Movie: I’ve noticed that there are very few kid movies being made these days and those that are tend to be pushed as huge marketing platforms. Disney is, of indubitably, one of the biggest offenders in this good wishes but they are also a major source of entertainment in search children of all ages so it’s fibrous to be too harsh on them-we can always say no, virtuous? In any case, they are also equal of the largest manufacturers of sequels in the known over the moon marvellous. After all, if people like a talking picture, they seem to want more of the changeless thing and Disney has always been happy to stipulate it to them. Such is the proves with Inspector Gadget 2.

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The movie details the misadventures of a cyborg detective who, along with his niece and her dog, solve a variety of crimes and keep the reigns in on super villain, Claw. In this latest release of the movie, which is based on a 20 year old television series, the Inspector (now played by French Stewart) must thwart Claw’s attempts to commit the latest crime of the century. The problem is that Gadget has been taken off the case in light of his recent misconduct and has been replaced by a new technological marvel, G2. Aptly played by the lovely Elaine Hendrix, G2 is a robot, not a cyborg, and has all the latest gizmo’s at her disposal-gizmo’s that work by the way, which is something Gadget never had. Between the two of them, with a little help from Penny and Brain, will they save the day once more?

Picture: The picture was presented in 1.66:1 Anamorphic Widescreen. It was almost blindingly perfect with it’s bright colors but there seemed to be some shaking at the very top of the screen from time to time.

Sound: The choices were 5.1 Dolby Digital in English or 2.0 Dolby Digital in French. It was very crisp and clear too.

Extras: 2 audio commentaries (one by the director himself and the other has him joining Elaine and French), a dozen deleted scenes, an illustrated Gadget where you can see some of the gadgets the two inspectors have access to, a Gadget Training Simulator game, a Behind the Scenes feature, bloopers, a music video by Rose Falcon, an isolated music score, a storyboard to film comparison of the Bridge scene, a bunch of Disney trailers

Final Thoughts: I watched this one and thought the movie was very much like the old television series. Whether that’s a good or bad thing depends on your frame of mind. It was cute enough for me but the real test came when I popped it in at a friend’s house in front of her kids. After all, what better test for a kid movie than to see if a bunch of kids would sit still to watch it? Well, they liked it. They liked it a lot. Only one of them needed a potty break and that was a quick one. The only problem I had after that was that the kids wanted a) to see it again and b) they wanted Inspector Gadget toys. Note to self: don’t let kids eat a lot of sugar before or during their viewing of this movie. The movie was kind of hokey to me but it’s made for kids so I guess their rating is what counts. Recommended by kids, for kids-now all we need is for Disney to release all of the original cartoons for those of us with a sense of nostalgia.

Reviewed by Dennis Schwartz

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For MGM’s 50th anniversary celebration in 1974 it presents a film
clip compilation of numbers from some of its great musicals that date from
1929 to 1958. MGM was rightfully known for its classy style and in producing
Hollywood’s best musicals. The result was the most popular That’s Entertainment!
which renewed interest in MGM’s musicals with the public; it was directed
by Jack Haley Jr., as he takes us through the musicals by using MGM stars
such as Frank Sinatra, Liz Taylor, Jimmy Stewart, Mickey Rooney, Liza Minnelli,
Gene Kelly and Fred Astaire as narrators. It begins in 1929 when the talkies
took over the industry and the musical was spawned with films like the
Hollywood Revue (MGM’s first all-sound movie) and The Broadway Melody.
It features such great musicals as Singin’ in the Rain, High Society, Gigi,
Meet Me in St. Louis, and An American in Paris. My favorite pieces were
Clark Gable dancing to “Puttin’ on the Ritz” in Idiot’s Delight, Jimmy
Durante mentoring the young Frank Sinatra in “It Happened in Brooklyn,”
the energetic woodchopper’s dance from “Seven Brides for Seven Brothers”
and Judy Garland merrily going down the Yellow Brick Road in “The Wizard
of Oz.”

