Water
REVIEWED 11/05, © STEPHEN BOURNE
www.ofrb.gov.on.ca | www.rcq.gouv.qc.ca


REVIEW:

It hardly seemed of any real importance to seven year-old Chuyia (Sarala), when her sadness-riddled father had led his little girl by oxen cart to the Centuries-old holy city of Varanasi nestling the Ganges River. He had tried to explain that her husband had died, but Chuyia barely remembered getting married. Still mourning the loss that had passed and his loss that would happen at dawn, her father couldn't bring himself to tell his young daughter why her bracelets were taken from her tiny wrists or why her long hair needed to be shaved from her head. She was a widow in India, in 1938, and the ancient Laws of Manu decreed that Chuyia faced three life altering options: Immediately die in the ceremonial flames of her husband's funeral pyre, be remarried to her brother-in-law if his family conceded, or this. Chuyia's father had made the third choice for her, leading her through that city's slum of narrow alleyways to the crumbling ashram of widows, where she would remain for the rest of her days. Shunned by higher castes, but alive. Malnourished, but cared for by the elderly women kept within those tired walls ever since they were her age. Chuyia wanted to go home. This was now her home. She didn't understand. It didn't matter. Gandhi's teachings that even the Untouchables were the children of God hadn't changed strongly held tradition. However, it was there where Chuyia had easily befriended the lovely woman Kalyani (Lisa Ray), learning chores, taking their daily walk to the river's edge to bathe and pray, and playing simple games to pass the time until - as Chuyia thought - this precocious child's father would return to collect her. Kalyani's dreams were slightly different, becoming surprisingly smitten by Narayana (John Abraham), a handsome gentleman recently come home from law school to find a wife at his doting mother's insistence. These were dangerous times, and Kalyani being a widowed child bride herself didn't bode well for this budding romance. The ashram's fat and grizzled self-made leader also didn't like the possibility of losing Kalyani as their only reliable means of financial survival - through prostitution secretly encouraged by a clientele of Brahmin gentry - to a forbidden marriage. Narayana didn't care, he was in love, and his aching to spend every waking minute with Kalyani grew with each passing day, towards tragedy...

Coming out of the theatre after sitting through this aggravatingly plodding, subtitled drama from Cannes and Genie Award-winning director/writer Deepa Mehta ('Sam & Me (1991), 'The Republic of Love' (2003)) about seven year-old South Asian widow Chuyia's (Sarala; 'Perfumed Garden' (2000)) first few days of slowly being inculcated by India's ancient traditions regarding brides of the deceased basically held in storage until their own death near the holy temple of Varanasi in 1938, I probably should have felt enlightened by the experience, but I sure didn't feel any richer for seeing it. Reportedly the last in Mehta's apparently controversial Elemental Trilogy which includes 'Fire' (1996) and 'Earth' (1998), 'Water' is an incredibly boring quagmire of empty scenes and uninspired storytelling for the most part. It barely manages to pull itself together as a vaguely worthwhile Art House film once cinematographer Giles Nuttgens' lens eventually abandons Chuyia as the primary character in favour of the tragically budding and far more fascinating romance between that impoverished ashram's pretty face turned prostitute Kalyani (Toronto's Lisa Ray; 'Bollywood/Hollywood' (2002)) and liberal-minded Law student Narayana (John Abraham; 'Dhoom' (2004), 'Garaam Masala' (2005)). A paying audience still has to sit through about an hour of this hundred and fourteen-minute picture before the good stuff materializes. Don't get me wrong, though. The subject matter of child brides and these women given little option but to be burned on their husband's funeral pyre, forced to starve in shame as unwanted martyrs or be wed to their brother-in-law as heirlooms than anything else is incredibly powerful and worthy of examination - particularly considering this practice still seems to exist - however, this movie is a poor excuse for a messenger, lulling you into fits of exasperation while waiting for something to happen that justifies the price of admission. Even a shot from the hip documentary in the vein of 'Born into Brothels' (2004) would likely have been a better initiative. I also understand why so much footage is used in the way it was, trying to show how all of these elderly widows might have been when they'd first arrived as frightened and confused little girls, but it's highly questionable whether two thirds of this sit-through would have been needed by a more capable hand at the helm. There's one scene - a flashback - that's the only truly memorable scene. As it stands, you're hardly given a reason to care what happens here, despite Ray's and Abraham's obvious subsequent efforts to cobble intriguing depth from the bits of darling Mehta's slothfully meandering screenplay that focus on their roles. It's a shame, because the potential is there, but is only subtilely touched upon or entirely missed. I'd read that racist Hindu fundamentalists had disrupted filming of 'Water' in 2000 by burning location sets and attempting to force the Indian Parliament to ban it from being made. Well, all of that external energy was needlessly wasted, because this gruelling screening quite effortlessly sabotages pretty well all of its efforts in the final cut. Hugely disappointing.

