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Party Monster

Macaulay Culkin (contractually refusing to kiss any men?fact) blows hard but fails to convince as camp '90s New York club cyclone Michael Alig. Seth Green's equally berserk, but when Alig brags of murdering his buddy/dealer, everyone assumes he's kidding. Much gay disco muzak, and cameos from Marilyn Manson and Chloe Sevigny, but this is no Last Days Of Disco or even 54.

Macaulay Culkin (contractually refusing to kiss any men?fact) blows hard but fails to convince as camp ’90s New York club cyclone Michael Alig. Seth Green’s equally berserk, but when Alig brags of murdering his buddy/dealer, everyone assumes he’s kidding. Much gay disco muzak, and cameos from Marilyn Manson and Chloe Sevigny, but this is no Last Days Of Disco or even 54.

Spellbound

Oscar-nominated documentary from last year which, unexpectedly, grips like a vice in its climactic stages. Swotty geek-kids competing for the National Spelling Bee contest might not strike you as gutsy drama, but the obsession, the commitment, the heartbreak and the pushy parents make for a brilliantly dynamic and ghoulishly funny interpretation of the American mindset. Word.

Oscar-nominated documentary from last year which, unexpectedly, grips like a vice in its climactic stages. Swotty geek-kids competing for the National Spelling Bee contest might not strike you as gutsy drama, but the obsession, the commitment, the heartbreak and the pushy parents make for a brilliantly dynamic and ghoulishly funny interpretation of the American mindset. Word.

Touching The Void

Already a boys' own classic, Kevin MacDonald's award-winning doc about two foolhardy Brit mountaineers scaling the 21,000ft Andean peak of Peru's Siula Grande is almost hideously gripping. Brilliantly paced, Touching The Void re-enacts the climb?and the descent, more to the point?with actors Brendan Mackey and Nicholas Aaron. But much of the drama lies in the memories of climbers Joe Simpson and Simon Yates, the interviews with whom are candid and vulnerable. Simpson's combination of obtuse spunk?"I bloody well was gonna do it"?and tearful openness contrasts with Yates' unwarranted but understandable guilt for having cut the rope on his partner. The terrifying white silence and merciless permanence of Siula Grande is majestically conjured by the cinematography, which really does demand to be seen on the big screen. More than anything, Touching The Void makes clear man's absurd insignificance in the face of such implacable beauty. The void is the void of nature?of a world that doesn't need us. Having said that, the triumph of Joe's will in his determination to survive is a profound testament to the human spirit. And you do come away from the film thinking: "I will never, ever, complain about anything again. Ever."

Already a boys’ own classic, Kevin MacDonald’s award-winning doc about two foolhardy Brit mountaineers scaling the 21,000ft Andean peak of Peru’s Siula Grande is almost hideously gripping. Brilliantly paced, Touching The Void re-enacts the climb?and the descent, more to the point?with actors Brendan Mackey and Nicholas Aaron. But much of the drama lies in the memories of climbers Joe Simpson and Simon Yates, the interviews with whom are candid and vulnerable. Simpson’s combination of obtuse spunk?”I bloody well was gonna do it”?and tearful openness contrasts with Yates’ unwarranted but understandable guilt for having cut the rope on his partner.

The terrifying white silence and merciless permanence of Siula Grande is majestically conjured by the cinematography, which really does demand to be seen on the big screen. More than anything, Touching The Void makes clear man’s absurd insignificance in the face of such implacable beauty. The void is the void of nature?of a world that doesn’t need us.

Having said that, the triumph of Joe’s will in his determination to survive is a profound testament to the human spirit. And you do come away from the film thinking: “I will never, ever, complain about anything again. Ever.”

Laurel Canyon

Coolly stoned record producer Frances McDormand struggles to be a responsible role model for her uptight son Christian Bale and his sexually frustrated wife Kate Beckinsale, while shagging cheeky Britpop 'star' Alessandro Nivola. Though the music's great (Mercury Rev, T. Rex, Roxy), Lisa Cholodenko's languorous movie is more about the gaps in relationships than the rock'n'roll world.