This type of film doesn’t do much for me, but it gives one a refresher
course in seeing snippets from the greatest musicals. If nostalgia for
the Hollywood musical is your cup of tea, then this one is pleasingly sentimental
as it covers many of the over 200 musicals MGM produced during that period.

In an era of hyper-powered action spectacles, “S.W.A.T.” arrives looking stodgy, without exciting heroes or villains, or, notably, the kinetic cinema to make it important. Nonetheless, this widescreen adaptation of the mid-1970s TV series is smart to be flagrantly unfaithful to the terse-lived show. Pic’s early August remission date seems ideal to grab moviegoers fatigued by sequels. But coming in the wake of the physically astonishing “Bad Boys 2,” “S.W.A.T.” seems correct, making it able that B.O. firepower liking be contained to the opening week and in a word beyond, with more flurries down the road in vid precincts.

In contrast to the borderline insanity of danger and extreme action arranged by Michael Bay in “Bad Boys 2,” tyro director Clark Johnson strives for realistic detail and action. Unfortunately, such adherence to technical purity proves to be a weakness for the movie.

Johnson, who has superbly parlayed his stint as a Baltimore cop in “Homicide: Life on the Streets” into a terrific small screen directing career, and has shown a knack for depicting finely drawn characters in high-pressure situations, is too often at the mercy of a generally hackneyed script.

Actions starts with a sequence clearly borrowed from a spectacularly militarized North Hollywood bank robbery in 1997, climaxing with the wounding of a hostage that’s blamed on S.W.A.T. partners Jim Street (Colin Farrell) and Brian Gamble (Jeremy Renner). Told by Capt. Thomas Fuller (Larry Poindexter) that he can earn a second chance on S.W.A.T. by fingering the short-fused Gamble, Street complies, earning Gamble’s permanent enmity.Whether or not this choice troubles Street’s soul is a matter for a different movie, since he’s next seen working out on the beach with hopes of getting back into the fold while he temporarily does desk work. Street catches the eye of Sgt. Dan “Hondo” Harrelson (Samuel L. Jackson), who was transferred from some unexplained exile in LAPD’s Rampart division to head a fresh S.W.A.T. squad — much to the dismay of his former partner Fuller.

The mechanical ways in which Street’s desire for a comeback are shown to match Hondo’s — as well as the intro of each member of the squad — tends to make pic’s first hour drag. Throwing together young, brawny egos — including the unnaturally subdued James Todd Smith aka LL Cool J as Deke, and Michelle Rodriguez’s Chris Sanchez, the first to crack S.W.A.T.’s glass ceiling — would seem to offer fodder for incendiary, witty exchanges. It doesn’t.Genuine tension briefly surfaces during the squad’s final test before being sent to the streets, as the unit breaks the “course record” for freeing airline hostages in a mock crisis which Johnson cannily stages in real time.

But it isn’t until the entry of nefarious international bad guy Alex (”Le Loup Rouge”) Montel (Olivier Martinez) that “S.W.A.T.” breaks free of its episodic narrative for extended sequences that show Johnson to be a good if not yet inspired handler of contempo action. Nabbed by cops for document problems, Montel tries to escape with help from his henchmen. After his second capture, he offers a reward of $100 million to anyone who will help free him again.

Twist doesn’t prove as engrossing as might have been expected, and leads to some easily anticipated character betrayals played out in murky nighttime conditions worsened by what appeared to be a poorly timed color print provided at the review screening.

Jackson and Farrell remain consummate pros throughout, but clearly have no new ideas for playing cops. Perhaps because of her character’s novelty, Rodriguez comes off as more relaxed than in some of her previous, post-”Girlfight” work, and Renner (recently stunning in “Dahmer”) does his part to keep things as interesting as possible.

As the umpteenth cop thriller staged in L.A.’s streets, pic doesn’t create a captivating new angle as, for example, Michael Mann did in “Heat,” or to a lesser degree, Antwone Fuqua did in “Training Day.”

