Cineview
by Lisa Nesselson
Paris'screen at a glance...
Galaxy Quest
A paean to “space travel” and “the future” as they’ve been portrayed
in every cheesy or faux-noble sci-fi outing from “Plan 9 From
Outer Space” to “Star Trek,” “Galaxy Quest” is the smartest, funniest
piece of American comedy since the “South Park” movie. I laughed,
I smiled, I spit my popcorn into geostationary orbit around the
theater.
The premise is pure gold, lovingly spray-painted with cheap silver
paint: the aging cast of a long-canceled “Star Trek”-like TV show,
now reduced to signing autographs at conventions for nerdy devotees
of the defunct series, are contacted by real space aliens. The
benevolent but persistent visitors from another dimension assume
the TV episodes that have reached their distant, dying planet
are in fact “historical documents” demonstrating the bravery and
resourcefulness of the skilled and selfless Galaxy Quest crew.
Having built a perfect working replica of the show’s spit-and-Styrafoam
spacecraft, the earnest aliens — threatened by evil adversaries
— entreat these bit players on the third rock from the sun to
do their bit for interplanetary justice.
Stuck in a career time warp, the has-been actors are at each other’s
throats on Earth. But gosh, wouldn’t you know it? Their abrupt,
reluctant mission to aid the kindly species from beyond gives
them all a chance to prove their mettle, shore up their self-esteem
and reinforce our secret suspicion that even the dopiest TV shows
ultimately serve a purpose.
Sigourney Weaver does a terrific comic turn as the token babe,
whose spacesuit reveals ever more cleavage as the film goes on;
Alan Rickman in reptilian makeup is a hoot and a half as a morose
Shakespearean actor bitter about having been typecast by the accursed
show; and Tim Allen bounds around with the pitch-perfect assurance
of a preening William Shatner-ish captain as he seizes the chance
to spout commands yet again, energized by an impromptu adventure
for higher stakes than usual.
“Galaxy Quest” includes giant monsters, distant planets that just
happen to have Earthling-friendly atmospheres (take off that silly
helmet — the oxygen’s fine!), untrustworthy optical illusions,
gratuitous but really neat-looking obstacles, handy teleportation
devices and all the other endearing props, plot devices and gibberish
we’ve learned to embrace since Flash Gordon gave way to Captain
Kirk. I saw this pic on Venus and it put me over the moon — twice.
(Oct 4)
Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon (Tigre et dragon)
Zowie! What a movie Ang Lee’s Chinese-language period extravaganza
is, thanks in great part to fight choreographer Yuen Wo Ping,
who also gave “The Matrix” its distinctive moves.
“Crouching” explores the mayhem that ensues when a 400-year-old
blade is stolen. The story takes place under the reign of what
I would call the Clang Dynasty — as in the clanging of swords.
Moviegoers worldwide are about to mistake Lars von Trier’s “Dancer
in the Dark” for a musical, but nothing can beat the razzle-dazzle
moves on display in this kick-ass martial arts movie, in which
women of three generations do all the kicking. It’s gorgeous,
imaginative and not to be missed, even if you’ve never tried an
Asian film before. (Oct 4)
Memento
OK. Imagine you’ve read this sentence. Which you have. Now, imagine
it’s five minutes later and you can’t remember having ever laid
eyes on it. So you read it all over again and it seems brand-new
to you. That’s what life is like for Leonard Shelby (Guy Pearce),
the anti-anti-anti-hero of “Memento,” a movie that’s challenging
to the viewer (sort of the way memorizing pi to a few dozen places
is) but full of rewards for those who don’t check their attention
spans at the door.
Leonard suffers from short-term memory loss. To make his way in
the world, he relies on Polaroid photos and notes to himself —
including strategically arrayed tattoos. He’s bent on revenge
for the violent incident that robbed him of the ability to form
new memories. But if he gets the guy he’s after, will he even
recall his mission is accomplished? Writer-director Christopher
Nolan (whose first film was last year’s gem “Following”) has opted
for a fragmented narrative that moves back and forth, ahead and
sideways like a crab scuttling around in an editing room. Funny,
melancholy and impressively original, this is a wonderful detour
into the possibilities of movie-making. (Oct 11)
Things You Can Tell Just by Looking at Her
(Ce que je sais d’elle...d’un simple regard)
There’s a wistful, pleasantly haunting quantity to this series
of free-standing but craftily interwoven stories about women in
Los Angeles. And there’s a heartfelt immediacy to their dilemmas
that rings absolutely true, even though you “know” they’re being
played by famous actresses, including Kathy Baker, Glenn Close,
Holly Hunter, Cameron Diaz, Valeria Golino and Calista Flockhart.
