Reviews by PvtCaboose91

1998's Meet Joe Black is not everyone's cup of tea. A polarising feature, it underperformed at the box office, earning mixed reviews before ultimately fading into obscurity. Some may call the film plodding due to its three-hour length, while others might find it hokey or cliché, but, in the eyes of this reviewer, the experience of Meet Joe Black is enrapturing. Directed by Martin Brest (Beverly Hills Cop), the movie is fundamentally a remake of 1934's Death Takes a Holiday, using the basic premise as a jumping off point to create a captivating romantic drama with thematic undercurrents relating to mankind's mortality. It's a carefully-designed motion picture that requires patience and tolerance, but it's also rewarding, making for grand entertainment for those in the right mood.

A successful corporate tycoon and multi-millionaire, William Parrish (Anthony Hopkins) is only a few days away from celebrating his 65th birthday. Already anxious due to his advanced age and all of his work-related responsibilities, Bill is further troubled by occasional chest pains, accompanied by a mysterious voice inside his head. Before long, Bill is visited by the Grim Reaper, adopting the name Joe Black (Brad Pitt), personified in the body of a recently-deceased young man. Informing Bill that he's dying, Death explains that he wants to tour the world as a mortal human, and wishes for Bill to be his tour guide. As long as the Grim Reaper stays interested on his "holiday," Bill will be able to continue living, but Death will take Bill with him when he returns to the "next place." During his self-appointed vacation, Death learns valuable lessons about humanity, in addition to learning about love as he develops strong feelings for Bill's daughter Susan (Claire Forlani).

Without a doubt, death is the greatest sadness faced by humanity, as every single one of us is going to die one day. Meet Joe Black explores the question of what one would do if you knew that your life has come to an end. Bill begins to contemplate what means the most to him in life, scheduling family dinners on a daily basis, tying up loose ends, and generally soaking up the time that he has left. Even though the picture clocks in at around three hours, it earns its extensive length, spending adequate time on character development and giving the various narrative threads the breadth they required. We get to know all of the characters honestly and authentically, and become invested in their subplots. The screenplay has received criticism for the ostensibly inconsistent treatment of the Grim Reaper, as he often seems childlike and awkward, but at other times he's strangely knowledgeable about certain things. However, the fact that Death is an enigma is one of the most interesting aspects of the movie. What if his childlike demeanour is an act to keep Bill on his toes? What if he's only picked up tiny bits and pieces during his existence? We do not need to get into Death's head and know what makes him tick - we are experiencing the oddity of seeing a human Death alongside the characters, and Brest does not give viewers additional information.

Despite its spiritual and supernatural trappings, Meet Joe Black is imbued with a fairy-tale quality, as well as a dose of poetic humanism. Although the $90 million budget is absurd for a drama of this ilk, Brest's construction of the film is magnificent, shooting with purpose a maintaining a steady pace throughout. There's immense visual allure to Emmanuel Lubezki's cinematography, making wise use of the grand set design, while the editors were unafraid to hold onto shots of characters as their expressions say a thousand words. Some may find the movie plodding, but there's a brilliant rhythm to the picture. Perhaps the definitive touch is Thomas Newman's score, which is breathtaking and extraordinarily well-judged. It adds another layer to the fine movie, amplifying the intended feel of practically every scene without being too intrusive. It's some of Newman's finest work. Miraculously, Meet Joe Black at no point feels overly corny or saccharine. Some may scoff at the seriousness with which Brest approaches the material, but this reviewer gets lost in the sincerity of the enterprise. There is also some wry humour throughout, which prevents the film from becoming a dour experience.

Anthony Hopkins, it would seem, is incapable of delivering a dud performance. This role affords Hopkins a number of scenes in which he can convey the humanity and reflection of a man who has lived a great life, but is forced to come to terms with the fact that it's drawing to a close. Hopkins is strong-willed as William Parrish; he's somewhat comical at times, while intimidating and chilling at other times. Above all else, Hopkins turns Bill into a warm and wise father, making the character wholly believable. Brad Pitt is also enormously effective as Death, playing the role with admirable conviction. His demeanour is beautifully understated, naïve and unique, and he conveys Death's arc as he grows to learn what it means to be human. Meanwhile Claire Forlani is engaging and beguiling as Bill's daughter Susan, while top-shelf support is provided by Marcia Gay Harden and Jeffrey Tambor. Tambor is especially good, as he's highly amusing.

