The Lake House

Keanu Reeves and Sandra Bullock – and not an out-of-control bus to be seen.

Over ten years has passed since Speed - surely one of the more enjoyable action flicks of the 90s despite Billy Idol’s theme song – cemented Keanu Reeves as every teenage girl’s pin-up dream, and launched Sandra Bullock into the Hollywood-sphere. Reeves made one of the two wisest decisions he’s ever made* in refusing to appear in the abominable sequel Speed 2; so The Lake House marks his onscreen reunion with Bullock. And what a pleasing little romance this is: pairing Reeves’ scruffy appeal and Bullock’s sweet vulnerability - with a time travel twist.

Bullock plays Kate, a lonely doctor, who moves out of the beautiful titular Lake House to be closer to her hospital job in Chicago. Her notes for the next tenant wind up in the hands of Alex Wyler (Reeves), an architect who’s moving into the Lake House – which his father had built – to do it up. Something’s amiss here, and we soon work out that Alex is living in 2004, and Kate in 2006. Using the Lake House’s letterbox – and a scene-stealing dog - as their conduits, the pair embark on one hell of a long-distance relationship.

Romantic comedies need a twist these days to stand out from the bunch – but even so, the quantum mechanics of this particular film would have Einstein himself reaching for the calculator.** The couple is supposed to communicate through the Lake House letterbox, but the filmmakers drop that as a imperative about halfway through the film, and the two narrate their notes and letters as if having a real-time conversation. It’s best, I think, to ignore the minutiae of the time travel and resulting plot holes – or should that be black holes?***

Both Reeves and Bullock perform well here – the roles suit them and it’s a pleasure to see a romance involving two 40-something contemporaries instead of the typical Hollywood pairing (she’s hot bodied; he’s virtually stone cold). The time travel exterior is an allegory for deeper issues to do with time - waiting and commitment. Kate is dedicated to her job at the expense of her personal happiness; Alex is uneasy about following his heart and setting up his own company; and Alex’s architect father Simon (Christopher Plummer) reflects on his lifelong deficiencies as a father. It contains some nice imagery – the city of Chicago is an elegant backdrop, the Lake House is stunning, and there’s some almost poetic use of colour (especially red).

The Lake House will please those members of the audience savvy enough to either make sense of the time differences, or wise enough to ignore them completely. If nothing else…it passes the time.

*The other was taking the lead role in The Matrix. The two sequels, however…
**Hey! My first physics joke!
***Hey! My second physics joke!

Equus

In the interest of truth, I will state upfront that I am a member of the Brisbane Arts Theatre, have performed in numerous shows there over the past seven years, and my partner is also the director of Equus, the theatre’s latest production. Readers may therefore consider the following review biased; I can only encourage those readers (and everyone else) to venture out to Equus, and make up their own mind. Feel free to leave comments!

As a member of the Brisbane Arts Theatre, I can unequivocally say that Equus is the most daring production to be staged so far in 2006; and probably for several years before that. It’s an intense psychological character study; more therapy than theatre, and it’s a brave move for a community theatre best known for its mainstream fare of drawing-room dramas, murder mysteries, historical costume pieces and gentle comedies. The risk has paid off: this production of Equus is of a standard comparable to a professional theatre company, and is a credit to the cast and crew, and the theatre itself.

Equus was written by English dramatist Peter Shaffer over 30 years ago. It ran for over 1000 performances on Broadway, and won Shaffer the 1975 Tony Award for Best Play. In 1977 it was made into a film, starring Richard Burton as Martin Dysart, one of the main characters and the narrator of sorts. The play tells the story of Alan Strang, a 17-year-old boy sent to the psychiatrist Dysart for treatment after he blinds six horses with a metal spike. Strang, as we discover, is a horse-lover, so much so he constructs his own religion around the horse-god Equus. As Dysart explores Strang’s fragile psyche and what drove him to commit such a terrible crime against animals he ostensibly loves, he learns more about himself, and whether “sane” is a better way to live than “crazy” after all.

Peter Norton turns in a staggering performance as Alan Strang. He exposes himself both figuratively and literally, as the role involves a mental breakdown and full frontal nudity. John Boyce is more than his equal as Martin Dysart, the psychiatrist whose life has turned out far different than he expected. Their dynamic performances hold the play together – indeed, like his subsequent play Amadeus, Shaffer likes to focus on the sparring between two lead characters. Stand-put supporting performances come from James Fitzgerald and Joy McLeary as Alan’s bewildered parents Frank and Dora, and Celia Finter as Jill, the temptation that leads Alan from his own path of righteousness. Special mention must also be made to the four actors playing the horses (led by Shaun King as Nugget), in stunning silver-sculptered see-through horse heads, and 20-centimetre high “hooves” (built by Graham Mackenzie).

The stage is kept simple, with an enclosed set decorated only by the horse heads, which hang as watchful sentries when not being worn by the actors. Having all the actors stay onstage during the entire performance is an effective way of keeping scene changes short and the story moving, even though at times their natural movements (coughing, drinking water etc) are distracting. Lighting cues are for the most part clean and timely, and the few sound cues there are work well to enhance the action. Director Greg Rowbotham and assistant director Reneé Daly deserve credit for creating a simple yet dynamic vision; the story deals with almost supernatural elements without forgetting the harsh realities of a life affected by mental instability.

