MovieManiac83

Saw has shown a ferocious unwillingness to evolve. Once the huge grosses started rolling in, plenty of franchises would upgrade to better actors, pricier screenwriters, and production values that didn’t fall somewhere between a Roger Corman cheapie and a snuff film. But the producers behind the Saw films are understandably reluctant to mess with a winning formula. Each entry feels more or less like the last. They’re seemingly filmed on the same grungy, dirty, barely lit set, reusing the same generic-looking C-list actors. And in a particularly stubborn act of willful water-treading, they continue to prominently feature Tobin Bell as the mischievous, moralistic protagonist, even though his character died several sequels ago. In Saw 3D, the eighth and ostensibly last series installment, David Cassidy look-alike/Boondock Saint Sean Patrick Flanery plays a bestselling author who’s made a fortune off an inspirational book in which he fictitiously recounts having survived one of Bell’s deadly traps. Saw makes its victims suffer for even the most minor transgressions, so Bell’s flunkies cook up a punishing test for Flanery, to fit the severity of his crime. In order to save his beloved wife, Flanery must make his way through a series of deadly traps involving his friends and handlers. Meanwhile, series veteran Betsy Russell, playing Bell’s traumatized ex, goes to the police and dimes out Bell accomplice/law-enforcement agent Costas Mandylor, who sets about enacting revenge the only way he knows: through a series of gruesome traps. Bell’s minions continue to behave like the world’s grisliest life coaches. They even use the touchy-feely language of therapy-speak; traps are designed specifically to teach Flanery important lessons about reexamining his priorities and valuing his loved ones. Successories-style sentiments get joined to low-rent gore, maddeningly redundant setpieces, and an arbitrary police procedural about a hotshot detective intent on taking Mandylor down. With the possible exception of Final Destination, no horror franchise is as devoted to cheap gimmicks, and no gimmick is more ubiquitous these days than 3-D. But Saw 3D does little with the technology; even in 3-D, the film looks flat. This entry is being billed as the series closer, and as a tiny change of pace, but don’t believe the hype. Saw 3D offers the same old overwrought, laughably melodramatic **** only this time in one more dimension.

As the health-care debate rages on, let it be known that Jigsaw, the sinister puppetmaster played in life and beyond by Tobin Bell, favors a robust public option. (This, in the world of political punditry, is what they call a “game-changer.”) It isn’t in character for the Saw movies to embrace topicality, but at this point, anything that can help distinguish one entry from the next counts as progress. Since the first Saw came out in 2004, Lionsgate and a limited group of artisans (the writing team of Marcus Dunstan and Patrick Melton have turned out the last three, and VI director Kevin Greutert edited all the others) have been giving audiences exactly what they expect, while keeping an eye on the company ledger. Adding a layer of social significance isn’t the worst strategy for a franchise that keeps piling on the convoluted mythos, yet hasn’t changed its risible mix of mechanized death and tongue-clucking morality. Each one plays like a very special episode of Fear Factor, or Extreme Makeover: Self-Mutilation Edition. Dead since the third entry, yet living on via flashbacks and one endlessly elaborate master plan, Bell’s Jigsaw entrusts the legwork to detective Costas Mandylor, who sets up the “games” his late master devises. After an entertaining prologue that pits one exploitative mortgage broker against another—more topicality!—Saw VI settles on Peter Outerbridge, a health-insurance executive who makes it his business to deny coverage to those who desperately need it. As ironic punishment, Outerbridge is forced through a timed series of trials where he must make those same life-or-death decisions for a selection of carefully chosen victims. Meanwhile, there’s some muddled intrigue involving Jigsaw, his wife, his past and current disciples, and a box he left behind. Because Saw does nothing to alter the look, tone, and engineered gimmickry from one movie to the next, it keeps going deeper into backstory and character arcs than horror series past, as if this ugly, cheap-looking schlock were somehow The Lord Of The Rings. Even the implements of death are recycled: An acid bath, a power saw, and the signature “reverse bear trap” all make appearances, along with your favorite gears, bolts, and fluttering florescent lights. And clearly, the filmmakers have taken no graft from health-insurance lobbyists, so there’s a soupçon of integrity to the mindless bludgeoning, too.

Give the Saw franchise credit for sticking to its original vision, as repugnant and hypocritical as it is. Collectively, Saw's torture-porn series has grossed more than $500 million worldwide, yet its sequels still look like they cost the catering budget of a studio horror film. David Hackl, the production designer for Saw II, III, and IV, graduates from hurling buckets of slime all over the film's grimy torture-dungeon sets to directing, but at this point, the series pretty much writes and directs itself. The driving force is inertia and commercial calculation, not inspiration. Scott Patterson stars as a hard-charging FBI agent who survives one of the nefarious traps set by the Jigsaw Killer (Tobin Bell), then begins to investigate shadowy cop Costas Mandylor, a survivor of the bloodshed that ended Saw IV. For the audience's benefit, Patterson considerately announces the implications of every new clue he picks up, even when he's alone; apparently, he's unfamiliar with the concept of interior monologue. Patterson's investigation leads to plenty of flashbacks involving Bell, who, as in Saw IV, logs plenty of screen time even though he died two installments ago. Meanwhile, five hapless souls battle to survive another of Bell's sadistic games of death. Saw V devotes so much time and energy to flashbacks and recycling footage from its predecessors that it threatens to implode. The film unwisely skimps on the gore in favor of endless scenes of Bell espousing his, um, unique philosophy of self improvement through surviving horrible ordeals—he's like the world's grisliest life coach—and the mystery plot grows less interesting with each passing frame. The death-trap scenes, always the franchise's money shots, feel like half-baked afterthoughts, and the plotting and deaths lack the scuzzy ingenuity of the film's predecessors. Saw V jumps back and forth in time in ways that are confusing to downright incoherent, but chronology isn't the only thing that's hopelessly muddled in this punishingly arbitrary retread.

Horror films are like candy corn: familiar, bland, and sickening if consumed in large quantities. They're both ubiquitous at this time of year and there must be a large group of individuals who appreciate their dubious charms because they never go away. I like a good, scary horror film - something that raises the hackles and keeps me on the edge of my seat. It's been a while since I have seen one, however. (Maybe the last one was The Descent.) I have watched all four Saw movies but didn't review installment #2 or #3. I have selected to review this one to show how far this series has fallen since its promising debut. One of the depressing things about sequels in general and horror sequels in particular is the tendency to fall into a pattern of repetition. An idea that starts out fresh quickly becomes stale through overuse. This is evident in Saw IV, easily the worst and most pointless episode of the gore-saturated quadrology. Not only does Saw IV repeat (with a few variations) what has come before, but it does so without the involvement of the main villain, Jigaw (Tobin Bell), who died at the end of Saw III. To its credit, the movie does not bring him back from the dead, but that leaves a notable vacuum of insanity. There's a bad guy of sorts, but it's not the same. Saw IV functions as a drawn-out, tedious epilogue to a series that began with an energetic bang three years ago with Saw, then progressively lost momentum, coherence, and intelligence with each successive annual installment. Saw IV is nothing short of a money-grab. Despite a couple of loose ends (that are tied up unsatisfactorily here), Saw III finished the story. Although Darren Lynn Bousman, the director of Saw II and III, is back for IV, screenwriter Leigh Whannell has not returned. It's hard to disagree that there was a strong streak of sadism in even the first Saw, but the ingeniousness of the situation and the novelty of the approach trumped its gorier and nastier aspects. The balance changed for the sequel, however, where the "intelligence" became an excuse for a growing sense of mean-spiritedness. By the time the series reached Saw IV, questions of "morality" and twisted "choice" have largely been supplanted by gratuitous torture. The macabre has been escalated to a grisly level where all that seems to matter any more is figuring out new ways to eviscerate and slaughter victims. Saw IV has more in common with Hostel II than its progenitor. Bousman's style is much the same here as it was in Saw II and III. The color is desaturated to an extremity where many of the scenes appear to be almost black-and-white. There are frequent jump cuts and occasional flash repeats of moments. It's all very showy but doesn't do much to enhance the overall experience. At least the action scenes aren't filmed using the shaky cam approach. When someone dies, it's not hard to figure out what has happened. Then again, for a film that revels in the inventiveness of its murders, an epileptic style would defeat the purpose. You need to see the gore in clear detail in order to get the full impact. Saw IV will likely sate the appetite of long-term, hardcore fans of the franchise, but it offers nothing to anyone who does not fall into that category. The movie's dense plotting and frequent flashbacks demand familiarity with the previous installments to make any sort of sense, and even then there are some sizable gaps. Did I piece everything together? No. Do I care? Not really. There are no human beings in this movie - just blood bags waiting to be popped. It's a depressing experience to view something like Saw IV. It's not just the soullessness that's dispiriting, but the lack of invention. When a movie does little more than repeat what its predecessors accomplished with grotesque effectiveness, it's past time to tip this corpse into its grave and bury it.

When people in heaven are trading stories about how they went out, at least the victims in Saw movies have original anecdotes: "How did you die?" "Heart attack, and you?" "Well, I was pinned to the bottom of a steel vat and drowned in a putrescent sea of rotting pig corpses." These novel deaths have to be the reason the franchise has survived as long as it has; unlike the Jasons and Michael Myerses of the horror world, Saw's Jigsaw killer has a flair for theatricality, and he replaces those banal butcher knives with elaborate homemade S&M apparatuses. The movies, too, are depressingly mechanical Rube Goldberg torture devices, with spring-loaded twists to go along with those reverse bear traps and ribcage-separators. Because of its efforts to make sense of the previous entries and even attempt an earnest parable about forgiveness, Saw III may be the best of the trilogy; hopefully, it'll encourage its makers to wrap the franchise on a relatively high note. After an inauspicious start—one man caught in the classic leg-shackle-and-a-saw scenario, another pinned next to a bomb with chains hooked into his flesh—the film slowly evolves into a macabre character study. Still bedridden with terminal cancer, Tobin Bell's Jigsaw leaves much of the dirty work to Shawnee Smith, a former victim turned overeager assistant. Determined to keep Bell alive for another round of "games," Smith kidnaps a doctor (Bahar Soomekh) and straps an explosive collar to her neck, connecting it to Bell's heart-rate monitor. If Bell's heart stops, ka-boom. Meanwhile, the two have designed an obstacle course of sorts for Angus Macfadyen, a bereaved father consumed with revenge for the driver who killed his son and got off with a light sentence. Can he learn to forgive? Perhaps his place on death's door makes him more sympathetic, but Saw III manages to transform Bell from a grim, obsessive sadist to an avuncular life coach, like Fangoria's answer to Dr. Phil. Bell has always insisted that he isn't a murderer—hey, if people can't retrieve the key from the bottom of the beaker of sulfuric acid, that's their problem—and this film finally gives a shred of credence to that claim, even as it questions whether his "trials" are constructive to the people who survive them. Pretty heady stuff, if only it weren't still in the context of a relentlessly bleak, humorless, gimmicky contraption that wore out its novelty two movies ago.

Silly, gratuitous, and nonsensical as they are, the Saw movies may have something to them after all. Much like The Three, the serial-killer film scripted by "Donald Kaufman" in Adaptation, they're written in full knowledge of all their bone-collecting, skin-stitching, Seven Deadly Sins-reckoning predecessors, yet the psychology has been completely stripped away, leaving only the gimmicks behind. To some extent, the Saw franchise may be the B-movie answer to classier fare like The Silence Of The Lambs and Se7en—both Saw and the new Saw II reveal their heady moral and thematic agendas as pseudo-sophisticated window dressing for the grisly contraptions they actually are. Stripped down to the barest genre essentials, Saw is a spring-loaded killing machine, packed with sadistic little deathtraps and ludicrous macabre twists, and its quickie sequel offers more of the same, which should again appease viewers who enjoy being jerked around. In a novel reversal on the original, evil puppetmaster Tobin Bell (nicknamed "Jigsaw" because he cuts puzzle pieces out of his victims' skin) pulls back the curtain and spends the entire movie in plain sight, but he still holds all the cards. Though not quite as tortured as Danny Glover's madman-in-the-attic in Saw, cop Donnie Wahlberg has reason for stress when he discovers that Bell has abducted his son (along with about half a dozen others), and is holding them in a booby-trapped house. Through security monitors mounted in every room, Wahlberg and his team can only watch helplessly as the hostages struggle to free themselves within the two hours before their bodies implode from the nerve gas being pumped through the vents. But Bell relishes his role as dungeonmaster, so he offers a way out in the form ****: If the hostages can figure out the combination to the safe in the middle of the room, they'll find the antidote inside. As in Saw, the solutions are often just as bad as the problem: Sure, you can unlock that spiked steel trap mounted on your head, but first you have to find the key, which is planted behind your eye socket. (Here's a scalpel. Enjoy.) Bell claims he never kills anybody and that his victims are masters of their own fate, but that's a little like a schoolyard bully grabbing a weakling's arm and doing the "stop hitting yourself" routine. Co-writer Leigh Whannell, the sole creative holdover from the original, knows well enough not to mess with success, and he perpetuates Saw's sick, arbitrary formula without fail. The good news for moviegoers is that there's a way to enjoy Saw II: Simply grab the scalpel from under the chair, carve a hole in your forehead, and remove your frontal lobe.

Saw is for hard-gore horror aficionados only. To appreciate Saw in its full gory, you have to have a penchant for productions that bask in the traditions of the Grand Guignol. While most of the film relies more on psychological tension and terror, there's plenty of gut-churning, visceral violence, especially during the final 15 minutes. That's the time period when James Wan's otherwise compelling feature goes a little too far over the top, veering out of its David Fincher-inspired darkness into the realm of self-parody. There's lots of blood, plenty of hysteria, and perhaps one twist too many. On the strength **** original concept and 90 strong minutes of building action, Saw gets a recommendation, but only if you like this kind of thing. Although Wan's primary aim is to build suspense through uncertainty, he doesn't skimp when it comes to showing gruesome images. Although Wan would probably relish the comparison, this isn't a Psycho or Halloween - films that rely upon the imagination of the viewer to conjure up unthinkable images. The original cut of Saw received an NC-17 rating from the MPAA for its unrelenting gore. Some of the most graphic moments were eliminated, but what remains is still about as hard an R as can be found. Sensitive viewers may find themselves momentarily turning away from the screen during one especially harrowing sequence. The horror genre has become a minefield of clichés and recycled plots, making it difficult to generate enthusiasm about any new release. New hooks are a premium commodity, so when someone like Wan finds one, it's easy to overlook freshman mistakes. With its freshness and energy, Saw bucks the horror trend towards formula story-telling and proves that enough qualities in the "plus column" can overcome a weak ending. Those who see this movie during its North American opening weekend of October 29-31 will be in for an unsettling Halloween.

They could have called this Paranormal Inactivity. It's a rare horror franchise indeed that manages to remain fresh and creepy by the time it arrives at installment #4. Paranormal Activity, despite a terrific beginning, quickly grew stale and repetitive and the third sequel is easily the most lifeless. It's as if all the first movie's assets have been turned into liabilities and all the energy has been leeched away. Part of the problem is that there's really nowhere for the series to go but finances have demanded that the filmmakers churn out a new episode every Halloween. Another issue is the way directors Henry Joost and Ariel Schulman present their footage (still first-person). Instead of using anticipation to build dread, they approach things in a more straightforward, matter-of-factly fashion. Payoffs are few and far between. The woman not paying attention as she dices vegetables does not lose a digit. The vanishing knife does not reappear in someone's back. There are far too many missed opportunities. The "boo!" moments lack punch. They're uniformly obligatory and not in the least bit shocking. In fact, especially toward the end, they verge on self-parody. Paranormal Activity 4 follows the same basic formula: first-person footage tells the story of a family who finds their home life increasingly disturbed by potentially malevolent supernatural activity. In this case, the 15-year old heroine, Alex (Kathryn Newton), has a webcam set up on open (Apple) laptops in almost every room of the house, which limits (but does not eliminate) the amount of inappropriate time she has to spend running around carrying her computer. She has a boyfriend, younger brother, mother, and father. All of them are about as well-developed as one might expect. The real problem is the creepy across-the-street neighbors: a familiar figure from the Paranormal Activity saga, Katie (Katie Featherstone), who arrives with an adopted six-year old in tow. For about 30 minutes, nothing happens. It's a little like watching home movies or PG web chats (because Kathryn Newton is the same age as her character, there's no question of any naughty stuff). Over the next 45 minutes, a few things go bump in the night, but there's a lot of dead space in which nothing much happens. Lots of shots of empty rooms. Of course, we stare hard at those empty rooms, expecting there to be something creepy or scary... unfortunately, they're just empty rooms. Then, every once in a while, someone strolls by. Doors mysteriously open while people are sleeping, but they never wake up or watch the footage. Only in about the last 10 minutes do things happen and, when they occur, the ineptitude of the direction is so extreme that the action turns comedic. Exiting the theater, I momentarily wondered if I had just witnessed a Paranormal Activity parody. But that would be giving far too many people too much credit for cleverness. This is just badly made formula schlock. If there's one thing to compliment about Paranormal Activity 4, it's the performance of Kathryn Newton, who sells her role and the situation. The same cannot be said of the other actors, who lack Newton's naturalness. She seems like a teenager who's caught in a very bad situation (in more ways than one); her fellow thespians are awkward and unconvincing. The acting quality is on par with what one gets in faux-amateur porn films. Paranormal Activity made the transition from low-budget horror phenomenon to bankable product with the release of the first sequel. Paramount's accountants are undoubtedly happy with the franchise but one wonders if the diluted level of scares offered by Paranormal Activity 4 will kill a series that has turned the concept of "found footage" from a legitimate stylistic choice to a groan-inducing mistake. Forget jumping the shark... this series has cleared a shark, a whale, and a submarine.

