PIRATES OF THE CARIBBEAN: AT WORLD'S END [2007]

It’s nearly summertime. Moviemakers dig their gold. Scriptwriters throw the Scriptwriting for Dummies out of the window. Cinemas would shake with tons of explosions. Plotlines don’t matter anymore. And if PIRATES OF THE CARIBBEAN: AT WORLD’S END would be released in any other time of the year but summer, I couldn’t have forgiven its throwaway popcorn bloatedness.

These PIRATES movies had always been a fun experience: CURSE OF THE BLACK PEARL was an unexpected surprise by Disney and a normal event for Jerry Bruckheimer (damn this bloke, he had produced gazillions of ka-ching already), DEAD MAN’S CHEST was even better with classic adventure scenes, loads of humour and a villain in the name of Davy Jones that rocked the whole ocean of CGI-created screen characters. I must admit, I enjoyed AT WORLD’S END including its ocean lore oddity, high-flying action scenes, blend of humour, horror, adventure, romance and a bittersweet ending that ends this trilogy in a good tone (well, so far as Bruckheimer’s eyes would turn into golden dollar signs again, there would have to be a likely PIRATES 4). However, in this three-quel, there are setbacks, failures, flaws and loads of stumbles. If you’re telling me that the definition of a really good movie includes a script overwrought with dialogues as though it had been written by a scriptwriter who had forgotten to edit after the whole thing was shot, and including a massive sea of a film filled with characters which almost half of them were completely useless to the major plot, and including a mischievous dealings with double-crossing, triple-crossing, quadruple-crossing pirates, and including a scene of a goddess revival turning into a giant that became one of the most goofy, laughable scenes that screamed of silliness ever filmed in history, and including a long climax in a maelstrom with our beloved characters seemed to have defied the force of gravity swinging from Black Pearl to Flying Dutchman – then sorry, I might have left my brain somewhere in the ridiculously white Davy Jones’ Locker. There are loads of inclusions in this third film, and running for 168 minutes or 2 hours and 48 minutes, fortunately it kept me awake (explosions perhaps or was it the roaring whirlpool?).

SPOILERS ALERT!

From the very beginning of the film, it felt uninspired or maybe odd (what’s the right word). It was a bit grim perhaps, seeing all these Tortugan dwellers involved in piracy being executed by Lord Beckett and then a young boy broke out into a silent song, as the whole villagers joined in chorus, continued by Keira Knightley’s Elizabeth Swann surreptitiously rowing the rivers of Singapore in her singing voice – I could have outrageously thought this was PIRATES OF THE CARIBBEAN: THE MUSICAL. This has a dull opening, compared to DEAD MAN’S CHEST’s brilliant dramatic entrance of Swann in her wedding dress waiting under the rain. So the film continued and the pursuit of Chow Yun Fat’s assistance as Pirate Lord Sao Feng of Singapore didn’t do so much to the whole major plot and the first action sequence in Singapore was tedious.

Then there was the trip to the World’s End where Davy Jones’ Locker was supposed to be located. I could have imagined this place better than just introducing the world’s most nutty pirate ever Captain Jack Sparrow in a completely white-stoned desert with the Black Pearl ship. When Tia Dalma uttered that Sparrow was in a place worse than hell, the vision in my mind includes some forbidden, impenetrable depths of the ocean where eerie souls swam and light was void. But then again, Sparrow was a bit mental at that point. Place forgiven.

Then there’s the dealings between Sparrow and Beckett of the East India Trading Company, and double-crosses by Sao Feng, and another double-cross by Orlando Bloom’s William Turner and more triple and quadruple-crosses by Sparrow again. Such dealings convolute the whole plot. But then again, they’re all pirates. Identities forgiven.

Then there’s the rowdy Brethren Court composed of the Nine Pirate Lords held at the mouth-gaping set-piece of Shipwreck Cove. Hell, only Knightley’s former-damsel-in-distress-turned-Captain Swann, Johnny Depp’s Captain Sparrow and Geoffrey Rush’s Captain Barbossa were the useful bits, the rest of the Lords were utterly insignificant. The meeting scene was a scriptwriting mess as they try to inject jokes and gags in it, thanks to Keith Richards for appearing as Sparrow’s father Captain Teague. His face doesn’t need more prosthetics to make him more ruthless-looking. But then again, even though the meeting was a slight mess, politics is forgiven.

Then there’s the Calypso plot. This was where AT WORLD’S END somehow loses its grip. We somehow see the human side of Davy Jones and his backstory but freeing Calypso and turning her into a 50-foot woman felt outlandish, even more so silly. I just couldn’t see how a Scandinavian Kraken and a Greek mythology goddess being adapted together in a movie series. Now this couldn’t be forgiven because the emancipation of Calypso fell loosely plot-wise and didn’t resolve much of Davy Jones’ carve-your-heart-out story.