Equus deals with intense issues of identity, religion, illness, violence and sexuality. As mentioned above, it includes full frontal nudity, as well as simulated sex and mature language. It’s certainly not one for the kiddies, but if you like to be challenged by theatre, I heartily recommend it. It’s one of the best shows the Arts Theatre has produced in recent years, and I can only hope they keep a place in their schedule for intelligent, engrossing drama. The audience deserves that choice.

Equus
Brisbane Arts Theatre
Runs until July 29
Thurs, Fri, Sat nights @ 8pm
Sunday matinee 23rd July @ 2pmWednesday night 26 July@ 8pm
Tickets $22 adults/$18 concessionsBookings: 3369 2344
www.artstheatre.com.au

Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest

It’s been three years since the first Pirates movie burst onto our screens, buckling its swash with gay abandon, launching the international career of Keira “I need a sandwich” Knightley, and introducing one of the greatest ever screen characters – Captain Jack Sparrow. In a deservedly Oscar-nominated performance, Johnny Depp fired up the imaginations of teenage girls and everyone else alike, inspiring in all who saw it a desire to throw off their corporate chains, escape to the sea and spend the rest of their lives drinking rum to the tune of “Yo-ho, yo-ho, a pirate’s life for me”.

With its incredible box office success, not to mention the acting credibility lent to it by the likes of Depp, and Geoffrey Rush as the villainous Captain Barbossa, it was inevitable the film would become a franchise. Thus we have Dead Man’s Chest, a spirited, if overly complicated movie, that acts as both sequel to Curse of the Black Pearl, and set-up for the grand finale, At World’s End, due out late 2007 (principle shooting on both films was done on location in the Caribbean at the same time).

It’s not a bad idea to re-watch Curse of the Black Pearl, so you’re up to pirate speed by the time Dead Man’s Chest begins. The film launches straight into the action, picking up where COTBP left off. What’s supposed to be a happy wedding day for Elizabeth (Knightley) and Will Turner (Orlando Bloom) soon takes a dramatic turn, when both are arrested and charged with helping Captain Jack escape justice. To win their freedom, Will agrees to track down Captain Jack for the new commander of Port Royal and poster boy for the East India Trading Company Cutler Beckett (Tom Hollander). Elizabeth also manages to break out, stealing pardons for Jack and Will and agreeing with Beckett’s request to find Captain Jack’s mysterious and magical compass.

Meanwhile Captain Jack has problems of his own. The cephalopodic Davy Jones (Bill Nighy) has returned to claim a debt Jack owes him – his soul. Jack and his crew make an escape to land, and after a run-in with the somewhat stereotypical natives (painted bodies, manic dancing, threats to boil Jack and eat him), tricks Will into taking his place on Jones’ ghoulish ship, The Flying Dutchman. There’s high-sea hijinks ahoy as Jack proceeds to double cross everyone in his quest to get a hold of Davy Jones’ heart, which lies in the eponymous Dead Man’s Chest, and is the key to controlling the oceans.

What weighs Dead Man’s Chest down is this bulky and convoluted series of plots, which are hard to follow if one loses interest even for a few seconds. The intertwining storylines all have to be dealt with, which results in the film being about half an hour too long. And yet there’s many questions never answered, and many characters short-changed – most notably Knightley, whose feisty aristocrat from the first film appears to have morphed into a pouty brat; her longing for freedom exchanged for her longing to get married. The movie’s fumbled attempts at setting up a love triangle of sorts between Elizabeth, Will and Captain Jack are also frustrating. I certainly hope they don’t trot out the “Captain Jack is saved by the love of a good woman” tripe in the third film. What makes Captain Jack so much fun to watch is his complete disregard for humans – even ones he likes – if it’s in his own self-interest and preservation. I’m sorry, but Keira Knightley just isn’t good enough to change that!

The film’s highlights are its visually interesting cast, stunning scenery, a few spectacular fight scenes and superb uses of CGI special effects. Davy Jones’ octopus beard is beautifully animated, although it’s a shame to lose so much of Bill Nighy’s wonderfully craggy face (although the man can do more with his eyes than Bloom can do with his whole face). His crew are a frightening mix of man-beasts, their heads having turned into various sea creatures such as hammerhead sharks and lobsters. The Kraken, a giant squid Jones calls from the deep to do his bidding (which mostly involves tearing ships apart plank by plank), is so real, you can see the water dripping off the suckers on its massive tentacles. A tri-cornered sword fight between Jack, Will and Norrington (Jack Davenport in a nice turn) is very well executed, even if does include a somewhat ridiculous joust atop a spinning mill wheel.

This movie includes references to the Disneyland ride on which it was based – most particularly a longboat ride through a creepy bayou to the house of a local mystic. The film ends here; with the gang gathered to pledge their support for yet another adventure, this time to rescue a beloved character, with the help of an old foe. It’s an understandable but unsatisfying ending, and makes it all the more obvious how much of a bridging film this is.

The star of the whole kit and caboodle is however, Depp, and his importance should not be underestimated. Though not quite as joyous as his first turn as Captain Jack (unsurprisingly as that was as much of a journey of discovery for Depp as it was for those of us watching), he still remains the lynchpin for the movie’s success. People would come to see two hours of Depp regardless of who else turned up on the day of filming. His macho posing is beautifully undercut by his cowardice and effeteness, and it’s easy to get lost in his kohl-lined eyes. (Sigh!)

Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man’s Chest is a rollicking, jollicking romp of a film – it’s about pirates, for goodness’ sake. It might be a bit much for very young kiddies, but otherwise it’s a fun few hours to spend away from the office, out on the high seas, singing “Yo-ho, yo-ho, a pirate’s life for me”.

Superman Returns

Slick, dark and edgy takes on much-loved comic characters have become de-rigeur over the past decade or so. It began essentially with the Tim Burton Batman films, moved on to the Sam Raimi Spiderman films, continued with the Bryan Singer X-Men films, faltered a bit with Ang Lee’s Hulk* and reached a pinnacle with last year’s Batman Begins, directed by Christopher Nolan. In films like these, brightly-coloured spandex outfits were abandoned in favour of leather and rubber, and backstories were vital to fleshing out the superhero characters. You couldn’t just be a good guy - you had to have a tragic childhood/adolescence, intimacy issues, and sado/masochistic tendencies – and be good in spite of all that.

But that approach simply wouldn’t work with Superman. Superman is Superman. He’s the ultimate good guy. There are no shades of grey - he’s black and white all the way.
The aforementioned Bryan Singer (who ditched X-Men: The Last Stand to take up the directing reigns here) therefore opts to avoid altering the character of the most super of superheroes. It’s simultaneously the best and worst thing about Superman Returns.

Superman Returns is a superhero movie that retains a sense of innocence and childlike wonder – as if Singer was directing through the eyes of the wide-eyed comic-reading ten-year-old inside him. But the character of Superman is just not as engaging as his others in the DC universe – and for this reviewer, there isn’t enough of his more human alter-ego Clark Kent to make up for it.

Ostensibly taking place after events in 1980’s Superman II (starring Christopher Reeve), Superman Returns sees the eponymous character (played by newcomer Brandon Routh) return to Earth after five years in the wild space frontier, searching in vain for any remains of his home planet Krypton. He crash lands back in the Kansas farm he grew up in, with Ma Kent (a nice cameo from Eva Marie Saint) on hand to nurse him back to health. Back he goes to Metropolis, to his old life as Clark Kent, newspaper reporter for the Daily Planet. The gang’s all still there – sharp-tongued editor Perry White (Frank Langella); gawky photographer Jimmy Olsen (Sam Huntington); and of course, ace reporter extraordinaire Lois Lane (Kate Bosworth) – but things aren’t exactly the same. With Superman gone, the world, it seems, has moved on – and so has Lois, writing a Pulitzer Prize winning article entitled “Why the World Doesn’t Need Superman”, and more importantly, shacking up with White’s nephew Richard (James Marsden), and popping out a sprog (Tristan Lake Leabu as Jason). It seems winning the public over again will be easier than getting on Lois’ good side.

Also making a return from an exile - albeit of a different kind - is criminal mastermind Lex Luthor (a scene-stealing Kevin Spacey). Out of prison, and newly rich (thanks to a conveniently dead wife), Luthor tracks down Superman’s Fortress of Solitude (complete with projected images of Marlon Brando as Superman’s dad Jor-El), and learns the art of “crystal technology” – the method of building anything and everything on long-dead Krypton. Luthor hatches a plan to rearrange the world’s continental real estate, and has no intention of the letting the recently returned Superman stop him.

The film takes its time with the story – Singer is a master at pacing, and while it’s over two hours long, it always holds your attention. This skill comes especially in handy considering the plot holes the size of the yellow sun that Singer must contend with (nobody notices Superman arrives back at the same time as Clark, after being away for the same length of time?). It’s cinematic sleight-of-hand at its best.

I had no problem with Brandon Routh as Superman – he looks eerily like Christopher Reeve from certain angles, and his inexperience onscreen is well disguised by the fact that Superman’s all-round goodness makes him a bit wooden to begin with. I preferred his turn as the clumsy Clark Kent, all wide eyes, awkward smiles and sneaky runs to the elevator when a quick change is required. Kate Bosworth is a little more problematic – there’s no doubt she held her own, but she just looks too damn young to be a reporter as experienced as Lois Lane, with a top job and a Pulitzer under her belt – not to mention a relationship with Superman going back over five years and now a four-year-old son running about. Obviously she matches age-wise with Routh, but at certain points I wished the casting directors had hired leads 5 or 10 years older.

The supporting players at the Daily Planet are all competent (especially Huntington as Jimmy Olsen); but the real star of the show is Kevin Spacey as Lex Luthor. Spacey plays on the fact that while we all wish we had the power and goodness of Superman, we’d settle for Luthor’s style and panache. Spacey’s timing and delivery are exemplary – while many comic die-hards will no doubt decry the continuing morphing of Luthor from insane scientist to Dr Evil-style megalomaniac (complete with white suit and bald noggin), most will enjoy such energetic opposition to the titular hero. Parker Posey also turns in a fun performance as Luthor’s moll, Kitty Kowalski.

The special effects reflect the movie’s big budget – although the site of a plummeting 747 didn’t turn me off flying as much as I thought it would. The new land built by Luthor using his stolen crystals is impressive, but it’s hard to believe the soulless rocky outcrops would attract a high bidding among land-hungry estate agents.