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Wolf Creek
REVIEWED 12/05, © STEPHEN BOURNE
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REVIEW:

According to the Internet Movie Database, this overwhelmingly monotonous and dreadfully unscary low budget Australian horror flick about young fictional British tourists Kristy Earl (Kestie Morassi; 'Darkness Falls' (2003), 'Thunderstruck' (2004)) and Liz Hunter (Cassandra Magrath; 'Hotel de Love' (1996)) becoming stranded and brutally terrorized midway through their Outback roadtrip during a stopover at the actual secluded desert crater Wolfe Creek with their local companion Ben Mitchell (Nathan Phillips; 'Take Away' (2003), 'One Perfect Day' (2004)) is apparently based on the real Backpacker Murders committed in New South Wales' Belanglo State Forest that reportedly ended in 1992 with the discovery of the partially decaying corpse of either Caroline Clarke or Joanne Walters - both real life backpackers from England who had vanished five months earlier - and for which former convict and accused rapist Ivan Milat was given seven life sentences three years later for mortally stabbing or shooting those women and other known victims. Cross check that info with the Wikipedia online encyclopedia, and you'll discover that 'Wolf Creek' is supposedly inspired by another mass murder in the Land Down Under, called the Snowtown Murders, where eight mutilated bodies kept in barrels were found inside an abandoned bank vault located north of Adelaide.

However, writer/director Greg McLean's grim story relentlessly sabotaged by coma inducing scenes that sluggishly go nowhere while introducing an unnamed Crocodile Dundee-like psychopath unleashing his sick taste for torture and death upon this ninety-nine minute film's trio of victimized protagonists does seem to more closely match the cruel deeds of what Milat was imprisoned for, if there might have been a cinematographer around at the time who witnessed those morbidly chilling crimes. Unfortunately, that's about the only tangibly compelling aspect of 'Wolf Creek'. Nothing else. This lazily cobbled effort is absolutely and unequivocally the worst movie of 2005. Not only does it easily win at being the biggest soul sucking waste of time and box office cash spent this past year, but it's also the most potent cinematic sleeping pill that I've ever encountered. Period. For example, the opening preamble so completely fails to encourage any interest in these characters or their planned excursion that I came close to forgetting what screening I was sitting through, ten minutes after the film started. And then, when I did remember, I still didn't care. Here I am expending even more time on it by telling you about 'Wolf Creek' and I still don't care enough about it to actually bother finding out the name of the actor who plays the bad guy with the big knife. It basically plays out as a labouriously meandering, cheaply shot home movie imitation of 'House of Wax' (2005), or pretty well any other big screen slasher orgy where unwitting human sacrifices end up bound, beaten and bloodied in an excruciatingly vacuous exercise to see which character is snuffed first and who manages to live long enough to see the closing credits and a possible sequel green lighted. Those last four words are truly frightening. Admittedly, the ending does manage to pique vague interest, partially because the gritty camera work - by whom, I don't care - does improve slightly as the story finally starts going somewhere. However, the ending is mostly of interest because it's the ending, when you might actually feel the urge to spring into several cart wheels of euphoric glee, because you don't have to sit through any more of it. No, really.

Calling 'Wolf Creek' bad could honestly be considered a wildly overstated compliment.

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The World's Fastest Indian
REVIEWED 02/06, © STEPHEN BOURNE
www.ofrb.gov.on.ca | www.rcq.gouv.qc.ca


REVIEW:

Based on a specific chapter in what must have been the full life of famed New Zealand garden shed tinkerer and land speed record breaker Burt Munro (1899-1978), this strangely endearing 2005 movie from writer/director Roger Donaldson plays out more like an easy-going, mildly humourous After School Special than anything else. I kept on being reminded of the types of live-action mini-dramas that Disney used to make, frankly. That's not a bad thing, but a lot of what makes 'The World's Fastest Indian' an enjoyable hundred and twenty-seven minute time at the cinema has more to do with the host of slightly oddball characters that Munro (played by Anthony Hopkins; 'A Bridge Too Far' (1977), 'The Human Stain' (2003)) comes into contact with during his moderately eventful journey from the small rural town of Invercargill halfway around the world to the lunar-like Salt Flats of Utah's Bonneville Raceway than what happens on that track. The arms-length approach used by Donaldson is obvious, and could have something to do with him knowing the man through making the 1971 documentary, 'Offerings to the God of Speed' about old Burt, that tends to get in the way of this picture giving any lasting insight into Munro's dogged need for speed.

