Monsters vs. Aliens

If this is the brave new world to which 3D is transporting us, stop the merry-go-'round. I want to get off.

Monsters vs. Aliens, one of the 2009 big movies designed to highlight where 3D could transport audiences, is an example of technology run amok. With a slight, light screenplay that required five credited writers, the film tells an unimaginative story about an alien invasion of Earth that is foiled by "monsters." Of course, they're not really monsters. They're just misunderstood. But since they're in the 3D, we're too busy watching whizzing comet fragments fly out of the screen to care about things like plot or character development. It's a good thing, too, because anyone on the lookout for those elements may be a little disappointed. This should not be confused with the vastly superior Monsters Inc.

I'm sure the average five year-old will be enchanted. But the average five year old watches Teletubbies and Sponge Bob Squarepants. The problem with Monsters vs. Aliens is that all those writers didn't think much about potential audience members on the hairy side of puberty. Oh, there are some clever one-liners and the occasional sight gag, but there are too few of those moments to keep the adults from becoming restless. Despite a multitude of opportunities to satirize '50s B-grade science fiction and monster movies, there's only a little of that (veiled references to Attack of the 50 Foot Woman, The Blob, The Creature from the Black Lagoon, and The Fly). Too much would, after all, confuse the five year olds. And why put thought into a script when you can let the computers send something else whizzing at the audience?

Monsters vs. Aliens suffers from the common 3D problems: dim lighting, poor focus in fast-paced action sequences, and too many distractions for the movie to grab the viewer. With Coraline, it looked like things might be going in the right direction, but Monsters vs. Aliens is a major step backward. Last year, the "K" of "Dreamworks SKG" did a dog-and-pony show proselytizing skeptics to join the True Faith of 3D. It's too bad this is all he has to show for it. Had he come armed with something less obviously recycled, his words might not now ring hollow.

Susan Murphy (voice of Reese Witherspoon) is getting ready for her wedding day when a meteor strike complicates her perfect small town domestic existence. A substance contained in the meteor causes her to glow green then grow until she's big enough to be called Ginormica. The government arrives before she can say "I do" and incarcerates her in a prison for monsters, where she makes the acquaintances of other misfits: the blobby B.O.B. (Seth Rogan), the aptly named Dr. Cockroach (Hugh Laurie), and The Missing Link (Will Arnett). Things aren't looking too good for Susan until Gallaxhar (Rainn Wilson) comes calling. His goal has something to do with wiping out humanity and repopulating Earth with his own kind - typical megalomaniac space alien stuff. President Hathaway (Stephen Colbert) decides to let loose the monsters in the hope that they and the aliens will eliminate each other. Meanwhile, all Susan really wants is to be respected for who she is. Sniff sniff.

There was a time when Dreamworks looked like it might be poised to challenge Disney/Pixar for the digital animation throne. That day has long since passed and, as Pixar strives to improve with every new feature, Dreamworks offers us this. Visually, the film is okay, but nothing special, and certainly nothing on par with WALL-E. The idea seems to be that the presence of 3D eliminates the need to invest effort into striving for the highest quality animation. And this is the real danger of 3D - that the "wow" factor becomes so important that other elements are neglected.

This is not a movie. It's an amusement park ride. It's a chance for kids to "ooh" and "ahh" while parents catch a nap. Sure, the film is sweet and harmless but, take away the 3D, and all you're left with is a generic kids' movie, not unlike Madagascar and its sequel (both of which also came from Dreamworks). Monsters vs. Aliens is a gallery of missed opportunities. There are a couple of lame King Kong references, a nod to Star Trek, and a musical echo of Close Encounters, but that's about it. Yet, despite the presence of a War Room and a Buck Turgidson-type (named General W.R. Monger, and voiced by Jack Bauer), there's not a hint of Dr. Strangelove to be found. It's almost as if someone put the setup in place then forgot the punch line.

The 3D is distracting but, in this case, that's a good thing, because it livens things up. But it also indicates that had Monsters vs. Aliens been a good movie, it would have worked better in 2D. Katzenberg said he wanted to make 3D an integral part of the movie-going experience, but with Monsters vs. Aliens, he has provided one of the most gimmicky 3D movies since the resurgence of the format.

http://www.reelviews.net/

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The Great Buck Howard

A movie review by James Berardinelli
The Great Buck Howard offers John Malkovich an opportunity to do a little mugging for the camera as he plays a character who is, by nature, larger than life. Buck Howard, a fictional representation of The Amazing Kreskin, is part star and part lounge lizard. He's the proverbial legend in his own mind. The genial film, brought to the screen with a certain amount of compassion by director Sean McGinly, who could just as easily have taken the gloves off and made this a nasty, bitter satire, manages to score some telling points about the nature of stardom and how fast Andy Warhol's 15 minutes of fame can pass. Despite the presence of some A-list performers, The Great Buck Howard can't shake the feeling that it's more on the level of made-for-TV than something destined for theatrical greatness. Like its main character, the production rarely seems ready for prime time.

Our initial impression of Buck Howard, as seen through the eyes of the man who will become his personal assistant, Troy Gabel (Colin Hanks), is that he's a major figure in the entertainment industry. It turns out he's a classic has-been. A once-renowned mentalist who frequently appeared on The Tonight Show with Johnny Carson in the '70s, Buck hasn't seen the business end of a camera in decades and is reduced to doing cheesy live shows in front of half-full auditoriums in small towns. Ever the optimist, Buck believes that his big break is "just around the corner." Troy is skeptical, as is Valerie Brennan (Emily Blunt), a local publicist brought in to help amplify Buck's image.