Coolly stoned record producer Frances McDormand struggles to be a responsible role model for her uptight son Christian Bale and his sexually frustrated wife Kate Beckinsale, while shagging cheeky Britpop ‘star’ Alessandro Nivola. Though the music’s great (Mercury Rev, T. Rex, Roxy), Lisa Cholodenko’s languorous movie is more about the gaps in relationships than the rock’n’roll world.

Animal Factory

Mercifully free from saccharine Shawshank/Green Mile prison movie proselytising, Steve Buscemi's stark follow-up to the amiable Trees Lounge instead simply tosses luckless dope-dealing suburbanite Edward Furlong in among a brood of psychopathic sexual predators, including Willem Dafoe and Mickey Rourke, and then watches him squirm. Bleak stuff, with a final, disposable redemption.

Mercifully free from saccharine Shawshank/Green Mile prison movie proselytising, Steve Buscemi’s stark follow-up to the amiable Trees Lounge instead simply tosses luckless dope-dealing suburbanite Edward Furlong in among a brood of psychopathic sexual predators, including Willem Dafoe and Mickey Rourke, and then watches him squirm. Bleak stuff, with a final, disposable redemption.

Where The Sidewalk Ends

Reuniting Dana Andrews and Gene Tierney from his glossily perverse Laura, and adding uncharacteristic grit to compositional elegance, the great Otto Preminger delivered this noir about a violently ambiguous cop two decades before Dirty Harry appeared. Andrews is the splintering anti-hero, a brutal Manhattan detective coming apart while trying to cover up his killing of a suspect. Two more of Preminger's most neglected crime movies?superbly seedy small-town murder Fallen Angel and psychodrama Whirlpool?are also making (overdue) DVD debuts.

Reuniting Dana Andrews and Gene Tierney from his glossily perverse Laura, and adding uncharacteristic grit to compositional elegance, the great Otto Preminger delivered this noir about a violently ambiguous cop two decades before Dirty Harry appeared. Andrews is the splintering anti-hero, a brutal Manhattan detective coming apart while trying to cover up his killing of a suspect. Two more of Preminger’s most neglected crime movies?superbly seedy small-town murder Fallen Angel and psychodrama Whirlpool?are also making (overdue) DVD debuts.

Adua And Company

Four former prostitutes set themselves up in the restaurant business in Italian director Antonio Petrangeli's vintage 1961 prize-winner, which stars Simone Signoret and Marcello Mastroianni. The tone wavers between bittersweet comedy and stark social commentary, with sumptuous monochrome shots of handsome Roman vistas, plus two ravishingly beautiful stars looking furrowed and soulful as middle age looms. With its downbeat note of gritty realism, Adua And Company is classy and compelling Euro-drama.

Four former prostitutes set themselves up in the restaurant business in Italian director Antonio Petrangeli’s vintage 1961 prize-winner, which stars Simone Signoret and Marcello Mastroianni. The tone wavers between bittersweet comedy and stark social commentary, with sumptuous monochrome shots of handsome Roman vistas, plus two ravishingly beautiful stars looking furrowed and soulful as middle age looms. With its downbeat note of gritty realism, Adua And Company is classy and compelling Euro-drama.

Cypher

Futuristic tale of corporate industrial espionage from Cube director Vincenzo Natali, with Jeremy Northam convincing as a nerdy salesman drawn into a world of brainwashing and betrayal who ends up questioning his own identity while falling for mysterious temptress Lucy Liu. It's Phil Dick meets Alias, but enjoyably undemanding.

Futuristic tale of corporate industrial espionage from Cube director Vincenzo Natali, with Jeremy Northam convincing as a nerdy salesman drawn into a world of brainwashing and betrayal who ends up questioning his own identity while falling for mysterious temptress Lucy Liu. It’s Phil Dick meets Alias, but enjoyably undemanding.

Dune

Twenty years and one truly awful TV remake later, David Lynch's adaptation of Frank Herbert's unfilmable sci-fi epic looks miraculously good. Kyle MacLachlan makes an impressive debut as the young desert messiah, the supporting cast are great (except Sting), and the amazing visuals more than outweigh the unwieldy script.

