skymovies Reviews

Cowboys & Aliens (2011)

Yeehaw-some

[7/10 · 29 July 2011]

Somewhere out West. Man (Craig) wakes up in the desert, bleeding. Weird metal manacle on his wrist. Doesn't know who he is. Doesn't know how he got there. Kills some passing lowlifes. Rides to the nearest town: Absolution.

Ordinary kinda place. Usual kinda folks: kindly preacher (Clancy Brown), fretful barkeep-cum-doctor (Sam Rockwell), dog-tired sheriff (Keith Carradine), purty mystery lady Ella (Olivia Wilde), young troublemaker (Paul Dano).

Turns out the latter boy's untouchable, bein' son of local bigwig Dolarhyde (Ford) an' all. Figures he can push the stranger around. Figures wrong. Turns out it's Jake Lonergan - a bigger villain than old man Dolarhyde.

So just another day in Absolution. Til nightfall that is, when a bunch of machines swoop down from the sky, blow the town to smithereens and make off with half the people usin' some kinda fancy lassoes.

Aliens. Doggone.

Only thing that'll stop 'em is Jake's fancy wrist cannon. So if they want their folks back, everybody's gonna have to put their differences aside and posse up to track them unidentified flying varmints down.

Along the way, Jake gradually gets his memory back. Runs into his old gang too. And some Apaches.

Also finds out what mysterious Ella's all about and what the ETs want (same thing as everyone else, truth be told).

It's all based on one o' them graphic novels. But with a tale as outlandish as this, it proves a wise move to play it straight. Mostly.

Course, there's a gutful of guffaws to be had, but it all pans out like 3:10 to The Alamo. With more alien splatting.

Director Favreau has great fun with his flashbacks and dandy effects and such. Even throws in a few sly nods to the genre, yessiree.

But what he needs is a manly, clenched jaw or two to carry it off. And what he gets in Craig and Ford. That's what they do.

The set-up's terrific. Pacing's a mite skew-whiff though. The search and rescue bit kinda drags. Favreau needs to put his spurs in more often. Bringing the sheriff's grandkid along don't speed things along none either. Coulda made more use of the dog too.

It ain't free o' clichés. But then what western is? Want a mash-up that does what it says it's gonna do? Saddle up.

Outlander (2008)

A derivative adventure of epic mediocrity

[3/10 · 20 April 2009]

It's Aliens meet The Vikings! Beowulf meets Predator! Er... Final Fantasy meets The 13th Warrior? How about Braveheart goes Jabberwocky? Whichever way you cut it, the concept is far more interesting than the end product; a derivative adventure of epic mediocrity boasting three-star effects, two-star execution and a one-star script.

In a riot of straight-faced silliness, it pitches erstwhile Jesus Jim Caviezel as another saviour - this time as a chap from another planet who falls to Earth in 709AD to unite two warring Norse tribes against a bloodthirsty alien beastie.

On one side we have John Hurt at his craggiest as wise King Rothgar (not bearing any similarity to King Hrothgar of Beowulf at all, oh no); on the other we have Ron Perlman's bad-tempered, beardy baldie Gunnar. In between we have Sophia Myles as Rothgar's spunky daughter and Jack Huston as her would-be suitor, the impetuous Wulfric.

Huston descends from a legendary Hollywood clan but his talent doesn't go much beyond flaring his nostrils and playing second fiddle to steely-eyed Caviezel - he resembles Russell Brand after discovering he's been chatting up a tougher, much better-looking bloke's girlfriend.

There's plenty of mead-swilling, hearty cheering and gratuitous gore, most memorably when Myles finds herself in the creature's lair atop a mountain of half-eaten villagers.

But it's no better than the sort of schedule filler you can see any night on the SciFi Channel. It could have been a cult classic but anything saddled with a plot this unimaginative rightfully belongs in an XBox, not a multiplex.

In the Name of the King: A Dungeon Siege Tale (2007)

Never mind the Boll-ocks

[3/10 · 29 August 2008]

Aw come on people, there's a lot worse than this out there. So it makes Krull look like Lord of the Rings, features Ray Liotta's most embarrassing performance (Liberace in a leather trenchcoat) and looks like it's been edited by a 5-year-old with ADHD, but there are at least two decent special effects amongst all the rubber masks and polystyrene boulders.

As my first Uwe Boll experience, I was disappointed by its near-competence. Sure, we're not dealing with a prodigious talent here, but Boll must be doing something right to assemble such a recognisable cast. Who else would think to produce an Arthurian pantomime with Hellboy, The Transporter, the Bandit, Gimli the dwarf, Shaggy from Scooby Doo, Hallam Foe's mum, one of the GoodFellas and a Terminator? A triumph of enthusiasm over ability, it has all the traditional fantasy ingredients: reluctant yet vengeful hero, damsel in distress, evil sorceror, good sorceror, world-weary king, cowardly duke, orc-like hordes, and even throws in a boomerang and a few babes in the wood for good measure.

Unfortunately, it's all dungeons without dragons and lords without rings. In the event, Boll overcooks and overcuts the whole caboodle to make it seem more exciting than it really is. But you have to admire him for playing it so straight.

