorship is a pattern of behavior: when the going got tough, she’d previously quit as Alaska’s top energy industry regulator. 

Rogue is most enjoyable when Palin provides insight into what life is like in the 49th State. It’s all the more disappointing that Alaska’ ex-governor is a global warming denier, when this energy industry shrill shill could have been among the planet’s top champions, instead of a “drill, baby driller.” What’s oddest about Palin is that her reactionary followers adore the Godzilla from Wasilla because she’s supposedly like them. But America is predominantly urban and suburban now; few Americans live in rural “real America,” and while Palin’s smalltime small town upbringing bears some similarity to that of some Americans in the Lower 48, Alaska is really different from the rest of the nation. There’s a photo in Rogue of a grinning Palin with her jackboot on the carcass of a caribou she claims to have shot. How many people do you know who participate in aerial hunting, as she supposedly has? (So much for Psalm 148’s  “all creatures, great and small.”)     

Reading this tome, one discovers the true meaning of "Going Rogue." Palin paints herself as a reformer who took on Alaska’s Republican establishment. “Going mavericky,” as Tina Fey pithily put it, means fanatical rightwing “populism” that goes beyond traditional Republicanism towards fascistic politics. Judging by this book, if Palin gets into power, at least we know what type of government she’ll run: a rogue state. Let’s hope this comet burns out before 2012.

Nice: Save the Deli by David Sax (Houghton Mifflin Harcourt)

What better Christmas present could there possibly be than a book subtitled: In Search of PERFECT PASTRAMI, CRUSTY RYE, and the Heart of JEWISH DELICATESSAN? Author David Sax embarks on a mouth-watering magical mystery tour of delis throughout North America, Europe and beyond. Sax literally eats his way around the world (although not necessarily in 80 days). En route Sax uses delis as a metaphor for the state of the Jewish people and culture. Often, he laments the delicatessen’s decline in various cities, as deli goes the way of Yiddish.

But his edible odyssey yields some good news for modern Jews and other fans of corn beef, kugel and kreplach. According to Sax, the planet’s brightest spot for these endangered eateries is Holy Knish!, right here in Los Angeles. Yes, Los Angeles is the meal Mecca for aficionados of matzo, gefilte fish, Reuben sandwiches, etc. From chains like Jerry’s Famous Deli to solo bistros like Factor’s, L.A. is a culinary cream and dream factory.

Okay, I’m late for Hanukkah – so sue me! Better late than never. You don’t have to be Jewish to read Save the Deli, a real Jewish book. Savor it -- and save me a booth at Canter’s and pass the bagel chips! Hello deli, happy holidays and happy reading!

FILM REVIEW: AVATAR

The Bluetiefull People 

By John Esther 

Watching the trailers for Avatar, 20th Century Fox gives off the impression that an American Armed Force is under attack and the only thing to do is stand tall and fierce in the face of big belligerent blue people and their fellow monsters. It is a nice trick to get the testosterone target audience into the theaters for a mouthful of American P(r)i(d)e. Fortunately and surprisingly, writer-director-producer-editor James Cameron's long awaited follow up to Titanic offers up a better feast.

Conceived before that prime example of poor taste -- by the public and AMPAS -- Avatar is set in the wonderful world of Pandora, a moon orbiting a gas-giant planet called Polyphemus in the Alpha Centauri-A star system. Pure in deed and need the atmosphere is too toxic for 22nd-century humans so they created the Avatar Program. The Avatar Program is a quasi-Matrix (there are plenty of overlapping agents with the Matrix film trilogy in Avatar) system where human "drivers" link their consciousness to a DNA-engineered biological machine which can survive on Pandora.

It is crucial humans can survive on Pandora because there is a buried natural resource called Unobtainium in the planet which the human beings need to solve their energy crisis back on earth.

The latest driver/mercenary is Jake Sully (Sam Worthington), a marine who lost his walk. He has been assigned to befriend the natives of Pandora, learn their culture and language (subtitles in 3D!) in order to gain their trust and persuade them how it is in their best interest to relocate away from the land of rich natural resources or suffer the consequences a la pick your indigenous peoples displaced throughout history.

More of a man than your typical corporate cog greasing the wheels of colonialism, thanks to a native, Neytir (a superb Zoë Saldana), Jake begins to learn and appreciate the ways the inhabitants live in harmony with their environment. They only kill enough to survive, acknowledging their four-legged victims for their sacrifice (there are no abattoirs on Pandora). They do not waste on Pandora. This in turn has given them peace -- plus physiques and facial structures of modelesque magnitude.

