Reviews by PvtCaboose91

For veteran filmmaker Mike Nichols, Closer is not unfamiliar terrain. Comparisons between this 2004 motion picture and Nichols' 1966 directorial debut, Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?, are inevitable: both are four-character dramas concerning domestic dysfunction that tackle the concept of romance as combat, and both are adaptations of plays. In terms of quality, however, it's hard to compare these films - Closer is a mostly empty film which never achieves the sustained intensity that made the earlier flick so unforgettably disturbing. Interestingly, while Closer may concentrate on relationships, the romance is virtually non-existent as the focus is mainly placed on the pain caused by infidelity, lies, and loving the wrong person. Putting this film alongside Nichols' Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? and Carnal Knowledge, a grim trilogy is formed which does not have many positive things to say about the human condition.

In a nutshell, Closer follows a quartet of people who become ensconced in relationships, affairs, inter-relationships, flings, and all sorts of clandestine alliances. On the streets of London, a young stripper named Alice (Portman) is hit by a car, and obituary journalist Dan (Law) comes to her rescue. Before long the two are living together, and Dan pens a novel inspired by Alice's tragic life. But Dan eventually finds himself obsessed with photographer Anna (Roberts). As revenge for rejecting him, Dan pretends to be her in an internet chat room, which leads to Anna meeting a dermatologist named Larry (Owen) whom she eventually marries. Complications begin to arise due to the sexual chemistry between Dan and Anna, and - to a lesser extent - Larry and Alice. Over the next several years, infidelities occur, betrayals are discovered, and a variety of ugliness ensues.

Nichols deserves credit for adapting the original play (by Patrick Marber, who also wrote the screenplay) into a movie which doesn't feel like a mere filmed play. It may be talky and relatively static, but there's sufficient dynamism in the cinematographer and set design to dispel the lingering feel of the play's confined staging.

Over the years, films may have examined the intricacies of relationships, but only a few have gone the extra step to offer a truthful and honest depiction of couples when deceit is involved. Closer tackles this fascinating notion, and does so by presenting a continuous string of arguments and relationship dilemmas. The script is notable for its frank dialogue - throughout the film there's constant profanity, explicit sexual dialogue and a host of interesting observations. Since Marber adapted his own play for the screen, the dialogue feels overly theatrical from time to time, but it's dispersed with gusto by a powerhouse cast. Another key strength of Closer is the use of the song The Blower's Daughter by Damien Rice as the opening and closing theme. It's a haunting tune that significantly adds to the overall feeling of the picture.

Upon release of Mike Nichols' Carnal Knowledge back in 1971, film critic Pauline Kael noted "The characters are depersonalized from the start through the elimination of all the possibilities in their lives except sex drives - not only love and work and family and affection are eliminated, but even eroticism, even simple warmth..." But Kael could've easily been writing about Closer, which, similar to Carnal Knowledge, concerns men and women's attitudes toward love and sex, but is just as narrow-minded in its constricted vision and disillusion. In the past, a number of great films have explored the depths of spiritual melancholy and dehumanisation to excellent effect (A Clockwork Orange, anyone?). Such films may not provide a particularly pleasurable viewing experience, but they trigger thought and reflection because the filmmakers situate the inhumanity within a humanistic framework. They have context, in other words.

Closer, on the other hand, lacks context. More importantly, it lacks soul and emotion. Dramas of this ilk usually zero in on both the passionate high points in relationships and the adulterous trysts, but Nichols' picture elects a radically different approach - the focus is almost exclusively on the low points in these relationships, and, in an even riskier gamble, these characters are generally shown after the fact discussing passion and love-making rather than engaging in it. Closer ultimately comes over as a straightforward string of scenes in which people betray each other, lie to each other, and screw each other over, but these acts are not justified past the fact the characters are short-sighted and arrogant. While Closer was intended to be a candid portrait of love in the modern world, closer inspection will reveal that there's no love in the film at all. Period. The filmmakers are so eager to shift to the next nihilistic instance of lovers mistreating one another that the film never halts to show why and how these individuals love each other, and what is being lost when they split. Connective tissue between the conflicts is entirely neglected, thus most of the film possesses the look and feel of cold verbal and emotional violence for the sake of it.

Closer takes place over a four-year duration, but the film constantly jumps ahead several months or years to skip to the next conflict. No helpful transitional scenes or "one year later" titles are thrown in to inform us of these shifts; relying on dialogue to convey the information instead. Suffice to say, the character betrayals were designed to be devastating moments of internal conflict and external anger, but there's just no context to shape these scenes. Instead of being emotionally involved, a viewer is left detached and can only distantly observe the never-ending self-destructiveness. The point is, Closer doesn't offer much back-story, and there are unforgivable gaps for which an audience is expected to fill everything in (what happened to the girlfriend Dan initially mentions?). The narrative is therefore as superficial as the four characters trudging through it.

Thankfully, Nichols assembled an absolutely top-notch cast for Closer. This film launched Clive Owen from relative obscurity to elite status with good reason. Owen plays a rough, sexually motivated character who seems to be the only person in the film capable of cutting to the heart of the bullshit swirling around him. The ferocity with which the actor delivers his lines, and the restless energy he imparts to his role, is electrifying. Closer also serves as a reminder that, when freed from the black hole of acting talent that is George Lucas, Natalie Portman is a fine young actress. For Portman (who plays a stripper...thus fulfilling the fantasies of several sad Star Wars fans), this was her first truly adult role, and she pulls it off with aplomb.
It would be unfair to describe either Jude Law's or Julia Roberts' performances as lesser, but these two high-profile actors are just not on the same level as their co-stars. Law is highly convincing and Roberts subdues her movie star sheen to create an indelible portrait of an unlikable woman, but neither captures the attention of the camera with the sheer intensity of Owen or Portman.

Normally in a movie such as Closer, a lover confessing to their partner about an affair would be an emotionally riveting moment that changes the trajectory of the narrative. But in Nichols' movie, this happens so many times without suitable motivation that it becomes hard to care by the fourth or fifth confession. As a narrative experiment, Closer is praiseworthy. But as a movie about passion, it's mono-emotional and surprisingly cold.

5.6/10

Based on actual events, the critically-acclaimed Boys Don't Cry tells the heartbreaking true story of a young woman suffering from a "sexual identity crisis". 20-year-old Teena Brandon (Swank) does not perceive herself as a woman. She sexually desires other females, but she doesn't consider herself a lesbian - rather, she sees herself as a heterosexual man, and decides to live life under the alias of Brandon Teena. Biologically, she was a woman. In all other respects, however, Brandon was male. In 1993, Brandon moved to a small town where a low-rent group accept him for what they believe him to be, and he even manages to charm the beautiful Lana (Sevigny).