Paranormal Activity 3 is one of those obligatory sequels: films that use an existing template and attempt to populate it with different actors and new ways of scaring audiences. There are two significant problems with this approach here: the "first person" through-the-viewfinder perspective, in addition to being employed in ridiculous situations, has grown tired (this time, no attempt is made to "trick" viewers into believing they're seeing lost footage), and the narrative has transcended the point where its absurdities are easily ignored. The scares (if you want to call them that) are still there - one "boo!" moment after another, strung together like a breadcrumb trail through a labyrinth. So if that's all you want from a Halloween release like Paranormal Activity 3, you are the perfect audience member. The first Paranormal Activity was an expertly crafted, low budget horror thriller that used the camcorder point-of-view and an escalating sense of dread to craft something more chilling than anything released since The Blair Witch Project. Paranormal Activity 2 was the inevitable result of the earlier film's success, and a pale shadow of its predecessor - proof, if any was needed, that no one expected the initial installment to open the franchise cabinet. It's hard to say whether Paranormal Activity 3 is better or worse than the first sequel. Although technically a prequel, it feels more like a remake of the original. The guy with the camera won't put it down regardless of the circumstances. He's the NRA Charlton Heston of home movies - the only way he'll release his clunky, 1988 VHS camera is to have it pried out of his cold, dead hands. (Something we suspect might happen.) The time frame for these Paranormal Activity movies keeps regressing. Number 2 was (mostly) a prequel to Number One. This one begins with brief scenes in 2005 and 2006 (prior to anything previously shown), thereby allowing franchise stalwarts Katie Featherstone and Sprague Grayden to pick up paychecks. The majority of the story transpires in September 1988 when Katie (now played by Chloe Csengery) and Kristi (Jessica Tyler Brown) are little girls living with their mother, Julie (Lauren Bittner), and her boyfriend, Dennis (Christopher Nicholas Smith). Dennis has a videotape fetish and, as soon as he suspects something odd is happening in the house, he sets up tripods and begins recording everything. This allows us to see how the "first haunting" develops. One wonders whether Paranormal Activity 4 will continue the trend of rewinding time or go back to the future. This time around, the co-directors are Henry Joost and Ariel Schulman, who are no strangers to this style of filmmaking. Their "breakthrough" effort was the faux documentary Catfish. They have elected to film in 1080p color rather than in grainy black-and-white, which hurts the "reality" aspect of the movie. There is one clever touch - a camera is set up on the oscillating base of a fan, which allows it to slowly rotate through 180 degrees. Viewers can hear things happening just off-camera but have to wait a few seconds to see what's going on. Strangely, this approach is underused. As effective a way as it is for generating tension, Joost and Schulman never fully embrace it. Perhaps the sense of déjà vu is what appeals to viewers. They found the first one scary and this one uses the same basic mechanics. Paranormal Activity 3 might have worked better had it been decoupled from its predecessors, employing the same basic setup but using different characters. The least effective aspect of this film is when it attempts to further the "mythology" of the series. Halloween ran afoul of this problem as the early sequels attempted to develop Michael's backstory. The more one knows about a monster, the less interesting it becomes. That basic rule of horror films is often flouted. Here, the more we learn about the history of the demon, the less ominous the situation becomes. Where Paranormal Activity ended with a shock that provoked screams, this one concludes with a fade to static to the accompaniment of audience ****. Still, if viewed in a dark, lonely house with plenty of booze on hand, Paranormal Activity 3 might work, but I doubt that's the kind of qualified recommendation the filmmakers are looking for.

Regardless of how it performs at the box office, this much is clear: Paranormal Activity 2 is a mistake. The clumsy and obvious byproduct of the financial success of its predecessor last Halloween, this movie has no reason for existing except to provide Paramount Pictures with a few extra shekels. Although its release does not represent an outright insult akin to the one offered by The Blair Witch Project 2, its superfluous nature not only ranks this as a waste of time but diminishes the original. The story functions primarily as a prequel, with most of the events chronicled in this 90-minute voyeuristic extravaganza transpiring between one and two months before those depicted in Paranormal Activity. Instead of focusing on a couple, this time the roster of characters has expanded. Kristi (Sprague Grayden) is the sister of the first film's Katie (Katie Featherstone), who makes occasional appearances throughout Paranormal Activity 2, along with her soon-to-be-dead lover, Micah (Micah Sloat). Kristi is happily married to Dan (Brian Boland), who tied the knot with her some time after the death of his first wife. He has a teenage daughter, Ali (Molly Ephraim), from his first marriage. In addition, the happy couple has a new baby boy, Hunter, who's a little over a year old. He spends most of his time standing in his crib staring at things only he can see. We keep expecting him to say, "They're here!" As in the first movie, the basic plot relates to the characters being stalked by a demon within their home and how seemingly innocuous bumps in the night gradually take an alarming turn. The stylistic choice by which everything happens in front of a video camera is carried over, although in this installment, home security cameras provide a majority of the footage (supplemented by camcorder images). This at least eliminates the silly contrivance of someone always having to be running a camera, even during the most unlikely of circumstances. By establishing this as a prequel, the protagonists from Paranormal Activity are provided with an opportunity for supporting roles. Toward the end, the time frame of Paranormal Activity 2 moves beyond that of its predecessor, allowing us a "what happens next" glimpse. The door is left open for a Paranormal Activity 3, which will undoubtedly be produced if there's profitability in making it. In Paranormal Activity 2, events follow a blueprint. It's a series of "boo!" moments connected by exposition so uninvolving that we find ourselves impatiently waiting for the next loud crash or bang. There are plenty of opportunities for startlement, but nothing approaches terror. Paranormal Activity is never frightening. In fact, considering how long it takes before the "paranormal" events begin occurring, it's on the dull side. Worse, the final ten minutes - the sequence in which the films converge - comes dangerously close to self-parody. (There were people laughing at the screening I attended, and laughter is not the intended reaction.) The acting is better for this installment, but that's due to the employment of professional actors. Using familiar faces in a production like this can be a double-edged sword. For example, although Sprague Grayden is hardly a household name, her face may appear frustratingly familiar to some viewers. A quick perusal of her resume indicates that she has done a lot of television, including a lengthy stint on 24. When a movie is attempting to "fake" viewers into believing that what they're watching is real, it's a good idea not to involve actors who may be recognizable since that interferes with the illusion. Tod Williams' direction effectively apes Oren Peli's approach to the first film, but the added layers of polish allowed by the larger production crew and the higher budget have not aided the sense of verisimilitude. In Paranormal Activity, it felt like we were watching two ordinary people filming themselves in the comfort of their own home. Here, everything feels artificial, from the shots of the pool cleaner going about its business to the scenes of the child standing in his crib. The qualities that made Paranormal Activity compelling have either been diluted or deleted. What's left is a faint, distorted echo of the original. It's passable entertainment for anyone who has not seen the first feature but redundant for anyone who has.

The familiar looks different at night. Incandescent lights don't quite chase away the shadows with the effectiveness of the sun. The rooms and hallways of a home, so comforting at noon, can become cloaked with unease past the witching hour. This fear of the dark, one of humankind's most common phobias, lies at the heart of Paranormal Activity, as a seemingly normal house is turned into a nest of terror once the daylight has faded. Things that go bump in the night can instantly transform the most mundane location into a place of menace. This is a tale of the supernatural, but its strength is that it is rooted in the ordinary. That's what makes it creepy. In a sense, this is The Blair Witch Project redux. It replaces the "lost in the woods" premise of the surprise 1999 hit with a "trapped in a house" concept. Both movies were made on shoestring budgets, pretend to be constructed from "lost" documentary footage, use the camera to develop a first-person narrative, and - most importantly - rely on the viewer's imagination to build upon the horror that is only hinted at on screen. The Blair Witch Project is atmosphere incarnate, and a similar claim can be made about Paranormal Activity. Both movies build momentum by playing upon the expectation that something ominous is going to happen. Since our perspective is constrained by what the camera can see, we are not privy to anything that happens beyond its field of view, although we can often hear sounds. Paranormal Activity's approach is simple but undeniably effective. Still, those who demand blood, gore, and violence from horror films may be bored by what this one offers. It's a largely cerebral experience, and it could face the kind of backlash that overwhelmed The Blair Witch Project when it exited its phenomenally successful art house run and opened wide into multiplexes. What was embraced by audiences appreciative of the unconventional was rejected by those weaned on mainstream horror. Only time will tell whether Paranormal Activity's tighter pacing and different setting will allow it to escape a similar fate. The pillars upon which Paranormal Activity are founded are verisimilitude and simplicity. The movie doesn't try to do too much. It doesn't rely on special effects. It's basically one set (a house), one camera, carefully placed lights, and two actors who are entirely convincing playing these characters. There's not a lot more to the movie than that. Many of the daytime conversations between Katie and Micah are either extemporized or made to seem that way. Director Oren Peli has crafted the movie with such deceptive simplicity that it almost seems like anyone could do it. And that, in a way, is its genius. It helps us to relate. It helps us to buy into the ghost story in a way that we might not if the production was more lavishly mounted. I don't believe in ghosts, but this is not a movie I would want to watch at home by myself past midnight. Suddenly, the natural settling noises of the house would sound anything but natural. Is the movie scary? For a horror movie, that is often the bottom line. While it may be a stretch to call any motion picture conventionally "frightening," Paranormal Activity is suffused with a creepy, disturbing atmosphere that envelops the viewer. The "boo!" moments are effectively constructed to generate the necessary jolt without seeming unnecessarily manipulative. The ending, which was apparently selected over Peli's original version after being suggested by Steven Spielberg, is appropriate for the story. In some ways, the marketing campaign for Paranormal Activity threatens to dwarf the movie. Paramount is building interest on the strong word-of-mouth generated by targeted screenings and by the exclusivity factor of slowly rolling it out to select theaters in specific markets. Those who feel "left out" in the early stages of the phased distribution can "demand" the movie on a website. Paramount promises that once 1,000,000 demands are recorded, the movie will go wide. (This is a bit of sham, since plans to distribute prints to multiplexes around the country were finalized weeks ago, but the website provides viewers with the illusion of participation.) The Halloween season is the perfect time of the year for a production such as this. Every October, we're all looking for a good scare. In an era when mainstream horror is often indistinguishable from self-parody, it takes something basic like this to be diabolically successful.

Someone finally figured out a way to make the concept of "found footage" interesting, and it's by incorporating it into the film's overall scope rather than employing it as the governing factor. Sinister is an intense horror film that starts out masquerading as something more mundane. It's hair-raising and gripping, although some of its narrative turns require a significant level of "suspension of disbelief." In true horror movie tradition, characters do things that are head-scratchingly dumb. Once you accept those logic-defying moments, the movie works with diabolical effectiveness. And, even though the ending is inescapable (and therefore predictable), that does little to diminish its effectiveness. Sinister opens with a disturbing scene: a Super-8 "home movie" that shows the hanging deaths of four people. As the narrative progresses, we learn that this is one of several amateur snuff films in existence. There's one of a family burning to death in a car, one of a multiple drowning, one where victims have their throats slit, and a particularly nasty one in which the murder weapon is a lawn mower. During the course of Sinister's running, we see all (or almost all) of these Super 8 movies; the rest of the film is presented using traditional, 3rd-person cinematography (non-shaky cam variety). One element that makes the "found footage" approach work uncommonly well in Sinister is that it doesn’t hijack the style. There's no lingering question about why someone is always filming. For about the first 30 minutes, Sinister unfolds more like a mystery/thriller than a horror excusrion as Ellison's investigation points toward the possible involvement of a serial killer. Then unexplained things begin to happen: loud noises in the attic, a film projector starting on its own, and a demonic face moving in a supposedly "still" photograph on a computer screen. Sinister features its share of effective "boo!" moments. The makeup for the mysterious figure is well-done. It's genuinely unsettling and doesn't feel like a re-harsh of any of the horror movie icons. Also, because it's shown only fleetingly, it never loses its power to disturb as a result of overexposure. Director Scott Derrickson (whose resume includes the first-person horror film The Exorcism of Emily Rose as well as the big-budget remake of The Day the Earth Stood Still) develops an atmosphere that emphasizes isolation and claustrophobia. Aside from a friendly local deputy (James Ransone), Ellison has no one beyond his immediate family to turn to for support. There's no generic best friend or brother. The suspense builds in tandem with a burgeoning sense of doom. It's a slow-burn approach that may not work on those infected with a need for brash, fast-paced gore-fests. Sinister is plenty grisly, but some of the bloodiest instances are left to the viewer's imagination. In developing Sinister, director Derrickson and his co-writer, C. Robert Cargill, display an unerring understanding of what will unsettle viewers in a darkened auditorium. They borrow liberally from earlier horror efforts, with The Shining being the most obvious influence. Derrickson's use of sound is particularly important. The bumps in the night are loud enough to cause viewers to jump in their seats and Christopher Young's discordant score is perfect for the material. It has been a long time since there has been a genuinely creepy horror movie available to audiences in search **** Halloween scare; Sinister provides that missing October ingredient.

Like any studio-financed, machine-pressed animation production, Shark Tale—Dreamworks' feeble response to Pixar's superior Finding Nemo—has several credited directors and writers. But the real, uncredited architects are a bunch of kids in the mall: Every single joke, character detail, music montage, and pop-culture reference looks extensively market-tested, whether via screenings, focus groups, or other box-office successes. With dollar signs in its eyes and nothing in its heart, Shark Tale calculates each moment for the broadest appeal, but its impact couldn't be more impersonal. The filmmakers are convinced people will like it because the spreadsheets and pie charts tell them so, not because they've invested it with originality or passion. Round 2 in the war of attrition between Dreamworks and Pixar (the latter also handily won in the first round, which pitted A Bug's Life against Dreamworks' Antz), Shark Tale steals shamelessly from Finding Nemo, but actually has a good idea at its core. Under the sea, sharks are no doubt near the top of the food chain, so it makes sense to cast them as high-living gangsters, muscling the weaker fish around the reef and turning the ocean into a vast seafood buffet. But the movie really belongs to Will Smith, in full Fresh Prince mode (hip-hop for the whole family!) as a fast-talking, blinged-out little gill-flapper with dreams of upward mobility. In a reef designed to look like Times Square, complete with irritating fake/real product logos for Coral-Cola and the Gup, Smith mops sludge at a Whale Wash while eyeing the penthouse. When a dropped anchor pummels a vicious shark henchman, Smith earns instant money and fame for taking credit for the kill, but mob boss Robert De Niro wants his revenge. The vocal talents in Shark Tale run deep: A mush-mouthed Jack Black, sounding like an effeminate Arnold Horshack, plays a swishy vegetarian shark; Renée Zellweger plays a doe-eyed Jane who secretly loves Smith; Angelina Jolie plays a fish fatale; and Martin Scorsese plays a double-dealing puffer fish. (Scorsese fanatics who would rather not hear the great director exclaim "Yo! Yo! Yo!" or "Raise the reef!" should stay home.) A few lively early scenes in gangland, particularly the inside jabs between De Niro and Scorsese, suggest that The Godfather could work underwater, though it's a sign of the film's obviousness that the mobsters convene in the Titanic wreckage. Soon enough, Shark Tale gives itself over to Smith, who riffs up his usual storm of non-threatening street language and braggadocio, all while playing a character with an antiheroic desire for banal human crap. Smith feels right at home in an urban seascape cluttered with high-rises, billboards, taxis, and elevators, but the film's aquatic corollary to the real world barely counts as escapism.

A certain amount of credit must be given to the filmmaking team behind Shrek 2 for overcoming a seemingly insurmountable obstacle and producing an entertaining motion picture. That obstacle is the ending of the original Shrek, which neatly wrapped up every conceivable aspect of the story, leaving little room for a sequel. Originally, Shrek had been designed as a one-off movie, but, when it became a huge hit, Dreamworks decided that a second installment was warranted. However, with Shrek and Princess Fiona married and living happily ever after as ogres, some creative brainstorming had to be done to arrive at a sequel-worthy concept. To be fair, Shrek 2 doesn't have much of a storyline. It's basically about the meeting between newlyweds Shrek (voice of Mike Myers) and Princess Fiona (Cameron Diaz) and the bride's parents, King Harold (John Cleese) and Queen Lillian (Juilie Andrews). To facilitate this encounter, Shrek, Fiona, and Donkey (Eddie Murphy) must travel to the kingdom of Far, Far Away. The grotesque appearance of the happy couple isn't to the liking of the ruling family or to studly Prince Charming (Rupert Everett), who wants Fiona for his wife. With a little help from his mom, the Fairy Godmother (Jennifer Saunders) and a killer cat named Puss 'n Boots (Antonio Banderas), Charming seeks to win Fiona away from Shrek. The animation is on the same level as that of Shrek, which was, in its own time, groundbreaking. There haven't been many advances in computer animation since then, but Shrek 2 hasn't done any backsliding. The film looks as bright and imaginative as its predecessor. The non-humans are surprisingly life-like while the humans still retain the slightly awkward look of something designed on a computer. There are a lot of background jokes; I have a feeling that it will take multiple viewings to uncover some of the more subtle ones. As in the first film, it's clear that the Shrek animators had fun putting everything together. With its appealing blend of animated comedy, romance, and adventure, Shrek 2 follows the formula of its predecessor while maintaining enough originality not to come across as a direct copy. Fans of the first movie will be pleased. Although Shrek 2 isn't as breezy as Shrek, it's a respectable effort and a solid example of family-friendly entertainment. The enjoyable animated romp lives up to expectations, which is more than can be said for any of its current big-budget multiplex competition.