Twenty years and one truly awful TV remake later, David Lynch’s adaptation of Frank Herbert’s unfilmable sci-fi epic looks miraculously good. Kyle MacLachlan makes an impressive debut as the young desert messiah, the supporting cast are great (except Sting), and the amazing visuals more than outweigh the unwieldy script.

Psych-Out

Susan Strasberg is a deaf Carole Caplin d...

Susan Strasberg is a deaf Carole Caplin d

S.W.A.T.

Predictably brash big-screen version of unremarkable '70s TV show, with Samuel L Jackson knocking a rogue SWAT team into shape and making unlikely heroes of them. There's more gunfire than dialogue, so Jackson isn't asked to do more than shout a lot, while Colin Farrell squints manfully and kills everyone in sight.

Predictably brash big-screen version of unremarkable ’70s TV show, with Samuel L Jackson knocking a rogue SWAT team into shape and making unlikely heroes of them. There’s more gunfire than dialogue, so Jackson isn’t asked to do more than shout a lot, while Colin Farrell squints manfully and kills everyone in sight.

Young Adam

Novelist Alexander Trocchi's uneasy blend of Beat existentialism and pseudo porn continue to gnaw in this stylish adaptation of his 1954 whodunnit. Ewan McGregor is suitably dour as the sinister drifter while director David Mackenzie proves himself a master of sustained gloom. But it's the sex scenes, progressing from erotic to self-conscious to simply absurd, that continually corrode.

Novelist Alexander Trocchi’s uneasy blend of Beat existentialism and pseudo porn continue to gnaw in this stylish adaptation of his 1954 whodunnit. Ewan McGregor is suitably dour as the sinister drifter while director David Mackenzie proves himself a master of sustained gloom. But it’s the sex scenes, progressing from erotic to self-conscious to simply absurd, that continually corrode.

La Gloire De Mon Père

Following the success of Jean De Florette and Manon Des Sources, interest was sufficiently stirred in author Marcel Pagnol to fuel two features based on his childhood memoirs in a sun-drenched Provence. Picture-postcard landscapes figure prominently in Yves Robert's polished recreation of the summer of 1900, although the human drama goes no deeper than minor family arguments and slender rites-of-passage rituals. This was hugely successful, but adds up to little more than an oppressively tasteful tourist-board panorama.

Following the success of Jean De Florette and Manon Des Sources, interest was sufficiently stirred in author Marcel Pagnol to fuel two features based on his childhood memoirs in a sun-drenched Provence. Picture-postcard landscapes figure prominently in Yves Robert’s polished recreation of the summer of 1900, although the human drama goes no deeper than minor family arguments and slender rites-of-passage rituals. This was hugely successful, but adds up to little more than an oppressively tasteful tourist-board panorama.

As The Crowe Flies

Peter weir's spectacularly mounted conflation of a couple of Patrick O'Brien's hugely popular seafaring yarns, handsomely set during the Napoleonic Wars, is a rare contemporary example of classic movie storytelling, in which subtle characterisation and well-balanced narrative are as important as gung-ho action sequences and the usual sensory bombardment of the multiplex blockbuster. Russell Crowe, never better, is "Lucky" Jack Aubrey, commander of HMS Surprise, charged with the destruction of the formidable French warship the Acheron (a barely-seen but grimly vindictive phantom). Paul Bettany as the ship's surgeon is a wry foil to Crowe's noble intransigence, vocally contesting Jack's growing obsession with the Acheron, to which the Surprise gives long and arduous chase?through fearsome storms, freezing seas and becalmed torpor. As the man said, bloody brilliant.

Peter weir’s spectacularly mounted conflation of a couple of Patrick O’Brien’s hugely popular seafaring yarns, handsomely set during the Napoleonic Wars, is a rare contemporary example of classic movie storytelling, in which subtle characterisation and well-balanced narrative are as important as gung-ho action sequences and the usual sensory bombardment of the multiplex blockbuster. Russell Crowe, never better, is “Lucky” Jack Aubrey, commander of HMS Surprise, charged with the destruction of the formidable French warship the Acheron (a barely-seen but grimly vindictive phantom). Paul Bettany as the ship’s surgeon is a wry foil to Crowe’s noble intransigence, vocally contesting Jack’s growing obsession with the Acheron, to which the Surprise gives long and arduous chase?through fearsome storms, freezing seas and becalmed torpor. As the man said, bloody brilliant.