Hollywood is fond of making movies about aging celebrities who are past their "sell by" date. Old generals may fade away, but people used to the spotlight often sacrifice their last shreds of dignity trying to crawl back into it. Like a boxer whose punch-less comebacks are the fodder for countless punch lines, some stars simply can't recognize when it's over. In a way, The Great Buck Howard is about a man making the journey from self-delusion to recognition. And, while many films view this sort of odyssey as a tragic one (consider, for example, Darren Aronofsky's recent The Wrestler), The Great Buck Howard sees it in a gentler light.

McGinly focuses on three key relationships. There's the friction-filled one between Troy and his buttoned-down dad (Tom Hanks). Dad wants Troy to go to law school, but Troy wants to follow his dream of writing, and therein lies the conflict. There's a PG romance between Troy and Valerie. One is tempted to call Valerie a disposable character, but because she's played by Emily Blunt (who can also currently be seen in Sunshine Cleaning) and Blunt can do a lot with a little, the character ends up seeming more substantial than she is. The central relationship is the love/hate thing between Troy and Buck. Troy may never learn how Buck performs his signature magic trick, but he gets to peek behind the curtain and see what makes the man tick, and that's in some ways more intriguing.

As an actor, Colin Hanks doesn't have much gravitas, but the role doesn't require much in that direction. It's unclear whether he'll ever expand to fill his father's shoes; great things were expected for him after Orange County (although I'm not sure why), but they haven't materialized. Nevertheless, Troy appears tailor-made for him. Meanwhile, Malkovich has fun with Buck - this is a part an actor can sink his teeth into. But Buck isn't all big smiles, sunglasses, and gripes about Jay Leno. Malkovich modulates his performance in such a way that we, like Troy, see what's mostly hidden behind the curtain. Tom Hanks heads an idiosyncratic list of cameos: Tom Arnold, Conan O'Brien, Jay Leno, John Stewart, Martha Stewart, George Takei, and Gary Coleman.

If there's a glaring fault with The Great Buck Howard, it's that, although the character may linger in the mind after the end credits roll, the plot quickly evaporates like one of Buck Howard's magic tricks. All that's really left in the end is Malkovich's performance. The themes - how a tabloid-centered culture flocks to the celebrity of the day then discards him when the luster rubs off and how some people sacrifice everything for their job - are potentially rich, but they are soft-peddled here and don't have any staying power. Malkovich's Buck Howard may indeed be "great," but the film is not.

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Miss March

It's Friday the 13th - Figures. Where's Jason when you need him?

In order to see Miss March, which was not screened for critics, I spent 90 minutes trapped in a multiplex auditorium on the day it opened. For about the first half-hour, I tried to be optimistic, thinking things certainly had to get better. For the next 30 minutes, I prayed that the projector would break. For the balance of the movie, I felt like crying out, "Please God, just let it end!" There were a total of ten people in the theater, and all of them stayed until it was over. I know why I didn't leave, but I can't figure out what was wrong with the other nine. Maybe there's a masochist convention in town?

This is bad. Not bad in a way that it might be fun to see when inebriated. Bad in a way from which only death provides immunity. Forget waterboarding - just show Guantanamo detainees Miss March and they'll say anything. Or maybe pair it with The Hottie and the Nottie, although that would be considered cruel and unusual punishment. Even though it's only March, I'm prepared to go out on a limb and declare this the worst movie of the year. (It helps that Friedberg & Seltzer don't have any 2009 releases scheduled, although I'm sure Uwe Boll has a title or two in the pipeline.) If something worse arrives in theaters between now and December, I don't want to experience it. I can only take one of these a year.

Miss March wants to be a sex comedy, a road trip movie, and a romantic comedy all rolled into one. I was going to describe it as Rip Van Winkle meets the '80s hit song "Centerfold" until I realized what a monumental insult that would be to Washington Irving and the J. Geils Band. The film introduces us to Eugene Bell (Zach Cregger) and Tucker Cleigh (Trevor Moore) as kids, then catches up to them on prom night. Eugene, a staunch advocate of abstinence, is about to lose his virginity to his girlfriend of 30 months, Cindi (Raquel Alessi). He's nervous, drinks too much, falls down a flight of stairs and ends up in a coma for the next four years. When he awakens, he discovers that his father has abandoned him and his girlfriend is a Playboy centerfold. Only Tucker has stuck around. So, to claim Eugene's lost love and escape a scrape with some firemen that Tucker finds himself in, they head west toward the Playboy Mansion.

Zach Cregger and Trevor Moore (of the TV show The Whitest Kids U Know) are wearing three hats here - directors, writers, and stars - possibly because no one else wanted to be associated with this production. The biggest name in the cast is Hugh Hefner, and this is a sad comedown for him. I know his magazine hasn't been relevant in about a quarter century, but is he so hard-up for publicity that he feels it necessary to lend his support to something this abysmal? I didn't like The House Bunny, but I could understand why he would be involved. Even all the ass-kissing Cregger and Moore do isn't worth the humiliation of being associated with Miss March.

For a movie that's purported to be a sex comedy, there's not much in the way of sex or nudity. And, even though the lead actress is supposedly a centerfold, she keeps her clothes on at all times. There's not even a digitally created image of her naked. Then again, Cregger and Moore could have put a nude woman in every frame and it wouldn't have saved Miss March. The humor is divided into three categories: profanity-related, having to do with bodily fluids, and a tedious, often-repeated line about a hip-hop artist whose name is Horsedick.MPEG. It's as if the screenwriters are eight years old and, having just discovered the word "fuck," they want to use it as much as possible and think its mere utterance is hilarious. For variety, they toss in stuff like an explosion of diarrhea in all of its graphic glory and a Playmate savoring the sweet nectar of dog pee. And those are the tasteful bits.