One question: is Statham's character called Farmer because of what he does or because his brow looks like a ploughed field?

Ratatouille (2007)

Good, unclean, unsavoury fun

[8/10 · 12 October 2007]

Another year, another dazzlingly animated, flawlessly directed and engagingly characterful palate-tickler from the masterchefs at Pixar.

And yet… however cute, cuddly and hand-washingly obsessive you make them, rats are rats. So while you're delighting in Remy's antics, remember that he came straight from the sewer. Rats – kitchens – wrong. What next? The adventures of Eddie the friendly E. coli bacterium who just wants to be a heart surgeon?

Issues of taste aside, where The Incredibles and Toy Stories were laugh-out-loud funny, Ratatouille is constantly – but never more than - amusing. And though they're all French, why do certain characters have American accents while others don't (most noticeably Linguini, who comes across like David Schwimmer's Ross Gellar with ginger hair)?

Ah rats, I should probably just shut up and heed the words of Peter O'Toole's marvellous, cadaverous Anton Ego. He nails the role of the critic perfectly.

The Hoax (2006)

Take in the period detail on the runaway scam

[8/10 · 1 August 2007]

It was an audacious and almost heroic plan, but did Clifford Irving really believe that he'd get away with hoodwinking New York's most powerful publishers, let alone the rest of the world? On the basis of this portrayal, one suspects that he did.

Topped with a Shredded Wheat dye-job, Richard Gere's Irving is a manipulative attention-seeker who – unbelievably - got as far as seeing his fake autobiography of Howard Hughes roll off the presses before his ruse was rumbled.

Back in 1971, the media was as crazy for Hughes as he was crazy. In modern comparisons, he was as famously off the wall as Michael Jackson and richer than Roman Abramovich.

Assuming that Hughes would be either too busy, withdrawn or insane to care about their little venture, Irving and his writer/researcher pal Dick Suskind (Molina) bluffed and blustered their way to a mega-bucks deal with both publisher McGraw-Hill and the mighty Time-Life institution.

Also in on the fraud was Irving's wife Edith (Harden, with Streepish accent straight Out Of Africa). But she was yet another victim of his uncontrollable deception – he was having an affair with socialite Nina Van Pallandt (Julie Delpy).

(Interestingly, Van Pallandt was a sometime actress who appeared opposite Gere in American Gigolo.) Then the get-rich-quick scheme turned really serious. Suskind was nervy at the best of times, but Irving became downright paranoid after they uncovered shady business dealings between Hughes and President Nixon.

Indeed, Irving's account could have been entitled 'Nixon: My Part In His Downfall'. But while Vietnam and Watergate loom large, Lasse Hallstrom's adaptation concentrates on character and atmosphere.

Gere is not the most interesting actor around, but he is convincing. This serves him well here as Irving's ambition and iron will begin to crumble under the strength of his own delusions.

Able support comes from the typically reliable Stanley Tucci (as snarly publisher Shelton Fisher) and Hope Davis (as Irving's fictional editor), but the acting honours go to Molina as the essentially decent but morally pliable Suskind. And they need look no further when it comes to casting The Gordon Brown Story.

Like George Clooney's similarly themed Confessions of a Dangerous Mind, this is an involving piece of retro-Americana that doesn't let the truth get in the way of a good story.

Spider-Man 3 (2007)

Some new additions but Web 3.0's no upgrade

[7/10 · 28 April 2007]

Sam Raimi's Web version 3.0 proves that – like the increasingly shoddy sequels to Batman - when it comes to comic book villains, less is more. Really, does anyone remember anything that Two-Face and Poison Ivy actually did? After building his rollicking action empire with tight, one-on-one contests between our friendly neighbourhood hero and his nemeses, Raimi falls into the trap of taking Spider-Man 3 a villain too far. It has nothing to do with the CG qualities of either Sandman or Venom (they're as well-rendered as you'd expect from the next instalment of an $800million franchise). It's simply that the film introduces so many problems for Peter Parker to deal with, it doesn't fully focus on any.

On the verge of proposing to Mary Jane, Peter is so caught up in his own hype that he has become a self-absorbed prat. Outwardly, they're fine, but he is so busy enjoying the adulation and attention - hey, police chief's daughter Gwen Stacy, how YOU doin'? - that he's oblivious to any problems MJ might have.

And anyway, there's also some unfinished business with Harry 'Goblin Jr' Osborne, cocky photographer Eddie Brock (Topher Grace) is after his job at the Bugle, and convict Flint Marko (Thomas Haden Church) is now a much bigger problem than when he first escaped after having his DNA replaced with sand. The guy's a walking building site.

Then a black goo from outer space which feeds on human aggression (drug metaphor ahoy!) transforms Peter into a swaggering, greasy-fringed idiot - like a member of The Killers who's seen Saturday Night Fever too many times.

But his turn to the dark side is reflected in the spider-suit's cool new look… which is later adopted by Brock when the terrible treacle turns him into Venom. Let's get ready for a tag-team rumble… Needless to say, it all looks fantastic. But, for all its impressive, whiplash-inducing set-pieces, jokey interludes, cute cameos (including Bruce Campbell as a Pythonesque maitre d') and general vertiginous pizazz, the plot regularly loses momentum.