I cannot help but sing praise for Meet Joe Black, which reimagines Death Takes a Holiday in a fresh, grand fashion. I love the lingering scenes, the deliberate pacing, the fullness of the narrative, and the way that the characters are richly developed, making this a movie that I frequently watch. While it may have been superior with a tauter screenplay, the movie in its current form is simply sublime. It's not for everyone, but what movie is? It's a beautiful experience for those willing to give themselves over to its meditations on life, love and loss, and it's full of majesty, wisdom, and old-fashioned storytelling. Long but curiously never boring, and spiritual but never soggy, this is a brand of cinematic entertainment that Hollywood rarely gets right.

8.9/10

Unofficially billed as Clint Eastwood's swansong to acting, Gran Torino is an arresting and poignant drama infused with Eastwood's brilliantly distinctive filmmaking style. Eastwood's second directorial undertaking for 2008 (previously helming Changeling) and his first screen performance since 2004's Million Dollar Baby, Gran Torino is an excellently written, well-performed character study of racism and redemption that fits contentedly beside the rest of Eastwood's cinematic oeuvre. This is a potent, effective and emotionally affecting drama - it's slow-paced yet subtly engaging, moderately unexciting yet it's virtually impossible to lose interest and it's never boring. Working from a script penned by first-time screenwriter Nick Schenk, Eastwood has utilised old-school (albeit somewhat outdated) filmmaking techniques to convey this gripping tale. Gran Torino doesn't offer avant-garde visual effects or glossy action sequences - it offers Clint "I'm still badass at 78" Eastwood, meticulous characters, and first-rate storytelling. It merges compelling drama with terrific subtle humour, and the product is simply outstanding.

Gran Torino stars Clint Eastwood as disgruntled Korean War veteran Walt Kowalski. Walt is a widower; a grumpy, tough-minded, unhappy old man whose family relationships are shaky, and who's openly racist against his Hmong neighbours - maintaining a rich passion for bigotry since enduring dark days in the Korean War. This prejudice explodes when Thao (Vang), the teenage son of the Hmong family next door, tries to steal Walt's prized possession - a 1972 Gran Torino, kept in mind condition - as part of a gang initiation. Several days later, upon observing a violent predicament concerning Thao, Walt feels compelled to intervene (in a classic Eastwood stand-off), and ultimately earns the respect of the Hmong community. Despite initially disliking the culture, this post-9/11 version of Dirty Harry Callahan warily develops a relationship with his neighbours. Walt aims to reform Thao, and soon begins taking steps to protect the Hmong family before the gang activity worsens. Serious questions soon begin to arise...questions of responsibility, of retribution...of the efficacy of blood for blood.

The majority of Gran Torino involves Walt coming to terms with his new Hmong buddies. Despite originally reluctant to befriend them due to his openly racist perspective, he eventually grows respect for them. The movie's supreme moments depict Walt finding his footing at Hmong congregations, failing socialisation prospects, but lovin' the cooking. The crux of the story belongs to Walt and Thao as they develop a special bond. The relationship isn't played for Odd Couple chortles, but as an unlikely father/son partnership with Thao learning to improve his life through gruelling work and learning to avoid the lure of crime. While Bee Vang's performance appears to lack polish, this relationship remains an absorbing central piece of the Gran Torino puzzle.

The Negotiator is of a rare breed - an action-thriller relying on suspense generated by lots of dialogue, several superb plot twists and a selection of brilliant, dominant performances rather than a surplus of explosive, over-the-top action sequences. This first-rate white-knuckle thriller is virtually a non-stop venture into tension. Once the (somewhat clichéd) set-up has been established, the film kicks into high gear and moves at an invigorating fast pace; ably keeping a viewer engrossed until its fantastic dénouement. The Negotiator adheres to the classic Die Hard formula - i.e. a protagonist trapped in a nasty situation; compelled to employ his wits and heroics. This enthralling production deserves to be considered one of the best action-thrillers since Die Hard, and is a Dog Day Afternoon of the '90s.

