Hey folks, Harry here with the 'lost Capone reviews'. He sent these last week, but they didn't quite seem to find my eyes. I have no real reasons for this, I suppose it is Moriarty's fault. No, It is definitely Moriarty's fault. He has been coming over begging me to scratch behind his left ear below the lobe... He's strange that way. However, Capone is not like that at all.
Hey, Harry. Capone in Chicago with a little something different. One of my all-time favorite documentaries is Bruce Weber’s LET’S GET LOST. For both its stripped-bare portrait of an artist (trumpet maestro Chet Baker) whose life is in decline and for it stunning black-and-white cinematography, LET’S GET LOST is heartbreaking and transcendent. Weber’s latest work, his first feature-length documentary in more than 10 years, is CHOP SUEY, a free-form look at Weber’s own life…parts of it any way.
The film focuses on Weber’s discovery, Peter Johnson, whom Weber spotted about five years ago while he was photographing a Wisconsin high school wrestling team and is now one of the top models in the world. I feel safe in saying that Johnson and Weber were never lovers (Johnson is now married and has a child), but that doesn’t eliminate the obvious love and trust the two men share. Throughout CHOP SUEY, Weber’s narration takes us through Johnson’s discovery and nervousness at being photographed in various stages of undress. But CHOP SUEY isn’t about Johnson; he’s just the thread that holds the film together. This movie is about inspiration, and asks the question, “What odd assortment of things, inspire and drive an artist to create?” CHOP SUEY quilts together a fascinating series of images and songs that Weber considers the fabric of his inspiration. We see him page through volumes of books of his favorite photographers; he give us a tour of his own personal collection of photographs given to him by those who took them; we skim his record collection; and I’m fairly certain we never actually see Bruce Weber’s face in the whole film. He’s always behind the camera or narrating.
Added to this, Weber takes Johnson to interact with some of the people (or friends of the people) who mean the most to him. For Weber, one of the key influences of his life was the vocal stylings of Frances Faye, a racy but still popular nightclub performer who is one of those all to familiar people who managed to be highly influential in her time, but whose name is rarely heard today. Weber is great friends with Faye’s long-time assistant and lover Teri Shephard, who it’s clear Weber loves to listen to tell stories of Faye’s various dealing with other celebrities. We also talk to Fay’s make up artist and hair stylist. The Frances Faye story could have been its own documentary. Weber also learned quite a bit about life from his dealings with the late Robert Mitchum (who Weber is currently preparing a documentary about). The footage of Mitchum here that Weber shot during a jazz recording session with Mitchum and Dr. John is gorgeous. Others profiled in CHOP SUEY are fashion icon Diana Vreeland and desert explorer Sir Wilfred Thesiger. These aren’t meant to be all-inclusive looks at these figures, nor is the film supposed to give a complete portrait of Bruce Weber. What Weber has done is create a scrapbook, a series of images and music that look and sound great together. His narration pulls the element together nicely, and we even get some narration by Johnson who tells us his reaction to the things Weber is showing us.
CHOP SUEY may feel a little scattered and not delve into places we’d like it to (I’m still dying to learn more about Frances Faye), but that’s not really the point. This is a peak into the mind of one of the great black-and-white portrait photographers alive. It took a certain amount of guts for Weber to show us what makes him tick, and he manages to do so with doing what other people would do, such as talk to his family, bore us with details of his childhood, etc. His discussions about celebrities and other photographers is intelligent, funny, and eye-opening. His collection of friends and acquaintances are people I wish I knew. In all, CHOP SUEY is great fun and a unique approach to documentary film making. I’ve never seen anything quite like it.
Hey, Harry. Capone in Chicago here. Despite numerous offers ranging from thousands of dollars to oral sex, I have decided to keep my Butt-Numb-a-Thon 3 tickets and fly to Austin this December. The plane tickets are purchased, and I'm assuming that my front-row throne is waiting for me. But I'm not here to talk about flattening my ass; I'm here to talk about SHALLOW HAL.
