Mooby Reviews

Magnolia (1999)

"And The Book Says . . ."

[10/10 · 14 January 2000]

While it may sound naive or fleeting to some, Magnolia, without QUESTION, is hands down the greatest thing I've ever seen. That's it. I'm sorry, but it's true. Paul Thomas Anderson's paramount masterpiece is the tip of Mount Everest when it comes to filmmaking, in both technical and storytelling aspects; he delivers a three hour saga about the relationships between varying parents and children, the messes they've created, and the measures it will take to make amends.

The plot has been kept in shrouded secrecy for many reasons, namely one of them that it would take about fifteen minutes to give even the briefest of synopsi. There is so much going on, so much to look at, to feel, that a jaded reviewer would be damning himself and the reader if he even attempted to lay down the story. But it does concern nine people in the San Fernando Valley on a particularly dank (and particularly apocalyptic) day. But you already knew that.

One of the many things that makes Magnolia flawfree is the incredible crescendo it manages to maintain for its entire running time. Scene by scene, second by second, Jon Brion's score and Aimee Mann's songs interact in perfect synchronicity with the rising emotions in the film, more and more with each following frame. Whether the situation be tense, happy, tragic, sad, mean, or something in between, the entire thing piles on more and more clumps of cinematic clay, propelling the story into the next region of genius. And with the cast, PT leaves nothing to chance. Everyone (EVERYONE!) in this picture gives 110% and more at all times. While most people will single out Tom Cruise, Julianne Moore, or Bill Macy as the stars of this movie, the ones who stole MY heart were the anomalous couple of John C. Reilly and Melora "Goddess of All Things Acting" Walters. Never before have two people seemed so equally desparate for love in such different roles. Walters not only stole my heart, but the whole f***ing movie as well. Her turn as an abused, lonely, good-hearted cokehead is one of the best female characters of the last twenty years. But, I digress . ..

Magnolia is a painting with colors your mind can't decipher right away, feelings that aren't easily labeled. This is why, I think, many patrons of the film have left it in bad will, because in an age of eighty-five minute Christmas gifts (not too much to think about, wrapped nicely, and pretty much predictable), filmgoers as a mass have been spoiled and cheated of films that make them *FEEL* something. Magnolia doesn't get you with clever ploys or snarky editing. It's wonder doesn't lie in its irony or one-liners. You won't find any overt sarcasm here. No, Magnolia hooks you because it makes you feel something. Its sincerity is so raw, and so spot on, that a usually sarcastic, skewered moviegoer doesn't have anything to latch on to other than its unflinching brilliance. It doesn't give any room for people to criticize it for its quality (or lack thereof), so people end up complaining about the length, the lack of immediacy, or the unconvential symbolism (ahem!).

In the end though, Magnolia is nothing more than Paul Thomas Anderson's love letter to people like him. People who just plain like to watch perfection blossom right before their very eyes.

*****

". . . You may be through with the past, but the past ain't through with you."

"When the sunshine ain't workin', the good Lord be a rainin'."

Debbie Does Dallas: The Next Generation (1998 Video)

Disappointing

[21 November 1999]

The acting is absolutely horrible, dominated by annoying and seemingly endless *SEX* scenes! That's right, you heard me, there are countless scenes of graphic coitus in this "film"! It really shocked me. And it has nothing to do with Star Trek! If you're a fan of Gene Roddenbury, this is not your movie. It's just a huge slap in the face to a city with as much spark as Dallas.

*

Tales from the Crypt (1989–1996)

Television's all time greatest horror series

[31 October 1999]

Not only was every episode meticulously crafted into thirty minutes of ironic terror, but the forces behind it always remained credible enough to deliver star-studded episodes. Jon Kassir's Crypt Keeper remains one of the more sacred pop culture figures of recent years (when's the last time you saw someone trashing the Keeper? He's an icon for chrissakes), and while some of the stories may not have been on caliber with others (most of the "England" episodes never touched the Demi Moore/"if I can't have you, no one will" one), in the end, when the smoke had cleared and the show was over, you looked at it with a refreshing zing, as if you had embraced being had.