All is peachy until the truth about Brandon's biology is unearthed, and he quickly realises how fast things can change. The majority of the runtime for Boys Don't Cry chronicles Brandon's entrance into his new group of friends as well as his blossoming relationship with Lana. The final quarter, however, details how those who had previously accepted him into their "family" react to the realisation that Brandon's identity is complicated in a way that they could never have expected, and how this leads to horrific violence. Said violence that is unleashed upon Brandon is ultimately a crime of frustration and confusion, and it makes a disturbing statement about the Midwestern attitude towards homophobia. It's the direct result of unthinking men who find themselves unable to deal with the rupture of sexual identity posed by Brandon. In this way, Teena Brandon is a symbol of everyone who is unable to neatly fit into the presupposed categories in the culture of everyday life.

There comes a point as Boys Don't Cry nears its dénouement when Lana is asked to admit her lesbianism; echoing a point at the beginning of the film in which Teena is asked to accept hers. But neither person is able to. Put in conjunction, these two scenes solidify the point that Brandon was a man who loved women and Lana was a woman who loved men. Neither was homosexual - it was simply a matter of the fact that neither had the facilities (or the funds) to complete Brandon's natural physical transition into manhood to match his mental state. In another masterstroke, the screenplay - penned by director Kimberly Peirce and Andy Bienen - never attempts to disguise the fact that behind his forced happiness, Brandon was deeply troubled. He had a history of theft and petty crime, on top of a tendency to be dishonest. For the most part, the film sticks closely to the facts presented in the 1998 documentary The Brandon Teena Story. The story has been slightly altered, of course, but most of the characters and events are accurately presented. Certainly, none of these alternations dilute or diminish the movie's brutal impact.

First-time feature film director Peirce has assembled her motion picture in a straightforward but compelling fashion. Her direction is calm and assured; affording a leanness to the imagery which stands in direct contrast to the emotional complexities of the characters. Furthermore, Boys Don't Cry is masterfully imbued with naturalistic and mechanical imagery which compounds the sense of the characters' hopelessness. Peirce accentuates their despair by speeding up the film stock from time to time, and, while this sped-up footage unfolds, the characters observe in a stone-like stasis. Boys Don't Cry certainly earns its 'R' rating - it's emotionally fatiguing and visceral. Peirce did not intend for the film to be seen by those unwilling to confront the horrific results of intolerance and hatred. The audience is spared of nothing - every graphic detail of every indignity endured by Brandon is presented onscreen. Those who cannot stomach such scenes will find this movie nigh on unwatchable, while others will be rewarded with a potent filmic experience.

Boys Don't Cry does go slightly awry, however, in granting its principle characters such a small amount of background; providing insufficient insight into many of their motives. While one can sympathise with the deeply troubled Brandon, Peirce never explains the WHY. The story begins with Brandon's makeover, but the turning point is unclear, with no flashbacks and little history. It takes longer than usual to immerse oneself into this particular world due to this, on top of the fact that throughout the marginally overlong runtime, the film occasionally loses a degree of momentum. As for the rest, Boys Don't Cry is a superbly-crafted re-enactment, but it's doubtful one will come away loving it. It's one of those remarkable films one loves and hates at the same time, and one of those movies one doesn't particularly wish to see again.

Another great success of Boys Don't Cry is the phenomenal acting. The cast, which was comprised primarily of small-time actors of the time, is close to perfect. The lion's share of the praise belongs to Hilary Swank, who, with her short hair cut and wrapped chest, bears a remarkable resemblance to the real Brandon Teena. This is raw, courageous, compelling work - it's the performance of the career for Swank, who earned an Oscar. More than anything else, Swank convinces us of her character's masculinity, much as Brandon did in real life, and it triggers questions about the signifiers we commonly ascribe to the gender. What makes a man a man? What makes a woman a woman? There are no easy answers here. The supporting actors alongside Swank are more than capable. Chloë Sevigny is remarkable as the affection-staved Lana. Swank's chemistry with Sevigny is the film's foundation - if the two lead actors were unable to sell the relationship, the whole film would have slid into a crater of sensationalism. But it works tremendously, and their scenes together are both erotic and sweet. Peter Sarsgaard rounds out the triangle of central characters as the sociopathic John. Sarsgaard manages the inexplicable: he gives his hateful character human dimensions.

Through her script and focused direction, Peirce has taken great pains to avoid even the slightest hint of exploitation with Boys Don't Cry. Ultimately, through an array of dazzling performances and her skilful exertions, she has created a genuinely harrowing cinematic experience. It's not quite as accomplished as it could have been, but it's nonetheless a worthy endeavour that's as fascinating as it is darkly disturbing.

8.3/10

In the hands of legendary filmmaker Akira Kurosawa, a simple tale of seven samurai hired to protect a village from marauding bandits is transformed into a unique and mesmerising action epic of sustained tension and stoic humanity. It would ostensibly seem that stacking further praise onto Shichinin no Samurai (Seven Samurai) is futile after over five decades of critics doing so already, but there's no harm in offering a little more warranted love for this masterpiece.

Inarguably, Japan's most prevalent cinematic export is the samurai movie, and the most important samurai picture in history is Akira Kurosawa's Seven Samurai. An action epic 18 months in the making, Seven Samurai impacted the way the samurai genre was viewed, and advanced its status. In addition, Kurosawa's 1954 masterwork shattered the formulas for both the jidai-geki (Japanese period film) and the chambara (Japanese swordplay film) by deconstructing and reassembling the Bushido samurai code, and by gazing through the lens of history at Japan's post-war struggle toward capitalism, democracy, and a new social and cultural identity. In the process of altering Japanese genre forms to suit his own proclivities, director Kurosawa created an engrossing, timeless tour de force. While critics during the '50s were dismissive of Seven Samurai, it has since achieved an almost mythical status, and was selected by a group of '00 critics as the Best Japanese Movie of All-Time.

Set at some point during the feudal era of Japan (circa late 16th Century) when lawlessness was rife and bandit gangs roamed the country-side, Seven Samurai concerns a small village that faces the prospect of again losing their valuable crops to a band of vicious marauders. The villagers abide by the advice of their elder, and set out to hire Ronin (masterless Samurai) to defend them. Despite offering little reward in return, a veteran samurai who has fallen on hard times answers the request and proceeds to round up a group of warriors. Upon arriving at the village, the samurai begin preparing for the impending attack, and teach the villagers to fight.

