The World is not enough 1999

Though it was the most profitable James Bond film to date, Tomorrow Never Dies was widely considered a disappointment. Blasted by critics for its leaden action scenes, poor character development, and dearth of Bondian tongue-in-cheekery, it left most 007 lovers neither shaken nor stirred. Producer Barbara Broccoli heard the fans' cries and hired respected British director Michael Apted (Thunderheart, Gorillas in the Mist) to make a "new kind of Bond movie."
Did Apted succeed? Well, he got it half right. Sporting a refreshingly different story and an Aston Martin-ful of racy innuendoes, The World Is Not Enough is a good — but not great — addition to the Bond pantheon. It delivers excitement at moments, but Pierce Bronsan's third outing fails to live up to its own promise, joining Octopussy and Diamonds Are Forever in the second rank of 007 adventures.

World starts off with the biggest bang since Roger Moore's hair-raising ski-skydive in The Spy Who Loved Me, following an explosive attack on MI6's London HQ and a high-octane motorboat chase up the Thames. Killed in the assault is oil baron Robert King, a personal friend of Bond's boss M (Dame Judi Dench) and father of the alluring ingenue Elektra King (Sophie Marceau).

Intrigued by the stunning heiress, Bond soon learns she was kidnapped and tortured years ago by Renard (Robert Carlyle), a ruthless terrorist who, thanks to a bullet lodged in his cerebrum, happens to be impervious to pain. Believing Elektra to be in danger, 007 jaunts off to her company's exploratory pipeline project in Azerbaijan. Of course, it isn't long before the pair is doing some deep surveying of their own.

To tell any more would be to spoil what is one of the more original Bond plots since Goldfinger. Suffice it to say, the story soon involves Renard, some loose nukes, and the nubile — and very improbable — scientist Dr. Christmas Jones (Denise Richards). It also features an unusually large number of dramatic interludes, which, though intriguing at first, become grating as we itch for 007 to take his gadget-packed BMW for a spin. World also serves up many comic one-liners, most of which are risqué howlers (Brosnan's final quip is priceless) but some of which are clunky groaners (like when a plutonium rod-waving Renard growls, "Welcome to my nuclear family").

World is blessed with a uniformly talented cast (with one BIG exception) but the story doesn't always measure up to its characters' potential. Brosnan gives Bond an effortless charm not seen since Connery's heyday, and shows off some impressive emoting when confronted with a dilemma not seen since On Her Majesty's Secret Service. Marceau is easily the most dangerously sexy Bondgirl since Barbara Bach, flashing ample flesh and exuding the predatory sensuality of a jungle cat. Carlyle's quietly menacing Renard is a welcome change from the usual hammy megalomaniacs (for once his motive isn't to rule the world). However, you can't help wishing Apted had done more with his villain's pain-resisting abilities a la Rutger Hauer's near-invincible replicant in Blade Runner.

Ah, the exception. Though she has the silhouette of a pneumatic Barbie doll, Denise Richards sports a screen presence reminiscent of unflavored Jell-O. Atrocious even for a Bondgirl, her monotone delivery makes Tanya Roberts seem like Honor Blackman. Her stilted speeches on nuclear physics are laughable, and the wardrobe person who decided to costume her in jazzercise-like workout wear should undergo body hair removal with Auric Goldfinger's laser.

When he landed the World gig, surprised director Apted said "I'm not an action director." Though he proves himself wrong in the bravura opening sequence, which is among the best ever filmed, three of the remaining four action scenes disappoint. A picturesque alpine chase seems stilted, a missile-silo shoot-out is adequate, and a chainsaw-helicopter attack is inventive, but not impressive. Though thankfully free of exploding villains' headquarters, the underwater finale simply doesn't satisfy. The rest of Hollywood should follow The Matrix's lead and start importing action choreographers from where they make shoot-'em-ups best: Hong Kong. I'm not proposing a Bond-Fu movie, but a little John Woo-style gunplay would go a long way in keeping the series fresh. Car chases and slowly advancing fireballs are not enough.