While Eugene is merely one-dimensional and boring, Tucker is a vile individual. During a scene when a fireman is about to behead Tucker, I was rooting the would-be executioner on. For some unknown reason, the filmmakers expect us to like this misogynist pig, as if we're intended to ignore personality defects like causing his girlfriend to go into an epileptic seizure then stabbing her in the face with a fork. This guy would be perfect for a horror movie. I'd be the first one cheering when Jason or Freddy or Michael drilled a spike through his eye. Sadly, none of these things happen here.

Miss March isn't only inept from a storytelling perspective, it's technically primitive. Camera angles are unsophisticated, recalling Kevin Smith in his early days; shots are poorly framed; transitions are awkward; and the lack of budget frequently calls attention to itself. Most bad films at least look competent, but this is a member of the rare group that looks like the shit that it is. At least it was in focus, although I'm not sure that can be considered a benefit. The experience might have been less traumatic had everything been blurry. My plea to Hollywood: exile Cregger and Moore to the same bleak oblivion where Tom Green, Carrot Top, and Pauley Shore reside.

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Britney Spears - Womanizer lyrics

Lyrics to Womanizer :
Superstar
Where you from, how's it going?
I know you
Gotta clue, what youre doing?
You can play brand new to all the other chicks out here
But I know what you are, what you are, baby

Look at you
Gettin' more than just re-up
Baby, you
Got all the puppets with their strings up
Fakin' like a good one, but I call 'em like I see 'em
I know what you are, what you are, baby

Womanizer
Woman-Womanizer
You're a womanizer
Oh Womanizer
Oh You're a Womanizer Baby
You, You You Are
You, You You Are
Womanizer, Womanizer, Womanizer

Boy don't try to front I (I) know just (just) what you are (are are)
Boy don't try to front I (I) know just (just) what you are (are are)

You Got Me Goin'
You're Oh-So Charmin'
But I can't do it
U Womanizer

Boy don't try to front I (I) know just (just) what you are (are are)
Boy don't try to front I (I) know just (just) what you are (are are)

You Say I'm Crazy
I got Your Crazy
You're nothing but
A Womanizer

Daddy-O
You got the swagger of champion
Too bad for you
Just can't find the right companion
I guess when you have one too many, makes it hard
It could be easy
Who you are, that's who you are, baby

Lollipop
Must mistake me you're a sucker
To think that I
Would be a victim not another
Say it, play it how you wanna
But no way I'm ever gonna fall for you, never you, baby

Womanizer
Woman-Womanizer
You're a womanizer
Oh Womanizer
Oh You're a Womanizer Baby
You, You You Are
You, You You Are
Womanizer, Womanizer, Womanizer

Boy don't try to front I (I) know just (just) what you are (are are)
Boy don't try to front I (I) know just (just) what you are (are are)

You Got Me Goin'
You're Oh-So Charmin'
But I can't do it
U Womanizer

Boy don't try to front I (I) know just (just) what you are (are are)
Boy don't try to front I (I) know just (just) what you are (are are)

You Say I'm Crazy
I got Your Crazy
You're nothing but
A Womanizer

Maybe if we both lived in different worlds
(Womanizer Womanizer Womanizer Womanizer)
It would be all good, and maybe I could be ya girl
But I can't 'cause we don't
You...

Womanizer
Woman-Womanizer
You're a womanizer
Oh Womanizer
Oh You're a Womanizer Baby
You, You You Are
You, You You Are
Womanizer, Womanizer, Womanizer

Boy don't try to front I (I) know just (just) what you are (are are)
Boy don't try to front I (I) know just (just) what you are (are are)

You Got Me Goin'
You're Oh-So Charmin'
But I can't do it
U Womanizer

Boy don't try to front I (I) know just (just) what you are (are are)
Boy don't try to front I (I) know just (just) what you are (are are)

You Say I'm Crazy
I got Your Crazy
You're nothing but
A Womanizer

Boy don't try to front I (I) know just (just) what you are (are are)
Boy don't try to front I (I) know just (just) what you are (are are)

Womanizer
Woman-Womanizer
You're a womanizer
Oh Womanizer
Oh You're a Womanizer Baby

(Thanks to Kat for these lyrics)
[ Womanizer Lyrics on http://www.lyricsmania.com/ ]

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Another Cinderella Story

Tell Me Something I Don't Know (Selena Gomez)
New Classic (Drew Seeley, Selena Gomez)
Hurry Up & Save Me (Tiffany Giardina)
Just That Girl (Drew Seeley)
Bang A Drum (Selena Gomez)
1st Class Girl (Marcus Paulk, Drew Seeley)
Hold 4 You (Jane Lynch)
Valentine's Dance Tango (The Twins)
No Average Angel (Tiffany Giardina)
Don't Be Shy (Small Change, Lil’ Jj And Chani)
X-plain It To My Heart (Drew Seeley)
New Classic (Drew Seeley, Selena Gomez)
Another Cinderella Story (Score Suite)

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Race to Witch Mountain

Race to Witch Mountain is the latest Disney "made for kids only" effort. It takes all the usual Disney hooks - cute children, a likeable protagonist, lame action and lamer jokes, some special effects, poker-faced bad guys, and an animal - and throws them into a story that makes no sense whatsoever. So, while children will be entertained by the flashy eye candy and pointless running around, adults will be obsessed with determining how such a nonsensical script could get made into a movie without at least a little more polishing. One supposes Disney is hoping to cash in on the inevitable nostalgia factor associated with the name "Witch Mountain." But, although this is technically a remake of the 1975 feature, Escape to Witch Mountain (which was subsequently re-done in 1995 as a made-for-TV production), it's mostly a different movie. While a few of the basic building blocks for the story remain, that's where similarities between Race and Escape end.

