From 1992, good guy Brad Pitt and bad guy Gabriel Byrne are transported to another dimension (which just happens to be a Ralph Bakshi cartoon) where they vie for the affections of an animated version of Kim Basinger. It's Roger Rabbit without the jokes: dumb, dull, dire, and a criminal waste of money.
Seamus McGarvey is proving himself to be the UK's finest director of photography, and this visual poem owes its beauty to his eye. A fable following a man as he looks back over his life, from rural Ireland to modern London, it's like Cronenberg's Spider with the imagination turned up to 11.
Australian comedy starring Billy Connolly as fisherman Steve Myers, whose boat is destroyed by a lightning bolt. When the insurance company refuses to pay up, claiming the incident was an "act of God", Myers decides to take God to court and sue Him for damages. Judi Davis plays a local reporter who champions Myers' case (and wins his heart). No surprises here, but it's amiable enough.
Matthew Barney's extraordinary Cremaster Cycle has won outrageous accolades: "greatest living artist", "best fusion of art and cinema since Buñuel", etc. This is the climactic 31-minute scene of that epic, and it's every bit as wildly mind-boggling as you'd hope. Barney scales the Guggenheim Museum-staircase, assaulted by molten Vaseline, tapdancing girls, metal bands and a cheetah. The perfect intro to a warped genius.
John Cassavetes' last movie looks like 'one for the studio' compared to the ragged glories of his greatest independent films; in fact, Cassavetes claimed he was the film's director in name only. Though bland, it's still a bizarrely watchable spoof thriller, riffing on Double Indemnity, with Alan Arkin as the harassed insurance man who becomes involved in a scheme to bump off Beverly D'Angelo's husband, Cassavetes regular Peter Falk, so he can then afford to send his a cappella-singing musical prodigy triplets to university. Nuts, lightly salted.
Sequenced in reverse chronological order, these videos show Stipe in his element and Buck very much not in his, counting the seconds till he gets to go home. Still, thanks to Stipe, R.E.M. were always enhanced by video. The collection begins with "Bad Day", before Stipe's face de-wrinkles as we regress into the starkly exuberant "What's The Frequency, Kenneth?" and arresting "Everybody Hurts". Then Stipe regains his hair for "Losing My Religion".
Some may have missed the Being John Malkovich director's diverse portfolio. Spearheading a new label dedicated to maverick film-makers, this contains Jonze's rock videos—including Chris Walken's dance number for Fatboy Slim's "Weapon Of Choice"—but the real buried treasure are hilarious vox pops for Oasis' "Stand By Me" that proved too bizarre for the po-faced Mancs to release, a doc on rodeo-based Texas youth culture, and more of Jonze's goofball choreographer from Fatboy Slim's "Praise You" vid.
Filmed this summer at Madison Square Garden, this performance confirms Eddie Vedder's Seattle crew as one of the most exciting bands of their generation. Driven by Vedder's intense presence, they move easily from full-throttle punk attack to brooding ballad, and attain a communal thrall equalled only by The Boss in full flight. Ben Harper and Buzzcocks feature, but it's the electricity between the stage and audience that's truly special.
The wildly erratic Fred Schepisi (Fierce Creatures, Last Orders) here hits sludgy middle-ground with the outré screwball story of goofy garage mechanic Tim Robbins, who falls in love with quantum physicist, er, Meg Ryan and, with the aid of kindly Uncle Albert Einstein (Walter Matthau), manages to snare her away from her bloodless sociologist fiancé Stephen Fry. Tired and uninspired.