The reasons SHALLOW HAL isn’t that great a movie have nothing to idea with the subject matter. This is just one of those stories that on paper would have me in stitches. When someone described the plot to me, I laughed. Even the trailer is funny. Seeing Gwyneth Paltrow jump in a pool, create a huge splash, and send a little boy flying into a tree. Come on, that’s funny. Then why does the movie ultimately fail? I’ll try and explain in detail, but first and foremost it has to do with the talented Farrelly brothers making a PG-13 movie. I know, I know: you shouldn’t have to work blue to make people laugh, but for these guys, it sure helps.
Is the cast weak? Not at all. Jack Black (HIGH FIDELITY) is a little more subdued than I like him (I just saw Tenacious D in concert a couple weeks ago, so I’m aware of how completely psycho he can get), but he’s still okay here. There a several scenes of him dancing in a night club that cracked me up. Black plays Hal, a man who, as a boy, lost his father to cancer. His father’s last words to Hal were something along the lines of “Don’t settle for sub-standard poontang.” Did I mention Hal’s daddy was a minister? Anyway, Hal grows up to be an out-of-shape schlub who cruises the hottest clubs looking for the hottest women. On rare occasions he’s successful, but basically he’s one of those guys from A NIGHT AT THE ROXBURY, bobbing his head to the music and injecting his flailing body into a group of beautiful dancing women, making them scatter. His partner in crime is Mauricio (Jason Alexander), a guy with the single worst false hair on the planet. Is there such a thing as hair powder? If so, that’s what he’s wearing. These two prizes want only the best women, but have placed impossible standards on the opposite sex so that no woman would ever want them. And the ones that do are never good enough for them. Mauricio, for example, dumps a gorgeous woman because her second toe is larger than her big toe. In the grand scheme of things, Mauricio is far more shallow than Hal, but I digress.
On day while leaving his office, Hal gets stuck in an elevator with self-help guru, Tony Robbins (yes, the real Tony Robbins complete with size 17 shoes, big white teeth, store-bought tan, and Satan-like goatee), who’s quite funny as the man who gets to know Hal and finally zaps Hal with a spell that allows him to see people’s inner beauty. The one thing you have to realize is that this movie is not just about Hal seeing less attractive women as more attractive; Hal sees men and women for what they really are. If a beauty queen is a true bitch, that’s how he sees her. On the other hand when he meets an 800-lb Hawaiian guy who’s in the Peace Corps, Hal sees him as a total stud. Got it?
Anyway, one of the first woman that Hal meets in his new state of awareness is Rosemary (Paltrow), a 300-lb heiress with the most beautiful heart of anyone on the planet and who Hal sees as … well … Gwyneth Paltrow, looking more lovely than ever (not be shallow or anything). We do catch glimpses of Paltrow in a (very fake looking) fat suit, but it’s her out-of-suit performance that is the highlight of the film. Rosemary is a woman with zero confidence and a terrible self-image, and Paltrow pulls it off. The genuine anger she feels toward Hal for paying her compliments rung true. Sure, there are a few gags about this skinny girl breaking every chair she sits it and aforementioned pool scene, but the Farrellys don’t obsess because the film isn’t about her being overweight. The purpose of the film is to take the task those who judge by appearance, men and women.
So why doesn’t the film work? The performances are good, the message is a righteous one, there are even some classic tasteless Farrelly touches: a guy with spinobifida (sp?) who hops around on all fours; kids in a burn ward; a guy with a skin disease that makes his skin flake constantly (I wouldn’t even attempt to spell the disease without a medical dictionary); and a hysterical scene near the end where Jason Alexander drops his pants--I’ll say no more. The problems with SHALLOW HAL are two-fold: 1) As a message film, it’s not hard-hitting enough; Hal isn’t that bad a guy and we pretty much know how things are going to end up. 2) As a comedy, it’s just not that funny; this is perhaps the bigger of the two problems. Hal and his crew of womanizers needed to be complete bastards; Jason Alexander’s character is closer to what I’m talking about, but even he needed to be meaner. These needed to be guys with absolutely no filter between their brains and their mouths. This just isn’t possible in a film that is so obviously trying to skate the line that keeps it PG-13. And that’s a shame too, because this film is swimming in potential. Basically SHALLOW HAL (the movie and the character) isn’t shallow enough to make his comeuppance funny and poignant. I realize I’m talking about the Farrelly brothers here, but what I liked best about KINGPIN and THERE’S SOMETHING ABOUT MARY is their unrelenting dedication to a character not becoming a wuss or changing personality from one life lesson. That happens all the time in SHALLOW HAL.
