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At Five In The Afternoon

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Provocatively, one of the most eloquent feminist film-makers extant is an Iranian muslim, Samira Makhmalbaf. Her latest entrancing? and most expansive?movie is set in the rubble of Kabul, where a young woman dreams of becoming Afghanistan's first female president. Men?Taliban mullahs and foreign invaders?have ruined this country, is her subtext, but Makhmalbaf is too artful to be merely polemical.

Provocatively, one of the most eloquent feminist film-makers extant is an Iranian muslim, Samira Makhmalbaf. Her latest entrancing? and most expansive?movie is set in the rubble of Kabul, where a young woman dreams of becoming Afghanistan’s first female president. Men?Taliban mullahs and foreign invaders?have ruined this country, is her subtext, but Makhmalbaf is too artful to be merely polemical.

Fahrenheit 9 – 11

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Kerry has a long face. At the time of writing Bush leads in the polls by 10 per cent. Despite everything. If only the volatile, human Howard Dean hadn't scared the Democrats into playing safe. Moore's documentary mostly doesn't, but if it can't swing the election, history might deem it a failure, a rebel yell forgotten at daybreak. We live in interesting times, which sucks. Considering all the Vietnam literature/cinema, Moore isn't doing anything new. He's doing necessary protest for the 21st century. He manipulates our emotions brilliantly, and is certainly a force for good. We must forgive his smugness and egomaniacal swaggering. We'll forgive everyone else for forgetting that Spike Lee did a better hatchet job on the Florida election fiasco in his short in "Ten Minutes Older". Moore's cheap shots at Bush (which dilute the expensive, earned shots) are funny, sure. The golf moment. That bewildered gaze. The question of what he was doing when he didn't know what he was doing (when informed of 9/11). Those eyes flitting like flies in a glass jar. The possibility that he brought it on...not himself, but on the poor kids he gladly sent off to be disembowelled in the name of his dad's war. The way he claims credit for hitting the wrong target every time. Moore is his own hero as well as ours, but that's OK. He bullies a bully. Sometimes, that's, what it takes. But this time it's going to take much more than Moore. Next time, Hillary, step to the plate.

Kerry has a long face. At the time of writing Bush leads in the polls by 10 per cent. Despite everything. If only the volatile, human Howard Dean hadn’t scared the Democrats into playing safe. Moore’s documentary mostly doesn’t, but if it can’t swing the election, history might deem it a failure, a rebel yell forgotten at daybreak. We live in interesting times, which sucks.

Considering all the Vietnam literature/cinema, Moore isn’t doing anything new. He’s doing necessary protest for the 21st century. He manipulates our emotions brilliantly, and is certainly a force for good. We must forgive his smugness and egomaniacal swaggering. We’ll forgive everyone else for forgetting that Spike Lee did a better hatchet job on the Florida election fiasco in his short in “Ten Minutes Older”.

Moore’s cheap shots at Bush (which dilute the expensive, earned shots) are funny, sure. The golf moment. That bewildered gaze. The question of what he was doing when he didn’t know what he was doing (when informed of 9/11). Those eyes flitting like flies in a glass jar. The possibility that he brought it on…not himself, but on the poor kids he gladly sent off to be disembowelled in the name of his dad’s war. The way he claims credit for hitting the wrong target every time. Moore is his own hero as well as ours, but that’s OK. He bullies a bully.

Sometimes, that’s, what it takes. But this time it’s going to take much more than Moore. Next time, Hillary, step to the plate.

The Day After Tomorrow

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After the footsore Godzilla, Roland Emmerich gets his eye-catching world-trashing set-pieces on track again as stormy weather lays waste to planet Earth. Dennis Quaid and Jake Gyllenhaal are father and son wishing they'd worn bigger galoshes, and the 'message'is right-on (if inaccurate), but it's all about the gosh-wow effects.

After the footsore Godzilla, Roland Emmerich gets his eye-catching world-trashing set-pieces on track again as stormy weather lays waste to planet Earth. Dennis Quaid and Jake Gyllenhaal are father and son wishing they’d worn bigger galoshes, and the ‘message’is right-on (if inaccurate), but it’s all about the gosh-wow effects.