American Movie 1999

The funniest movie at the 1999 Sundance Film Festival was not Happy, Texas or Trick or any other high-profile comedy. In fact, in a year when the non-fiction entries were stronger than their fictional counterparts, the film that garnered the biggest guffaws was a documentary. American Movie, the side-splitting story of a determined Wisconsin filmmaker, had audiences rolling in the aisles with its colorful characters and wonderfully eccentric take on the American Dream.

If Edward D. Wood, Jr. had grown up in a Fargo-like setting, he probably would have turned out like Mark Borchardt. A 30-year-old father of three living in the Milwaukee suburb of Menominee Falls, Mark has been obsessively making movies since his early teens. With titles like The More the Scarier and I Blow Up, his oeuvre consists of ultra-low-budget horror shorts, filmed with the help of friends and family.

American Movie, a collaborative effort between director/cinematographer Chris Smith and producer/sound recordist Sarah Price, covers just over two troubled years in Borchardt's life. During that time, Mark attempts to film his magnum opus, a semi-autobiographical drama entitled Northwestern. Lacking funds, Mark decides the solution is to finish his uncompleted horror featurette Coven (which he pronounces like "woven"), sell 3,000 video copies, and use the money to shoot his feature. That Coven is an amateurish oddity of dubious merit doesn't seem to occur to the aspiring auteur.

The many characters we meet are truly memorable. Mark himself is a wired dynamo, a fast-talking obsessive who is blessed with an ability to rope others into his projects — whether on a manic high or a depressed low, he remains steadfastly focused on his films. Inspired not only by horror flicks like Dawn of the Dead and The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, but also by classics like The Seventh Seal, he is a beer-drinking, good-timing Midwesterner whose ambitions are as fierce as the Wisconsin winter, yet whose talents have more in common with that state's other claim to fame: cheese.

His best friend, Mike, is a long-haired stoner type who sports tie-dyed Led Zeppelin T-shirts and plays neo-classical heavy metal on his acoustic guitar. A slow-talking acid casualty, he would be a completely sad figure were it not for his good-natured personality. Mike spouts some of the most amusing dialogue of the film. When told by Mark that the "original" song he's singing is, in fact, a Black Sabbath tune with just one word changed, Mike replies that he had to get inspiration from somewhere, insisting that it's impossible to simply "make ideas up."

And then there's Uncle Bob. Though he supposedly has almost $300,000 in the bank, Mark's withered uncle lives like a miser in a run-down trailer. Reluctantly coming on board the Northwestern project as an executive producer, he lends Mark a few thousand dollars while constantly offering his negative opinion of the undertaking. For all his complaining, though, it's clear that he is truly fond of Mark and appreciates his company, even as he seems fairly dubious about his prospects as a filmmaker.

Smith and Price do an excellent job of bringing us into Mark's world, providing a never-less-than-fascinating look at a truly independent filmmaker. It is to their credit that the film never mocks Mark or the community of kooky characters that surround and support him. To be sure, these characters' misadventures are frequently hilarious, resulting in a documentary as mirthfully entertaining and heartfelt as Roger & Me or Sherman's March. But it's impossible not to be moved by this story of a driven man and the people who, because of their love of and belief in him, try to help make his dreams come true.

X Men 2000

Based on the wildly popular Marvel comic book series, X-Men is easily the most anticipated film of the summer, sparking heated Internet debate among legions of fans about its numerous script revisions and controversial casting. Meanwhile, uninitiated viewers wonder whether this ubiquitous flick is worth all of the fuss. The answer? Largely, yes. Though X-Men lacks the mind-blowing visuals and complexity of last summer's sci-fi/action spectacle The Matrix, this thoughtful, imaginative adventure is one of the better live-action comic-book adaptations on film. Director Bryan Singer (Usual Suspects) meets the challenge of distilling 37 years of epic adventure for newcomers while remaining true to the series' themes, tone, and characters.
Set during the "not too distant future" X-Men unfolds in a world where humans are beginning to evolve into uniquely and powerfully enabled beings. The widespread persecution of these "mutants" drives a pointed parable about racism and genocide, with direct references to Nazi-era Germany. Stemming from this broader sociological conflict is the ideological clash between two mutant factions: those who wish to peacefully co-exist with humans, led by Professor Charles Xavier (Patrick Stewart, Star Trek: The Next Generation's Captain Picard), and those who wish to destroy mankind for its ignorance and inferiority, led by Erik Lehnsherr, aka Magneto (Sir Ian McKellen, Gods and Monsters). Xavier and Lehnsherr are directly comparable to Martin Luther King and Malcolm X, down to Magneto's oath to effect change "by any means necessary." Pretty heavy stuff for a comic-book film. Although the questions posed about intolerance and the definition of "humanity" are similar to those in Blade Runner, they're not as eloquently presented or affecting.

