My Movie News

What would you say about a roller-derby film featuring an almost all female cast, directed by Drew Barrymore, starring Juno-tart Ellen Page? Boring? Lame? “Someone set my alarm clock ’cause this’ll be a snoozer?”

My thoughts trailed along those lines. I certainly did not expect to be entertained. Nor did I expect to cry, or laugh, or feel all warm inside. Well, all my non-expectations were wrong. At the end of the film, all I could think to say was “wow, that was actually really good. That was a very good movie!” My boyfriend and I turned to each other in unison, nodded and smiled, satisfied at having wisely spent our Saturday evening. (We’re old folks, that’s what we do!)

Why was ‘Whip It’ so good?

Ellen Page, that’s why. She’s the go-to girl for that dry, witty humor, or that sex-kitten without the sex part. “She’s so tiny compared to the other girls, so cute!” my boyfriend gushed during the movie. And I couldn’t agree more. There she was, like a skate-strapped mouse, brawling in a roller-derby rink with brawny femme fatales twice her size and aggression level, eschewing her frail, beauty-pageant contestant frame. And she can actually act, which makes all the difference with a light-weight script and a simple story-line.

I think what I liked most about this movie was that it epitomized the true meaning of “Girl Power” without resorting to the usual “sex as empowerment” nonsense to showcase female emancipation. Call me conservative, but sexual exploitation has nothing to do with liberation and everything to do commodification. But whatever. The point is, “Whip It” doesn’t use its female characters as props or accessories, it brings them center stage and provides them a space (in this case, a roller derby rink) to unleash that octane-fueled fury, the non-provocative wild side usually reserved for guys in race-car films and bank heists scenes.

I assume that many people didn’t actually go out and watch the film, which is a shame because it would certainly have been worth it (if you go on a five-dollar day, as opposed to a thirteen-dollar day, that is…). In any case, Whip It was a welcomed change from so much of the onscreen sludge that assaults our senses. I was once told by a Hollywood producer that most of the films that make it to theaters are targeted to males in the 18-24 demographic. Well, Whip It is kind of like the branding of Secret deodorant – you know, strong enough for a man, but made for a woman. But of of course, dudes can watch it too – and they would probably enjoy it as well!

Wow. Months have gone by since I’ve last posted. Should I even address this issue? Do people even care? Well… yes, yes of course they do. I know you’re out there reading this, because recent stats have shown that I’ve been getting more visitors in the past few months… and nothing new has been written. I’m ashamed, I really am. Truth be told, I was ready to abandon this site, simply because my interest level in films has severely waned… due to certain life changes and new developments. But after perusing through my archives, I realize this place is still my baby and like Mariah Carey, it’ll always be a part of me. I also realized that no matter what new interests I develop, I will never tire of imposing my thoughts and opinions on to other people. As such, there will be more reviews and news forthcoming. Stay tuned, and thank you!

Here’s the trailer for the Jerry Bruckheimer-produced, film adaption of Prince of Persia: The Sands of Time, which stars Jake Gyllenhaal in the titular role, alongside a dazzling Gemma Arterton. Whether this will be just another one of those failed video game films remains to be seen, next summer.

They say that comedians are often the saddest souls around. It might follow then, that the toughest guys are also the most vulnerable. But if Mike Tyson is an indication of what lurks beneath a bad-ass, vulnerability is only the beginning.

“Iron” Mike grew up on the meanest streets of Brooklyn, a place where the entire cast of The Hills would be eaten alive. The crime life called out at an early age, and by the time Tyson was 13, he was already arrested 38 times. 38 times!

It all started with an altercation on the street that had him running for his life. He was just a kid when he had his first personal encounter with the incomprehensible malice humans can inflict on each other. That moment instilled a deep sense of fear in young Mike and he resolved to never be in that emotional state again.

The film goes on to chronicle his relationship with mentor and trainer Cus D’Amato, the man responsible for lighting the spark of Tyson’s blazing championships. The psychological strength he gains is awe-inspiring. He learns to defeat his opponents before the matches even start.