E.M. Forster’s advice “Only connect” comes to mind; although some
of the episodes are uneven, they’re all sincere and uncloying
in a way that has become rare in American filmmaking. Writer-director
Rodrigo Garcia is the son of the novelist Gabriel Garcia Marquez
and a fine storyteller in his own right. (Oct 4)
Keeping the Faith
(Au nom d’Anna)
An interfaith movie that gives you faith in movies, “Keeping the
Faith” is versatile actor Edward Norton’s directing debut as well
as a fine two hours’ worth of comic yet thoughtful entertainment.
Norton stars as a Catholic priest opposite Ben Stiller, who plays
his best friend, a rabbi.
God and the screenplay move in mysterious ways when Anna (Jenna
Elfman), the Gentile girl they both hung out with in eighth grade,
moves back to Manhattan 16 years later. Stiller is up for a promotion
at his synagogue, but his congregation expects him to find a nice
Jewish girl and get married. Norton, in keeping with tradition
in his line of work, has taken a vow of celibacy.
Never heavy-handed and frequently laugh-out-loud funny, this is
an old-fashioned movie in the best sense of the word. (Oct 11)
Dancer in the Dark
As soon as Lars von Trier’s new film was unveiled at Cannes in
May, pundits started saying jury president Luc Besson was sure
to like it. I wasn’t sure why people were saying this about the
movie that did go on to win the Palme d’Or, except that the mammothly
flawed musical melodrama is irritating and makes little sense,
two qualities it has in common with many of Besson’s own assaults
on the box office. It’s a love-it-or-hate it venture. I know several
otherwise intelligent and discerning individuals who were moved
to tears. I, on the other hand, was among those who got a headache
from rolling my eyes too much during the screening.
Screeching Icelandic songbird Bjork (in toned-down mode here)
won the Best Actress trophy for her performance as a misguided
Czech immigrant who’s going blind in America’s Pacific Northwest
in the 1960s, but needs to see something through before she loses
her sight entirely. Some people think “Dancer in the Dark” is
a masterwork; others think it’s proof positive that MTV and every
editing idea that that benighted network ever spawned should be
tried in an international tribunal for high crimes and misdemeanors.
If this is a musical, I’m Donald Duck. (Oct 18)
Typiquement British
To paraphrase a famous tip about conjugal duty and patriotism:
It’s time to open your eyes and think of England. Not since the
Queen Mum’s 100th birthday has an event this exceptional focused
attention on our talented friends across the Channel. Starting
October 4, the Pompidou Center is hosting a truly glorious series
of movies made in Britain. The “Typiquement British” series (to
March 5) is a sterling opportunity to view over 200 hand-picked
flicks, cleverly arranged into 13 programming blocks hailing creators
from Shakespeare to Monty Python and cinema styles from Hitchcockian
thrillers to Swinging Britain. October devoted to “La Dynastie
Redgrave,” with three generations of genetically superior thespians
in attendance. I get so excited just thinking about it, I have
to make myself a nice cup of tea.
Delicious leftovers...
If you want to see a better-than-average movie, you can’t go wrong
with any of the following, still in theaters after several weeks.
Space Cowboys
Retirement-age former test pilots Clint Eastwood, James Garner,
Donald Sutherland and Tommy Lee Jones get a second chance to aim
for the stars. This is a rollicking, utterly enjoyable and very
funny ride with a sweet subtext about analog skills in a digital
world. “Did you have to convince the other actors to be in the
film much the way your character has to convince the other thwarted
astronauts to reconvene for a space flight?” someone asked Eastwood
in Deauville. It was Sutherland who replied, bringing the house
down: “If Clint calls and says, ‘For $100,000 will you do this
part?’ you say, ‘Yes — but you’ve got to give me two weeks to
raise the $100,000.’”
High Fidelity
We live in a flawed universe on an imperfect planet but “High
Fidelity” is a perfect film. John Cusack is stupendous (in his
patented low-key, hangdog manner) as Rob, the congenitally mopey
owner of a Chicago record emporium specializing in rare vinyl.
Rob’s sensibilities are intimately connected to his ferocious
devotion to pop culture’s most insidious artifacts — starting
with the songs that sneak into our emotional histories and lodge
there like renegade DNA. Rob’s latest girlfriend has just left
him, prompting a reassessment of his serial failures in romance.
Stunningly well adapted from Nick Hornby’s novel and directed
by Stephen Frears, this delightful little movie is also cause
for celebration because its British core has been keenly adapted
to an American milieu: Chicago.
O Brother Where Art Thou?
The Coen Brothers borrow liberally from Homer’s Odyssey and end
up with a giggle-inducing romp through the Depression-Era south
and the iconography of epic-but-silly movies. Some filmgoers prefer
to be on familiar ground when they buy a ticket and others like
to have their expectations pleasantly confounded. If you fit into
the latter category, hitch up your britches, slick back your hair
and enter the theater with confidence.
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