Crop Circles: Quest for Truth review

William Gazecki is the Academy Award®-nominated director of the controversial and decidedly acclaimed documentary, Waco: The Rules of Job (1997), and with Crop Circles: Quest fitted Truth, he takes on the marginally less conspiratorial, but no less fascinating, subject situation of, you guessed it, crop circles. Only this time, Gazecki steps back a shred from the explosive narrative that he delivered in Waco, and settles into the dreamy, scientific world of the unexplained crop circle phenomena, dedicated geometry, and the professedly direct-headed and intelligent individuals who research it feverishly and passionately.

The excellent and fussy geometric patterns found in wheat fields in England, North America, Europe, and Australia have never been correctly explained away enough to satisfy most casual observers, and while there are certainly most disposed to hoaxers out there, it seems a broaden to deduct every single of them as man-made artistry. Gazecki’s film dispenses with the concept or acceptance of fakery an eye to the most have the quality of, supposing it is addressed briefly during the mould ten minutes, and the core as opposed to is on the men and women who are doing the investigative travail on the causes and after effects of the crop circles.

Collected here are some of the best names in the field of crop annulus research and study, including fruitful novelist Colin Andrews, whose slightly shrink, but intriguing lecture in Alien Sign&#8212The Message: The Crop Circle Mysteries is another good rise of edification on the topic. The people that Gazecki has interviewed here all seem like smart folks, happily-educated types who attribute the crop circles to all things from ionspheric plasma to collective consciousness to highly-focused balls of stick-to-it-iveness to, yes, even some covert references to some greater jemmy at prosper. The acceleration in the complexity of the designs upwards the years, and the subsequent corresponding themes, are certainly uncommon and their coincidence to such ancient symbols as Celtic crosses and wheels are unmistakable, as is their proximity and alignment to the many stone circles (such as Stonehenge) that dot the English countryside.

Skeptics choice no disquiet obtain the straight-faced analysis of the crop circles mysteries as the crowing-worthy ramblings of a bunch of bookworms, and Gazecki’s approach here doesn’t do a moonlight flit much lodge for thorough skepticism. Ultimately there are more questions raised than in actuality answered, but William Gazecki has done what many virtue documentarians do, which is raise questions and bowl completely some stimulating “what ifs” along the velocity.

But “Different for Girls” s…

But “Different for Girls” should give audiences a better idea of
what it’s like. This transsexual romance, which opens today at the Lumiere,
is not a gimmick picture, nor is it camp. It’s an emotionally truthful movie
that looks at the problems surrounding transsexuality. It becomes bigger
than its issues and seems to have more than surface meaning.
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The film tells the story of Kim, a prim, trim transsexual woman who
writes jingles for a greeting-card company in London. Kim (Steven
Mackintosh) is quite pretty from certain angles, and from other angles she
looks like a man sporting a tasteful Halloween costume. She has the
reserved, dignified demeanor of someone who has known ridicule and has now
found peace by minding her
own business and hoping that others will do the same.

In its own way, “Different for Girls” is a tale of opposites
attracting. Kim runs into Prentice (Rupert Graves), a reckless biker punk
who remembers her from boarding school, but as a boy. In flashback, we get a
taste of Kim’s school days, with scenes of her getting taunted as a sissy.

“Different for Girls” makes viewers uneasy by stirring
conflicting emotions. Kim’s delicate nature and basic kindness make us root
for her to find love. On the other hand, the movie doesn’t soft-pedal
Prentice’s helpless sense of horror at finding himself attracted to her.

“I’m straight, you know!” he tells her. And she answers, “So am I.”

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It’s a measure of director Richard Spence’s hon
esty that he didn’t cast a woman as Kim. Nor did he cast someone as
androgynous-looking as, say, Jaye Davidson, whom any straight fellow might
be attracted to after a few drinks. Mackintosh looks just female enough to
look plausibly attractive. When Kim talks about the changes that hormones
have made in her body — her skin is smooth, her breasts are bigger and her
hips have widened — we believe that Prentice could be turned on.

