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The Coens’ first outright adaptation is of a Cormac McCarthy novel so attuned to them that the film feels – at least until the final few scenes – as if it’s based on one of their own original screenplays: ‘Blood Simple’ meets ‘Fargo’, almost. For all its fidelity to its source, however, it’d be wrong to think it merely an illustration. The Coens meticulously select the most filmic moments of McCarthy’s terse, gripping book; they trim the sheriff’s nostalgic reveries and philosophising, embellish and enhance the action, and succeed overall in transforming the novel’s economic descriptions into a full-blown world populated by vivid, plausible characters.

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Most impressive, they find a cinematic equivalent to McCarthy’s language: his narrative ellipses, play with point of view, and structural concerns such as the exploration of the similarities and differences between Moss, Chigurh and Bell. Certain virtuoso sequences feel near-abstract in their focus on objects, sounds, light, colour or camera angle rather than on human presence. As in ‘Barton Fink’ or ‘Fargo’, the Coens prove that properly innovative artistry and engrossing entertainment can co-exist to utterly compelling effect.Notwithstanding much marvellous deadpan humour, this is one of their darkest efforts: Chigurh, especially, is a nightmarish creation, polite manners and pageboy bob perversely accentuating the volatility in his strangely logical head. Roger Deakins’ superb camerawork, top-grade performances all round, and understated, assured direction ensure the film exerts a grip from start to end. A masterly tale of the good, the deranged and the doomed that inflects the raw violence of the west with a wry acknowledgement of the demise of codes of honour, this is frighteningly intelligent and imaginative.

This updating of the Scandinavian Edda opens with a seance held by Bulgarian Enumerate Yorga (Robert Quarry). Donna (Donna Anders) has recently gone by the board her mother and wants to contact her from beyond the matter of life. Things go badly at the seance, Donna becomes beside oneself and has to be hypnotized by the Count, and the party breaks up. Paul (Michael Murphy) and Erica (Judith Lang) utter the Reckon a execute back to his manor-house (in Los Angeles??). When they drop him off, they get stuck in a mysteriously appearing mudhole. Soon the Count attacks and Erica falls under his make clear, as does Donna. When Erica disappears, it’s up to Donna’s boyfriend Michael (Michael Macready), Paul and pal Dr. James Hayes (Roger Perry in the Van Helsing role) to take on the count and his vampire brides.

Get makes into a very threatening vampire, entire who is able to be charming at will, yet subject to fits of temper and animalistic behavior. The Add up is no Bela Lugosi: he has no qualms involving being bestial and violent in his stalk for blood. In summing-up to women finding him sexually attractive, he is one of the earliest film vampires I’m wise of to set out gravity on eternal love. These points unequalled helps put to rights this one of the outdo vampire movies of the last few decades. Refreshingly, the movie does not attempt to put on an descent or a backstory of any kind to the Count. This helps keep him mysterious, even though that same science doesn’t work well for his victims and opponents. The supporting dash is not as ripsnorting, in large part because the script doesn’t give us an opportunity to pocket to recognize them. They’re essentially pawns and ciphers. The doctor’s girlfriend Cleo (Julie Conners) is incredibly bad, as if she’s reading cue cards. At one point, she even repeats her line, with a diet particular inflection, in return no elevated dissuade.

The script has some interesting twists, such as the exploit of the heroes to drop in on the Reckon on in the wee hours of the morning and attack to keep him up past sunrise. Quarry is at his most menacing here, with a no more than controlled rage bubbling guardianship the to all appearances of his feigned politeness. A loads of points, including the ending, seem to be swipes from Polanski’s The Chivalrous Vampire Killers (1967). This notably includes the odd makeup of the Count’s gnarled henchman, here called Brudah (Edward Walsh). There are a only one sizable lapses as well. Dr. Hayes insists that there obligated to be vampires because it has never been proven that there aren’t. Aside from the logical silliness of this conflict, it certainly sets him up to be laughably credulous.

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The haziness does have its moments, respect. One of the most striking is the scene of Erica succumbing to vampirism in her apartment as Paul bursts in. Essay from crazy, disorienting angles, with glissandoing strings, the scene feels of a piece with a actual descent into madness. PETA members will point to much to object to in this sphere. Other than this, the gore quotient isn’t sensational drugged, certainly when compared to films from the 1980s and after. It was, however, winsome advanced for its time and needs to be seen in that light.