How many messages on commitment, redemption and doing the right thing does one film need? What's with the ridiculous climactic commentary from that TV reporter with the bad English accent and her geriatric, googly-eyed anchorman? Would Bryce Dallas Howard like to give me a call the next time she has this little to do in a movie? Like Spidey himself, Raimi appears to have gotten carried away by the success of his previous exploits. Webby 3.0 certainly gives you plenty of whiz-bang for your buck, but it doesn't get that spider sense tingling.

Notes on a Scandal (2006)

The emperor's new clothes

[4/10 · 2 February 2007]

Brilliantly summed up by Film Threat as "ennui with a pedigree", this is thespi-centric melodrama of the most overwrought, self-regarding and unconvincing kind.

As the antisocial, delusional old maid Barbara and silly Sheba, the object of her obsession, Judi Dench and Cate Blanchett are undeniably magnificent. Bill Nighy also deserves praise for his sensible take on the thankless role of Sheba's husband.

However, one's a misanthropic basket case with a blackmailing heart; one's a weak-willed not-so-clever intellectual who wants it all and is astonished when she can't have it, and the third is a man who ditched one wife for a younger woman and is flabbergasted when she gives him a taste of his own medicine. Who are we rooting for here? They all deserve everything they get. And is giving Sheba and husband a Down's syndrome child supposed to engender sympathy? Smacks of cold, hard manipulation to me.

As for the 'scandal'… female teacher bonks 15-year-old pupil: stop the press. Distasteful and reproachable but not uncommon, the story would barely interest the local press beyond its breaking week, let alone prompt the national paparazzi to camp on the offender's doorstep for almost a month. That the disgraced Sheba would move into Barbara's home in the first place is highly unlikely anyway.

If - as many critics would have it - Patrick Marber's adaptation of Zoe Heller's acerbic bestseller is a screen writing "masterclass", the future of cinema looks bleak. Necessary character development is jettisoned in favour of ridiculous contrivances to create a multiplex-friendly psychothriller which both stereotypes Brits and insults the American audience for whom it is so clearly intended. Even the ending hints at a sequel.

Amplifying the histrionics is a score from Philip Glass that makes Wagner sound positively inert. Even the act of washing dishes is treated like the coming of legions of Valkyries.

Actually, it's the perfect accompaniment to such an overblown and overpraised film.

Kinky Boots (2005)

The sole monty

[7/10 · 20 January 2007]

From the people who gave us Calendar Girls comes another Brit-com that gently amuses while getting across its message of acceptance and personal pride without upsetting any apple carts.

The story pivots on Chiwetel Ejiofor's Golden Globe-nominated turn as Lola, a London-based drag queen who finds herself designing niche-market footwear for struggling shoe factory owner Charlie (Joel Edgerton) in conservative Northampton.

While Lola wins over the sceptical workforce - chiefly a pig-headed arm-wrestler played by Shaun of the Dead sidekick Nick Frost - Charlie must choose between his materialistic fiancée (Jemima Rooper) and Sarah-Jane Potts' loyal, button-cute factory girl. Who knows what the climax will bring when it reaches that Milan catwalk? Sweet-natured, warmly shot and cosily predictable, Kinky Boots is the perfect fit for a Friday night with a pizza, a bottle of vino and your best gal (or guy).

Apocalypto (2006)

Eat your heart out, Rambo

[9/10 · 7 January 2007]

Everyone's favourite booze-soaked anti-Semite is back with a cracking combination of First Blood, Braveheart and National Geographic. Like him or not, there's no denying that Mel Gibson knows how to put a movie together.

First he fought until he was blue in the face as William Wallace, the Scottish hero who stuck it to the evil English in Braveheart. Then he had the son of God suffering for all our sins at the hands of Jews and Romans alike in Passion Of The Christ. Dusting off the tried-and-trusted template once again, Gibbo now throws another underdog into a world of massacred family members, violent persecution and strange tongues.

Looking like international soccer ace Ronaldinho, jungle tribesman Jaguar Paw shows similarly singular skills to squirrel away his pregnant wife and child before eluding sacrifice and dodging his sadistic Mayan captors.

It's a spectacularly grisly adventure through which Paw must survive relentless torrents of blood, mud, dust and rain with nothing more than instinct and determination.

Thought has gone into this. Gibson takes pains to give clear personalities to what could have been disposable cyphers and allows audiences the odd breather from the savage grandeur with pleasing smaller moments.

The fear and confusion of the captives is effectively conveyed in marvellously staged crowd scenes, POV shots of Paw's flight cleverly mirror the earlier hunting of a tapir, and there is a beautiful overhead shot of the chase through a cornfield.

Having created a world where actions speak louder than words, it would be nice to see Mel taking a leaf out of his own book.

Lemming (2005)

One for the Lynch mob

[7/10 · 7 January 2007]

For Lucas and Gainsbourg's happily-weds Alain and Benedicte, the discovery of a rodent stuck down the sink is nothing like as peculiar as the dinner they host for Lucas' boss (Dussollier) and his bitchy, glacial wife Alice (Rampling).