Curiously, for a film which is customarily perceived as the standard-bearer of samurai movies, Seven Samurai is an atypical entry to the genre. More typical samurai pictures concentrate on a sword-wielding, superhero-type protagonist who triumphs over an overwhelming horde of foes. Kurosawa's Seven Samurai, on the other hand, offers a group of flawed protagonists, some of whom are not skilled fighters. And, in large part due to the melancholy tone adopted by Kurosawa for the film's dénouement, the samurai's victory is ultimately hollow and unsatisfying; it feels like more of a defeat than a victory.

The premise may appear straightforward if examined at face value, but the execution is brilliant. Kurosawa allows the narrative to unfold quietly and calmly over three distinct acts. Act 1 establishes the plight of the villagers, and tracks the characters as the samurai are rounded up. In the second act, the samurai arrive and train the villagers to prepare for battle. The third and final act chronicles the epic battle between the bandits and the samurai. Once again, straightforward if taken at face value, but Kurosawa was deft enough to allow space for meticulous character development. Thus, during the passionate, riveting and intense final action scene, a viewer will care about and consequently cheer for the protagonists. The only fault of Seven Samurai is that, despite the daunting 210-minute runtime, only three of the samurai are fully realised - the other four "secondary" samurai are only sketchily developed, and are therefore poorly delineated when it comes to the battles.

Those who've never seen Seven Samurai may be intimidated by both its foreign origins and its three-and-a-half-hour running time, but they shouldn't. Seven Samurai is blessed with the type of momentum that long movies usually lack. True enough, the proceedings get somewhat tedious at times during its mammoth runtime, but the pace is generally strong. Additionally, the film displays the mastery of the technique of "deep focus" - Kurosawa continuously presents everything in focus, and different things usually transpire at different depths. These compositions are impressive, and fascinating to behold. The incredible action sequences within Seven Samurai, especially the final showdown, set a new precedent not only for samurai movies but also for Hollywood productions and all forms of foreign cinema. Let's not forget that Kurosawa's notion of epic cinema precedes the work of such esteemed filmmakers as David Lean (Lawrence of Arabia).

Seven Samurai may be an ensemble motion picture, but none of the cast members shine brighter than Kurosawa's favourite actor; Toshirô Mifune, whose character of Kikuchiyo is larger-than-life. Mifune was given a prime opportunity to show off his range here, playing Kikuchiyo as a stumbling drunk, a playful clown, a brooding man who reflects on his unhappy past, and a skilled fighter. Veteran performer Takashi Shimura - yet another of Kurosawa's frequent collaborators - provides the voice of wisdom, reason and patience in the role of Kambei. Standing in direct contrast with Kikuchiyo's flamboyance, Shimura presents his character as an authority figure who commands respect through mere presence. The third major samurai of the titular group is Katsushiro, who's played by Isao Kimura with an effective mixture of energy, naïveté, and the eventual realisation that battle is not all glory. Of the four remaining samurai, only Kyuzo, played by Seiji Miyaguchi, stands out, primarily because he's so different from his comrades. Soft-spoken and reserved, Kyuzo primarily uses his sword as his voice. The other three samurai are largely interchangeable, and their personalities won't begin to distinctly emerge until one's third or fourth viewing of the movie.

It's difficult to single out the elements which make Seven Samurai such a masterpiece. Everything, from Kurosawa's meticulous attention to detail to the amazing action to the genuinely heartfelt human drama unfurling beneath, comes together wonderfully. A few years following the movie's 1954 release, Seven Samurai was remade by John Sturges as The Magnificent Seven, which replaced 16th Century Japan with the American West, and replaced samurai with cowboys. The tremendous success of The Magnificent Seven inspired an international trend towards samurai imitations, and ultimately led to the "Spaghetti Westerns" of Sergio Leone and others. A well-deserved reputation.

9.5/10

Due to his distinct directorial flourishes, it's easy to determine if you're watching a movie directed by Tony Scott. Likewise, the style of writer and director Quentin Tarantino is so unique that it's easy to tell if you're witnessing one of his motion pictures. There's a slight exception to these rules, however: 1993's True Romance. Those seeking a movie marked with either director's style will be pleasantly surprised by this Scott-directed, Tarantino-penned slice of filmmaking. Thankfully, the cinematic eyes of Scott and Tarantino form something organic; an irresistible mixture of both directors' strengths that's stylish and sublime. True Romance is simultaneously a drug picture, a chase movie, a gangster flick, and a wacky, turbulent romantic-partners-in-crime adventure. Think Bonnie and Clyde on speed.

Now, onto the story... Clarence Worley (Slater) is a loser who's reduced to spending his birthday watching kung-fu movies at a local cinema. On the night of his birthday, he meets Alabama (Arquette); a call girl (that's just a fancy way of describing a type of prostitute) who's hired to spend the evening with Clarence, but unexpectedly falls in love with him. Once they promptly marry, Clarence steals $500,000 worth of cocaine, and the couple flee to Hollywood in the hope of selling the drugs. Naturally, the owners of the merchandise want their cocaine back, and begin to ruthlessly pursue the couple.

From the outset, it's clear the runtime of True Romance will be spent tracking a bunch of low-life, homicidal maniacs. Is it possible for viewers to grow to like these people? Fortunately, the answer is a resounding yes, because, in writing the script, Quentin Tarantino possessed the talent to create vividly-drawn characters who constantly spurt instantly classic dialogue throughout jaw-dropping, extraordinarily entertaining set-pieces. This is likely the greatest Tarantino screenplay to date, which is probably because the writer was not allotted the director's chair. With a different director at the helm and another creative team handling this script, the reek of self-indulgence is not as potent or distracting. To be fair, it takes a bit too long for True Romance to hit is stride, but the unrelenting energy as a result of Tony Scott's superlative direction ensures that, although little actually transpires throughout the film's initial half hour, boring moments are at an absolute minimum. Best of all, though, the energy rarely allows viewers the opportunity to stop and consider the absurdity of this whole fairytale.