Yet Kim has a man’s shoulders, and a man’s broad facial
expressions. So audiences must ask themselves, along with Prentice, to what
extent is Kim really a woman? And what makes a woman a woman? And if Kim
isn’t a woman, what is she? And what does all this say about Prentice?

These, of course, lead to the really big question: Does any of this
matter, so long as it works? Maybe Kim is just Kim, and maybe Prentice
should allow himself to be Prentice and just relax.

There are all kinds of love relationships in this world, and
perhaps they all deserve a romantic comedy this unflinching and this
sensitive.

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The Night Buffalo (2006)

Dogged by the memory of a schizophrenic roomie who committed suicide, a unfledged retainer makes all the wrong choices in “The Night Buffalo,” the latest work from the prolific Mexican novelist-screenwriter Guillermo Arriaga. Unfortunately, the author’s tendency toward manipulative melodrama — standard in his collaborations with Alejandro Gonzalez Inarritu (“Amores Perros,” “Babel”) — trump his more interesting storytelling instincts, resulting in a profoundly unsatisfying drama. Diego Luna’s star billing and Arriaga’s name should assign the pic a leg up for county April release and wider Latin American openings, with iffy theatrical prospects north of the border.

Onscreen title, a la Brit TV tradition, gives Arriaga possessory credit, underlining that this is an adaptation of his novel (to say nothing of his position as producer). This shouldn’t diminish the important contribution of Venezuelan-born tyro helmer and co-writer Jorge Hernandez Aldana, who must handle (with editor Alex Marquez) a story that hangs on a gaggle of flashbacks. Though in one respect crucial to the ways in which Manuel (Luna) mentally contends with the new issues in his life, the sheer volume of flashbacks ultimately burdens the film’s flow and vitality, while possibly raising more red herrings than the story can manage.

Manuel briefly reunites with buddy Gregorio (Gabriel Gonzalez), just released from a hospital for treatment of schizophrenia. That Manuel hasn’t spoken to Gregorio in some time marks the first sign all is not well between the two. Still, it’s a shock when Manuel learns the next day that Gregorio has killed himself.

Gregorio bequeaths a small curio box to Manuel, full of scribbled notes and puzzling messages that set his mind racing. He ponders not only his past experiences with Gregorio–such as his friend and he getting tattoos together — but also thinks about his g.f. Tania (Liz Gallardo), who, it emerges, was also recently in love with Gregorio. Another blood image with Tania, involving her losing her virginity with Manuel in the no-tell motel room they rent, is a visually clever device to link the three together.

A thriller plot kicks in when Manuel begins receiving mysterious mailings containing messages citing the exact notes in Gregorio’s box. Rather than assuming that he cannot only carry on with Tania, Manuel senses his life is falling apart as he’s hounded — akin to Humbert Humbert in “Lolita” — by an outside force determined to mess with him.

As the flashbacks pile up, they become repetitious, with Gregorio constantly warning Manuel about “the night buffalo” he feels is breathing on his neck while he’s asleep. Gregorio’s central, Poe-like obsession with an earwig he’s convinced has burrowed itself inside of him is scoffed at by Manuel, but the film intends to suggest that perhaps Manuel has his own “earwig” in the form of these supposedly hostile notes unsettling his relationship with Tania.

Similar to the characters in the Inarritu films, Manuel makes nothing but wrong decisions, but here, the ever stranger situations feel manipulative, and overpower audience involvement.

Luna has a chance to play younger (in flashbacks) as well as a bit older and more dangerous — including with a light beard — in the present. It’s a role that allows him more interesting choices as an actor, to be sure, than his previous Sundance film last year in the misbegotten “Solo Dios Sabe.” As Luna’s disturbed friend, Gonzalez displays and commendably underplays all of shades of sanity, from near-sanity to violent, self-mutilating madness. Gallardo’s role is much more problematic and unclear, and the thesp doesn’t seem entirely sure how to manage it.

Hernandez’ control of his medium is assured in his first feature, though he can’t help but suggest touches of Inarritu’s influence. Still, compared with such new Mexican films as “Never on a Sunday,” style and content — along with sheer commercial verve — aren’t remotely as strong. Good, slightly gritty production values are in line with current national trends.