As computer animation makes the move from novelty to norm, it's only natural that a few familiar elements should emerge. To name a few: sentiment, pop-culture send-ups, characters who hide their affection for one another under layers of snark, and drawn-out setpieces virtually unimaginable in the field of conventional animation. Ice Age, a first stab at feature-length computer animation from Fox and director Chris Wedge, attempts to combine all of the above in a package not quite big enough for the cargo. Providing most of the sentiment, Ray Romano supplies the voice of a watery-eyed wooly mammoth named Manfred, a character largely inspired by John Wayne's lost-soul protagonist in The Searchers. Wandering disconsolately against the tide of migration, Romano picks up unwanted sidekicks in the form of an abandoned sloth (John Leguizamo) and, a bit later, a human toddler. After Leguizamo talks the reluctant Romano into returning the baby to its human tribe, they're joined by a sabertooth tiger (Denis Leary) with dubious motives and a soft spot the size ****. The film looks great, but it only intermittently measures up to its Monsters, Inc.-with-metafauna potential. Better jokes might have redeemed its obvious plot, but instead of stuffing their film with clever moments, Wedge and his writers aimed the majority of the gags at the younger end of their potential audience. The result is a handful of poop jokes and lots of mugging from Leguizamo's sloth. Even the smarter gags, like the flock of survival-impaired dodos, depend on sight gags that are precision-timed but never particularly funny. Kids won't mind a bit, but adults accustomed to Shrek and Pixar will have no trouble spotting what's missing.

Dreamworks Pictures' wonderful, whimsical Shrek proves to be the latest family film to live up to its billing. With its blend of high adventure, light romance, and double-layered dialogue (which will take on a slightly different meaning for the under- and over-12 crowd), Shrek is capable of enthralling both children and their parents. In fact, this movie is so good that adults unaccompanied by offspring can venture into a theater without having to dress up in a disguise. Shrek is not a guilty pleasure for sophisticated movie-goers; it is, purely and simply, a pleasure. When it comes to computer-generated motion pictures, Shrek has once more raised the bar - and this one was already at an impressively high level in the wake of Toy Story 2 and Dinosaur. Yet Shrek outshines them both, boasting the most impressive detail and most amazingly rendered creatures of any motion picture in its class. And, although the human beings still don't look entirely realistic, they're getting close. In fact, this is the first major computer animated film in which human beings have had a significant role (they played secondary parts in the two Toy Storys), and their appearance is such that we have no more trouble accepting them than we do in traditional animated fare. Shrek is essentially Beauty and the Beast with a few clever twists. In the quirky, irreverent way that it views fairy tales and their conventions, it's not unlike The Princess Bride. Fans of those two stories will find much to like here. And, both kids and adults can play a game of "guess how many famous faces we can see". There are certainly a large number of cameos: Pinnochio (a "possessed toy"), Snow White and the Seven Dwarves, Cinderella, the Big Bad Wolf, the Three Little Pigs, the Gingerbread Man, the Three Blind Mice, the Mirror (as in "Mirror, mirror on the wall, who's the fairest of them all..."), and many others. Many of Shrek's funniest lines (like "a castle that big must mean he's compensating for something") will go over younger viewer's heads, but there are still plenty that won't ("I'm going to save my ass", referring to Donkey). The screenplay was obviously written with all age groups in mind. Shrek is not on such a lofty plane that children will feel as if they're missing something, but it isn't lobotomized in a way that will insult the intelligence of older viewers. As impressive as the visuals are - and they are very impressive - Shrek wouldn't be the movie it is without a quartet of effective vocal performances. As this kind of animation becomes more prevalent, the importance of choosing the right voices will need equal care and attention. Voices help to define the characters, and a bad choice can do irreparable damage. Just as not all silent stars were suitable for talkie roles, so not all live-action actors can do vocal performances. Fortunately, Shrek has four capable actors. First and foremost is Mike Myers, who is known as a vocal chameleon. Without seeing his name in the opening credits, you'd never know it was him. John Lithgow plays Faquaad as nasty and short-sighted, but not really evil, which makes a pleasant change from the usual animated villain. Eddie Murphy shows that a real comic genius can get laughs without relying on his own facial expressions and body language. Murphy's Donkey is one of the funniest characters he has brought to the screen. (Here, he improves upon what he did in Mulan.) Finally, Cameron Diaz's princess is equal parts sugar and vinegar. She believes in true love and Prince Charming, but, like her Charlie's Angels alter-ego, she's not afraid to do a little Matrix-style butt kicking. The interplay between Shrek and Princess Fiona is sweet and tender, while the exchanges between the ogre and the ass are often barbed and subversively funny. Like The Princess Bride, Shrek breaks with convention, but not so far that viewers will be put off by it. And, while there is a happy ending (as there must be in any fairy tale, no matter how unconventional), it's not necessarily the conclusion that many people will be expecting (at least up until the 2/3 point, when the movie reveals its hand). First-time co-directors Andrew Adamson and Vicky Jenson (he has worked as a visual supervisor on other films, including the two Joel Schumacher Batmans; this is her first credit) have crafted a movie to be proud of, and one that will hopefully receive a lot of attention, even during the crowded summer season. Shrek is easily one of the year's most magical experiences.

Relatively speaking, Jurassic Park III is a disappointment of behemoth proportions. With Steven Spielberg gone from the director's chair (replaced by Jumanji's Joe Johnston), the Jurassic Park saga has sunk down to its B-grade monster movie roots. The concept of a human character has been replaced by a cardboard cut-out, each of which serves one of two purposes: to run away from the dinosaurs or to be eaten by them. The "synthespians" of Final Fantasy would have been perfectly at home in Jurassic Park III. There's no need whatsoever for human actors. The first Jurassic Park was a well-paced adventure movie wrapped in a magical package that used state-of-the-art special effects and digital sound to make us believe that dinosaurs could once again roam the earth. The Lost World: Jurassic Park II, while panned in some corners, basically offered more of the same - tightly-paced action and adventure. Unfortunately, Jurassic Park III not only re-hashes the two previous outings (hapless humans hunted by hungry dinosaurs) but does it with far less style and human interest. This time around, there's no build-up to the first appearance of the dinosaurs - they're suddenly there. Character interaction, never a strong suit in the series, is worse than perfunctory - it's virtually non-existent. Every action piece is staged in a generic fashion, leaving no room for suspense or tension. And the whole movie is over so fast (sans credits, only about 1 hour, 20 minutes) that it hardly seems to have happened. The plot, insofar as there is a plot, has paleontologist Dr. Alan Grant (Sam Neill) traveling to Isla Sorna ("Site B") as the paid guide for Paul and Amanda Kirby (William H. Macy and Téa Leoni), an estranged husband and wife searching for their son, Eric (Trevor Morgan), who is lost on the island. Grant, accompanied by his assistant, Billy Brennan (Alessandro Nivola), soon finds himself in the same kind of life-and-death situation he ended up in during the original Jurassic Park, being chased by Raptors, T-Rexs, and the "new" Spinosaurus. Also along for the ride are a few other individuals (Michael Jeter, John Diehl) who practically have "Dinosaur Fodder" stenciled on their foreheads. It's a sad observation to note that the best scene in the movie - a reunion between Grant and his former sidekick, Ellie Sattler (Laura Dern, in a cameo) - features no dinosaurs. Everything that transpires on Isla Sorna is repetitious and largely uninteresting. Admittedly, there are some new dinosaurs (including a few that fly), but they act in basically the same way that all of the others do. The raptors have been elevated to super-genius status (they now talk to each other, albeit not in English - I was half-expecting subtitles) while our old friend, the T-Rex, has only a brief, ignoble cameo. The special effects, while still impressive, seem to have been done on the cheap - some of the dinosaurs, especially the new ones, look less polished. urassic Park III lacks a legitimate climax - it sort of ends with a big, deus ex machina bang. This is in keeping with the film's overall poor structure. It doesn't have much of a beginning, a middle, or an ending - causing me to wonder if there was a finished script before filming started (according to comments made by two of the actors, there wasn't). The movie vainly attempts to replicate the human relationships of the first two movies: a low-key romance between two adults (Grant and Sattler in Jurassic Park; Jeff Goldblum's Ian Malcolm and Julianne Moore's Sarah Harding in The Lost World) and a adult/child bonding (Grant and Hammond's grandchildren in Jurassic Park; Malcolm and his daughter in The Lost World). In this case, however, there is no chemistry between the couple, William H. Macy and Téa Leoni, and Grant's interaction with Eric simply doesn't work. It is forced and unnatural. The filmmakers obviously hoped that bringing back Sam Neill would lend an air of legitimacy to this production that it might not otherwise have possessed. And, to give Neill support, they have added a group of top-notch character actors - William H. Macy, Michael Jeter, John Diehl, and hunk-in-waiting Alessandro Nivola. The only serious instance of miscasting is Téa Leoni, who is farther out of her element than Julianne Moore was in The Lost World. Yet, because the characters are so thinly written, no amount of acting experience can make a difference. Given the material he has to work with, Neill can be forgiven for his lackluster performance. At the end, Jurassic Park III leaves the door wide open for a Jurassic Park IV. I can only hope that a justifiably poor box office showing will slam that door shut with a louder thud than the sound made by an approaching T-Rex.

When Jurassic Park was released in 1993, it set a new standard for state-of-the-art visual and audio effects. It was suddenly possible to see humans and dinosaurs interacting in a way that had never before been possible, and to feel the entire theater shake with the approach of a Tyrannosaurus Rex. Four years later, not a whole lot has changed. Effects houses like Industrial Lights and Magic have tackled bigger, more imposing objects such as tornadoes and volcanoes, but it's still basically the same technology that Jurassic Park ushered in. And, because The Lost World doesn't offer anything especially innovative, it seems rather familiar and almost (but not quite) disappointing. Like its predecessor, The Lost World is basically a big-budget monster movie of the sort that has been popular ever since the dawn of motion pictures. Unfortunately, like many entries into the genre, it falls into expected patterns. As a result, much of this movie seems like a retread of Jurassic Park (with a little King Kong thrown in at the end), not because director Steven Spielberg is intentionally copying himself, but because there's really not much more that he can do with the premise. If there's a third movie in the series, it will probably follow pretty much the same storyline as the first and second installments. Still, repetitiveness notwithstanding, The Lost World boasts several edge-of-the-seat moments. The dinosaurs aren't nearly as awe-inspiring, but they remain formidable adversaries for a group of plucky, overmatched humans. The standout sequence in this film features two T-Rexs, a lot of rain, spiderweb fissures in glass, and a literal cliffhanger. The ending, which takes place in San Diego rather than on a tropical island (where most of the film transpires), is a little anticlimactic. Next year's Godzilla will hopefully do a more impressive job with the "dinosaur loose in a city" concept. The differences between Jurassic Park and The Lost World can be summed up relatively simply: more dinosaurs, fewer legitimate thrills. In this case, familiarity doesn't breed contempt, but it results in a movie that's unlikely to keep viewers going back time-after-time the way they did for the original. The Lost World is solid entertainment the first time; it's not something I have any great desire to sit through again. Perhaps the most disappointing thing about The Lost World is how perfunctory and unimaginative Steven Spielberg's direction often is. In his more than two decades of film making, Spielberg has been responsible for a variety of innovative action/adventure movies -- Jaws, Raiders of the Lost Ark, and Jurassic Park, to name a few. On this occasion, he seems content to turn things over to the gurus at ILM. The magical spark that characterizes so many Spielberg films is largely absent. The Lost World ends up being what a British acquaintance of mine calls "a jolly good romp." It is to this year what Independence Day was to last year -- the summer's single "can't miss" motion picture (or so the advertisers would have us believe). It also comes early enough in the season so that we're not already sick to death of this kind of effects-oriented action/adventure. So, although The Lost World has its share of problems, chief of which is the familiarity factor, it still offers a couple hours of glitzy, hi-tech fun. And that's just about all that anyone can reasonably expect from this kind of blockbuster.

On a small island off the coast of Costa Rica exists a most unusual animal preserve by the name of Jurassic Park. Operated by dinosaur lover John Hammond (Richard Attenborough), Jurassic Park is the first of its kind. Its population of creatures includes brachiosaurs, dilophosaurs, tricerotops, velociraptors, and a Tyrannosaurus Rex, each of which has been cloned using the latest technology that takes DNA from dinosaur-biting prehistoric insects preserved in amber, and uses that DNA for the re-creation. When the consortium funding Jurassic Park become concerned that all is not as it should be, Hammond is forced to call in three experts: paleontologist Dr. Alan Grant (Sam Neill), his partner, paleo-botanist Dr. Ellie Sattler (Laura Dern), and the brilliant-but-cynical mathematician Dr. Ian Malcolm (Jeff Goldblum). When the trio arrives at Jurassic Park, they are astonished by what it represents. It doesn't take long, however, for astonishment to turn to horror. First of all, for anyone who's wondering, given the current state of technology, the situation postulated in Jurassic Park cannot happen. Not only do the necessary cloning techniques not exist, but the likelihood of retrieving dinosaur DNA from an amber-encased prehistoric mosquito is extremely small. While insect specimens have been unearthed, for there to be dinosaur DNA, circumstances demand that the mosquito had bitten a dinosaur shortly before its fatal imprisonment, and the chance of that is slim, at best. Nevertheless, the enjoyment of any movie is hardly predicated by a factual premise. The apparent realism of some of Crichton's pseudo-science imbues Jurassic Park with a grounding that is acceptable in our high-tech world. After all, to weave a dinosaur fable in this day and age, it helps if science, not fantasy, is the driving force. Of course, the special effects help immensely. They are so good, in fact, and the dinosaurs look so real, that I half expected to see "dinosaur trainer" during the closing credits. Instead, however, plaudits go to the creators of Jurassic Park's primary screen presences (all apologies to the actors). Stan Winston, definitely no stranger to this sort of film (his recent credits include Aliens and Terminator 2), is credited with the live-action creatures. Dennis Muren gets his due for the full motion monsters. Phil Tippett is the "dinosaur supervisor" and Michael Lantieri presides over the creature effects. All-in-all, the wizards at ILM have done an outstanding job, giving us by far the most impressive and believable monster movie of all time. Nothing compares. Unfortunately, the story isn't the equal of its execution. To begin with, Crichton's book, while filled with fascinating ideas and entertaining moments, doesn't hold together as a top-of-the-line adventure story. The ending is especially problematic, resulting in a long-winded denouement that drags to an anticlimactic conclusion. Despite numerous small changes and omissions, the movie Jurassic Park is very much faithful to its printed inspiration. Perhaps Michael Crichton's involvement in the screenplay has something to do with this. The plot is little more than a cleverly jumbled-together batch of formulas. As I mentioned before, Jurassic Park is, reduced to its most basic level, a monster movie. Thrown in for good measure is the human interest story - the growing relationship between self-confessed child-hater Grant and his two youthful charges - but this part of the film works least successfully. Nevertheless, I doubt that there are many who will go to Jurassic Park for its characters or story. Rightly so, crowds will flock to the theaters screening this movie so they can ooh and aah, jump in their seats, and root for the overmatched humans against the big, bad dinosaurs. Even those familiar with the written work can't help being drawn in to the pulse-pounding exhilaration of the chase as the Tyrannosaurus menaces two powerless electric cars and the trapped humans inside. In the end, Jurassic Park succeeds because it's good entertainment.