Bringing back the EC stories wasn't a simple task. Speilberg tried it with "Amazing Stories" and gave up after two long years. The "Vault Of Horror" got a limited run in 94, but failed. But Tales always stuck around, on its own terms, and gave up swinging.

NP: The Bobcat Goldthwait episode: only animated Tales ever: takeoff...Three Little Pigs

Larry David: Curb Your Enthusiasm (1999 TV Movie)

A fun route for Larry David

[30 October 1999]

Although CURB YOUR ENTHUSIASM isn't exactly an in-depth look at the creative process of a comic who's preparing for a big show, it remains fun to watch nonetheless. David's writing is strongly sensed in many of his scenes (although CYE is presumably improvised), while he makes himself look like a lost little boy who just wants to do stand up being bullied by showbusiness. Pressure keeps closing in on him for the entire hour of this mockumentary (one that isn't as good as SPINAL TAP, but faaar surpasses Blair Witch), with the most exciting points coming in when we actually see David doing his stand up act ("one thing I admire about Hitler is he didn't take shit from magicians"). aLL IN ALL, ITS WORTH THE OBSCURE PROGRAMMING OF HBO TO SEE THIS.

PNYC: Portishead - Roseland New York (1997)

No one sentence can summarize its brilliance.

[28 October 1999]

I am a Portishead freak. I doubt you would have come to this particular corner of the IMDb if you weren't either. If you have seen this tape, I'm winking as I type. If you haven't, make all the necessary, desperate attempts you can manage to make in your new life mission to get it. Beth Gibbons is like a New Age Shirley Bassey, squeezing all the OOMPH! she can out of every lyric and hissing it into the mic, she prowls Roseland with her intensity. Geoff Barrow, Adrian Utley, and Dave McDonald assist Miss Gibbons in her quest to touch souls with dead on choices. No song from either of their first two albums sound as good as they do when performed on PNYC. When assembled as one, the songs are musical paintings of relationship despair, like Beth's tragic torch songs to the boyfriend that failed to keep her. Every artistic motive is made to compensate from making a simple one shot of the band doing their thang, but in actuality, when you're dealing with what I consider (for my money) to be the greatest album of all time, all you need is a camera, an audience, and a couple of geniuses who call themselves Portishead.

Nowhere (1997)

Delightful

[6 October 1999]

This is one of those few films that builds up a wall of atmosphere around you and doesn't break it down until the movie's over. The lighting for Nowhere should have won a damned Oscar, and the performances are just how they should be: so by-the-numbers that they create the plastic, artificial/superficial feel director Gregg Araki was obviously striving for. This one is so cartoonish you'd think Ralph Bakshi made it at times, never letting anyone truly act, simply saying their lines with smarm and bravado.

This flick also represents the uncertainty that exists when teenagers go out at night. It seems that everyone is being pulled in by the magnet of a party, but the roads which may or may not lead them there are the fun in watching. Araki effectively builds up a strong cast of aquaintances, making you want to see such characters as Dingbat and Dark in everyday, artificial, bubblegum high school class. The bizarre alien subplot is a daring direction to go in, but it is forgiven when as the credits roll, all you can think about is the seemingly endless haze of moody aura that entranced you for eighty two fascinating minutes.

Reefer Madness (1936)

Yeah, baby

[3 October 1999]

When I was in the seventh grade, it was my sixth hour science class's favorite pastime to pick on me. They would call me many words I can't repeat here, and all of it was based on the fact that they didn't think I had enough of what they called "fun" in my life. I didn't drink alcohol, I didn't smoke cigarettes. I didn't indulge in bathtub crystal meth. To them, I was a square. Because of this, all the stoners in Mr. Hendry's sixth were quite intrigued when at the beginning of a particular August, I began promoting a tape I had purchased recently. It was called "Reefer Madness" (Tell Your Children). They salivated when I described some of the sequences. Pot smoking. Lots of it. People having near convulsions from all the pot they smoke. And best of all. . .girls. I didn't need to go into great detail, because the prank I would unveil on these automatons would be nothing short of perfect.