True Romance has a keen eye for brazen character risk-taking and capricious passion. Though the film begins as a contrived love story, it progressively morphs into a tangible, utterly involving tale tracking a couple of thoroughly appealing caricatures. Clarence's sudden transformation from lonesome, Elvis-loving counter jockey to wild-eyed risk taker and gunslinger feels organic in this script's hands, while his heavenly parlay with Alabama throughout their exquisite first date convincingly sells the prospect of instant love in a touching yet untamed way. At the heart of all great movies is the joy of discovery, and True Romance excels in this department - it entertains through an enthralling story and compelling characters. It's a hell of a lot of fun.

At no point is a viewer supposed to accept True Romance as realism, and we're never expected to believe a word of it. Instead, a few slightly realistic elements operate underneath the movie's ludicrous nature. Naturally, this is all part of Tarantino's writing modus operandi. In a sense, one can consider this film to be the cousin of Reservoir Dogs and the prequel to Pulp Fiction. Somehow, Tarantino managed to pen all 3 movies in a phenomenal spurt of creative energy never equalled in Hollywood history. True Romance may have preceded the more illustrious Pulp Fiction by a year or so, but it was infused with a comparable flavour - a mixture of black humour, violence, romance and dialogue drenched in geekdom euphemisms. As a matter of fact, True Romance played a pivotal role in launching Tarantino's Hollywood career. Funding for Reservoir Dogs was reportedly derived from the cash earned from selling the screenplay for True Romance, after which Pulp Fiction received the green light purely on account of the reputation he earned with these two prior films. Mind you, True Romance is not everyone's cup of tea due to Tony Scott's directorial zeal and Tarantino's flippant tongue, but it's a major crowd-winner for those who enjoy its flavour.

The strongest element of True Romance is the unending cornucopia of top-notch actors which constitute the cast. One of the biggest successes of said cast is the chemistry between Christian Slater and Patricia Arquette. Their interactions are enthralling; mingling their animated personas in a slick, adorable fashion. As a result of such spot-on casting, their tumultuous, whirlwind relationship comes across as sweet, amusing and touching. Further high points arrive in the form of Christopher Walken and Dennis Hopper, who at one stage share a brilliant, riveting dialogue sequence in which the two acting giants speak in Tarantino-esque language and one-up each other with every hilarious delivery. Val Kilmer also makes an appearance as the imaginary Elvis Presley mentor, who advises Clarence on matters of action and demeanour (bear in mind that Kilmer's film debut was Top Secret!; a spoof of Elvis movies for which he played the main role). Then there's Gary Oldman appearing as the slimy, vicious, violent, repellent white pimp who believes he's black.

Digging deeper into the cast, one will discover Michael Rapaport playing a friend of Clarence's, and Brad Pitt (who was a little-known actor during this period) as a druggie who's always in a daze. Samuel L. Jackson even shows up for a remarkable moment playing a drug dealer with a foul mouth, though Jackson's appearance is a classic case of "blink and you'll miss him". Finally, there's Saul Rubinek playing a producer named Lee Donowitz, in addition to James Gandolfini as a mob hit-man who makes the mistake of trying to intimidate the defenceless Alabama, and a few others. Good heavens, what a terrific group!

In essence, True Romance is a full-blooded, Bonnie and Clyde-style story of love at first sight through the eyes of a Pulp Fiction level Tarantino. And under the astute direction of Tony Scott, it becomes a savagely funny thrill ride of indulgent aesthetics and swoon-worthy romantic theatrics between two "damaged goods" characters.

9.5/10

Helmed by Peter Yates, 1968's Bullitt is the film which positioned Steve McQueen at the forefront of American movie stars. Bullitt was truly a turning point for McQueen - he had previous starred in several films (The Magnificent Seven and The Great Escape stand out the most from this period), but this was the role that propelled him to genuine stardom. With his sex appeal, desire for accurate detail in his movies, and plain old cool, McQueen was a perfect fit for the iconic Frank Bullitt. With that said, it's critical to note that Bullitt is nothing like the slam-bang, action-oriented crime pictures so prevalent in the 21st Century. The film's celebrated car chase is certainly exhilarating, but it lacks the over-the-top excitement of modern action sequences. There are no spectacular shootouts in Bullitt either, and, while the climactic ending brings about a few tense moments, this is not an especially exciting film. It is cool, though, and that's why Bullitt has become a deserved classic.

In the story, Frank Bullitt is assigned the task of protecting a witness who's set to testify against the Mob in a few days. He decides to place the witness in a seedy hotel for the night; a location he feels is both secure and well hidden. But in spite of his best precautions, both the witness and Frank's colleague are gunned down by professional hit-men. With the victims near death, Bullitt sets out to track down the thugs responsible; quickly becoming ensnared in an elaborate conspiracy and finding himself in the sights of a vast criminal network.

Frank Bullitt is not your standard action movie protagonist. He is not cut from the same cloth as Dirty Harry or John McClane. He's instead soft-spoken and maintains restraint. More importantly, Frank is a loner who is not understood by anybody. His beautiful girlfriend wants to understand and love him, but Frank appears further detached from reality with each case he solves and every ounce of blood he pays witness to (consider a scene in which a corpse is found: Frank himself is calm and casual, but his girlfriend is horrified). While his superiors look upon Frank as a man to count on who'll complete the job, they are unable to understand his methods. He's perceived by those around him as someone who's more machine than man, and who exudes little humanity...just coolness.

Contrary to popular belief, Bullitt did not invent the car chase. Car chases have appeared in movies since the silent film era. That said, however, Bullitt did reinvent the car chase. Exceptionally choreographed, skilfully shot and blazingly fast, the chase sequence in this film is truly magnificent, and set the precedent for action movies to follow. Even despite all the sophisticated filmmaking technology available since 1968, it's almost impossible to beat the mesmerising chase in Bullitt. The entire sequence was done for real, too, with no over-cranked footage (the norm for chases at the time) and with McQueen doing virtually all of his own driving. Best of all, there's no music blasting throughout the sequence; just screeching rubber, the thud of tires against asphalt, and the roar of the spectacular engines.

Rather than focusing on action, the runtime of Bullitt is spent examining politics and procedures in police-work required to solve a crime. Realism was paramount in the creation of this movie, and director Peter Yates has pulled off an outstanding job. The atmosphere is heightened by the fact that the whole movie was filmed on location rather than in a studio - hospital scenes were filmed in a hospital, morgue scenes were shot in a morgue, the run-down hotel room was an actual run-down hotel room, and so on. This approach tested the film technology of the era since lighting was difficult in such cramped conditions, but the filmmakers' dedicated exertions afforded a gritty, dark, almost documentary feel. It's also crucial to reiterate that the car chase was staged at actual speeds, and was actually filmed on the streets of San Francisco (roads had to be shut down by the filmmakers). On top of this, actual professionals were employed as extras instead of mere background actors - real doctors and nurses were shown in the background during hospital scenes, for instance, as opposed to a parade of Hollywood hopefuls with a headshot and a smile.