This truly is a fairly uncomplicated effort that pays more attention to creatively fleshing itself out through the supporting cast, vaguely like those that Jude Law's character encounters in 'Cold Mountain' (2004), but on a more placid scale. That's where this flick shines. While Hopkins' depiction of Munro remains virtually superficial and enigmatic, the host of friends he makes along the way is what fuels your fascination throughout. So much so, that it's a shame Donaldson doesn't linger a little longer on those moments when your attention is cleverly tugged at by - for instance - LA used car dealership owner Fernando (Paul Rodriguez; 'Born in East L.A.' (1987), 'A Cinderella Story' (2004)) or Burt's Amazonian Transvestite motel desk clerk Tina Washington (Chris Williams; 'Dodgeball: A True Underdog Story' (2004)), or by Jake (Saginaw Grant; 'Grey Owl' (1999)) the kindhearted American Aborigine who shares a bonfire in the middle of nowhere. That's where problems arise here. Sure, it's obvious that Hopkins has a blast at playing yet another under dog eccentric for the big screen, but he fails to project enough charisma to reclaim your interest in the wake of you being presented with these other far more captivating souls. The last act, which deals with Burt's first US attempt at pushing his modified 1920 Indian motorcycle past two hundred miles per hour, pretty well demands that you freely share his passion and won't see most of those scenes as quickly becoming artificially self-indulgent pretense. I wasn't sold and actually felt like I was biding my time until the road trip picked up again, frankly. It never does.

'The World's Fastest Indian' is still an entertaining enough rental if you're a bike buff, but it's not really something worth getting a speeding ticket for by trying to check it out at the matinee.

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When a Stranger Calls
REVIEWED 02/06, © STEPHEN BOURNE
www.ofrb.gov.on.ca | www.rcq.gouv.qc.ca


REVIEW:

Camilla Belle ('The Patriot' (1998), 'The Ballad of Jack and Rose' (2005)) stars as Fernhill, Colorado high school Track and Field runner Jill Johnson, grudgingly babysitting this relentlessly tedious and unimaginative remake of the arguably classic 1979 horror film that had Carol Kane in the same role when this ridiculously vapid story at least had a fighting chance of seeming fresh. It's truly mind boggling why this dreadfully boring eighty-seven minute slab of cinematic cheese was made at all, frankly. 'When a Stranger Calls' isn't the slightest bit scary, contains no memorably enjoyable scenes or dialogue, is completely bereft of any psychological thrills or down and dirty gratuitous gore, and basically resembles the first few moments of any other actual fright flick that have been hacked out and lazily stretched in order to give this cast a big screen paid gig 'til the real acting jobs materialize. It feels like a pedantic prelude to an intended sequel - such as, perhaps a remake of the original's direct-to-TV sequel, 'When a Stranger Calls Back' (1993) - that director Simon West ('The General's Daughter' (1999), 'Lara Croft: Tomb Raider' (2001)) should have seriously considered just cutting to the chase and making instead.

Sure, it's great to see Belle in a leading role, but it quickly becomes an unbearably excruciating exercise of endurance watching her do little more than stand up, sit down, walk around and look increasingly scared like an obedient human finger puppet while she waits alone in that secluded house on that dark and stormy night for the phone to ring every couple of minutes. Yawn. Hollywood 101 dictates that reality and common sense have no relevance the further into the woods you go, I guess. Even if she had taken a short break from all of that to hunt down composer James Michael Dooley's psycho violinist responsible for this picture's lousy, chalkboard scratches soundtrack, there might have been something here for a paying audience to enjoy. As it stands, every single silly plot twist is glaringly telegraphed far in advance, so you aren't given the opportunity to be surprised by anything that happens throughout. There's a black cat, and a contained flock of yellow birds. Gee, I wonder what will happen. The house lights are set up with motion detectors, so they couldn't possibly wink out when the creepy caller (played by Tommy Flanagan ('Gladiator' (2000), 'Sin City' (2005), and voiced by Lance Henriksen ('Aliens' (1986), 'Alien Vs. Predator' (2004)) eventually enters the scene, right? Duh. The most aggravating aspect is that there's clearly a lot of wasted potential here. There truly isn't anything worthwhile about this one, except perhaps a few scenes where cinematographer Peter Menzies Jr. has a little fun with angular shadows. They aren't enough. 'When a Stranger Calls' is probably the type of feature that would easily fit best as part of a Drive-In show, where you go with more of an interested in, uh, fogging up your car windows than actually watching the movies.