Sara (AnnaSophia Robb) and Seth (Alexander Ludwig) are the Wonder Twins - two aliens who end up in the back of a cab driven by Jack Bruno (Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson). She can read thoughts (maybe not such a good thing in Las Vegas) and perform levitation tricks. He can transmute matter. They are apparently not very good drivers because they have managed to crash land their spaceship on Earth. Now, it's in the hands of Dick Cheney's disciples, led by Man in Black Hat Henry Burke (Ciaran Hinds), who needs the kids to complete his collection of alien artifacts. Sara and Seth, having completed their hush-hush mission, want to go home. Despite their seemingly limitless powers, however, they need Jack to drive them around. And, even though Sara can disable cars with a flick of her wrist, she seems content to let them chase the cab through the desert outside of Las Vegas. Maybe she thinks it's fun. Eventually, when Jack's knowledge of things extraterrestrial proves to be limited, he confides in astrophysicist Alex Friedmen (Carla Gugino), who is more than happy to help out a couple of blonde-haired, blue-eyed ETs.

The more powerful the filmmakers decide to make the kids, the less sense the entire movie makes. To quote Kirk from Star Trek V (admittedly, not the most quotable of movies, unless you're into "Row Row Row Your Boat"): "Why does God need a starship?" Or, as it applies here, why do these kids need The Rock? Simply because AnnaSophia Robb (as talented an actress as she may be - see A Bridge to Terabithia) and Alexander Ludwig aren't going to sell many tickets. The Rock meanwhile, has decided to abandon Schwarzenegger mayhem in favor of something kinder, gentler, and more boring. But, as charismatic as Dwayne Johnson may be (and he has a ton of screen presence), there's no logical reason for him to be in this movie.

The movie has not been made for post-pubescent viewers in mind. With productions like this, it's possible for children to get caught up in the moment without really caring why something is happening. Race to Witch Mountain isn't intended for families to enjoy together. It's made so that the children can capture 98 minutes of candy-light sweetness while their parents are tortured for not electing to treat their offspring to something more intelligent. The Rock keeps the film from becoming unwatchable, but there's only so much he can do. The experience of sitting through Race to Witch Mountain is more numbing than painful. One can consider the picture to be cinematic novocaine.

For those who care about such things, the twins from the 1975 Escape to Witch Mountain (Kim Richards and Ike Eisenmann) have small parts. He's the small town sheriff who faces off against Ciaran Hinds' agents and she's the blonde waitress who aids the new kids escape. If nothing else, their presence shows a little reverence for the past. Of course, it would have been more reverential if Disney had let Witch Mountain lie buried. This is not a story that cries out to be remade every 15-20 years. And, while the special effects and acting are getting better, the story isn't. Too bad this won't be the last time I'll say this for a Disney motion picture. No one is as adept as the Magic Kingdom when it comes to recycling. But the green they're looking for has nothing to do with conservation.

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The Travelling Band - Desolate Icicle

The Travelling Band brings to town their new single 'Desolate Icicle’ on a floating cloud, sprinkling glitter on the non-believers of beautiful folk-rock. The song is three minutes of loveliness, a jingling and heart-warming tribute to wash away those mid-winter blues.

With a touch of Travis and The Coral, and a splash of The Shins, these Glastonbury award winners know how to deliver blissful happiness in way of a song. Sounding faintly like Fleet Foxes, Desolate Icicle is a friendly record to savour and enjoy.

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Jessica Simpson asks Tiger Woods for lessons

The singer-and-actress - who has been sporting a seemingly fuller figure of late - wants to embrace a healthier lifestyle and so asked the US sportsman for tips.

A source said: "Jessica is taking it seriously. She even asked if Tiger Woods would give her some pointers, but he's been busy with his new baby."

As well as helping her to get in shape, Jessica, 28, thinks learning to play golf will bring her closer to her American football star boyfriend Tony Romo.

Tony is a huge fan of the pastime, so Jessica thinks it could be the perfect way for them to spent time together.

She has already signed up for a set of lessons, and has splashed out $8,400 on a Louis Vuitton golf bag and clubs to ensure she looks stylish as she learns.

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The Last House on the Left

In a graphic example of how creatively bankrupt Hollywood has become, it's no longer good enough merely to remake older films - now the studios have begun to remake remakes. 1972's The Last House on the Left, the first feature effort of Wes Craven, was a reworking of Ingmar Bergman's controversial 1960 picture, The Virgin Spring, which captured the 1961 Best Foreign Language Film Oscar. The third version of the story, which sticks more closely to the 1972 edition than its predecessor, is helmed by Greek filmmaker Dennis Illiadis, who has only one previous credit to his name. 2009's The Last House on the Left is

