From Paul Brickhill’s occur story of a memorable congeries breakout by Allied POWs during World Make II, regisseur-director John Sturges has fashioned a motion picture that entertains, captivates, thrills and stirs.
The film is an account of the bold, meticulous plotting that led to the escape of 76 prisoners from a Nazi detention camp, and subsequent developments that resulted in the demise of 50, recapture of a dozen.
Early scenes depict the formulation of the mass break design. These are played largely for laughs, at the occasional expense of reality, and there are times when authority seems so lenient that the inmates almost appear to be running the asylum.
There are some exceptional performances. The most provocative single impression is made by Steve McQueen as a dauntless Yank pilot whose ‘pen’-manship record shows 18 blots, or escape attempts. James Garner is the compound’s ’scrounger’, a traditional type in the Stalag 17 breed of war-prison film. Charles Bronson and James Coburn do solid work, although the latter’s character is anything but clearly defined.
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British thespians weigh in with some of the finest performances in the picture. Richard Attenborough is especially convincing in a stellar role, that of the man who devises the break. A moving portrayal of a prisoner losing his eyesight is given by Donald Pleasence. It is the film’s most touching character.
Elmer Bernstein’s rich, expressive score is consistently helpful. His martial, Prussianistic theme is particularly stirring and memorable.
1963: Nomination: Best Editing
INSPECTOR GADGET is a hyper-resourceful, manic-ally monotone,
live-cartoon kid's flick that ain't too terrible in the course of adults,
either. (Think THE MASK married to, oh, WHO FRAMED ROGER RABBIT?)
Super sound effects in this one, with visual judgement out the wazoo
and Rupert Everett having a high, hammy forthwith as the villainous
"Talon." ("United word, like Madonna.") Stay fully activate and you'll
sully slighter amusements a-plenty, such as a hospital era for
"Dr. Howard, Dr. Acute, Dr. Howard," a power-control projection that
cranks to "11," (!) and a closing-credits cameo by Richard "Jaws"
Kiel as a member of a "Minions Revival Group." Hilarious…
With Matthew Broderick, Joely Fisher, Michelle Trachtenberg, and
Dabney Coleman. David Kellogg (who's he?) directs. (Rated "PG"/
75 min.)
Grade: C+
Copyright 1999 by Michael J. Legeros
Movie Hell is a trademark of Michael J. Legeros
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HELL: Baggy Briefs
I was too old to be interested in the primary “Inspector Gadget” cartoon series, but I did charm the first live-action movie with Matthew Broderick on Mailgram about a year or so after its theatrical release. It was harmless, dunce, and passably uninteresting balderdash. You can imagine what this 2003 direct-to-video continuation, “Inspector Invention 2,” is like without the big budget or the comedic talents of Mr. Broderick. It’s worse than innocuous, more than silly, and not absolutely uninteresting but ferocious depressing.
I’m infallible I don’t distress to cause to remember you that Inspector Gadget in unison ups James Bond. He doesn’t just have an arsenal of extraordinary-tech gadgets at his disposal, he IS a high-tech gadget. He’s a deviant creation whose gizmos constantly go awry and who makes Inspector Clouseau look strain a genius. Except that unlike Clouseau, this certain Gadget isn’t funny.
I’ve heard it said that this tick room-action installment is closer to the vitality of the fervent cartoon, which may be the case, I don’t discern, but if it’s true it doesn’t assert much for the cartoon. The comedy is flat, the jokes are stale, the characters are static, and the tract is almost nonexistent. Worse, the usually thing looks like a quickie, low-budget affair, teeth of the presence of a multitude of computer-generated graphics in almost every scene. It was filmed in Australia, where the country’s roomy-afford spaces accomplish the opus seem even smaller.
This notwithstanding out it’s TV guy French Stewart (”Third Rock from the Bric-e-brac,” “God, the Devil, and Bob”) essaying the role of Thingummy, and I suppose he does a credible job, given the lack of resources he has to work with. He’s mostly reduced to attempting old Don Adams “Get Smart” mannerisms, bouncing skyward inaccurate spring-loaded shoes, and difficult to disciplined the rocket engine atop his automobile. Because of Gadget’s overattention to item, he arrests a Girl Scout troop for selling cookies that are three days past their expiration date. That’s about the highlight of the humor. Stewart seems pretty bland to me compared to Matthew Broderick, who brought more personality to the join in and a stronger degree of hilarious timing. But who knows? Maybe Broderick ethical had sick jokes.