The effort to make a decent movie just isn't made with this offering, so it's your call why anyone should bother wasting time and money on this hugely disappointing final cut.

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The Wild
REVIEWED 04/06, © STEPHEN BOURNE
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REVIEW:

Renowned Disney animator turned debuting feature director Steve "Spaz" Williams offers up this familiar yet entertaining computer animated feature in which the New York Zoo's young Ryan (voiced by Greg Cipes; 'Club Dread' (2004)) the lion cub - nudged by youthful curiosity inspired by his somewhat overbearing father Samson's tall tales of "The Wild" plains of the Serengeti - finds himself trapped in a Zoos to Africa Rescue Program shipping container quickly loaded aboard a freighter destined for the open seas, and Samson (Kiefer Sutherland; 'Flashback' (1990), 'Taking Lives' (2004)) and his friends Benny the Squirrel (James Belushi; 'Red Heat' (1988), 'Joe Somebody' (2001)), Bridget the Giraffe (Janeane Garofalo; 'Reality Bites' (1994), 'Stay' (2005)), Nigel the Koala (Eddie Izzard; 'Mystery Men' (1999), 'Ocean's Twelve' (2004)) and Larry the Boa Constrictor (Richard Kind; 'A Bug's Life' (1998), 'Spymate' (2006)) head out beyond their creature comforts in captivity and through the treacherous streets and sewers of Manhattan on a daring rescue mission that leads this improbable posse to the untamed jungles of a volcanic island populated by wildebeests scheming to ascend from being the cringing prey of lions to unstoppable predators fuelled by the blood of their ferocious feline foes. Sadly, much of this otherwise delightful ninety-four minute family adventure does suspiciously feel like a softer rehash of 'Madagascar' (2005) at its core, with these stylishly anthropomorphized animals escaping their city pens in order to chase after one of their own, ending up someplace where their natural instincts are completely alien to them. Even the humour is similar, relentlessly playing off stereotypes and spoofing fairly recognizable Hollywood flicks in the process.

If you liked 'Madagascar', you'll probably thoroughly enjoy 'The Wild' for the same reasons. However, this one does differ somewhat in how the characters are fleshed out as being recognizably less over-the-top and far more approachable for a paying audience to empathize with. In that sense, 'The Wild' feels more like a close relative of 'Finding Nemo' (2003), minus the sharks and such. The screenplay has slightly more heart to it than 'Madagascar' does, still giving kids the zaniness they're looking for while offering older moviegoers comparably more credible reasons to care about what happens to this particular cartoon crew of oddballs, beyond simply watching them be outrageously funny 'til the closing credits roll. That's about the only clear difference, though, other than a few minor superficial changes and recognizably in-joke peripheral roles - such as CBC Television's famed 'Hockey Night in Canada' star Don Cherry sounding off as a rink side commentator, and a couple of Canadian Geese who sound like Bob and Doug MacKenzie from 'Strange Brew' (1983) and TV's legendary 'SCTV'. You're given the same neurotic "covert agents", except that they're native chameleons, not escaped penguins, for instance. Sure, what happens on the island is different here, because Samson and his son and friends face clearly defined antagonists in the form of the wildebeests lorded over by their obsessively bloodthirsty, choreographically inclined leader Kazar (William Shatner; 'Star Trek: Generations' (1994), 'Miss Congeniality 2: Armed & Fabulous' (2005)). That's where this movie attempts to veer sideways, and yet still seems like it's borrowing ideas from previous films. The entire side story involving Nigel eventually being crowned as The Great Him feels like it's torn from C-3PO's escapades in 'Star Wars: Episode VI - Return of the Jedi' (1983).

It's a good show, but all of it is familiar in one form or another, except for how the main characters are presented, for the most part. That's really why it's worth checking out.

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World Trade Center
REVIEWED 08/06, © STEPHEN BOURNE
www.ofrb.gov.on.ca | www.rcq.gouv.qc.ca


REVIEW:

According to reports, between sixteen thousand four hundred and eighteen thousand six hundred innocents were inside Tower One and Two of Manhattan's landmark World Trade Center on the morning of September 11, 2001, when Al-Qaeda suicide bombers purposely crashed two of four hijacked American Airlines commercial flights into those twenty eight year old, one hundred and ten storey tall twin sky scrapers - subsequently causing the deaths of three hundred and forty three police officers and fire fighters there, of the confirmed twenty nine hundred and ninety seven people killed or missing as a result of those four horrific surprise attacks - where only twenty survivors were pulled from the towers' collapsed wreckage, with this stunning cinematic character study from director Oliver Stone ('JFK' (1991), 'Alexander' (2004)) based on that true event yet focusing on the narrow experiences of the New York Port Authority Police Department's rookie Officer Will Jimeno (Michael Peña; 'Gone in Sixty Seconds' (2000), 'Crash' (2004)) and twenty one year veteran PAPD Sergeant John McLoughlin (Nicolas Cage; 'The Rock' (1996), 'Lord of War' (2005)), listed as being the eighteenth and nineteenth victims eventually rescued from that massive ruin of carnage. Everyone likely remembers exactly what they were doing on that day, when this act of cowardice changed the world. So, apart from further Al-Qaeda terrorist plots and attacks dominating recent headlines five years later, it's both difficult and cathartic to revisit Ground Zero as it's depicted in this film. Seeing the morning Sun rise over acclaimed architect Minoru Yamasaki's (1912-1986) famous twin towers here as being a normal, familiar part of the Manhattan sky line seems strangely sentimental. Director Stone gently takes you back, methodically accounting what happened from the perspectives of McLoughlin and Jimeno, following their routine duties turned harrowing survival spent pinned under tonnes of shattered concrete and twisted burning debris twenty feet below street level. They went in to help with the evacuation efforts, and were buried alive in a freight elevator shaft when Tower One crumbled on top of them twenty three minutes after the South Tower fell.

'World Trade Center' is an astounding story - primarily due to the fact that the actual story is so undeniably compelling - but also because writer Andrea Berloff's screenplay doesn't attempt to exploit or embellish this disaster or the heroics for the sake of mindlessly entertaining a paying audience. An extreme feeling of realism locks everything in place as this screening progresses at a subdued pace. You see the surreal low shadow of Flight 11 - the first plane to crash - followed by frantic CNN coverage and crowds of shocked faces. It's actually a small picture and not the epic fans of Stone might expect, mostly shot in a dimly lit crawl space, where Cage and Peña's incredibly insightful performances heavily rely on strong dialogue with very little physical acting. Sure, there are aspects of the slightly similar 'Ladder 49' (2004) throughout, where the script unavoidably cuts to flash backs that flood scenes of increasingly tenuous consciousness. However, just as 9/11 sent shock waves across the United States and around the world, this hundred and twenty eight minute movie masterfully balances that tangible sense of claustrophobic doom by it highlighting the numbing ripple effect of overwhelming disbelief, felt in the peripheral plots featuring Maria Bello ('Coyote Ugly' (2000), 'A History of Violence' (2005)) and Maggie Gyllenhaal ('Secretary' (2002), 'Mona Lisa Smile' (2003)) as wives Donna McLoughlin and Allison Jimeno, and that of former Marine Dave Karnes (Michael Shannon; 'Groundhog Day' (1993), 'The Woodsman' (2004)) - the intensely stoic man of faith and volunteer rescue worker who arrives from Connecticut to risk his own life searching for survivors at night, finding those two trapped men hours later by sheer luck. You're never allowed to forget that these are real people. Like a snap shot of humanity, 'World Trade Center' deftly captures the strength and resolve of character brought to the forefront in those lives that likely encapsulate many of the personal stories to come from that painful day. I'd read about the controversy surrounding this effort, were certain witnesses involved have voiced outrage that their input apparently wasn't respected in the same manner as was done for 'United 93' (2006). That reaction is understandable, but 9/11 happened to all of us and continues to affect us, whether you were there or not. It seems as though what Stone has accomplished here manages to speak to a greater good, rather than merely re-enacting what happened, though. Both films are needed as catharsis, with this one's powerful message of camaraderie and hope in the face of insurmountable catastrophe coming at the right time for moviegoers who are ready to heal that perpetual underlying trauma.

Absolutely see this film, for reasons much more valuable than it most likely becoming an Oscar contender.