The ethical and physical superiority of the natives fascinates Dr. Grace Augustine (Sigourney Weaver, who starred in Cameron's Aliens) while reminding businessmen like Carter Selfridge (Giovanni Ribisi) and "fight terror with terror" Col. Miles Quaritich (Stephen Lang) of their own inadequacies once outside the money and might mantra. Will people like Carter and Colonel tear down this distant land, too, in the name of finite energy? Will Jake obey orders or go rogue?

A classic tale of invading ignoble savages getting rebuffed and refuted by noble native "savages" (when you make or take the war over there, you give your opponent home field advantage) magnified by some groundbreaking special effects, Avatar is a grand film, offering fun, entertainment and perspective in a world largely in denial of its pissing-on-the-poor past and its highly probable future of continued want and wantonness. 

 

FILM REVIEW: NINE

The Nine lives of a director (Daniel Day-Lewis) and a designer (Judi Dench).

Growing up Guido!

By Miranda Inganni

Smoking, singing and climbing his way through Nine, Daniel Day-Lewis plays Guido Contini, a masterful Italian director trying to pull out of the slump of a string of flops. He has enough inspiration to make his magnum opus, Italia, but lacks a narrative, much less a script. Turning to every woman who has had an effect on his life, he searches and struggles, but to no avail.

Guido lives multiple lives in his one existence. He seeks advice from his dead mother (Sophia Loren), tells his wife, Luisa (Marion Cotillard), how much he adores her, but misses her birthday to spend time with his married mistress, Carla (Penélope Cruz). His muse, Claudia Henssen (Nicole Kidman), taunts him with her beauty and past promises of love. Lilli (Judi Dench), Guido's friend and costume designer, seems to be the voice of reason, encouraging her friend and trying to do right by keeping his marriage intact.

This fantastical film ostensibly questions dreams versus reality, imagination versus facts. Guido lives in his own world, full of memories from his childhood -- including a particularly Fellini-esque beach scene with the busty Saraghina (Stacy Ferguson, AKA Fergie) teaching young Guido and his friends about being Italian lovers.

Lacking bursts of color and brightness, the monotony of grays and browns echoes the overall tone of Nine.  Directed by Rob Marshall (Chicago, Memoirs of a Geisha), written by Michael Tolkin and the late Anthony Minghella and shot by Dion Beebe, Nine sadly lacks the vibrancy and vitality of Italy, and it certainly does nothing to entice the viewer into doing his or her own Italian cinematographic research.

Based on the Tony Award winning musical by the same title, which in turn is based losely on Federico Fellini's 8 1/2, Nine feebly attempts to re-imagine the maestro's classic. And while I applaud all the actors' efforts at singing her or his respective songs (most do quite admirably), the lazy lyrics are a distraction -- as is the overuse of wigs on the women.

FILM REVIEW: FALL DOWN DEAD

Udo Kier is a killer in pursuit of his art in Fall Down Dead.

Picasso and his Christmas slay 

By Don Simpson

Do not let the title fool you, those who fall down in Fall Down Dead do not die. In fact, there is no logical correlation between the title and the film. Is Fall Down Dead really all that director Jon Keeyes and writer Roy Sallows could muster for a title? Why not take a cue from the Halloween or Friday the 13th franchises and use a title like Christmas Eve or December the 24th? Or use something cheesy like Christmas Slay? Okay, fine. I’ll quit my complaining and just get this review over with.

It is Christmas Eve and the Picasso Killer (Udo Kier) is doing some carving. No, he is not carving up a Christmas turkey, ham or other butchered animal. This Picasso (not to be confused with artist Pablo Picasso who, according to Jonathan Richman, has never been called an "asshole") uses a straight razor to carve the skin from his female prey in order to create works of fine art. Males, on the other hand, are mere nuisances not worthy of Picasso’s artistic talents; so he typically uses other means, such as guns, to do away with them.