The bulk of the movie’s gags flow from from Gadget’s gadgets not working, a the poop indeed that prompts the city of Riverton that employs him to build a newer and improve Implement, dubbed G2, the “most newest Apparatus in the Appliance Program.” That ought to relieve youngsters with their English. G2 is a delightful creation played by Elaine Hendrix and looks like a cross between the female monster in “Metropolis” and one of the marching dolls from “Babes in Toyland.” Unfortunately, Ms. Hendrix has even less to work with in the movie than her blundering counterpart, being forced to do little more than keep a straight sheathe at all times. A budding romance between the two Gadgets is mildly interesting but indubitably foreseeable. Think of her as Maxwell Smart’s Agent 99. Both Gadgets are ably assisted by the Inspector’s children niece, Penny (Caitlin Wachs), a Nancy Drew type who’s a more capable detective than either of the two technologically advanced characters.
The plat, what little there is, involves the two Gadgets in an investigation of the nefarious Dr. Catch (Tony Martin), an shrewd immoral who has just escaped from penitentiary and plans using a assistant to bilk of the Federal Spare Bank in Riverton, the depository of more gold than Fort Knox. Claw’s henchmen are McKible (John Batchelor) and Brick (James Wardlaw), who refer to themselves as “vicious minions,” as if any issue would know what a “minion” was.
If most of this sounds of, I assume it’s because it’s supposed to be parodying divers old spy flicks. Dr. Claw is a reminder of “The Claw” in “Get Smart” (”the Craw?” Alert would ask), which in turn was a tease on Bond’s Dr. No; and Claw holds a virginal cat in his lap in the manner of Ernst Stavro Blofeld in “From Russia With Love” and other Bond adventures. The shadow bit is from “Moonraker”; the bank heist is from “Goldfinger”; a device expert named Baxter (Bruce Spence) is the embodiment of Q; there are even pieces of “Austin Powers” thrown in. But to what end? It’s so juvenile, none of it is funny from an adult perspective, and not one of it make have any meaning to a youngster who’s never seen the older flicks referenced.
“Inspector Utensil 2″ is understandably aimed at six-to-ten year olds, who will miss most of the film’s in-jokes. But as I report, the in-jokes are not funny, anyway, so it’s no grand detriment. My entertainment rating is based on the movie’s value to teens and adults, since I doubt that DVDTown has too many readers in the six-to-ten-year-old range. The movie is rated G notwithstanding mild, cartoonish bestiality.
At some point or another, every moviegoer gets burned by the hype machine—a film has been so crazily pumped up as spectacular, charming, hilarious, groundbreaking, whatever superlative plays beat in a pull quote, that by the time you catch up with it and actually look at the movie, you realize that you’ve been set up looking for frustration. And the horses may have formerly larboard the barn by today, but if you can, shut out the film-festivities and award season buzz that threatens to drown effectively the high point, and you’ll find that Little Miss Sunshine is a charming and eccentric if pretty slight movie, a dysfunctional family pike trip picture with a quirky script (that may sometimes appraise a young too hard), and a great bunch of actors playing some extremely faulty but surprisingly empathic characters.
Greg Kinnear is the pater of this odd particle clan—an aspiring Tony Robbins, Richard is sure that his Nine Steps to Success will find a publisher and opening him to infomercial superstardom (or stave rancid bankruptcy, anyway). Toni Collette plays his helpmate, Sheryl, who’s just barely holding it together—her adolescent son Duane has taken a vow of restrain until he can enroll in the Publicize Coercion Academy, and her young daughter, Olive, has dream model aspirations. Not serving matters much is Richard’s father, played hilariously by Alan Arkin, who is Olive’s choreographer between cocaine hits; and in the most dire straits of all is Upfront, Sheryl’s brother, a Proust schoolboy who’s in the academic gutter, broken hearted because his boyfriend has jilted him, and who has justified tried an defeated even if deeply achy suicide attempt.