Finally there’s the climax: long, complexly shot, overexcited, overwrought, and impeccably defined the new term “blockbustering”. Somehow I liked the final battle scenes in the maelstrom with Flying Dutchman and Black Pearl swirling around it. Jack Sparrow flying with ropes as though Newton didn’t actually discover the force of gravity; Elizabeth Swann doing all-girl power with her swashbuckling gravitas; and don’t forget the wildest wedding ceremony ever. I just couldn’t help but notice also that the rest of the Pirate Lords were annoyingly a waste of time as they just stand on guard without doing anything but watch the Black Pearl-Flying Dutchman showdown.

There’s too many Johnny Depps in this film, and too much more of Keira Knightley which was nice. Depp, in all his swaggering form and faux-drunkenness, still rules the ship with a performance that saves the whole film out of the woozy depths. His Captain Jack Sparrow would remain to be one of the most iconic characters in cinema history now. The revival of Geoffrey Rush as Captain Barbossa was splendid, and he adds to the fun of the ride. Chow Yun Fat as Captain Sao Feng was underused and didn’t do so much for the plot, except when he passed onto Elizabeth Swann his commanding position. Orlando Bloom was a tad steely but still made up for his screen Disney-ish charm. Keira Knightley is magnificent and she carried the performance really well as she bellowed Braveheart-ian cries. I feel sorry for Jack Davenport’s Commodore Norrington which was done and over with quite so suddenly, even though he had done so much for DEAD MAN’S CHEST, and for Naoime Harris as Tia Dalma slash Calypso slash 50-Foot Woman who was underdeveloped in the film. And of course, who could ever forget Bill Nighy as the tempestuous, overbearing, tentacle-faced Davy Jones with a performance as fierce as his stares.

AT WORLD’S END, there’s too much dialogues, too much unnecessary gags, too much insignificant subplots, and too much blockbustering. Thank God to the explosive climax and the bittersweet resolution of Elizabeth and Will’s story which add emotion to the rugged vista of tentacles and pirates. The classic swashbuckling swordfight in a rolling windmill at DEAD MAN’S CHEST is still unsurpassed, and ending a trilogy with this is both satisfying and disappointing. Satisfying because technically speaking, the visual effects in this film are jaw-dropping, very entertaining and absolutely superb. Kudos also to Hans Zimmer for creating the fantastic, almost Wagnerian, musical score. Disappointing because of its plot (and mostly the unnecessary subplots); it’s convoluted and they could have cut the film out of 30 minutes and they could still produce a sensible actioner. And its denouement, it felt as though it was taking forever to grab hold. Seriously, the film doesn’t know how to end its story.

For me it’s quite easy to say that out of the three, AT WORLD’S END is the weakest link. It’s not a bad film, mind you, but director Gore Verbinski might have lost his subtlety he had woven in his former Pirates films and rather pulled the strings way harder on this one. Maybe it’s just me who’s being too critical. Or maybe I’m like Johnny Depp who’s seeing alter-egos around me, starting to become mental.

RATING: B

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CHARLOTTE'S WEB [2006]

In the universe that consists of farms, barnyards, cutesey kids, and talking pigs – one name rules them all, BABE. However, this oh-my-God-these-animals-could-talk CHARLOTTE’S WEB is a certain wannabe. It’s fun, kid-friendly, family-huggable, colourful but sincerely speaking not as great as the real pig.

Based on the classic children’s book of the same title by E. B. White (I haven’t read it so don’t rub it in), it’s a nice depiction of a handsome looking farm with a normal living family with a not-so-normal kid in the name of Fern (played by Dakota Fanning), who saves the life of a young pig from being killed because he’s an extra pig and that he had no extra nipple from mama pig for him to suck on. He was named soon as Wilbur, and Fern took care of him. And as soon as Wilbur gets to know his world, he discovers the animals could talk, the sheep, the cows, the horse, the rat, and a spider named Charlotte A. Cavatica (nifty name for a spider, I didn’t know spiders have surnames, ya know).

Voiced by marquee-named stars such as Julia Roberts as Charlotte, Oprah Winfrey as Gussy the gander, Robert Redford as the horse, Kathy Bates as the cow, John Cleese as the sheep, Steve Buscemi as the rat, and Thomas Hayden Church as the crow (pardon me, can’t remember all their character names), as usual they were all usurped by a magnificent presence by this young wunderkind in the name of Dakota Fanning. I couldn’t really remember any film with Fanning in it in which she doesn’t shine at all, it must be her hair, or her eyes, or I don’t know. Fanning’s performance is as genuine as it could be as the pig-concerned Fern. Stand-out voice performances were from Julia Roberts, Steve Buscemi and Thomas Hayden Church as the really, really hilarious crow, always glimmering at the scarecrow in the cornfield saying “Gosh, he doesn’t really move at all, doesn’t he? All these months, he doesn’t even move an inch!” Meanwhile, Oprah Winfrey as the gander disappoints me, she feels as if she was reading her lines, not saying it.

The central message of this film made me feel a tingle deep within my ribcage. Especially Charlotte’s relentless belief for Wilbur that he’s a pig of some sort, and that the importance of a perfectly chosen word could sometimes save a life. I like this little tale about self-sacrifice, how Charlotte, although she’s as tiny as a grub that could be easily squashed, did something really big to a friend by helping him escape from being butchered at Christmas dinner.