While watching Disney's Dinosaur, with all of its incredibly rendered creatures and seamless blending of animated objects with real backgrounds, a question occurred to me: In movies like this, can the writing keep pace with the technology? Films like Toy Story and Toy Story 2 (released by Disney, but produced by Pixar) confirmed that dazzling computer animation does not have to overshadow the screenplay. Unfortunately, Dinosaur (done entirely in-house at Disney) argues the opposite. As stunning as this movie is from a visual point-of-view, it boasts little else of great interest. Like so many big summer extravaganzas, this is a classic example of the triumph of style over substance. Of course, since Dinosaur is a Disney animated effort and is geared primarily towards a younger audience, one has to make certain allowances. And kids will love the film. Although old and young alike will be awed by the spectacle of dinosaurs coming to life, the adventure, romance, and moralizing are all aimed squarely at the under-10 crowd. Children will enjoy Dinosaur as a fairly typical Disney-generated experience. Adults will appreciate it on another level, marveling at what cutting-edge special effects can accomplish while paying little or no attention to the rudimentary story and bland characterization. There's not much to the plot. It's essentially a prehistoric road movie with a little Tarzan thrown in for good measure (once again, Disney recycles themes and ideas). Aladar (voiced by D.B. Sweeney) is a dinosaur who has been raised by a family of pre-monkey mammals. His mother (voice of Alfre Woodard), grandfather (Ossie Davis), and siblings are all cute, furry creatures that make the Ewoks look like grotesque monsters. Disney couldn't possibly have further ratcheted up the cuteness level. At any rate, after a good portion of the surrounding terrain is devastated by a meteor strike (not the Big One, apparently, since there's no lasting nuclear winter), Aladar and his mammal friends join a herd of dinosaurs who are on their way to The Nesting Ground (dino-speak for Eden). The journey is arduous, with danger coming from climate changes (water is difficult to locate), roving predators, and in-fighting among the dinosaurs. In the end, it's up to Aladar to prove his mettle and be a hero. While the dinosaurs look great, their appearance is not necessarily an attempt to represent reality. The animators have taken liberties, making the creatures viewer friendly. The "good dinosaurs" seem clean-cut and streamlined. Their colors and overall look is pleasing to the eye. Only the "bad dinosaurs" appear ugly, with knobs, spikes, and bumps marring the smoothness of their hide. Comparisons to the BBC television series Walking With Dinosaurs are inevitable, since both that program and this movie employed the latest computer-generated animation to create life-like dinosaurs. While the work for Dinosaur is more vibrant and colorful, Walking With Dinosaurs gets the nod for realism. (It's also worth noting that the mini-stories told during the course of the TV series were in many ways more compelling than the plot of this movie.) Dinosaur contains two sequences of eye-popping majesty. The first is the ten-minute opening, which shows various facets of everyday dinosaur life: herbivores munching on plants and wading through water, small carnivores snapping at each other, and a Tyrannosaurus Rex bursting from its hiding place and finding prey. Subsequently, an egg is stolen from a nest, then makes a long journey by land, sea, and air to the island of the mammals, where it hatches. The flying scene, which depicts landscapes dotted with herds of dinosaurs, is especially impressive. The second sequence occurs when the planet is bombarded by hundreds of small meteors and one large one. Although images of destruction are sanitized to avoid traumatizing some viewers, younger children may become frightened. Co-directors Eric Leighton and Ralph Zondag have crafted a film that will be an unqualified success with their primary target group. Children, more interested in fast-moving action than in a story with characters, will adore every moment of Dinosaur's relatively short, 84-minute running time. Adults may be more restrained in their praise, but, even though the traditional aspects of cinema are lacking, it's hard not to be impressed by the package as a whole. Dinosaur is worth seeing. And seeing, as they say, is believing.

In the Magic Kingdom, they must be getting nervous. For years, Disney has had a death grip on the animated market, but, as we enter the latter years of the 1990s, the corporation that gave us Bambi and Snow White is finding their dominance challenged. Fox's Anastasia was actually better than last year's Disney animated film, Hercules. And now, as the Mousketeers prepare the bring the computer-generated feature A Bug's Life to the screen, Dreamworks has engineered a preemptive strike by launching its own computer-animated insect epic, Antz, two months earlier. Antz, which had its world premiere on September 19, 1998 as the Closing Gala Selection for the 23rd annual Toronto International Film Festival, is a very good movie, no matter how you look at it. Visually, it's more impressive than Disney's Toy Story, the pioneer in this burgeoning genre. On a script level, it was developed as much with a mature audience in mind as with the usual pre-pubescent crowd. A significant helping of Antz's humor will go over the heads of the average under-12 viewer. Image-conscious adults should not feel embarrassed about sitting through this "kids' movie." The big-name vocal cast is expertly-selected. Where else can you find Woody Allen, Sylvester Stallone, Anne Bancroft, Christopher Walken, Sharon Stone, and Gene Hackman in the same film? Adults and children alike will be awestruck by Antz's impressive production design. This animated effort has texture and depth. Great care is taken to make the inside of the colony a place of majestic spectacle and bustling activity. You can see this movie several times and still notice new things. The characters are wonderfully rendered, with a complete gallery of facial expressions. Antz takes the visual strengths of Toy Story and improves upon them. Story-wise, there's nothing here that is likely to confuse younger viewers. The basic plot is a cross between an adventure and a "Taming of the Shrew" romantic comedy. Or, as Z puts it, Antz is "your basic boy meets girl, boy likes girl, boy changes underlying social structure" tale. The dialogue is consistently smart, and has not been diluted to enable underage audience members to comprehend every line. Most children aren't going to understand Z's comment that a better alternative to war with the termites might be to "try influencing their political process with campaign contributions," but almost every adult in the theater will get a hearty laugh out of such an observation. A significant portion of Antz's comedy is like this. The characters, despite their only vaguely humanoid appearance, are instantly likable. Allen plays Z like an insect version of his well-established screen persona. Stone's Bala is strong-willed and appealing, with a hard side the emerges from time-to-time. Hackman is deliciously malevolent as a megalomaniacal general. And Sylvester Stallone is solid as Z's burly, dim-but-loyal friend. Other voices include Christopher Walken as the general's second-in-command, Anne Bancroft as the ant queen, Dan Aykroyd as a snobbish yellowjacket, and Jennifer Lopez as Weaver's love interest. It's too early to compare Antz to A Bug's Life, but, for anyone who appreciates animated films (especially those of the computer-generated variety), the late months of 1998 promise a bumper crop. As the first production out of the gate, Antz gets things off to a positive start. Successful as an adventure, a surprisingly sophisticated comedy, a light romance, and a visual treat, there are few things that Eric Darnell and Tim Johnson's feature debut does not do. If Disney is worried, perhaps they have a reason to be. The bar has just been raised, but not by them.

Armageddon's Charlton Heston-voiced opening narration, an account of how an asteroid seems to have led to the extinction of the dinosaurs, is an ominous touch in every sense of the phrase. The text of the speech sets the stage for the threat of mass destruction promised by the movie's title, while Heston's voice assures that the threat will be addressed in the most American way possible. And it is, thanks to a photogenic, ragtag bunch of misfits headed by Bruce Willis. Willis plays the world's greatest oil driller, recruited by NASA head Billy Bob Thornton to plant a nuclear bomb in the belly of an earthbound asteroid. Will Willis overcome his creepy attachment to his daughter (Liv Tyler), and reconcile with her oil-drilling lover (Ben Affleck) in time to save America and the rest of the world? What suspense there is in Armageddon naturally lies elsewhere. Will, for instance, director Michael Bay (The Rock) continue to find an excuse to place an American flag in every other shot? (This at one point includes a shot showing that the patriotic astronauts have gone to the trouble of planting one on the asteroid they intend to blow up.) Will Tyler be photographed in a way that doesn't make her look as if she's posing for a Revlon ad? Will this be the one film featuring a ragtag bunch of misfits in which the lovable fat guy makes it out alive? Fortunately, the near-incomprehensibility of the numerous action scenes and the disposability of the rest of the movie allow plenty of time to contemplate such things. The entire second half seems to consist of nothing but vibrating close-ups of heads shouting lines like, "I'm not leaving without my men!" and "We're jumping over that canyon!" As with The Rock, Bay directs Armageddon in a way that seems more concerned with constantly assaulting the senses than anything else, hoping perhaps that the quick cuts and constant explosions will distract from his film's many flaws. Unless you're extremely easily entertained, they probably won't.

Another week, another disappointing summer sequel. So it goes… In actuality, the screenplay for 28 Weeks Later isn't all that bad. Sure, it's repetitious and much of it has been regurgitated from 2003's 28 Days Later, but it contains some interesting elements and offers enough gore that horror fans might have been able to enjoy it… if, that is, it wasn't for the stylistic approach employed by director Juan Carlos Fresnadillo. Apparently, Fresnadillo believes that the proper way to film any action scene is to shake the camera violently and pan it wildly back and forth, thereby making it virtually impossible to figure out what's going on (and pushing viewers with motion sickness to the brink of voiding their stomachs). As if that wasn't bad enough, in the editing room, Fresnadillo ensured that no single shot lasted longer than about a second. Also, the climactic struggle takes place in darkness, making it that much more difficult to decode the action. I didn't realize a character had died until, a little later, it was apparent that person was no longer around. I wish this problem was restricted to 28 Weeks Later. Unfortunately, it has become increasingly more common. It's a good way to cover mistakes and encourages laziness. What does it matter if a fight is well choreographed if the audience can't get a clear picture? (My complaint for the recently released The Condemned was similar.) In 28 Weeks Later, it's a source of frustration because I was interested in what was happening but the filmmaker's approach robbed me of the ability to appreciate any scene where there was a fight, chase, or other form of action. The first and better half of the movie is primarily devoted to setup and character development. This is where we are given a chance to get to know the new protagonists and given insight into the plan to return London to a living, breathing city from the ghost town it has been for the past half-year. As the movie approaches the one-hour mark, however, it turns into an extended chase, with people shooting, screaming, and being torn apart by the infected as they run around in dark corridors and tunnels and the viewer desperately tries to piece together what's going on. Admittedly, there are limitations to what can be done in a zombie movie, but a whiff of originality or coherence would have been appreciated. (I have a sense that the movie might play better on a television than a big screen.) Action scenes aside, the look of the film is faithful to that of its predecessor. London appears grimy and washed-out: a dead, decaying city that at times would seem to be a comfortable fit into the world developed by Alfonso Cuaron in The Children of Men. The overhead and long-distance shots of empty streets and abandoned buildings are creepy, but no more so here than in 28 Days Later. This film will not be used by British travel agencies to promote vacations to London. 28 Days Later, while not terribly original, was suspenseful and involving. 28 Weeks Later is neither. The characters aren't as sympathetic or interesting. The kids are generic and the script doesn't care much about the adults. Robert Carlyle, Catherine McCormack, and Rose Byrne are criminally underused. Compare them to Cillian Murphy, Naomie Harris, and Brendan Gleeson from the first film, all of whom inhabited better developed and more sympathetic personalities. Tension in horror movies results from viewers caring about what happens to characters. The audience's connection to the protagonists of 28 Days Later made it a compelling experience. The lack of such a connection in 28 Weeks Later reduces this to a number of sequences characterized by shock moments, frenetic (and often chaotic) action, and stylized gore - all without suspense. It's too bad, because the fundamental idea of extending the storyline introduced in 28 Days Later is an intriguing one. The problem is that the people entrusted with the responsibility of bringing this to the screen made decisions that resulted in a deeply flawed product. My advice to Fresnadillo: next time you make a movie, allow viewers to see what's happening in real time rather than have to interpolate based on the results. Technique and style are more at fault than any other issue in undermining the effectiveness of this zombie thriller.

The end of the world has always simultaneously fascinated and repulsed human beings. No less an authority than the Bible devotes entire books to the last days. And, since almost the beginning of science fiction, the apocalypse has been a popular subject. In fact, one of the most common science fiction subgenres (which gained popularity during the early Cold War era of the 1950s) is that of the post-apocalyptic survivor - an individual who lives through some kind of catastrophe (often a nuclear war) and must make his way through the hostile environment that exists in its wake. Danny Boyle, the director of Shallow Grave and Trainspotting, has brought his off-center perspective to this story. Armed with a screenplay written by Alex Garland, Boyle's vision of humanity's twilight has mankind wiped out not by fire, brimstone, and nuclear fallout, but by disease. The living are divided into two categories: the infected, who are more like mindless zombies than human beings, and the survivalists, who eschew making plans, realizing that "staying alive is as good as it gets." The allegorical nature of the movie is impossible to miss. And Boyle touches upon such potentially weighty matters as the fundamental difference between man and beast, and whether human beings are natural killers. The first half of 28 Days Later is a road movie, as Jim and his companions make their way from London to Manchester using deserted highways and facing nearly constant attacks from roving bands of the infected. The second half is a more straightforward action/adventure. The film contains one significant twist, and Boyle adeptly blends elements of horror and drama with the science fiction. In fact, one of the things that sets this movie apart from many similar cinematic endeavors is its focus on characters rather than action. The movie develops Jim, Selena, Frank, and Hannah into believable individuals. The situation is crafted in a way that seems almost plausible, and, once it establishes the rules, never cheats. The film's "villains" have credible reasons for acting as they do, and the ending doesn't feel cheap or false. When Boyle wants to shock us, he has no trouble doing so. There's a little of George A. Romero (Night of the Living Dead) here. Several scenes in which the infected attack are genuinely creepy. One sequence in particular - in which Jim and Frank race to change a tire while a band of infected relentlessly approach - generates as much tension as any other 2003 motion picture. This is followed in short order by an effective character building sequence in which the protagonists enjoy a picnic while ruminating about what, if anything, the future might hold. Suddenly, Jim and Selena have become aware that the mantra of "just survive" is not enough. I enjoyed 28 Days Later, although I would be the first to admit that it doesn't do much that's radical. It's better than most post-apocalypse stories because it cares as much about the characters and their circumstances as with developing battles and action sequences. Three of the primary actors - Cillian Murphy, Naomie Harris, and Megan Burns - are mostly unknown on this side of the Atlantic. The two recognizable faces - Brendan Gleeson and Christopher Eccleston - are character actors, not stars. Yet, perhaps because of the relative anonymity of the performers, the ensemble works. 28 Days Later is dark, the video quality is dubious (it was shot on digital video to curtail cost and provide a grittier look), and the subject matter is familiar. But the filmmakers counter these questionable qualities with solid performances, an intelligent script, and sure-handed direction. The result is a movie that kept me involved from start to finish.

Simply put, most horror films are not scary. There are exceptions, of course, but those are increasingly rare. I think the last horror movie that had me on edge may have been The Mist, and that was released two years ago. Nevertheless, the genre remains incredibly popular, so what better way to populate it than with movies that recognize the comedic potential of many staple horror situations? What was once an obscure and often derided cinematic category, the "horror comedy," has come into its own. Films like Sam Raimi's Evil Dead II and Army of Darkness, Don Coscarelli's Bubba Ho-Tep, Michele Soavi's Cemetery Man, and (most obviously) Edgar Wright and Simon Pegg's Shaun of the Dead have paved a path that allows productions like Zombieland to make their road trips with ease. The key with this movie, as with the others (and many more like it) is that, although there are "boo!" moments and gore, comedy always trumps horror. The production wants viewers to laugh; if they leave the theater without doing so, the filmmakers have failed to do their jobs. Zombieland is funny - sometimes very funny - and has a clever script. Director Ruben Fleischer, making his feature debut, and screenwriters Rhett Reese & Paul Wernick have accomplished what they set out to achieve. The zombies of Zombieland are members of the "new breed," meaning they're not self-exhumed corpses that have come back from the dead to terrorize the living, but plague victims whose brains have rotted, leaving behind violent, cannibalistic shells. By the time the movie has started, the epidemic has long since swept across the globe, infecting nearly the entire population. Humans are few and far between. Our narrator, "Columbus" (Jesse Eisenberg), who bears the name of the city from which he hails, has survived into the post apocalyptic era by following a list of 31 rules - stay in good shape (to outrun the zombies), beware of public bathrooms, always wear a seatbelt, don't be a hero, etc. Whenever Columbus follows one of these rules, Fleischer helpfully prints the rule # and description on screen to remind us. Although the zombie presence always exists in the background, much of the movie plays out like a traditional road trip, with four diverse individuals making their way from Texas to California, heading for a "promised land" (in this case, an amusement park) that might be a myth. Along the way, they bond, learn things about each other, and come to understand what they hope to get out of this screwed-up life. Occasionally, of course, there are zombies to deal with but, until the end when they arrive en masse, they're more nuisances than serious obstacles. The best scenes involve a cameo by Bill Murray as Bill Murray. He lives in a palatial mansion complete with a theater that plays Ghostbusters. It's refreshing to see Murray in this role, limited though it may be, because it reminds us he can still be very funny. Recently, he has been appearing in so many straight and/or offbeat parts that I was beginning to wonder. He has the best line in Zombieland - I won't reveal it here, since comments taken out of context often lose their humor, but it references Garfield. One thing I appreciate about Zombieland is that it doesn't ignore the concept of character development. Don't misunderstand - these are by no means fully realized, three-dimensional entities; however, they are more than caricatures. Each has some nice moments and an investment is made in creating bonds and relationships. Fleischer and his screenwriters don't fumble the ball the way the filmmakers do in about 90% of comedies and horror movies by making the characters little more than animated props - punch-line targets or splatter-fodder. By the time Zombieland reached its climax, I actually cared about who lived and died, and that reaction honestly took me by surprise. So, while I will admit that Zombieland isn't an especially good horror movie, it succeeds in enough different ways that such a defect hardly matters.

