Reviews: Seabiscuit | In The Cut | Mystic River | Down With Love

Written for the screen and Directed by Gary Ross
Cast: Tobey Maguire, Jeff Bridges, Chris Cooper, Elizabeth Banks, Gary Stevens and William H. Macy.
Narrated by David McCullough.
Director of Photography John Schartzman.
Music by Randy Newman.
Based on the book by Laura Hillenbrand.
Running time: Approx. 142 mins.

As we draw towards the end of the year, a top Oscar contender has pulled away from the rest of the field, leaving most of the other films of 2003 in the dust...and if the conditions are right, Seabiscuit could go all the way, crossing the finishing line to pick up some Academy Award gold.

Seabiscuit is a godsend, an oasis at a time of seemingly endless and mindless spectacle. This is a human story, an inspirational tale about real people - and one special horse - who conquer adversity without so much as a light sabre.

They prevail because of heart, compassion, trust, dedication, love and commitment. They triumph because they overcome their troubles by helping each other and in the process come to appreciate themselves as well as those closest to them. Some people, cynics and snobs who thrive on finding fault, may warn that Seabiscuit reeks of platitudes, that it's overly sentimental and manipulates the heartstrings. Ignore them.

Seabiscuit celebrates the human spirit. It is more than the story of a horse, a long shot who rose from the depths to become a champion. It also is the story of three people who refused to give up on themselves and each other.

Writer-director Gary Ross, adapting the best-seller by Laura Hillenbrand, places the rise, success and celebrity of Seabiscuit in the historical context of the Great Depression, explaining why the horse became a symbol for so many of that sad era's downtrodden in America. Ross opens the film by weaving the story of three men, Charles Howard (Jeff Bridges), Tom Smith (Chris Cooper) and Johnny "Red" Pollard (Tobey Maguire), and the divergent paths they followed until their destinies crossed in the mid-1930s.

Life tries - and fails - to break each one. Howard, a millionaire businessman who has lost everything; Smith, a cowboy, who saw his world vanish; and Pollard, the young man whose spirit is decimated, but whose competitiveness continued to burn. What brought them together was a down-and-out, abused racehorse, which everyone else had given up on. Together, the owner, the trainer and the jockey, transformed this beaten down animal into a champion.

Like a night when all the stars and planets converge in the heavens to offer a breathtaking spectacle, so the talents of these three actors, the acumen of Ross, the brilliant photography of John Schwartzman and even a soaring score by the usually ridiculous Randy Newman have converged to create a wondrous film experience that should not be missed.

This could be the film that finally wins Jeff Bridges his long overdue Academy Award. His understated and naturalistic portrayal of Howard, the optimist and visionary who refused to resign himself to failure, is brilliant. Bridges uses his usual understated and unfussy manner to let us see that understanding and sympathy can be as powerful as money.

Cooper brings a quiet dignity and strength to the role of the animal loving Smith who sees in Seabiscuit what others have missed - the heart of a champion, a being who will not quit and is fuelled by competition.

As the classics-quoting Pollard, Maguire gets to portray his first adult. Abandoned by his parents, Pollard is left to fend for himself in a cruel world in which he must use his fists and wits to survive and conquer his inner demons. He and Seabiscuit form a common bond; both have been discarded, but like the horse, a fire rages within Pollard that can only be quenched by victory.

Ross shows how the growing popularity of radio helped make Seabiscuit a household name, and he is helped along by commentator "Tick-Tock" McGlaughlin, a comically honed supporting turn by the always dependable William H. Macy who brings just the right amount of flamboyance to the role.

Seabiscuit is a triumph. Its nearly 2 1/2 hours fly by quickly and you don't have to be a fan of horse racing to appreciate this film. Whether or not the sport of kings is in your blood, you will be cheering in the aisles for this modern masterpiece.

Director: Jane Campion
Producers: Laurie Parker, Nicole Kidman
Writers: Jane Campion, Susanna Moore; based on the novel by Susanna Moore
Director of Photography: Dion Beebe
Cast: Meg Ryan, Mark Ruffalo, Jennifer Jason Leigh

Despite the amount of talent that was assembled to make In The Cut, this film has gone so badly wrong. It marks new terrain for both its star, the almost always charming Meg Ryan, and director, Jane Campion, who leaves the arthouse to make a piece that would be more appropriate to the moves of a filmmaker like Adrian Lyne. In The Cut is supposed to be a sensual, atmospheric thriller, but under the confused direction of Campion it comes off lacking any tension and the blunt sexual scenes are much more sterile - even almost clumsy at times - than erotic. Additionally, with a running time just a couple of minutes under 2 hours, your attentions will probably have checked out and if you've any real suss, the ending will be mapped out in your mind a good half an hour (and that's being generous) before the end credits finally roll.