CHARLOTTE’S WEB is far from a great film, flawed for obvious reasons. It’s not as classic as BABE, but its message of friendship certainly is. (Don’t forget that BABE is the only animal-talking film that was nominated for 7 Academy Awards including Best Pic, it takes the old one-two to beat that!) Kids would adore this film, and technically speaking, it’s a luscious looking picture filled with believable cinematic effects. Damn, these animals could talk.

Rating: B

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SAVING PRIVATE RYAN [1998]

There is a scene in SAVING PRIVATE RYAN that shows a mother in her kitchen, washing the dishes while looking outside the window. In the speck of horizon, rolling along the golden fields was an army vehicle. As soon as she saw it, she gasped involuntarily and her eyes were steeled. The mother clutched her own hands as she rushed outside greeted by a sad look of the Army chief, and before the news came out of their mouths, she knew it as soon as she fall into her knees. She just lost three sons in the D-Day war.

It’s only one of the most haunting scenes this magnificent war film by classy auteur Steven Spielberg has to offer. SAVING PRIVATE RYAN, along with its compellingly realistic cinematography, intense musical sore, fine performances, and especially the monumental direction, is one of the best-made war films of all time. Shame it lost to love-romance flick SHAKESPEARE IN LOVE in the battle of Oscar Best Pic (one of Oscar history’s greatest Best Pic upset, reminiscent of BROKEBACK MOUNTAIN’s loss to CRASH).

This is a film about indelible, pure, unadulterated heroism. Even just the story itself is such a heroic depiction of courage and bravery. A band of soldiers were sent to save Pvt. Ryan by the Army Chief of Staff, the only one alive out of the killed Ryan brothers, to boost the morale of the army front and not to waste any more life that would put a mother into a disparaging grief. Eight men, as they grumbled “This Ryan better be worth it”, were seen to have families as well, putting their lives in great peril beyond enemy lines. These eight soldiers, as they marched into the battlefields, were reduced from being war machines into struggling, terrified humans being commanded to save another life.

Hands down for Spielberg for knowing his material by heart. Choosing Tom Hanks as the ex-teacher-turned-soldier Capt. Miller was a fine pursuit. He caricatures Miller as a soldier who knows his codes backwards yet gripped to the point where he loses his confidence when enemies fire guns in front of him; like any other human, like what Jack Nicholson said in his memorable line in THE DEPARTED “When we are facing a gun, what’s the difference?” Characters of humanity shares echoes in this film, examples of Matt Damon as Pvt. James Francis Ryan, Tom Sizemore as Sergeant Mike Horvath, Giovanni Ribisi as the medic Erwin Wade, and most of all, one of SAVING PRIVATE RYAN’s central depiction of human foolery, the translator-turned-warzone-combatant Timothy Upham played by an amazing performance by Jeremy Davies. It’s him that gives the tale about the loss of innocence in war. A typewriter-fastened laddie forced to join the search to help translate the language into Germans, a media person compelled to hold a gun for the sake of his life.

Hands down as well to cinematography Janusz Kaminski (who also brought us the black-and-white vista of the glorious SCHINDLER’S LIST), for bringing SAVING PRIVATE RYAN a realistic feel that made the prologue in Omaha Beach look like a horrifying, gritty news-reel. His pictures are dazzling, and truly impregnable. The battle in Omaha beach alone made this film transcends into the war genre and defined it more than it truly was in old war films.

In its own genre, it catapults into greatness. SAVING PRIVATE RYAN is great because it isn’t about just heroes marching to save an endangered life; it’s about humans, with the order brought upon them, a mission they would have to fulfil, to save another human’s life while saving their own necks as well. This is terrific, moving and unforgettable, cinema at its finest.

Rating: A+

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BOBBY [2006]

Robert Altman did it on his superb GOSFORD PARK. Paul Haggis crusted his own name on the moving CRASH. Now Emilio Estevez, one of Hollywood’s firebrand names, wanted to create his own ensemble thus resulting BOBBY, an intentionally good story about 22 different people set in the Ambassador Hotel before the assassination of one of America’s finest leaders, Robert Kennedy, in its own kitchen floor. The Kennedy’s demise was true as the whole nation was gripped with astounding sadness and hopelessness, as for the people in the hotel in which these characters are based, I have no effin’ clue. Ask Estevez.

BOBBY doesn’t do a CRASH for me, as what Paul Haggis had taught us that respect must come between different races. However, I realise BOBBY isn’t supposed to be a culture-clashing drama ensemble but a slightly slow-moving tale about a nation deeply wrought by a fall of the society’s most inspiring leaders. It’s about a society with malfunctions, troubles that reverberated during the 60s and 70s in America, religious factions, drug abuse, racial issues and the turbulent Vietnam War.