Inspired by a real-life case involving the St. Louis police, The Negotiator is endowed with the premise of a falsely accused man who's forced to violate the law in order to prove his innocence.
Expert hostage negotiator Danny Roman (Jackson) is a respected member of the Chicago Police Department. When he learns too much information regarding police corruption in his own precinct, Roman's partner is murdered. Subsequently, Roman is unjustly framed for the murder and framed for embezzling retirement funds. Recently married but possibly facing a lifetime in prison, Roman is desperate to prove his innocence. In a last frantic attempt to exonerate himself, Roman takes four hostages. His goal: to intimidate the guilty cops into telling the truth and clearing his name. Aware that there are heavily corrupt cops in his precinct, Roman demands to talk to hostage negotiator Chris Sabian (Spacey) who has no affiliation with his precinct and who's recognised for his anti-violence creed. What ensues is an enthralling situation as two accomplished negotiators lock in an intense battle of wits. In the midst of this, Roman endeavours to expose the real crooks and convince Sabian of his innocence.

Throughout its undeniably lengthy 160 minutes, The Curious Case of Benjamin Button is a captivating, heartfelt, jubilant and melancholy experience - beautiful to observe and overflowing with a sense of marvel and wonder. Based on F. Scott Fitzgerald's short story, this strange, ambitious saga of a man who ages in reverse is presented in an immaculate classical style; every detail tended to with fastidious devotion. Director David Fincher has renounced the serial killer/psycho/dark side of humanity movies he's recognised for in order to undertake this stunning drama. It's Fincher's background - not to mention his reputation as a confirmed cynic - that makes him an intriguing choice of director, and the right man for the job. Some directors would have grasped the premise and crafted a hefty Kleenex workout, but Fincher infuses the film's more emotionally touching scenes with an acquiescent acceptance that life simply has its ups and downs. Screenwriter Eric Roth (perhaps most famous for Forrest Gump) uses Fitzgerald's source material as mere inspiration - taking just the idea and name. From there Roth's script follows a path divergent to the one mapped by Fitzgerald. This filmic adaptation is therefore its own entity. Flaws aside, this is one of the most engrossing, intriguing and emotionally resonant features of 2008.

During its three-hour runtime, The Curious Case of Benjamin Button takes its audience on a tour of the 20th century, although it begins in the 21st. The film opens in New Orleans. As Hurricane Katrina closes in, Daisy (Blanchett) - an elderly woman - lays on her deathbed, attended by her daughter Caroline (Ormond). Caroline begins to read the diary of a certain Benjamin Button, who grew younger as the years passed by, and whose life repeatedly intersected with that of her mother's.
Throughout the course of his life, Benjamin travels through such eras as the Great Depression and World War II. His story is no Forrest Gump journey, however - the character isn't placed in any obvious historical or pop cultural moments, nor is he ever on television or globally renowned for his uniqueness. Benjamin's life is one lived out of the public eye, as befits a man steadily growing younger as the years elapse.
Benjamin was born in 1918. His case is a curious one as he was born arthritic, deaf and withered - as if in his late eighties. Unable to cope with the monstrous appearance of his son, Thomas Button (Flemyng) abandons him. Raised under the monument of a train station clock that runs backwards (a brilliant side story, and a Fitzgeraldian metaphor if ever there was one), Benjamin is raised by a caretaker at an old folk's home as he continues to grow younger and learn valuable lessons.

Button's relationship with Daisy functions as the fulcrum on which the film rests. We observe Benjamin's journey through life as he experiences different occupations and situations, but it's his recurring bond with Daisy (whom he meets when they're both technically children) that provides the film with its heart...and heartbreak.

Following the unexpected success of the hit South African cult-comedy The Gods Must Be Crazy, a sequel was inevitable. Thus, Jamie Uys (who was responsible for virtually everything behind the camera of the original film) commenced work on the suitably-titled The Gods Must Be Crazy II. Uys was visibly determined to replicate the success of the original film with this follow-up - he reportedly spent in excess of four years developing this sequel in order to script, location-scout, cast and direct. After all this drudgery, it's quite unfortunate to behold the tragic result. The Gods Must Be Crazy II bares the strain it endured to facilitate its journey to the big screen - the film is desperately simple and not very funny. It's a pale aping of its predecessor, employing the same style and similar gags in its conveyance of a lacklustre story. Perhaps it's no shock that this sequel isn't at all fresh - the surprise is that it's a disheartening catastrophe...witless, crude, lethargic and, frankly, quite boring.