Similarly, the brilliantly economical script solidifies the atmosphere of realism. Characters carry out their tasks without contrived explanatory dialogue, and it gives a viewer the sense that they're watching actual events. Clearly, the filmmakers understand the time-honoured adage that a picture says a thousand words, because the body language and movement during periods of silence often convey more than what is spoken. Yet, beyond McQueen's definitive anti-hero and the exhilarating car chase, everything else is somewhat humdrum - Bullitt constantly feels as if it's half-asleep. The plot is perhaps too convoluted and a second viewing is required to get the details straight. Furthermore, while the character of Bullitt is reasonably complex, the characters surrounding him are clichéd. Most of all, the narrative may be a tad too reserved to satisfy every taste. The lack of directorial flourish instils an unfortunate sense of datedness as well.

Inevitable flaws aside, Bullitt is a classic cinematic artefact highly deserving of all the accolades and acclaim which has been bestowed upon it. With its meticulous attention to detail and a terrific examination of the happenings behind the scenes of a police investigation, this is a crime-drama that entertains with intelligence. If you don't watch this movie closely, you'll miss vital details, and that's what makes it more than just another cop movie with a car chase.

8.3/10

With a few motion pictures and several television projects under his belt, Mike Judge has become the undisputed master of working man's comedy. No matter the colour of their specific collar, the characters created by Judge exist on the front-lines of American industry. Whether he's exploring the irritating administrative politics of contemporary office workers or the family dynamics of upper-class rednecks, the writer-director is visibly focused on finding comedy in the everyday and is seemingly fascinated by the banal lives of dull people. More than that, Judge is content not to tug the heartstrings or rely on frequent hilarity as long as he is able to build the impression that the people onscreen are an honest reflection of the co-worker to your right or the relative on your left. Office Space and Idiocracy introduced and solidified Judge's approach, which is sustained with the writer-director's third movie, Extract, to great success. A sturdy, constantly uproarious comedy, this film reinforces Judge's voice as a relaxed filmmaker with impeccable comic timing and a terrific skill at blending absurdity with the awkwardly real.

Jason Bateman plays Joel; the owner and founder of a small company that produces food extracts. However the film's title of Extract not only refers to the trade of the protagonist, but also to the main plot threads. There's a drop-dead gorgeous new woman in town named Cindy (Kunis) who in reality is a con artist and a petty thief out to extract whatever she can from those she encounters. Meanwhile, a worker at the Joel's factory, Step (Collins Jr.) loses a testicle in a work-related incident and, with a little prodding from Cindy, decides to sue the company and extract compensation. Unfortunately, Joel's home life isn't any better - the sex has been extracted from his banal marriage, and his irritating neighbour (Koechner) is trying to extract money from Joel for tickets to a dinner that both Joel and his wife have no interest in attending.

Of course, this brief synopsis barely scratches the surface of the subplots which emerge throughout the runtime of Extract. There's about as much "story" here as was featured in Office Space; allowing the film to be mainly about its characters, their situations, and their legitimately hilarious exchanges. If there are surprises to be had with this movie, they're certainly not in the story, which unfolds predictably once one buys into the premises. The surprise is how downright hilarious the whole movie is.

Office Space developed into such a cult classic due to its uncanny observations on cubical drudgery; offering viewers a shoulder to cry on while cooking up frequent laughs. Extract focuses on the less glamorous managerial positions, and provides a flipside of the coin. The best parts of Extract are those which dissect commonplace, everyday elements: the chatty neighbour, the dynamics of a sexless marriage, and the dullness of a workplace. Like Peter Gibbons in Office Space, Joel is an ordinary guy trying to find his way in life, but is constantly hampered by the incompetents surrounding him. The writer-director clearly knew he was making something silly, but he has infused Extract with an unpolished realism that grounds the film superbly. It's the gift of this great filmmaker; the ability to lampoon workplace ethics and expose a core of truth within a ridiculous motion picture.

Although Judge mocks idiots, hypocrites and all other clueless denizens of life, there's an obvious affection for the ordinary people who make the world turn but aren't usually placed front & centre in mainstream cinema. Therefore, these ostensibly boring people come across as genuinely appealing and interesting. When compared to the blaring antics of most Hollywood comedies, Judge appears to downplay the humour in Extract to a constant low hum which reflects Judge's appreciation of simplicity and general decency. Expecting a nonstop laugh-fest would be setting yourself up for disappointment, however - this is low-key comedy of situation and character that relies upon the strength of the cast and the well-written material. Extract is dry and it won't satisfy every taste, but those who appreciate this form of subtle humour will be rewarded greatly.

The cast Judge has assembled is terrific. Jason Bateman continues to display his mastery of portraying the straight man; playing effortlessly against the eccentricities of his oddball co-workers and the other peculiar people surrounding him. The scene-stealers here, though, are Ben Affleck, Clifton Collins Jr., J.K. Simmons and David Koechner. Affleck, who has been gradually rebuilding his damaged career by appearing in under-the-radar films since Hollywoodland, submits a wonderful performance as a bartender who believes Xanax is the cure for everything (including the common cold). The role tackled by Collins Jr. is one dimensional on paper, but the actor's performance provides the character with depth and humanity. J.K. Simmons appears to relish the opportunity to play Joel's business partner and is given several killer lines to play with, while Koechner nails the part as the annoying, talkative, socially awkward neighbour. Mila Kunis (best known as the voice of Meg Griffin in Family Guy) is well-suited to the role of Cindy; she's required to look ridiculously hot as she goes about her business of tricking the men she encounters, and she pulls it off.

Following the theatrical catastrophe of 2006's Idiocracy (a biting sci-fi satire which 20th Century Fox unceremoniously dumped in all of four theatres), Mike Judge has returned with the brilliant Extract; his companion piece to Office Space. Unfortunately, while the dump-and-run approach utilised by Fox for Idiocracy was not in evidence this time, the distributor of Extract - Miramax - did not exactly roll out the red carpet either. The film entered a number of theatres, but the marketing campaign was minimal and it was given an appalling release slot. Extract may not be a masterpiece, but it's considerably superior to most 2009 comedies which received a more robust backing (Year One, Dance Flick, Fired Up and Bride Wars, anyone?).