a more accomplished movie than Craven's 1972 film - the technique exhibits sophistication, the screenplay is smoother, and the tone is less erratic. The wheels fall off toward the end but, until that point, Illiadis does an excellent job of generating and maintaining an intense sense of dread. This is an uncompromising film. It is unapologetically violent, to the point where those who are upset by screen brutality will have a tough time sitting through it. It features one of the most upsetting rape scenes committed to film (behind only Irreversible and The War Zone). The MPAA's decision to award an R to The Last House on the Left is yet another example of how flawed the U.S. classification system is. If anything is deserving of an NC-17 for adults-only content, this is it. The violence is not cartoonish or in any way sanitized; it is grim and gut-wrenching. Nothing is spared. Consider, for example, a scene featuring a hand and an in-sink garbage disposal. There's no need to use your imagination regarding what happens - the movie shows it in bloody detail. The film begins with the Collingwood family arriving at their lakeside summer home for a vacation. Once, there were four, but the son has been dead for a year. Now, there's only John (Tony Goldwyn), Emma (Monica Potter), and their 17-year old daughter, Mari (Sara Paxton). On the first night there, Mari decides to go out for a night on the town with her friend, Paige (Martha MacIsaac). The two meet a shy, disheveled guy named Justin (Spencer Treat Clark), who invites them back to his motel room to smoke some weed. While they're there, Justin's traveling companions arrive: his father, Krug (Garret Dillahunt); his uncle, Frank (Aaron Paul); and his father's girlfriend, Sadie (Riki Lindome). They kidnap Mari and Paige, killing the latter and raping and seriously injuring the former. They then leave her for dead. In the wake of a car accident and with a violent storm approaching, the four murderers seek refuge at the only nearby house which, unbeknownst to them, is occupied by Mari's parents. The movie's center act is The Last House on the Left's best part. The first third of the film is at times difficult to watch and the climax descends into abject, cliché-strewn silliness (with a final scene that is as dumb as it is gratuitous). But the middle portion is masterfully executed, with a buildup of tension worthy of Hitchcock. We, the omniscient audience, know who all the characters are and what the four newcomers are capable of (even though they seem perfectly civilized upon their entrance into the house). But the killers don't realize they are enjoying the hospitality of their victim's parents, and John and Emma don't know that their daughter is on death's door and those who put her there are under the same roof. Ultimately, this is a revenge thriller not a horror film and, like many movies of the genre, it raises questions about the morality of how the director manipulates the audience into rooting for the deaths of characters. It's this slippery slope that was questioned in Funny Games, which displayed contempt for this kind of motion picture as mass entertainment. Illiadis is a master of playing his audience. When the good guys start fighting back, the audience lets out a rousing cheer. While not dissimilar to the reaction Craven strove for in 1972, it's much different from the emotions elicited by the vengeance in The Virgin Spring. Bergman's view of violence was darker and more somber, and not in any way like the rousing experience provided by The Last House on the Left. Do I recommend the film? It's a tough call. There is much to admire about the production, and it held my attention for its entire length. Viewed from a detached perspective, it is well-made. The camera work is top notch and the movie never resorts to the quick cutting that has become the bane of too many thrillers. The actors do solid jobs. And the film is taut and arresting. There are serious credibility problems with the ending. In his zeal to give the audience too much, Illiadis goes over-the-top. Characters do stupid things for no reason other than that they are driven to do so by the screenplay. And, as is often the case in thrillers, human beings become superhuman. They can survive being cracked over the head with fire extinguishers and fireplace pokers and still keep fighting. Some, however, will view The Last House on the Left as morally bankrupt and reprehensible, and I can understand that point-of-view. I am not comfortable with the idea of depicting a brutal rape for the purpose of getting viewers to despise characters so their eventual comeuppance can be cheered. I suspect that hard-core horror fans, who can view torture porn without blinking or considering its ethical ramifications, will revel in what Illiadis has crafted. Other viewers are advised to stay away. This film is only for those who go in with open eyes and understand what they're in for. The Last House on the Left is hard to like, but difficult to forget.

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Beyonce Knowles Lyrics

I Am... Sasha Fierce lyrics

If I Were A Boy lyrics
Halo lyrics
Disappear lyrics
Broken-hearted Girl lyrics
Ave Maria lyrics
Smash Into You lyrics
Satellites lyrics
That's Why You're Beautiful lyrics
Single Ladies (Put A Ring On It) lyrics
Radio lyrics
Diva lyrics
Sweet Dreams lyrics
Video Phone lyrics
Hello lyrics
Ego lyrics
Scared Of Lonely lyrics

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T.I. Dead and Gone

If mellow rapping with a steady backbeat and a catchy chorus is your thing than T.I.’s 'Dead and Gone’ will be right up your street. The song featuring Justin Timberlake - a major selling point for a cleverly produced artist like T.I. will generate interest before even being heard, perhaps rightly so for rap and R&B fans , who will not be disappointed.


Picture a trendy, packed low lit club and you’ll have the perfect setting for a song like Dead and Gone, which would certainly supply people with ample ammunition for slow moving chemistry on the dance floor. Though not an upbeat track, the chorus is catchy and rhythmical, with fast paced rapping allowing for some controlled and suave head bopping.

Not only is he the chief-executive officer of his record label, Grand Hustle records, the Grammy award winning rapper, songwriter and producer has already had no1 songs featuring Justin Timberlake, as well as Rihanna. With household names featuring on his records, a multi-faceted career and a large fan base, T.I. is sure to stay around, assuming 'the king of the south’ stays clear of trouble, which is no mean feat for a man previously involved in brawls and a shooting.

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London Australia Film Festival: CACTUS

An Aussie kidnap flick that mixes genre staples from road movies, backwoods horror and yuppie-in-peril films sounds like something worth a look. Cactus opens with sometime conman Eli (David Lyons) being ripped from his home and doped, before being flung into the back of John’s (Travis McMahon) 1970s red Ford GT. Bound and gagged, he’s driven off into the Australian outback, having no idea why or by whom he’s been abducted. John, it transpires, is no career kidnapper and is simply chasing a paycheck. The duo slowly develop an understanding of sorts and a few revelations, as the captor and captive bond, forges mutual empathy.