If there’s one thing of which you can’t accuse The Hangover Part III, it is reverting to formula. It almost seems a challenge from Todd Phillips: “You thought Part I and II were the same? How about something that’s nothing like them?” Where the last film faced (fair) charges of simply being a do-over of Part I, this final part rejects all the familiar beats — the blackout, the violent gross-out humour, the desecration of Ed Helms’ face — and starts over. There’s not even a hangover. It is both a stylistic new beginning and a neat conclusion to the story, tying up loose ends you didn’t even know were dangling. The question is whether people come for a character wrap-up, or the daft fun they had first time round? Because this isn’t so concerned with the latter. Phillips hasn’t really made a comedy here. That’s not because he’s written jokes that don’t land; it’s that a lot of the movie isn’t played for laughs. It’s less a buddy comedy than a convoluted heist movie with a surreal bent. This time The Wolf Pack is found by the people who sold Alan (Zach Galifianakis) drugs in Vegas, who have now been ripped off by Chow (Ken Jeong), whom they must find, along with his stolen gold, or Doug (Justin Bartha) will be shot. Despite covering more ground than the first two films — Thailand, Las Vegas and Mexico all get a visit — there’s a smaller, almost indie feel. It’s back alleys and dive bars rather than penthouse suites and tourist traps. Problems are solved with guns, not monkeys. If the previous two stages of hangover were confusion then delirium, this is the bit where you brood in a darkened room. With reduced noise around them, the reliance on the central three is stronger than ever, and Bradley Cooper, Ed Helms and Galifianakis are now so gelled that there’s pleasure in just watching them bicker. That’s not true of Jeong, still giving it full fruitloop when everything else is… half fruitloop. It’s a discordant muddle ****. It’s a discordant muddle of a film. Tonally a complete departure from the rest of the series, which is at once laudably brave and disappointingly unfunny.

here's a reason why Groundhog Day doesn't have a sequel. Comedies built around a high concept may be great for one go-round, but when you try to replicate their USP you’re liable to end up with Home Alone 2: Lost In New York. The makers of the mega-grossing The Hangover have chosen to ignore this rule. The result is this pale Xerox of a movie, which sticks so closely to its predecessor’s blueprint that it plays out more like a remake. The 2009 original was Very Bad Things via Memento, a cleverly structured dumb comedy about a stag night that wittily skipped the 'good stuff', piecing together the specifics of the debauch like CSI: Las Vegas. For the follow-up, director Todd Phillips has made the logical decision to re-locate to the one place seedier than Sin City: Bangkok. Through a hazily sketched-out set-up — dentist Stu (Ed Helms) is set to wed a non-mail-order Thai bride (Jamie Chung) - the gang are reunited and set loose in another mean metropolis. Except where the first film pinballed from surprise to surprise (hooker! Tiger! Tyson!), here the screenwriters have settled for tapping 'Find & Replace'. There's another creature, in the shape of an impish monkey in a Rolling Stones jacket that’s probably not official merchandise (note to all involved: animals smoking aren’t funny). There’s another sex worker, in the form of a stripper with a secret that would make Alan Partridge go, “A-ha!”. There are more Kanye West music cues, another travel-show montage over the opening credits, a second bride-to-be, a further big speech from Helms at the end… All this recycling might be a conscious choice, but it results in a caper that’s listless where it should be anarchic. The humour’s even raunchier than before, leading to some cringily funny vignettes, most involving lunatic loudmouth Alan (Zach Galifianakis) or preening crime lord Mr. Chow (Ken Jeong) — although the much-discussed tattoo-artist character, who was to be played by Mel Gibson/ Liam Neeson and is actually played by Nick Cassevetes, is disappointingly only there to deliver exposition. But where the film succeeds in making Bangkok look like a sleazy, decrepit hellhole, it seems less concerned with finding actual jokes. One plot-strand involving Paul Giamatti stands out as being particularly devoid of laughter and thrills. A Get Him To The Greek-style spin-off with Alan at the forefront might have been a better way to capitalise on the Wolf Pack’s chemistry. Instead, we’ve ended up with one very padded Thai adventure. According to Phillips, the 'Part II' in the title is a nod to the second Godfather, which matched the genius of its forerunner. Ironically, his own sequel offer is one you should refuse.

he Hangover begins and ends conventionally but, in between, it's not afraid to go off the rails. Unlike most so-called "comedies," this one can claim the virtue of being reasonably funny. It never tries too hard, the actors have a good sense of comedic timing, and none of the jokes are drawn out for too long. And, although The Hangover doesn't have the heart of, say, Knocked Up, it displays an affection for its characters that most comedies don't. I wouldn't go so far as to claim the men and women populating the production are three-dimensional but they escape the low orbit of simple caricature. There's a little more going on here than vulgar humor and that makes The Hangover worth the price of admission. The Hangover, directed by Todd Phillips (Old School) with a similar flare for the profane and potentially offensive, is as cleverly constructed as a comedy of this sort can be. The bulk of the film consists of Phil, Stu, and Alan attempting to reconstruct the lost night by following clues and re-connecting with people they don't remember (but who remember them). The humor grows out of these situations, and most of it is not of the "intellectual" variety. The biggest laugh results from a scene that's in the trailer, although it is funnier in context than it is as a snippet designed to lure people into the theater. The Mike Tyson cameo is truly bizarre, and it takes on an almost macabre air after the real-life tragedy that has recently befallen him. "In the Air Tonight" is now cinematically wedded not only to Tom Cruise and Rebecca DeMornay but to Tyson as well. The Hangover is unapologetically R-rated, although it's not as shocking as other recent raunchy comedies that have pushed the envelope. The majority of the nudity is provided by guys because, as is generally acknowledged, the naked male form is funnier than the naked female form. There are drinking and drugs, profanity, and bodily fluids, but nothing we haven't been exposed to before. The purpose of The Hangover isn't to boldly go where no comedy has gone before (although there is a subtle but unmistakable nod to Star Trek in the line "I'm a doctor, not a tour guide"), but simply to make audiences laugh. With so many comedies becoming increasingly less funny as a result of the rise of lazy, uninspired writing, that's a worthy goal. For a viewer in the mood for something rude, crude, and lewd, it would be difficult to find a more satisfying food.

"Every war is different. Every war is the same." So says the voiceover narration in the closing moments of Sam Mendes' Jarhead. I might add: Every war movie is different. Every war movie is the same. This is Mendes' Gulf War answer to Apocalypse Now - he announces as much by connecting the two in an early scene showing marines whipped into a frenzy while watching the helicopter attack sequence from Francis Ford Coppola's 1979 film. Jarhead is about how the experience of being in the military fundamentally changes an individual. In this case, the focus isn't about the madness of slaughter in the jungle, but the madness of inaction in the desert. For those who don't remember the Gulf War (or who weren't old enough to watch in unfold in real time on television), here's a brief recap. The conflict started in August 1990, when Iraqi forces invaded Kuwait, igniting worldwide protests. As diplomatic negotiations stagnated, United Nations troops (primarily from the United States) massed in Saudi Arabia. By mid-January 1991, more than 500,000 U.S. men and women were in the Middle East, and "Operation Desert Shield" became "Operation Desert Storm." More than a month of brutal pounding from the air decimated the Iraqi forces. The ground war, launched on February 23, lasted only four days (or, to be precise: four days, four hours, one minute). A ceasefire was called on February 27, and Iraq accepted terms on March 3. Jarhead shows these events not from the perspective of a civilian, war correspondent, or diplomat, but from that of a jarhead (jargon for marine) sniper who was supposed to be on the front line of the ground conflict - except there was no front line. The air attack so devastated the Iraqi army that no one was left to wage an effective battle. So when the marines went in, they were left with mop-up duty. Many of these men, despite being trained as killing machines, left without firing a shot. (As one puts it: "Are we ever going to get to kill anyone?") Based on the memoirs of Anthony Swofford, Jarhead takes viewers into the barracks and tents **** of marines who view the conflict as a phantom war - a tease that never offers release. Mendes (American Beauty, Road to Perdition) invests a great deal of energy into developing the battleground as an alien environment. Using the sands of Mexico as a stand-in, Jarhead shows how different desert warfare is from conventional conflict. We see men training while wearing bulky anti-contamination suits in 100+ degree heat. Water must be downed in such quantities that vomiting sometimes occurs. Finding ways to blow off steam leads to risky behavior, the punishment for which can be the dreaded latrine duty. (If you thought it was bad in Platoon, wait until you see it here…) The Kuwaiti desert comes alive in this film, forming its own supporting character. There are some wonderful twilight and nighttime shots that appear almost to have taken place on a different planet. Cinematographer Roger Deakins uses handheld cameras effectively (but not to motion sickness inducing excess). And, to strengthen the connection to Apocalypse Now, Mendes has employed Walter Murch, who edited the earlier film. It's unsurprising that Jarhead attains an impressive level of verisimilitude. Although The USMC did not officially participate in the filming, Mendes hired an army of ex-marine advisors who kept things real and avoided caricatures. This is not a strongly political or anti-war film (certainly compared to pictures like Apocalypse Now or Platoon). It's about the characters and how they react to their circumstances. They see things within the microcosm of their tents. What "it all means," whether the attack is justified, and whether the troops should have pushed all the way to Baghdad are questions for other movies with other agendas. Like many war movies, Jarhead comes complete with a voiceover narrative. Despite my general disapproval of this as a cinematic device (it's too often used as a crutch), it succeeds for the most part. This is, after all, a memoir, and there are times when it's helpful to provide viewers with information in a short-hand manner that would be cumbersome to present in a traditional way. Apparently, Mendes worked long and hard on the voiceovers - they are not distractions and they do not pull the viewer "out of the moment." Jarhead is compelling in the way it presents a new facet **** that some would argue was mined out long ago. Yet, as much as the film contains the familiar elements of war movies, the thrust is different.Portraying these personality transformations is where Jarhead excels, and the reason why this isn't just another of the growing number of dramas about the Gulf War.

Over the course of his illustrious career, which is well into its third decade, Hanks has played a cross-dresser, a man infatuated by a mermaid, the manager of a women's baseball team, a child in an oversized body, an idiot savant, an AIDS patient, and a man stranded on a desert island. However, during more than four-dozen TV shows and movies, he has yet to challenge himself with the most difficult role for a well-liked actor - that of a bad-to-the-bone villain. He comes close in Road to Perdition, but doesn't quite reach that destination. For, although Michael Sullivan is a murderer for hire, he also has a conscience and a soul, loves his family, and kills not because he likes it but because it's his job. In short, Sullivan is portrayed sympathetically. The script's positive spin and Hanks' instant likeability ensure that Sullivan will be viewed not as a bad guy, but as a flawed man. There's some darkness there, to be sure, but not the pitch black of pure evil. The film, director Sam Mendes' eagerly anticipated follow-up to American Beauty, is based on the "graphic novel" (a term that is applied to a very long comic book printed on high-quality paper and sold in bookstores) by Max Allan Collins and Richard Piers Rayner. As with many adaptations from this medium, Road to Perdition stuns with its atmosphere and visuals, but arguably underachieves in some aspects of its characterization and plotting. Road to Perdition allows you to feel, smell, and breathe the air of 1930s Chicago. To some extent, Conrad L. Hall is as big a star as any of the actors, since there are occasions when the setting overwhelms the characters. At its heart, Road to Perdition is a little drama about fathers, sons, and the covenants they make and break. Rooney betrays Sullivan to save Connor, even though, to the very end, he loves Sullivan best. Sullivan risks everything, including his life and reputation, to protect Michael. A telling conversation between Rooney and Sullivan italicizes this point. "And there is only one guarantee--none of us will see Heaven," says Rooney. "Michael might," replies Sullivan. Rooney then notes that it's Sullivan's primary duty to make sure that happens. Road to Perdition romanticizes gangland Chicago, but no more so than other films set in the same period. And, like almost every movie about the mob, this one deals with themes of family, loyalty, and betrayal - albeit without the intensity of some of the great ones (The Godfather, Goodfellas). As was the case in American Beauty, Mendes illustrates how accomplished actors will respond to an assured director. Serious movie-goers embarking upon this journey will find that Road to Perdition leads to a satisfying destination.

Over the years, many films have taken a dark look at the supposedly perfect ideal of a white picket fence, a little house, and a nuclear family. For many, the suburban life is the American dream. For others, however, it can turn into a twisted nightmare of unfulfilled desires, repressed needs, and **** hopes. Because of the necessity to keep up appearances, a serene facade often conceals a breeding ground for dysfunction, anxiety, and hypocrisy. Directors like David Lynch have made this their playground. Lynch in particular delights in depicting the root causes of social decay in suburbia - and he does it by autopsy. American Beauty is not as dark as a Lynch project, since it allows for small moments of redemption, but it mines the same general territory. If there's a rule in American cinema that all families not named Brady must be dysfunctional, then American Beauty does nothing to violate it. Most teenagers think their parents are strange, but, in the case of Jane Burnham (Thora Birch, whose largest previous big screen role was in Alaska), this is as much a state of reality as it is a state of mind. Her father, Lester (Kevin Spacey), is suffering through a mid-life crisis. At the age of 42, he has become apathetic to everything. "Both my wife and daughter think I'm this gigantic loser," he confesses at one point, "And they're right. I have lost something. I didn't always feel this sedated." Meanwhile, Jane's mother, Carolyn (Annette Bening), places such value on status that she has turned into a "bloodless, money-grubbing freak" who has no time for any form of intimacy. Her creed: "You cannot count on anyone except yourself." She and Lester continue in their dead marriage for their daughter's sake and so they'll look normal to the outside world. In a moment of clarity, Lester admits, "Our marriage is just for show - a commercial for how normal we are, when we're anything but." American Beauty is the first feature film directed by Sam Mendes, who has an extensive background in theater, but displays a sureness that many veteran filmmakers are unable to match. At times evoking elements of Todd Solondz' controversial Happiness and Ang Lee's brilliant The Ice Storm, American Beauty weds compelling drama with black comedy. The movie is character-driven, but the three protagonists are so expertly developed that we are drawn to them for the entire two hour running time. Spacey, Bening, and Birch all give the kinds of top-notch performances that deserve (but do not always get) consideration at Oscar time. Spacey's Lester may be American Beauty's narrator, but, through a low-key portrayal that conveys all the angst and confusion of a particularly bad teenage experience, Birch makes Jane the film's emotional focal point. If there's a weakness in American Beauty, it's in the way the story is structured. Spacey's voiceover narrative effectively kills a great deal of narrative tension when, during an opening scene, he reveals the film's ending. This approach is often forgivable if there's a compelling dramatic reason for it, but that isn't the case here. In fact, the use of the voiceover allows American Beauty to close with more exposition than is necessary. We don't need to be told, for example, that one of the film's points is that we should learn to savor every moment of life and to see all the hidden beauty the world has to offer. Mendes and cinematographer Conrad L. Hall add some wonderful camera work, especially when it comes to close-ups. In most films, we rarely notice this kind of shot because it is used indiscriminately. However, in American Beauty, it serves the definite purpose of offering insight into a character's mindset. There are many close-ups in this film, and few (if any) are used for the banal purpose of varying shot selection. And Thomas Newman's dynamic, playful score compliments the picture's effective visual composition. American Beauty doesn't trailblaze a path into hitherto untouched cinematic territory, but its presentation of vivid characters in interesting situations makes the story seem fresh. In part because it's not a complete downer and in part because it doesn't cheat the audience, American Beauty is emotionally satisfying. There's a sense of poignancy at the end, but also the feeling that we have been on an incredible trip through the lives and souls of three perfectly-realized characters. In a year that boasts few truly memorable motion pictures, Mendes can stake a claim alongside the likes of Kubrick and Egoyan as one whose cinematic vision both challenges and entertains.

With Inglourious Basterds, Quentin Tarantino has made his best movie since Pulp Fiction. He has also made what could arguably be considered the most audacious World War II movie of all-time. If you think there are rules for this sort of motion picture, guess again. And it's not just that Tarantino is using the spaghetti western as his template; it's that the sheer unpredictability of where all this is going makes it compelling from beginning to end. Even the film's occasional artistic flourishes (such as chapter titles and out-of-period music pieces) work within the context of what Tarantino is trying to accomplish. This is clearly an attempt by the director to expand his range and step outside of the comfort zone in which he has worked for the majority of his career. Tarantino brings to Inglourious Basterds his not inconsiderable knowledge of films. The movie is awash in references - some subtle, some obvious - that run the gamut from D-grade exploitation flicks to A-list classics. This is not, as has been reported in some places, a remake of the 1978 feature The Inglorious ****, although the title is an homage. Reportedly, some of Tarantino's nascent versions of the screenplay used elements of the earlier film, but those are mostly gone in the final edition. This is pretty much 100% Tarantino, which could be good or bad, depending on your opinion of the man's work. Tarantino loves dialogue and, between taut, brutal action sequences, there's a lot of talking. The conversations aren't as elliptical as some of those in the director's previous efforts, but there are some intriguing moments - a **** providing a detailed comparison between Jew-hunting and rat-hunting, a 20 questions-like guessing game with the answer of "King Kong," and a reverse Cinderella encounter in which having a foot to fit the shoe is not a good thing. (Tarantino gets his trademark foot fetish shot in this scene.) There is a point to the talk, however, that goes beyond the filmmaker showing off his skill with words. All these scenes precede instances of sudden, violent action and the threat of bloodshed is heavy in the air. With every sentence, the tension mounts. Tarantino uses these sequences to prime the audience, teasing them until the suspense is nearly unbearable, then releasing it in one explosive burst. Watching Inglourious Basterds, I was reminded of Paul Verhoeven's Black Book and Bryan Singer's Valkyrie, both of which contain themes and ideas that are echoed here. This is no Schindler's List. It's not about nobility or sacrifice. It's about the dirty, bloody side of war. Yes, there's heroism, but a lot is hidden away in order for those who receive medals to retain a patina of valor. Inglourious Basterds is suffused with dark humor - so much so that it's tempting to label it an action/comedy. There are laugh-out-loud moments, and not one guffaw is the result of something unintentional. This is nothing new for Tarantino, who has always interwoven humor with violence, but its incorporation here, amidst some of his bleakest material, is refreshingly unsettling. Inglourious Basterds isn't as fresh and freewheeling as Pulp Fiction, but Tarantino is now an established director and a known quantity. That he is able to successfully pull off some of what he does in this movie is a testimony to his skill at both writing and directing. Yes - he borrows heavily and shamelessly from other movies, but it's in the unique fusion of those sources and styles that he achieves his success. Despite having so many antecedents, Inglourious Basterds quickly carves out its own niche. The running length is a gaudy 153 minutes, yet the film moves so smoothly and the moving parts come together so cleanly that the time passes easily. This is the movie I have been awaiting since Pulp Fiction. It's one hell of an enjoyable ride into the nightmare that was **** France, and thinking you know how it all ends doesn't make it so.

