FILM REVIEW: DIE ANOTHER DAY
The Vikings were smart. They found a land of snow and ice, and called it Greenland. They found a land of lush valleys and farmland, and named it Iceland. Fool the ones that follow, they fought. If no one else, they managed to fool the writers of the 20th James Bond film, Die Another Day. To the authors’ credit, they didn’t do a whole lot else wrong.
Pierce Brosnan is back for his fourth go round as 007, and this time he starts quite a bit less effective than normal. We’re granted the usual effect-laden opening escape sequence, only...minus the escape. Bond is caught, a prisoner of the North Korean government for fourteen months. Someone in the West blew his cover.
M (Judi Dench) labels him useless upon return, stripping him of his commission. No matter; freed from the shackles of the few rules MI6 agents are forced to follow, Bond goes on a hunt for the man who betrayed him, and the prisoner he was exchanged for, a North Korean named Zao, who carries as one character put it, “expensive acne”: 007 exploded a case full of diamonds in his face. Some sort of got stuck.
The character providing that line is Jinx (incumbent Best Actress Halle Berry,) an NSA agent Bond runs into in Cuba while hunting down Zao. One destroyed DNA-altering laboratory later, the two meet again in Iceland, home of a giant palace of ice playing host to a demonstration by Gustav Graves (Toby Stephens,) billionaire diamond distributor and international thrill seeker, and unbeknownst to our agents the creator of one big freaking space laser.
Here, director Lee Tamahori turns in the best Bond film in...well, ever? That isn’t really fair to say, as movies have come a long way in the forty years since Dr. No. If the technology existed in 1962, James could have looked this good all the while. It is fair to say it’s the best 007 flick in the last two decades, though, and easily the best Brosnan movie. He and the rest of the new cast (Dench, Colin Salmon as Agent Robinson, Samantha Bond as Moneypenny) are firmly confident in their roles, and John Cleese shows to be an ample replacement for Desmond Llewelyn as Q. Meanwhile, the use of CGI for the first time leads to even more extravagant chase sequences, and although the digital add-ons are obvious at times it’s not without acceptable results.
Two additions to the cast, Berry’s Jinx and her handler, Damian Falco (Michael Madsen,) fit in nicely, though I find it hard to believe the rumors that only recently did MGM think about spinning them off into their own franchise. One scene late in the film looks almost like a pilot episode, planted here to establish the M and Bond type relationship between Berry and Madsen and ready us for the first Jinx film in a year or so. Not that I’m complaining or anything.
Anyway, once the window dressing is in place, the plot doesn’t disappoint. Though it was a lackluster film, 1989’s License to Kill was novel in that it took Bond out of the MI6 mold and made him a vigilante. Die takes a similar approach, and though here 007 is back in the fold halfway through, his brief stint as a lone wolf adds life to a film already breaking the mold thanks to the startling capture of Our Man James at the outset. Then, the jasminelive movie finds great use of location (Hong Kong, Cuba, London, Iceland) in telling a story superior to most of the Bond plotlines. Outlandish? Of course. Realistic? Not really. But Bond isn’t meant to be, to an extent at least. The other Brosnan films have tried to stay grounded, but here we get a somewhat ridiculous plot aided by halfway-realistic details. You can almost believe it...but not quite.
It’s the little things that help make Bond such a success: the double entendres, the simple way he says his name, the eventual run in with Moneypenny. There was always a constraining formula, though, and in the mold of the other Brosnan flicks, Die continues to break out. Gone are the days when M simply sat back in London and waited for 007 to return. Instead, we get the MI6 brass on the front lines in front of giant video screens like in WarGames or Armageddon, a nice touch that doesn’t force the film to rely only on Bond. Plus a cut away to the superiors, especially here where they’re quite literally in the line of fire, helps build suspense. And though long gone is the toss of the hat past Moneypenny, Samantha Bond’s character virtually steals the show at the end in a scene that probably belonged halfway through the closing credits, but is a delight anywhere in the film.