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Who Killed the Electric Car?
REVIEWED 08/06, © STEPHEN BOURNE
www.ofrb.gov.on.ca | www.rcq.gouv.qc.ca


REVIEW:

In an attempt to apparently scandalize American corporate and government decision makers, this rather drawn out and suspiciously self-indulgent documentary from debuting feature writer/director Chris Paine chronicles and narrowly examines the doomed birth and short life of General Motors' first practical electric car developed for consumers - the EV-1 - of which approximately one thousand were manufactured and leased throughout California and Arizona beginning in the late 1990's, where various conspiratorial opinions regarding that car's demise are speculated upon towards sharing the blame. Clearly, Paine's passion for this little zero emission two-seater that is shown here as being summarily sabotaged by the automotive industry, oil companies, State and Federal governments, and a reportedly apathetic and befuddled general public overwhelmingly fuels the predominant rhetoric of this ninety-two minute film. Superficial yet interesting background is definitely afforded the surprisingly long legacy of electric cars, where a paying audience discovers that they were popular in the States as early as the end of the 19th Century - although, you need to look elsewhere to learn that the first such vehicle was invented by Scotsman Robert Anderson in the 1830s, that the French perfected the batteries powering those bygone horseless carriages almost one hundred and fifty years ago, and that famed inventor Thomas Edison owned an electric car. 'Who Killed the Electric Car?' is an enjoyable enough movie, but it lacks focus and tends to become a hornet's nest of emotionally charged selective information at times, as though its need to sate a kind of vendetta driven naive outrage connected to every EV-1 being taken off of the road and either donated to museums or crushed and ground up by GM is of primary importance at all costs. It begins with a mock funeral, complete with mourners and snappy eulogies and piqued media curiosity. Even the title is dubiously embellished, considering the last brief moments before the closing credits do acknowledge that other car makers are expected to roll out their new electric cars soon. The Tesla Roadster, Mitsubishi's MIEV, and the Smart Car EV in Britain are merely three examples of the rejuvenated phenomenon, where hundreds of thousands of electric vehicles already currently run worldwide.

Apparently according to the Electric Drive Transportation Association, there are at least sixty thousand low speed, electric powered vehicles used across the United States alone. They can't all be golf carts and wheelchairs, can they? All the same, this flick obsesses over one specific US-made high speed auto, because (I guess) telling a negative, inflammatory story revolving around one tiny foot note of foregone extinction that resulted in picket lines and impassioned Americans being arrested out of loyalty to a somewhat Quixotic cause is sexier for cinematographer Thaddeus Wadleigh's camera to linger on. Apart from it failing to contain a tangibly meaningful message beyond encouraging further mistrust of Capitalist authority and an inactive fear of global warming, the only other things missing are superimposed captions telling you when to either cheer loudly or chuck rotten tomatoes at the screen. Celebrities such as Tom Hanks, Mel Gibson and television director Peter Horton are shown raving about their love of the cars handling, speed and cleanliness. Horton is later seen close to tears while watching his EV-1 being loaded onto a truck as the last of its kind to be repossessed. A small list of environmental advocates that includes peppy former EV-1 dealer turned Plug In America spokesperson Chelsea Sexton and longtime political gadfly Ralph Nader expound the obvious virtues of the EV-1, and then rile against supposedly nefarious forces cited here that conspired to replace it with comparatively lesser efficient hydrogen cell prototypes and hybrid models that still require gasoline. At the same time, accessibility to cleaner fuels or alternative modes of transportation are never mentioned. Surprisingly few of these interviewees give any indication of what they've since done to avoid returning to being what this film calls "junkies" of the problematic internal combustion engine and foreign oil reliant status quo. Furthermore, the suspected pollution and environmental impact of any automobile plant is never examined, regardless of whether or not they make electric cars. And, uh, aren't batteries made from strip mined natural resources, and toxic to the environment? Oops, that's never discussed either. It seems as though those involved with this cinematic effort live in a very little box and tilt dangerously close to being just as guilty as the big business interests they accuse of spreading misinformation. I'm not questioning the validity of electric cars, I'm questioning Paine's motives in seemingly trying to inculcate potential followers for his sentimental big screen gripe without this documentary bothering to expose the entire story in relevant detail. After all, that's what it seems to claim it does.

Cautiously pick this precocious swan song as a second or third choice rental, as part of a larger effort to maybe help encourage personal decisions regarding how to leave a smaller foot print on this fragile planet of ours, but a lot of 'Who Killed the Electric Car?' seems too rhetorically loose and unconvincingly melodramatic for its own good to be worth the price of admission.