The Martin Scorsese Collection

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TARANTINO RECENTLY suggested Scorsese's best days are behind him. Kundun, Bringing Out The Dead, Gangs Of New York?it's not just that these movies struggled to connect with audiences, Scorsese himself seemed unable to get a firm grasp on them. Is this still 'the greatest living American film-maker'? At least this long-overdue three-film box set reminds us how he earned that title. Check out his 1969 debut, Who's That Knocking At My Door? (released here for the first time on DVD)?a portrait of the artist as a young movie nut, starring Harvey Keitel and parading pretensions to an American 'new wave'. Scorsese seems mildly embarrassed by it now ("It's like looking at your high school yearbook"), but for fans this is a fascinating glimpse of the evolution of his signature obsessive-compulsive style, and it provided the blueprint for his first classic movie, '73's Mean Streets. In 1974, he was a left-field choice for bittersweet road movie Alice Doesn't Live Here Anymore (also making its DVD premiere), but Scorsese's aggressive, urban energy propelled Ellen Burstyn to the Oscar and proved he was as responsive to Hollywood as to European film-making. After Hours (1985) is one of Scorsese's most overlooked ?part screwball comedy, part Kafkaesque nightmare, with Griffin Dunne chasing tail into bohemian SoHo and barely escaping with his own intact. Recommended.

TARANTINO RECENTLY suggested Scorsese’s best days are behind him. Kundun, Bringing Out The Dead, Gangs Of New York?it’s not just that these movies struggled to connect with audiences, Scorsese himself seemed unable to get a firm grasp on them. Is this still ‘the greatest living American film-maker’? At least this long-overdue three-film box set reminds us how he earned that title. Check out his 1969 debut, Who’s That Knocking At My Door? (released here for the first time on DVD)?a portrait of the artist as a young movie nut, starring Harvey Keitel and parading pretensions to an American ‘new wave’. Scorsese seems mildly embarrassed by it now (“It’s like looking at your high school yearbook”), but for fans this is a fascinating glimpse of the evolution of his signature obsessive-compulsive style, and it provided the blueprint for his first classic movie, ’73’s Mean Streets.

In 1974, he was a left-field choice for bittersweet road movie Alice Doesn’t Live Here Anymore (also making its DVD premiere), but Scorsese’s aggressive, urban energy propelled Ellen Burstyn to the Oscar and proved he was as responsive to Hollywood as to European film-making. After Hours (1985) is one of Scorsese’s most overlooked ?part screwball comedy, part Kafkaesque nightmare, with Griffin Dunne chasing tail into bohemian SoHo and barely escaping with his own intact. Recommended.

Gozu

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Another memorable yakuza thriller from the Takeshi Miike production line, this gets off to a cracking start with a hilarious dog gag, then swerves into Lynchian weirdville with the introduction of a soothsayer, a transvestite or two, a lactating innkeeper and a minotaur. Just when the movie begins to sink into a surrealist stupor, Miike lets loose with a climax outrageous even by his own prodigious standards.

Another memorable yakuza thriller from the Takeshi Miike production line, this gets off to a cracking start with a hilarious dog gag, then swerves into Lynchian weirdville with the introduction of a soothsayer, a transvestite or two, a lactating innkeeper and a minotaur. Just when the movie begins to sink into a surrealist stupor, Miike lets loose with a climax outrageous even by his own prodigious standards.

The Howling: Special Edition

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Joe Dante's modern-day werewolf pulp, knowingly scripted by John Sayles. Traumatised TV reporter Dee Wallace takes refuge at a remote retreat only to discover it's a werewolf den. A treasure for horror aficionados, with memorable transformation scenes and a host of sly cameos. Scarier, smarter, sexier and funnier than the same year's An American Werewolf In London.

Joe Dante’s modern-day werewolf pulp, knowingly scripted by John Sayles. Traumatised TV reporter Dee Wallace takes refuge at a remote retreat only to discover it’s a werewolf den. A treasure for horror aficionados, with memorable transformation scenes and a host of sly cameos. Scarier, smarter, sexier and funnier than the same year’s An American Werewolf In London.

The Cooler

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William H Macy and Oscar-nominated Alec Baldwin are exceptional in this downbeat Vegas-set drama from first-time writer-director Wayne Kramer. Hardly anyone does pent-up malice better than Baldwin, and he's particularly combustible here as an old-school casino boss under pressure to modernise his operation, who turns somewhat unreasonable when Macy tries to walk out on him.

William H Macy and Oscar-nominated Alec Baldwin are exceptional in this downbeat Vegas-set drama from first-time writer-director Wayne Kramer. Hardly anyone does pent-up malice better than Baldwin, and he’s particularly combustible here as an old-school casino boss under pressure to modernise his operation, who turns somewhat unreasonable when Macy tries to walk out on him.