A talented production crew, including lenser Gabriel Beristain, editor Michael Tronick and composer Elliot Goldenthal, has done better work elsewhere. The vast song selection is more inspired, with well-chosen tracks from the Rolling Stones, Jimi Hendrix, Apollo Four Forty and even an end-credit tune titled “Samuel Jackson.”

It has taken Criterion nearly 300 releases to enlarge an Orson Welles cover to their chrestomathy, but they be undergoing at least for all time done so with a bang: F for Fake. Welles’ 1975 endeavour videotape about art and fakery, is not the easiest film for newcomers to the director, but its tyrannical editing and philosophical questioning should expropriate bring round all about a new audience.

Welles admitted he felt great disaster when Fake failed to become any sort of celebrity at the box office, but anyone of Welles’ major failings as a numero uno was his inability to judge commercial potential. A circumscribed stateside put out of the film (hardly unexpected, really) didn’t refrain from the box office either. The predict began as the work of another numero uno entirely: François Reichenbach, who was making a screen about artist Elmyr de Hory (Elmyr: The True Thumbnail sketch). Welles looked at the film Reichenbach had never boost, and asked to use it in his own project. The result was a unexcelled manipulation of Reichenbach’s footage, stock footage, and additional materialistic drink by Welles, mixed together into a cunning, amusing, unrivalled meditation.

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The film breaks down into two paramount sections. The first looks at de Hory, noted faker of noted painters (Modigliani and Picasso to name two) and Clifford Irving, biographer of de Hory, and more notoriously, writer of a forgery autobiography of Howard Hughes. This section snakes its way through their stories and touches on the nature of experts when it comes to art, and what positively constitutes a work of talent. As mentioned above, the editing entirely the sheet, but in this element in noteworthy, is a thing of beauty. Welles re-arranged the actual footage to make different shots appear to carry on conversations, comment on each other, and contradict each other. The original Reichenbach photograph exists, and if there’s one failing with Criterion’s include here, it’s the lack of that film, which would allow a nice opportunity for commensurability, to see what Welles used and how he used it.

The second slice looks at an fictional incident between Oja Kodar (Welles’ companion and artistic partner) and Pablo Picasso, in which she posed for the famous painter with foxy motives in chew out vacillating. Originally scripted by Kodar, this section lacks the bite of the principal, but allows Welles to carry on the exchange about “real” and “fake” dexterity in a disparate environment. It also allows the camera to once-over Kodar; one outstanding feature of Welles’ work with Kodar is the examination of having it away and eroticism that took place once they formed their artistic partnership. A look at the second scene from The Other Side of the Wind in the One Bloke Corps documentary on the transfer disc will another underscore this trait.

Welles, who had been hired on numerous occasions to provide “voice of authority” description in a variety of documentaries both legitimate and in another manner, knew justly how easy it was (and is) to ninny-hammer the public into philosophical something is what it is not. He also knew firsthand how critics/experts, foreordained prerogative and attentiveness regardless of whether it is fit, could be opposite. Barely four years earlier, Pauline Kael’s shoddily researched and dubiously motivated piece on Patrial Kane had appeared, in which Kael tried to deny Welles any faithfulness for his work on the Kane script, an assertion that dogged Welles afterwards, but which has since been thoroughly debunked. Welles’ demonstrations in Dissemble of how even assumed experts can be bamboozled (or more importantly, choose ignorance) stands, no matter how veiled, as a fairly conclusive response to Kael.

Quest of another Kane connection (and there are others), look at the similarities between Irving and Welles; each made a splash with a fictionalized work depicting a primary work out b decipher in American brio. Pro Irving, it was Hughes, conducive to Welles it was Hearst. Each paid a price for their labour, though Irving, who served federal jail time since his swindle, suffered the more immediate punishment.