Hannibal Rising is the funniest movie of the year - a true laugh riot. Viewers will be holding their sides to contain the laughter. Forget Borat - if you're looking for something hilarious, this is the movie to see. What's that? It's not supposed to be a comedy. Oops. First of all, who had the bright idea of making a Hannibal movie without Anthony Hopkins? That's like making a Pink Panther movie without Peter Sellars. (Yes, they did that and look at the result.) Frankly, after The Silence of the Lambs, the only reason to see the Hannibal movies was because of Hopkins. Secondly, using the critically panned novel by Thomas Harris as the template was another bad move. To his credit, Harris manages to make the screenplay worse than the novel. Hannibal Rising effectively demystifies one of the 20th century's most iconic cinematic villains, stripping away his icy intellect and turning him into just another victim of a bad childhood. With its trifecta of bad writing, bad acting, and bad direction, Hannibal Rising is to Silence of the Lambs as Superman IV: The Quest for Peace is to Superman. Critical miscalculations at every turn have taken this latest (and hopefully last) Hannibal movie beyond the realm of camp and into that special hell reserved for only the most rancid of sequels. Hannibal Rising is a gross excursion into bad melodrama, clumsily cannibalizing everything from war movies and vampire flicks to the previous Hannibal films. To call the film's tone uneven would be kind and to consider the lead actor's performance anything close to acceptable would require greater hyperbole than I can produce. There are, however, laughs to be had - all of which are unintentional. Even the movie's self-important style can provide chuckles, but the real humor comes from the overacting and the absurd plot contortions. Not since Kevin Costner's The Postman has a "serious" movie ventured so far into unintentional comedy. In the history of Dino DeLaurentiis motion pictures, this one is second-worst, beaten only by the crapfest of King Kong Lives. Based on his performance in A Very Long Engagement, I would have never guessed that Gaspard Ulliel had it in him to act this badly. His performance careens from lifeless to campy with little ground in between, and there always seems to be a smile on his face. One might be willing to accept that he looks nothing like Anthony Hopkins had he brought anything except ridicule to the role. As for the other lead: I'm glad that Gong Li is getting more international exposure via English-speaking parts but I have to believe that her limitations with the language caused her to misread the script. There's no other explanation for why she would appear here, once again playing a Japanese woman. She is, however, Hannibal Rising's saving grace. Her acting is about as good as one could hope for in these circumstances and, at age 41, she is stunning. One other note: you know you're in trouble when comedic actor Rhys Ifans is one of the villains. It would be interesting to know how Peter Webber (Girl with a Pearl Earring) became involved in this misbegotten project. His work appears to be that of a director for hire. There's no style evident. Meanwhile, Hannibal's creator, Thomas Harris, has apparently elected to destroy his creation during this outing. Not only does he postulate an absurd reason for the character's later psychosis but he provides an individual who is so at variance with the Anthony Hopkins version that we can't believe they're supposed to be the same man. It would have been better to give the character another name. It wouldn't have made Hannibal Rising any better, but it would have prevented The Silence of the Lambs from suffering guilt by association.

Let's be honest, it didn't look very promising, did it? The auteur behind The Family Man and Rush Hour 2 tackling the movie's favourite cannibal with the residue of the dreary Hannibal still ripe in the memory. But Brett Ratner's adaptation of Thomas Harris' 1981 prequel to The Silence Of The Lambs (already adapted by Michael Mann as Manhunter) delivers the goods with minimum fuss. As if to atone for Ridley Scott's uninspired instalment, Red Dragon feels like a concerted effort to get back to the glory days of Silence and, to a large extent and against all the odds, Ratner pulls it off. It may not have Manhunter's sense of style or interesting contours, but Red Dragon surpasses Mann's movie in its dogmatic desire to entertain. Putting the cult of Lecter aside for a moment, Red Dragon works as a cracking detective story. Going the Christopher Columbus/Harry Potter route, Ratner, in tandem with Silence screenwriter Tally, has been remarkably faithful to Harris' tautly constructed mystery. He offers a well-tooled, workmanlike compendium of the book's greatest hits - the great scene in which Lecter's cell is searched for clues as to how he is contacting Dolarhyde, the horrific burning wheelchair set-piece - that is the cinematic equivalent of a page-turner. Where Ratner does deviate from the novel, it pays dividends: a pre-credits opener that pitches Lecter and Graham against each other, first mentally, then physically, is a fantastic curtain-raiser, satisfying our immediate appetite to see the good Doctor while setting up the Lecter-Graham mind-games to come. If not quite as **** as Tom Noonan's incarnation from Manhunter, he also finds a real shift of gear in his tentative, affecting relationship with Reba (Watson, once again putting in good work), the blind woman who offers the killer a redemptive state of grace. What ultimately stops Red Dragon from being truly great rather than merely good is the bog-standard quality in Ratner's direction. Everything is crisp, everything is proficient but nowhere does he generate the foreboding atmosphere or memorable image that really hits home: visually, the movie is a sitcom version of Silence, all flat lighting and bland set-ups, the infamous corridor approaching Lecter's cell having none of its previous power. Indeed, the movie doesn't really deliver any real scares and nail-gnawing tension until a last reel denouement. But when the shocks do come, they work a treat. Not as good as The Silence Of The Lambs, but definitely besting the risible Hannibal, Red Dragon is a thoroughly entertaining, efficiently mounted thriller. If this is the last of the cannibal capers - and the sense of familiarity suggests that it should be, it's a good one to go out on.

It's a safe bet that Ridley Scott's Hannibal is one of the most anticipated motion pictures of 2001. MGM, which owns the North American distribution rights, expects the film to have the biggest opening of any movie in the company's history (beating out The World Is Not Enough). It has taken ten years for the sequel to The Silence of the Lambs to reach the screen (much of the delay due to the length of time it took novelist Thomas Harris to pen the book), and, sadly, it's not worth the wait. Hannibal isn't a terrible movie, but it is a disappointment, and more than a small step down from the level of its predecessor. Hannbal's journey from the printed page to celluloid has been a tumultuous one. Early on, Jonathan Demme (who directed Silence) bowed out. Producer Dino De Laurentiis replaced him with Ridley Scott. Soon after that, celebrated playwright David Mamet's script was rejected and Steven Zallian was brought in to do an overhaul (as a result of WGA rules, Mamet's name remains in the credits although none of the final product is his). Then, publicly citing a busy schedule while privately displeased with the screenplay, the original Clarice Starling, Jodie Foster, elected not to return. The role was re-cast, with Julianne Moore winning the sweepstakes. The only constant from The Silence of the Lambs to Hannibal is Anthony Hopkins. While that's a sizeable ace in the hole, the advantage doesn't turn out to be big enough. Having seen Hannibal, I can understand why Jodie Foster wasn't interested. The Clarice Starling of The Silence of the Lambs was a psychologically complex individual who remained squarely at the center of the storyline. Her relationship with Hannibal Lecter was endlessly fascinating, a game of mental chess between two evenly matched players who were drawn together by a perverse attraction. That Clarice is missing in action in Hannibal. The character has been emasculated and reduced to little more than a plot device. This is Lecter's movie; Clarice's role is secondary, and there's little in the way of interesting character development. Almost nothing is done with Silence's most compelling aspect, the Hannibal/Clarice relationship; these two have only a handful of scenes together. Julianne Moore, doing the best she can with the limited material, admirably fills her predecessor's shoes. It's just that Hannibal offers her a far less meaty bone to gnaw on than Silence gave to Foster. In a way, it should not come as a surprise that the psychological depth of Hannibal is so far below that of The Silence of the Lambs. Scott is known for visual artistry and storytelling prowess (both of which are evident in his three best-known works: Alien, Blade Runner, and Gladiator), but not character complexity. Consequently, the individuals wandering across Scott's landscape in Hannibal function as mere pawns for the director to move around as he sees fit. Secondary characters like Verger, Pazzi, and racist politician Paul Krendler (Ray Liotta) lack even a semblance of three-dimensionality. Actually, the only reason we see Clarice as a fleshed-out person is because we got to know her so well in The Silence of the Lambs. Stylistically, Hannibal is everything one would expect from a Ridley Scott film. It doesn't have the claustrophobic feel of Silence, but that lack is compensated for with innovative shots and an abundance of gothic-drenched atmosphere. (My favorite moment is when Lecter turns from the camera and walks away with his cape billowing behind him. It's pure style.) One area where Scott goes over the top is in his frequent use of religious (specifically Christian) iconography, including a scene in which Hannibal appears like Christ on the cross. The problem is that there's no reason for this - ultimately, all of the Christian symbolism is meaningless. It doesn't contribute to the movie from a thematic or story-related perspective. Fans of The Silence of the Lambs will surely flock to see Hannibal during its first weekend of release, and far be it from me to dissuade them. The movie is not a hack job - it contains moments of genuine suspense, always looks good, and has the virtue of Anthony Hopkins returning to the greatest role of his incredibly diverse career. But there's a lot missing from the sequel, and many of those absent elements are the things that differentiated Silence from so many run-of-the-mill serial killer thrillers. What's left is at times depressingly ordinary and almost never memorable.

When The Silence of the Lambs took the Academy Awards ceremony by storm in 1992, winning in five major categories (Best Picture, Best Director - Jonathan Demme, Best Actor - Anthony Hopkins, Best Actress - Jodie Foster, and Best Adapted Screenplay - Ted Tally), it beat the odds in more ways than one. Granted, 1991 was a slow year for movies, and many pundits have remarked that the Oscar field was among the weakest ever (the other contenders were Disney's Beauty and the Beast, Bugsy, JFK, and the overrated The Prince of Tides), but the strong showing of The Silence of the Lambs was a surprise to almost everyone. In the first place, it was released in February 1991, a date thought to be beyond the short memories of the Academy members. Secondly, it is a dark psychological thriller - the kind of movie that occasionally receives a Best Picture nomination, but almost never takes home the statuette. Although The Silence of the Lambs is brilliantly constructed and powerfully acted, and became one of the most recognizable thrillers of the '90s, it was neither the best movie of the year (a citation I would award to Beauty and the Beast) nor even the best thriller (overall, Dead Again impressed me more). The Silence of the Lambs contains a number of inarguably great scenes, but the screenplay, adapted from Thomas Harris' novel, suffers from a split personality. The scenes featuring Hannibal Lecter (Anthony Hopkins) are the stuff of legends. However, the rest of the movie, which concentrates on the pursuit of serial killer Buffalo Bill (Ted Levine), has a familiar, derivative feel. In truth, the climax couldn't be more mundane. There is little doubt that the most memorable aspect of The Silence of the Lambs is Anthony Hopkins' incomparable performance as Lecter. Taking over for Brian Cox, who was effective, but not especially memorable, as the good doctor in 1986's Manhunter, Hopkins instantly makes the role his own, capturing and conveying the charismatic essence of pure evil. To his dying day, no matter how many roles he plays in the interim, Hopkins will forever be known for this part. (It is a credit to Hopkins' ability as an actor that this part did not result in stereotyping. His post-Silence career has been greatly varied, with roles as widely diverse as a stodgy butler in Merchant-Ivory's The Remains of the Day and an action hero in The Edge.) I can throw out any number of superlatives, but none of them do justice to this chilling performance, which I labeled as the best acting work of the '90s. Want to feel the icy fingers of terror stroke your heart? Watch this mixture of brilliant eloquence and inhuman cruelty. As portrayed by Hopkins, Hannibal is both a suave, cultured gentleman and an unspeakable fiend. He is gracious and monstrous at the same time. (Hopkins also provided one of the most quotable lines in recent film history with "I ate his liver with some fava beans and a nice Chianti", which was followed by an inimitable slithering slurp.) Jodie Foster's interpretation of Clarice Starling is not as high-profile as Hopkins' work, but the film wouldn't have been the same without her. In a quiet, non-flashy manner, Foster takes ownership of Clarice, transforming her into the movie's human anchor; she is our point-of-entry into the contorted, grotesque world of murder, insanity, and decadence. Clarice is developed into a multidimensional human being who is driven to succeed in a man's world, haunted by memories of the loving father she lost at an early age, and fascinated by the twisted brilliance of Lecter. There isn't a false note in the performance. Foster's best scenes are the ones in which she is paired with Hopkins, such as the instance in which Clarice's facial expression crumbles almost imperceptibly while Lecter coldly and cruelly dissects her life. It's arguable whether Foster deserved a Best Actress Oscar for her work in The Silence of the Lambs, but there's no doubt that she is owed more recognition for the film's success than she often receives. Since its 1991 release, much has been written about The Silence of the Lambs, Hannibal Lecter, Clarice Starling, and the relationship between them. Thomas Harris was so intrigued by the characters that he wrote the sequel, Hannibal, which soared into the top spot on best-seller lists countrywide as soon as it was released. The motion picture follow-up, directed by Ridley Scott and starring Hopkins and Julianne Moore (replacing Foster), is set to open on the 10th anniversary of the release of The Silence of the Lambs. If it's half as involving, it will be a success. The Silence of the Lambs may not have been the best thriller of the year, but it was the most chilling and creepy, and there's no denying that the most celebrated aspect of the film - the Clarice/Hannibal connection - could not have been accomplished with greater skill.

There have been numerous documentaries and dramatic productions focusing on the Holocaust, including a television mini-series which many consider to be the definitive work. As a result, in deciding to film Schindler's List, director Steven Spielberg (Jurassic Park) set an imposing task for himself. His vision needed to differ from that of the film makers who preceded him, yet the finished product had to remain faithful to the unforgettable images which represent the legacy of six million massacred Jews. Those who see this motion picture will witness Spielberg's success. The film opens in September of 1939 in Krakow, Poland, with the Jewish community under increasing pressure from the ****. Into this tumult comes Oskar Schindler (Liam Neeson), a **** businessman interested in obtaining Jewish backing for a factory he wishes to build. He makes contact with Itzhak Stern (Ben Kingsley), an accountant, to arrange financial matters. For a while, there is no interest and nothing happens. Spielberg elected to film this motion picture in black-and-white, and it's impossible to argue with his choice. Director of Photography Janusz Kaminski has made effective use of shadow and light, meticulously limiting the application of hue. The opening scene is in color, as is the closing sequence (which features the surviving "Schindler Jews", each accompanied by the actor who played their character, placing a stone on their savior's grave). There are also two instances when color is allowed to bleed into the blacks, whites, and grays. One little girl's jacket appears red so that she stands out from the masses, and a pair of candles burn with orange flames. When color is used, it makes a point and an impression. Of course the Holocaust images are grim, but scenes of mass graves and exhumed bodies are not unique to Schindler's List. While it's impossible to deny their power, potentially more distubing are the instances of callous, individual murder. Spielberg doesn't spare his audience when it comes to sudden violence or the dehumanizing factors involved in such events. After all, Jews were viewed as "vermin." Schindler's List is replete with moments like this. The acting is uniformly excellent. Liam Neeson's Schindler is shown in all his complexity, and his transformation is played with studied control. This is no sudden reversal of philosophy, but a matter of conscience that slowly dawns on the man. With a keen sense of Schindler's character, Neeson depicts the metamorphosis from self-centered businessman to driven messiah. Despite the grisly subject matter, this movie is essentially about uncovering a kernel of hope and dignity in the midst of a monstrous tragedy. The story of Oskar Schindler's sacrifices for the Jews sets this apart from other Holocaust dramas. Uncompromising in its portrayal of good, evil, and all the shades in between, Schindler's List offers a clear view of human nature laid bare: hatred, greed, lust, envy, anger, and, most important of all, empathy and love. Because this film touches us so deeply, the catharsis has a power that few -- if any -- other moments in film history can match. And that's what establishes this as a transcendent motion picture experience.