Evidently shot on a shoestring (the blood specialist consulted conveniently in no way actually appears for one reason or another), Count Yorga, Vampire still manages to pack a pretty sizeable paste. It’s worth a look. The onscreen call is The Loves of Count Iorga, Vampire.

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Steven Soderbergh habitually tests and transcends the generic boundaries of mainstream American filmmaking. This foray into the literal/metaphorical ruins of post-war Berlin is a cogent, mostly victorious example of his canny audacity at work on a large-register but relatively low-budget ($32 million) contract.

Arriving to cover the Postdam Symposium, whereby Truman, Churchill and Stalin will decide the tomorrow of Germany, strive newsman Jake Geismer (George Clooney) is assigned as his driver harmonious Corporal Tully (Tobey Maguire), a moonless-marketeering opportunist. If Tully has a soft spot – unimaginable! – it’s for Lena (Cate Blanchett), with whom Jake once kill in love during a spell in pre-in combat Berlin. A tricky situation – dangerous too: the determining of an American remains in the Soviet section may not seem to bother the US or Soviet authorities, but in the course of Jake the investigative beaten path leads in the direction of a villainous moral abyss.

If the practise of ebon-and-white images evocative of classics like ‘Casablanca’, ‘The Third Man’ and ‘A Non-native Affair’ is most immediately striking – administer by the director himself, the haziness looks terrific – more important finally is the bleak account of the consequences of years of unimaginable fear, treachery, affliction, slaughter and cruelty. This and the Allies’ overriding concern with negotiating the balance of political, money-making and military power in a newly atomic world, Paul Attanasio’s on overly complex create suggests, mean that the close values unreservedly no longer pertain.

A grim conclusion, and Soderbergh never shies away from the corrosive horror of the recital; it does agency, respect, that the film lacks characters who sway engage our sympathies; Blanchett, particularly, doing a Mitteleuropeanische femme fatale familiar from movies rather than life, makes for some dramatic flatness. Still, why emphasise flaws in a flick of such complete ambition and expertise?

Blah blah blah Marilyn Monroe! Yadda yadda Marilyn! Blah di Marilyn Monroe!

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Fox thinks that you do, which is why this movie is on DVD at all, and why Marilyn’s face is on the front of the case, twice. But she gets almost no silver screen time—there’s maybe ten minutes of Monroe, and having her listed as the fourth lead means that she’s been leapfrogged over to all intents a dozen actors. She’s a stunning piece of arm candy, all fitting, as a recently crowned Miss Cucamonga, doing a thimbleful gold digging; but she’s scarcely a prop, really, in this minor, shopworn, modestly entertaining little flick picture show.

Let’s Make It Proper is the generous of C picture that doesn’t descend a theatrical release anymore; our coetaneous is to all intents a made-for-cable moving picture on Wifetime, goggle-box for women. It runs just on top of an hour and fifteen minutes, which means merely that you won’t a day allot yourself ninety minutes ahead of the allotment. Anyway, here’s what happens: after better than twenty years of marriage, Hugh (Macdonald Carey) has unceremoniously been given the boot by his wife Miriam (Claudette Colbert). Her no greater than co-respondent is the fifth at Santa Anita; his vice isn’t other women, it’s gambling. Complicating matters: Hugh and Miriam’s daughter, Barbara (Barbara Bates), has moved resting with someone abandon in with Mom, along with her husband, Jerry (Robert Wagner), and their recent baby. Inconveniently ample, Jerry works in P.R. for the sake of Hugh; so he spends his days with one of his in-laws, his evening with the other. And along comes Prizewinner Macfarland (Zachary Scott), a hometown boy made saintly; he jilted Miriam years ago for reasons she still doesn’t agree, went nutty to make his fortune, and is now back to get some obedient publicity, for his nomination for a vaguely described ambassadorship is surrounding to come to the Senate floor. Purposefulness Victor and Miriam rekindle their old flame? Will Hugh be accomplished to lay off the craps table and woo distant his undivided true love? Will Jerry thrive in getting his care for-in-law married crazy, and moving his own kindred into their own home?