As the four weeks rolled by, I kept heavily plugging how wicked the film was and how the entire flick was all centered around pot smoking.

"Did you say there were convulsions," one of the burnouts asked.

"Oh yes. Lots of those. Just wait, you'll see," I said as I patted him on the back reassuringly.

As the day neared, the air was electric. The class was anticipating some sort of extreme Cheech and Chong movie, like 90 minutes of a Sublime video.

What they *got*, for anyone who has seen the film, is an overrated advisory movie from the 30's. Sure, there are some schlockily funny scenes, but the revenge was extracted by me on giving these kids the biggest blue balls they'd ever get in their lives. As I sat back in my chair with a satisfied grin deeply embedded on my face, the children stared blankly for all sixty seven minutes. My family moved to another town the next day.

RENT IT, LEARN IT, LOVE IT, BE IT, FEEL IT, BUT PLEASE REWIND IT.

Clerks (1994)

Paramount

[10/10 · 2 October 1999]

About five years ago, I was out with my friends and we decided to go see Interview With A Vampire. We trekked all the way into the ghetto to catch its last theatrical showing at the dollar theatre. I had never seen it, but one in the group was celebrating his birthday and absolutely loved this flick, so he urged me to make the nine o'clock showing. We got there, and we were promptly told that Vampire wasn't showing until ten. This disappointed us all, but my friend was so pumped about seeing the LAST ever showing he went to a nearby Dairy Queen to bide time. I was not enjoying the bleak ice cream experience of a rainy, hood night overturing me gettin' a sugar headache so I headed solo back across the street. I was a little embarrassed that I would abandon him so quickly, but he didn't care really. I said I might see another movie, since there were 5 other features showing. No one objected, so I went to the box office, scanned the marquee, and spotted a film entitled CLERKS.

I had seen a spot for this movie on a MTV news break, a very short blurb about its nonchalant style of both directing and dialogue. I was leery seeing a film in all black and white, but since this was the only "new release" at the theatre, and since it was only a buck, I bought the ticket, picked up some popcorn, and sat down. . .completely alone in the smallest theatre they had available to experience Kevin Smith's 1994 homage to all things floating in his head while working minimum wage jobs all his life.

Five minutes in, and I was hooked. Every other line I thought to myself two things,

"I gotta get everyone I know to see this."

and

"Why isn't this a full house?"

Dante Hicks' starts out accidently subbing a shift at his workplace one fateful morning. But what he doesn't know is that by going in for work that day, he walks in belly-to-the-beast to a very traumatic day. His best friend Randal doesn't help matters either. Not only is he constantly breathing down his neck while neglecting his video store responsibilities, but he challenges Dante to be a man he is not while faced with a relationship . Clerks is set in one day's time, opening till closing, and packs just about as much great, memorable scenes as it can into all of its 100 minutes.

Not only is the camera work simply a forumn for the actors to tell the story (as, at its basics, it should be), but the coziness of the scenery makes you feel like you could pick up a pack of cigarettes from the very place. I feel honored and privileged to feel like I've been with Kevin Smith's career from the very beginning, because he is without question my favorite director, and I will be forever indebted to him, if not for the connection he's given me, for the haunting significance of the number 37.

See also the technical prequel, Mallrats and the final film in the Jersey Trilogy, Chasing Amy.

"Jay and Silent Bob will be back in Dogma."

Camp Cucamonga (1990 TV Movie)

It really doesn't get any more 80's than this

[1 October 1999]

Man oh man. This movie is really only for those sentimental about the time when pink Bugle Boy shirts were socially acceptable. Plot is evidently not all that important to the makers of this one, but what *is* important is squeezing in as many B-celebrities as possible without going over budget. All of Candace Cameron, (a then unknown) Jennifer Aniston, The Infathomable Breckin Meyer, Jaleel UPN White, John Ratzenberger, The Nerd From The Wonder Years, Good Winnie Hunting, and a whoooole bunch of other people you might recognize from TGIF. I sat there wondering when Dabney Coleman and Leslie Nielson were going to show up.