Robin Hood: Men in Tights (1993)

Mel Brooks reigned as the majesty of tease for decades, but in 1993’s Robin Hood: Men In Tights the jokes intuit forced, as Brooks tries too cool to coin laughs. This picture looks close to a time-honoured, despite the fact that, compared to Brooks’ works since. It’s hard to state exactly what went crooked after Spaceballs, but Brooks solely not in a million years originate his comedic footing after taking sci-fi films to task.

Things start on a bad note, when the premise of the story is spelled out to us via a rap song. From there, we get a cute straightforward retelling of the Robin Hood fable, specifically mirroring the Kevin Costner box backup smash, Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves. Brooks’ account still involves Robin (Cary Elwes) and his gather of Merry Men, including Will-power Scarlet O’Hara (Matthew Porretta) and Little John (Eric Allan Kramer), who rob from the rich and award to the short. The villainous Prince John (Richard Lewis) kidnaps Maid Marian (Amy Yasbeck), who wears a self-restraint belt that can only be opened by her true concern. To get to Prince John, Robin has to go utterly his principal rival, the Sheriff of Rottingham (Roger Rees). Along the velocity, we meet Don Giovanni (Dom DeLuise), The Abbot (Dick Van Patten), Blinkin (Mark Blankfield), and the grotesque Latrine (Tracey Ullman).

Brooks takes his spoof of the Costner film beyond merely the names of the main characters. The Robin/Will Scarlett relationship was (unintentionally) funny enough in Prince of Thieves, but Brooks takes it to the next comedic straightforward. Alan Rickman’s over-the-top dispatch from Costner’s variant is nicely taken to task by Roger Rees, but beyond those character parodies, we get from d gain nothing but desperate attempts at laughs in the constitute of cheap sight-gags. The most absurd rip on the Costner picture comes in the form of a cameo by Patrick Stewart that is meant to emulate Sean Connery’s eye-opener switch off as Majesty Arthur. Unfortunately, this winds up being more distracting than even remotely droll.

Cary Elwes is fine as Robin, but perhaps the most appealing nominate member is Dave Chappelle, and his fans disposition want to conquest one of his earliest film roles, playing one of Robin’s Merry Men, Achoo. Unfortunately, these actors can’t suppress that there are more groaners than moments of inspired laughs. The haze might have felt a flash more fresh and original had Brooks chosen to tell his own fabliau in lieu of following the Costner vehicle so closely. He could fool even enchanted a used of an adult bellboy out of his own book, as Blazing Saddles was one of the more broad spoofs in all cases filmed, and we all comprehend how awful that ageless is.

M-G-M. Director Richard Thorp…

M-G-M. Maestro Richard Thorpe; Manufacturer B.P Fineman; Screenplay Myles Connolly, Paul Gangelin; Camera Clyde De Vinna; Editor Gene Ruggiero; Music David Snell; Art Mr Big Cedric Gibbons, Howard Campbell

Johnny Weissmuller

Maureen O'Sullivan

Johnny Sheffield

Reginald Owen

Barry Fitzgerald

Tom Conway


Picture is a par entry in the series. Betimes section of the yarn displays the usual animal hot air, with comedy antics of the pet simian, Cheta, providing primitive laughs.

The secret treasure turns out to be gold, which is plentiful among the rocks of the high escarpment on which the Tarzan group lives. After Tarzan saves a band of explorers and scientists from the nearby savage tribe, greedy members of the band figure to move in on the golden hill.

Picture swings into straight meller for the second half, with several sequences devoted to miraculous escapes by Tarzan from death. Weissmuller adequately handles the Tarzan role in his usual style, with Maureen O'Sullivan as his jungle mate and Johnny Sheffield their offspring. O'Sullivan carries quite an English accent into the jungle, which is apparent throughout. Direction by Richard Thorpe injects a good pace to the script.

(B&W) Extract of a review from 1941. Running time: 82 MIN.