For Pixar, Monsters University stops the bleeding. In the wake of two disappointing films, 2012's lackluster Brave and 2011's misfire Cars 2, the animation company has returned to solid footing with a prequel to their 2001 entry, Monsters Inc. Although there is undoubtedly a financial foundation for mining past successes, Monsters University is nevertheless a charming, family friendly endeavor and, although it falls short of the best Pixar has brought to the screen over its long association with Disney, it's nevertheless worth a trip to the theater, especially for kids. As was true of Monsters Inc., Monsters University gets most of its mileage out of the atypical friendship between the big, furry Sullivan (voice of John Goodman) and the little green Cyclops Mike (Billy Crystal). Since Monsters Inc. effectively wrapped up going-forward story possibilities, the creative team elected to go the prequel route, so this is the tale of how Mike and Sullivan met, overcame an initial rivalry, and became friends. Although pitched at a level that won't bore adults, the film's content is kid-centered, complete with life lessons about the values of friendship, cooperation, and believing in oneself and others. Computer generated animation has long since reached a plateau level where the artwork results in the kinds of "oohs" and "aahs" that it once did. We rarely notice the richness of detail evident especially in the background the way we once did because every animated film boasts this - it's expected. Monsters University maintains the standard of quality expected from Pixar although, as is too often the case, the incorporation of 3-D is of dubious value. Seen in 2-D, this is a bright, cheerful motion picture. The tradeoff for getting things to pop off the screen is that the colors aren't as vibrant. I feel like a broken record making this comment: some animated films benefit from 3-D but it's hard to argue that Monsters University is one of them. Pixar's decision to develop some of their most popular movies into franchises hit a rough patch when Cars 2 failed to perform up to expectations. Monsters University, however, makes the argument that this may have been an unfortunate exception. Although the second Monsters movie won't challenge Toy Story 2 or Toy Story 3 as the best sequel to emerge from the studio, it's a strong enough animated film to rise to the top of summer family-friendly fare. The energy and comedy are strong and the only thing off-color is the palette when seen through 3-D lenses. This isn't a home run for Disney/Pixar but it's a solid double.

At first glance, Brave seems much like an old-fashioned animated Disney princess film done using new-fangled technology. Most of the elements are in place: the plucky heroine, the faithful animal companion, a mysterious wizard, and a character-building journey. There are even a few songs. Looking deeper, however, there's something missing: narrative momentum. The thinly-written storyline takes us on an adventure, to be sure, but not necessarily one viewers will be interested in taking. The tone is uneven and more often morose than joyful. The pacing is slow and at times almost tedious. The end result is something that feels like it was put together from a jumble of Disney clichés tacked onto the skeleton of Beauty and the Beast. The lack of both a romantic element and a real villain is only part of the problem. Another issue is that the lead character, the wild, arrow-shooting, red-headed Princess Merida (voiced by Kelly Macdonald) is more of a brat than a spunky, strong-willed girl. Okay, there's a fine line but, for the most part, Disney has managed to stay on the right side of it. Watching Merida, the only thing I could think is that her parents indulged her too much. As the movie progresses, we see that's true of her blustering father, King Fergus (Billy Connolly), who lets her get away with just about anything. Her mother, Queen Elinor (Emma Thompson), tries to lay down the law but ends up being turned into a bear for her troubles. The spoiled Merida, not liking to be constrained by Mom's rules (especially the one about marrying a prince), finds a witch and obtains magic that, when applied, results in Elinor becoming bear-able. The rest of the movie is spent trying to reverse the spell before Big Game Hunter Fergus inadvertently kills his wife. Something sad has happened within Pixar. With Brave as a lackluster follow-up to the misfire of Cars 2, they seem to be spinning their wheels. Gone is the magic they infused in great films like The Incredibles, Finding Nemo, WALL*E, and the Toy Storys. Gone are the days when movie-lovers of all ages could celebrate the release of a new Pixar feature. They have fallen back to the pack, and maybe even slipped a little behind. Even Brave's staunchest defenders will grudgingly admit that this is "lesser Pixar." Artistically, despite its catalog of flaws, Brave is superior to Madagascar 3, but kids will prefer the latter for its color, its spectacle, and its cheerfulness. Curiously, Brave is neither fish nor fowl. It lacks a strong appeal to kids (too slow, too dark, too long) and adults (too superficial, not well written). The "Disney" and "Pixar" names assure an audience but it's hard to imagine Brave generating a lot of enthusiasm. Its final numbers will likely be closer to those of Cars 2 than Up. With computer animated films circa 2012, it's almost pointless to talk about the "look." Ten or fifteen years ago, we marveled at the level of subtlety and detail in movie like this. Now, the playing field is level. Nearly all animated films - whether from Fox, Pixar, Dreamworks, Warner Brothers, or someone else - boast the same polished appearance. Brave uses a dark pallet but it appears neither better nor worse than Madagascar 3 or The Lorax. (Time to insert my obligatory 3-D verdict: don't bother. Not the greatest - it dims an already dark movie and there is blur during scenes where there's a lot of movement.) Early in its genesis, Brave was being touted as "the first animated film directed by a woman." That woman, Brenda Chapman, didn't make it all the way through the production, being replaced by Mark Andrews part-way through due to "creative differences." Maybe that in part explains Brave's meandering approach and tone. Chapman, who is still credited as both a co-director and a co-writer, previously worked on the story for 1991's Beauty and the Beast and appears to have used pieces of that film as an inspiration here. The climax, in fact, is almost a direct steal (with Mom standing in for Prince Charming). In the end, Brave could have used a little of the Beauty and the Beast magic. Brave is preceded by the charming Pixar short, "La Luna," which is ultimately more worth the price of admission than the feature.

It’s never easy coping with the death of an icon, especially for a franchise as intimately associated with that icon as Cars was with Paul Newman. Yet in a shocking miscalculation, the usually brilliant folks over at Pixar coped with Newman’s death in the stupidest possible way—by transforming John Lasseter’s shiny love letter to the automobile into an unabashed vehicle for the hayseed comedy stylings of Larry The Cable Guy. Larry The Cable Guy’s hillbilly tow truck Mater must have sold a lot of toys and played like gangbusters for focus-group respondents, because Cars 2 makes the vehicular redneck its proud centerpiece. That leaves Owen Wilson, the film’s ostensible star, to fret about the state of his relationship with his best friend Mater. Itchy & Scratchy Studios didn’t push Poochie on audiences the way Cars 2 does Mater. Cars 2 sends Mater and Wilson’s Lightning McQueen on a globe-trotting trek to compete in an international Grand Prix that doubles as a showcase for an amazing new wonder-fuel. In Europe, Mater unwittingly lives out the plot of The Man Who Knew Too Little when he gets entangled in a web of intrigue involving a James Bond-style car voiced by Michael Caine and his more-than-capable associate Holley Shiftwell. Yes, in Cars 2, Mater even gets the girl. The first Cars was pitched at a much younger audience than the rest of Pixar’s oeuvre; the sequel is pitched even more directly at an even younger audience. It’s difficult to insert scatological humor into a film devoid of human bodily functions, but Cars 2 nevertheless manages to smuggle some in via Mater “leaking fluids” and at one point ending up in a lavatory truck. Cars 2 is so enraptured with Larry The Cable Guy’s persona that it even has Mater spout the comedian’s catchphrases, though the more Mater insists something is just funny right there, the less funny it becomes. This being Pixar, Cars 2 looks fantastic, but the studio has never given audiences—especially audiences over the age of 10—less reason to be emotionally invested in the beautiful shiny things flying across the screen. (Preceding the film is a clever short from the Toy Story universe involving Ken and Barbie’s crudely improvised Hawaiian vacation. This provides an unflattering reminder of what a really good Pixar sequel looks like.)

Pixar has done it again, extending an amazing streak of successes that stretches all the way back to the original Toy Story, which changed the face of feature length animation when it reached theaters in 1995. Now, 15 years after their original debut and 11 years after the first sequel, Toy Story 2, Woody (voice of Tom Hanks), Buzz (Tim Allen), and their fellow toys have returned to the screen for another adventure. Although aspects of Toy Story 3 echo similar elements from the previous films, making this the least original entry in the trilogy, the movie's final act will resonate deeply with many viewers, making this chapter in many ways the most heartfelt. From a purely artistic standpoint, Toy Story 3 is superior, although not vastly so, than its predecessors. At the time of their releases, Toy Story and Toy Story 2 were cutting edge, but the bar hasn't moved much in 11 years. The problem with this movie is the 3-D, which is the "preferred" format for its screening. The bright rainbow of colors becomes murky and washed out, with grays withering the kaleidoscope of hues. In addition, the 3-D appears to have been employed as an afterthought - there are lengthy sequences in which it either isn't used or is used minimally. I was surprised to find I could take off the 3-D glasses and, for stretches, not be confounded by blurred or double images. In the case of Toy Story 3, 3-D adds nothing except a box office surcharge. With most franchises, animated or otherwise, the well has run dry by the time the third episode is under consideration, which explains why so many second sequels fail to meet expectations. In a way, the same may be true of Toy Story 3, but it doesn't strain to be different to the point where it loses sight of its strengths. Instead, it focuses on the reasons for its popularity and amplifies those. Our familiarity with the characters and their interaction becomes an asset, making the action scenes more than displays of pixels zipping across the screen. The writing shows a deftness of touch that provides Toy Story 3 with emotional depth. And director Lee Unkrich, a Pixar fixture who co-directed Toy Story 2 (among other films), shows the same mastery of elements evident in the other Toy Story films, allowing for a seamless continuity. Toy Story 3 enhances the legacy of its brand while providing exceptional entertainment value for viewers of all ages, especially for those who favor the brighter, livelier 2-D iteration over the 3-D gimmick.

"Up" is a wonderful film, with characters who are as believable as any characters can be who spend much of their time floating above the rain forests of Venezuela. They have tempers, problems and obsessions. They are cute and goofy, but they aren't cute in the treacly way of little cartoon animals. They're cute in the human way of the animation master Hayao Miyazaki. Two of the three central characters are cranky old men, which is a wonder in this youth-obsessed era. "Up" doesn't think all heroes must be young or sweet, although the third important character is a nervy kid. This is another masterwork from Pixar, which is leading the charge in modern animation. The movie was directed by Pete Docter, who also directed "Monsters, Inc.," wrote "Toy Story" and was a co-writer on "WALL-E" before leaving to devote full time to this project. So Docter's one of the leading artists of this latest renaissance of animation. The movie will be shown in 3-D in some theaters, about which I will say nothing, except to advise you to save the extra money and see it in 2-D. One of the film's qualities that is likely to be diminished by 3-D is its subtle and beautiful color palette. "Up," like "Finding Nemo," "Toy Story," "Shrek" and "The Lion King," uses colors in a way particularly suited to its content. "Up" tells a story as tickling to the imagination as the magical animated films of my childhood, when I naively thought that because their colors were brighter, their character outlines more defined and their plots simpler, they were actually more realistic than regular films. With vast inside spaces, the airship is outfitted like a great ocean liner from the golden age, with a stately dining room, long corridors, a display space rivaling the Natural History Museum and an attic spacious enough to harbor fighter planes. Muntz, who must be a centenarian by now, is hale, hearty and mean, his solitary life shared only by robotic dogs. The adventures on the jungle plateau are satisfying in a Mummy/Tomb Raider/Indiana Jones sort of way. But they aren't the whole point of the film. This isn't a movie like "Monsters vs. Aliens," which is mostly just frenetic action. There are stakes here, and personalities involved, and two old men battling for meaning in their lives. And a kid who, for once, isn't smarter than all the adults. And a loyal dog. And an animal sidekick. And always that house and those balloons.

The picture feels weirdly, and disappointingly, disjointed, something that starts out as poetry and ends as product. In a devastated and abandoned world of the future, in a city which once was presumably New York, the only signs of life are a cockroach and a small mechanical robot - Waste Allocation Land Lifter – Earth Class, known as Wall-E. Wall-E industriously collects trash and converts it into neat square blocks. He’s a hoarder who collects all sorts of stuff including a video with a couple of sequences from the 1969 musical HELLO DOLLY, which, for him, represents happy, romantic humanity. Then a probe from outer space arrives bringing with it a pure white robot with blue eyes – Wall-E calls her Eve. Recovering from the less-than-appealing CARS, the Pixar team have come up with an almost experimental animated film with WALL-E; for most of the movie there’s no dialogue at all as we watch the little robot go about his tasks or hunker down in his restricted world. This is all very cleverly done and the romance between the robots is quite touching. Later the film literally expands its horizons as it moves into outer space to see what happened to the human beings who abandoned their dying planet years earlier. Yes, this is a message movie, a cautionary tale about how we’re destroying our environment, but the bitter pill is packaged in such a way that children and adults of all ages should enjoy the lecture. Director Andrew Stanton has pulled off a remarkable achievement here. The feature is preceded, by the way, by one of those very funny Pixar short films, this time about a magician and a very strong-willed rabbit.

Describe the plot of Ratatouille to most and they’ll likely turn up their nose as if assaulted by a bad smell. It’s about a rat who yearns to be a chef. That’s not cute, that’s not flip and postmodern. Couldn’t we make it a giraffe who wants to play golf, or a hippo who dreams of being a stunt-hippo, or a gerbil who aspires to play lead guitar in a heavy-metal band (please note, second-tier animation studios - these concepts are copyright Empire)? What’s cool about a rat in a kitchen? Isn’t it, like, kinda gross? Au contraire, mes amis. After five minutes of Ratatouille you start getting excited about the time when you can buy it on DVD to use as life therapy, like a soothing bath or a dose of Librium. It may be Pixar’s masterpiece, but why quibble over niceties when they keep delivering stories this rich? Even amongst the Hawaiian-shirted big brains of the Pixar think-tank, Brad Bird is taking on an auteurish hue for the fabulousness of his creations. It’s farce and poetry both, able to make thrilling gearshifts from poignant characterisation into madcap as the film spills onto the streets to create chase sequences worthy of Chuck Jones or Fred Quimby. Visually, nothing is beyond these guys. From the fineness of Remy’s fur to the rain-slicked cobbles of the City Of Lights, they somehow grant synthesised surfaces the textures of life. Yet, the animation is at once extraordinary and hardly the point. So deft is the hand of Pixar that you are allowed to take their raptures of detail for granted - the incidental art is slave to the story. Pixar are not really animators at all, but storytellers par excellence whose carving knife happens to be a computer mouse. By the third act, the standard recipe would be for Linguini to be de-toqued, the diminutive hero exposed and the villainous Skinner to be felled. That, though, is just one of the plot strands Bird has woven. Amid the flurry of impeccably timed disaster, Anton Ego will emerge from his coffin-shaped parlour to test this unforeseen turn-around at Gusteau’s and prove a salutary lesson for any critic as to their own worth. “Surprise me,” he sneers to the waiter, with the kind of disdain normally associated with Lady Bracknell or Daily Mail readers. So fully have you sunk into this animated world, so blurred are its joins with real life, that the resulting dish (designed with the help of hip chef Thomas Keller) lifts the film to rank alongside Babette’s Feast, Big Night or Ang Lee’s Taiwanese trilogy as literally mouth-watering. Although it rather takes the Happy Meal tie-in off the agenda. It is impossible not to read Remy as a straight metaphor for Bird or Pixar as a whole. They are unable to let the soup sour when the perfect mix of flavours can be reached. But the message may be more democratic - not everyone can be a great artist, but true art can come from anywhere. Bird is an artist who looks deep into humans (even in rat form) and sees something magic. His films feel like gifts. That feeling you have as you leave the cinema - that buzzing in the fingers and lightness in the heart - is called joy.

It’s a testament to the ludicrously high standards Pixar has set itself that Cars can be considered in any way a disappointment. It leaves the CG output of every other studio choking in its spectacularly rendered dust, yet somehow, somewhere in this well-oiled, staggeringly beautiful machine somebody has omitted a small but crucial cog. It just doesn’t quite run with the smooth hum of fun we’ve come to expect of history’s greatest animation house. There is no question that Cars is Pixar’s greatest visual achievement. Those geniuses chez Lightyear have long recognised that the best computer animation is not obsessed with realism but detail (just look at the sinister Polar Express to see how off-putting it can be when that balance is out of whack). Everything in Cars is clearly of a bulbous, shiny cartoon world, but is so exquisitely crafted that the reflection off the hood of a speeding racer or the neon miasma bathing a midnight town is almost enough to make you openly weep in the cinema. There is not a single flaw on the face of this film; it’s like Angelina Jolie with hubcaps. Pretty visuals are only part of what we’ve come to expect of the Pixar experience, though. As a piece of storytelling, Cars sometimes has a sluggishness that is all the more surprising considering it’s directed by animation god John Lasseter, back behind the wheel for the first time since Toy Story 2. With a core message about getting out of the fast lane and enjoying the slow scenic route, it’s a story designed for a middle-aged man, not a sugar-fuelled pre-teen for whom the fast lane is never fast enough — and like any middle-aged man, it’s carrying a little excess flab. It starts lean and energetic. The opening, featuring **** racer Lightning McQueen whizzing around the track, is a breakneck action sequence that could sit happily in any live-action film. In animation, editing and pacing it is near flawless, and one of the most exciting scenes of the summer. So when a later motorway mishap lands McQueen in the derelict town of Radiator Springs, where the most spectacular auto is an emotionally unstable fire engine and a day when holidaying people-carriers pop through is considered eventful, it’s hard not to yearn for the heady roar of the race track. It’s not that McQueen’s cohorts in the town are dull; it’s just that they’re not especially funny. With the possible exception of rustbucket tow-truck Mater, it’s unlikely you’ll remember any of them after the closing credits in the same way you do such incidental characters as Toy Story’s Rex, mini-Incredible Jack-Jack or that stoned surfer turtle from Finding Nemo. Pixar without funny is like Disney without animal sidekicks or Miyazaki without that bit you didn’t really understand but still kinda liked — it’s recognisable, but it just feels off. In contrast with the film’s message, Radiator Springs is a nice place to hang out for a while, but you wouldn’t want to live there. Which makes it a great relief when the movie’s ending turns out to be such a humdinger. Bringing the slow and fast lanes together in glorious fashion, it makes sense of the movie’s duller sections and uses them to invest the action with emotion. It’s a finale so full of joy, imagination and technical brilliance that you forgive Lasseter the previous storytelling flaws and, teamed with what might be the greatest Pixar credits gag to date, means you’ll leave the movie on a petrol-induced high.