Upon bumping into Christie (Dominique Swain), as she is wandering down a creepy alley late at night, Picasso realizes that he has found the perfect specimen for his artistic masterpiece. But before Picasso is able to get his blade under her milky white skin, Christie scurries away to the Hitchcock Building where she finds a fumbling and bumbling security guard, Wade (David Carradine). It is not long before two vice detectives arrive, Stefan (Mehmet Gunsur) and Lawrence (R. Keith Harris), to take Christie’s statement. Of course, Picasso also shows up to the Hitchcock Building and he subsequently traps Christie, Wade, Stefan, Lawrence and a few others inside (conveniently during a rolling blackout, thus rendering cellphones useless) –- providing the perfect opportunity for him to slay up some Christmas Eve cheer.

Fall Down Dead features several horror show standards/clichés/references: the woman walking alone down a dark and secluded alley (when will the women of horror films ever learn?); the woman walking alone in a parking garage late at night (when will the women of horror films ever learn?); the frantic pushing of elevator buttons (as if the elevator will come quicker); the frantic yanking at locked doors (as if the door will miraculously unlock and open); the token shower scene (one word: Psycho); the citywide rolling blackouts (more like a writer cop out just to make things that much simpler for the villain); the small group of strangers stuck in a building being picked off one at a time (if they could only hear my ever-so-helpful survival advice as I shout at the screen). Thus Fall Down Dead is predictable and, for the most part, void of suspense.
 

Kier is his usual creepy self. I have to admit that his performance is really the only reason, other than some nice interior set and lighting design, to watch Fall Down Dead. Carradine -– in his first true foray into slapstick comedy –- appears to be channeling Don Knotts (yes, his performance is as strange as it sounds). Swain (best known for her breakout role playing Dolores Haze in Adrian Lyne’s Lolita) is perfectly adept at playing the stereotypical horror film leading lady –- always running, screaming and complaining –- yet she is also fairly convincing once she toughens up and becomes the film’s heroine.

MUSIC: METALLICA IN CONCERT

Bassist Robert Truillo and lead guitarist Kirk Hammett of Metallica. Photo by Felipe Gamboa.

Axes to grind

By Carlin Nguyen 

Thursday night mega rock band Metallica played to a sold-out crowd of approximately 17,000 people inside the Honda Center in Anaheim.

As usual people came from near and far. Folks from Australia were here. There was a cute couple who came from South America just to get a glimpse of bassist Robert Trujillo.

Drummer Lars Ulrich started out the show with an amazing prelude drum introduction before the band headed into “That Was Just Your Life."

Lead vocalist-guitarist James Hetfield was still rocking with his die-hard black-on-black shirt and pants. He always wants to make sure the crowd is comfortable and hopes they will return the favor.

There were a lot of nice songs to go around during the performance such as “The End of the Line,” “Broken, Beat and Scarred" in addition to classic Metallica numbers like “Sandman,” “From Whom The Bell Tolls,” and “Nothing Else Matters."

The stage setup presented a circular metal platform with eight coffins located up high above the stage. On each of the coffins lay bright white lights flashing out downward upon the hardcore fans (no matter where a person was sitting). But the stage presence was a different story. Hetfield, in the middle of the circular platform stage with his cool and witty attitude, is busy on the microphone. Meanwhile lead guitarist Kirk Hammett is 50 fifty feet away from the center of the stage while Trujillo was somewhere else.

The opening acts were Volbeat and Machine Head.

FILM REVIEW: UNTIL THE LIGHT TAKES US

Satyricon rocks Until the Light Takes Us.

 

By Don Simpson 

During the 1980s, a generous handful of thrash metal bands began paving the road for black metal. This "first wave" featured bands such as Venom (whose 1982 album was titled Black Metal), Mercyful Fate, Bathory and Celtic Frost. Anti-Christian themes were prevalent as was unpolished (“lo-fi”) and minimalist recording production. Bathory is oft-cited as the first to feature “shrieked” lead vocals. Black metal musicians adapted menacing psuedonymns; some began to sport the now iconic corpsepaint.

In the Early 1990s, Norwegian bands such as Mayhem, Burzum and Darkthrone carried the burning torch of the "second wave" of black metal which truly solidified the scene into a distinct musical and sociological genre. Awash with high gain tones, abundant distortion and fast tremolo picking, black metal guitarists utilize certain scales, intervals and chord progressions to produce the most dissonant and ominous sounds possible. Blatantly deviating from conventional song structure -– utterly void of verse-chorus sections –- black metal typically features extended and repetitive instrumental sections.