Like many a road movie, Cactus isn’t really about the (elusive) destination, but rather the interplay between the pair as a mini class war emerges (John chastises Eli for his “poofter” BMW as Eli mocks John’s ancient Ford). Cactus is most effective early on where the odd couple are very much uncertain of each other’s motives and where the threat feels most tangible. When the film sticks to this lean premise of tense head-to-head stand-off, it does have some effective moments. A bizarre ‘torture’ scene works well - Eli locked inside a car with no means of escaping a full volume kids song on repeat - but unfortunately these are gems amongst a mostly staid experience.

The old stereotypes appear straight away; Bryan Brown as a cop trying to quit smoking, a 1970s car tearing through the bleak landscape ala Vanishing Point, hick outback towns and unfriendly locals. It’s not the use of clichéd iconography that’s a problem in itself but what’s done with them - in short, very little. There’s a lack of ingenuity in the way they’re employed. At one point Eli escapes and runs up the empty and endless road, barefoot and bound. John makes no effort to recover him knowing that the intense heat, coupled with the vast distance they are from anywhere, makes the attempt futile. It’s an over-familiar scene from any number of kidnap plots. Contrast it with the blackly comic and farcically hysterical failed escapes of Jean Lundegaard in Fargo, running with sack on head into various obstacles, and it’s rendered bland and uninspired. Of course, Cactus is miles from Fargo in terms of tone, but the lack of invention here runs throughout. It draws on the cinematic heritage of multiple genres but adds little to any of them.

The two leads put in convincing performances but elsewhere it’s less successful. Brown’s role is brief and contrived, as is that of a hapless trucker, both sticking out as plot drivers rather than characters. Pacing is also a problem as the narrative loses momentum half way in and never picks up again. One luxury of a road movie is that it can ramble along (David Lynch’s Lost Highway actually rambles off the ‘road’ completely), but if it does, there better be some seriously exciting happenings along the way and here there really aren’t. As a result, the mid section is slow and drawn out. So by the somewhat inevitable and unsatisfying conclusion, it’s hard to really care what happens to Eli or John. The mystery of the early scenes is what makes them intriguing, so it’s a shame that in feeding us the missing information the whole thing becomes smothered by banality. There’s a tense thirty minute drama in here, but not an 80 minute feature.

Cactus is showing at the London Australia Film Festival on 22nd March.
http://twitchfilm.net/

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Ip Man

If you look at the last 5 movies in Donnie Yen’s filmography, I feel that his better works had resulted from his collaboration with director Wilson Yip. In Painted Skin and An Empress and The Warriors, he was relegated to supporting roles, with the former being ineffectively cast against type, and the latter playing second fiddle to the leads Kelly Chen and Leon Lai. With Yip, he’s the able star of the show, and in each of the movies, was put to do what he does best – numbing arse kicking action, with SPL sparring with Sammo Hung and Wu Jing, Dragon Tiger Gate having to lead Nicholas Tse and Shawn Yue battling bad hair days, and introducing some wildly kinetic Mixed Martial Arts action in Flash Point. So how does his latest collaboration with Wilson Yip fare?

They do no wrong. I shall now proclaim unabashedly that I absolutely love this movie! It’s been some time since we last saw a biopic on one of the Chinese’s martial arts folk heroes, with Jet Li’s Fearless being the last memorable one to hit the big screen. While Li lays claim to three of such roles in the iconic Wong Fei Hung (in the Tsui Hark movies), Fong Sai Yuk and Huo Yuan Jia in Fearless, after which he felt he had to hang up his martial arts roles because he thought that he had communicated all that he wanted about martial arts through these films. And thank goodness for Donnie Yen still being around to pick up from where the genre left off, and presenting a memorable role which he truly owned, with Ip Man being the first cinematic rendition of the Wing Chun martial arts grandmaster.

In this bio-pic, Ip Man, one of the earliest Wing Chun martial arts exponents credited to have propagated its popularity, gets portrayed as the best of the best in 1930s Fo Shan, China, where the bustling city has its own Martial Arts Street where countless of martial arts schools have set up shop to fuel the craze of kung fu training. With each new school, the master will pay their respects to Ip Man and to challenge him to a duel. Ip Man, an aristocrat who spends most of his quality time developing and perfecting his brand of martial arts, will take them on behind closed doors, so as not to damage his opponents’ reputation nor embarrass them in public. His humility is his virtue, and his style is never violent or aggressive, which often gets assumed and mistaken for being effeminate, since Wing Chun after all was founded by a woman.

The bulk of the story gets set in the outbreak of the Sino-Japanese war, and it’s not all fight and no story. Witth this historical setting, at times it does seem that there is an air of familiarity with the type of stories told, with how the Japanese Imperial Army had made life really miserable for the Chinese, and how the Chinese being fragmented in spirit, fail to unite during dire straits. More often than note, martial arts become a unifying force, and this aspect of the narrative might seem to be a walk in the usual territory.

But with its array of charismatic supporting cast with the likes of Simon Yam as Ip Man’s best friend and industrialist Quan, and Lam Ka Tung as a cop turned translator, there are little nicely put sub plots which seek to expand the air of respect that Ip Man commands amongst his community. The story by Edmond Wong did not demonize all the villains, often adding a dash of empathy and sympathy to the likes of the Japanese General Miura (Hiroyuki Ikeuchi), a highly skilled exponent from the North called Zhao (Fan Siu Wong) as well as Lam’s translator character who is deemed as a traitor for being in the service of the Japanese. Ip Man the family man also gets put under the spotlight, where his passion could sometimes leave him neglecting his wife and kid, and through the course of the story this focus often leaves one quite exasperated for his family’s safety as he puts his countrymen above self and family when going up against the oppressive Japanese forces.