Choppers’ Paradise

October, 2003. Quentin Tarantino's first movie in six years is received with howls of excitement by Tarantinophiles the world over?and the quiet, confused cluck of disappointment from certain observers, for whom its blood-spattered excess is a negligible addition to the director's previously unassai...

October, 2003. Quentin Tarantino’s first movie in six years is received with howls of excitement by Tarantinophiles the world over?and the quiet, confused cluck of disappointment from certain observers, for whom its blood-spattered excess is a negligible addition to the director’s previously unassailable filmography. The fourth film by Quentin Tarantino may have loads of action, but where’s the glorious, endlessly replayable dialogue that’s the backbone of Reservoir Dogs and Pulp Fiction? Where’s the narrative complexity on show in his accomplished third outing, Jackie Brown?

Now that Vol One has made it to DVD (a no-frills release?expect a special edition after Vol Two), how does Kill Bill stack up against its director’s slim-but-hugely-influential back catalogue? The answer is, of course, at the top of the list?or very close to it.

Sure, Kill Bill is a style-over-content ode to QT’s grindhouse-based adolescence?an amalgam of all the low-rent B-movie action classics he saw while growing up in LA?but it’s also a brilliantly imagined, beautifully realised testament to his maturing ability as a multi-faceted director.

From the truly shocking pre-credits opening sequence to the final killer line of dialogue, Quentin’s first instalment of the bride-with-no-name’s bloody quest for revenge grabs the audience by the collar and rips them through a variety of genres (urban combat, Sam Fuller-style hospital nightmare, hardcore anim

The Boost

When we rave about the force of nature that is James Woods, we tend to neglect this cautionary 1988 Harold Becker tale of how cocaine destroys the careers and marriage of a silver-tongued salesman and his wife (Sean Young, with whom, notoriously, Woods had a history). We shouldn't: it absolutely rocks, with Woods in his element as a cocky crack-up waiting to happen. And then, explosively, happening. Electric.

When we rave about the force of nature that is James Woods, we tend to neglect this cautionary 1988 Harold Becker tale of how cocaine destroys the careers and marriage of a silver-tongued salesman and his wife (Sean Young, with whom, notoriously, Woods had a history). We shouldn’t: it absolutely rocks, with Woods in his element as a cocky crack-up waiting to happen. And then, explosively, happening. Electric.

Sweet Dreams

Straightforward biopic of country chanteuse Patsy Cline, with a chain-smoking Jessica Lange in the lead and Ed Harris as her drunken husband. Excellent performances from both, with good period detail and great music (Lange miming along to original Cline recordings)... but otherwise very dull indeed (domestic bickering followed by a plane crash).

Straightforward biopic of country chanteuse Patsy Cline, with a chain-smoking Jessica Lange in the lead and Ed Harris as her drunken husband. Excellent performances from both, with good period detail and great music (Lange miming along to original Cline recordings)… but otherwise very dull indeed (domestic bickering followed by a plane crash).

The Decline Of The American Empire

Eight Quebecois intellectuals, four boys and four girls, discuss sex, history, the state of the world, sex, each other and sex as they prepare for a weekend together in the country. Gabby, but engrossing in a My Dinner With Andr...

Eight Quebecois intellectuals, four boys and four girls, discuss sex, history, the state of the world, sex, each other and sex as they prepare for a weekend together in the country. Gabby, but engrossing in a My Dinner With Andr

Pasta Perfect

The good, the bad and the ugly was the first DVD I ever bought, in 1998: I got hold of the American release, because it included several missing scenes?though these were presented separately from the film, as extra elements, dubbed in Italian. This is a new version?made from the original negative?of...

The good, the bad and the ugly was the first DVD I ever bought, in 1998: I got hold of the American release, because it included several missing scenes?though these were presented separately from the film, as extra elements, dubbed in Italian. This is a new version?made from the original negative?of Sergio Leone’s epic western about three murderous outlaws drifting through the American Civil War in search of a grave full of stolen gold. Unlike the film shown in the UK and the US in the late 1960s, which was 161 minutes in length, this one is based on the print shown at the Italian premiere in 1966, which ran for almost 178 minutes. This version is the first chance we’ve had to see Leone’s movie with (almost) all the scenes as the director intended, in the right order, in English. And so what?