Singer and executive producer Tom DeSanto, who, after numerous rewrites, wisely focused the final version of the script on Logan (Aussie newcomer Hugh Jackman) aka Wolverine. Easily the series' most popular character, Logan is a wanderer, an outsider that acts as the viewer's introduction into Xavier's "School for Gifted Youngsters," a secret academy to train mutants. Unlike the team's squeaky-clean field leader, Scott "Cyclops" Summers (played with winking, self-referential humor by Gossip's James Marsden), Logan is a smokin', drinkin', cantankerous misanthrope who kicks butt with retractable, razor-sharp metal claws. The script playfully tweaks the two allies' oil-and-water relationship and their mutual feelings for Xavier's right-hand mutant, the telekinetic Dr. Jean Grey (Famke Janssen, GoldenEye).

But X-Men is Wolverine's film, and Jackman offers its most complex performance, melding feral instinct, sarcastic irreverence, and heart-of-gold sensitivity. Logan's blade-flashing yields X-Men's exhilarating moments, and his quips about the unusual situations he encounters add levity to the film's otherwise ominous tone.

The rest of the X-cast comfortably fill their superhuman boots, with Stewart a perfect fit as the Picard-like leader and McKellen equally sterling as his magnetism-wielding adversary. Anna Paquin (Oscar-winner for The Piano) offers a tremulous performance as the teenage Rogue, frightened and overwhelmed by her own deadly energy-stealing power. But despite leading-lady-level press, Halle Berry is no more than gorgeous window-dressing as the weather-controlling Storm, with few lines and clumsy screen presence.

The "non-actors" fare well as Magneto's Brotherhood of Evil Mutants: pro-wrestler Tyler Mane as the animalistic Sabretooth, supermodel Rebecca Romijn-Stamos as the gymnastic shape-shifter Mystique, and martial-arts master Ray Park (The Phantom Menace's Darth Maul) as the impish, twelve-foot-tongue-flicking Toad. These are more otherworldly mutants than the X-Men, and the trio brings a fantastical quality to the Brotherhood that's lacking in Xavier's more "human" team.

X-Men's story is sparse and economic, giving just enough plot information to move things along but without bogging down in excessive historical detail. Singer and cinematographer Tom Sigel (Three Kings) match the film's somber themes with their dark elegance, and the set design is clinical in its minimalism. Even the "score" is limited to humming, heartbeats, atmospheric sounds, and silence, which emphasize the prevailing sense of isolation and claustrophobia.

X-Men is about ideas and people, and makes no effort to establish a high-speed pace; its combat arises organically within the unfolding story, making the flow atypically varied for an actioner. Fight scenes define characters, advance the plot, and showcasie the mutants' abilities — and appendages — for humor. Special effects depict the mutants' super-powers and add to the fun factor, but few scenes actually inspire awe, and the team is largely landbound, lacking the over-the-top exuberance for combat one might expect of the über-abled. Other sequences — dream depictions, telepathic encounters, and Magneto's defining Holocaust experience — aren't effects-heavy, but they have a haunting, visionary beauty and lasting impact. Unfortunately, Singer doesn't sustain this level of wonder throughout the film.