And then the churches began to burn. The black metal scene was presumed responsible for the arson of more than fifty Christian churches in Norway between 1992 and 1996. One of the most noteworthy churches that was reduced to ashes by black metal was Norway's Fantoft stave church. Originally constructed in Sognefjord around the year 1150, it was relocated to a location in Fantoft in 1883 that was rumored to have deep ancient significance to Norse pagans.

The spate of church burnings –- as well as three grisly deaths –- garnered high profile international media attention for the black metal scene, showcasing a nihilistic rampage of satanically-minded youth. Despite the unbridled onslaught of negative publicity, this once underground scene in Norway quickly gained notoriety resulting in skyrocketing record sales worldwide.

Co-produced and co-directed by Aaron Aites and Audrey Ewell, Until the Light Takes Us focuses primarily on two of the most prominent “second wave” musicians: Varg Vikernes (“Count Grishnackh”) and Gylve Nagell (“Fenriz”) the two representing the yin and yang of black metal.

We follow Nagell as he rides trains, walks the streets of Norway, sits in his apartment and attends art installations all the while ruminating on the “lo-fi” recording techniques and philosophy that his band Darkthrone abides by. For Nagell, black metal is purely about the music –- more specifically, its easily identifiable sound. While Darkthrone has profited from all of the press surrounding black metal, Nagell purposefully maintains a safe distance from the negative actions of the scene. All in all, Nagell seems like a very nice guy albeit with a nihilistic and misanthropic slant.

Vikernes, of the one-man band Burzum, is interviewed solely in a bright and cheery prison room while serving a maximum sentence (in Norway the maximum sentence is 21 years) for the 1993 murder of the lead singer of Mayhem, Øystein Aarseth (“Euronymous”), and multiple arson charges (including that of the Fantoft stave church). It is readily apparent that Vikernes considers himself to be the philosopher king of the black metal scene; he comes across as well-read (especially in Norse mythology and its apparent destruction at the hands of Christians) and intelligent.

In the spring of 2009 (after Aites and Ewell’s film was completed), Vikernes was released on parole after having served almost 16 years of his 21-year sentence. He promptly announced a new album – The White God – offering a blunt reminder that the white power and homophobic schizophrenia of black metal is left unexplored in Until the Light Takes Us. There is no mention that Vikernes has been identified as a Nazi throughout most of his life, or that while in prison he coined the term "odalism" (derived from odinism – Germanic Neopaganism) to describe his ideologies. According to Vikernes, within odalism “lies Paganism, traditional nationalism, racialism and environmentalism"; Vikernes contrasts odalism with modern civilization ("capitalism, materialism, Judeo-Christianity, pollution, urbanization, race mixing, Americanization, socialism, globalization, et cetera").

In order to create Until the Light Takes Us, Aites and Ewell traveled to Norway and immersed themselves amongst the black metal scenesters for several years, establishing the trust and friendship of this film’s subjects. Their focus is on the anti-establishment ideologies of the scene, not to mention how the film’s subjects have historically been misunderstood by the media (for example: though black metal is anti-Christian, that does not mean it is pro-Satan). In other words, it is obvious which side Aites and Ewell are on -- most of the negative aspects of the scene are either shrugged off or ignored altogether, their primary goal is to provide black metal an opportunity for rebuttal against the media’s claims.

What Until the Light Takes Us does extremely well is visually illustrate and explain the Norwegian context (the unforgivably dark and cold environs; the über-conformist yet liberal society; the invasion of globalization, commercialization and Americanization) which caused these self-effacing, eccentric and intelligent young men to feel alienated and oppressed by their surroundings.

What I really do not understand is why black metal would take a backseat on the Until the Light Takes Us soundtrack to songs by Múm, Black Dice, Lesser and Boards of Canada?

THEATER REVIEW: JUST IMAGINE

Tim Piper Just Imagines bringing John Lennon back to life.

Controlling our smiles and tears 

By Ed Rampell

On Dec. 8, 2009 -- the 29th anniversary of John Lennon’s assassination -- Just Imagine brought the man and the music back to life. The one-man show’s premise is that if the ex-Beatle could come back to Earth for one final concert, this is what would happen.

Lennon is embodied by Tim Piper, the Pied Piper of Beatlemania, who has also incarnated the slain musician in TV movies such as CBS’ The Linda McCartney Story and tribute bands. Piper bears a resemblance to the latter day Lennon and, to borrow a phrase from Lennon, is a talent in his own “write.” One thing Piper gets precisely right and captures is the tightness around the troubled, primal screaming/singing Lennon’s mouth. As he talks about Lennon’s life and times and performs, Piper is backed by a rocking quartet called Working Class; I imagine that together they could be called the “Fab Five.”