How does it compare to the shorter X-rated movie that some of us snuck in to see in the ’60s? Three hours is long for an action movie, and here we see Leone developing his specially-slow style of storytelling, stretching scenes of tension to the breaking point, if not beyond.

I’ve seen the film at various lengths?in the cinema, and on TV?and it seems to me that there are in fact two different movies called The Good, The Bad And The Ugly. One is this one of course. The other is much, much shorter?something like the British re-release version from the ’70s which the distributors cut drastically so as to fit it on a double bill. Gone was the scene where Lee Van Cleef’s Angel Eyes beats up a prostitute; gone the scene after it where Eli Wallach’s Tuco crosses the bridge and steals a pistol. Non-action scenes were shortened or entirely eliminated. This was the pure action The Good, The Bad And The Ugly: racing as fast as it could for Sad Hill Cemetery.

You could call that version the last part of the Dollars trilogy, begun famously with 1964’s A Fistful Of Dollars and continued the following year with For A Few Dollars More.

And then there’s this version?the picaresque, Cervantes-style The Good, The Bad And The Ugly, the try-out for Once Upon A Time In The West and Once Upon A Time In America: a rambling, episodic yarn which Leone originally planned to call The Magnificent Rogues. In a film titled The Magnificent Rogues, we’d definitely want to see the missing “Soccoro” scene, where Tuco turns the townspeople upside down so money falls out of their pockets. In the streamlined, Dollars version, we don’t. There’s a tendency among some critics to think that longer is better and that the director always wants/deserves/should get the longest possible version of his film. But that isn’t always true. Directors of very long films can sometimes legitimately be accused of losing the plot.

What’s the point of the (rediscovered) scene where Tuco visits his gang in a cave? It’s cartoonish, and not very well lit or shot. The scene where Angel Eyes visits the ruined fort is beautifully photographed, and helps the narrative. But the long sequence in the desert, where Tuco further tortures Clint Eastwood’s Blondie, is just embarrassing and slow. There is one very good addition, though?the last one. It takes place just before the last Civil War battle, where Blondie and Tuco are pretending to be Union volunteers. The drunk Captain doesn’t believe them, and asks who they are:

CAPTAIN: What did you say your name was?

TUCO: Ah, I, eh…

For a splendid moment, Tuco gives up. He can’t be bothered to think of a new fake name, nor to repeat the name of Bill Carson, his previous alias. In the face of so much carnage and madness, and more to come, his mind has packed up. And so has the mind of Blondie:

CAPTAIN: And you?

Blondie looks discomforted. He can’t think of a name either.

CAPTAIN: No, ha, ha, ha! Names don’t matter…

It seems to me an important part of the film, and of Leone’s work in general, where even the resourceful Magnificent Rogues are reduced to silence, staring out at the infinite reaches of man’s perfect killing machine.