The Lost Boys: Special Edition

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This deeply schizophrenic teen vampire movie classic from Joel Schumacher has dark ambitions, not least in its child-murder subtext and blood-red lighting hues from Raging Bull cinematographer Michael Chapman. But too often it's railroaded by Schumacher's baser window-dresser's instincts, and ends up like a goth Goonies on acid.

This deeply schizophrenic teen vampire movie classic from Joel Schumacher has dark ambitions, not least in its child-murder subtext and blood-red lighting hues from Raging Bull cinematographer Michael Chapman. But too often it’s railroaded by Schumacher’s baser window-dresser’s instincts, and ends up like a goth Goonies on acid.

Monster

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Charlize Theron earns her Oscar as confused Florida serial killer Aileen Wuornos, not just for looking less attractive but because, after 20 minutes, you forget she's even a woman. So macho is her white-trash lesbian aggressor that you believe Christina Ricci is 'her' arm candy. Both excel as fuck-ups, and Patty Jenkins' script and direction are grim and gristly. Superb.

Charlize Theron earns her Oscar as confused Florida serial killer Aileen Wuornos, not just for looking less attractive but because, after 20 minutes, you forget she’s even a woman. So macho is her white-trash lesbian aggressor that you believe Christina Ricci is ‘her’ arm candy. Both excel as fuck-ups, and Patty Jenkins’ script and direction are grim and gristly. Superb.

TV Roundup

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Like Seinfeld and The Larry Sanders Show before it, the hilarious, misanthropic mayhem of Larry David's CYE has been lamentably treated by UK TV schedulers, clearly unused to programming such unfettered genius. All the more reason to recommend this five-hour festival of mordant mirth, in whose presence humbled awe is the only appropriate response.

Like Seinfeld and The Larry Sanders Show before it, the hilarious, misanthropic mayhem of Larry David’s CYE has been lamentably treated by UK TV schedulers, clearly unused to programming such unfettered genius. All the more reason to recommend this five-hour festival of mordant mirth, in whose presence humbled awe is the only appropriate response.

Blank Degeneration

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IN 1981, IN MILPITAS, California, a 16-year-old boy raped and murdered his girlfriend. Over the next few days, he took friends on trips to see her corpse, left lying by the riverbank. For a long time, none of them thought to call the cops. Dressed in grungey death-metal chic and transposed to Oregon's grey suburban haze, the basic facts of that case served as a leaping-off point for 1986's River's Edge, one of the most significant movies to address the growing numbness of Generation X?and also, conversely, one of the most disconcertingly entertaining. Written by Neal Jiminez, Tim Hunter's movie begins with John (Daniel Roebuck, a blubbery, beer-swilling blank) sitting by the girl he's just strangled. He mentions to sceptical high-school friends he's killed her, then leads them to the body. No one seems to feel much? except self-appointed leader of the pack Layne (Crispin Glover). He feels something: like he's in a movie, "like Chuck Norris", and although no one else, least of all John, cares, he begins riffing on his fantasy, urging everyone to save their buddy from being caught. River's Edge is like two films slammed together. On one hand, with its often overly emphatic messaging, and Keanu Reeves and lone Skye Leitch holding hands as the most sensitive members of the gang, bothered by the vague sensation something's not right, it's like a bleaker-than-usual John Hughes lost-teen flick. On the other hand, though, there's Dennis Hopper as a melancholy, one-legged, drug-dealing ex-biker with a blow-up sex-doll for a soul-mate, and Glover ripping scenes apart with his hysterically anti-naturalistic Valley Boy speedfreak act, treating the whole thing as expressionistic comedy. That unsettling discordance is, presumably, why David Lynch subsequently hired Hunter to direct episodes of Twin Peaks (another story of small-town teen secrets and a pale girl dead by the river) and, 18 years on, it's what keeps River's Edge so strangely alive. That and its chill prescience; in the portrayal of Reeves' 10-year-old brother Tim (the demonically androgynous Joshua Miller) the movie seemed certain of one thing: the next generation would be even number. He's the sort of kid who grew up to go to Columbine.

IN 1981, IN MILPITAS, California, a 16-year-old boy raped and murdered his girlfriend. Over the next few days, he took friends on trips to see her corpse, left lying by the riverbank. For a long time, none of them thought to call the cops.

Dressed in grungey death-metal chic and transposed to Oregon’s grey suburban haze, the basic facts of that case served as a leaping-off point for 1986’s River’s Edge, one of the most significant movies to address the growing numbness of Generation X?and also, conversely, one of the most disconcertingly entertaining.