The stage show includes a large screen upon which various Beatles archival and news clips are projected, opening up the drama beyond the stage’s proverbial fourth wall to reveal Lennon’s era and influences. In general, this worked very effectively to show how Lennon reflected, and in turn, impacted his turbulent times. However, one or two of the montages and their musical accompaniments puzzled me, such as incongruously counterpointing John Lennon/Paul McCartney’s idyllic "Strawberry Fields" to the assassinations of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. and Sen. Robert Kennedy. Perhaps Piper and director Steve Altman are symbolizing the loss of innocence and forecasting Lennon’s own liquidation, not far from a stretch of Central Park now called “Strawberry Fields”?

The first act cleverly uses Beatles and solo Lennon tunes as a sort of musical diary to reveal the inner self, private life, angst, creative process, collaboration with Paul, daily activities and political activism of one of Rock music’s most prolific geniuses.

While act one does a stellar job revealing Lennon’s life with lyrics, songs, words and video images, the second act is less tight and story based. This was also true for the Four Seasons bio-play, Jersey Boys (book by Marshall Brickman and Rick Elice, music by Bob Gaudio, lyrics by Bob Crewe). Perhaps the playwrights of both shows felt that as they’d been storytellers in their first acts, they’d already set up their act twos, and could get away with more loosely constructed second acts emphasizing the music? However, in contrast to Frankie Valli, Lennon’s ending is something straight out of Greek tragedy, and affected how Just Imagine’s rendered a grand finale that, let’s face it, didn’t have a happy ending. In any case, the way Just Imagine uses a piece of Beatles music to suggest Lennon’s murder is quite inspired.

As is much of this musical one-man show, my above “complaints” are really mere quibbles. During the Vietnam War I’d heard Lennon and Yoko Ono play "Give Peace a Chance" at an anti-war rally in New York’s Bryant Park, but I was too young to have heard the Fab Four perform in person. At some point during the first act it suddenly dawned upon me that I’d never heard the rest of their repertoire, those songs that had scored the soundtrack of my generation, performed live. For that reason alone this production is a special treat.

Another treat, after the premiere members of Three Dog Night, Paul Revere and the Raiders and composer Bobby Hart – co-writer of many Monkees hits -- joined Piper and the lads on stage for a rousing rendition of "All You Need is Love." The opening night performance benefited the Save the Music Foundation, which provides public school pupils with musical instruments -– something one can imagine Lennon would heartily approve. 

But it is a special holiday delight to have Lennon back with us, even for only a couple of imaginary hours. Mark David Chapman not only stole Lennon’s life, and Ono’s husband and Sean and Julian’s Lennon's father, but imagine how much music his assassin’s bullets stole from the world. Lennon’s murder made us all poorer, and was the perfect curtain raiser to the Ronald Reagan presidency, a warning to all would-be activists to shut the hell up, just as Lennon was silenced as he emerged from a five-year creative hibernation with a new hit album and, reportedly, was preparing to return to the political stage, working class hero that he still was.

When you have a war-mongering president who has the unmitigated gall to use a Nobel Peace Prize speech as a brazen platform to arrogantly rationalize U.S. wars and imperialism (not even Henry Kissinger dared do this when the Nobel committee stupidly gave his Peace Prize), the world needs Lennon more than ever. Just Imagine is not only a good fun trip down memory Penny Lane, but a fitting homage to, and reminder of, one of the planet’s greatest humanitarians, artists and peace activists ever. Give yourself and your loved ones a Christmas gift and go see it. No-Ho-Ho!

We still love you, John, yeah, yeah, yeah!

Just Imagine runs through Dec. 31 at the NoHo Arts Center, 11136 Magnolia Blvd., N. Hollywood, CA., 91601. For more info: 866/811-4111; www.justimaginetheshow.com. 

FILM REVIEW: INVICTUS

President Mandela (Morgan Freeman) drops in on Captain Pienaar (Matt Damon) in Clint Eastwood's Invictus.

Rugby nation 

By Don Simpson

The prevailing mantra of the Specials’ song “Free Nelson Mandela” came true on February 11, 1990. After 27 years of imprisonment (18 years on Robben Island) for his role as an anti-apartheid activist and leader of the African National Congress' armed wing Umkhonto we Sizwe, Nelson Mandela was released from prison. 