The evening's aftermath is a slow-burning chain of events leading to the detonation of a marriage: seduction, suicide, possession, desperation.

A quietly unsettling exercise in Gallic detachment (albeit from a German director), Lemming frustrates and intrigues in roughly equal measure. It's like a lengthy extract from the David Lynch handbook.

As explained in the film, lemmings are not suicidal, they simply drown from exhaustion. At a over two hours, it's a metaphor which accurately describes the viewing experience.

Rocky Balboa (2006)

Now don't get upset, fight fans, but...

[5/10 · 14 December 2006]

You can't keep a good man down, but sometimes that's where he ought to stay. Rocky was on the ropes 15 years ago, yet with Rocky 6 – and what's with the title change? – Sly Stallone is determined to show that there's still life in the old dog. He even has Rocky buy an old dog to hammer home the metaphor.

Since Stallone has done nothing with any impact since his 80s heyday, this finds the former box-office champ feeling a little sorry for himself, reliving past glories through his most engaging and heroic character.

Adrian is dead ("woman cancer"). Rocky - looking and sounding spookily like Marv from Sin City - mopes endlessly when he's not hovering over the customers in the restaurant which bears her name. Adrian's brother Paulie is still dispensing his unique brand of sweetness and light but Rocky rarely sees his son, who got fed up with life in the old man's shadow.

Out of the blue, Rocky gets the boxing bug again. The reasons for this are not apparent. No epiphanies, just an urge to get back in the ring. Must be the eye of the tiger, or somesuch. Anyway, he seems less keen on boxing matters than on Marie, the grown-up little girl who lived down memory lane. Marie has a son whose departed father is black ("Jamaica?" says Rocky, "A European…" – bdum-chh!).

Dialogue-wise, Sly still has a few sharp jabs to throw but his script is mostly a succession of motivational speeches and self-help mantras. Almost every character has a bloated monologue to deliver. It's like going 12 rounds with a life coach.

And in sulky champ Mason 'The Line' Dixon, Rocky is up against his most boring opponent ever. We need a sneering, cocky villain – a Carl Weathers, a Mr T, a hunk of Dolph… We get charisma-free former light-heavyweight plank Antonio Tarver.

Dixon is peeved when, broadcast on TV, a computer-simulated bout between himself and a peak-fitness Rocky ends with him eating canvas. The moneymen set up an exhibition match. It'll be a complete mismatch… or will it? If anticipation of the climactic bout is low, dramatic tension is zero. Stallone does, however, push the right buttons when the action finally gets underway in the final third. But somehow the customary training montage doesn't give quite the same buzz as it used to.

Nobody wants to see the Italian Stallion in the knacker's yard, but in their heart of hearts, even his most ardent fans have to admit that we're merely indulging him with this weary nostalgia trip.

Big Nothing (2006)

Pain in the farce

[3/10 · 29 November 2006]

There's much ado in Big Nothing but that's what it amounts to. A huffing, puffing crime farce that throws its plot straws together as quickly as possible, it's riddled with flat dialogue and leaves its characters no room to manouevre.

David Schwimmer regurgitates his gulping Ross routine in an effort to create sympathy for luckless schmuck Charlie, while cuddly Brit Simon Pegg fires comedy blanks as Gus, the charmless American chancer who cons him into a blackmail scam. As the shrill femme fatale who joins their desperate caper, Alice Eve is less Double Indemnity than dreadfully unlikely. And the secondary roles are so underwritten that one can only presume that Mimi Rogers, Natascha McElhone and Jon Polito must have owed someone a favour.

The script was co-written by French director Jean-Baptiste Andrea (whose Dead End was a tight, Twilight Zone-style novelty) with Billy Asher who helps himself to the part of a deputy but couldn't help many of the gags over the language barrier. They even resort to the old 'let's put the caller on hold and abuse them/oh no, they weren't actually on hold' chestnut.

Stylistically it's a lot like Brian De Palma's Raising Cain mixed with Sam Raimi's A Simple Plan without being anywhere near as good as either. Andrea allows no time for any potential humour or tension to develop from the ever-intensifying barrage of twists, crosses and double-crosses. But he does add to the urgency with several unnecessary split-screens and animated bits. The effect is, paradoxically, quite tedious.

Pan's Labyrinth (2006)

A grimly glorious fairytale with a dual personality

[9/10 · 25 November 2006]

Intoxicating, impressive and imaginative, Guillermo Del Toro's wartime fantasy has few detractors and rightly so. But the two halves of his story do not fit together as satisfyingly as one might hope. Like a collaboration between Ken Loach and Clive Barker, it's a cinematic non sequitur in which the sober and frequently vicious reality of Spain's fascist past is placed beside, but not reflected in, the dark looking-glass of the titular otherworld.

Bridging the divide, young Ivana Baquero is disarmingly natural as Ofelia, treading carefully around her stepfather Captain Vidal (Sergi Lopez; the most despicable screen villain of the year) while throwing herself fearlessly into the tasks assigned to her by the bolshy and vaguely untrustworthy faun Pan.