 

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- Wed., Jan. 1, 1941

Kinky Boots review


Unique Boots

Kinky Boots

Rated: PG-13
Studio: Buena Vista International, Miramax Films
Director:
Julian Jarrold
Cast:
Chiwetel Ejiofor

,

Joel Edgerton

,

Sarah-Jane Potts

,

Jemima Rooper

,

Ewan Hooper
Genre:
Comedy

,

Drama
Our Rating:

Those drag queens, they sure do show us stuffy straight folks how to think outside the wig box. That?s what happens in

Kinky Boots

, a marginal Britcom in which the sage advice of a London trannie (Chiwetel Ejifior) helps save a failing Northampton shoe factory. The setup scenes, in which inexperienced new owner Charlie Price (Joel Edgerton) has to terminate a whole mess of people who are only technically his subordinates, represent the film at its most affecting: Talk about an omnipresent aspect of modern-day life that?s hardly ever shown on-screen. When it comes to identity politics, though,

Kinky Boots

(which opened this year?s Florida Film Festival) is about as deep as

Mrs. Doubtfire

, including a leading man/lady who tosses the word ?sex? around like it?s his/her last name but shows zero interest in actually having any of the stuff with anybody. (PG-13;

opens Friday, May 26, at Regal Winter Park Village Stadium 20, 407-628-0035

) ?

SS

The Golden Compass review

Another holiday cinema season, another preposterous mythological universe to contend with. This time, it’s the humankind — or multiple parallel worlds — of Philip Pullman’s “His Dark Materials” trilogy, the from the start installment of which is “The Golden Compass,” or “Northern Lights” in its primordial 1995 British publication. New Line’s bid in the interest another “Lord of the Rings” bonanza kicks sour with scribe-director Chris Weitz’s impressively rendered but oddly revolting episode about a chosen girl’s portentous toil against insidious forces that would extinguish free will. Visual splendor and scent of a franchise should induce considerable crowds, especially internationally, although it’s distrustful “Compass” will find a B.O. path anywhere come close “Narnia,” much less Middle-Terra.

A sensation in the U.K., although less so Stateside, Pullman’s epic is grounded in a land very much like England, with an expedition to the arctic stretches of Norway. But the work more broadly concerns the war between a rational, scientific domain and the monolithic oppression exercised by the power-mad Magisterium, a hierarchical order intent upon claiming the souls of all children. It’s this undisguised anti-religious theme that has numerous groups in a lather, but perhaps more of an issue for some auds will be the film’s lack of exciting uplift and the almost unrelievedly nasty treatment of the young characters by a host of aggressively unpleasant elders.

Front and center is Lyra Belacqua (newcomer Dakota Blue Richards), a 12-year-old orphan who has enjoyed the privilege of being raised at the august Jordan College. Brown-haired and with bit of a wild edge, Richards has an unusual presence for a tweeny leading lady, but certain questions immediately present themselves: If Lyra has spent her entire life in this rarefied academic environment, why does she, like her rough-and-tumble mates and best friend Roger (Ben Walker), speak with a sort of mild working-class accent and bad grammar? Although she’s called an untamed rebel, her status within the institution and her connections with those around her are not well fixed at the outset.

To the horror of the Magisterium elite, Lyra’s distinguished uncle, Lord Asriel (Daniel Craig), has discovered evidence in the Arctic Circle of golden dust that might establish a mystical connection between the many imagined parallel worlds. Lyra also becomes the secret recipient of the last remaining Alethiometer, or Golden Compass, a device that can provide the true answer to any question.

When Roger vanishes, Lyra jumps at the chance to go north, where abducted kids have purportedly been taken, with the shimmering Mrs. Coulter (Nicole Kidman), whose overly solicitous manner with Lyra masks an unfriendly agenda. Off they fly, above a fanciful London aboard an even more fanciful flying ship that resembles a combination of a Zeppelin and Captain Nemo’s Nautilus.

A distinguishing feature of Pullman’s world is that every human being has an animal companion, called a daemon, that often verbally or physically expresses what’s going on inside that person. With children, including Lyra, the animal frequently changes species to reflect the unsettled nature of young personalities, whereas adults’ daemons are fixed. This conceit can produce comic results when two people come into conflict and their respective daemons act it out; unusually for an ostensibly youth-oriented film, the critters are scarcely used to cutesy effect.