What else can you say? Pierce Brosnan is perfect as Bond, the plot is wonderfully 007, based in realistic details but still out-of-this-world, the supporting cast does a fine job, and we get the traditional 007 elements, both in language and spectacular stunts. The last film, The World is Not Enough, was a big letdown, but MGM rebounds here in a big way. What Bond films you prefer always depends on who your idea of the agent is, but whether you’re a Connery completist or more of a Moore man, Die Another Day has to be considered one of the best James Bond films ever made. Now can they top it next time? One start would be to put any big ice palaces in Greenland, where there aren’t warm springs to melt them. But that’s just nitpicking.
A GIANT TANTRUM
When I was in grade school, one Christmas at my grandparent's I made a game of giving a toy to one of my two-year-old cousins only to take it right back from him and make him cry. I found some perverse joy in that, and although I've certainly matured and would shake my head at such practice today, deep down I found the same enjoyment in watching San Francisco manager Dusty Baker's three-year-old son Darren bawling his eyes out in the dugout after the Giants lost the World Series.
Not that I'd want any harm to befall the lad; I was glad he wasn't hurt the other night when almost ran over at the plate trying to retrieve Kenny Lofton's bat. He's just an innocent little tot. I guess my dislike of his father and my hatred of Barry Bonds just makes me want to be able to point a finger at those two and say, "Look what you did! You made this poor cry! How could you!" Hopefully that would reach Barry's ice cold heart. I doubt it.
Besides, they will get over it; years from now, he'll be happy to have spent the entire 2002 World Series down on the field. Maybe he'll play himself someday, and return to the Series in uniform. Hopefully Barry Bonds won't have another chance. We all know Dusty won't, since he'll be managing the Cubs next year. From pennant winner to the North Side; my best analogy would be winning the lottery and killing yourself the next day.
OSCAR PICKS
In lieu of my full-length reviews that never got around to being written. I present my Oscar picks with extra Mini-Reviews! I know you are so impressed right now. Any categories not predicted below aren’t predicted below. Don’t concern yourself with them.
Adaptation marks the second time that Charlie Kaufman and Spike Jonze have upset me. Both this film and its predecessor Being John Malkovich (Adaptation shows in part the making of the first film, one of its many amusing and original features) are tremendously entertaining movies, completely original with not a second of boredom between them. Well, until the third act of Adaptation, which works on paper as a satire of the rest of the film but fails to translate to the screen that well. The entire script is amazing, self-referential and captivating. Nicolas Cage (in a dual role,) Meryl Streep and Chris Cooper do tremendous work. But as much as I’m glad I saw this film, I don’t mind never seeing it again, and that troubles me; I can say the same about Being John Malkovich, so I think Kaufman and Jonze dislike me for some reason. Maybe there’s a hex or something. Anyway, Chris Cooper will win Best Supporting Actor, and he damn well deserves it. Consider this a belated win for American Beauty as well.
About Schmidt is an overrated jasminlive sitcom about an Oklahoma native (Jack Nicholson) who retires from his job as an actuary only to find out that his life has been meaningless. The film has a point, and expresses it well, but gets bogged down along the way and without Nicholson providing an amazing performance and screen presence it would almost be boring at times. He deserves Best Actor, and should win (his race with Daniel Day-Lewis is perhaps the closest of the major categories.) Kathy Bates has an outside chance of upsetting Cathy Zeta-Jones for Best Supporting Actress, but her work here, like the film, is overrated: she does her usual excellent job, but I don’t think it’s Oscar worthy. If she didn’t show her breasts (don’t ask) I don’t think we’d be talking about her, and that’s kind of sad considering how talented she is.