Superman Returns is an old-fashioned superhero movie, with a clear line between “good” and “bad”. The only complexities come from Lois’ relationship with Superman, and current partner Richard, and they’re interesting enough to watch, even a bit creepy at times (Superman hovering above Lois’ home, listening in to her and Richard’s kitchen talk). As mentioned above, the film suffers in my opinion because of a lack of Clark Kent, but then the movie is titled Superman Returns not Clark Kent Returns. But it’s got action and adventure for the kids, a bit of romance for the romantics, and in-jokes and comic references for the geeks. And surely that must be good enough.

*we don’t mention 2003’s Daredevil, or its 2005 spin-off Elektra.

Wah-Wah

Richard E. Grant is one of those charming actors who makes everyone and everything around him look good. Who could forget his exuberant performance as Withnail in 1987’s cult classic Withnail & I ? (“I must have some booze!”) At the other end of the scale, he was quite possibly the best thing in 1997’s Spiceworld, as the now-defunct girl band’s manager. So I was interested to see if his infectious talent would spread to Wah-Wah, his first outing as a writer/director – and I’m pleased to report it certainly does.

Based on his own childhood experiences, Wah-Wah is set in the south-west African nation of Swaziland, as it approaches independence from its colonial mistress Great Britain at the end of the 1960s. The film opens with young protagonist (and Grant’s alter-ego) Ralph Compton witnessing his mother’s adultery, and goes on to show the devastating alcoholism that grips his father in her wake. The film also follows several other characters within the small expatriate community the Comptons inhabit, where the British stiff upper lip fails to completely hide the heated passions and cloying hypocrisy.

Zachary Fox and Nicholas Hoult play Ralph at 12 and 15 years respectively, and both do a fine job. Discovering your parents aren’t infallible is a journey every child takes, and Ralph’s is a sweet one to watch. Both actors convincingly convey the devastating loss of Ralph’s mother, and the growing up he has to do to deal with his father. Ralph’s inner rage manifests in a puppet-like grimace, but as director Grant never lets the character sink into self-pity.

Gabriel Byrne gives a stellar performance as Ralph’s father Harry, a top education official who’s all easygoing charm during the day, but turns into a beast once his begins his daily bottle of scotch. Some of his drunk scenes tend towards melodrama, but or the most part his portrayal of two men inside the one body is hauntingly real. Miranda Richardson as Ralph’s selfish but desperate mother Lauren is marvelous – but then she very rarely puts a foot wrong, especially in character pieces like this. Julie Walters also gives a delightful performance as Gwen, who finds herself having to start all over again when her husband dumps her.

But the star is Emily Watson as Ruby, an American flight attendant that Harry meets and marries in six weeks. It’s a cliché, but she really is a breath of fresh air compared to the staid British ex-pats. It’s Ruby who coins the phrase “wah-wah”, referring to the posh baby talk the Brits use to communicate (“hush-hush”, “hubbly-jubbly”, “toodle pip”). Watson plays her with just the right mix of bravado and sensitivity, and Ruby’s relationships with Harry and Ralph are truly touching.

The only disappointing aspect of Wah-Wah is its forgettable soundtrack, but it’s a minor quibble. It’s a credit to Grant that he got his story to screen in the first place (especially if you read some of the incredible hassles he outlines in his latest book, The Wah-Wah Diaries), and even more so that he managed to do so in such a touching and believable way.

The Break-Up

Important disclaimer re: The Break-Up : This movie is not a romantic comedy. Do not let any of the marketing convince you otherwise. You will only end up feeling awkward because you were expecting some sort of hilarious hybrid of The Wedding Crashers and Friends. Do not see it if you're more interested in what Jennifer Aniston and Vince Vaughn are doing offscreen, rather than on. Do not take a first date to this film. Do not take your current partner to this film. In fact, don't go at all.

Well, OK, that's not entirely fair. The Break-Up is a half-decent attempt to realistically depict a relationship in its death-throes, managing to avoid for the most part feel-good-rom-com-required hints at reconcilation. It's also got half decent performances from its leads - even if they are largely stuck in the realm of cliches (she's a classy and caring modern woman; he's a selfish slob).

However, it's suffering from the same condition as Jennifer Aniston's character Brooke - a crisis of conscience. It doesn't really have the chutzpah to go all out as a serious relationship drama, preferring instead to throw in wacky comedic turns to justify the advertising campaign, which was obviously planned before the film itself was written.

The story begins with Brooke (Aniston) and Gary (Vaughn) meeting at a baseball match. We're not sure why they got together, but their relationship is documented in snapshots throughout the title sequence. After a brief explanation of what they do (she's an art dealer; he runs bus tours of Chicago), the film gets right into the argument that sees them break up. Trouble is, they've bought a snazzy condo together (Americans can't just have "flats", can they?) and neither wants to give up their half. What follows is territorial warfare, with hijinks and shenanigans from both sides - but it becomes apparent they're fighting for different reasons.

As mentioned earlier, the two leads turn in reasonable performances. Vaughn is set up early as "the bad guy", and plays his easy-going schtick well. His vehemence in some of the fight scenes is what really impresses though - in fact, some of those fights are so realistic, fought over petty things, often in front of friends, that you almost feel like you're watching people you know have a spat. Aniston is set up as "the good woman" - with the filmmakers attempting to get across the fact that sometimes you try to save a relationship simply because you love the person no matter what their flaws. This is supposed to make Aniston's character sympathetic to the audience, but unfortunately we just end up wondering what she saw in him in the first place and to just dump the slacker already.