8.2/10

Born from the mind of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Sherlock Holmes has been imbedded in the public consciousness for in excess of a century now through countless short stories, books, films, and pop culture interpretations. It's an indubitably impressive run, and has caused the character to become one of the most recognisable literary figures in history. Considering the amount of famous film franchises which have been rebooted over recent years (Star Trek, James Bond, etc), it comes as no surprise to learn of the birth of a new Sherlock Holmes film series specifically tailored for a new generation. British filmmaker Guy Ritchie combines his kinetic directorial methods with the limitless charms of Robert Downey Jr. and Jude Law to produce 2009's Sherlock Holmes. This newest version of the character won't likely please purists, but it isn't made for them - similar to Batman Begins and Star Trek, the timeless fictional characters are fashioned to produce a breakneck thriller intended to electrify modern audiences and widen the appeal. That's not to say Ritchie's version depicts Holmes as a straight-up action hero - in spite of the action being played up to satisfy contemporary viewers who'd find a more subdued portrayal too dull, the film is more intelligent than expected, and this is by no means hackwork.

As Sherlock Holmes begins, the titular character (Downey Jr.) and his faithful sidekick Dr. Watson (Law) apprehend serial killer Lord Blackwood (Strong) before he can claim his sixth victim via a dark arts ceremony. Prior to Blackwood's hanging, he warns Holmes that the mayhem and murder won't cease with his execution. Inevitably, this statement rings true. When Blackwood appears to have risen from the grave, the case takes a macabre turn. Complicating the situation is Irene Adler (McAdams), Holmes' slippery former flame, who has returned to London but whose motivations are vague and highly suspicious.

Guy Ritchie mixes the grittiness and brawling of Snatch with buddy cop elements (think Lethal Weapon) and the cheekiness of an Indiana Jones movie to form his Sherlock Holmes. The team of screenwriters (Michael Robert Johnson, Anthony Peckman and Simon Kinberg) keep their tale within the Victorian-era setting in London, and liberally draw from the Holmes canon as familiar characters are plucked from various tales and mixed into this unique stew which relies as much on the detective's physical abilities as it does his deductive capabilities. Fortunately, a couple of combat sequences are skilfully transformed into an intellectual exercise by decelerating the action and allowing Holmes to work out a carefully calculated series of actions to disarm his opponent. Thus, while the execution is purely physical, the violence works in conjunction with (rather than in opposition to) his intellect, not to mention it demonstrates that Holmes is always 100 steps ahead of his enemies.

Dipping into chemistry, pentagrams and early forms of electricity, the plot of Sherlock Holmes is all over the place, and it's so convoluted that one will likely have difficult wrapping their head around it all. This is, of course, due to Ritchie's hyperactive style - the director has crafted an action-adventure all about whooshing and head-banging; leaving little space between each jackhammer sequence to savour the meaning of Holmes' words. Sherlock Holmes literally plays out as if the entire film is on fast-forward. Even during the expositional scenes, there's a distinct lack of substance. On top of this, the plot is not exactly interesting - it feels like the work of Dan Brown (it's almost a doppelganger of Angels & Demons). Granted, the film remains pleasant fun, but it's too disappointingly average, disposable, and simply blah.

In portraying the legendary Sherlock Holmes, Robert Downey Jr. adds his name to an extensive list of actors, including such luminaries as Peter O'Toole, John Barrymore, Peter Cushing and the beloved Basil Rathbone. It may be tempting to perceive Downey's portrayal and Ritchie's amped-up aesthetic approach to the material as mere revisionism for the ADD generation, but it's closer in spirit and tone to Doyle's original character, who is more of a self-imposed social outcast than the distinguished, academic figure to which audiences have grown accustomed. Robert Downey Jr. could not be better casting - it's an articulation of genius that makes Sherlock Holmes such an interesting film despite the myriad flaws. His British accent is utterly convincing. Better, Downey shares pointed chemistry with Jude Law. The role of Dr. Watson was a very smart choice for Law; providing viewers with the opportunity to truly appreciate the actor's screen skills. Law exudes charm and verve as Dr. Watson; offering a more muscular portrait of the character and providing a welcome straight-man for whenever Holmes' eccentricities cross the line.

Sherlock Holmes is further marred by the inclusion of one of the dullest villains in the Holmes canon: Lord Blackwood (played by Mark Strong) who sneers a lot and aspires to take over the world in typical Blofield fashion. Strong is an excellent actor, but the character is neither broad nor menacing enough for him to sink his teeth into, and he's therefore relegated to scowling for the majority of the movie. Rachel McAdams, meanwhile, looks visibly out of her league alongside the impeccable Downey Jr. and Law.

Guy Ritchie, who hasn't had a true hit since Snatch and has been unable to bring anything new to the table since the early days of the Blair government, had long seemed a spent force. But Sherlock Holmes is a good career move. His fingerprints are all over the movie in terms of visual whiplash, but Ritchie was not among those who wrote the script, and therefore the film has not been created as Snatch in a Victorian-era setting (Tarantino should pay attention, since his Inglourious Basterds was virtually Pulp Fiction in a World War II setting). Here, Ritchie acquits himself particularly well for several exhilarating set-pieces; particularly a breathless foot-chase which ends with the destruction of an unfinished ocean liner. On a technical level, 19th Century London as it enters the modern age has been vividly and dynamically recreated, and composer Hans Zimmer delivers an enthralling score.

Ultimately, as films like X-Men achieved with the reintroduction of long-established characters to a new generation, Sherlock Holmes is more successful as a set-up to its sequels rather than a satisfying standalone story. When freed of the origin-story constraints, Brian Singer truly took off with X-Men 2, and so too should Ritchie when it comes time to create a sequel. The reason Sherlock Holmes fails as often as it succeeds is because it merely offers interesting characters in search of a worthwhile story.

6.1/10

After creating the first feature-length animated movie in history with 1937's Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, Walt Disney followed up the success of this risky gamble with Pinocchio - a morality tale based on the serialised stories of Italian author Carlo Collodi about a mischievous puppet who longs to be a real boy. Building on the equipment and techniques developed for Snow White, Pinocchio was released in 1940, and solidified the studio's reputation as the premiere producer of animated entertainment. It was one of the five early animated masterworks Disney presided over at the height of his powers, and decades after its initial theatrical release it remains a technical and emotional marvel which has lost practically none of its appeal, humour or horror.