It's about a camp. It's about some American youth. Who sing. Sing. Sing!!!!

Recommended for sarcastic teenagers who have nothing to make fun of.

Pumpkinhead (1988)

Blah Blah Blah

[29 September 1999]

Watching this one is like getting all the 80's horror cliches you need to make witty observations on the cliches of 80's horror flicks.

Directed by holier-than-KNB FX wizard Stan Winston, Lance "Just Forget About Man's Best Friend" Henrickson is a scorned daddy who after his autistic son is murdered by a bunch of dirtbike-riding hooligans, enlists the services of Pumpkinhead, a demon who also dabbles in the professional hitman trade. The film then goes into automatic, offing all the ne'er-do-well teenagers until Lance is happy.

Okay, the plot is basically the same as every other schlocker: for some reason or another, someone gets their feelings hurt (on varying degrees) and the clique that started trouble is methodically hunted down and killed one by one, usually each in grandiose fashion (depending on whether or not they're in some sort of factory or warehouse). There is ALWAYS (no exceptions whatsoever) at least *some* premarital, crazy, teenage sex going on in the movies (which may or may not be interrupted by a death scene).

Pumpkinhead follows this almost to a tee (replace factory/warehouse with tool shed). This film was never anything more than letting Winston live out his directing fantasy so he'd keep making badass animatronics for James Cameron. Sure, Henrickson's character has a right to be miffed and has a right to want vengeance, but the only problem I had with the rest of it was I didn't like the Pumpkinhead character. He moved a little better than the special effects in "Evil Dead 2", and wasn't anymore original than Jason or even the friggin' Ghoulies. The reason this didn't work was because you weren't rooting for anyone. I was waiting for those darn pests to get gutted with some bravado, but I'm left with the personality-less PH.

Bottom line is that the only way for Pumpkinhead to work is if you rename the villain Leprechaun.

Roger & Me (1989)

Our Man Smith

[27 September 1999]

The film is ironically titled "Roger & Me", as Michael Moore tries to get just a few words with villanous Roger Smith regarding the mass devastation that his decision to close the General Motors facilities has caused to both GM's and Mr. Moore's hometown, Flint, Michigan. However, the run around tactics employed by those under Smith work well enough against someone without clout such as Mike Moore, with the audience never getting a meeting between Roger and him until the very end, and even then, it's a very short one.

Now, in some under circumstance, this may have been anti-climatic or dissatisfying. But it ends up working better this way because in seeing the Auto Empire spit upon the small, humbled town, we see that there could be no other way. The film would not have had the same vigor if Smith had indeed sat down with Moore and seen the madness. In being denied access to eye contact with the higher-ups, the film does just what it wants to do: it exacts immortal revenge on Corporate America by painting the picture that they are concerned with *only* the Bottom Line, and no matter what they say to defend themselves, nothing will be able to erase the wonderfully bitter violin solo that is "Roger & Me".

Freaked (1993)

Among the funniest movies of all time

[26 September 1999]

I feel priveleged to have this obscure gem in my collection. A scant cruise through my grocery store video rental some six years ago had me rent two films (both with the Melissa Joan Hart-like Megan Ward, oddly enough): "PCU" and "Freaked". I enjoyed PCU, but was taken aback by the colorful crudeness of Freaked. From the opening ClayMation/Henry Rollins fusion to the numerous B cameos (find me another film with all of Brooke Shields, Morgan Fairchild *AND* Mr. T and I'll find you a kidney transplant), to the laugh-out-loud sight gags, this film is up there with the very best of 'em.

Freaked is without a drop of pretense. It offers no metaphorical politics, it doesn't use heavy music to influence your heartbeat, and unlike the ZAZ and Mel Brooks films, this one doesn't mug for the punchline. Pre-dating Trey Parker and Matt Stone, its knockdown-dragout consistency of it's joke takes you to a very satisfying end. Proud to know it'll never end up on a snobbish "Greatest Films Of All Time" list, I strongly suggest you experience this American Classic for yourself, regardless the toll it might take.