The supporting cast is of stellar quality (including Vincent D'Onofrio, Jason Bateman and even a brief glimpse of Ann-Margret), but their roles are reduced to a series of incidental appearances ranging from the dull (Joey Lauren Adams as Brooke's helpful advice-giving best friend) to the unrealistic (John Michael Higgins as Brooke's metrosexual all-singing brother). The stand-out is Judy Davis as Brooke's self-obsessed boss - more worried about the effect Brooke's relationship woes has on her business than on Brooke herself.

The Break Up thankfully avoids too much of a cliched Hollywood ending; but ultimately its take on the male/female dynamic doesn't go much deeper than "Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus". It certainly is different to your average rom-com, but it's a shame it didn't have the intestinal fortitude to push the envelope further.

Colour Me Kubrick

Few film directors are as iconic as Stanley Kubrick. Perhaps only Alfred Hitchcock eclipses him in the instant-recognition stakes. But while a simple silhouette of Hitchcock's portly physique is enough to conjure up thoughts of James Stewart's wheelchair-bound voyerism, Cary Grant dodging bi-planes or Tippi Hedren being stalked by some wayward seagulls - it's Kubrick's name alone that brings to mind his innovative and confronting films. For Kubrick, especially in his later years, shunned the limelight - preferring to remain at his English country estate with his kids and pets rather than flashing his credentials all over Hollywood (take that George Lucas).

So with that in mind, in the late 90s, an English conman named Alan Conway began getting round London passing himself off as Stanley Kubrick. Colour Me Kubrick is the "true...ish" story of this man, and while it's in the "out there" category, it's a great little film with a marvellously indulgent performance by John Malkovich in the central role.

There's not much of a story to Colour Me Kubrick. The film is essentially a series of cons that Alan Conway/Stanley Kubrick pulls - some quick and mercenary, others drawn out and complicated. The film obviously embellishes Conway's story, but if he got away with merely half of what his screen counterpart does, it's breathtaking. Malkovich takes great delight in wallowing in the character of Conway/Kubrick - donning effeminate and eccentric clothing (who says paisley and plaid with terry cloth boxers, fingerless gloves and a headscarf doesn't work?) - and shuffling messily around town. He virtually smells unwashed. (They should have just called it "Being Stanley Kubrick", or "Being Alan Conway"). As Kubrick, Conway adopts different accents almost every time he meets someone new, as if his bold exterior and constant name-dropping will cover-up his lack of credibility and his surprisingly poor knowledge of Kubrick's life and work. The telling part is though, that it does.

Colour Me Kubrick offers a nice comment on the nature of celebrity, and just what we ordinary plebs will do to please someone we think is famous. We'd all like to think we're bullshit-proof, but blimey, we're not. While some of those conned in the film are idiots, most are just naive, with goals and dreams that Conway plays on (preys on?) to his advantage. So the wannabe fashion designer, the up-and-coming band, the chemist with a screenplay at home all fall victim. There, but for the Grace of God....well, you know the rest.

Aside from the huge presence of Malkovich, the film's strength is in its obvious reverence for the work of the real Stanley Kubrick. It's peppered with visual but more particularly musical references to his films - Conway taking his dirty clothes to the laundromat to the dum-dum-dum-dum of "Dawn" from Strauss' Zarathustra, or being thrown off a pier to the unsettling electronica featured in A Clockwork Orange. It also has a roll call of British actors in cameo roles - the stand-out being Richard E. Grant as a gushing bar owner. "Oh, Stanley!"

The history and motivation of Conway himself is not delved into in any real detail - like the mysterious monoliths in 2001: A Space Odyssey, he himself seems to appear out of nowhere. He's obviously a lonely and desperate man, but his final and biggest con proves he's not crazy.

This is definitely not a mainstream film, and may confuse some people. But it has its own charm, and devotees of either Kubrick or Malkovich will definitely get a kick out of it.

The Chumscrubber

If films truly reflect reality, then boy, do we need to get out of the suburbs. The lifestyle for so many in the Western world appears by all accounts to be driving us slowly insane. Taken seriously, a film like The Chumscrubber is another warning bell, about the perils of sacrificing our inner selves to conform to society's demand for an immaculate veneer of perfection and happiness. Taken not so seriously, The Chumscrubber is a mildly satirical take on previous films of that ilk - think The Ice Storm or American Beauty. The trouble is, it's not quite sure which one of these it wants to be. So while it has a magnificent cast, with some nice performances and interesting moments, I found myself wondering what its real purpose is.

The film is set in the southern Californian town of Hillside, one of those centrally planned communities that are supposed to be almost like resort living but somehow feel like minimum security prisons. Dean (Jamie Bell) is a classic anti-hero - the loner high school student with an addiction to feel-good pills, a psychiatrist father (William Fichtner) who just wants to mine him for material for his books, and a mother (Alison Janney) too busy selling vitamins and playing happy housewife to notice her son's pent-up rage. When his only friend and school drug dealer Troy commits suicide, three of Dean's classmates demand he find Troy's stash for them, kidnapping his brother as an incentive. Only they nab the wrong kid, whose mother Terri (Rita Wilson) is too preoccupied with her upcoming wedding to the increasingly unstable local mayor (Ralph Fiennes) to notice her son is missing. Meanwhile Troy's mother (Glenn Close) is dealing with the death of her son by magnanimously telling all her neighbours personally that she in no way blames them.