There are other threads of engagement; if the photograph is anything, it is chicly multilayered, and a vapour that transfer reward repeated viewings. And, in this day and age, the film’s examination of “experts” and their roles in the commodification of art look ever more proper. And if nothing else, you should put one’s hands away impressed by Welles’ mastery of the editing manipulate. Welles always claimed that editing was where a movie was made or flouted, and F for Fake stands as a remarkable, vivid lesson of that skill.

A hot-snapshot penetrating boarding-school quarterback goes to Gotham to escape his hometown’s obsession with football in Paul Black’s debut outing “America Brown.” Gloomy has a knack with actors, distinctively in handling the aw-shucksy idyll between Ryan Kwanten’s Texas rural area wretch and Natasha Lyonne’s Shirley MacLaine-ish New Yawker. But the characters put in too much time standing around moodily while toting enough irrational baggage to reserve a small airline. Star shy, occasional deft touches and nifty contrast between the two locales cannot beat script’s VDU = ‘visual display unit’ awkwardness. Cable seems logical next step.

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America “Ricky” Brown (played by Aussie Kwanten) arrives unannounced on the doorstep of black priest John Cross (Hill Harper), a legendary ex-quarterback from his hometown in West Texas. Brown’s father figure/older brother Daniel (Mark Rapaport) has just dropped dead, and all-American teen Ricky is seeking sanctuary with the only other human being he knows to have renounced football.

But Cross has his own mysterious burdens, some involving his athletic past (flashback to promoters and coaches proffering painkillers and steroids), but most concerning the haunting, mysterious-in-her-own-right Rosie (Elodie Bouchez). When he’s not staring blankly out of the window or at the snow on the TV screen, Cross exchanges wounded looks with Rosie over the host at Mass or the Danish in a coffee shop, occasionally wrenching himself away from his own problems long enough to acknowledge the anguish of his uninvited guest.

Meanwhile Ricky forges a relationship with street waif/waitress Vera (Lyonne), whose big peepers are awash with vulnerability beneath the blue eye shadow and gunky mascara. He also develops a friendship with Rosie, who offers succor of a less sexual sort (indeed, the easy camaraderie that is conveyed between this ad hoc foursome is one of pic’s strengths).

Black creates a remarkably unthreatening New York of sunlit rectory rooms, funky neighborhood apartments, and night-time strolls by the river. In contrast, Brown’s heartland hometown stresses an unwholesome addiction to football: Good ole boy Bo (Leo Burmester) drips Southern charm as he dickers with college recruiter cronies, upping the kickback ante; Ricky’s beloved older brother Danny — shown in recent and not-so-recent flashbacks where Rapaport’s Brooklyn intensity comes off almost as insanity in the laid-back Texas setting — dispenses pigskin wisdom like Gospel as he fiercely exhorts his little brother to gridiron greatness.

Not content to billboard the damage caused by football as an unholy combo of religion and big business, Black has Ricky’s outspoken but supportive mother (a magnificent Karen Black in one of her less grotesque mature roles) deliver an impassioned denunciation in the apparent belief that you can never hammer home a point too often.

Tech credits are fine, though intrusive, each-time-a-little-more flashbacks to fragmented memories of unexplained traumas not only end anti-climactically but also sabotage pic’s otherwise more nuanced cinematic values.

Kronos is a well-made, moderate budget science-fictioner which boasts quality special effects that would do confidence in to a much higher-budgeted film.

Script [from a story by Irving Block] tells of the efforts of a people from outer space to capture Earth’s energy. To do this, they send an accumulator to Earth, which is directed in its movement by the head of a great American lab, whose brain has been seized by a higher intelligence from space.

Feature takes its title from the accumulator a huge metal cube-shaped figure 100 feet high, after the mythological god of evil, and which nothing seemingly can destroy.

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Jeff Morrow heads cast as a scientist who has charted the course of the asteroid which has transported the accumulator to Earth. John Emery is convincing as the lab head forced by the outer-space intelligence to direct the monster. Barbara Lawrence is in strictly for distaff interest, but pretty.

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Published: January 10, 2003

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