The Pianistis an outstanding adaptation of the true story of Warsaw pianist Wladyslaw Szpilman and his survival of the Holocaust. As Szpilman, Adrian Brody and director Roman Polanski do an outstanding job of humanizing the plight of the Jews during World War II, something that Schlinder’s List doesn’t always do as good as a job of. Is The Pianist as good as the aforementioned Spielberg film? Perhaps not, but it comes closer than you might expect. Pianist is nominated for Best Director, Best Actor and Best Picture; all the nominations are deserved, and I would not argue if the movie won any of them. I don’t think it will, or should, however.
The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers is an amazing improvement over Peter Jackson’s first effort, throwing away the necessary exposition and getting down to the one element of filmmaking the series is worth watching for: epic battle. Frankly, I never care if I see The Fellowship of the Ring ever again, but I’ll buy DVD of the second film of the trilogy just for the battle at Helms’ Deep, one of the most exhilarating sequences of film I’ve ever witnessed. The rest of the movie trails close behind. Nominated for Best Picture, the film won’t win, and doesn’t deserve to, but it better take home a truckload of effects awards (especially considering the mediocre competition, namely Mr. Lucas and Mr. Raimi.) Andy Serkis is not nominated for Best Supporting Actor and should not be. Is his performance good? No, it’s tremendous. Outstanding. Wonderful. He deserves to be honored...but in another still non-existent category. It’s a voiceover, and they don’t count. AMPAS gives the awards, so AMPAS makes the rules. Deal with it.
The Hours is the type of arthouse film the average moviegoer hates. I thank God everyday that I am not the average moviegoer. It starts slow, and even I was taxed trying to figure out its point two hours into the affair. The film has one, though, and until it gets there it’s quite entertaining, jumping between 1921, 1951 and 2001 to show us the lives of three women (Nicole Kidman, Julianne Moore, Meryl Streep.) All three actresses turn in great work, especially Kidman who will not win Best Actress but should; I have new respect for her after this film. Supporting work is good as well, though I think Ed Harris’s job is overrated. Very good, but overrated. The Hours should not and will not win Best Picture, but because of competition rather than its own shortcomings.
Gangs of New York annoys me more every time I think about it. The cinematography is tremendous, especially in the opening sequence and late in the film, but the second act is death. None of the characters ring true enough to truly care about save Jim Broadbent’s Boss Tweed, and he’s barely present. Even if you believe the characters exist, they give you no reason to care about their collective fate. Cameron Diaz is so mediocre it’s distracting at times. Daniel Day-Lewis is nominated for Best Actor, and might win, but his performance is so over the top the character seems more cartoonish than necessary. It took Martin Scorsese several decades to get this film made, and I wish he had taken more time as it’s a lost opportunity. He won’t win, and doesn’t deserve, Best Director.
Chicago is the best film of 2002. Rob Marshall continues the rebirth of the musical began by Baz Luhrmann last year with Moulin Rouge (up next: a remake of Guys and Dolls) and delivers the best two hours of pure entertainment seen in the theatre in ages. Unlike Rouge, the story is above average, a witty tale of jazz and crime in 1920s Chicago. Like Rouge, the performances of the girls from www.chaturbaterooms.com are outstanding; when I enjoy Richard Gere then you know something special is happening. I won’t even mention the awesome soundtrack. Catherine Zeta-Jones is nominated for Best Supporting Actress, will win the award, and deserves to. Renee Zellweger doesn’t deserve Best Actress but she’ll win it. Rob Marshall and his film are nominated for Best Director and Best Picture, and both will walk away victorious.
HOME ALONE
Listen closely to Harry Potter, and you’ll hear a little bit of Kevin McCallister. Not that Daniel Radcliffe resembles Macaulay Culkin in any way, but then again I’m referring not to the wizard himself but his film, scored by the same man that did Home Alone, John Williams. Not coincidentally, they share a director as well, Chris Columbus. And the only reason the first Potter film is not Columbus’ best is because Home Alone is.