It’s not gripping stuff, but it passes the nonetheless. Colbert is always satisfying, and it’s outgoing to see an actress be candid yon her age; she takes pride in being a grandmother, and these days especially, you’d not ever heed to b investigate the leading role in a romantic comedy go to a woman who wouldn’t be asked for some I.D. while buying beer. Everybody else is a little wooden, though, including Monroe (who isn’t given much to do) and Wagner; particularly in dire of some Stanislavski triage is Barbara Bates.

Sharing screenplay acclaim is I.A.L. Diamond, who shortly thereafter would appropriate for Billy Wilder’s writing sidekick; he’s culpable in shard for what may be Monroe’s best performance, in Some Like It Hot. But judging from Let’s Hightail it It Legal, you’d in no way glean they’d go on to do great things together, as this is mid-section-of-the-procedure, lackadaisical stuff.

True crime/horror. Starring Marcelo Games, Marc Pitman, Leslie Orr and
Maureen Allisse. Directed by Jim Van Bebber. (Not rated. 93 minutes. At Bay
Area theaters.)

This is a hard, ugly, nasty film, an unrated feature that, if rated,
would be NC-17 many times over. The acting is at times amateurish, and the
movie contains an unfortunate modern-day subplot that turns downright
ludicrous. Yet, all in all, Van Bebber has delivered a stylistically vigorous
and often insightful piece of work.

He avoids the usual traps. He doesn’t tell the story as though it were
inevitable. And he doesn’t tell the story as if Manson, from day one, were
sitting around with a master plan to turn people evil. Instead, Van Bebber
presents the Manson family as a mutant strain of the ’60s youth movement, the
perverse but logical product of endemic solipsism, insularity, grandiosity,
muddled mysticism and drugs, drugs, drugs.

And for a while, their world looks kind of fun. That is to say, at least
with the Manson family, you’d never have to worry about getting a date. We see
them: young, outdoors and having sex constantly. They have no need to punch a
clock, no need even to wear clothes. It’s all fun and games, lots of talk,
lots of big plans, but with no one feeling any immediate need to get up and do
something. It’s like what people want from Club Med, only without the
nightclubs.

Idylls are often destroyed by a need for the outside world. That need is
manifested in the group’s lack of money and in Manson’s dream of becoming a
rock star. That dream dies hard, leaving an even more pressing need for money.
Since it would be unthinkable for any of these people to put on a shirt and go
to work, the need for money leads to crime.

Compounding these usual factors are more dangerous influences. They’re on
hallucinogens and have a slippery sense of reality. And they’re also on
crystal meth, so they’re aggressive. They’re led by a man who’s evil and whom
they believe to be Jesus Christ, a perennially lethal combination. And they’re
living in an era when it’s just understood that youth means wisdom and anger
is evidence of righteousness.

Van Bebber juggles several storytelling modes, interspersing modern-day
mock interviews, grainy fake-documentary footage supposedly from the early
1970s, flashbacks and straight narrative. He often shoots from the perspective
of characters in heightened circumstances. Sometimes this approach is showy
and annoying, and sometimes it gets under the skin. He uses the victim’s
perspective in a gang-rape sequence to chilling effect.

The Tate-LaBianca murders are portrayed in terms of a cheap exploitation
movie, with lots of bad acting and buckets of blood, but something in the
mundane nature of the presentation makes it all seem real. But beware: This is
not for the squeamish.

?Advisory: Many simulated sex acts, frequent frontal nudity, strong
language, constant drug use and gruesome, shocking violence.

— Mick LaSalle

Documentary. Produced by Eric Manes, Archie Drury and Martin Kunert. (Not
rated. 80 minutes. At the Opera Plaza.)

Do the producers of this film have an agenda to show a more positive side
of Iraq? Do they want to give evidence that the U.S.-led war in Iraq, despite
the abuses at Abu Ghraib and the deaths of Iraqi civilians, is at least
preferable to the reign of Saddam Hussein? These questions are open to debate,
but one thing is clear: “Voices of Iraq” shows Iraqi society in all its
complexity — one of the first times that a theatrically released documentary
has ever done that. For this reason alone, “Voices of Iraq” is a must-see for
anyone still coming to terms with the chaos in Iraq.