I found respect in Estevez no matter how inconstant his picture is, no matter how uneven and imperfect it was, flawed by obvious reasons, deluded by too many marquee stars that made this more commercial than a fire-powered indie gem. Regardless of the slow evolution of the story, sometimes with nonsense additions, Estevez is respectable and appreciable enough to handle his actors well. With sprawling names like Anthony Hopkins, Demi Moore, Sharon Stone, Laurence Fishburne, Elijah Wood, Lindsay Lohan, Martin Sheen, Helen Hunt, Ashton Kutcher, Shia LaBeouf, Heather Graham, William H. Macy, Christian Slater and Emilio Estevez himself also stars – this is one film that Robert Altman may feel skittish. Estevez had respect to his characters as well, letting each one shine in their own aspect.

As it is an ensemble, the storyline relies heavily on its characters’ shoulders: Anthony Hopkins as the Ambassador Hotel manager, his haunted stare as he greets Kennedy on his doorstep, Emilio Estevez as the husband of a trash-mouthed, heavy-drinking, monster of a wife Demi Moore, a jazz singer, Martin Sheen as the kind-hearted husband of a sophisticated, I-wanted-to-be-somebody Helen Hunt, William H. Macy as a big-named hotel employee having an affair with Heather Graham, avoiding the brows and big hair of hotel hairdresser Sharon Stone.

Somewhere in the hotel, there’s a bittersweet story of a determined teen girl (Lindsay Lohan) who is set to wed a teen boy (Elijah Wood) surreptitiously to restrain him from being sent to Vietnam. Two RFK supporters hides away from the hustle-and-bustle and engaged their selves to drug emancipation with Bee Gees look-a-like Ashton Kutcher (with the most awkward-looking performance ever). A head chef (Laurence Fishburne) is dishing up his philosophy in the kitchens as he teaches his cooks of different races about anger and violence, and several yards away, Christian Slater was fired due to his discrimination of a Mexican employee.

There are personal stories reverberating and they were set against a much bigger picture of a nation’s struggle and complexity. The film might be a tad plodding at certain junctions but BOBBY at its best gives a surprising, powerful emotional punch at its climax, telling us how a single bullet had led a whole nation to its despair and lack of hope. The usage of real footages as Kennedy delivered his last speech was haunting, combined with screen reel and the viscera of documentary feel makes this one a hard-to-beat. While not all performances are worth spending your time with, quite a few delivered memorable ones, especially Demi Moore, whose foul-mouthed character showed that there was depth beneath her heavy-lidded, drunken eyes (the scene with Sharon Stone was silent and respectable), also Sharon Stone, whose un-BASIC INSTINCT-like character had more modesty and heart as she discovers her husband’s affair. Finally, the very surprising Lindsay Lohan delivers an appropriate and clean (drug-free, alcohol-free, rehab-free) performance as the bride-to-be resolute to save his lover from being sent to Vietnam, despite of her parents’ dispute.

BOBBY gathers its echoes rather decently because it has good intentions. It’s not a biography of the late Robert Kennedy, but a tribute to the age of hopelessness, a homage to the time when two great people of different races, Martin Luther King and Kennedy himself, were inhumanly assassinated, that resulted to a nation’s despair and societal conflicts. Without the nonsense additions, the unrelated characters, and awkward moments, this film might have been better. To this result, it’s quixotic. It undermines its own greatness, yet constantly prods with the aspiration of the majestic. However, the heart-punch at the end in unnerving.

Rating: B+

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Chocolat [2000]

Definitely, one of the reasons why this film is delightful is because it plays like an interesting small-town fable. Secondly, it’s because it has chocolates. Any man of any upbringing would kneel in the glory of the luscious delicacy, while I am a frenetic fan of chocolates, especially dark ones; I find this film sweet, tingling, charming but entirely uneven and a tad lopsided.

It starts off with “once upon a time” in a tranquil little French village where everyone seemed to have glued their whole lives and spirits into the chastise of religion, controlled by the despicable Comte De Reynaud (Alfred Molina), who claims that his wife was visiting Venice but in fact could not accept that he was deserted by her. A sly wind from the North brought Vianne (Juliette Binoche) and her illegitimate daughter Anouk, two philanderers who would bring change to the whole village. They built their own Chocolatier in time for Lent, where everybody is supposed to be on fasting.

It’s hard to resist the beauty and pulchritude of chocolates but in this film, we find it a bit whimsical to look at since Vianne’s Chocolatier suddenly turns into a healing centre for the troubled ones, as though she was Mary and her shop was her Jerusalem. A domestically-abused wife finds refuge in the shop, away from her sadistic husband, an old hopeless man finds strength to utter his feelings to a widow, a severe hostility between a mother Armande (Dame Judi Dench) and a daughter (Carrie Ann Moss) was melted – all repercussions of the fluffy and sumptuous chocolates served by Vianne’s shop. From this point of the film, there is indeed some miracle happening beneath the scenes as the village people were beguiled by the power of chocolates in their lives. We think, who is Vianne really is? A witch? A voodoo priestess? A pagan goddess? Chocolat is an allegory to the cold war between religions: paganism and Christianity. And of course, since chocolates are in the pagan’s side, it’s obvious they would win in this tale.

