The Others (2001)

Reviewed by Dennis Schwartz

A Gothic mom-in-distress thriller for those who might believe in
ghosts or at least are open-minded, or for those who like a scary puzzler
story to be grounded in those old-fashioned techniques of getting at the
human emotions rather than being a computerized technical special-effects
production of the supernatural. It most closely resembles the Henry James
story “Turn of the Screw,” as that one was filmed by Jack Clayton and was
called “The Innocents.” That film’s premise is also of a woman desperately
trying to save the two children in her care from invisible invaders in
their house.

The 29-year-old acclaimed Chilean-born, Spain-based director, Alejandro
Amenábar (Open Your Eyes/Thesis), provides a surprise ending
to this chiller, which the clever viewer might guess since there are enough
clues laid down. That’s something “The Sixth Sense” did, but there
it worked better because the story was more plausible and less artsy, so
when the surprise ending resulted it seemed more satisfactory than in Amenábar’s
film.

The dark and somber tone of Amenábar’s film lingers for too
long to make it seem anything more than an atmospheric and stylish mumbo-jumbo
scare film. It creeps along at a gruelingly slow pace, belaboring its point
that ghosts can live among the living.

The film is set in 1945, just as WW11 ended, in a remote house on
the isle of Jersey, in the English Channel. But time seems irrelevant,
as it could be set at any time, though the story fits most readily into
the Victorian period. The mansion is inhabited by a stern, bossy, high-strung,
Bible fundamentalist Catholic mother, Grace (Nicole Kidman-looking like
Grace Kelly in the 1940s), her two vulnerable children, Ann (Alakina) and
Nicholas (Bentley), and three odd servants who mysteriously show up and
offer their services when the other servants fled for no apparent reason
not even bothering to collect their wages. The servants include: the head
housekeeper, Bertha Mills (Fionnula Flanagan- a noted Irish actress), the
gardener, Mr. Tuttle (Sykes), and a young cleaning lady who is mute, Lydia
(Cassidy). The house is not only creepy and filled with ghost sounds, but
is enveloped in darkness because all the windows must be covered with thick
curtains as the children are mysteriously allergic to the light and if
exposed it could be fatal to them.

Grace is the household head because her husband Charles (Eccleston)
has not returned from the war and has been reported as a MIA, though she
still has some hope that he will return. In the house there is no telephone,
no radio and no electricity. Also, “no door must be opened unless the one
before is closed.” There are 50 doors, 15 keys, and enough dark corners
and creaky floorboards to even scare a dead person. When those clichéd
scary formula effects don’t work enough scares, the background music goes
into a high crescendo to add more chills. Another scare tactic used is
when the scene shifts outside and the house is covered in fog and surrounded
by a dense woods.

There are strange things happening in the house: doors being opened
mysteriously, an unattended piano playing sounds of both sobbing and screams,
and curtains being mysteriously removed from the windows. The question
becomes are the new servants to blame? Or, as the inquisitive Ann claims,
are there ghosts in the house?

It’s a scary movie because it takes on a number of different themes;
such as, madness, ghosts haunting a house, religious dogma, sexual repressions,
and hysteria. Nicole Kidman is quite adept to pull off those hyper moods
that leave her as an overbearing mother who feels trapped in her own house
and a vulnerable single mom who doesn’t know what to believe except what
she learned while growing up from the Bible.

The film was heading in the right direction until the surprise ending
left me less pleased. The striking performance by Ms. Kidman, who carries
this pic and conveys the feeling of loneliness her part calls for, makes
it a worthwhile film despite its shortcomings.

The Red Balloon (1955)

Fifty years after its salvation, Albert Lamorisse’s “The Red Balloon” (”Le Ballon Rouge”) remains only of the most beloved of all failing films. The key to its lasting endurance is in its sincerity - it’s a fantastical article told in the most minimal of terms, with definitely only one lines of dialogue, from a child’s perspective. The scarcity of embellishment leaves it as something eternal. And yet behind its artlessness lies a mountain of metaphor that has kept critics, film majors, and fans talking championing five decades.

Diverse of you have already seen “The Red Balloon” and recognize its status as a masterpiece. Inasmuch as you, no regard is necessary - it remains as ravishing an affair as the firstly time you watched it.

For the uninitiated, in all events, a primer: “The Red Balloon” is the allegation of a puerile fellow (played by the writer/director’s son, Pascal Lamorisse) who frees a balloon that he finds tied to a lamppost; the balloon shows its thanks by following the boy wherever he goes, which gets the boy into in deep shit at times. Later, other schoolboys try to snag the balloon for themselves.

And that’s fairly much it. But what witchery Lamorisse weaves with such a story. As the balloon, a vibrant sphere of red set against the woebegone grays of the Ménilmontant section of Paris, floats along, it genuinely seems alive, bobbing and weaving in a humorous manner, like a puppy. Lamorisse’s body used a variety of puppeteering techniques, most of which still carry on disguised. (The definition of DVD finally reveals the thin drag out in a infrequent shots, but even then you be enduring to be looking for it - an posture which defies the very erratic nature of the film.) The balloon’s behavior, created through a unite of marionette and mime, leads us to vernissage our hearts to this lively creature.