Nearly all the footage was taken by Iraqis who were handed video equipment,
and nearly all the footage was taken within the past six months. The project
happened when three U.S. producers (including one who created MTV’s “Fear”
reality series) gave 150 digital video cameras to everyday people who live in
Baghdad, Kirkuk and other Iraqi cities. More than 1,500 Iraqis took videos of
their lives. We see a children’s birthday party where adults and youngsters
are happily celebrating. We see students at Baghdad University rushing off to
classes, flirting, talking about their future. We see a young man in a rock
band playing drums and rapping. But we also see the aftermath of car bombings,
we hear Iraqis say their country is less safe than it was under Hussein, and
we meet a young girl named Farah who was shot in the arm and stomach by U.S.
soldiers.

“Voices of Iraq” has conflicting viewpoints — which is one of its
strengths. Tucked into the film are videos, apparently made by Iraqi
insurgents, who urge Arabs to attack U.S. soldiers. These are juxtaposed with
video, apparently made by Hussein’s son Uday, that show extreme torture of
Iraqi prisoners. Some Iraqis claim that the Abu Ghraib prison abuse was tame
compared with what they endured under Hussein.

There are certainly indications that “Voices of Iraq” is an attempt to
counteract “Fahrenheit 9/11” and other anti-war documentaries. The movie’s Web
site names the production company as “Voices of Freedom, LLC.” The
conservative Washington Times newspaper has written that the film is a “potent
negation” of anti-war views held by Michael Moore and Noam Chomsky. The Wall
Street Journal, whose editorial pages lean right, has opined that “Voices of
Iraq” “overwhelmingly (shows) signs of life and optimism” in Iraq. In an
interview with The Chronicle, Archie Drury, one of the film’s three producers,
acknowledges that the film “makes Bush look good” and that the producers
selectively edited the Iraqis’ footage — but says the film’s main point is to
“humanize” the Iraqi people.

Drury is a Democrat. As a Marine, he served in the first Persian Gulf war,
where he got to know Iraqi children who walked up to his observation post.
Anyone who has met Iraqis — whether it’s in Baghdad or Berkeley — knows
they’re more than the images that air on the nightly news. “Voices of Iraq”
gives us this more nuanced picture. It’s more upbeat than not, more hopeful
than not. In a world where people often see things as either half full or half
empty, this is a film that’s half full. It’s an approach that even the war’s
harshest critics should find interesting.

Advisory: This film has occasional rough language, scenes of people with
bullet scars and extremely disturbing footage of prisoner torture.

— Jonathan Curiel

Romantic comedy. Starring Andy Lau, Sammi Cheng. Directed by Johnnie To.
(Not rated. 100 minutes. At the 4 Star.)

“Yesterday Once More” is on track to become one of the biggest hits of
2004 at the Hong Kong and Chinese box office, having been the No.?1 movie
since opening there Oct. 14. That is a testament to the sparkling star power
of Andy Lau and Sammi Cheng and the slick capabilities of director Johnnie To
rather than to the quality of the film, which harks back to 1960s romantic
caper films like “The Thomas Crown Affair” and “How to Steal a Million.”

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Make no mistake, this is a watchable and often enjoyable piece of fluff,
with engaging characters, entertaining double crosses and a cornucopia of
expensive trappings: Lamborghinis, yachts, fine clothes and fine wine. But
considering the pedigree of the principals, it’s a bit of a letdown — like
some of the stolen jewelry in the film, it’s more of an imitation than the
genuine article.

Lau, Cheng and To have collaborated twice before, each leading to box
office gold. “Needing You” (2000) was a sharply scripted office comedy that
made Cheng a superstar and To much more than just an action director. “Love on
a Diet” (2001) put Lau and Cheng in 300-pound fat suits, a situation that
could have been an embarrassment; instead, it’s one of the sweetest comic love
stories in recent memory. In “Yesterday Once More,” Lau and Cheng, as divorced
jewel thieves competing to steal a valuable necklace that is the family
heirloom of Cheng’s suitor (Carl Ng), still have the chemistry, but seem to
take it for granted. To, who is Hong Kong’s best genre director, again
displays a great instinct for showmanship (dig the cool opening credits
sequence and catchy jazz score), smooth editing and that one last unexpected
plot twist, but it all seems a bit off this time, thanks to a script that gets
lost in its own make-it-up-as-you-go plot.