Sacrilegious, you say, to disparage a great film like Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone by calling it worse than something inspired more by the Three Stooges than J.K. Rowling? Not really, as they share a common element: a no more than average plot elevated by wonderful atmosphere and smart devices.
Home Alone, of course, is the story of a 10-year-old resident of the rich west suburbs of Chicago who finds himself left behind when his extended family jets to Paris for Christmas. Since the McCallisters are loaded, burglars Joe Pesci and Daniel Stern decide to stop by and rob the joint. Their plan overheard by a slowly growing braver Kevin (Macaulay Culkin,) the boy decides to defend his turf. Hilarity ensues.
Is it great cinema to be compared to the works of Hitchcock or Scorsese? No, but for that matter neither is Harry Potter. Both of them are close to fluff, with no deep insights or real life characters (though that's a bit of an understatement for Potter.) Neither shoot for that, however, and both succeed in different ways of delivering quite believable fluff. Well, believable to an agreed upon degree. We’re not expecting American Beauty here, so as moviegoers we can’t cry foul.
The slapstick in Home Alone is brilliant, and funny to no end. Never have I sat in a theatre and heard so many people laugh so hard for so long. While the trip through “his funhouse,” as Pesci puts it, is of course contrived and nearly impossible to plan to such precision, we accept it, much like the magic and coincidences in Harry Potter. We’re not here to nitpick; we’re here to laugh.
Even what’s not gutbustingly hilarious (did I really just write that? Someone shoot me now) is still fun to watch. The early scene with an endless stream of family members flying by the impatient pizza delivery guy leads into a great running gag of the same kid continually knocking over a jockey statue in the front yard. Kevin’s scary gangster flick turns into a neat conversation aid, as impossible as it is to work a VCR to that exact a degree in real life. And the party of silhouettes Kevin stages, with Michael Jordan dancing on a train and mannequins spinning on turntables, is nicely designed.
Is the subplot with the elderly neighbor contrived? Yeah, but not so much so to ruin the film, and it makes for a nice, if overly sweet, ending. Are the scenes in Paris too much of a distraction, giving us nothing more than a respite between Kevin’s antics? Yeah, and though as necessary as they are, they should have been kept shorter. Does Columbus’s use of location make it seem like Christmas? Definitely: the set dressing of the McCallister house is first rate, as is the church Kevin visits on Christmas Eve. Whenever this film was actually shot, it feels like late December. Does John Williams’ score help the film? Tremendously so. It’s on par with some of his best work; seriously, watch the film and then the two Harry Potter movies, and you’ll hear a lot of the Home Alone score used again in Potter, mixed a bit differently for the later films. He opens this movie with dark, ominous music that recurs when necessary. Then his version of “Carol of the Bells” when Kevin leaves the church to head home for the final defense is amazingly bone-chilling, lending an air of seriousness to the film that allows us to set aside the feeling that what we’re about to see is a tad ish.
And then Kevin drops paint cans on people.
Let’s face it: people love seeing other people get hurt, and within reason there’s nothing wrong with that. Within reason. I cringe when I watch “Fox’s Funniest Police Collisions,” even when they say the people emerged from the crash alright, but here we know from step one that Daniel Stern really didn’t get slammed with an iron and that Joe Pesci still has all his hair. Well, what he had left to begin with. “So, Peter,” you ask ominously, “how is that any different from Adam Sandler causing random harm in his movies? Why can’t we laugh at the bikers he derails in Big Daddy? The stunt men there don’t get hurt.” Because Sandler’s the good guy, duh. Here, there are strict moral guidelines: only the Wet Bandits, clearly bad guys, get beaten up. Even the only member of the McCallister family to suffer from Kevin’s time alone, older brother Buzz (who lost most of his possessions when Kevin collapsed his cabinet,) was the one who treated his sibling the worst and arguably had it coming. The only lesson you can take home here is that when people try to invade your home and steal things, go ahead and throw paint cans at their heads. That’s a lot better than teaching your family that aimless violence against innocent strangers is funny. It’s black versus white here, while Sandler deals with shades of gray. Or sometimes just black.