The storyline is merely a collection of three hokey subplots, much like the original film. The Gods Must Be Crazy II abides by the same formula of its predecessor to the letter - i.e. a handful of unrelated stories somehow converging by the film's end. The opening sequence is effectively a precise replica of the first film, with the same dulcet narrator providing insights into the idyllic lifestyle of the Kalahari Bushmen. The first subplot once again concerns our beloved Bushmen hero Xixo (N!xau). Elephant-ivory poachers have invaded the Kalahari Desert. Xixo's two children become accidental stowaways on a truck belonging to this pair of sinister (if somewhat incompetent) poachers. The intrepid Xi aims to save his children and sets out to track the vehicle.

Meanwhile, a New York Doctor of Law - Ann Taylor (Farugia) - travels to South Africa to deliver a paper at a seminar. But, as a consequence of some fast developments, she agrees to take a brisk aerial safari and her plane subsequently crashes. Ann is therefore trapped in the middle of the Kalahari Desert with a zoologist by her side.
As for the third subplot: an African soldier (Tshabalala) and a Cuban freedom fighter (Bowen) find themselves in an arresting stalemate when they have trouble discerning who has captured who. These two soldiers (I think) symbolise the foolishness of war.
A mindless slapstick feast ensues as these stories unite.

It seems that during the creation of The Gods Must Be Crazy II, Jamie Uys was in a state of being out of touch. The film is extraordinary short on comedy, even if filled with routines intended to be funny. Quality laughs are hard to come by in this dreary sequel. Uys' direction also lacks energy. As a result, it drags. The film is additionally permeated with Wild Kingdom footage of exotic creatures (meerkats, hyenas, etc), most of which has quite obviously been photographed separately from the actors they're supposed to be sharing scenes with. Most likely an intentional technical fault for a chortle, but it's overused...and employed poorly.
In addition, the upgraded technicals remove the raw charm of the original (by that I mean the special effects look less dodgy, and there are far more special effects). The technical improvements are for the worst, unfortunately.

The Gods Must Be Crazy II is laden with the same type of humour that filled the original film - there's plenty of slapstick, pratfalls, and film alterations (i.e. fast-motion). The comedy doesn't quite gel as well the second time around. The silent-comedy routines of the original have transformed into relentless, frequent "comedy" sequences sped-up and with stupid sound effects - it's the equivalent of watching South Africa's Unfunniest Home Videos! The over-civilised heroine also has her skirt lifted frequently. The result falls in jarring territory between Crocodile Dundee and Benny Hill.
Additionally, the romantic leads are deficient in the type of wacky, amusing, but genial chemistry that the principal actors from the first film had in abundance. The humour also seems more contrived, and while watching this flick - no matter how entertaining it gets from time to time - it still registers as just another redundant, fluffy sequel.

There are countless faults, but The Gods Must Be Crazy II certainly isn't a total disaster. It still retains a sense of fun, adventure, and breezy charm now and again, even if it has difficulty sustaining interest and engaging a viewer.
There's also great joy in revisiting N!xau as Xixo, and hearing that wonderful click language again. Even at the film's lowest point, N!xau is still most watchable.

At the end of the day, The Gods Must Be Crazy II lacks the simple warmth and delightful charm of its predecessor. The central problem here is that it employs a well-worn formula, with the same kind of comedy reapplied. Its amplified sophistry is less appealing, and in the long run the film seems a rather superfluous effort. It's moderately pleasant viewing for sure and occasionally quite amusing, but it's not a patch on the original and, in the long run, it's just a simple time-waster. As the sun sinks gradually on The Gods Must Be Crazy II, everybody shares a disappointed yawn.

Followed by a few more unsuccessful sequels.