Die-hard X-devotees may quibble over character interpretations and timeline violations, but with so many unbearable comic-book films — remember Tank Girl? — why nit-pick a creative, intelligent, and cohesive near-miss for condensing an operatic saga? X-Men isn't as dynamic as it could be, but it has style, substance, and soul. Trying finding that in the next Batman movie. and more than a touch of genuine sentiment.

Pie's plot, such as it is, involves four high school lads — desperate to lose their virginity — who make a pact to get laid by their senior prom. There's Jim, (newcomer Jason Biggs), the nice guy who just can't talk to girls; Oz (Election's Chris Klein), the jock whose buff bod conceals a sensitive soul; Finch (Eddie Kaye Thomas), the would-be sophisticate who makes jokes in Latin and drinks mochachino; and Kevin (Thomas Ian Nicholas) who, though he has a girlfriend, can't bring himself to utter the three little words that would get him past third base.

Their separate strategies to score take each member of the hapless quartet in different directions, and often to hilarious conclusions. In a scene destined to be rewound endlessly by hormone-wracked teen boys across the country, Jim inadvertently sends a live Internet feed of his painfully inept encounter with a hot-to-trot exchange student (nicely nubile newcomer Shannon Elizabeth) to his school's entire student body. It's probably the funniest scene in the film, and the only one that actually features nudity.

In fact, though the language is consistently vulgar, and there are sight gags involving masturbation, semen, and, yes, sex with baked goods, American Pie is not nearly as leeringly sexist as many of its '80s predecessors. The film's female characters are given personalities as developed as their figures. Though underused, Slums of Beverly Hills' Natasha Lyonne captures the perfect tone as the experienced girl who doles out advice on matters of sex. And Alyson Hannigan (Willow on TV's Buffy the Vampire Slayer) almost steals the movie as the geeky band nerd who's not quite the stereotype that she seems.

First-time director Paul Weitz, working from a script by first-time screenwriter Adam Herz, has crafted a breezy ode to adolescent sexuality. Granted, there's plenty of toilet humor and dirty talk, but the film's underlying humanism prevents this from being just another dumb teen flick. The young, mostly unknown actors acquit themselves well, fleshing out the characters so that American Pie never descends to the level of moronic caricature. Alternately outrageous and sweet, it may not be quite as filling as a nice piece of pie, but it's certainly as tasty.

Almost Famous 2000

In his first film since Jerry Maguire, director Cameron Crowe takes us on a rollicking, episodic, and autobiographical journey behind the curtain of 1970s rock-'n'-roll. One of this generation's premier screenwriters, Crowe proves once again that he has an unflappable knack for injecting big-studio projects with an intimacy and warmth usually reserved for smaller indie fare. And at a time when both Hollywood and independent flicks seem to be suffering from a dire case of the blahs, Almost Famous doesn't disappoint, soaring as a thoroughly entertaining hybrid of the two.
The film is based on Crowe's real-life experiences as a young reporter for Rolling Stone magazine back in 1973, covering the backstage antics of such super groups as Led Zeppelin and the Allman Brothers. In Famous, Crowe's 15-year-old alter ego William Miller (Patrick Fugit) accepts a writing assignment for Stone to profile the touring, up-and-coming, and fictional rock band Stillwater, fronted by lead singer Jeff Bebe (Jason Lee) and enigmatic lead guitarist Russell Hammond (Billy Crudup).

Though initially perceived as "the enemy" by the band, William successfully befriends the members of Stillwater, over the objections of his protective mother (Frances McDormand) — who calls incessantly to harass both her son and those around him ("Your mom kind of freaked me out," says one). Of course, finding himself caring about this extended rock-'n'-roll family won't make it any easier for William to tell their story impartially. Helping the young writer find his way in these dizzying surroundings are terminally "uncool" rock critic Lester Bangs (Philip Seymour Hoffman) and, more significantly, alluring "band aide" Penny Lane (Kate Hudson), to whom both William and Russell eventually take more than just a liking.