Told through the fourth wall by the lovable Jiminy Cricket (Edwards), the story is an extremely familiar one, and concerns a lonely woodcarver named Geppetto (Rub). He lives in his workshop with his kitten Figaro and goldfish Cleo, and dreams of having a son. Upon creating a magnificent wooden puppet which he names Pinocchio, Geppetto receives a visit from The Blue Fairy (Venable) who brings the little puppet to life and promises Pinocchio he'll become a real boy if he learns about bravery, loyalty and honesty. The rest of the narrative tracks the naïve, wooden young lad as he is caught up in a series of adventures which put these attributes to the test, while Jiminy Cricket - who has been appointed Pinocchio's conscience - tries to keep him out of trouble.

Chief among the most uneasy, tense sequences of Pinocchio occurs when the titular character is lured to a mysterious place called Pleasure Island whereupon he encounters a number of other young boys. Initially the tone is darkly comical as the lads are allowed free reign to do whatever they want (this involves drinking beer, eating cake, smoking cigars and destroying things). But directors Hamilton Luske and Ben Sharpsteen (who also worked separately on such other Disney animated classics as Dumbo, Cinderella and Peter Pan) slowly begin to build levels of unease; suggesting with ominous imagery that something is not quite right. Yet, the film balances these darker elements with humour and wit, most of which is courtesy of the wise-cracking, but ultimately humble and attentive Jiminy Cricket, who implores viewers at the film's beginning to believe in the magic of wishing upon a star. He's among the most memorable Disney creations: not a mere sidekick, this little guy is the narrator as well as the crucial link between the movie and the audience (he often breaks the fourth wall by speaking directly to an audience, which was a rarity in 1940s cinema). Added to this, Cliff Edwards' vocal performance as Jiminy hits all the right notes.

Naturally, another great asset of Pinocchio is the visual appeal. Entirely hand-drawn in a period preceding computer animation, this movie is a dazzling mixture of impressionism and realism, replete with striking colours and an exquisite attention to detail. The artists at Disney played with elements of light & shadow, and managed to create vivid, three-dimensional landscapes inhabited by an array of animated characters. It's apparent that Walt and his crew hadn't perfected lip motion at the time of Pinocchio, but virtually every other aspect of fluid motion animation had been nailed. Furthermore, a variety of animation techniques (now taken for granted) were actually invented for this film. The underwater sequences and animated backgrounds included in this early masterwork helped add depth to what was formerly a fairly flat medium. The intricate details here would be praiseworthy even if they were digitally created...but every frame was manually drawn, inked, coloured and photographed in sequence for Pinocchio. It's a marvel. For those wanting to experience hand-drawn animation at its early apex, this is a movie to be savoured.

Yet, even with all its strengths, this is an inherently flawed movie. Due to the serialised nature of the source material, Pinocchio is divided into vignettes, resulting in a string of unconnected fables lacking a compelling story (and, more importantly, momentum). It's also the most consciously moral of the Disney classics (once again remaining true to the source material). While other Disney films are endowed with messages and lessons, Pinocchio is a little too preachy at times. Lazy narrative elements are mixed in as well, such as the fact that how Geppetto and his companions end up in the belly of a whale remains a perplexing mystery, and that Pinocchio finds out about his father's misfortune because he receives a note that's conveniently dropped by The Blue Fairy. Naturally, copious amounts of Disney syrup have been applied here, which does at times grow pretty overwhelming. The film of course ends with an obligatory happy ending, but it admittedly feels well-earned.

In spite of its flaws, Pinocchio remains integral in the history of animation. Sure, it was the second feature-length animated movie in history behind Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, but movie-goers were still sceptical about a cartoon keeping an audience hooked for its entire runtime. If Pinocchio was a failure, it would have proved just as devastating to the company, as Snow White would've been if it hadn't been received so positively. Fortunately, the film was a deserved hit which earned several Oscars (including Best Original Song for When You Wish Upon a Star - the Jiminy Cricket ballad that became the theme for Walt Disney enterprises). By some miracle, too, Disney also managed to release the legendary Fantasia later in the same year.

7.8/10

Designed and constructed as nothing more than a kick-'em-up action vehicle for Brandon Lee (son of Bruce Lee), Rapid Fire is satisfying patchwork genre filmmaking. It's a highly entertaining, albeit painfully generic pastiche of Mafioso politics, crooked FBI machinations, perpetual mayhem and an array of awesome action sequences. No elements are incorporated into Rapid Fire to hoist it above the territory of the strictly ordinary, but it remains fulfilling as a mindless action flick.

The plot, naturally, has a clichéd ring to it: in a typically contrived way, Jake Lo (Lee) witnesses a mob execution. Jake agrees to testify against the Big Powerful Bad Guy No-One Has The Guts To Mess With, and the FBI places him in the witness protection program. Since it's an unwritten law in the world of action flicks, this witness protection program proves rife with corruption, and Jake - once framed by the FBI - is forced to take matters into his own hands. On the run from the law and caught in the middle of a battle between two feuding drug lords, the Jake is faced with only one way to clear his name: team up with a renegade cop (Boothe). Nothing new here, folks.

Alan McElroy's screenplay (from a plot conceived by himself and Cindy Cirile) seems culled from about 15 television movies concerning witness relocation, unjustly-accused heroes, and cops so devious it's impossible to tell who to root for. The plot twists are all quite predictable, the love interest (in the form of a female cop played by Kate Hodge...is there any other kind?) seems rudimentary, and the villains are comprised of stock B-movie bad guy clichés. Point is, there's no narrative innovation, and characterisations are nothing unprecedented. But why watch such a motion picture on the basis of anything other than action? You shouldn't. Rapid Fire is an action movie; plain and simple. Sure, the world already has enough action movies, but Rapid Fire manages to do something that other action movies failed to achieve: showcase the amazing fighting skills and general agility of Bruce Lee's son. The film never breaks out of the B-movie mould, but Brandon Lee (who helped choreograph the fighting) is given multiple action scenes to work with, ensuring the movie is worth sitting through despite the recycled plot and characters.