By definition, fantasy requires no explanation. But Del Toro takes tangible elements from one world into the other (such as the healing mandrake root) while hinting that Pan and his fellow mythic beasts exist only in Ofelia's mind. Title cards saying "Meanwhile..." would not look out of place between scenes detailing the grim conflict between Vidal's fascists and the forest-dwelling rebels and Ofelia's plunges into the otherworld.

Incohesiveness aside, Pan's Labyrinth marks Del Toro as a true visionary who bends to neither convention nor compromise. Those prepared for nastiness are in for an audacious and visually glorious Gothic treat.

The Host (2006)

What would happen if an American Werewolf ate a Clockwork Orange?

[6/10 · 8 November 2006]

From the depths of Korean cinema comes a freakish hybrid of Godzilla-style mayhem, overwrought drama, conspiracy theory, comedy and sentimentality. Bong Joon-Ho's monster mash is nothing if not original.

An ordinary day on the banks of Seoul's Han River livens up considerably when a cross between a giant mudskipper and HR Giger's Alien charges into the gathered crowd. Amidst all the screaming, squishing and chomping, convenience store dullard Gang-du sees the toxic tadpole make off with his daughter Hyun-seo (the talented Ko Ah-sung).

The military rounds up everyone in the vicinity, saying that the creature is the host of a deadly virus. Gang-du and his loose-knit family (dad, brother, archery-ace sister) are in the throes of a public display of grief when they receive a faint call from Hyun-seo's phone. She's alive... albeit stuck in the beast's human meat store. They duly give the authorities the slip and race to the girl's rescue.

Unconventional is not the word. Bong's movie changes tone between (and sometimes within) every scene. One minute we're deep in splattery slapstick, the next we're having a Kubrickian nightmare. Strangely, the people who wouldn't accept this from a Hollywood production are often first in line to lap up the same nonsense when it's imported from the Far East.

Uniqueness is The Host's strong point. Editing isn't. Bong allows too many scenes to stretch beyond their natural end point and has a weakness for slo-mo which slows everything down, especially during the second half.

It's mad as a box of frogs but inside this bloated beast is a much leaner, sharper, nastier monster squealing to get out.

Snow Cake (2006)

Like snowballing, it's hit and miss

[7/10 · 20 September 2006]

The Academy loves the mentally 'different'. Dustin Hoffman bagged gold for Rain Man, as did Geoffrey Rush in Shine, and it almost worked for Jodie Foster's wild woodswoman turn in Nell. This is Sigourney Weaver's bid.

Functioning at the less severe end of the autistic spectrum, Weaver's Linda is capable of living alone but generally avoids human contact. She prefers to keep her home in meticulous order, munch snow and bounce on her trampoline. (Note to Academy voters: trampolining was a prominent motif in Shine.) Feeling responsible for the death of Linda's daughter, British gloombucket Alex (Rickman) comes to apologise. Linda allows him in simply so he can take out the trash. Alex sticks around and mystifyingly, he also grabs the amorous attentions of Linda's knockout neighbour Carrie-Anne Moss. The community doesn't approve of Maggie but she stays in town anyway. Strange.

Lightly dusted with wit and charm, this is a decent drama which is sympathetic to Linda's condition without being patronising (though her abruptness sometimes appears overly kooky). But while Weaver is consistently convincing, the script is not. Anyone familiar with autism will know that abstraction and fiction do not register in that world, which makes Linda's post-Scrabble flight of fancy highly unlikely.

The smalltown clichés are also disappointing (busybody neighbour, jealous cop who doesn't trust the outsider) as is the rather convenient explanation of how Linda got pregnant in the first place. That dramatic avenue is never explored. Ultimately, the film wants to have its snow cake and eat it.

Dallas 362 (2003)

No Caan do

[5/10 · 17 July 2006]

This have-a-go, first-time directing effort from actor Scott Caan strives for the cool quirkiness of True Romance but falls into an MTV-style wasteland.

An erratic modern-day western, it's the story of Rusty (Hatosy), a young man whose mum (Lynch) moved away from Dallas when Rusty's rodeo-performer dad bit the dust.

Shortly after arriving in their new hometown, Rusty became firm friends with fellow hellraiser Dallas (Caan). They've been inseparable ever since, sharing the same grotty pad and making money any which way they can.

But the beer-and-broads lifestyle has run its course for Rusty. He wants out of Dodge, even if it means leaving his best buddy behind.

His mum's psychiatrist boyfriend Bob (Goldblum) helps him through his dilemma. Bob's cool – he doesn't judge and he never turns down a spliff.

Rusty's mind is made up when Dallas hits upon the bright idea of jacking in the debt-collection lark to rob his bookie boss, while simultaneously agreeing to be the getaway driver on another job.

Cue many exchanges along the lines of "Are you retarded? Are you a retarded person? Have you lost your mind?" Flaws are acceptable in debut films but dodgy improvisation can be edited out. Or the scenes redone.

On paper, the cast is excellent. Like many other actors who make the switch behind the camera, Caan appears to have cashed in a few favours.

However, Marley Shelton vanishes after a single scene and Isla Fisher (Wedding Crashers), Freddie Rodriguez (Six Feet Under) and Selma Blair display embarrassingly poor improvisational skills. And the less said about Val Lauren's ridiculous turn as the local loser, the better.