Zygrot Forever!

Unforgiven (1992)

Unforgiving

[28 July 1999]

There are about a million other reviews here. Sheesh.

William Munny's name once rang through townfolk's ears like a lunch bell, echoing fear and panic. The William Munny of old was ruthless, drunk, and not afraid to break the taboo of killing women and children. But that was a long time ago, and William Munny was a very different man then. Fast forward eleven years, and Will Munny is a sobered, no-killin' hog farmer, trying to scrape together income day by day to put food in his lovely kids' mouths. One day, a feller by the name of The Schofield Kid comes riding up to him, asking if he is indeed the fabled William Munny. He mentions a US$500 bounty on the head of two no-good-sagnefragent-sons-of-guns who cut up a jezebel in the town of Big Whiskey, Wyoming. For the first time in God knows how long, his reputation is acknowledged by other men to his face, and That Old Feeling starts to come back. Willie starts to wonder if he's still "got it", which he discovers after a few missteps that he does, and off he goes to find some food money in the way of taking those two no-good-sagnefragent-sons-of-guns out with the aid of his friend of years prior, Some Black Guy played by Morgan Freeman. Those two have The Schofield Kid tag along on their journey on the Yellow Brick Road as they look for some cash and a little adventure.

Meanwhile...

English Bob is played by Richard Davis MacArthur. He comes arrogantly strolling into Big Whiskey (a town that doesn't allow firearms) with firearms. Bob isn't in the film for any other reason but to be shown as a notch in the belt of Little Bill, the town sherriff. It is established that Bob is damn good with a gun and is quite sure of himself but when confronted against Bill, he basically gets his ass Pony Expressed to him. This is supposed to get Bill over as a tough guy, a suitable challenge for the impending Munny.

2 hours (not Real Time) later...

William's oath that he is simply doing this bounty huntin' gig for the money is disavowed when his Black Friend is killed. He goes in to find the no-good-sagnefragent-son-of-a-gun who did this for the ultimate act of vengeance: shot in the head by a Spencer rifle. OUCH!

I'm trying not to diagram the movie too much, but lemme tell you: I loved this film. And not for the killing, and not for Clint (although, Clint is alright), and not for the *GREAT* directing. This film works for the same reason The Godfather worked: when scraped to the core, it's simply the story of man who's personality and way of thinking does a backflip for the price of avenging a death. Bill wasn't vicious until His Black Companion was killed so needlessly. While shooting beside Schofield on the hill, the always-wincing Clint looked especially peaked when having to take out a struggling and wounded young man. At the Bathroom Incident, Munney Munney Munney Munney, MUH-NAY was reluctant to open fire on the unsuspecting. But when his Afrian American Chum was dead, this man, this simple man, this man so capable of absolute terror let go of his eleven year fasting. He unleashed the fire on the small town of Big Whiskey and went guns ablazin' into the night. His anguish for his beloved wife's death, his hatred of his former self, his despair concerning his family's near-poverty, all of his conflicting emotions gave up their fight, and The Beast Of William Munney was unleashed. While Little Bill Daggett may have not been Satan Himself, the act of using a human life (The Black Guy) as bait cannot be excused in any context. He was baiting Willie to come to his town, and he got Willie. What he did not expect was to be killed dead while laying on his back, begging for his life. He got what he killed for, but in William's case, no amount of bloodshed could have murdered his demons, and without closure for the killer, The Killings Of William Munney were unforgiven.

Eyes Wide Shut (1999)

A jarring film.