So what’s the verdict on the action? Action junkies won’t have to wait too long before watching Ip Man in action, and to Sammo Hung and Tony Leung Siu Hung’s credit, they have intricately designed some of the most varied martial arts sequences in the movie, such as private fights in his home, a factory melee, a Japanese dojo battle as seen in the trailer, (which I know has actually sent some positive vibes amongst moviegoers, mouth agape at that incredible scene of Yen continuously beating down a karateka) being somewhat of a throwback and reminscent of Bruce Lee in Fists of Fury, and a ringside duel amongst others. And it’s not just Ip Man who gets in on the action, but specialized martial arts moves designed for the various practitioners as well. It’s so difficult to name any particular one as a personal favourite, though I must add that you definitely won’t feel short changed by the time the inevitable final battle comes rolling along and gets delivered with aplomb.

I’m no Wing Chun practitioner, but Donnie Yen has this marvelous calm and zen like approach with his Ip Man taking out his opponents quite effectively with the minimal of moves. Like Huo Yuan Jia, he doesn’t deliver the killing blows to friendly opponents, but rather simulates the various hit points, which actually calls for some astonishing control of strength and precision. This approach will change of course as the opponents become anything but friendly. And unlike the usual martial arts stance of crouching low, here we see him standing tall and striking with such precision and efficiency, it’s like poetry in motion with some astounding closed quarter combat utilizing plenty of upper limb strength.

With Wong Kar-wai at one point also declaring interest in making a Ip Man movie, I thought that this effort will be hard to beat, just like how Tsui Hark has crafted some of the more definitive movies in modern times about Wong Fei Hung and Jet Li benefiting from a major career boost, I’d say Ip Man just about cements Yen’s reputation as a martial arts leading man, which I guess the cinematic world these days severely lacks. Definitely recommended, and surely a thrill ride for Donnie Yen fans!

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Glasvegas Notting Hill Arts Club, London

The crowd of 150 fans squeezed into the dark, dingy Notting Hill Arts Club waiting for Glasvegas seem better suited to the unruly terraces of a football stadium than the basement of a small, alternative music club. A chant started by a pack of frenzied and shirtless men, their bodies crushed against the tiny stage, starts to rumble in the air: 'HERE WE, HERE WE, HERE WE FUCKING GO! HERE WE, HERE WE, HERE WE FUCKING GO!'

It’s not a sign of impatience or hostility; it’s merely the chorus from the band’s latest single 'Go, Square, Go’, and the audience’s way of showcasing their devotion to the Scottish indie-gloom rockers who have made the leap from critically revered cult-darlings to mainstream mainstays since the release of their eponymous debut album six months ago. Their recent headline slot on the NME Awards Tour may have ensured that venues such as this—where the paint peels from the walls and the beer bottles don’t have any labels—are consigned to the past, but tonight’s show is a return-to-roots celebration of the recent meteoric success which they have been striving for since founding in 2003.

If tonight’s performance was supposed to be packed with carnival spirit, though, no-one told Glasvegas. They stride noiselessly onto the stage at 12:30am, all four members clad in black from head-to-toe, and without so much as acknowledging the crowd launch into 'Geraldine’, their heartfelt ode to a fictional social worker complete with thundering drums and a wall of dark, shimmering guitars. For the next 45 minutes the band will silently jostle for space, with crowd interaction limited to lead singer James Allan’s brisk enquiry of 'Are ye alright?' in his rough Scottish brogue, but the passion and intensity are tangible. Allan half croons, half drawls his way through the sharp social observations of 'Flowers and Football Tops’ and the bruised melancholia of 'It’s My Own Cheating Heart That Makes Me Cry’ as his band mates back him with a poignant slab of dark, brooding rock that energises the audience throughout the set—ex-Libertine Carl Barat can even be spotted crowd-surfing above the swarm of heaving bodies by the end of the night.

By the time Glasvegas strike up their last song, the rueful 'Daddy’s Gone’, their unique appeal is clear. Not many bands could turn a song into domestic turmoil into a sing-a-long, but as Allan kneels on the stage, eyes closed, and conducts the crowd in their roar of 'He’s gone, he’s hone, he’s gone', a powerful blend of pathos and euphoria fill the air. Their departure is as understated as their entrance—there’s no parting words or encore—but rather than being curmudgeonly, it feels like a fitting ending. Glasvegas are surely destined for larger venues and grander occasions; recapturing the magic of tonight’s fiercely triumphant atmosphere will be a much tougher challeng.

http://www.music-news.com/

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U2 No Line On The Horizon

U2’s 12th album in nearly 30 years came along with the usual publicity, and not surprisingly, with all songs being web-streamed through myspace. It seemed as if like Paul McCartney, U2 are either aware of the poor sales’ situation or else and unlike Paul McCartney, they somehow have realised that they still have not found what they are looking for.

No Line On The Horizon is indeed quite an appropriate title for U2’s latest endeavour. Recorded in Fez, Morocco and co-produced by Steve Lillywhite, Brian Eno and Daniel Lanois, the album does retain the cool sonic grazes that characterized their debut album, Achtung! Baby and Zooropa or even All That You Can’t Leave Behind, and despite having three producers, the overall effort is indeed commendable delivering once more, 'the big sound' that U2 have become quite familiar with.

The big problem with U2 is nonetheless the rather poor quality of songwriting that crops up again—this despite having the producers doubling as co-writers. Bono rants again on world injustices, fear of a dead planet though this time, things seem to be less pessimistic and melancholic. Yet, No Line On The Horizon is unfocused and unimpressive until around half way through. The recent single Get On Your Boots is a case in point, --a rather disjointed affair even though it is excellently produced. The sonic effects on Magnificent give the song a special warmth and If I Go Crazy sounds like a reject from The Joshua Tree. The same can be said of Stand Up Comedy, which sounds more like a song from U2’s previous album release. Its self-deprecating verses about rock stars seem to be a reflection of the situation some big names, not least U2 themselves are finding themselves in. Fez-Being Born, on the other hand would have comfortably gelled in The Joshua Tree.