It’s also blended with a speck of romantic-comedy, with Johnny Depp playing as Roux, one of the river folks. Shame for Depp, such a magnificent actor as he is and undoubtedly the best in his generation (the only actor today that deserved to have an Oscar but didn’t win any... erm, sorry Peter O’Toole, harrumph), his character Roux was underused, under-seen, and underdeveloped. His magnitude brings an edge of darkness to the film, counter-balancing Juliette Binoche’s immaculate prowess and beauty. Binoche however is just more than a revelation; this French actress had come along way and since her stunning breakthrough in The English Patient, she would flow into the mainstream effortlessly without doubt. In fact now, she does.

Nominated for 7 Academy Awards including Best Picture last 2001, such an affectionate tale of a woman who was brought up to fulfil a purpose, the divinity and care amongst the people, oppressed herself without love and hope for her own, was a nice but not too great choice. Love was a major element in this film, and as well, chocolate was the aphrodisiac. It passes my whims, and thank God it’s sweet enough to melt in my taste, this Chocolat. This life-affirming film holds dear to those weak-hearted, touchy-feely people, generates liking to those chocolate haters, bores the action-adventure lousies and inspires the oldie folks to give it another go (if you see what I mean, you go folks!). Kudos to Lassie Hallstrom for creating a minor trifle of a film, easy enough to watch, easy enough to expunge the boredom away.

Rating: B+

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Mulholland Drive [2001]

If you are a moviegoer that demands answers to all questions and doesn’t like finding yourself at the end of the film with your mouth hanging wide open, almost on the verge of yelling “What the hell was that about?!” – leash yourself away from Mulholland Drive as far as possible. If you have a DVD and you still haven’t seen it, throw it away in the bin or lock it up somewhere impossible to be retrieved or give it to your kiddie neighbour who wouldn’t have any clue what this film is about.
But if you are a moviegoer that indeed goes for movies, entertainment and a unique piece of filmmaking, open-minded enough to let David Lynch “mind-fuck” you with your brain being stirred into its limits with questions, senseless imagery and puzzling storylines, then Mulholland Drive is just right up your dark twisted alley. A “mind-fuck” film by the way in movie jargon means a movie that relentlessly doesn’t stop thrusting your mind with puzzles, mystery, incomprehensible signs that climaxes at the end with the viewer almost looking murderous because the film compels one to think rather vigorously. In other words, in shorter note, it simply means brain exercise.

Mulholland Drive, in fact, is one of the best mind-blowing movies I had ever seen in my whole movie-going life. After watching this film, I had definitely pulled up a fist and blamed David Lynch for assaulting my brain so much I couldn’t stop thinking about this film for weeks! Damn you, David Lynch! For being so cool, awesome and magnificently bizarre filmmaker in Hollywood today! His new magnum opus had definitely savaged and broke all filmmaking rules, and made the parlance that the more the movie made sense, the more we like it. To hell with it, Lynch tells us, in Mulholland he teaches us that the more the film makes no sense at all, the more we are attached, the more we give in, and the more we couldn’t take our eyes off.
Apparently, there is no such thing as a real story to Mulholland. But it is a cacophony of images, series of stories that sometimes interconnects, sometimes doesn’t make sense with each other, and doesn’t give a smooth storyline; it combines mood, atmosphere, anecdotes, dark and misleading characters, all entangled with each other. Each one overlaps, piles up, and intersects like each other is if you are watching a waking dream. Anyway, this is a dreamscape after all. Mulholland Drive is like having the weirdest dream; sometimes you just find yourself in a situation without realising how or why.

Lynch puts up different scenarios. It starts off with a lively vibe of 40s swing and jive dancing, then severely cuts off into a noir-ish mood in Hollywood. A black limousine was driving to Mulholland drive in Hollywood with a luscious brunette inside telling her driver why they were stopping when they’re not supposed to stop. Moments later, a car with hyper-drunk teenagers collided with their limo, leaving the brunette shocked and limped away downtown. We realised she lost her memory and creeps into a house without knowing where she was.

Next morning, a young perky, aspiring actress Betty (Naomi Watts)arrived in Los Angeles airport filled with Hollywood dreams. She stays in her Aunt’s house who was shooting in Canada and discovered the brunette in the shower. She says her name was Rita, but we audience know that she just got it from a poster in the wall of Gilda starring Rita Hayworth. Betty felt a sympathy and discovers that Rita was amnesiac, and she decides to help her.

The movie then introduced another character which felt completely unattached to the plot. A movie director (Justin Theroux) argued with the picture company and demands for the right actress suited for his movie. Then a deluge of senseless images ensued; a dwarfish man in an isolated room made a call in her mobile; a phone rang in another scene; another phone rang, now this one of a different colour without anybody answering it. Back to Justin Theroux being called upon a creepy-looking cowboy, telling him to “do good”. Then another mind-defying montages erupted: two people talking in a bar, and then both lead to the backyard where they found a scary-looking man/beggar, Betty and Rita scampering around Nancy Drew style solving Rita’s personality, tiny people running around screaming, a blue box that could only be opened by a triangular key, a nightclub called Silencio in which every singer is singing in sync with the music. Everything will leave you breathless, without any clue what was going on. If you have no patience, be warned, you may suffer of heart attack or some sort. Cardiac arrest with annoyance, maybe.