4.5/10

The Gods Must Be Crazy is a reassuringly unique and delightfully disarming little cinematic treasure. This low-budget 1980 South African comedy emerged virtually out of no-where; silently tiptoeing into worldwide cinemas to become one of the biggest international hits of the decade! Owing to enthusiastic word of mouth, The Gods Must Be Crazy broke box office records in Japan, South America and all over Europe, eventually developing into a cult favourite. Written, produced, directed, filmed and edited by Jamie Uys, this pseudo-documentary is fundamentally a National Geographic special infused with hysterical slapstick and amusing scenarios depicting culture clashes. With its light-hearted slapstick tone, inventive cinematic techniques and splendid locations, this is a sweet pleasure guaranteed to provide a wonderful evening of delightful entertainment.

In a nutshell: The Gods Must Be Crazy concerns the misadventures of Xixo (played by African tribal actor N!xau). The story begins with a soothing, oh-so-BBC narration describing the idyllic lifestyle of the Kalahari Bushmen. These people are a primitive race whose lives are simple and contented, and they are neither greedy nor cruel. They hunt for food, they share everything with each other, and their lives lack any sort of technology. Their blissful isolation and obliviousness is drastically disrupted when a careless airplane pilot tosses a Coca Cola bottle out the window while in flight above the Kalahari. The bottle spins elaborately to earth, landing near Xi during a hunting expedition. Believing it to be a gift from the Gods, the tribe employ this Coke bottle for dozens of uses: it becomes a fire-starter, a cooking utensil, a musical instrument, a patternmaker, and - most of all - an object of bitter controversy. The bottle generates jealously, greed and violence, igniting Xi's decision to return this evil object to the Gods by throwing it off the edge of the earth. Xi therefore embarks on a long odyssey, experiencing the civilised world for the very first time.
Meanwhile, journalist Kate Thompson (Prinsloo) accepts a remote teaching post in a Botswana school. Upon arrival, she's met by micro-biologist Andrew Steyn (Weyers) who immediately takes a liking for her.
There's also a minor problem with a terrorist leader and his gang of bandits who are being pursued by government militia. Needless to say, these separate stories become utterly intertwined by the time the film reaches its climax.

Contemporary Hollywood thrillers are distinctly separated into two categories: visceral thrillers (which are dependent on action to generate tension and excitement), and intellectual thrillers (which rely on smart plot twists, dialogue and fascinating characters). Michael Clayton, the directorial debut of screenwriter Tony Gilroy, firmly belongs in the latter category. Prior to writing and directing this masterful thriller, Gilroy was primarily recognised for scripting the Jason Bourne movies. Michael Clayton is a breath of fresh air in modern-day Hollywood. Gilroy is of a dying breed; a screenwriter capable of penning intelligent blockbusters (The Bourne Ultimatum) and intellectual thrillers (like the film in question). Michael Clayton unfolds at its own pace and permits few concessions to impatient viewers or those not paying attention. Gilroy's script implores a viewer to contemplate every inch of film on offer, and connect the dots without much assistance. Michael Clayton is essentially a legal thriller that unites a tense battle of wits and a sinister government conspiracy. It's ardently dialogue-driven, thus action junkies are advised to avoid at all costs.

Michael Clayton (Clooney) is an in-house "fixer" for one of the largest corporate law firms in New York. He's an important asset to said firm - the go-to guy when clients are in hot water. When things go south, Michael is appointed to clean it up. He's at the top of his field, but he abhors his job and wants out.
U-North is among the leading clients of Michael's law firm. They're a chemical company locked in a six-year long class action lawsuit against a group of people who have contracted cancer as a result of the company's pesticides. For U-North, the case look promising until lead attorney Arthur Edens (Wilkinson) suffers a nervous breakdown and is struck with an attack of guilt. He's smitten with one victim (Wever), and begins assembling evidence to prove U-North's guilt. Michael's boss - Marty Bach (Pollack) - orders Michael to intervene and resolve the situation.
U-North's primary litigator - Karen Crowder (Swinton) - grows suspicious of Arthur and Michael; believing they could cause the lawsuit to crumble. She therefore begins her own investigations. The potential three billion dollar lawsuit would be enough to break U-North, and the company are willing to do anything to ensure their best interests are served. But a corporate battle quickly transforms into something much more sinister, and the assignment to clean up the Arthur situation turns out to be a job Michael shouldn't have accepted.