There's a few other characters and stories through the film, but to list them would take all day. And that's one of the problems with The Chumscrubber, as it often is with large ensemble cast/interweaving storyline films. Keeping track of the various storylines isn't that hard, but there's so much potential in the stories, I wonder if a better film would have jettisoned some of the lesser characters to focus more on the main ones. Then again, two hours watching Dean's white-boy angst amid the macho bravura of his fellow teens may have become somewhat tedious.

There are some nice moments and touching performances - some critics have labelled Glenn Close's performance as robotic as her turn in The Stepford Wives, but I thought she was heart-wrenching as a Mom wracked by the guilt of not truly knowing her son, and having to keep up a brave face to the neighbours. It was madness hidden behind a plastered-on smile. Similarly, I enjoyed Ralph Fiennes' as the Mayor, who after a head knock has begun seeing dolphins everywhere. He's a bit wacky to be sure, but it's a nice gear change to all the suburban angst.

There's also the issue of the Chumscrubber itself - the title of a headless videogame character that appears on posters and T-shirts throughout the film. No doubt it's a reference to Frank, the 6-foot bunny rabbit from the brilliant Donnie Darko, surely the most original take on suburban life in recent memory.The problem is, the Chumscrubber isn't scary, or even spooky. It's just a bit naff, and it's introduced too late in the film to really make an impact. It's supposed to be a common link through the stories, but it didn't work for me.

If this review sounds a bit muddled, it's because the film left my mind muddled. It didn't stand up as a serious examination of everyday suburban life, but it didn't really declare itself as a black comedy. I didn't hate it, but I wouldn't recommend it as a must-see. If you haven't seen Donnie Darko, rent that out instead.

Judith Lucy: I Failed!

Judith Lucy is one of those comedians who falls perfectly into the “love her or hate her” category. The reasons people hate her (her distinctive voice and acerbic style), are also the reasons her fans love her. Even so, anyone interested in the Australian radio scene will get something out of her new show, I Failed!

Having had some experience in commercial FM radio (although not as an announcer), I was keen to hear her take on the Austereo network. Hired in 2004 to replace Wendy Harmer in breakfast on Sydney’s 2-Day FM, Lucy was eventually unceremoniously sacked last June, after being shifted to Melbourne to do the national drive shift. And she doesn't disappoint - I Failed! is part therapy, part stinging retribution.

Lucy talks as candidly as she legally can about the revolving door of arrogant program directors; bizarre stunts and promotions (two words – “celebrity sperm”); a lack of publicity and support; having to interview precious celebrities - or worse, Big Brother evictees; the ratings dive; and last ditch attempts to shore up listeners.

This is the main thread of the show, but Lucy diverges from the path frequently to talk about other things that have been happening in her life: medical problems (including a gall bladder operation and panic attacks); her engagement; having a colonic irrigation; barbs and jabs at the usual celebrities (Gwen Stefani and Keira Knightley – watch out!) and a sharp and brilliant piece about the hypocrisy and mindlessness of women’s magazines.

Lucy began the show by pointing out she had a head cold, which may have explained an extra-strong nasally opening delivery. But she obviously relaxed as the show went on, and the audience relaxed with her. A note for potential audience members though – if you have questions you’ve always wanted to ask Lucy, make sure you commit them to memory before you go. She holds a Q&A session about halfway through, which didn’t really fire during opening night because nobody could think of anything to ask! The finale is slightly removed from the theme of her show, but entertaining nonetheless.

At the end of the day, Lucy is just too much of an original to fit the rigid formats of commercial radio. They may have dumped her – but Judith Lucy makes a welcome return to stand-up comedy with I Failed! And the ultimate prize for Lucy? She never has to listen to another Nickelback song again.

Performance seen: Thursday 8 June
I Failed!
Brisbane Powerhouse
Tues-Sun until 25 June
7:30pm
Tickets $34.90/$29.90

The Omen

Remakes are all the go in Hollywood, and the date 6/6/06 must have been just too good to pass up. Plus, the world does seem a bit apocalyptical at the moment - well it does if you play some spooky music and show slides of the September 11 attacks, the loss of the Columbia space shuttle and the Indian Ocean tsunami. Which is exactly what the remake of The Omen does, in a introductory set-piece that's the only new thing about the story of the little boy Antichrist.

It's been 30 years since Gregory Peck and Lee Remick were spooked by their devil's spawn, and the above reasons are the only two I can come up with as to why someone would remake 1976's The Omen. This version has a few jump-in-your-seat moments, but it's never truly terrifying, and the cast for the most part looks bored, or in the case of Seamus Davey-Fitzpatrick, (the new Damien) pouty and in need of a good smack.

The Omen is virtually shot-for-shot the same as its predecessor - with mobile phones, the internet and a bit of digital photography tacked on to make it 21st century. The story concerns US ambassador to Italy Robert Thorn (Liev Schreiber), who's convinced by a priest to adopt a newborn orphan boy, to save his wife Kate (Julia Stiles) the trauma of learning their own son died in childbirth. The family moves to London, where as Damien gets older, it becomes obvious he's a bit unusual. People start dying, snarling dogs take up guard around the 5-year-old, and Robert is stalked by first a priest (Pete Postlethwaite) then by a photographer (David Thewlis), intent on convincing him his son is none other than the Antichrist, here to wreak havoc and destruction yada yada yada.