Then near the end, we discover that there was something indeed more than what the eyes could meet. Mulholland Drive boasts one of movie history’s finest girl-on-girl (or lesbo) grapple, Naomi Watts and Laura Elena Herring without their tops on. We realise, as the film oftentimes jumps from the real Los Angeles and the netherworld, (IF YOU WANT TO WATCH THIS FILM, STOP READING NOW! OR YOU’LL BE SPOILED!) that Betty and Rita were lovers. One of the most fantastic scenes was when Betty was invited by a party, only to discover that her lover Rita was to be engaged to the movie director Justin Theroux, Naomi Watts delivered her finest acting performance that made her way and broke through mainstream today. She was trembling, not with fear, but with anger emerging out as wrathful tears in her eyes.

Mulholland Drive is such a hypnotic film. Not all would understand this film, not all would usurp or bet their bollocks even just to sit down this film out of boredom. As judges, boredom shies away from this one. David Lynch is a master of puzzles and mystery and images. His vision is uncompromising and indeed doesn’t stick with conventional, boring filmmaking and sticks with his own skills.

Watts and Herring are absolutely gorgeous, fantastic actresses. Most of all, it’s Naomi Watts that catapults into acting greatness. In the first act, she pulls off a perky, almost teenage-bopper sort of a woman with dreams to follow, each step as though carefully measured. Then at the last act, she turns into a despicable woman filled with dark desire and despair that turns her insides with vengeance and fury to everyone beside her. If you hate her acting, look at her during the scene where she was practicing her lines with Rita with conventional reading, but on the real audition, she turns the whole charade around and delivered one of cinema’s finest scenes in performance context.

Mulholland Drive would have to be one of my favourite films of all time. It’s unusual, bizarre, odd, engaging, dreamlike, hypnotic, magnificent, mesmerising, truly one of a kind. It will surely haunt you for life.

Rating: A+

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Lawrence of Arabia [1962]

One of film history’s most decorated films shares a true story of history’s most enigmatic personages, the British eccentric soldier T. E. Lawrence, who managed to unify the warring Arab Tribes against the settling Turkish army. It was mysterious, indeed, about how a man of different colour and race seemed to promote harmony between two endpoint clashes to battle a more solidified stronghold that was the Ottoman Turks. More mysterious was that how a man of different culture seemed to have his heart on the sands of Arabia, and sympathised its people and its vast deserts.
However, there is one moment in the film that explained the character of Lawrence and his reasons. In a suicidal trek into the immense landscape, almost never-ending expanse of desert towards Aqaba, one of the men fell behind. In choice between a nearby shelter and water, Lawrence turns around and goes back to save the friend who had fallen behind despite of being impetuously yelled by Sherif Ali (Omar Sharif) as a foolish act. Foolish it may be, but it took the courage of Lawrence to find the lost man in the desert.

There’s also another scene: a young Arab boy stays at the middle of nowhere, in the harsh sands, as he pulls out a stick to prop a sort of umbrella to protect himself from the undying heat, then he saw a small speck in the horizon. He thought it was a mirage, a trick. But the speck slowly emerges, and that tiny speck was a human; it was Lawrence. Another memorable one, Lawrence and the Arab boy reached the Suez Canal and were saved by the British Army from Cairo, and as they reached back to the city of Cairo, Lawrence just stared into the bustling street, tears in his eyes, apparently couldn’t believe that he had crossed a desert and united two warring tribes. Another one again, Lawrence, in his white dirty Arabian dress, caught much attention of the British soldiers as he brought the Arab kid with him inside the building. He asked for a glass of lemonade but wasn’t given straight away. Then he asked for a soft, comfy bed for the night but insisted it was not for him, he gave it to the Arab boy. Tiny moments like this, I realise, flecks of dialogue and situation, a touch of human and honest intention, makes this film astoundingly great.

So Lawrence of Arabia, a spectacular breed of filmmaking already is vanishing in this turn of the decade, an epic with a scope that amasses real landscapes, history, characters, battles, swords and sandals, is made out of scenes that could singularly stand alone and could still call this movie a great masterpiece. It’s a kind of film that doesn’t heavily rely on the war, the battles between Arabs and Turks; it’s a kind of epic that puts its shoulder into one characters that brings everything moving, Lawrence of Arabia. Spielberg called this “A miracle of a film”. True enough, cinema was at its pinnacle when David Lean shot this. No other movie in history, as I could recall, which made camels against the backdrop of deserts so glorious that it takes your breath away. Lean manages to bring visual poetry in his images, like the transformation of a lit fire into a glowing ember sun, the silent shots of the desert and the wind, the almost mirage-like scenes of humans in the form of tiny specks in the horizon, heat wave crashing like evaporating water.
Of course, knowing Lawrence as a man of history, one would expect that this was a biography of some sort, and an action-adventure film. Aside from that, David Lean (whose name now belongs to the list of film majesties Coppola, Kubrick, Spielberg, Kurosawa and Stone) uses the desert as an element to tell Lawrence’s story and his multi-dimensional character. He used Peter O’Toole sculptured face, almost innocent-like yet sharp and commanding, to bring out a troubled hero who finds himself a purpose in the barren lands. Although it could be foolish of me to call the desert “barren lands” because Lawrence himself said when he was asked why he was fascinated by the desert, he utters “The desert is so clean”. Simple and true.