The answering tool holds a glimmer of rely on destined for Olive’s dreams of radiance: she has earned a place in tomorrow’s Lilliputian Miss Sunshine grandeur, but she’ll be undergoing to pinch from Albuquerque to Redondo Beach in a heartbeat, and cost-effective circumstances being what they are, the price of airplane tickets is just brazenly-out suppressive. So we’re off on a forebears thoroughfare trip, the sextet piled into a crappy old VW van with a broken grab, the enabler of much of the physical comedy of the piece. What’s extraordinarily endearing about the film is that the characters are portrayed with such multidimensionality, and with the kind of depth from which most Hollywood pictures recoil. (If you deprivation a out-and-out big steaming plate of likability, don’t tend this one.) In a more conventional, more boring story, Richard would be the typical autocrat, Sheryl the stage mom, Grandpa a kindly past it coot, and so on. But all of them have aspects that are tremendously engaging and deeply loathsome—you’ll pass your judgments, but they are all manner of decent in their own way, and they’re all trying really, absolutely despotic, though their severe limitations are evident, to themselves most of all.
It’s also titbits to see characters from a lower socio-pecuniary stratum portrayed with some sophistication—they’re not condescended to nor sitcommed up, and their home doesn’t have the unbelievable look of a Pottery Barn catalog on a Sam’s Club budget, the kind of thing you see many times in Hollywood product that panders to the working class. And it feels like the libretto has brought out the best in the cast—Steve Carell is fantastically deadpan as Frank, for instance, and Abigail Breslin deserves express mention as miniature Olive. It’s her delusion that is the motor of the book, but she is, at the end of the day, nothing but a kid—and the climactic succession, with her insanely unbefitting talent shtick performed in a cut-rate hotel talk latitude for a crowd full of JonBenet wannabes and their enablers, is a stitch. And it’s here that the silent picture kind of settles towards the rear into itself—you feel sometimes on the road that the filmmakers are pushing it, or that they’ve been holding back, or something, and here, like their characters, they’re finally able to let out themselves cut loose. And the movie more or less ends there, knowing that life has frayed ends, and things aren’t tied up in cool little bows, even though it’s time in place of the credits to roll.
His life sentence for the sake of murder commuted to 19 years, Manual Jordan (Billy Bob Thornton) is freed against his order. Driven by a lack for redemption, Manual returns to the locality of the crime, and is recruited to work as a helper in the local community program run by the self appointed, bejewelled and bizarre minister, Miles Evans (Morgan Freeman). Here, the introverted Manual tries to influence young Sofia (Kirsten Dunst) to change her self-destructive lifestyle and he also tentatively makes conjunction with the sister of the adolescent he killed, Adele (Holly Hunter) and her teenage son Abner (Geoffrey Wigdor), without revealing his earnest congruence – all in pursuing of foul redressing the malign he did.
The Movie:
A bitter-sweet tale about a poor man from Manchester who must save enough to buy his daughter a Communion dress Raining Stones is director Ken Loach’s least political work to date.
Proud but poor Bob Williams (Bruce Jones) must find a way to buy his daughter a Communion dress. It is the right thing to do. But…he is jobless, without a penny in the bank, and with nothing he could sell for money. It is time to get creative!
Filmed in the heart of working-class Manchester Ken Loach’s Raining Stones (1993) is everything a great picture needs to be: thought-provoking, entertaining, marvelously acted. It is also a film that bursts with authenticity introducing a protagonist whose misfortunes could be part of anyone’s life.
Loach has made plenty of films about poverty and social injustice (Riff Raff, The Flickering Flame) but none of them rely on humor as much as Raining Stones does. In fact, the sense of desperation that is often felt throughout the British director’s work is effectively subdued here thanks to a never-ending string of hilarious gigs Bob and his partner get involved with all in the name of the almighty quid.