Caan doesn't overstretch himself either, with Dallas being a copy of his bone-headed characters from Gone In 60 Seconds and Ocean's Eleven/Twelve.

Much-needed empathy comes from Hatosy as Rusty struggles to solve his friend-or-future conundrum. Jeff Goldblum is as reliable as ever but the show belongs to Lynch, who wrings every drop of dramatic juice from her small role.

There's enough energy to hold the attention but this adds nothing new to a familiar story and the silly and unlikely heist at the end helps not a jot.

V for Vendetta (2005)

Vacuous vehicle for a verbose vigilante

[2/10 · 13 April 2006]

V is indeed for vendetta. But it's also for Vespa, an under-powered vehicle with a monotonous drone that takes forever to get to its final destination. How apt.

Verily, the vessel of vigilantism with the vinyl-veneered visage is a verbal virtuoso who vindicates violence and vexes villains (and viewers) with vacuous values and vows of vengeance whilst voiding his victims with venom. And being such a valiant vouch-saviour of veracity, V's vile and vindictive behaviour is validated.

Ergo, any vociferous vituperation must be vented at the vendors of this vapid and verbose venture because V For Vendetta is a virtual vacuum of vigour, vitality or verve. Or, to borrow the script's most over-used word: "Boll**ks".

It's difficult to get behind an effete bore with no face and a Swing Out Sister wig who loves only one thing more than blowing things up: the sound of his own voice. Just when you'd put the bloated cod-philosophical ruminations of the The Matrix Reloaded's Architect from your mind, the Wachowski brothers have effectively given him his own movie.

"Who? Who is but the form following the function of what." Well thank you, Dr Seuss.

It drones on and on (and on) about freedom of thought and non-conformity before dressing everyone up to look exactly like V in a final scene that would have been deemed too cheesy for an 80s rock video.

And how many times do we have to watch a human kebab emerging from flaming ruins?

Vendetta creator Alan Moore knew what he was doing when he washed his hands of this debacle. Pity Natalie Portman didn't do the same thing. She's dreadful – even if you ignore the accent stuck between Dartford and Durban.

"I wish I didn't have to be here tonight" says one character. He took the words right out of my mouth.

The Legend of Zorro (2005)

Makes the sign of the ZZZ...

[1/10 · 22 March 2006]

Anyone who enjoyed the earlier Mask Of Zorro would be well-advised to avoid this chore of a sequel.

I don't know who was more bored by this worthless farrago - me or the people who made it. We know that Catherine Zeta-Jones is pretty/useless but at least she appeared to be enjoying herself in the original... maybe because she was actually given something to do back then. Here she drifts through the entire film with nothing but a nice frock and a disapproving look. I'll be generous and assume that chief villain Rufus Sewell's perpetual sneer is probably for the screenwriter.

The few set-pieces would look hokey in the vintage Zorro TV series, but spread as thinly as they are over two hours and separated by over-egged, repetitive dialogue, they offer meagre pickings to the action-starved.

On this evidence, it looks as though Martin Campbell will be the director to finally put Bond to the sword with Casino Royale (since director Lee Tamahori added to the embarrassment of Die Another Day with his cross-dressing antics). Adventures really don't come less adventurous than this.

Wedding Crashers (2005)

Crashes and burns

[2/10 · 23 February 2006]

Decent cast, good word-of-mouth and a no-beating-about-the-bush beginning, this was shaping up to be an amusing ride. It wasn't. The Xerox of a script, unimaginative structure and flat gags stretched to breaking point make Wedding Crashers a crashing bore. If Christopher Walken can't liven up your movie, nobody can.

I like Owen Wilson, Vince Vaughn even more, yet surely they can spot a duff script between them? For a comedy with an ostensibly good heart, it spices up a worrying number of its jokes with swearing. Profanity is my middle name, but even I know what's f****** funny and what isn't.

And when will people realise that Will Ferrell isn't as funny as he thinks he is? Elf showed that he does have talent but increasingly he relies on self-conscious mugging and overplayed idiocy. Natural comedians aren't desperate for laughs - this guy is just a circus clown who got lucky. Rather than having me clapping my hands with glee, his appearance had me clapping them over my eyes.

Overlong, over-familiar and over-praised, this movie made me feel very, very tired.

Tristram Shandy (2005)

Cocky and bullish

[8/10 · 12 January 2006]

How do you film an unfilmable book? Well, you can either make it up as you go along, as David Cronenberg did with Naked Lunch, or you take this approach and make a film about a film crew making a film of an unfilmable book. The tricky tome in question here is The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, Gentlemen - a bawdy work of wit and wonderment penned in 1760 by clergyman Laurence Sterne.

Steve Coogan plays Tristram - even though he's not born by the end of the book - as well as Tristram's father Walter... and himself. Or rather, a semi-fictional version of himself. Rob Brydon also stars as himself and Walter's brother - Tristram's Uncle Toby. There are lots of other familiar British TV actors either playing themselves playing other characters or simply playing characters who interact with the stars of the film-within-the-film (for example, Ian Hart plays the screenwriter but doesn't play Ian Hart). And Gillian Anderson makes an appearance. Confused? Don't worry, you won't be.