This has to be one of the most timeless classics of all time, with a performance by Peter O’Toole that could have saved him from Oscar upset. Praised to be the best acting performance in movie history, O’Toole delivers his own triumph at this time, but was sadly ignored by the Academy Awards. Omar Sharif and Alec Guinnes also stars and delivered respectable job for their roles.

Lawrence of Arabia is a gem – one of the finest works that came to the screen, awe-inspiring and intelligent enough to paint a troubled yet inspired character amidst the canvas of sands. Unforgettable.

Rating: A

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Apocalypse Now [1979]

Some war films glorify war itself, some expresses intrinsic opinions and ideology, but only a few doesn’t dignify war as it is. This piece of cinema is the impeccable paradigm. Unlike other war films, victory is victorious, honour is a crusade, but for Apocalypse Now it relentlessly shows the madness of war, its sadness and unprecedented dementia that it brings to humanity. Most of us were used to encapsulate movies of breathtaking courage and bravery, and it takes a great amount of patience and understanding towards Francis Ford Coppola’s unparalleled masterpiece aside from The Godfather Trilogy in which he studies the Vietnam war, the lunacy it brings and the echoes that it stir in the waking world today.

However, in such despicable images of death and carnage in the land of Vietnam, Coppola made sure that he brings paradox to darkness, which is beauty. As it remains today, this has one of cinema history’s most groundbreaking cinematography, all scenes were masterfully shot, reverberating visuals studded against the turbulent background of shooting locations in the Philippines. And yes, as a Filipino, this film makes me proud that for once in history (or hopefully more than once), the greatest director the world has ever know, Francis Ford Coppola, had set foot in the Philippines along with legends like Marlon Brando, Martin Sheen, Laurence Fishburne, Dennis Hopper, Robert Duvall and the once very young Harrison Ford to shoot a fine piece of cinema in Philippines and waged their own war against unceremonial weather and typhoons (mosquitoes as well). Camera movements were moving as if they were measured perfectly, images were darkened to convey the breadth and complexity of a hopeless war, and the slow burn of visuals were deliberately piled alongside with each other to bring out the message of the film.

It starts with blackness and the distant sounds of helicopters blaring, then it opens up on a scenery of a land ravaged by war, bombs, explosions, and there was Capt. Willard (Martin Sheen) bedraggled and staring endlessly into space with his intense green eyes. Then we know that beneath the solid evocation of stare, he was haunted by something unfathomable, more than just the remnants of war. He was brought back into his senses was called by a superior commander and was ordered to start a journey upriver to discover the situation of the unchartered Col. Hurtz (Marlon Brando), one of the army’s most successful soldier, who had fled from the ‘Nam war ages before and was ordered to be killed due to disloyalty. Rowing behind enemy lines, they risked their lives along with a band of soldiers to finalise a mission difficult to behold. With Coppola’s astounding technical mastery, the scenes were majestically handled: from the unforgettable assault of the village, with students and teachers running in panic, the helicopters sound blaring like thunders, bombs exploding like orchestra drums, to the sudden ambush in the river, the hysterical almost drugged entertainment by Playboy Playmates to the soldiers and to the dark and brooding finale with Col. Hurtz. Indeed, Apocalypse Now is dark, terrifying, brooding and trance-like, just like the war of Vietnam which was powered by drugs, heroine and anti-humanity.

Like the backdrop, performances in this film were priceless. Martin Sheen as Capt. Willard delivers his most superb, most distinguished performance of his career, as the troubled soldier, haunted by the aphorism about the lunacy that the war brings. His unimposing character, in which he was introduced by a hard stare in the ceiling, conceiving ceiling fans as helicopters and climaxes by a bloody pose with eyes steeling as if he had seen the horrors that Colonel Hurtz had seen once before, was downrightly amazing. He’s no loud-mouthed, he thinks before he talks, and he sees before he contemplates, a wonderful portrayal of a soldier imposed of a mission with consequences he doesn’t know. Marlon Brando’s appearance was all too brief, but Col. Hurtz was unforgettable. His bald shape half-hidden in the dark, as the embers of fire lit a little space, his voice deep and his gaze unforgiving, such a character of enigmatic gravitas needs no explanation for the situation he was in, leading a band of tribes in the jungle, we know a reason lurks behind it. There are other great performances here too: Robert Duvall as the good ‘ol 1970’s Captain Jack Sparrow version, Lt. Kilgore, trash-mouthed and deploring, Harrison Ford as the young soldier who saves a cute puppy from bloodshed, Laurence Fishburne as a heroic anti-hero, effin banal with drugs and swear signs, and Dennis Hopper as the exclamatory journalist-photographer stuck in the in the jungles where Hurtz lived.