With the exception of his work in HIGH FIDELITY, Jack Black is still an untapped resource on celluloid. By the way, Black Tenacious D partner Kyle Gass does appear in a couple scenes in SHALLOW HAL, but even those are wasted. Nothing funny happens in them, as the two stick to the script and don’t riff like they so often do on stage or in interviews. Chalk up another missed opportunity in this movie and for movies in general in 2001.
Hey, Harry. Capone in Chicago here with more shit to bury.
I’m going to be honest with you: I was utterly baffled by John Travolta’s latest thriller DOMESTIC DISTURBANCE. It wasn’t the plot that had me scratching my head, but Travolta’s participation in it that had me perplexed. DOMESTIC DISTURBANCE is a B-picture, there are no two ways about it; and like all B-pictures, the story is kept simple, lean, and ever-moving. Clocking in at just under 90 minutes, the film is sometimes entertaining and slick, but if you think too much about the intricacies of the plot, you’ll lose interest quickly. Put another way, I enjoyed what I was seeing while I was seeing it, but as soon as the movie was over and I started talking to people about it, I started to hate it. There is absolutely something to be said for a film that is pure entertainment, but don’t mistake DOMESTIC DISTURBANCE for anything that will rock your world. And any semblance of entertainment this movie may have had is totally ruining in the last five minutes. Read on...
Travolta is Frank Morrison, a wooden yacht builder and divorced father. He’s a good guy, but he just couldn’t make it work with his ex-wife Susan (Teri Polo from MEET THE PARENTS). Why? We’re never told, but if we were that would defy the rules of B-movies. We can’t have too much character development or the filmmakers run the risk of turning out a family drama rather than an empty-headed thriller. Frank and Susan’s son Matthew (Danny Morrison) is something of a trouble maker; he likes to break things and sneak into people’s cars and stow away with them secretly. His devious acts seem to occur whenever a life-changing events happen between his parents, such as when his parents’ divorce became final or when Susan announced to him that she was getting remarried to Rick Barnes (Vince Vaughn). Rick seems like a good guy too. He’s a successful real estate developer and seems to have his head on straight. At Susan and Rick’s wedding, an unwelcome visitor appears in the form of Ray Coleman (Steve Buscemi), a mystery man from Rick’s past who we know is trouble from the minute he comes to the wedding without a tie on. Frank is immediately suspicious and latches onto Ray to milk him for information about Rick’s largely unknown past.
It isn’t long before we find out about Rick’s less than stellar history and how Rick plans on dealing with Ray’s appearance in town. Without giving too much away (although this may be a good spot for a SPOILER WARNING), little Matthew witnesses Rick committing a nasty act while stowing away in the back of his truck (as a response to finding out his mother is pregnant with Ray’s child). He runs to his father to tell him his story, but Rick has covered his tracks well and nobody believes Matthew’s story. For no particular reason, Frank changes his mind about Matthew’s story. At the same time, Rick is threatening Matthew with bodily harm if he ever repeats his story to anyone.
SUPER SPOILER WARNING!!! I kid you not, this movie wraps up the entire story in the last five minutes, as if there’s any doubt in your mind how it will end. But the most sickening thing about DOMESTIC DISTURBANCE is how the writers deal with Susan’s unborn child. After she finds out what kind of horrible animal Rick really is, how can she still have his baby? One single line from Travolta takes care of that problem; four words from Travolta’s lips tell us how this baby will be dealt with. Any amount of fun I may have had with this film went right out the door with four words. If you aren’t listening carefully, you almost miss it. Director Harold Becker (SEA OF LOVE, CITY HALL, MERCURY RISING) and his writers should be ashamed of their utter lack of originality and willingness to dive head first into depravity. It’s a little bit tasteless, but above all else it’s lazy beyond words. It takes what could have been an escapist piece of junk (like UNLAWFUL ENTRY, for example) and turns it into garbage. You may not feel the same, but it really shook me. If you end up seeing the film and don’t know what I’m talking about , drop me a line.
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Steve@theMovies.