Ryan stars as Frannie Avery, an English teacher living in Manhattan, who becomes sexually involved with a real halfwit of a homicide detective named Malloy (Mark Ruffalo). Malloy is investigating the murder of a young woman whose corpse was found outside of Frannie's apartment, and soon enough the officer asks Frannie out on a date. You've seen Frannie's character numerous times before - the stilted, introverted, straight-laced woman, who has always suppressed the wild child buried deep inside. So, of course, Malloy serves as the catalyst for the liberation of the sexually repressed Frannie, who is encouraged by her extrovert half-sister (Jennifer Jason Leigh) to explore a relationship with the cop.

But Frannie has a few other weirdos hassling her, including a student (Sharrieff Pugh) who the woman has been somewhat flirtatious with and a laughably not-so-creepy ex-lover named John (Kevin Bacon). When the murders continue, and hit even closer to home to Frannie, the woman begins to believe everyone around her, even Malloy, might be the culprit.

Jane Campion and Susanna Moore adapted the screenplay from Moore's novel, which hasn't exactly been leaping off the shelves of Bargain Books. For the sake of the author's literary credibility, I can only hope this is a completely unfaithful adaptation of her work. In The Cut's script is the film's biggest failing. There is not one intriguing character to be found anywhere. We learn next to nothing about Frannie, but what little we do get to know of her leads one to believe that she would 1.) want nothing to do with a sexist thug like Malloy; 2.) be wise and mature enough not to prey upon the confused, vulnerable feelings of her students; 3.) stay welll away from a loony like John.

The characterisations of Malloy and his even more despicable partner, Rodriguez (Nick Damici), come straight from the vault of bad Hollywood police movie clichés (including, in Malloy's case, the obligatory bad moustache). Beyond that, these witless brutes are surely ridiculous portraits of what the average working class New York male is like, complete with misogynist tendencies, exaggerated accents and mannerisms. Ruffalo is totally miscast, and anyone who knows what this usually very good actor is capable of will especially smirk at the absurdity of his performance.

As for Meg Ryan, yes, she'll surprise her legions of fans in a role that is very much the antithesis of the usual Meg Ryan character. The sexual scenes aren't as graphic as the advertising and word-of-mouth may lead you to believe (and lack any kind of spark), but it's certainly a daring departure for the actress, who's built a career playing imminently likeable, inoffensive characters. Unfortunately, it's hard to view this as anything other than a novelty role for Ryan, given the fact that she has so little to work with.

Campion's direction relies on a lot of soft focus, dark lighting schemes, and suffocating, unsteady close-ups to create a sense of atmosphere, which she only partially achieves. However, the director is reluctant to do anything with it, and the resulting problem is that we stop caring (if in fact we even start caring) who the killer is. With all of the attention paid to Frannie's steamy underside and the rogue gallery of numpties surrounding her, it's easy to forget that there's even a killer on the loose. The film's focus splinters in so many different directions that nothing remains at the film's core. In The Cut is Campion's obvious attempt to go mainstream, but her wordy visual syntax lacks the swift, straightforward economy needed to pull this kind of material off.

Completely uninspired and taxing to sit through, In The Cut is a giant, unfathomable mistake for everyone involved.

Starring: Sean Penn, Tim Robbins, Kevin Bacon, Laurence Fishburne, Marcia Gay Harden, Laura Linney, Thomas Guiry.
Director: Clint Eastwood.
Running time: 1 hr. 58 min.

In brief: Exquisitely made, touchingly tragic mystery that could be director Eastwood's finest achievement.

As rich and powerful a film as he's ever made, "Mystic River' is Clint Eastwood's rueful examination of vengeance.

If the director's last towering masterpiece, "Unforgiven,' looked back in agony at the violent poses that made him an international superstar, "Mystic River' is his contrition for the vigilante fever he unleashed on screens - and helped make socially acceptable - with "Dirty Harry.'

Based on Dennis Lehane's grievous mystery novel, which has been expertly adapted for the screen by Brian Helgeland, "Mystic River' unveils an overall level of artistry - the highest ever seen in an Eastwood film, and that is really saying something - and which is appropriate to its serious intent.

Sean Penn and Tim Robbins stand out in the film's large and perfectly co-ordinated cast. Penn's appearance is his best yet - his build towards raw grief is palpable and at times beyond mere acting. Robbins, whose portrayal of a man haunted to such depths where his soul scrapes his bones, shows us technical and emotional capabilities we never imagined flared beneath his usually relaxed demeanor.

While Penn and Robbins command the screen with anguished weight, Eastwood takes great time and care to draw out excellent performances from the rest of his major players: Kevin Bacon and Laurence Fishburne as two very different cops with two passionately opposing views on who committed a terrible murder; Marcia Gay Harden, whose natural tremulousness has never been put to better use than as a wife who has every reason to suspect her troubled husband of the worst; Laura Linney as a strong wife and mother; and Thomas Guiry as a bereaved - but still dubious - young lover.

