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Reviews
Highway (2002)
Wretched
Although the self-absorbed undergraduates with their pseudo-intellectual babble will sniff about how "the masses" won't be able to "connect" or "appreciate" this movie, the reasonably intelligent movie-renter will recognize this film for what it is: a piece of crap. First, it is a road movie that rips off Kerouac and thinks that somehow gives it legitimacy. Second, it invokes Kurt Cobain, another transparent attempt to pass this off as a Gen X film by linking it to the over-commercialized and overpraised rock star. And third, it is just plain BAD. Inexplicable and pointless flashbacks of the two main characters as kids (yeah, we get it, they are buddies) are one problem, but the real weakness is the constant ripoff of Tarantino - an annoying drug dealer who engages in a monologue that exists only to waste the viewer's time, thugs who chase the "hero" for screwing a gangster's wife, we've all variations of this before. I rented this because of Jake Gyllenhall, a fine actor (go see Brokeback Mountain and Donnie Darko if you don't believe me), but his character exists in a drug-addled haze to Leto's brain-dead pool boy, who isn't high and has no excuse for his imbecility. Jake must have needed the money (it is supposed to have a $14 million budget, but clearly not in the cinematography department), for this stinker does nothing to enhance his indie-movie icon status. For a much better movie from 2002 that showcases his acting ability, check out "The Good Girl."
Magnolia (1999)
Pointless and tedious.
This movie is basically three hours of pointless celluoid with no real plot. First of all, it rips off Altman's "Short Cuts," which lacked a central plot but at least was entertaining. This movie is not entertaining, despite the pontifications of the pseudo-intellectuals to the contrary. As for the frogs, I can only assume that the filmmakers were attempting something Biblical, never mind that River of Blood preceded the frogs in Exodus (note to the reviewer who claimed that a plague of frogs was comparable to Altman's earthquake in "Short Cuts": earthquakes are common, frogs from the sky are not). Only the fine performances by the cast save me from voting this film a 1; it's like hiring Monet to paint a barn.
Mercy (2000)
Pales in comparison to the book
WARNING: SPOILERS AHEAD!
I read David Lindsay's brilliant novel some years before, so I waited for the movie with anticipation. As usual, I should have known better. First of all, Hollywood had shown its true colors on race with this movie. The book featured a Hispanic detective, Carmen Palma, which has been Anglicized into Catherine Palmer. I guess Hollywood was too scared to cast a Latina in a leading role. Hello, Jennifer Lopez or Salma Hayek or Sonia Braga? I do not mind people of one race playing a different race, but when they change the character's race for no good reason, it smacks of cheap marketing and racial bias.
OK, gripe #2: The movie is way too sexualized. In a feeble attempt to titillate the viewer, or perhaps to just keep him or her awake, Palmer engages in a one-night stand with a Baldwin brother and a near-lesbian scene with Peta Wilson. Neither of these scenes stained Lindsay's pages; instead Lindsay's Palma was a professional.
Gripe #3: The supporting cast is almost absent. Palmer's partner is rarely visible until he needs to get conveniently shot to add some action to this tepid script. The book contained a well-developed and involved supporting cast, including her partner and some nasty exchanges with a sleazy vice cop. One of the most important characters, an FBI agent sent to help with the case, is completely absent from the film.
Gripe #4: The stupid ending. Typical Hollywood garbage. Instead of the ambiguous book ending, where the killer is arrested and her trial left unresolved (which is what is likely to happen realistically), our heroine kills her in a climatic finish, and then forces a moralizing ending onto the viewer.
The last gripe (finally!): The book is set in Houston, but the movie is filmed in Toronto and no native of the Bayou City will mistake that weather for Houston's sweltering climate. I assumed they set it in another city, but then halfway through a character makes a reference to Montrose, a well-known Houston neighborhood. What gives? Other major Houston landmarks that were mentioned in the book (the Gulf Freeway, the 59 Diner, the Doubletree Hotel) were omitted, but Montrose is thrown in. It is as if the screenwriters could not make up their minds. This is more of a personal gripe from a Houstonian for the short shrift Houston is given nationally. Hey, not everyone lives on the East and West Coasts, and there is another city in Texas besides Dallas.
In conclusion, the reader of these comments may think I am being petty or unfairly comparing a book to the movie, but if you read the book you will know how much better it is then this garbage. This is almost as bad as the number Hollywood did on Crichton's "Congo."
True Crime (1999)
Hang it up, Clint!
This movie truly stinks. First of all, Clint's character crams about a week's worth of investigating into less than 24 hours. Second of all, he actually thinks we want to see an almost 70 year old man with his shirt off. Yuck! Thirdly, the idea that young, attractive women would willingly sleep with his character (even the wife of a colleague) shows how inflated his ego has become. And he was actually shocked that this movie bombed? The viewer is subjected to the noble Clint valiantly acting as the great white knight saving the hapless death row inmate from a wrongful execution. And lo and behold, the real killer turns out to have been snuffed a few years before (which Clint speedily uncovers). How convenient, how black and white, and how incredibly unrealistic. James Woods proves to be the only saving grace of this film, but he is woefully absent from most scenes. Clint, your Rowdy Yates days are over. At least in Unforgiven you acted your age.
Homicide: The Movie (2000)
A fitting end. . .
. . . to one of the greatest TV series of all time, which may be a bit pretentious of me since I am only 24. But anyways, Homicide: The Movie provides a firm conclusion to the series, which is more than most TV shows can hope for. What can I say about it? Although it did not end as happily as I might have liked, I remind myself that this a show where at least one person dies every episode, sometimes even a major character, as seen with Felton and Crosetti. My hope for the future is that Law & Order: Special Victims Unit, which carries on Homicide's legacy on with Det. John Munch, will feature some of the series characters on future episodes.