[16 July 1999]

"Eyes Wide Shut" is a piece that tiptoes on intensity and jumps at you with wordless, embittered actors. The plot is a tad ambiguous, but without giving anything away:

Nicole Kidman plays the wife of William Harford, a doctor who has just learned that his betrothed has had serious and barely not-acted-upon thoughts of infidelity. She tells him of a could/would-have-been fling that turns his perception of his marraige upside down, and in passive-aggressive retaliation, he journeys onto the cold, rainy streets of Manhattan for a sexual deviancy tale of his own. Through pure happenstance, William is referenced to a party by his friend Nick, a jazz pianist who is a friend from college. Hinting of haughtiness is intriguing enough for the good doctor to go through extreme measures required to attend the engagement. The party, well, the party is a ritualistic orgy where a mask and the word "Fidelio" are tickets to entry. The uninvited are unwelcome and once Bill's naivete is revealed to all members of the party, he is harshly reprimanded and warned never to speak of what he has seen again. The rest of the film's goings-on are either a bi-product of Harford's curiosity as to what lied beneath the mask of the eerie social gathering or the dream-like opportunities for sexual exploration that the handsome main character receives from the women he aligns with throughout the story.

All of this hangs under a raincloud of the late director Stanley Kubrick's morbid and exact vision of the Arthur Schnitzler's book "Traumnovelle". And Kubrick leaves nothing to chance. Having had a notorious shooting schedule (something like 15 months), every facial tick, every hand gesture is obviously just how the director wants. However, the question I ask is if the film is as appealing to the general public as it was the Stanley Kubrick. Although it does have a bag of moments that share grandiose and impacting depth and cinematic brilliance, a large chunk is a little too unexplained(or, dare I say, uncompleted) for anyone but truth-seeking, goateed film students donning black turtlenecks to have the energy to want to understand.

Should you go see it? Definitely. But don't go see it for the hyped and ultimately tame "sex" scenes. And don't go see it expecting any "Jerry Maguire"-like smugness out of Cruise. And I advise you against going and expecting the second coming of Christ. Because you'll be disappointed. What you will find however is a honestly good and intriguing film that may be iffy in some areas, but cannot be called bad. "Eyes Wide Shut", artistically speaking, is solid but culturally, lacks the same kind of studio hooks presented in some of Tom Cruise's prior popcorn vehicles. It is only fair to my enjoyment of "Shut" to point out that some people hear the word "artistically" and immediately conjure up stuffy, boring dramas that seem to never end. That is not the case here. It might run a little long, but this movie will keep you on the edge of your seat despite its refusal to "sell out". That is part of many of the complaints about the film. In a society where we have been conditioned on the same "table of contents"-like plots in our summer fare, here's one that actually risks dangling the explanation in front of our faces with Manchurian pacing, making sure we trot along in hopes of eventually being privvied to complete discretion. This has always been a metaphor for the filmmaker's own professional practices, which makes "Eyes Wide Shut" all the more a poetic homage to the stubborn genius of Stanley Kubrick.

Kissing a Fool (1998)

terribly underrated

[29 April 1999]

This was a sweetheart of a movie. From a technical point of view, the photography was just right for the moments. If anyone has ever dismissed David Schwimmer as a pouty, whiny lout (such the characters from "FRIENDS" and "The Pallbearer"), take a good look at his Max in this and you'll see the complete opposite. Max is a vulgar, arrogant, misogynistic , bitter ass. His fellow player, Jason Lee, plays a pouty, whiny lout (as opposed to the vulgar, arrogant, misogynistic, bitter roles he was made famous by, in Brodie Bruce and Banky Edwards) who, as probably already told to you here on IMDb, is lorn of his slutty model girlfriend. Max has fallen for Sam, his attractive young publisher who he feels is too good to be true. So, he asks his best friend Jay (Lee) to see if Sam will hit on him, thus figuring out if she is the one. This test of course, is a thin veiled attempt to breach the contract called commitment, which blah blah blah, the story ends rather nicely. Not really what you expect. The flaw of this film is the forced conflicts presented, the rushed and implausible sequences that appear all too soon, and the unnecessary characters.

BUT I URGE YOU ALL READING THIS: GO RENT KISSING A FOOL! It, despite a few cons, is the kind of romantic comedy you hope for when you stand in line for "You've Got Mail" and get crap. Quirky, metropolitan, pampered, and concise, this flick will hit the spot, man.