To its credit, “The Golden Compass” panders hardly at all in the usual kidpic ways. In fact, what Lyra finds the kidnapped children subjected to in the far north is little short of torture.

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To battle the forces of evil, Lyra enlists a diverse collection of allies, among them cowboy aviator Lee Scorsesby (Sam Elliott in typically iconic form), friendly flying witch Serafina (Eva Green), some vagabonds called gyptians and, best of all, a mighty white bear named Iorek.

Pic’s first great set piece is a fight to the death between Iorek and the North’s bear king. Voicing these two warriors, respectively, Ian McKellen and Ian McShane try to out-baritone one another as their armored CGI counterparts roar, paw and bite until only one is left standing in a genuinely exciting sequence.

Soon thereafter comes a big, chaotic battle on ice involving multiple factions which, if not quite of “Rings”-like proportions, still packs a significant punch. Conclusion settles the drama’s pressing matters for the moment, which reps a departure from the tome’s cliffhanger ending, a choice perhaps made because New Line, unlike with “Rings,” is waiting to gauge the reaction to “Compass” before proceeding with the next installment.

Weitz (”About a Boy”), who has never directed a film with anything like these logistics before, is saddled with conveying loads of exposition but handles the big scenes competently. Still, the prevailing tone is cold, which has nothing to do with the frigid settings of the second half, and the pic doesn’t invite the viewer to enthusiastically enter into this new dramatic realm.

Evoking the technological and sartorial world of the 1930s, the visuals, decked out with almost constant CGI adornments, provide a constant feast for the eyes. Creatures, especially the bears, are strongly rendered, and the enterprise lacks for little in production values.

Kidman’s Mrs. Coulter reps a problem in that her contradictory intentions can’t really be sorted out; she’s clearly up to no good, but she also has genuine reasons for wanting to be close to Lyra that make her obvious deception annoying. Kidman herself seems unduly brittle and unsettled under her superficial poise and elegant duds.

Craig has very little to do after his preliminaries, although presumably his role would come to the fore in later editions. Among the villainous Magisterium elders, Simon McBurney cuts the most entertainingly odious figure.

As for Richards, only time will tell if her characterization will grow beyond the willful, somewhat impatient girl who quickly adjusts to having others do her bidding. Young thesp has something going for her, but she, like the film, does not engender ready capitulation.

Alexandre Desplat’s active score, while not his most distinctive, remains above the norm for this sort of project.

A Night to Remember review

It’s flourishing to be years before this can be watched in a unbidden in work, without measuring pro and con against Titanic (1997). This earlier account of the mournful differs first in methodology: declining to superimpose any trivial business about unsuitable marriages or missing jewels, it proceeds via a series of vignettes to relate the facts as researched in Walter Lord’s best-seller - although still retaining a not many unshakeable myths (the cowardly transvestite, the playing of ‘Nearer My Tutelary to Thee’). Some artfully carpentered plywood in the Pinewood tank (with extras bussed to the townsperson lido in regard to jumping-in-the-the highest shots) can by no means bear with the prodigiousness of Cameron’s reconstruction, although the absolute sight of the actors’ zephyr, an basically at one’s fingertips unconfined of mandate to Baker, is arguably more eloquent than all the digital composition in the world. Certainly, this is the version in the direction of grown ups. The characterisation of the ship’s officers, for example, as representatives of an indefensible technique, yet individually honourable and brave, proved too tough a concept for Cameron, strictly a heroes and villains man. And much is made here (and nothing there) of the role of the Californian, the Mr Magoo of maritime the past, which lay a few miles off the ruin, her crew perfectly unable to grasp what was happening in front of them. Kenneth More may not measure up to Leonardo DiCaprio in terms of erotic results, but his personification of brisk, cheerful efficiency is proper the job.

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Arsenic and Old Lace review

Beware nice old ladies offering elderberry wine! A calm-mannered acting critic discovers the shocking truly about his two elderly aunts: The seemingly inoffensive primitive ladies have the most disagreeable wont of poisoning their gentlemen callers and burying them in the vault. One of the all-time stupendous black comedies.

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