The film also shows a great understanding of the brittle psychology low-income workers possess. Here Bob’s faith, determination, and enthusiasm are countered with disappointment, pain, and desperation fueling irrational decisions with dangerous consequences. As a result the perilous predicament Bob eventually finds himself dealing with does not come as a surprise.
Raining Stones benefits from an excellent cast whose performances are practically flawless. The actors maintain a perfect balance between comedy and drama, with a script often necessitating improvisation, thus effectively controlling the tempo of the story - the two overlap each other and especially during the second half the film flows particularly well.
The Original Theatrical Poster
Finally, even though Raining Stones deals with a sensitive subject matter that could have spurred some unneeded and likely biased political statements Loach remains notably quiet with his camera. Most if not all of the imagery here speaks for itself in a much more convincing fashion than one could have hoped for. The result is an electrifying film with real characters dealing with real troubles. Just as life is.
Awards/ Recognition:
In 1993 the film won the Jury Prize at the Cannes Film Festival. In 1994 the film won the CEC Award for Best Foreign Film granted by the Spanish Cinema Writes. During the same year the film also won the Critics Award granted by the French Syndicate of Cinema Critics as well as the ALFS Award granted by the London Critics Association.
How Does the Film Look?
Presented in its original aspect ratio of 1.66:1 and enhanced for widescreen TVs the transfer provided by Koch Lorber Films is good but not solid. The intended grainy look is preserved and contrast appears satisfactory yet I could not help but notice that there is a substantial amount of dirt and specs marring the presentation. The progressive transfer on the other hand is solid and I could not detect any conversion issues. Edge-enhancement isn’t an issue and those with larger set-ups should be pleased with the transfer. Still this is a notable improvement over the old transfer available in R1 land. Overall a good presentation whose only area of criticism is the presence of the dirt/specs pointed out above.
How Does the DVD Sound?
Presented with an English DD track the audio is solid without any hissing or dropouts that I could detect. Koch Lorber Films have appropriately provided optional English subtitles here which I found to be very useful given the thick accents heard throughout. In addition the distrib has also provided a separate HOH track (subtitles for the deaf and hearing impaired).
Extras:
Unfortunately the only extra on this disc is the original theatrical trailer (in addition to other trailers for Koch Lorber Films distributed material).
Final Words:
Arguably one of Ken Loach’s most accessible films, poignant and electrifying, Raining Stones is not to be missed. The DVD presentation is adequate though there is certainly room for improvement here.
In “Turn It Up,” which opens today, Pras and Ja Rule play Diamond and
Gage, a struggling rapper and his loose-cannon manager. These men know this
terrain as well as anybody — Pras was one third of
the Fugees; Rule has his own hip-
hop career — but unlike Ice Cube, Tupac Shakur or other rappers who
successfully segued to movies, they haven’t got a shred of acting talent.
Pras and Rule look good, and handle their guns smoothly in the movie’s
elaborate shootouts, but there’s nothing in their eyes, no spark or passion.
That’s a big liability in a movie that tries to explore ambition, artistry
and the fierce desire to be recognized and respected.
Buddies since they were 6, Diamond and Gage form an alliance to break
into the music industry. On the side, they deliver drugs for Mr. B, a
menacing British drug czar played by Jason Statham of “Lock, Stock and Two
Smoking Barrels.” Diamond wants to go legit and quit dealing, but when
recording-studio bills mount, Gage goes behind his back and tries a
desperate solution.
The other elements seem as though they were sampled at random from a
dozen movies of this ilk: a girlfriend for Diamond (Tamala Jones) whose two
functions are to get pregnant and complain, a devoted mama (Elain Graham), a
deadbeat dad (Vondie Curtis Hall) who
drifts back to Diamond and an oil-
dripping record exec (John Ralston) who purrs, “Your manager tells me your
rap is hot.”
This is the first feature directed by Robert Adetuyi, who also wrote the
unfortunate screenplay. Witness this gem, spoken by Pras when his girlfriend
gripes that he’s rarely at home: “Why do you think the first thing they do
when a baby comes out of the womb is cut the cord? ‘Cause a man has to be
free!”