The Incredibles may become the first Disney/Pixar film not to dominate at the box office. That statement has nothing to do with the film's quality - in fact, The Incredibles is among the best of Pixar's digitally animated movies. However, it's going up against The Polar Express, which has a number of advantages, not the least of which are its built-in audience and seasonal appeal. More than anything else, The Incredibles is likely to be a victim of bad timing. Don't shed any tears for its makers, however. The film will still keep the cash registers ringing until it attains "blockbuster" status, although it won't be the runaway hit that Pixar's last production, Finding Nemo, was. As the crop of digitally animated films becomes more abundant, audiences are likely to demand increasingly more from such movies. The early efforts mostly had everything: beautiful visuals, great voice acting, and superior writing. But, as more of these pictures reach screens and they become "routine," it's natural to speculate whether there will be a slip in quality. Fortunately, such a trend (if it ever develops) is not in evidence in The Incredibles. As with Toy Story and Finding Nemo, Pixar has again struck gold. The Incredibles isn't just fine family entertainment, it's superior family entertainment. One thing immediately noticeable about this picture is that it is markedly more mature in tone and approach than any previous digitally animated movie (excepting Final Fantasy, which was intended for - and did not reach - an entirely different audience). That's not to say that kids, even young ones, won't enjoy The Incredibles, but it appears that writer/director Brad Bird composed his film with older children and their parents in mind. Also, because of the long running time (nearly two hours), boys and girls prone to restlessness may have trouble sitting through everything. With its amazing variety of locations (the streets of a city, under the sea, a tropical island, etc.), The Incredibles may be the most visually daunting animated film to reach the screen to-date. And it's close to flawless. Only the people are rendered more like cartoons than reality, and that's a conscious decision. (If you want to see almost-real humans, The Polar Express is the closest you're likely to get at this time.) Digital animation has become so commonplace that we take its detail for granted, but a little consideration of the needed effort will result in a reaction not far removed from awe. Although The Incredibles has plenty of action (including chases and battle scenes), its strength is that it makes the characters and their relationships more important than the fights and pyrotechnics. This is a close family - they just happen to possess some rather unusual abilities. Think Spy Kids, only animated. Mr. Incredible and Elastigirl are still in love, even after 15 years of marriage (although she has adjusted better than him to domestic life). The children have believable love/hate relationships with their parents. Dash is willful and disobedient because he's bored - he wants to use his super-speed to excel in sports. And Violet has entered that gawky stage of life when her body becomes uncomfortable to inhabit. She uses her invisibility to spy on a boy she likes without being seen. The film's director is Brad Bird, who fashioned the uncommon The Iron Giant, a traditionally animated effort that has developed a large following amongst adults. For his latest outing, Bird keeps the same audience in mind. Where some animated movies attract adults using pop references and sly one-liners, Bird keeps older viewers interested by not dumbing down his screenplay. It's inevitable that some of The Incredibles' themes (such as that of a middle-age crisis) will go over the heads of kids, but it won't hurt the experience for them. They'll still thrill to the action scenes and laugh at the jokes. And they'll get the overall message about parents being the most important superheroes. But Bird's approach makes this a richer and more worthwhile experience for the over-18 crowd. No need to don a trenchcoat and sneak into this movie. Ever wonder whether retired superheroes are subject to widening midsections and bad backs? Do they have problems with male pattern baldness? Wonder no longer. Those are just a few of the lighter questions that The Incredibles answers. Bird's feature is appropriately titled - it describes how most viewers will react to this exemplary mixture of top-notch storytelling, visual razzle-dazzle, accessible humor, and involving action. The Incredibles is without question one of 2004's most accomplished and enjoyable family-oriented films.

The more things change, the more they stay the same. As we enter the summer of 2003, Walt Disney Pictures reigns supreme as the distributor of the best animated fare. Yet, less than a dozen years after Beauty and the Beast became the first (and thus far only) animated film nominated for a Best Picture Oscar, Disney's in-house animated division has degraded to the point where it's a pale shadow of its former self. However, by acquiring the exclusive North American distribution rights for the films of Japanese master Hayao Miyazaki and by entering into a partnership with Pixar Films, Disney has managed to maintain its position atop the mountain, despite furious challenges from Dreamworks and Fox. Without either of those deals – especially the Pixar one – Disney's once unassailable position might have been lost. The movies of the Pixar canon – Toy Story and its sequel, A Bug's Life, Monsters Inc. – have all been critical and box office successes. There is no reason to believe things will change with Finding Nemo. Visually, the film is just as jaw-dropping as its predecessors (if not more so). From a narrative standpoint, it's not quite as ambitious as some of the earlier movies, but it has enough juice to keep things moving for 100 minutes. And, as always, the voice casting is perfect. Throw in a moral, and some nice touches of technical accuracy (that fish keepers will appreciate), and the movie represents the best family film to-date of 2003. Pixar films always contain thematic content, and this one is no different. It touches on the issues of how a parent's natural protective instincts can drive away a child, and how children, no matter how desperately they crave independence, still need their families. None of this is presented in a heavy-handed manner. Instead, it's offered in such a way that even the younger members of the audience will understand what the film is saying without feeling like they're being subjected to a sermon. There's also a message about the importance of diversity and harmony, as a wide variety of animal species band together to help Marlin as he searches for his lost son. Finding Nemo is every bit as humorous as Monsters Inc., although some of the comedy is more low-key. Having experienced comedians like Albert Brooks and Ellen DeGeneres as the lead voices helps immeasurably. Brooks, as is his forte, makes Marlin sound constantly beleaguered. DeGeneres is a hoot as the tang with no short term memory. Willem Defoe brings an initial whiff of the sinister to his part as Nemo's older, larger tankmate. Other voices include Alison Janney, Austin Pendleton, and Geoffrey Rush as a helpful pelican. Director Andrew Stanton has opted to animate some of the fish realistically, while using artistic license with others. The clownfish and hippo tang, for example, look almost identical to their real-life counterparts. The sea horses and turtles, however, have some of their rough edges smoothed out, making them cuter and more child-friendly. Overall, Finding Nemo is a treasure trove of visual splendor. From the opening scenes on the coral reef with Marlin taking up residence in his new anemone to the cheesy insides of Nemo's aquarium cage, the film is colorful and amazingly detailed. Every time I view a Pixar film, I am stunned at how much there is to see. Finding Nemo proves that the computer animators can do as much under water as above it. I wonder if Finding Nemo will fuel an upsurge in interest in salt water aquariums. To be sure, clowns are interesting fish to keep, but only for those with a little patience. Children expecting their pets to exhibit the characteristics of Marlin and Nemo will likely be disappointed. Nevertheless, ecological considerations aside, there's nothing to gripe about where Finding Nemo is concerned. Pixar has done it again, and, in the process, managed to salvage Disney's reputation – at least for a little longer.

Remember when, as a child, you used to fear the monster under the bed or in the closet - how your parents would tell you to go to sleep, that it wasn't real? Monsters, Inc. confirms what every child really knows - the things that go bump in the night have more substance than silly grown ups recognize. Brought to the screen by the marriage of Disney and Pixar, Monsters, Inc. is the fourth computer animated motion picture offspring of this union. Like its older siblings, Toy Story, A Bug's Life, and Toy Story 2, Monsters, Inc. is a triumph of storytelling. Each new movie of this sort raises the bar a little more, and, while Monsters, Inc. doesn't eclipse Dreamworks' Shrek, it comes close. There's a world out there, somewhere under the rainbow, where monsters live. The sprawling city where they go about their daily lives is called Monstropolis - a vast, bustling place populated by all sorts of misshapen creatures who would cause the average human child to crawl under the covers. Energy in Monstropolis comes from an unusual source - the screams of children. Employees working for mega-corporation Monsters, Inc. go through gateways into the bedroom of human kids on Earth, frighten them into screaming, capture the energy from the screams, and convert it to electricity in Monstropolis. But, since children are becoming harder to scare, Monstropolis is facing a "scream shortage." Everything that was true of the two Toy Story movies and A Bug's Life can be said about Monsters, Inc. - this is the kind of movie that works on multiple levels - as fast-moving, lively fun for children and as slyly written, visually impressive entertainment for adults. Monsters, Inc. is one of those rare family films that parents can enjoy (rather than endure) along with their kids. And childless individuals venturing into a theater showing this picture need not worry that they'll be viewed as deviants - Monsters, Inc. is capable of drawing audience members from across the age spectrum. The older the viewer, the more in-jokes they'll get. Most everyone will appreciate the "Don't Stalk" street sign and the tabloid newspaper called "The Glob". But it will take someone with a little more sophistication than the average 10-year old to get a chuckle out of the club named "Harryhausen's". From a visual standpoint, Monsters, Inc. is a small step forward from Toy Story 2 in its variety, richness of design, and background detail. I say a "small step" because Toy Story 2 was strong in all of these areas - Monsters, Inc. is just a little better. The great strength of the previous Pixar films, as well as Shrek, is that they offer a genuine emotional component that runs deeper than that of the run-of-the-mill animated feature. Such is the case here, where the attachment between burly Sulley and tiny Boo touches the heart. Part of it is because the animators have pulled out all the stops in making Boo shamelessly cute, but it does the job. The little girl brings out Sulley's soft side and smoothes some of Mike's rough edges. (As in Shrek, the animators opt to make the human characters somewhat "unreal", rather than going the Final Fantasy route and attempting to replicate actual human appearance.) Monsters, Inc. manages to last 90 minutes without a single song. Too often, music has become a crutch in animated productions (rather than the asset it can be when used appropriately). The fact that Monsters, Inc. doesn't need Randy Newman songs sprinkled throughout (although there is one during the end credits) is a testimony to the strength of the writing and the vocal characterizations. John Goodman and Billy Crystal make for an effective odd couple (in a break from tradition, they recorded their parts together, rather than separately). James Coburn is suitably dignified as Henry J. Waternoose, the owner of Monsters, Inc. Jennifer Tilly lends her helium-like voice to Celia, Mike's girlfriend; Steve Buscemi is hardly recognizable as the diabolical Randall; and Mary Gibbs' baby-talk makes Boo all the more adorable. Monsters, Inc. reaffirms the fact that a good animated film can be every bit as stimulating and emotionally satisfying a motion picture as a high quality live action endeavor. While this movie may threaten to be swamped by Harry Potter mania this fall, it definitely deserves to be seen. Young Mr. Potter may practice magic, but Monsters, Inc. is nothing short of enchanting.

Four years ago, the release of Toy Story forever changed the face of animated motion pictures. The astonishing, three-dimensional quality of John Lasseter's work amazed both average movie-goers and hard-to-impress critics. Now, in 1999, the toys are back. While not as innovative as the original Toy Story, Toy Story 2 is a worthy successor. The sequel picks up where the landmark original left off, and tells an enjoyable story without retreading everything that has gone before. Those who appreciated the first movie are virtually guaranteed to like the second, which represents family filmmaking at its best. All the elements that made Toy Story popular are present in this installment. Toy Story 2 makes Pixar three-for-three in the feature film arena and is sure to continue Disney's string of animated hits. One would have to be a hopeless curmudgeon not to be entertained by Toy Story 2's remarkable visual style, quick-moving storyline, endearing characters, and witty dialogue. The balance between what has been included for kids and what's there for adults is almost perfect. There are things that children will appreciate more than their parents, but other elements will go over the heads of shorter viewers. However, the majority of what Toy Story 2 offers will delight everyone in the audience, regardless of their physical or mental age. Reportedly, Toy Story 2 was originally slated for a direct-to-video release, but Disney eventually opted for theatrical distribution instead (all of The Magic Kingdom's recent animated sequels, including further chapters in the Aladdin, Beauty and the Beast, and Lion King sagas, have bypassed theaters). After viewing the final product, it's difficult for me to believe that this movie was ever intended for the ignominy of a Blockbuster premiere. Like Toy Story and A Bug's Life, Toy Story 2 has a richness of texture and detail that will be lost on smaller screens. Only in a theater is it possible to fully appreciate the benefits of computer animation, where every blade of grass, mote of dust, and hair on a dog's body has its own identity, and where the branches of a tree sway to the prompting **** breeze. And, while computer animation has drawbacks (for example, the humans are saddled with an artificial appearance), those are significantly outweighed by the benefits. Toy Story 2 contains some great moments. From a purely visual standpoint, few are better than the opening scenes, which show Buzz Lightyear zipping around the galaxy, ready to do battle with his Darth Vader-like nemesis, Zurg. With its ever-changing camera angles and intricately rendered detail, the sequence cannot fail to dazzle. Equally impressive are scenes where the toys attempt a "safe" crossing of a busy street (using red cones) and Buzz's visit to the "Buzz Lightyear" aisle in a Toys 'R Us-type toy store. Parodies are kept to a minimum, although there's a funny takeoff on a key element of the Star Wars series in addition to a quick, throw-away moment lifted from Jurassic Park. The movie also pokes fun at its own merchandising, even going so far as to offer a blueprint for a possible Toy Story video game. The camerawork is more interesting here than in either Toy Story or A Bug's Life. A real effort is made to duplicate the kinds of shots obtained though live-action cinematography. The camera moves around. There are distant shots and close ups. Lighting and filters are used to establish a mood (as in Jessie's remembrance of her days when she was a beloved toy). And there are times when techniques are employed to suggest a depth of field (such as making background objects slightly blurry). Voice casting is as good the second time around as it was the first. The principals are all back - Tom Hanks as the irrepressible Woody; Tim Allen as the heroic Buzz; Don Rickles as Mr. Potatohead; John Ratzenberger as Hamm, the piggy bank who keeps losing his change; Jim Varney as the stretchable slinky dog; and Annie Potts as Woody's flame, Bo Peep. New additions include Joan Cusack as Jessie the Cowgirl; Kelsey Grammar (who has one of the most versatile voices in the business) as Stinky Pete the Prospector; Wayne Knight as the unscrupulous toy salesman Al; and The Little Mermaid herself, Jodi Benson, as Tour Guide Barbie. It's a testimony to the skill of directors John Lasseter (who went solo on the original Toy Story), Lee Unkrich, and Ash Brannon that we develop such a strong bond with a group of computer generated toys. And, while Toy Story 2 isn't quite the achievement that its predecessor represented, it is nevertheless one of the best examples of family entertainment that 1999 has offered.

It's almost a shame that A Bug's Life is debuting so close in the wake of Antz (although, to be fair, the latter film was the first to enter production). No matter when the Pixar/Disney production reached theaters, comparisons between the two computer-animated insect movies would be inevitable, but, with only seven weeks separating their openings, those comparisons will be more intense. Fortunately, A Bug's Life can withstand the scrutiny. Despite a number of similarities to Antz, there are enough variations in plot and tone to warrant another visit to the unique and wondrous world existing beneath the blades of grass. In a head-to-head comparison, it's easy to make an argument for either Antz or A Bug's Life as the best entry in almost every category that the two share. Antz contains somewhat more mature content; A Bug's Life is designed a little more with kids in mind. However, as is true of Antz, the story presented in A Bug's Life works well on two levels. Children will appreciate the likable characters and fast-paced adventure; adults will marvel at the skillful animation and subtle humor. For "star power," Antz undeniably comes out on top, with instantly-recognizable names like Woody Allen, Sylvester Stallone, Sharon Stone, and Gene Hackman (as opposed to David Foley, Denis Leary, Julia Louis-Dreyfus, and Kevin Spacey). But it's important to note that immediate voice recognition doesn't necessarily add anything to a performance (although, admittedly, it's fun to hear the banter between Allen and Stallone). The vocal acting in A Bug's Life is no less accomplished or effective than that in Antz. Visually, the films are both brilliantly detailed and wonderfully textured. A Bug's Life gives new dimensions to the diminutive world - a place where raindrops are dangerous projectiles, single berries provide full meals, and the most feared enemy is a bird. And, while most of Antz relies on earthy tones, A Bug's Life explodes with a cacophony of color. Of the three computer-animated feature length films to reach the screen thus far, this is the most dazzling. One thing A Bug's Life has that Antz does not is a ingenious series of end credits. Instead of just the latest lame Randy Newman song warbling over scrolling names, we are presented with a collection of mocked-up outtakes that parody the kinds of flubs and goofs which have come to decorate the credits of numerous comedies. It's brilliant in both conception and execution, and one could make a solid case that the last three minutes of A Bug's Life are its best. I wouldn't go that far, but this is definitely a movie when it's a good idea not to run for the exit as soon as the story ends. Pixar is the studio that first brought a full-length computer-generated feature to the screen with 1995's Toy Story, and, by adding A Bug's Life to their resume, they have established themselves as a force to be reckoned with not only in the realm of animated films, but in that of family entertainment in general. (Disney must be delighted to be in partnership with them.) Co-directors John Lasseter and Andrew Stanton understand that every story, even one with such an intense focus on visual elements, begins with a script and characters. A Bug's Life, like Toy Story, develops protagonists we can root for, and places them in the midst of a fast-moving, energetic adventure. And, while Antz and A Bug's Life each work well enough on their own, they are best when seen in concert, if only to compare and contrast the fine craft evident in such top-notch examples of family entertainment.