As the writer and director strive to retain the spirit of Shandy compromises have to be made to allow for star egos, historical accuracy (Mark Williams is excellent as a pain-in-the-arse military consultant), and a miniscule budget. In one cracking scene, the crew watch the 'rushes' of the underwhelming battle scene ("Look at that! There are, literally, tens of people..."), leaving the director in despair and the costume designer in tears.

The seemingly complicated set-up actually makes a lot of sense, with Coogan sending up the naughty-boy persona created for him by the British press and Brydon sending up Coogan, while the film itself sends up the movie-making process. Viewers will be frequently amused but never bewildered as Michael Winterbottom pulls it all together with panache.

Anyone unfamiliar with the novel won't learn much, but it matters not. Bawdy and barmy, A Cock And Bull Story embodies Sterne's work perfectly. Coogan gamely shows his vulnerable side (or maybe that's just good acting?) and shows terrific rapport with Brydon, who steals the show with marvellously mundane banter and spot-on impersonations of Coogan-as-Alan Partridge and Roger Moore. Give that man his own movie.

King Kong (2005)

A roaring success

[10/10 · 9 December 2005]

Uh-oh, 45 minutes in and no sight of the gorilla. It's 1933, and to make his movie masterpiece, producer Carl (devious) has lured actress Ann (fetching) and screenwriter Jack (heroic) onto a ship bound for exotic climes. The crew - grizzled captain, philosophical first mate, grubby cook, callow cabin boy - reckon that Carl is leading them into trouble. And so he is.

So far, so Titanic. But fear not, for as soon as the boat slams into the mythical Skull Island, all hell breaks loose. First, hostile natives snatch Ann because she'd make the perfect sacrifice for their simian god. Enter the big fella... he's 25 feet of ladykilling silverback, and boy does he take a shine to Ann. Then it's a hair-raising, bone-jarring race through the uncharted jungle for both Kong - who's desperate to hang on to his blonde prize - and the rescuers, led by Jack.

Never mind Never Land, this is Never-Go-There Land. It makes Jurassic Park look like Wimbledon Common. Apes aside, the place is swarming with angry and enormous beasts causing snapping, flapping, stomping, chomping, falling, squalling, creepy-crawly carnage. But amidst it all Carl (clearly mad) has a great idea. Why not capture Kong and take him back…?

Quite simply, this is the most spectacular, exhilarating and marvellously sustained hour of action adventure I've ever seen... But is there anything left for the final act? Hell, yes.

One wrecked theatre and a little mayhem on Broadway leads us up the Empire State building for the dizzying, chest-beating climax. It won't do anyone with a fear of heights any favours whatsoever - and everyone else's fingernails will be burrowing through their chair arms as they will Kong to hang on.

Technically, the production is spectacular on every level, from the wilds of Skull Island to the bustle of 30s' Manhattan. But Jackson's handling of the bond between Kong and Ann is equally impressive. It's a key element, and what could have been laughable is actually something that even cynics could buy into. That's because as much care has gone into Kong's character as his presence. His expressions gel wonderfully with Naomi Watts' committed performance - and she's so much more than just a swooning damsel-in-distress. Fay Wray was a game gal and all, but she never had a giant centipede crawl in her mouth.

So what if Jack Black isn't quite Machiavellian enough to convince in his role and that the first hour is slightly draggy and prone to daft speechifying? One bit of miscasting and a deliberate beginning are but tiny scars on what is a truly magnificent creature.

I'm still dumbstruck. Kong's awesome. Kong rules. Bravo, Peter Jackson, bravo.

The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe (2005)

Ignore the religious tub-thumping; this is one for the kids

[7/10 · 6 December 2005]

As an adaptation of a much-loved saga of mythical realms and fabulous beasts, largely filmed in New Zealand by a New Zealander, this first Narnian chronicle was always going to invite comparisons to Peter Jackson's Lord of the Rings juggernaut. But where Middle Earth was shrouded in gloom, Adamson's Narnia is a more welcoming place; a winter wonderland that children would love to explore, White Witch or no.

The tale begins in dark times as the Pevensie children - Lucy, Edmund, Susan and Peter - are evacuated from blitzed London to the country mansion of twinkly Professor Kirke. During a game of hide-and-seek, Lucy (well-cast debutant Georgie Henley) stumbles into a room furnished only with a huge wardrobe, at the back of which she finds... a snowbound forest. And has tea with a faun called Tumnus.

Of course, Edmund poo-poohs her story until he follows her and is lured into doing the bidding of wily white witch Jadis (the spikily splendid Tilda Swinton). If he brings her his siblings, he'll get as much Turkish delight as he can eat. Now that's sweet-talk.

When the Pevensies arrive en masse, Tumnus is gone but a kindly Cockney beaver (voiced by Ray Winstone) tells them that only they can fulfil a prophecy to restore peace to Narnia by joining the righteous forces of the noble lion Aslan. But Edmund's treachery sets Jadis and her wolves on a relentless hunt to catch Peter, Susan and Lucy before they reach Aslan's army.