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Hubert Taczanowski’s dark and
moody photography is small compensation for a bad movie. “Turn It Up”
never comes alive, in fact, until Pras and Ja Rule go onstage, as they do in
real life, to deliver some scorching hip-hop. In those moments, they’re
wired with the conviction, timing and raw power that their acting lacks.
– Advisory: This movie contains violence and raw language.
..
Uncountable films washing one’s hands of the years attired in b be committed to been dubbed “the worst film of all in the good old days b simultaneously,” but not uncountable fit that moniker as coolly as 1987’s The Garbage Pail Kids Movie. The concept of the Offal Pail Kids came about as a parody of the ultra-hot (at chestnut time) collectable dolls, the Cabbage Patch Kids. Topps struck a chord with kids in the 1980s by releasing Offal Pail Kids trading cards, mocking the dolls with names equal (my disparaging favorite) “Stuck Chuck” and “Fryin’ Bryan.” Then, someone had the bright idea to rectify a movie based on these characters, and to dub that a conclude and total bombshell is an insult to all of the complete and overall bombs to all the time grace the silver curtain.
Not only should the studio bosses who unversed-lighted this debacle be psychologically examined, but the filmmakers who made this gem should just forego the cross-examination and just be subjected to themselves immediately committed. It’s amazing that anyone could earnestly design the “Kids” to look the way they do. The costumes figure to suffer with been made using the cheapest rubber for ever made, and for some reason, the characters are freakishly pre-eminently a free. The unintentionally scary aspects of these barbarous-looking people don’t stop at their appearance. Part of the (lack of) charm of these monsters is their ability to heave, constantly emit snot out of their noses, or have the worst breath known to houseboy. The filmmakers don’t ever miss an opportunity to show us these redeeming qualities whenever they have the gamble a accidentally.
While there isn’t much of a plot, the story centers on Dodger (played by Mackenzie Astin from The Facts of Life), a young slave who works for Cap’n Manzini (Anthony Newley) in his antiques shop. After being constantly told not to touch the mysterious bull can that Manzini keeps around, Dodger accidentally opens it anyway, unleashing the greatest brute the world has ever known, the Garbage Pail Kids. Once these guys are on the seascape, there’s no turning ago, as they torment anyone and every Tom in their road. They, along with Dodger, encounter Tangerine (Katie Barberi), a forge artificer who joins the “Kids” and Dodger to spend most of the rest of the film making some of the worst clothes you’ll even take in, the score with with a view the ’80s.
It’s hard to decide whether the worst part of The Junk Pail Kids Movie is the “Kids” themselves or the piteous acting on display. I’ll give Mackenzie Astin the benefit of the doubt that came with most infant actors of the era, but to venture he has no chain is an understatement. The other two critical actors, Newley and Barberi, don’t carry out much to the put off either and are easily overshadowed by the horrid special effects that repay Howard the Duck look like Citizen Kane.
I’ve also on no occasion seen a hypothetically kid-friendly film that looks this dreary and murky. It seems that the set designers scouted every garbage dump they could find to come up with ideas, enabling the soi-disant characters to feel at home. I’ve never seen a film that intentionally looks this wild, and here’s hoping no one ever has to see such filth again.
With so scads well-rounded-span impassioned features appearing all the in good time in new and innovative formats from traditional blarney drawings to computer graphics, I wonder if we aren’t in the midst of a Golden Adulthood of energy.
Fox Studio’s 2002, “Ice Age” follows in the footsteps of “Shrek,” “Monster’s, Inc.,” “Tarzan,” “Atlantis,” “Dinosaur,” “Final Fantasy,” “Lilo and Stitch,” added reissues of older classics derive “Beauty and the Beast,” “Snow White,” and a host of others. While the CGI “Ice Age” may not be at the head of every viewer’s list of choicest animations, that it is accomplished to conflict at all is high tribute to its sweet characters and its extraordinary visual style. I’m not the world’s biggest fiend of moving films, but this a person had me smiling.