Home Alone works as a great Christmas film, at heart a tale about how family should be together during the holidays, a lesson Kevin learns the hard way. Not a good one, but then it’s not trying hard, since it’s really there to just be one of the funniest things ever stamped to celluloid, its violence acceptable and well-choreographed. Is it unrealistic? Yeah, but so is Harry Potter at times. The McCallisters may not live in a world of magic, but Hollywood does at times and you just have to leave a serious mindset behind and enjoy the ride. Home Alone’s a hell of a ride.
Good Questions
It's Tuesday which means Gilmore Girls (a repeat) and This-or-That Tuesday (never a repeat.) The point of this seemingly meaningless and certainly uninteresting intro was to kill time and provide a url to the meme. Thank you.
1. Poetry or prose? Poetry has never particularly appealed to me, so prose sort of wins by default. Of course, nasty limericks are the exception. Gotta have nasty limericks. And haikus. Nasty haikus. Write your own.
2. Funky modern art or the older, "classic" variety? Neither one, really, but since we want to choose at least one we'll say the funky modern stuff.
3. Sculptures or paintings? Sculptures, because you can climb them.
4. Theatre: exuberant musical or serious drama? Um, okay, should the next question say which of my I would kill? (You don't have , Peter.) Yeah, but the analogy works.
5. Ballet or modern dance? Quite the opposite of the former question. You can have them both, but I guess I'll keep the latter.
6. Movies: major studio or indie? There is very little difference. The top indie studio is Miramax. Miramax is major studio. That, of course, is assuming by "indie" we mean a film made outside the normal Hollywood process but possibly distributed by someone big. A true independent film is less likely to be the quality of a major indie release, but then again that's a generalization and not always true. And it's true only because studio indie films with money tend to get made while better ideas without funding don't. So let's say studio films and all agree that as far as independent cinema has come in the last decade it still has a way to go.
7. Authors: Shakespeare or Dr. Seuss? I've sort of read more of the latter. Not being much of a reader, I'll say the good Doctor since it's easier. Then again most of drama today originates with the Bard. On second thought, Willie wins.
8. TV: PBS or A and E? The Murder She Wrote reruns sort of impeach that. Then again, there's British comedy on PBS. Viewers Like You still win.
9. Music: Beethoven or Beatles? Either one's a winner with me. Since I have more of the latter on my computer the Fab Four win.
10. Thought-provoking question of the week: You are a contributing member of your favorite art museum, and visit on a regular basis. They announce a new, temporary special exhibit by an artist surrounded by controversy...this person's work and/or political views offend you. Do you stop supporting the museum, or just stay away during the time the exhibit is there? My first response would be to say that it's the duty of an art museum to allow any view to be expressed, no matter how offensive, and withdrawing support would be hypocritical. Then again, we don't know how far this exhibit takes us past the normal boundaries of taste. That's too hard to answer, at least in the few seconds I'm willing to devote to it right now. Good question.
NFL PICKS OF DOOM
WEEK EIGHT | Great pumpkin, what a relief: I don't have to debate whether or not to pick the Rams. Remember, bye weeks are your friend. What is it, anyway, week...eight? *checks NFL.com* Wow, I was right.
NOS over ATL, CHI over MIN, CLE over NYJ, BUF over DET, KCC over OAK, BAL over PIT, DAL over SEA, CAR over TBB, TEN over CIN, ARI over SFF, DEN over NEP, HOU over JAC, IND over WAS.
Zona, though I hate them with the passion that only a scorned Mound City resident could muster, is your Upset Special because I've always wanted to have an Upset Special, and here you go.
Oh, and the Chiefs are my other Upset Special. As is Houston. Yeah, so I guess they're not so special anymore. Damn.