Written by Neal Jiminez, Tim Hunter’s movie begins with John (Daniel Roebuck, a blubbery, beer-swilling blank) sitting by the girl he’s just strangled. He mentions to sceptical high-school friends he’s killed her, then leads them to the body. No one seems to feel much? except self-appointed leader of the pack Layne (Crispin Glover). He feels something: like he’s in a movie, “like Chuck Norris”, and although no one else, least of all John, cares, he begins riffing on his fantasy, urging everyone to save their buddy from being caught.

River’s Edge is like two films slammed together. On one hand, with its often overly emphatic messaging, and Keanu Reeves and lone Skye Leitch holding hands as the most sensitive members of the gang, bothered by the vague sensation something’s not right, it’s like a bleaker-than-usual John Hughes lost-teen flick. On the other hand, though, there’s Dennis Hopper as a melancholy, one-legged, drug-dealing ex-biker with a blow-up sex-doll for a soul-mate, and Glover ripping scenes apart with his hysterically anti-naturalistic Valley Boy speedfreak act, treating the whole thing as expressionistic comedy.

That unsettling discordance is, presumably, why David Lynch subsequently hired Hunter to direct episodes of Twin Peaks (another story of small-town teen secrets and a pale girl dead by the river) and, 18 years on, it’s what keeps River’s Edge so strangely alive. That and its chill prescience; in the portrayal of Reeves’ 10-year-old brother Tim (the demonically androgynous Joshua Miller) the movie seemed certain of one thing: the next generation would be even number. He’s the sort of kid who grew up to go to Columbine.

Secret Window

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Highly entertaining Stephen King adaptation, stylishly directed by David Koepp, with a mesmerising Johnny Depp as a best-selling mystery writer in the throes of a messy divorce who's accused of plagiarism?and threatened with unpleasant retribution?by sinister hillbilly John Turturro. Cue havoc on all fronts, and bodies piling up very quickly indeed. Splendid.

Highly entertaining Stephen King adaptation, stylishly directed by David Koepp, with a mesmerising Johnny Depp as a best-selling mystery writer in the throes of a messy divorce who’s accused of plagiarism?and threatened with unpleasant retribution?by sinister hillbilly John Turturro. Cue havoc on all fronts, and bodies piling up very quickly indeed. Splendid.

The Company

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112 minutes of Robert Altman's floaty, wispy ambient eavesdropping in the company of Chicago's Joffrey Ballet, with producer/star Neve Campbell drifting into dance numbers, performing a few grands jetes, drifting out again, snogging non-dancing co-star James Franco, then it's back to the real troupe, dancing, rehearsing, then dancing again. A test for even the most ardent Altman fan.

112 minutes of Robert Altman’s floaty, wispy ambient eavesdropping in the company of Chicago’s Joffrey Ballet, with producer/star Neve Campbell drifting into dance numbers, performing a few grands jetes, drifting out again, snogging non-dancing co-star James Franco, then it’s back to the real troupe, dancing, rehearsing, then dancing again. A test for even the most ardent Altman fan.

The Apple

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While the US administration portray. Iran as hostile to culture and dissent, Samira Makhmalbaf's films suggest otherwise. Her 1997 debut, made when she was 17, tells the story of the Naderi family (played by themselves), whose daughters were kept unwashed and imprisoned until they were 12. Simple, painterly, weirdly engaging, it subtly reveals that excessive faith and the repression of women are outmoded concepts even in that 'axis-of-evil' capital Tehran.

While the US administration portray. Iran as hostile to culture and dissent, Samira Makhmalbaf’s films suggest otherwise. Her 1997 debut, made when she was 17, tells the story of the Naderi family (played by themselves), whose daughters were kept unwashed and imprisoned until they were 12. Simple, painterly, weirdly engaging, it subtly reveals that excessive faith and the repression of women are outmoded concepts even in that ‘axis-of-evil’ capital Tehran.

Ferris Bueller’s Day Off

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A 1986 John Hughes charmer which has acquired, over the years, near-legendary status for accidentally pre-empting the "slacker" (lack of) movement. Matthew Broderick and his Chicago buddies play truant, but through quick wits get the wheels and the girls?wish fulfilment for the pre-Nirvana generation. Crisp fun for those who found Pretty In Pink a little too dark and troubling.