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The Wicker Man
REVIEWED 09/06, © STEPHEN BOURNE
www.ofrb.gov.on.ca | www.rcq.gouv.qc.ca


REVIEW:

On leave after witnessing a strange and deadly collision on a lonely stretch of road, emotionally fragile California State Freeway Patrol motorcycle Officer Edward Malus (Nicolas Cage; 'Fast Times at Ridgemont High' (1982), 'National Treasure 2' (2007)) responds to a mysterious handwritten plea from ex-fiancée Willow Woodward (Kate Beahan; 'The Crocodile Hunter: Collision Course' (2002), 'Flightplan' (2005)) to investigate the disappearance of her young daughter Rowan (British Columbia's Erika-Shaye Gair; 'RV' (2006), 'White Noise 2: The Light' (2007)) on her reclusive Coastal Washington island home that's inhabited by a suspiciously unhelpful commune led by Sister Summersisle (Ellen Burstyn; 'The Exorcist' (1973), 'Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood' (2002)), in this outrageously poor remake from co-writer/director Neil LaBute ('Nurse Betty' (2000), 'Possession' (2002)) loosely adapted from the award winning 1973 Brit Cult Classic starring Edward "The Equalizer" Woodward and Christopher Lee, that plunges Malus ever closer to unearthing that colony's diabolical Springtime scheme of ensuring last year's worst harvest on record doesn't happen again. While sitting through this ninety-seven minute waste of time and otherwise proven talent, I couldn't help but imagine that it must have been written by an angry little man after he'd been dumped by his girlfriend or wife. The amount of sheer anger foisted against females that pummels a paying audience throughout this version of 'The Wicker Man' is absolutely mind boggling and unacceptably disappointing to see coming from Hollywood these days.

In the original, modern England comes face to face with the beliefs and practices of a contemporary Druid sect, apparently inspired by what Roman Emperor Julius Caesar (100 BC-44 BC) wrote about their arguably blood ritualistic UK predecessors in his book, Commentarii de Bello Gallico. This time around, present day sectarian America unwittingly stumbles onto what LaBute and co-writer Anthony Shaffer (the guy who also penned the first film) clearly present as being an island of diabolically extreme Amazonian-like Feminists with vaguely Wiccan roots, who summarily oppress, objectify and sacrifice men. I guess calling it 'The Island of Black Widows' was too clever. In other words, unlike what ever juvenile male fantasies were sated by the likes of 'Abbott and Costello Go to Mars' (1953) and 'Cat-Women of the Moon' (1954), 'The Wicker Man' (2006) is a misogynist's satisfying nightmare. The primary message here is almost Old Testament ecclesiastic in its blatant depiction of self sufficient and powerful women as being conniving, murderous betrayers. Apart from that, other glaring problems quickly sabotage this picture as well. Joel Plotch's awkward editing betrays virtually every glimmer of shock value, with the worst example of that being when you don't see what Cage's character jolts back in shock at, when he's shown the oozing contents of a heavy sack. It's anyone's guess, if that frightening thing is a gruesome corpse, the bill for his brief marriage to Lisa Marie Presley, or something else. You're never told. Also, several times, references are made to potentially interesting plot points that are curiously ignored later on. For instance, the irony that Malus - who is deathly allergic to bee stings - ends up in a place that heavily relies on the commercial mass production of "free range" honey seems completely ignored.

His reactions and the subsequent results of him eventually being swarmed would probably be the same, regardless. You're additionally supposed to understand the bizarre medieval ramblings of Summerisle that suddenly materialize in the wildly anticlimactic downer ending, as though you have somehow been able to selectively remember certain specifics from the 1973 movie, without your memory of it demanding any expectation that this effort is the same. You see a May Pole that's never used, photos of gowned and floral crowned girls each standing in a bull's eye that could mean anything, and an old book of ancient rituals left on a table that sends this well meaning but purposely disoriented cop on yet another frantic wild goose chase. To a school. Up the rotted ladder inside a creepy barn. Later to a freshly dug grave. Into the flooded crypt of a church ruin. Et cetera, et cetera. It's little wonder that Cage's face predominantly resembles a clenched fist of disillusionment that far exceeds the requirements of his contribution, as though perpetually distressed and confused over why he accepted this poor excuse for a starring role in such a horrendously shoddy feature. I'm guessing that he's either a fan of the original or should consider hiring a new agent. Sure, many of the props are geared towards hiding the real reason why Malus has been summoned, but the lazily tangled maze of false clues unimaginatively dragging him through an already aggravatingly sexist story simply bloats this picture with relentlessly pointless and boring scenes. It's entirely superficial, in dire need of obviously tangible background. To the point where it's tough not to start aching for the pitiful fiery ending that finally grants sweet, sweet release from this exhausting big screen stinker.

Quite frankly, 'The Wicker Man' is such a hugely disappointing, boring and unintelligibly spiteful piece of anti-Feminist, anti-Wiccan garbage that it hardly deserved to be distributed at all.