Much has been made of the book's Christian overtones, but while the movie retains the story's core elements it goes easy on the preaching to provide well-intentioned and wholesome entertainment - you know, for kids? Admittedly, the self-sacrifice and subsequent resurrection of Aslan is laid on a bit thick and 'Jadis' does sound like 'Judas'. But it's possible to overlook the biblical themes to enjoy a basic tale of good-versus-evil.

The pacing is brisk and the denizens of Narnia are nicely rendered (though the green-screen work is a bit shonky), from the earthly beavers and wolves to minotaurs, griffons, centaurs and cyclops(es?).

Grown-ups will appreciate it as a cynicism-free breath of nostalgia... but they may have to keep an eye on the kids when they next go shopping for bedroom furniture.

Just a few questions to ponder: where's Aslan been the last 100 years when he's needed? Why aren't the beavers afraid of humans wearing fur coats? How come Lucy's potion heals the most horrific wounds but not a cut lip? And why are all evil creatures - white witches excepted - ugly? Lord knows.

House of Wax (2005)

Dumb and dummies

[6/10 · 24 November 2005]

Aside from Elisha Cuthbert's tumble into a tip full of rotting roadkill, the first half of House Of Wax (a distant relation of the Vincent Price 3D shlocker) is pretty humdrum viewing. Six young roadtrippers (boring couple, horny couple, bad boy, nerd) make camp, make enemies with an unseen truck driver, wake up to car trouble, and - being utterly stupid - split into ever-diminishing groups. Jeepers Creepers, it's the Texas Wrong Turn Massacre!

But once we enter the titular tourist trap - and I use the term advisedly - the ultra-squelchy second act provides some splendidly nasty moments that everyone should learn from and enjoy. Never put your fingers where you can't see them, don't try to peel your wax-covered friends, never leave Paris Hilton without a responsible adult, and don't build a furnace under a thermo-softening structure (ever had one of those nightmares where you try to run away but your feet won't move...?).

And isn't it nice to see Miss Cuthbert transforming herself from the dumb blonde of 24 into a dumb brunette?

The Exorcism of Emily Rose (2005)

The Exorcist, John Grisham-style

[5/10 · 18 November 2005]

Acknowledged as an actual case of demonic possession by the Catholic church, this 'true' supernatural drama is rendered flat by pedestrian pacing and underdeveloped characterisation. Three parts courtroom blather to one part devilry, it would have benefited from less cross-examining and more head-spinning.

"Only I can tell Emily's story", pronounces Tom Wilkinson's accused priest as he demands to take the witness stand. But any one of half a dozen people present at the trial could have told her tale, and none of them were in trouble. (It's not giving anything away to say that 'Emily's story', as presented here, is essentially just a couple of eyewitness accounts and the reading of a letter).

Much appears to have been glossed over and replaced with, well, not much. The special effects are low-key and quietly effective but they won't scare the pants off anyone. And the jerky visuals are at odds with the static trial scenes.

Moreover, nothing comes of the things that go bump in the night at defence lawyer Laura Linney's house, Campbell Scott's prosecutor is a two-dimensional yawn, Emily's bumpkin clan are barely heard from and no explanations or theories are given as to why the demonic forces enter Emily in the first place. What satanic purpose might there be to killing a powerless country lass?

As a courtroom drama, I have few objections. But as an account of an infamous and unsettling tale, I fail to see where this line of argument is leading. In summation, 'Emily Rose' is a TV movie with a misleading trailer.

Lord of War (2005)

Adding colour to a very grey area

[8/10 · 14 November 2005]

Writer/director Niccol's uniquely-spun morality tale is a worthwhile watch. With Nic Cage, he makes gun-runner Yuri an ethically bankrupt but rather likable chap, which has an unsettling effect on the audience. Should we admire him for his undoubted acumen and pragmatic approach to the distasteful arms trade or vilify him as a human leech who grows fat on the misery of others?

Yuri takes us through his business (to him, it's all just business) in a first-hand account which pegs him as smart, smooth and inventive. His justifications for what he does are questionable at best, but at least he gives them - "I'd rather people fired my guns and missed, just as long as they're being fired." But he's sometimes too confident for his own good - and that of others.

In many respects, this is like 'Blow' with guns, only better. It's all very Faustian but Niccol keeps it informative (What's an AK-47? Here's a quick history...) and sharply paced, keeping a dark sense of humour but largely staying true to the ultra-serious subject matter.

The film's weakness lies with the secondary characters (though not the actors playing them; they're fine) - the younger brother (Leto) who goes off the rails; the loving wife (Moynahan) who says she doesn't need to know the truth but reacts predictably when she does; the dogged lawman (Hawke); the evil dictator (Eamonn Walker) and his trigger-happy son... We're familiar with these people so their fates hold no surprises.

But the jarring life-of-a-bullet opening sequence is inspired, and scenes featuring seas of bullet shells, mountains of guns and tanks as far as the eye can see leave the audience in no doubt that this is a very grim business.

One question Lord Of War doesn't answer is this: why do they call them 'assault' rifles? Don't all rifles assault?