A 1986 John Hughes charmer which has acquired, over the years, near-legendary status for accidentally pre-empting the “slacker” (lack of) movement. Matthew Broderick and his Chicago buddies play truant, but through quick wits get the wheels and the girls?wish fulfilment for the pre-Nirvana generation. Crisp fun for those who found Pretty In Pink a little too dark and troubling.

Wonderland

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Muddled, witless look at the notorious 1981 murders on LA's Wonderland Avenue, with an unconvincing Val Kilmer as faded porn star John Holmes, in over his coke-addled head in drug scams and violence. A pale cousin of Boogie Nights, its attempted narrative/ editing tricks flop badly. Kate Bosworth and Lisa Kudrow weep, and there's a scorching soundtrack (lggy, Patti, T.Rex). But kindness to the living exacerbates the mess.

Muddled, witless look at the notorious 1981 murders on LA’s Wonderland Avenue, with an unconvincing Val Kilmer as faded porn star John Holmes, in over his coke-addled head in drug scams and violence. A pale cousin of Boogie Nights, its attempted narrative/ editing tricks flop badly. Kate Bosworth and Lisa Kudrow weep, and there’s a scorching soundtrack (lggy, Patti, T.Rex). But kindness to the living exacerbates the mess.

The Return

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In remotest Russia, a father suddenly returns to the wife and sons he left 12 years earlier, and takes the two boys into the barren countryside on a fishing trip. Whether you read it as psychological thriller or allegory on human existence, Andrei Zvyagintsev's devastating directorial debut has established itself as a modern classic. This elegant film is charged with mystery, and dread that descends like fog.

In remotest Russia, a father suddenly returns to the wife and sons he left 12 years earlier, and takes the two boys into the barren countryside on a fishing trip. Whether you read it as psychological thriller or allegory on human existence, Andrei Zvyagintsev’s devastating directorial debut has established itself as a modern classic. This elegant film is charged with mystery, and dread that descends like fog.

The Fearless Vampire Killers

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Although panned on its 1967 release, Roman Polanski's third English-language movie, a horror comedy, is a delightful oddity. There's a dream-like, gothic quality to it as Prof Abronsius (Jack MacGowran) and assistant Alfred (Polanski) root out a nest of the undead in wintry Transylvania. The climactic Vampire's Ball is strikingly mounted, and it's easy to see how Polanski fell for leading lady Sharon Tate.

Although panned on its 1967 release, Roman Polanski’s third English-language movie, a horror comedy, is a delightful oddity. There’s a dream-like, gothic quality to it as Prof Abronsius (Jack MacGowran) and assistant Alfred (Polanski) root out a nest of the undead in wintry Transylvania. The climactic Vampire’s Ball is strikingly mounted, and it’s easy to see how Polanski fell for leading lady Sharon Tate.

To Live And Die In La

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Ridiculously entertaining car chase and all, William Friedkin's brutal, dumb 1985 crime flick resembles his French Connection resprayed for the West Coast. The movie benefits from LA shimmer and deployment of under-used actors: Willem Dafoe plays a ruthless, faintly perverse counterfeiter and William Petersen is the lawman in tight jeans crossing the line in pursuit of him. Listen for the Wang Chung soundtrack! Maybe not.

Ridiculously entertaining car chase and all, William Friedkin’s brutal, dumb 1985 crime flick resembles his French Connection resprayed for the West Coast. The movie benefits from LA shimmer and deployment of under-used actors: Willem Dafoe plays a ruthless, faintly perverse counterfeiter and William Petersen is the lawman in tight jeans crossing the line in pursuit of him. Listen for the Wang Chung soundtrack! Maybe not.

The Leopard

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Luchino Visconti's three-hour epic is a complex family saga, with Burt Lancaster as an Italian nobleman in the Garibaldi era. The colour and detail is so rich it's almost fattening. Visconti, calling in favours back in '63, wanted Lancaster (who's great), but outside Italy no one knew how to sell it, so it was hacked and dubbed. Now its sumptuous again, with a Nino Rota score and both Claudia Cardinale and Alain Delon in their prime.

Luchino Visconti’s three-hour epic is a complex family saga, with Burt Lancaster as an Italian nobleman in the Garibaldi era. The colour and detail is so rich it’s almost fattening. Visconti, calling in favours back in ’63, wanted Lancaster (who’s great), but outside Italy no one knew how to sell it, so it was hacked and dubbed. Now its sumptuous again, with a Nino Rota score and both Claudia Cardinale and Alain Delon in their prime.

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