As for Brandon Lee, he's not as wooden as one might expect. It was to his advantage that his acting didn't suffer from the exasperating eccentricities of his action star peers - such as Steven Seagal's egocentric mumbling or the preening style of Jean-Claude Van Damme. Or, for that matter, he wasn't marred by any of their accents either. Lee could act; he emitted a charming screen presence of good looks and genuine cool. His fisticuffs are fluid and exhilarating, and boast an inventiveness rarely witnessed outside of Hong Kong kung-fu cinema - not only does Lee use his hands and feet as lethal weapons, but he also defends himself by improvising with nearby objects. Lee's sudden death (due to an on-set accident during production of his next movie, The Crow) is a true tragedy - the young lad had a promising career ahead of him. As for the rest of the cast, there's a solid, if routine performance courtesy of Powers Boothe playing the grizzled, single-track cop, in addition to Nick Mancuso who's passable as the villain, and Kate Hodge who's likeable but nothing special as the love interest. Al Leong makes a brief appearance to battle Lee at one stage, too. During the '80s, Leong's played background henchmen in several action films (like Die Hard and Action Jackson), and it's terrific to see him here.

As far as standard, mindless cookie-cutter action movies (with little redeeming values) go, you could certainly do far worse than Rapid Fire, though that's hardly a ringing endorsement. Those who enjoy balls-to-the-wall action movies will find enough to enjoy within these fast-paced 90 minutes, but others need not apply.

6.2/10

After the tremendously successful Home Alone - which was produced on a $15 million budget and grossed almost half a billion worldwide - a sleuth of similar holiday-themed comedies followed in its shadow which mixed syrupy sentiment with broad slapstick. 1996's Jingle All the Way is one of these films, but it's also one of the worst. Look, Arnold Schwarzenegger is not a good thespian. His acting skills are lacking, and the only reason Arnie became so successful was because he was fun to watch when heavily armed and killing multiple opponents in gory ways. By the early '90s, Arnie's days as a box office juggernaut were ebbing, and - aware that his career had reached a turning point - he began participating in projects that either spoofed his screen persona (Last Action Hero, True Lies, etc.) or were flat-out comedies (Kindergarten Cop, Junior, and so on). Unfortunately, try as he might, Schwarzenegger is no comedian. Jingle All the Way is an aneurism of a children's Christmas movie; a pastiche of cartoonish action, juvenile jokes and appalling physical humour.

The Schwarzenegger role here is a workaholic father named Howard Langston, who (in typical hackneyed fashion) has been neglecting his family. Due to this, he's treading on thin emotional ice with his young son Jesse (Jake "Anakin Skywalker" Lloyd). Having missed Jesse's promotion at his karate class, Howard promises his son he'll buy him whatever he wants for Christmas as redemption for his behaviour of late. Unfortunately for Howard, Jesse desires the hottest toy on the market: the "Turbo Man" action figure. Unfortunately, too, it's Christmas Eve when Howard sets out to buy this action figure, and must endure extreme odds to fulfil his son's Christmas wish.

For the majority of its running time, Jingle All the Way bludgeons a viewer senseless with unrestrained slapstick and unpleasant characters. The constant activity keeps the pace brisk, but, to paraphrase basketball coach John Wooden, don't mistake activity for achievement. Every single performance and comedic premise is overblown and amplified, as if the filmmakers intended this movie for viewers with poor vision and hearing. Clever jokes are few and far between, which makes the movie essentially an 80-minute string of brainless physical comedy without any variety. Meanwhile, the pathetic message lying at the core of Jingle All the Way is simple: buy your spoiled brat's love and attack strangers to achieve this end.

Rather than concentrating on either Santa's universe or the sentimental idea of family, Jingle All the Way targets the unsavoury commercialism of Christmas, much like the brilliant Miracle on 34th Street did half a century beforehand. But where Miracle on 34th Street was witty and warm, Jingle All the Way is abrasive and phoney. Admittedly, the premise had potential. Cabbage Patch Dolls created an immense frenzy in the '80s that had parents wrestling in toy store aisles, so it's a terrific idea to satirise this, but Jingle All the Way fails to offer enough expansion of the main joke. Taken by itself, the premise simply lacks the substance to form the basis for a feature-length picture. Thus, the movie seems padded out using repetitive, unfunny slapstick, as if the filmmakers got the go-ahead after successfully pitching the concept, but were unable to figure out how to extend things beyond sitcom length. Consequently, the movie sags noticeably throughout the middle section as the director and screenwriters fight to extend the film's duration.

Early into the film's development, one or more of the film's credited writers likely conceived of something darker. Jingle All the Way shows signs of this, but the screenwriters also tried to make it a conventional family film determined to leave viewers all warm and fuzzy. Thus, these two opposite approaches are constantly at odds with each other. There's a lot of silly slapstick aimed at kids here, but the filmmakers clearly had no qualms about lacing this "children's movie" with gags based on lecherous divorces, alcohol, and - most worryingly - parcel bombs. The majority of the characters are gratingly unpleasant, too: unhelpful store clerks who openly guffaw at Howard's naïveté about the popularity of Turbo Man, department store Santas who are depicted as money-grabbing crooks, and an unrepentantly amorous neighbour (Hartman) who puts the moves on Howard's wife. Even the reindeer are nasty in this one. Howard himself is extremely unpleasant as well. At one stage he stops short of stealing a Turbo Man action figure from under the Christmas tree next door! In essence, the bulk of the movie is snapshot-after-snapshot of two guys behaving in ways that would put the average kid on the naughty list that year - if they didn't land in juvenile prison, that is.

Another tragedy is the fact that the Austrian Oak was given no leeway for the only type of comedy he can handle: tongue-in-cheek self-deprecation. Worse, Schwarzenegger in no way fits the role of Howard Langston. It may be amusing seeing the juxtaposition of Arnie and DeVito in Twins, but Schwarzenegger doesn't make sense as a determined family man simply because his career was built on playing ruthless killers. The star's limited range hurts the film, especially when paired with Jake Lloyd who's so shrill that viewers may actually change their minds about having kids someday. At least there are some fun cameos by Robert Conrad as a silver-haired cop, Marin Mull as a timid radio DJ, and James Belushi as a black-market Santa. Even Yeardley Smith (voice of Lisa Simpson in The Simpsons) appears in the extended version of the film.

On the positive side, Jingle All the Way is reasonable for family consumption due to its broad and silly nature (adult content notwithstanding, since it probably won't even register in a child's mind). Kids may well enjoy it (this reviewer did as an 8-year-old) - I acknowledge and understand that. But why can't it offer fun or laughs for adults? Parents forced to sit through this train wreck should stock up on the liquor beforehand. All these years after its release, Jingle All the Way remains a heartless, unfunny Christmas movie that delivers a horrible message. Arnie fans should avoid at all costs.

3.5/10