Whether it’s better than the bastardised, r

Dark Side Of The Moon

It was meant to be a celebration of one of Britain's greatest rock'n'roll bands. But by the time the official documentary history of The Who, The Kids Are Alright, was released at cinemas in May 1979, it had become a celluloid obituary to drummer Keith Moon. Just nine months earlier, and one week after recording final overdubs for the movie's soundtrack, Moon, only 32 years old, took a fatal overdose on September 7, 1978. Twenty-five years on, impressively sharpened, recoloured, re-edited, remastered in 5.1 stereo and with vital lost footage restored, plus an extra disc of bonus features, The Kids Are Alright is still Moon's film. Ten minutes in and we're watching him perform "I Can't Explain"in August 1965. He's a puckishly handsome 18, sticks fluttering around his head like humming birds in a flabbergasting display of rhythmic genius. Yet come the movie's finale, "Won't Get Fooled Again"live before a fan club audience at Shepperton Studios in May 1978, we're witnessing a bloated caricature barely able to keep time. The contrast is as dramatic as that between the nimble athleticism of the young Cassius Clay against the punch-drunk Ali's excruciating final bout with Larry Holmes. How did Moon The Effervescent Loon become Moon The Grotesque Balloon in just 14 years? The Kids Are Alright doesn't provide any answers. It merely shows us the hard evidence with captivating honesty, namely The Who's brilliant ascendancy from 1965 to 1969 as refracted through their late-'70s nadir circa 1978's Who Are You. A radical departure from the conventional rock-doc formats preceding it?Dylan's Don't Look Back, the Stones'Gimme Shelter, Led Zeppelin's The Song Remains The Same?The Kids Are Alright is an incredibly simple construct. Compiled by 22-year old first-time director Jeff Stein (a novice schooled in American commercials), it amounts to a non-chronological scrapbook of TV appearances, interviews, promos and live footage fleshed out by a small percentage of specially commissioned new material (that last ever concert with Moon at Shepperton Studios included). Without any cohesive biographical structure, The Kids Are Alright works by simply reminding you of the power and conviction of Townshend's music, as evinced by these astonishing archive performances. Somewhere between Moon stripping down to his Y-fronts during a 1973 Russell Harty TV interview and Townshend tossing his guitar into the crowd at Woodstock lies the essence of The Who. Even given the depressing subtext of Keith's decay, and its gaping inconsistencies (a career overview that totally ignores Quadrophenia, for one), The Kids Are Alright more than does its subjects proud. While at times too fragmentary and too loose to truly be considered the quintessential Who document, this still trembles with the force of a Townshend power-chord cranked up to 11. The film's more than alright, kids.

It was meant to be a celebration of one of Britain’s greatest rock’n’roll bands. But by the time the official documentary history of The Who, The Kids Are Alright, was released at cinemas in May 1979, it had become a celluloid obituary to drummer Keith Moon. Just nine months earlier, and one week after recording final overdubs for the movie’s soundtrack, Moon, only 32 years old, took a fatal overdose on September 7, 1978.

Twenty-five years on, impressively sharpened, recoloured, re-edited, remastered in 5.1 stereo and with vital lost footage restored, plus an extra disc of bonus features, The Kids Are Alright is still Moon’s film. Ten minutes in and we’re watching him perform “I Can’t Explain”in August 1965. He’s a puckishly handsome 18, sticks fluttering around his head like humming birds in a flabbergasting display of rhythmic genius. Yet come the movie’s finale, “Won’t Get Fooled Again”live before a fan club audience at Shepperton Studios in May 1978, we’re witnessing a bloated caricature barely able to keep time. The contrast is as dramatic as that between the nimble athleticism of the young Cassius Clay against the punch-drunk Ali’s excruciating final bout with Larry Holmes. How did Moon The Effervescent Loon become Moon The Grotesque Balloon in just 14 years?

The Kids Are Alright doesn’t provide any answers. It merely shows us the hard evidence with captivating honesty, namely The Who’s brilliant ascendancy from 1965 to 1969 as refracted through their late-’70s nadir circa 1978’s Who Are You. A radical departure from the conventional rock-doc formats preceding it?Dylan’s Don’t Look Back, the Stones’Gimme Shelter, Led Zeppelin’s The Song Remains The Same?The Kids Are Alright is an incredibly simple construct. Compiled by 22-year old first-time director Jeff Stein (a novice schooled in American commercials), it amounts to a non-chronological scrapbook of TV appearances, interviews, promos and live footage fleshed out by a small percentage of specially commissioned new material (that last ever concert with Moon at Shepperton Studios included).

Without any cohesive biographical structure, The Kids Are Alright works by simply reminding you of the power and conviction of Townshend’s music, as evinced by these astonishing archive performances. Somewhere between Moon stripping down to his Y-fronts during a 1973 Russell Harty TV interview and Townshend tossing his guitar into the crowd at Woodstock lies the essence of The Who. Even given the depressing subtext of Keith’s decay, and its gaping inconsistencies (a career overview that totally ignores Quadrophenia, for one), The Kids Are Alright more than does its subjects proud. While at times too fragmentary and too loose to truly be considered the quintessential Who document, this still trembles with the force of a Townshend power-chord cranked up to 11. The film’s more than alright, kids.