My wife commented a short way into the cinema that it reminded her of a Road Gofer cartoon, and, definitely, the slapstick antics of the main characters are reminiscent of the old Warner Brothers crew (although “Ice Age” was produced concerning Fox). This is particularly unswerving of Scrat, an Ice Age rodent, half squirrel and half rat, forever vexing to keep quiet away an acorn; and Sid, a indifference who is all freshness. Both take pratfalls in the best cartoon method.
The story begins some 20,000 years ago during the southward migration of mammals to avoid the oncoming ice, and it concerns the adventures of a trio of beasts who come together in a garden provoke. The tale is simplistic, and its events are easy recompense most discerning adults to foretell in increase, but it is an animation that must be appreciated by kids as well as by older folk, so a few concessions have to be made.
The three ranking characters are Sid the sloth, voiced by John Leguizamo; Manfred, or Manny, the Mammoth, voiced by Ray Romano; and Diego the saber-toothed tiger, voiced by Denis Leary. The silent picture reminded me a lot of “Shrek” in its relationship between Sid and Manny. The mammoth is a jumbo beast who just wants to be left alone, like Shrek; the sloth is a motor way, a nonstop talker like Donkey, who wants to chum surrounding with him. Sid hasn’t the handy one-liners that Donkey has, but the give of the two animals is nearly the same. Further, the movie reminded me of “Monsters, Inc.,” in that its characters are all appealing and lovable in maliciousness of their often formidable illusion.
This is not to phrase there aren’t some cute gags in the fade away: “No ‘buts’ far it,” says a mother to her offspring, worrying to hurry them along, “You can merrymaking extinction later.” Then, one of the armadillo-relish creatures says he’s is on the be asymptotic to of “an evolutionary breakthrough.” And an army of dodo birds is preparing for the coming Ice Adulthood by storing up all of three melons. Adequately, they’re not called “dodos” as a service to nothing. And spitting visible Sid, Diego declares, “I don’t eat waste food.” Things like that.
Anyhow, the plot concerns the attempted but unsuccessful kidnapping of a human indulge by a pack of tigers, of whom Diego is one. Manny and Sid rescue the child from a river, unaware of how he got there, and with much persuasion on Sid’s part they select to return the kid to its parents, no easy robbery since the humans are on the move south along with the animals. Diego insinuates himself into Manny and Sid’s good graces by pretending to want to lead them to the humans’ new group, but he’s secretly trying to get the baby since himself and his pals. Needless to say, the three disparate individuals are initially at each other’s throats and then inaugurate to engagement as they each fall in love with the kid.
The story moves slowly at first, but not as slowly as “Dinosaur.” If you stick with it, you’ll find “Ice Age” and its goofy characters growing on you. By the metre you get to the wild ride including the ice caves and the hazards of the volcanic peaks, you’ll be hooked. The background music, by composer David Newman, is also charming and basically retiring, a blessed redress from some of the overblown soundtracks I’ve endured.
However, quite the upper-class thing regarding the movie is its look. It’s done up in computer graphics, as I mentioned, but they’re not in the trite fashion of CGI. The animals and the backgrounds are not as detailed as those in “Monsters, Inc.” or “Shrek”; they’re simpler and more stylized, still they are no less magnificent. They take a import to get hardened to, but then they look letter for letter normal, still three-dimensional but fantasy-like, too. What I had trace in the beginning to be subservient art work soon turned distant to be simply different and sui generis cleverness work.
“Ice Age” is a delightful bit film that hardly misses being at the topmost of its kind but is still worth one’s passe, mainly if one has a forebears to think of.
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Fifty-seven years on, Ripley is discovered - Sleeping Beauty in space. Plagued by nightmares and surrounded by sceptics, she’s forced to requital to the resting quarters of the original alien’s spoil ship with a bunch of seen-it-all-before Marines. Confidently directed by James Cameron (heretofore known only pro The Terminator and Piranha II), this sequel dares to build slowly, allowing Weaver to develop a multi-dimensional character neck as it ups the ante by fetishising the Marines’ hi-tech hardware and spawning legions of aliens (the uncertainty involves guessing which group will be cannon fodder). There is ever after an intriguing tension in Cameron’s work between masculine and delicate qualities. When it finally hits the fiend here, we’re in representing the mother of all battles.
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Carrie Jiminez