I'm afraid I wasn't a fan of Liev Schreiber's performance. Gregory Peck may have been over-the-top in parts of the original, but Schreiber appears to have been doped before every scene. Stiles fares a bit better in her portrayal of a mother terrified by the unknown in her own home. As usual, the British component of the cast (Postlethwaite, Thewlis and a scene-stealing Michael Gambon) perform their roles soundly. Special mention should be made though to the casting of Mia Farrow as Mrs Baylock, the Supernanny of a Supernatural sort, who arrives without notice to protect the young Antichrist. The connotations of Rosemary herself raising the Devil's son are quite delicious, and Farrow gives the best performance of the film, all big eyes, wide smiles and dulcet tones dripping with malevolence.

As Damien, young Seamus Davey-Fitzpatrick has suitably engaging blue eyes, but honestly? I've seen more devilish children at any number of suburban shopping centres. Forget the ritual knives, Damien looks like he could be disciplined by a good talking-to ("Bad Antichrist! Be nice to your Mummy!").

The Omen has some good special effects, and as mentioned, some genuine "eek!" moments, but as far as remakes go, it's uninspired. Rent the original, dim the lounge room lights and scare yourself silly instead.

X-Men: The Last Stand

Wolverine, Magneto, Professor X, Storm, Phoenix, Mystique, Rogue, Angel, Beast, Colossus, Juggernaut...confused yet? If so, it might be a good idea to watch 2000's X-Men, and 2003's X-Men 2 before you head out to X-Men: The Last Stand, the third (and final?) film in the popular franchise. While entertaining enough if you're mutant-savvy, the film packs the story of over 10 lead characters into just an hour and a half, and those who wouldn't know the difference between an "Iceman" and a "Pyro" could get lost. It might also help to take along your own "comic geek" - as mine came in awfully handy!

The plot concerns the discovery of a so-called "cure" for mutant DNA, which worries Professor Charles Xavier (Patrick Stewart), the leader of the X-Men, who wants to promote tolerance and acceptance between mutants and humans; and downright repulses his old enemy Magneto (Ian McKellen), who believes mutants need to obliterate homo sapiens before they themselves are wiped out. It's time for the mutants to take a stand - with whom will they side?

The film's second storyline is the return of Jean Grey (Famke Janssen), apparently killed off at the end of X2, but back here as her "alternate personality" the Phoenix, with telepathic and telekinetic powers greater than any other living mutant. The fight to save her from herself occupies most of Wolverine's (Hugh Jackman) time onscreen.

The first two X-Men films were smart sassy takes on what could have been just another superhero cash-in. This had much to do with director Bryan Singer, and the inspired casting of British greats Stewart and McKellen as old-friends-turned-enemies Xavier and Magneto, and Jackman as Wolverine. Those three return in X3, but sadly Singer does not, and his absence is as plain as Halle Berry's acting (meow!). While the first two films balanced great action set-pieces with the emotional development and motivations of their characters, the third film's script just races along, and new director Brett Ratner (Rush Hour), is unable to retain that happy medium. For example, Janssen's Jean Grey/Phoenix is supposed to be a tortured psychic, but at certain points she just looks like she's dressed for a goth club and popped a couple of Mogadons. Rattner gives a cursory nod to ethical issues raised by the genetic cure - such as is it wrong to want to make yourself "normal" - but focuses most of his energy on good old-fashioned wham bam CGI effects, such as a spectacular re-positioning of the Golden Gate Bridge.

Nevertheless, a "not-quite-as-good" X-Men film is still better than much of the fare on offer at the multiplexes, and there are some great moments - most featuring Jackman and McKellen, who truly are the best two reasons for seeing these films.

X-Men: The Last Stand has been described as the last in the series, but the wonderfully open ending leaves a tantalising hint of more to come. Make sure you stay until the end of the credits!

Oliver!

"If you don't mind noise with no silence
It's a fine life, it's a fine life
If you don't mind songs with domestic violence
It's a fine life, it's a fine life"

Those aren't the lyrics from "It's a Fine Life", one of the many memorable songs from Lionel Bart's Oliver!, but I've always thought they should be. There's a strange morphing that happens at some point in the musical of Charles Dickens famous novel Oliver Twist, and all of a sudden the life of a cheeky bunch of Victorian-era pickpockets isn't quite as fun as it was during "Consider Yourself".

I watched Oliver! the movie musical as a child, and was amused by its colour and movement. But I always wondered why - when the story was dealing with dark topics like child abuse and slavery, domestic violence, robbery and murder - characters would break into a thigh-slapping number about oom-pah-pahing or having a "fine life". It just seemed to jar with me. And I was reminded of that watching Oliver! at the Brisbane Arts Theatre. If you can get past the inconsistencies (which only ever seem to be my problem), it's a good nostalgic watch.

The Brisbane Arts Theatre and directors Rodney Wolff and Susan Gillingham have obviously made a decision to put bums on seats with a faithful reproduction of the movie for stage - complete with live 12-piece orchestra. The set (Una Hollingworth) and costumes (Sandra Hines) give the impression of a pop-up book of 1830s London - filled with under-nourished yet cherubic children, nasty workhouses masters, heartless funeral parlour owners, prostitutes with hearts of gold and their murderous boyfriends.

