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BarrHazak
Reviews
The Dark Knight (2008)
Clearly a fan-boy favorite, but actually a mess
In my opinion, this movie has been completely over-rated by the fan-boy crowd and most critics (with the notable exception of The New Yorker's David Denby and New York's David Edelman). A sentimental, knee-jerk obligation to praise the late Heath Ledger's performance--which *does* merit all the accolades it's received--has spilled over into blind worship of the movie itself.
When the dust settles, I think it will become clear that the movie is overlong, unnecessarily complex, pretentious, visually muddled at various points, and saddled with a dull-as-dirt hero who's computer modified voice is completely laughable. I mean, seriously, every time Batman tried to talk to someone with his stupid Darth-Vader voice, it jarred me right out of the movie.
The Dark Knight certainly isn't Art. It's not even a particularly good blockbuster, compared to, say, the far more entertaining and coherent Iron Man or a classic like Die Hard.
Ledger's achievement is astounding, but the movie around him is just not on the same level.
Death at a Funeral (2007)
Almost unbearably funny
I'm a bit stunned that this farce was just moderately well-reviewed in the United States; only 67 of the reviewers tracked by rottentomatoes.com gave it a positive review.
I'm almost ready to theorize that the unimpressed American reviewers are snobs, prudes, or somehow jealous of how deft the British are with comedy. The comparisons to the old John Cleese series Fawlty Towers are apt, so if you like F.T. there's a good chance you'll enjoy this.
I found it absolutely hilarious, in a (yes) old-fashioned and (maybe) easy, but irresistible way. I have rarely laughed that hard in a theater. If you haven't seen it yet, watch for this line, "Try...Phillip."
Godspell: A Musical Based on the Gospel According to St. Matthew (1973)
Huh? Seriously...
I'm not sure how to explain all these positive reviews. Perhaps "blind faith"?
Godspell has dated terribly. It looks like some pathetic mash-up of Dr. Suess and Sesame Street, as masterminded by a brain-damaged face-painter. I'm not sure what's more irksome: the supposedly "comic" vocalizations or the non-existent characterizations. Rather than go on, I'll quote the Onion A.V. Club review, which sums up the problem pretty succinctly:
"As a movie, it's actively, fascinatingly terrible, with a vision of Christ more likely to instill in viewers a fear of traveling bands of loony street performers than a desire to embrace the Holy Spirit."
Stir of Echoes (1999)
Quality Horror--of the kind you rarely find
I love this movie. It is not on the level of modern-classic horror films like The Exorcist or Rosemary's Baby, but similarly presents occult themes in an otherwise plausible world, in this case a relate-able working-class neighborhood. The script successfully reinvents clichés, and unfolds with relentless creepiness (broken only by a hokey sequence involving an African-American "seer," the standard voice-of-experience psychic...the parallel to "Hitch" in Rosemary's Baby).
Kevin Bacon's descent into haunted obsession combines vulnerability and freaked-out, thuggish behavior; it's a great performance. The wariness of his neighbors (and the treachery hidden behind their "concern" broadens the movie's themes to comment darkly on over-indulgent parenting. I also love Illeana Douglas as the comic-relief hypnotist and the kid is fantastic.
In one tight (if gruesome) sequence, the reveal ties a dozen threads together and, though marred by a dubious deus ex machina ending, is truly haunting. Several notches above most so-called horror films.
Shortbus (2006)
Emotionally hollow and sentimental
Terrible, pretentious film. The director is so busy being smug that he's managing to shove pornoish amounts of sex into a legitimate feature film that he forgets to create believable characters.
In the end, the entire film is a lie, which roughly translates as "sexual freedom and experimentation plus a big dose of gay kookiness will magically save us." From serious mental illness, for instance. But nothing can save this movie from its own triteness (sex therapists who can't have organisms, for instance, and blather on about "owning emotions" in a stale, circa-70s-Woody Allen way).
After a decent attempt to dramatize the isolation of depression, the film offers a typically simplistic fix. And then winds it all up in a forced "happy ending," at which point it starts to resemble Caligula as remade by Disney.