Clint cultists will even be amused by a quick, funny cameo from his "The Good, the Bad and the Ugly' co-star Eli Wallach. As that scene indicates, room has been made for playfulness in "Mystic River.' But it only serves as a brief counterpoint to a film overwhelmed by grief, guilt and the everyday madness that only incalculable personal horror can bring. In subject and feeling, the film goes beyond grim. But what ensures its greatness is a precise presentation that never seems to exploit the lurid material, yet always presents its human impact at just the proper pitch.

This is done in scene after scene that doesn't appear to have a frame of unnecessary information added, yet seems to unfold at the measured pace of how presumption informs behaviour and bad ideas come to be mistaken for essential actions.

That precision finds its way into all aspects of presentation, from Eastwood's own evocative yet unobtrusive musical score to Tom Stern's cinematography. A long-time lighting technician on the director's projects, Stern advances the grand Eastwood tradition of shadows not quite dark enough to cover pain and shame cut by violating, exposing illumination.

But the real power here lies in the tale and its characters. As boys in a working-class Boston area by the title's waterway, Jimmy Markum and Sean Devine saw their street hockey pal Dave Boyle driven away by men with badges after they were caught etching their names in wet cement. Four days and a lifetime of lost innocence later, Dave escaped from the imposters - who were never caught.

Following on from this terrible incident, came the end of the boys' friendship. Decades later, ex-con Jimmy (Penn) runs a grocery shop in the area, sporadically employable Dave (Robbins) still lives nearby with his wife, Celeste (Harden), and their young son, and Sean (Bacon) has long since moved away and become a police detective.

Re-married to Annabeth (Linney), Jimmy credits his love for Katie (Emmy Rossum), the daughter from his first, deceased wife, with turning his criminal life around. When she is found brutally murdered, he spirals into an abyss of self-recrimination, sometimes absurdly (but with total conviction in Penn's utterly rivetting performance) rationalising why it must be his fault. At the same time, Jimmy makes it clear to Sean (who by luck is assigned to the case) and his partner Whitey (Fishburne, solid while being nicely restrained), that they'd better find the killer before Jimmy and his old underworld cronies do.

Completing the unhappy reunion is the fact that, the night of Katie's murder, Dave came home covered in blood. Being a man who's spent most of his life trying to dodge horrific memories, Dave quite naturally has what might be called a fluid relationship with the truth.

The investigation takes beguiling twists and turns. The larger story of "Mystic River' involves much bigger things than police proceedings. It's about the mysteries of character, how loyalties pervert judgement and what some of us will do, with total moral justification if far from genuine righteousness, in the name of avenging the innocent and protecting the defenseless.

There is no figure in the movie business today who could tell such a tale with more authority than Clint Eastwood. This is a film for grown-ups and a world away from the gratuitous peurile pap that infests cinemas these days. Do not miss it.

Barbara Novak: Renee Zellweger
Catcher Block: Ewan McGregor
Peter MacMannus.: David Hyde Pierce
Vikki Hiller: Sarah Paulson
Theodore Banner: Tony Randall

Directed by Peyton Reed.
Written by Eve Ahlert and Dennis Drake.
Running time: 94 minutes.

There are many fine moments in Down With Love, Peyton Reed's affectionate homage to the great Rock Hudson/Doris Day sex comedies of the early Sixties, but possibly the finest one comes midway through, as our two leads Barbara Novak (Zellweger) and Catcher Block (McGregor) ready themselves for their date later that evening.

There is Catcher and his Cheshire-cat grin, in a swingin' bachelors pad outfitted with all the latest mod-con tools of seduction; there is Barbara, in her own plush surroundings, descending a staircase in a swishy negligee and robe, arms aloft like a butterfly springing out from the cocoon. Accompanying each is a different version of the terrific standard "Fly Me to the Moon" , He gets Frank Sinatra, she a cooing Astrud Gilberto and, wowee zowee, the heart seems to sigh: How great is this?

That depends, I suspect, on whether or not the audience has any fondness or even recollection of those old Hudson/Day pairings, in which the central dilemma typically hinged on whether or not Hudson would get into the strenuously virginal Days pants (the answer was always no, but that meant the sexual innuendo got that much more creative). Working knowledge of the style and subject of those sex comedies isn't required to enjoy Down With Love. Reed's 1962-set film could glide by on its good humour alone, but an awareness of the Sixties aesthetic (fake backdrops, stock footage, split screens, obsessive detail to costume and choreography) makes the experience that much more fun. And above all, this is great stuff, a shiny cocktail shaker of a film that mostly skips the Austin Powers school of parody and instead aims to be an exacting re-creation (à la Todd Haynes "Far From Heaven", but without the social agenda).

