Film
The Count of Monte Cristo originates from the prolific pen of Alexandre 'The Three Musketeers' Dumas, who wrote swashbuckling adventures of the most improbable order, but outdid himself here in terms of genre clichés.
The plot is a masterpiece of absurdity: boy (Edmond Dantès, played by Jim Caviezel) meets girl, boy's envious aristo friend (Guy Pearce) sets him up for 15 years in the country's most fearsome prison, boy is tutored by wise old prisoner (Richard Harris) in everything from fencing to economics, boy briefly turns smuggler and uncovers a fabulous hoard of buried treasure that allows him to pose as the eponymous Count and to exact revenge on all who betrayed him... you get the idea.
This confused mixture of spicy ingredients may sound like a recipe for indigestion, but in fact the film works surprisingly well, and the sure pacing is largely to thank for this. Dramatic confrontations and derring-do are deftly counterbalanced with intrigue and heaving bosoms. Director Kevin Reynolds has opted for a very straightforward and unadorned style, both visually and in terms of narrative. The story is told without recourse to flashbacks, multiple story-lines or postmodern winks to the audience. Similarly, cinematography and set design are inoffensive and unpretentious. A little more flair might have been appreciated, but, after all, Reynolds was responsible for Waterworld.
The key weakness of the film lies in the script. Carelessly contemporary phrases slip in to dissonant effect, and there are a host of limp retorts at crucial dramatic moments. Its plot-driven nature doesn't allow much room for subtle character development, but the best films of this genre still boast peppy, swaggering scripts - this one doesn't. The actors seem to be enjoying themselves, though. Guy Pearce hams up the suave Count Mondego, a character of such textbook evil that you expect to see 666 branded across his forehead; Jim Caviezel makes a handsome, credible lead.
A satisfying, competently-made adventure film, The Count of Monte Cristo is entirely watchable if also entirely conventional. And you can't say fairer than that.
You're a six-time WWF Champion and, as if that's not already enough to earn the respect of your peers, you've just beaten walrus-'tached leathery grappling icon Hulk Hogan in the main event of the most watched wrestling show ever thrown. But you're an ambitious young Samoan, so on reaching the top of the pro-fight ladder, you swing across to the movies tree. It's treacherous, but your opponents are way more attractive.
The Rock (née Dwayne Johnson) has done very well: a name-above-the-title action lead on only his second film. His exceptional charisma, honed in front of live redneck crowds, was always going to need some adjustment for the screen, but the producers have tapped straight into his strengths. He can stand confidently alongside Oscar-nominated Michael Clarke Duncan, knowing that no-one can upstage him, because the film is a Rock-shaped hole he was made to fill.
The Scorpion King is intentionally funny in enough places that you start to doubt whether the unintentionally funny parts were actually unintentional. The Rock surprises with his dry humour and physical comedy, which is subtle for a big guy: he gets three consecutive laughs whilst buried up to his neck in sand. The supporting cast are at a disadvantage in this film by quite simply not being The Rock: Kelly Hu is fine, if generic, as the exotic helpless female. Steven Brand, as the Home Counties-accented dictator, just misses out on being memorable, despite his best efforts at intense cruelty.
Vacate your mind, watch the film, laugh and cheer. It's the freshest sample of goofy escapism in months, with a hero who vows - like the gangsta the Rock will soon inevitably play - that he'll always remember the people who put him there, and who, in art as in life, kicks ass for the People.
Five criminals. One line-up. No coincidence.
Bryan Singer's sensational 1995 crime masterpiece spins an intricate web of lies, truth and presumption around the mythical figure Keyser Soze. Soze, the great unkown mind behind New York's crime scene is absorbing by his very absence; his revelation remains to date one of the most superbly skillful conclusions of modern film.
The Usual Suspects will leave you reeling, of that there is no doubt. Powerful but understated portrayals from a raft of underrated actors underpin every inch of the script, Messrs. Spacey, Byrne and Del Toro being the most striking figures. Be under no illusions however; this no walk in the park. Singer's criminal underworld is one that operates on two levels - the raw and sometimes violent realities of the five protagonists' lawless existence; at the same time, a murky and edgy atmosphere that holds one's attention throughout.
The visual landscape is an essential part of The Usual Suspects' adept and perceptive plot shifts, forcing the audience to continually re-examine the logical frameworks by which we attempt to make sense of the film's events. It's not a wholly comfortable movement, but the pure slickness of the operation is irrepressible.
This is a film to watch a hundred times; almost unrivalled in everything it sets out to do, and all the more satisfying because it's so damn clever.
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Woody Allen is frozen back in 1972 and reheated sometime in the future to fight oppressive government, contend with confessional robots and enjoy the Orgasmatron.
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9th May 2002