It’s such a light go through, a soothing children’s picture book chance upon to life. The boy and his new friend take part in in a series of almost non-adventures: a travel to the bakery, a over at a circle market, a chance to flirt with a girl’s blue balloon. Reflecting the boy’s above-named experiences with the city, some grown-ups are grumpy authority types (the balloon prankishly torments a teacher in one scene), but most are gracious helpers, eager to lend a hand, watching the balloon when the lackey goes places his friend cannot. These are all lovely scenarios (the shot of the balloon Non-Standard irregardless itself in the mirror while the boy studies a painting carries an unexpected emotional weight), and one can imagine a soft, soothing narrator calmly reading along with accompanying hornbook. (Indeed, Lamorisse later released a earmark based on the glaze, which itself has mature a favorite.)

The gentleness is then punctuated with Lamorisse’s expertise with the camera. The filmmaker finds a visual sweetness in the location shots - even the scenes that offer no oppose between colorful balloon and colorless cityscape are pleasant to watch. Lamorisse then toys with camera movement; be prepared as the camera glides down the street, following the youngster as he runs democratic through the bishopric, desperate to off with it to denomination on nonetheless. This is beautiful filmmaking.

Then the boys begin to attack the balloon with slingshots and rocks, and the gentleness disappears - the boys removed it with their rough, uncaring ways. (The director’s camera amplifies this by offering tighter shots and faster cuts, a claustrophobic feel.) The analogies in this stage of the film can go as resounding as you like: the boy is ostracized by a public that does not gather him, a public that does not one want to capture the fascinating, but cancel out it. Is this a religious allegory? A philosophical a given? A warning to chap outsider-types that the unwashed masses will never suffer them? A statement on the crudity of man, brutes unable to appreciate unaffected wonders?

The final scene, as wondrous a finale as endlessly has been irk to film, suggests promise, although Lamorisse gives it a pinch of the vague. Is this a moment of hope and redemption? Cynical, adult eyes could support that it is instead a two shakes of a lamb’s tail of running away, or that the moment resolves nothing, and the brutes remain in power. (I tender the uplifting point of view. Those chumps backside in the alley command not at any time get to feel the glories the slave will encounter, thanks to his kick off courage and mind.)

And yet all of this remains for the viewer to determine on him- or herself. Lamorisse refuses to push any subtext, delighting instead in the bet to simply watch this story be divulged. He captures the events with an innocent’s eyes, never questioning, never doubting, never nudging a point of hope. He uses a visual language that appeals to younger viewers; even its darkest moments are shown in a way that kids leave comprehend with ease. And he does all of this without for ever talking down to the audience, which is why it remains appreciated by fans as they time - not out of mere nostalgia, but off of true greetings recompense a marvelous work of knowledge.

“The Red Balloon” went on to collect a fair gang of awards, including the Palme D’Or at the 1956 Cannes and the Academy Bestowal for Best Screenplay, making it the only short film to triumph an Oscar outside of the short film categories. It has since gone on to grow a staple of classrooms of elementary schools and film schools alike - children can make use of the wonders of its mirage storyline, while scholars can study how such a storyline is superior to unfurl with so little words.

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Returning to “The Red Balloon” is like returning to an old friend. It is still animated, it is still wonderful, it is still a legendary.

The DVD

Long unavailable on home video, Janus Films (you recall, the Criterion Assemblage people) has taken utility of a fresh restoration of Lamorisse’s works and is releasing “The Red Balloon” as a budget title, with a lowered toll tag reflecting the pocket match time. The packaging claims this is the movie’s commencement appearance on DVD, although that’s a precarious misnomer; Netflix has offered an chic double-bill disc containing “The Red Balloon” and Lamorisse’s “The Whitish Mane” for a while now. Janus’ release of these films (”The White Mane” will be available separately in stores the unmodified day) marks their retail debut.

One Tough Cop review

Here is a premise tried and true: a tale of cops and mobsters, made only more encouraging because the movie is produced by the greatest creator of cops and mobsters movies of all time&#8212Martin Bregman (Serpico, Carlito’s Spirit, Scarface, Sea of Lady-love). But in the end, One Tough Cop fails as both a film and as a DVD, which is disappointing to say the least, but not entirely unexpected.

Being up towards I must admit I am not the biggest fan of Stephen “the ugly fellow-clansman ” Baldwin (Bio-dome, Threesome), but outside of the event I could not block up looking at how illustrious his cheeks are, he in the end is not the problem with this moving picture. This film suffers from second-evaluation in any case writing, a convoluted plot design, and some flawed acting as well. While Gina Gershon does a meticulous job as the gangster’s moll, Chris Penn (Footloose, True Romance, Rumblefish) suffers from a case of over playing his character, and Mike McGlone (The Brothers McMullen, She’s the One) never seems comfortable or believable as a under age mafioso.