The greatest thing about the film is the ending. A masterclass of imagery, power of dialogue and stunning allegories. Capt. Willard was captured by Hurtz but he wasn’t forced within bars. Hurtz knew he was leading to his death, and upon Willard was reminded of his mission, he brought a heavy strike into Hurtz as a noisy tribal dance and worshipping was befalling outside. It proved that the recurring line “The horror... the horror...” as Hurtz was seeped with blood, breathing his last air, was one of cinema’s haunting, thematic line that shatters the self-righteousness of war. Soon we realise that we sympathise with Hurtz, that we couldn’t blame him for fleeing from war and building his own empire in the wilderness for he was human enough to feel the ravage implicated upon the desolate lands and to test human’s survival instinct. We know that as soon as Willard completed his mission as emerged from the expected murder, he had seen something more than just horror that the war had caused, but something deep, disturbing and psychologically complex that would change his life into the brink of sanity.

Apocalypse Now is now one of my favourite movies of all time, not just because Coppola directed it but because it pushes us to the heights that cinema rarely does. Technically God-like, masterfully shot, image by image, a roll of film that would transcend in history and would remain in the future generations. This is a metaphorical study of war, of humanity, of horror, of the psyche and of sanity. Part satire, part horror film, part ingenuous war film, part psychological study, part surrealism – it’s more than just a film. Apocalypse Now is an experience difficult to forget.

Rating: A+

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Ben-Hur [1959]

Decades before the sword-and-sandal exploits of Gladiator, Troy, Alexander, Braveheart, the recent 300, and the rest of the pile of epic upon another epic that plagued the screen for such a time, there was Ben-Hur. Mighty and über-grandiose, many critics were calling it one of the finest actioner of epic proportions in film history. In fact, it was awarded by the American Film Institute as one of the Top 100 Movies of All Time.

No reservation, Ben-Hur is majestic to behold. Wide-scaled Biblical-era opus that even surpasses that magnitude seismically created by Cecil Demille’s biblical opera, The Ten Commandments (1956), which also starred Charles Heston as Moses. Here in Ben-Hur, he played the oftentimes woody titular protagonist. Let’s go back to cinema history lessons: Ben-Hur is the one of the only three films ever made that incredibly snagged a total of 11 Academy Awards, tying up with box-office champion Titanic and fantasy royalty The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King; a record in which films right now have yet to beat. Well apparently, if a film does such enormous achievement, sure is, it will go down to history. But the question surmounts, was it really a good film?

This one of the mind-boggling questions that raced around my head after watching this film. As mentioned, Ben-Hur is a landmark in filmmaking. Its breadth and scope of camera-works remains transcendent today, filling the gaps of fact that upon filmed decades ago, CGI doesn’t exist at all and that all the scenes including sets should be done manually (and built laboriously). Even Gladiator’s battle scenes are no match to Ben-Hur’s jaw-dropping chariot race scene alone. One of the most brilliantly constructed ethos of cinema, the gripping, entertaining chariot race that most epic movies right now had been trying to encompass. By this moment alone, it demands to be seen by audience with a virtue and love for cinema.


Indeed there were many moments that are quite unforgettable, and if not for some weakling performance, this Ben-Hur in my opinion would have catapulted more into my “list of greats”. Charles Heston, respect his boundary, delivers a tight, ostensibly woody performance as Judas Ben-Hur, a Jewish leader who was compelled to fight for his beliefs against the Roman rule and was thrown into slavery. For the character alone, it’s the kind of role that would magnetise actors to portray, and would turn out to be an Oscar Best Actor magnet as well, but Heston, although big and burly, lacks the emotional core that sometimes his uttered dialogues felt being read and said, not being felt and expressed. Oratorical, his lines. Also, the fact that this is a Biblical epic with underlying themes of Jesus Christ’s crucifixion and resurrection and one’s question about faith and miracles, this doesn’t shy away from being ultimately hailed by the religious as a proper imagery of faith and conviction. Judas Ben-Hur, a man that was abandoned by his faith, suddenly turns into revenge as his family was taken by the Roman army for a sin they did not commit. Redemption was this film’s promise, and after half of the three-and-a-half hour run, it suddenly turns into a family drama where Ben-Hur looks for his mother and sister who were forced to hide because of leprosy. And 30 minutes before the film finishes, it again abruptly turns another way around that would have made Mel Gibson become inspired again by his Passion of the Christ into a preachy Good Friday biblical viewing with Heston returning back to Christ the favour of feeding the man with water.


Nevertheless, the experience was compelling. If not for its shallow plotlines, it would have been a better cinema extravaganza. But indeed it deserved the awards it gathered and such statuette of being a beloved piece doesn’t change the fact that Ben-Hur is a giant. The spectacle is bloated, but the plot is thin. Thanks to the chariot race (including the real unstaged death of 3 stuntmen during the making of this film) and the glorious sets, it covered the flimsiness of its depth.

Rating: A-

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