The child roles in this production are all double cast; but on opening night the star of the show for me was the young lad playing the Artful Dodger, whose energy seemed to infect his fellow actor playing Oliver, and boost his performance. Together they shined. Catherine Collings was a warm but spirited Nancy, and had the best singing voice in the cast. John Mulvihill played a very slithery Fagin - a few weeks into the run and I'm sure he'll be rivalling Sir Alex Guinness, who played the role in the 1948 David Lean film.

I felt the second half of the show let it down; the climax of the story felt rushed and I found its execution onstage confusing. Despite doggedly faithful adaptation, the directors have chosen to not use the movie ending, which I actually think would have suited the light tone of this production better. There were also some mystifying bits of choreography during some of the songs; but this is a minor quibble as the majority of the music, singing and dancing was very professional.

I realise I haven't actually mentioned the plot of Oliver! in this review; but then I guess if you don't know it, you've probably been living in a cave since the mid-1800s. Even so, this production is a good chance to relive those childhood memories and dreams of "Food! Glorious Food!"

Oliver! by Lionel Bart.
Brisbane Arts Theatre
Until Saturday, June 24, 2006
Thurs-Sat @ 8pm; Sat & Sun @ 2pm
Cost:$25/$20
Book on 3369 2344

The Da Vinci Code

It's sold 40 million copies, cheesed off the Catholic Church, prompted copyright battles in British courts and sparked more interest in the Holy Grail than Indiana Jones and Monty Python put together. It is "The Da Vinci Code" , and the movie is sticking with the spelling error (it's actually "da Vinci") that made author Dan Brown a super-duper-quadruple squillionaire.

And honestly? It's not THAT bad. OK, it's pretty bad. But there's a lot worse out there (Johnny Knoxville pretending to be retarded in "The Ringer", anyone?). I show my easily-pierced bleeding heart here when I say I feel desperately sorry for everyone involved in "The Da Vinci Code" movie - because it was never going to live up to the hype. And to give them credit, they do the best with what they've got.

Ron "All-American" Howard has given us a faithful but uninspired adaptation. The cuts he's made only serve to reduce any depth of character in his two leads - Tom Hanks as Harvard symbology professor Robert Langdon, and Audrey Tautou as French cryptologist Sophie Neveu. Together the pair plod through the 2-and-a-half hour running time, doggedly putting together the clues that will prove Mary Magdelene married Jesus Christ and bore his child, all the while running from a crazed albino monk and a secretive Catholic sect. I'm actually glad they left the book's romantic tension out of the film, as sadly these two have zero chemistry and it would have been a bit creepy.

Paul Bettany is spooky as Silas, the character single-handedly setting back the cause of those suffering albinism by 400 years. His violence - to others and himself - makes you cringe. But Sir Ian McKellen is the cream of the crop as Grail historian Leigh Teabing, injecting some much needed life into the second half of the film. You honestly could give that man the worst role in the worst film ever (Johnny Knoxville's part in "The Ringer", anyone?), and he'd still make it gold.

But there's some nice things in this film - the flashback and explanatory sequences are a good use of digital imaging, and the story does lend itself to some truly wonderful locations, which Ron Howard's wide lens camera captures.

Critics everywhere have panned this film - just check out handy reference guide Rotten Tomatoes. I can't go that far. Most people will go and see this film to see how the novel translates to screen, and it's worth it for that reason alone. I just hope the movie doesn't stop the general public debating the historical and religious questions that book inspired them to ask.

Two For the Money

Click here to go to the podcast of this review!

I've decided to start incorporating limericks into my reviews. Behold!

The world of sports betting is crazy
And morals can be somewhat hazy
In the midst of this casino
Stands a gasping Pacino
Whose acting we know is not lazy!

"Two for the Money" stars Matthew McConaughey as Brandon Lang, a former gridiron player ruled out of the game through injury. His talent for picking winners in the NFL attracts the attention of Walter Abrams (Al Pacino), an ex-gambler with a big mouth and a heart condition. Walter runs a profitable business advising gamblers on how to bet. He brings Brandon to New York, where he goes about turning him into "John Anthony" - the slick Million Dollar Man who picks it right 80 per cent of the time.

I really wasn't planning to see this film - it seemed to be your average "Innocent boy is seduced by money and the glamour of big city life, loses self, but comes good in the end" story. But once you get past the often mystifying world of American football it's a reasonably smart film with enough original angles on the psyche of gambling and addiction to make it worthwhile.

Al Pacino does give an over-the-top performance as Walter Abrams, but manages to brings humanity to the character. Walter is NOT the evil big-city seducer, luring a naive young Midwesterner into his demon lair. Sure, he offers a glittering prize, but his motive for doing so is intriguing. He's deeply flawed, and it makes an unlikeable character likeable. A gaunt-looking Rene Russo gives a strong but low-key performance as Walter's "keep-it-together" wife Toni. The central role of Brandon suits Matthew McConaughey to a tee - it doesn't really stretch his acting chops, rather, just gives him an opportunity to be boyishly charming, confident and above all - buff. Ladies beware!

This film does run 15 or 20 minutes longer than it needs too - and it also suffers from a slight conceit about its central subject of sports betting. Obviously it's aimed at American viewers who know exactly what "New York beating Green Bay by 5 points in the under" means. But if you ignore that and focus on the haggard features of Al Pacino, it's a decent way to spend 2 hours, and might make you reconsider that bet on the State of Origin!