At times I question whether the documentary was made by his allies or his enemies. There are allegations he gets to lash at (the infamous rape accusation that would land him three years in the slammer), but there are instances, like a racially-charged, homophobic rant that do more to harm his image than restore it. And his cringe-worthy candidness of his sexual pursuits. Of course, it all underscores the goal of illuminating the mystery surrounding this controversial figure. And the things he reveal, are quite astounding.

The most compelling moments in the film come out of Tyson’s emotional telling of his tortured youth, his harrowing accounts of prison life and his own riveting admissions of the deep-seated fear that propelled his animal drive to win. The eyes of the beast are cold and menacing, but the seat of his soul is rife with grief and regret.

Tyson is a complex figure, easily dismissable on account of his wild, inexplicable actions and his flagrant fall from grace. But the documentary invites waves of compassion and even sympathy as we realize that a life once reduced to mere spectacle is actually just a product of the human condition.

Watching “Where the Wild Things Are” felt like one giant acid trip. Not that I’ve ever experienced such a thing. In fact, no one’s ever even said to me “Hey man, why you trippin?” But I imagine, that if I were to ever find myself sliding down that slippery slope, it would involve cuddly, ferocious, over-sized friends who want to eat me up one minute and make me their king the next.

The classic children’s tale written by Maurice Sendak is of course an ode to the childhood imagination and the possibilities found within the pure, untainted and unbridled mind of a child. But the film version was directed by Spike Jonze, the visionary behind such films as “Being John Malkovich”, and award-winning music videos like FatBoy Slim’s “Praise You”, an unusual work that could only arise out of a left of center mind, an imagination that defies boring conventions. So when I heard that Jonze would be directing Wild Things, I knew it wouldn’t be targeted to standard soccer moms and their toy-toting tots. I knew it would be special. And special is the right word.

Anyone expecting a Pixar/Disney morality tale will surely be disappointed. Anyone watching it while high on the natural spices of life, will probably have a rumble-tumble good time. And anyone like me who finds pure pleasure in seeing cuteness magnified and oversized, will be delighted.

The hand-held camera action takes us up close into the world of the wild things – larger than life muppets packed with personality and a frightening unpredictability that suggests we shouldn’t get too comfortable in their presence. It’s really no place for a kid. But our hero, nine-year old Max, who escapes into this strange place after a real-world altercation with his mother, confidently, yet innocently navigates his surroundings as he explores the mysterious land where characters clash and emotions flare up like a mammoth-sized match. In this world Max encounters and tries to understand the sources of his own behavioral outbursts as he stares into the eyes of the beasts and witnesses their inherent humanity.

I was in love with the concept, with the idea of this movie. And in the end, I found myself wanting to like the film much more than I actually did. I was enthralled by the trailer’s phenomenal pairing of moving images with Arcade Fire’s anthemic and uplifting “Wake Up”, an ode to the innocence of childhood and the wilderness of the real world, where bizarre fixtures are the norm and sentimental hearts are torn, where hopes and tears collide like blazing particles of raging sunlight. I was hoping the film would deliver something as emotionally-impacting, something more life-affirming and soul-stirring. I guess my colossal expectations were far too much for a movie spawned from a 10-sentence book.

And that is the movie’s main shortcoming – there was very little source material to work with and one can only eke out so much plot. At times you find yourself wondering what the point really is. You’re bewildered by the peculiar interactions and dispositions of the Wild Things. They act like children but sound like adults. They’re more like a band of lost hippies, isolated in a bizarre evolutionary warp with very little to do; at times it feels more like the side-effect of hallucinogens rather than pure imagination, and that inescapable tripped-out feeling is not always engaging, but it’s mostly entertaining.

What really saves the film, is the attachment one forms to those Wild Things – the tumultuous, reckless and humurous collective that make the experience worthwhile. They are what we’re here to see. When Max has to go back home, you don’t really want him to leave. There’s more to see and discover and there’s possibly more they can teach. For Max, the parting is bittersweet. And while the adventure doesn’t transport us to all the places we want to go, the off-beat experience still makes this a trip worth taking.