It begins with the humorously over-the-top entrance of Catcher, perched on a helicopter ladder swooping over Manhattan. Catch is a journalist at a men's magazine, and a celebrity in his own right (the gossip columns brand him a "ladies man, mans man, man-about-town"). Barbara Novak is the author of a new, bestselling motivational/proto-feminist tome, 'Down With Love', that makes the argument that it's high time women gave up on love and just start acting like men, both in the boardroom and the bedroom. Catcher sets out to prove Barbara's a fake by donning geek glasses, a Texas drawl, and the entirely fictional persona of NASA man Zip Martin, created solely to ensnare Barbara into falling in love and up with love. (If that last twist sounds familiar, it's lifted straight from 1959's "Pillow Talk".)

The plot eventually loses some steam as Dennis Drake and Eve Ahlert's script gets too clever for its own good, and the sexual innuendo occasionally teeters into coarseness, but you'd never know it looking at McGregor and Zellweger. They handle their highly stylised roles with ease and aplomb, like all the world's their stage, and all the time it's cocktail hour. Just as good are Paulson and Hyde Pierce, as Barbara and Catcher's respective editors, who do some romantic sparring of their own. Reed, whose only other feature was the cheerleading pic "Bring It On", has made a quantum leap with this sexy, sophisticated comedy that only occasionally falls short of its admirable ambition: that is, to be a fun, fizzy, razzle-dazzle thing. Straight to the moon, indeed. I loved it!

Starring Sean Connery, Naseeruddin Shah, Peta Wilson, Tony Curran, Shane West, Stuart Townsend,
Jason Flemyng and Richard Roxburgh.
Directed by Stephen Norrington.
Written by James Dale Robinson.
Produced by Don Murphy and Trevor Albert.
Running time: 115 min.

At one point in The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen, Allan Quatermain - played in typically overstuffed, blustery fashion by Sean Connery - says, "I'm waiting to be impressed." That makes two of us.

This is almost as bad as Wild Wild West meets Avengers bad. The only thing extraordinary about this movie is the level of ineptitude to which it stoops. It is an empty, loud, confusing affair that takes a clever graphic novel and turns it into an episode of Victorian Super Friends.
To achieve the always sought-after PG rating, the writers knocked the emotional stuffing out of the comic book by Alan Moore and Kevin O'Neill. Like the film, their story featured 19th-century literary figures - Quatermain, Captain Nemo, the Invisible Man, Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde - joining to fight a common enemy.

But the original tale was dark and twisted, with a virtually desiccated Quatermain rescued from an opium den and the Invisible Man using his peculiar powers to prey on the residents of a school for wayward girls.
This Saturday-morning cartoon of a movie drops such plot points, preferring to have Quatermain lounging about a Kenyan hotel when a messenger arrives to fetch him. The Invisible Man (Tony Curran) simply appears, so to speak, confessing to a few robberies. Mina Harker (Peta Wilson), a character from Dracula, has acquired the powers of a full-fledged vampire.

This disparate group is organized by a man known only as "M" and charged with stopping a mysterious villain known as the Phantom, who's trying to start a war between European nations so he can sell all his marvellously futuristic weapons. Characters literally climb from the ornate woodwork, as the producers chose to add Dorian Gray (Stuart Townsend) and a grown-up Tom Sawyer (Shane West), who has inexplicably become a Secret Service agent. The special effects are chaotic and universally fakey, perhaps because the producers spent the entire budget landing Connery and his Scottish burr. Nemo's submarine, the Nautilus - which at first looks as big as the Queen Mary and then somehow shrinks to fit in a Venice canal - is dubbed "the Sword of the Ocean" but looks more like an enraged butter knife.

The action sequences are an exercise in creative tedium, as countless, faceless bad guys emerge to fire an inexhaustible supply of bullets, which never seem to hit anything important. All this racket serves a useful purpose, however. It drowns out the dialogue, which is as stiff as Gandhi at a cow-selling convention.

The movie also takes great licence with technology. Though set in 1899, the bad guys are armed with tanks, machine guns, flame throwers, a rocket launcher and a very speedy automobile, circa the 1930s. Although it's a stretch, perhaps we can give them all that, because the villain is supposedly developing cutting-edge weapons. But when the Nautilus launches what appears to be a Tomahawk cruise missile, it really is pushing it!

Then there's the whole Mr. Hyde problem. In the comic, Hyde (the violent alter ego of Dr. Jekyll, who appears via a special potion), is a huge, menacing creature who's virtually unstoppable. In the film, he looks like a giant boiled potato, with a human head (that of actor Jason Flemyng) stuck on top. It's really hard to be scared when you're waiting to be impressed - and that just about sums up LXG - a big disappointment.

Let's wait for the forthcoming movie from the really extraordinary League of Gentlemen...Papa Lazarou will certainly scare your pants off!