Following release from prison, Mandela helped lead the transition from apartheid towards a multi-racial democracy in South Africa. Thanks in part to Mandela’s reconciliation efforts, South Africa's first fully enfranchised multi-racial elections were held on April 27, 1994. The African National Congress (ANC) won 62 percent of the votes in the election; and Mandela, as leader of the ANC, was inaugurated on May 10, 1994 as South Africa's first black president. 

Invictus commences with Mandela’s (Morgan Freeman) transition into his role as president as he prepares to preside over the transition from white-minority rule to the rainbow nation. One of his first truly international tasks as president is to host the 1995 Rugby World Cup in South Africa, and Mandela sees this as an opportunity to conjure together some national unity by encouraging black South Africans to support the South African national rugby team: the Springboks.

Mandela’s staff and supporters are quick to proclaim this scheme as implausible, Black South Africans follow soccer, white Afrikaners follow rugby. Additionally, the springbok (a medium sized brown and white gazelle) was a national symbol of South Africa under white minority rule (including a significant period prior to the establishment of Apartheid). Can Mandela really convince black South Africans to support a symbol of Apartheid?

Mandela meets with Springbok Captain Francois Pienaar (Matt Damon), an Afrikaner, to provide motivation for the Springboks to succeed and as a sign of reconciliation between white and black South Africans. Mandela tells Pienaar about how William Ernest Henley’s 1875 poem, “Invictus" was motivational to him during imprisonment,  primarily the closing two lines: “I am the master of my fate: I am the captain of my soul."

The Springboks begin as the underdog in the competition. Practicing what he’s been preaching, Mandela attends the World Cup final wearing a Springbok cap and jersey (with Pienaar's number 6 on the back).

Directed by Clint Eastwood and adapted by Anthony Peckham from the John Carlin book, Playing the Enemy: Nelson Mandela and the Game That Changed a Nation, Invictus is motivational on occasion, but otherwise it’s a monotonous mess.

Other than Freeman, who near-flawlessly channels Mandela, Eastwood’s characters are as flat as cardboard cut-outs. They are never developed and subsequently have no emotional depth. Even despite Freeman’s transcendental performance, the audience is left with little knowledge of who Nelson Mandela really is. Damon’s Pienaar is most blatantly harmed by lack of character development; he obviously has an integral role to play in this story, yet we learn absolutely zilch about him. 

Even the primal intensity of the rugby matches is completely drained by shoddily timed editing and lackluster cinematography. I’ve watched cricket matches that were more powerful and moving than the rugby footage featured in Invictus. It’s a sad fate for a sports film when images of huge crowds become more breathtaking than the sporting match itself.

The timing of Invictus could not be more purposeful, and I’m not talking about its prime holiday season release date. South Africa is currently preparing to host the 2010 Soccer World Cup while the United States recently dusted off some race issues of their own by finally electing their first African-American president (Barack Obama). 

As president, Mandela was greeted with as much (if not more) suspicion than Obama; yet Mandela quickly assuaged many of his doubters with his first true attempt to unite black and white South Africans after decades of racial oppression –- by way of rugby no less. Mandela’s success with racial reconciliations commencing with the 1995 Rugby World Cup is a world renowned benchmark in the peaceful reconciliation of racial relations. It’s a shame Eastwood couldn’t translate the inherent significance and emotion of these events to the silver screen.
 

FILM REVIEW: BROKEN EMBRACES

Pedro Almodóvar's current muse: Penélope Cruz in Broken Embraces.

Partners in blind faith

By Miranda Inganni

Pedro Almodóvar's latest movie, Broken Embraces (Los abrazos rotos), tells the tale of one man split in two by tragedy. 

Moving back and forth over the course of 14 years, the film depicts the psychological death of filmmaker Mateo Blanco and his rebirth as writer Harry Caine (both played Lluís Homar). The split for Mateo/Harry occurs after a fatal car accident and he withdraws into his life of blindness. The filmmaker is no longer able to see images, but the storyteller in him lives on.

In the past the protagonists of Broken Embraces are making the film, Girls and Suitcases (playfully based on Almodóvar's Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown), with Mateo directing and Lena Rivero (Penélope Cruz) starring. Lena's lover, Ernesto Martel Senior (José Luis Gómez) is producing the film and his son Ernesto Junior, aka Ray X, (Rubén Ochandiano) is videotaping a "making of" film. 