Though the story itself is routine in many ways, and the ending is somewhat soft, there are two attributes that make Almost Famous great. First are the uniformly terrific performances from the entire cast, particularly by Hudson, who is sexy, elusive, and thoroughly enchanting in a star-making role. McDormand also stands out, managing to be both hilarious ("Rock stars have kidnapped my son!") and moving despite the handicap of delivering most of her lines into a telephone.

The second, and probably most important factor behind Almost Famous' genius is the wealth of magical movie moments with which Cameron dots his labor of love. In many ways, the difference between a good film and a great one is in the number of classic scenes and memorable lines that a movie delivers, and, like the director/writer's previous efforts (Fast Times at Ridgemont High's script, Say Anything, Jerry Maguire), Almost Famous is full of them. In fact, every character (with the exception of the underused Anna Paquin) owns at least one glorious moment, from Jason Lee as the self-absorbed lead singer ("I'm the front man! You're the lead guitarist with mystique!") to Zooey Deschanel as William's rebellious sister Anita, who inspires the young writer by leaving her record collection to him with a note attached: "It will set you free."

If for no other reason, Almost Famous delights because it refreshingly captures the essence of a less inhibited, pre-MTV rock-'n'-roll generation — complete with a smashing soundtrack of '70s-era classics punctuated by a sequence featuring Elton John's "Tiny Dancer." The film examines, in a very human way, the peculiar conflict that those who frequent this musical netherworld inevitably encounter between "keeping it real" and being eternally "cool." Far from the safety of his simple beginnings back in San Diego, William will find a way to merge the two — ultimately discovering that there's a big, exciting world out there where "It's all happening!"

All about my mother 1999

All About My Mother (1999)

Though nearly every scene feels as if it could break into camp at any moment, Pedro Almodóvar's All About My Mother instead stays firmly rooted in masterful melodrama. Sure, there are drag queens, fake breasts, heroin addicts, and nuns who stray from the convent's calling, but Almodóvar somehow brings these elements together like a latter day Joseph Mankiewicz — delivering a film that finds remarkable poignancy in the most unsuspecting ways. Forget Steel Magnolias and Hope Floats; Mother represents a level of intelligent, female-centered storytelling that hasn't been seen since John Cassavetes' time.

Mother follows the story of Manuela (Cecilia Roth from What Have I Done to Deserve This?), a transplant unit nurse in a Madrid hospital. Almodóvar introduces her on the 17th birthday of her son, Esteban (Eloy Azorín), who wants nothing more than for her to reveal his father's identity to him. Manuela resists … until Esteban's life is tragically cut short. Even with him gone, Manuela decides to fulfill Esteban's wish — she will find his father and tell him of the son he never knew he had. But in her return to Barcelona (from which she made an exodus many years before), she becomes more than just a messenger — she turns into something of a missionary, mending the souls of the women she meets (the organ-donor analogy is made quite clear here). She first finds her old friend Agrado (Antonia San Juan), a transgender prostitute whose thoughts on the sexual authenticity that plastic surgery brings are hilarious. And there's Sister Rosa (Penélope Cruz of the brilliant Open Your Eyes), a nun whose break from convent tradition sets her life down a difficult track. There's Huma Rojo (Flower of My Secret's Marisa Paredes), an actress that Esteban once revered, as well as her drug addict lover Nina (Candela Peña).

Each of these women is given vibrant life by these marvelous actresses (Roth, especially, is amazing) and Almodóvar's screenplay and direction. There's a mad glee to scenes like the one in which the women briefly talk about the word "cock," and Sister Rosa, with delight, exclaims that she also loves the word "prick." Almodóvar's balanced, three-dimensional portraits of women bursting with vitality cleanse the viewer's mind of the patriarchal themes of Runaway Bride and the histrionic caricatures of The Story of Us.

In the States, at least, audiences favor the stereotype-dependent "chick flicks" of Nora Ephron and her ilk over challenging, authentic looks at the female sex. Almodóvar is the anti-Ephron, a man whose understanding of women is far deeper and vastly more intelligent than any female director in Hollywood.

