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Film Clips
MARCH 30, 1998:
 FIRE. This wonderful movie deals with such a touchy subject
matter that the director, Deepa Mehta, was threatened by male
audience members after it was screened in India. Indian women
have received it much more enthusiastically. The film tells the
tale of two unhappy wives living in an extended middle-class family
in New Delhi. One is newly wed to a philandering boor; the other
is stuck in a sexless, arranged marriage. They're suffocated by
the weight of their traditional roles and by the nagging concept
of purity, until they find liberation through their erotic affair
with one another. --Richter
MR. NICE GUY. In a stunning departure from his previous
films, Jackie Chan plays a martial artist who must fight vicious
criminals. He is aided in this pursuit by Gabrielle Fitzpatrick,
who mysteriously drops out of the film about halfway through and
is never seen again. But Mr. Nice Guy isn't about consistency
of plot, character and setting, but rather about Chan doing things
that could get him seriously injured. As usual, after the story
ends the audience is treated to the outtakes wherein Chan actually
is injured. There's nothing funnier than seeing a guy get his
butt stuck in a garbage can--and then not be able to get it
out!!! I think this is the first time that Chan has had to
speak in English throughout a film, and he does an admirable job
of acting like he knows what he's saying. Maybe he could give
Ethan Hawke a lesson. --DiGiovanna
OSCAR & LUCINDA. I used to think movies like this were
over my head, but now I realize they're just ineptly conceived
and flatly directed. Unless you've read the Peter Carey novel,
you'll have no idea what Oscar & Lucinda is supposed
to mean or why you should care--picturesque cinematography and
Oscar-nominated costumes notwithstanding. Made in Australia and
set in the late 19th century, this loooong drama follows the lives
of Ralph Fiennes, a timid, sickly religious student with a bad
gambling habit; and Cate Blanchett, an eccentric heiress who's
obsessed with glass and also gambles. They're too repressed or
otherwise quirky to act on their love for each other, so Fiennes
runs off to the jungle so he can deliver a glass church to a man
Blanchett used to like. The whole experience is very PBS; Fiennes,
with blowzy orange hair and a red-cheeked, womanly face, is even
the spitting image of Lady Elaine Fairchild from Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood.
At any moment I thought some twirpy volunteer might break in and
ask for a pledge, and let me tell you, it would have been a welcome
relief. --Woodruff
TWILIGHT. This film noir project seems to have been started
in 1955, when characters had names like Gloria Lamar and L.A.
was full of dangerous broads who would kill to keep their reputations
clean. Suddenly, the cast and crew fell asleep à la Rip
Van Winkle, and woke up 40 years later, skin sagging and hair
graying, but knowing that they must finish what they started.
The only modification made to the script in response to this time
warp is the scene where Paul Newman and James Garner discuss their
prostate glands. Reese Witherspoon, sporting newly enhanced breasts,
and Liev Schrieber, also with new breasts, are brought in as fresh
blood to nourish the aging cast and crew. Schrieber bleeds real
good, too. Real good. --DiGiovanna
U.S. MARSHALS. In Hollywood, if a sequel only brings back
half of the original's stars, it's called a "spin off."
If it brings back half the original's stars and none of its suspense,
it's called U.S. Marshals. Tommy Lee Jones stars as the
same squinty, no-bullshit character he played in The Fugitive.
But because Harrison Ford was busy working on a movie about a
president armed only with a bullwhip who commandeers a spacecraft
in order to save an Amish community from IRA assassins, now Wesley
Snipes is the dude on the run. As for poor Jones, he tries hard,
but needs more to work with than the jumble of suitcase trades,
gun switches and likable- good- guys- who- look- like- Judge- Reinhold- so- you- know- they're- dead- meat
that the film supplies. As a result, U.S. Marshals maintains
the peculiar distinction of being impossible to follow yet completely
predictable. --Woodruff
WILD THINGS. Denise Richards makes her sophomore appearance
here, and she is a marvel of modern science. Luckily, she didn't
have the star power to demand a "no nude scenes" clause
in her contract like box-office draw/no-talent Neve Campbell,
so you can really get a good look at all the scalpel marks on
her surgically enhanced body. There's also some plain-old lesbian
sex between Richards and Campbell, shots of Theresa Russell's
butt, and, I think, a plot. It has something to do with a teacher
being framed for rape so that he can sue someone and split the
proceeds with everyone who's in on the scam, which turns out to
be just about everyone in southern Florida. Since there's no suspense
or tension, the task of keeping the audience interested is handed
over to the barely-legal sex and Bill Murray's comic-relief role
as a sleazy lawyer in a phony neck-brace. Murray steals the show,
but he's only in a few scenes; and unless you think Kevin Bacon's
(admittedly impressive) penis is worth the $7.50 admission, this
might not be your best movie value. --DiGiovanna
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