Prior to the making of the film, Mateo and Lena had fallen madly in love. As a consequence her behavior changes and Ernesto Sr. grows more and more suspicious about Lena's infidelity and Ernesto Jr.'s silent behind-the-scenes should come in handy. With the help of a lipreader (Lola Dueñas), Ernesto Sr. learns that his fears are indeed valid, culminating with a scene where Lena supplies her own dubbing while standing behind her estranged lover. As Lena's image leaves the film they are watching, Lena herself walks out on Ernesto.

Lena and Mateo escape together to the volcanic island on Lanzarote, finding comfort in each others' embraces. Ernesto Sr. seizes this opportunity to destroy both Lena and Mateo's credibility by releasing his own cut of the Girls with Suitcases, using only the worst takes. Critics pan the movie and though Mateo tries to ignore the reviews, he can't help but be affected.

After Mateo's car accident, his production manager and longtime friend, Judit (Blanca Portillo), comes to his aid, trying to keep Mateo grounded. However, Mateo is only capable of dealing with his new reality as Harry Caine ("Hurricane"?). When Judit's son, Diego (Tamar Novas), is suddenly stuck ill while Judit is out of town, Harry agrees to care for him while he convalesces. During this time Diego asks Harry about what happened to Mateo; Harry begins to dissolve back into Mateo to tell his tale of love and woe.

The theme of duality begins during the opening credits where two stand-ins are being filmed then are replaced by Cruz and Homar (seemingly themselves, not their characters) preparing to shoot the next scene. The film within the film extends to include events from Lena's life, and indeed, we can assume, Cruz's (she was one of the stars of Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown).

Many of the characters in the film serve as a duality/partnership who work as two and as one -- Mateo/Harry, Harry/Magdalena, Magdalena/Lena, Lena/Mateo, Lena/Ernesto Sr., Ernesto Sr./Ernesto Jr., Ernesto Jr./Diego, Diego/Judit, Judit/Lena, Mateo/Almodóvar, etc./etc., -- until their embraces are broken by circumstances. 

Now my favorite film of Almodóvar's, Broken Embraces is more mature, far less histrionic than his other work. The shifting of time serves the narrative while director of photography Rodrigo Prieto's vibrant colors, especially the reds (cars, tomatoes, walls, etc.), illuminate the screen. Perhaps other than the blind faith it requires to make any film, nobody was blind when they were making Broken Embraces.

FILM REVIEW: THE LOVELY BONES

Fourteen-year-old Susie Salmon (Saoirse Ronan) makes for The Lovely Bones.

A fine line between heaven and hate

By John Esther

High minded by Brian Eno's musical treatments, the newest film by Peter Jackson bounces up and down between intelligence and idiocy with the latter outweighing the former in irritating measure.

Making great strides in acting since her wildly overpraised performance in director Joe Wright's Atonement, the highly-photogenic Saoirse Ronan plays 14-year-old Susie Salmon.  Born in the late 1950s, raised during the 1960s, and hitting puberty in the early 1970s, Susie is a good girl living in a good home, helping her dad, Jack (Mark Wahlberg), construct boats insides bottles; playing rivalry with her younger sister, Lindsey (Rose McIver); and saving her brother, Buckley (Christian Thomas Ashdale) from death.

A good daughter, a hero, and also a little shutterbug who flutters around snapping shots of the extraordinary world of suburban Pennsylvania through a young girl's eyes, poor little Susie will be murdered shortly.

Between the beyond-the-grave announcement of her impending doom and the time the dastardly deed is done by a neighbor of the family (Stanley Tucci), the film continues to build tremendous momentum toward what could be director/co-writer/co-producer Peter Jackson's best film since the great Heavenly Creatures (1994).

Unfortunately, once The Lovely Bones reaches her tragic death, the film starts messing around with a combination of spiritus mundi, new age mumbo jumbo, and middlebrow metaphysical mediation.

Rather than head off to heaven, Susie chooses to stay in "the blue horizon." A beautiful, magical midway station between heaven and earth, the blue horizon is a place most humans would probably find far more preferable than the one they inhabit, especially for all those depressed teenagers here on terra firma.