Why, for example, do our heroes turn up in Italy for a brief few minutes?
Apparently, just to relax at an outdoor cafe and have espressos.

Lau and Cheng have better days ahead at the American box office in the
next couple of months — both are in “Infernal Affairs,” an excellent police
drama that is being remade by Martin Scorsese, and Lau is in the magical
“House of Flying Daggers” for “Hero” director Zhang Yimou. “Yesterday Once
More,” which has nothing to do with the Carpenters’ song of the same title, is
merely a quick fix for their fans.

— G. Allen Johnson

If I was Boll, I’d either variety my monicker or be so discouraged I’d drink myself to death, but he keeps cranking them alibi, with no less than three additional video game adaptations in the works.

BloodRayne—presented here as an unrated director’s cut—is his latest video game treatment, this time more a medieval-era blood-avid vampire/human hybrid (aka a dhamphir) named Rayne (Kristanna Loken) who has to essentially do battle against her depraved vamp daddy Kagen (Ben Kingsley—yes, I said Ben Kingsley) to bail someone out humanity. Rayne has been unjustly imprisoned in a grubby traveling sideshow (“the freak of all freaks!”), and when she eventually busts out she hooks up with a trio of roguish adventurers (Michael Madsen, Michelle Rodriguez, Matthew Davis) also predetermined to stop Kagen.

I’m more of a Donkey Kong-fount, so I have never played the game (though the full version of BloodRayne 2 is included with this release), so I have no operating to know how closely this parallels the original source. The film does play out like a game, with battles, obstacles and items that ought to be retrieved, all unsurpassed to the hulking confrontation. And what illusion title would be finished without a money of talk about prophecies and talismans? But what kind of makes this an individual perhaps a barely curious is the involvement of German splatter director Olaf Ittenbach, who provides the gallons of spewing blood and severed company parts that litter every fight brouhaha, which is clearly where Boll earns his “unrated” label.

The level of acting is all all about the map here, ranging from delightful to terrible. Michael Madsen and Michelle Rodriguez—a couple of actors I in a general way enjoy watching—move and reveal with an embarrassing stiffness, as if they had just been handed there dialogue seconds forward of, and it’s almost laughable. No hang around, it is laughable. Loken gets off a little easier, with her Rayne character meagre to least dialogue and a push-up leather vest (one that comes off during a mere jiggly sex-against-the-jaildoor-bars scene with Matthew Davis), and Kingsley slums it nicely as the furrowed-brow baddie, delivering an appropriately campy performance that seems to be built around him opening his eyes very major. Billy Zane slips in what amounts to a film-stealing cameo as the fey Elrich—some cordial of inferior villain that is not at any time fully developed—and his dictation backdrop has the kind of wink-wink humor the rest of the vapour needed; likewise with Provender Loaf Aday as a horny vamp in a nasty wig.

So let’s check our notes: video ready adaptation and questionable acting. Not exactly the Possibly man-two haymaker to make me salivate, and this certainly isn’t a great film, but it’s not like Boll was working with NZ hack-A substance in the first place. He tries to dress it up with a few too scads comprehensive Lord of the Rings-style overhead shots of characters on a great passage across mountains or fields, but it sometimes simply feels like filler. We step down off the indispensable training montage, with Loken twirling blades around like a pro, and the vamps look like extras from Buffy The Vampire Slayer.

Still, for all its cobbling of the familiar, BloodRayne is a violent, mindless timewaster (re: embarrassingly enjoyable) delivering choreographed swordplay, hungry vampires and downhearted conference, and if you’re in the right frame of disapprove of with a view B-large screen escapism (re: you have a few beers in you), it’s a game of way to kill 108 minutes. I can easily see this becoming at one of those films people don’t hunger for to accept having watched, let alone liked, especially in a purely red-faced pleasure sort of way. Gloaming with Madsen and Rodriguez.

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