Notting Hill 1999

Notting Hill is a likable but flawed romance about a world-famous actress who falls in love with the proprietor of a travel bookshop. Not seeking much of an acting stretch, Julia Roberts plays actress Anna Scott, and Hugh Grant, as the shy bookseller William Thacker, plays the same bookish but debonair role he's played many times before.
The standard romantic cliches are also intact. The pair meet cute (he spills orange juice on her after she visits his bookshop), they have a cute "getting to know you" date at a birthday party, and they engage in cute post-prandial hijinks after dinner. These scenes would have been perfectly pleasant if the film did not insist on blasting viewers' ears with movie "mood music" designed to warm the cockles of our hearts. Music for films should supplement the dialogue and action, not supplant them. In Notting Hill, viewers are subjected to two songs twice in the course of the film.

However, Notting Hill has more fundamental problems. Not a spark of passion flies between the overly chummy Anna and William, who are more buddies than lovers. Whereas Four Weddings and a Funeral had Andie MacDowell's delightfully naughty revelations (as in Hugh was lover number 32), sex is barely hinted at here.

There are also moments that ring extremely false, as when a tabloid-dogged Anna answers the door to William's flat, only to be suddenly confronted by hundreds of paparazzi (surprise!). Furthermore, the audience is never given a compelling reason why William should be so smitten with the actress, save for the fact that she's famous and looks uncannily like Julia Roberts.

Despite these flaws, Notting Hill manages to satisfy. The acting is solid, and Roberts in particular brings a refreshing weariness to her role as a woman trapped by the exigencies of celebrity. However, it leaves Julia Roberts in the same predicament as her character: If she ever wants to be thought of as anything other than a Pretty Woman, she's going to have to find something edgier than this rolling Hill.

After life 1998

After Life 

Hollywood films about death (e.g. Ghost, Stepmom, and What Dreams May Come) might have one think that there exists a rule that any movie concerning the hereafter must be cloying, melodramatic, or just plain silly. Thankfully, Kore-eda Hirokazu's After Life is nothing of the sort. Instead, it's a poignant, humorous, minimalistic meditation on the importance of memories.

One Memory 

Filmed in an understated, documentary style, After Life follows a group of 22 newly deceased souls as they stay at a way station — between earth and the afterlife — for one week. At the beginning of the week, the station's caseworkers explain to each person that they have died, and that within a few days they must pick a memory that was precious to them. The staff will then re-enact and film the remembrance, and the person will move on, taking only that memory with them.

Prompted by the caseworkers, the subjects begin reminiscing. One man discusses his pleasurable experiences with prostitutes. A young woman remembers eating pancakes at Disneyland and riding Splash Mountain. Another man recalls being a child, and feeling the warm sunlight on his naked body. An elderly man, Watanabe (Naito Takashi) can't come up with anything, so he watches tapes of his life, one for each of his 71 years.

The staff works diligently to re-create the moments, and as they do so, the subjects' faces glow with pleasure as they think back on their joyous moment. On the final day, there is a screening, and the souls vanish one by one, taking their one memory with them.

Elegant Extras 

The extras on After Life are perfectly suited to this elegant, delicate film. The production notes describe the cinematography and the casting of the film (the key actors' biographies). Theatrical trailers (one in English, one in Japanese) showcase some of the film's moments, asking the question, "What is the one memory you will take with you?" The section dedicated to Kore-eda Hirokazu contains his profile and filmography (consisting mostly of documentaries) and also a director's statement, which explains the inspiration behind After Life: the director had watched his grandfather suffer with Alzheimer's and become senile, gradually losing all memories and his sense of self. Hirokazu interviewed approximately 500 people, asking them which one memory they would take with them. These interviews were the basis of the film, and some of the interviewees are featured in the film, speaking about actual events. Hirokazu sought to show people coming to terms with the past, and affirming and accepting their lives. It's a remarkable achievement that he did just that, with this exceptional and affecting film.

After Life is presented in a widescreen letterbox format. Language is in Japanese only, with English subtitles. Though lacking the sharpness usually associated with DVDs, the transfer is visually pleasing, showcasing the film's muted grays, browns, and greens.