Thanks to this angelic presence of Susie, Jack is obsessed with finding his daughter's killer. By day he is an unhappy accountant, at night a highly amateurish sleuth who suspects everyone, especially those whose tax returns offer clues. This behavior of Jack's annoys Det. Len Fenerman (Michael Imperioli) while driving his wife, Abigail Salmon (Rachel Weisz), away from home. 

Fortunately, effete and effeminate Grandma Lynn (a wonderful Susan Sarandon) is around to keep house. We are told Grandma Lynn is usually wrong but that does not stop the family from allowing the boozy floozy "35-year-old" matriarch from taking over house affairs, perhaps finally getting to be the mother she never was to Abigail.

As the tension mounts between letting the past go and justice prevailing there are signs the film will shine some light on the frequent irresponsibility of fantasy, vengeance and misguided self pity found in storytelling. When it does, there is a great amount of relief...albeit short term. For every quick satisfactory moment in The Lovely Bones is arch-backed and arrowed with an elongated period of reinforcing the very immature ideas the film has been building up, only to take down. Yet the imbecilic edifice weeds its way back up. One glaring example is the way Lindsey discovers and offers proof of the serial killer (he has killed many others besides Susie). The film plays it off as a triumph but any first-year criminal attorney would have the evidence thrown out of court. Subsequently any other evidence would be tossed as well. Of course, the film dares not tread down that path for pity's sake.

It is an exacerbating narrative reaching its anti-intellectual climax with Susie getting one last moment with her newfound senior-class beau, Ray Singh (Reece Ritchie), a la the clairvoyant Ruth Conners (Carolyn Dando) a la Molly Jensen (Demi Moore) in that idiotic, reactionary, Oscar-winning film, Ghost (1990). To add insult to misery, the film peters off the climactic scene with scenes -- short and long -- of divine retribution, pro-teenage pregnancy, the nuclear family reunited for the future, and one of the most manipulatively mawkish final comments in any film this decade.

No doubt there are some beautifully stark and dark images here regarding the loss of innocence for both children and parents (whose actors don terrible wigs throughout the film) -- maybe this is why Grandma Lynn handles Susie's death better than anyone? -- and please do not argue this is commentary on the loss of American innocence in the Vietnam/Watergate era (neither event is even mentioned in the film) -- vis-a-vis the unexpected, horrific violence far too many families encounter and endure in this country.

However, the affection for fantastic imagery squanders the storyline. In Heavenly Creatures, where two teenager girls (Melanie Lynsky and Kate Winslet in her groundbreaking role) kill one of their mothers (Sarah Peirse), the imagination of director and character serve to propel the story. But, in The Lovely Bones, Jackson and too many over-budgeted film departments are obsessed with spectacle. Clearly Jackson has not shed his Lord of the Rings film trilogy and King Kong ways. In general, the maniacal need to create the greatest spectacle of its kind (hardly is Jackson alone here); specifically, his eurotophobia. Absence in Heavenly Creatures and rampant to hysterical heights in Lord of the Rings film trilogy, The Loving Bones has its share of various watering holes entrapping, engulfing, erasing.

Despite these shortcomings, grand and small, Brian Eno's score, the best of the year hitherto, may just be enough to make this film worth watching. Opening with his "1/1" from Music for Airports, Eno weaves some of his best songs from the early 1970s. "Third Uncle" from Taking Tiger Mountain (By Strategy) is played to cheeky effect -- far more than a director like Jackson would have imagined -- during a rescue scene. These and other musical moments are brilliant (listen for Taking Tiger Mountain's "Great Pretender"). However, Eno swings off into supreme genius when he incrementally, with a craftsman's touch, starts bleeding notes of his "Baby's on Fire" into an ethereal crescendo during the batting Jack scene.

Lacking conviction in its vision of a world turned inside out, and eschewing the gruesome details of Alice Sebold's 2002 popular titular novel, it will be interesting to see where The Lovely Bones goes. Judging by reviews of the book, Jackson and co-writers/co-producers Fran Walsh and Philippa Boyens have opted for a more palatable tale (the book's rape components are omitted; dismemberment only suggested). It has the perfect blend of significant stupidity and some smarts the Academy generally adores. Eno, Sarandon, Tucci, the cinematography, the art direction, and the set direction deserve consideration.  And Jackson certainly has his share of devoted fans. But with James Cameron's event, Avatar, and Terry Gilliam's superior film, The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus on the horizon, it may dilute his base.

At any rate, Invictus and A Single Man, come out today, too, and they are clearly superior films.