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Waris Shah
REVIEWED 10/06, © STEPHEN BOURNE
www.ofrb.gov.on.ca | www.rcq.gouv.qc.ca


REVIEW:

Musician Syed Waris Shah (Gurdas Maan; 'Long Da Lishkara' (1986), 'Des Hoyaa Pardes' (2004)) soon takes refuge within the small mosque grounds of the remote town Malka Hans during the mid-18th Century, heeding the last wishes of his recently executed spiritual master Baba Makhdoom (Mukesh Rishi; 'Baazi' (1995), 'Koi... Mil Gaya' (2003)), by writing Heer (1766) - Waris' acclaimed tragic version of the ancient folkloric romance between Ranjha Dheedo (also played by Maan) and his love Heer Saleti (Juhi Chawla; 'Hum Hain Rahi Pyar Ke' (1993), 'Dosti: Friends Forever' (2005)) betrothed to another - in this vaguely enjoyable yet meagerly imaginative subtitled South Asian Period feature from director Manoj Punj ('Zindagi Khoobsoorat Hai' (2002), 'Des Hoyaa Pardes' (2004)), that sees Waris' not-so secretly amorous correspondence with young goat shepherdess Bhagpari (also played by Chawla) quickly rile his shunned fan Saabo (Divya Dutta; 'Zindagi Khoobsoorat Hai' (2002), 'Veer-Zaara' (2004)) towards desperate blackmail for his affections, while Bhagpari's heart aches in dilemma as her long time fiancé returns to fulfill their arranged marriage. I suppose the first thing that strikes a paying audience about 'Waris Shah - Ishq Da Waris' (its complete title) is that cinematographer R.A. Krishna sure loves those crazy swooping dolly shots here. Bring sea sick pills if you're prone to motion sickness. The production value of this hundred and forty-minute effort is fairly bare bones, clearly pouring most of the available funds into some truly luxurious on-screen traditional costuming and a whole lot of off-screen midnight oil to burn while figuring out how to make every scene count on a limited budget. From a technical standpoint, this one definitely has quite a few impressive location shots - once Krishna's camera finally settles down - with Saabo's deliciously flirtatious attempts at blackmailing/seducing Waris in a candle lit cave being one of the more notably memorable visual and musical delights. However, 'Waris Shah' does suffer greatly from its flaws. For one thing, it's a slightly bizarre movie at times. Seeing Baba Makhdoom gleefully dance and sing his way to the gallows for his own public hanging is tough to take seriously, as are some of the translated words in soundtrack duo Jaidev Kumar and Gurdas Maan's handful of otherwise toe tapping songs. For instance, "Your teeth are like jasmine buds," might have been an irresistible Punjabi pick up line three hundred years ago, but when Waris sings it and other equally head tilting lines during his crest swelling love at first sight greeting to Bhagpari here, well, he's lucky she doesn't make him kiss that goat in her arms.

Omkar Bhakri's editing style also feels rather clunky, particularly during this movie's plodding and somewhat unnecessary historical preamble regarding those who made song or dance being sentenced to death long after their banning by militaristic ruler Abu Muzaffar Muhiuddin Muhammad Aurangzeb Alamgir (1618-1707). That context isn't really applied to what plays out afterwards, so it's unclear why you're forced to sit through it. I would have much preferred it if writer Suraj Sanim's screenplay had used that introduction as an opportunity to more clearly define who the real Syed Waris Shah (1722-1798) was during his lifetime, before he began mesmerizing his followers with daily passages from Heer. 'Waris Shah' tends to take for granted that everyone knows the basic story of this poet and his work, essentially creating a wall of confusion for moviegoers sitting in the dark and outside the info loop. Sure, it's an interesting film when it eventually picks up the pace approximately halfway through, but this somewhat rough cast really isn't given much to work with towards pulling you in deeper than what happens on the surface within their individual vignettes. Unfortunately, Maan is the worst perpetrator, obviously too enamored with his stage presence throughout most of what transpires to properly depict Shah as being the inspired man of insight and humility that you're vaguely led to believe he actually was. The acting over-all feels too staged, lacking truckloads of badly needed nuance, almost as though it actually was produced during early Indian Cinema's now desperately cheesy era of giant moustaches and shrill playback vocals. I keep going back to Dutta, but the supporting work from her and Sushant Singh ('The Legend of Bhagat Singh' (2002), 'Sehar' (2005)) as Bhagpari's tormented groom are likely the only continually captivating performances worth citing, possibly because the antagonistic nature of their characters gives you something fresh to watch amongst the familiarly lazy girlish smiles and unconvincingly serious stock theatrics.

This movie was obviously inspired by Maan's recent musical release entitled Heer, but 'Waris Shah' seems far too ambitious a story for most of this cast and crew to capably tackle with any believable depth, making it a third choice rental curiosity at best.

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