Feature films as remarkably audacious and endlessly inventive as Being John Malkovich are few and far between. This reassuringly unique movie denotes the feature film debut of director Spike Jonze, who had previously been responsible for cutting-edge music videos. Jonze (who was nominated for an Oscar for his work on this film) works from a wonderfully imaginative screenplay penned by Charlie Kaufman. Kaufman's script brilliantly expounds on an oddball premise by presenting a steady stream of twists and an outrageous succession of unpredictable developments. Being John Malkovich is not inaccessible to an average movie-goer, but it certainly won't be summarily devoured by tastes of all stripes. It's an extremely strange and peculiar film; a dark comedy of the absurd featuring sinister undertones. It adheres to the style established by Terry Gilliam in such films as Brazil; in fact die-hard fans of Gilliam's work are the ideal audience for such a film as this. Being John Malkovich is gruelling to stomach as it occasionally lacks an entertainment value and it's notoriously unenjoyable from time to time, yet the joint efforts of Kaufman and Jonze have spawned an irresistibly bizarre and original movie.

The story tracks struggling, dishevelled street puppeteer Craig Schwartz (Cusack). He's a brilliant puppeteer, but he's unable to find work. Dowdy wife Lotte (Diaz) persuades Craig to seek an alternative job in order to acquire a steady income. He lands a job as a filing clerk for an enigmatic company located on the 7½th floor of an office building. It's here - while working for loopy boss Lester (Bean) and lusting after colleague Maxine (Keener) - that Craig encounters a portal that sucks an unsuspecting individual into the head of actor John Malkovich (giving possibly the performance of a lifetime as, well, himself). For fifteen minutes a person literally "becomes" Malkovich - sees through his eyes, hears what he hears, and feels what he feels - before being spewed out adjacent to the New Jersey Turnpike. Craig consults Maxine who subsequently decides to go commercial, allowing paying customers to experience fifteen minutes inside Malkovich. But this money-spinning novelty quickly descends into utter insanity. Lotte realises the joys of the portal, Maxine indulges in the pleasures of Malkovich, Craig aspires to permanently inhabit Malkovich's brain in order to establish a successful career as a puppeteer, and Malkovich twigs that strangers are messing with his head.

Stanley Kubrick earned his directorial chops following the phenomenal success of his breakthrough, landmark sci-fi masterpiece 2001: A Space Odyssey. For this particular motion picture, Kubrick endeavoured to tell a story almost entirely visually (accompanied by classical orchestral background music). This technique succeeded, and every frame is consequently downright stunning. In fact, 2001 is such a beautiful film that one could take any frame at random and hang it up on one's wall. With Barry Lyndon, Kubrick attempts a very similar movie. Both the story and setting is undoubtedly different, with deeper characterisations and far more dialogue. Yet Kubrick's underlying objective was identical: create gorgeous pictures worthy of being hung on a wall. Kubrick's superb version of William Makepeace Thackeray's first novel is meticulous and philosophically invigorating, but it will leave audiences unmoved on a profound emotional level.

Although Barry Lyndon offers little excitement or action, Kubrick's primary aim was to recreate the ambiance of an 18th century painting. By detailing each shot with a multitude of intricate niceties, Kubrick asks an audience to carefully examine them, ponder them, and appreciate them - not necessarily for what they symbolise, but for themselves. This creates a unique, if decidedly slow-paced, cinematic experience.

Shot over a two-year span (300 days all told) in order for Kubrick's proverbial obsessive detail to pervade each frame, Barry Lyndon is a costume epic that appears to be operating under a spell. Thus the actors become pieces in a chess game - exquisite philosophical compositions to be moved hither and thither as automatons more than humans. The performances of Ryan O'Neal and Marisa Berenson are more like echoes; carefully and ponderously shifting from A to B, their lines becoming secondary. Their tableau - haunted by lush paintings - is so ornately decorated it almost becomes static. This swashbuckling landscape is bathed in deep melancholy. It's a world functioning almost subliminally, allowing an audience to absorb the images as opposed to simply beholding them. Barry Lyndon is so divorced from emotion, and therefore hard to measure on an entertainment scale. The result is pure art...art that all but locks the watcher out. It's awfully lengthy and periodically gruelling at a running time of three hours, but never is the film boring per se.