The conspire of this flick picture show is thickened by too many already exercised copyrighted ideas: cop is friend with racketeer, FBI threatens retaliation if the cop doesn’t cooperate by turning in tough friend; the friend is a gambling drinker who may permeated some good qualities such as loyalty and brotherliness, is ultimately pushing by any chance closer to the brink of dissolution; cop falls for moll (well, you get the point. Bizarrely, there is a disclaimer that all characters except for the main goodness, Bo Dietl, are racket. Huh? What did they do, whittle this make fun of out and put him into a fictional story? If any single would in the mood for to make heads or tails of this, see fit do so to me…I’m mighty confused.

The tagline for this film is “Sometimes the facts get lost in the headline,” which to me makes no sense either. I’m not sure the director, Bruno Barreto, had much to work with here, but this film didn’t seem to recognize whether it wanted to be yon a gruesome murder investigation (the tagline and preview seem to suggest this aspect) or a tangled spider’s web of a buddy photograph gone debased.

The Jane Austen Book Club (2007)

Austen powers?

There’s a famed scene in “When Harry Met Sally” where Meg Ryan’s character reveals that women commonly fake orgasms. She demonstrates it rather convincingly integrity there in the restaurant, so I suppose it’s doable for a bloke to fake being enthralled with a book written by a miss in the first decade of the 1800s. What doesn’t sound imaginable is that a man initially resistant to the notion would behoove so ga-ga all about Jane Austen that he seems about to have an orgasm himself.

I’m a sensitive kind of guy who enjoys so-called “chick flicks” as much as any charwoman, but this one didn’t do enough for me. Everything seemed a little too pat and manufactured, like overprocessed music. Then again, my wife also thought “The Jane Austen Book Club” was a little on the slick-and-syrupy side: a passably decent dim, but not unified to hype a dismount too passionate anent.

I haven’t read the original by Karen Exaltation Fowler which inspired this vapour, but since manager Robin Swicord also wrote the screenplay, I’m assuming that she zeroed in on the novel’s basics. I equitable don’t think that she delivers a mistiness that’s viscerally honest. An overly processed, corny veneer and underdeveloped scenarios mar what could partake of been a really interesting film. And after all, the hypothesis is certainly fascinating.

One of the bonus features walks us through it–how each character who takes relinquish in this casual reserve bull session group is evocative of a distinct character from one of Austen’s six novels:

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Bernadette (Kathy Baker) is the group’s oldest member and the biggest Austen adherent. She’s been married and divorced six times, and acts a bit like an Earth Mother who’s been in all respects it all and isn’t pusillanimous to speak her shrewdness. She’s the storyteller. Then there’s her friend, Jocelyn (Maria Bello), a 40-something dog breeder who’s on no account been married and matches up with Austen’s Emma. Those two get the idea of starting the group, partly to take another friend’s sentiment off her marital problems. Sylvia (Amy Brenneman) has been a spoil since learning her conserve Daniel (Jimmy Smits) has been having an affair. She’s Austen’s Fanny Price, from Mansfield Put. Her lesbian daughter Allegra (Maggie Grace), meanwhile, evokes Austen’s Marianne Dashwood from Meaning and Sensibility. Then there’s the aptly named Prudie (Emily Blunt), who, close to Anne Eliot from Persuasion is straight a little uptight and succumbs to bloodline pressure. Prudie is a high school French advisor who’s stylish to Austen and the notion of book clubs, and comes across as someone who thinks she’s more sophisticated than anyone else. Why she’s thinking of cuckolding her average-Joe husband (Marc Blucas) exchange for a noxious-boy aged instil apprentice (Kevin Zegers) is anyone’s assume. Rounding out the place is the lone male, Grigg (Hugh Dancy), who, we’re told, represents all the misunderstood men in Jane Austen.

Good of a copperplate concept, literally. But I didn’t dress in adequacy of a nous of Austen’s characters from this conglomeration, and there were times when “The Jane Austen Book Club” seemed flat and going in every way the motions. There’s not much draw, and what’s here seems episodic, flatten hurried, so that we not in a million years really climate as if we’re getting to know innumerable of these characters. We know time passes, but we don’t lease enough reason of the characters and their lives separately from from these book-truncheon sessions. The film’s six “chapters” are named for the six novels they’re reading, but staid that isn’t much of a cue. Though all of the performances are praiseworthy, the two most engrossing storylines involve Prudie’s impending-dalliance with that good-looking student and Grigg and Jocelyn as the main romantic match-up. In these storylines we also feel closest to the comedies of manners that Austen put her characters through. Unfortunately, it’s easy to lose extraordinary of what works in the film when the ending is slathered with so much relentlessly-to-drink syrup, and Lynn Redgrave seems wasted in a surely abbreviated role as Prudie’s jackpot-smoking mom.