U2 really click and tick on White As Snow and Cedars of Lebanon. Both songs reveal a precociousness that recalls early and present day Bono, in the sense that he brings about the freshness of early U2 as well as more ponderous recollections of a middle aged man in this day and age. The rather downbeat keyboards effects on both songs are fine and great. No Line On The Horizon is a much better effort than its predecessor, How To Dismantle an Atomic Bomb, but after five years and despite a neat approach by the producers, U2 are still in need of getting their dynamics right. Let’s hope they do so next time.

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Will Smith contacts original 'Karate Kid'

Will Smith has contacted the original 'Karate Kid' for advice on his remake of the iconic film.

The 40-year-old star - whose 10-year-old son Jayden is set to star in the film - is a producer on the venture, and was keen to get some tips from Ralph Macchio.

Ralph, who played Daniel LaRusso in the 1984 film, said: "It was very cool.

He called and said, 'Would you mind getting on the phone with my son?' I felt like Yoda speaking to a young Luke Skywalker, you know, from the 'Star Wars' movies."

The 47-year-old actor was only too happy to impart his martial arts wisdom to the young star.

He told TV show 'E! News': "Jayden was adorable and completely respectful and excited. I just told him to have fun. That was my advice."

Ralph admits he overreacted when he first heard the cult film was being remade.

In January, he said he'd had nothing to do with the new movie and was not convinced Jackie Chan was the right choice to star as karate teacher Mr. Miyagi, who was originally played by the late Pat Morita.

Ralph admitted: "I spoke too candidly about that at first. Look, I will look at anything that crosses the desk on it. But I really think for the sake of the connection to those films and certainly the original film, I think that they're going to want to create their own version of it that is its own thing."

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The Pink Panther 2

I approached The Pink Panther 2 with the firm belief that, no matter how ill inspired it might be, it certainly couldn't be worse than its 2006 predecessor, which set a new low bar for all things Clouseau. In fulfilling those expectations, The Pink Panther 2 represents an improvement, although not so great than many would notice. It is admittedly baffling that a cast with so much talent - Steve Martin, Jean Reno, Emily Mortimer, Andy Garcia, Alfred Molina, John Cleese, Lily Tomlin, Jeremy Irons - can be responsible for something so misbegotten. It's easy to lay a lion's share of the blame at the feet of director Harald Zwart, whose sterling résumé includes Agent Cody Banks, but there's culpability aplenty to go around. No one involved with The Pink Panther 2 escapes unsullied, least of all Martin, who should have given up after recognizing how badly he was miscast three years ago. His "interpretation" of Clouseau makes one suspect the corpse of Peter Sellers would do a better job.

For those searching desperately for silver lining to this black thunderhead, it is there, found early in the proceedings. Peter Sellers is dead and Blake Edwards is enjoying retirement at the ripe old age of 86, but The Pink Panther cartoon character is as lively as ever, making mischief all through the opening credits to the tune of Henry Mancini's unforgettable theme. But when the music ends, the boredom begins. That people are amused by this movie is a good indication of how low standards for comedy have fallen. Viewers often laugh not because something is genuinely funny but because it is supposed to be funny. This allows Hollywood to be sloppy and lazy when it comes to comedies, and few are more sloppy or lazy than The Pink Panther 2.

The story, to the extent that it has enough substance to warrant being called a "story," has Clouseau heading up an international "dream team" of detectives on the hunt for a thief called The Tornado, who has pilfered the Magna Carta, the Japanese Emperor's sword, the Shroud of Turin, and the Pink Panther diamond. Clouseau's fellow sleuths are the Italian Vicenzo (Andy Garcia), the British Pepperidge (Alfred Molina), and the Japanese Kenji (Yuki Matsuzaki). Also along for the ride is Sonia (Aishwarya Rai Bachchan), who is an expert on The Tornado. As usual, Clouseau is generally clueless for the first 3/4 of the movie, bumbling along in a haze of ineptitude, until inspiration strikes and he solves the case. I'm tempted to describe the mystery as Scooby Doo lite, but that might be considered insulting to the venerable dog detective cartoon series. There's also a romance between Clouseau and his assistant, Nicole (Emily Mortimer), that is more embarrassing than cute. Like seemingly everything else in this movie, it's wide of the mark by more than a little.

The breath of fresh air, to the extent that one can be identified in the staleness of this recycled refuse, is John Cleese. Cleese, replacing his good friend Kevin Kline as Chief Inspector Dreyfus, has reached into his past for inspiration. Dreyfus is, in fact, none other than Basil Fawlty. For the first time in years, Cleese has abandoned the laid-back persona he has donned for one high-profile cameo after another, and returned to his roots: high-strung, explosive mania. Unfortunately, he isn't on screen much more than he was as Nearly Headless Nick in the first Harry Potter movie. (Interestingly, he's the only "French" character who does not affect a silly French accent.)

The Pink Panther 2 is not completely devoid of laughs. Some of the Cleese stuff is funny and there are a few mildly amusing slapstick moments (although many of them, such as the bit with the globe, recall how much better Sellars was at this kind of material). But the bulk of Clouseau's antics are examples of poor writing and bad timing. The latter is surprising since, throughout his career, Martin has been a master of timing. Too many jokes, such as one in which Clouseau is dressed as the Pope and wanders onto the balcony many times waving his hands, last for so long that their comedic momentum is lost by the time the punch line arrives. Yes, they're supposed to be funny and we know why they're supposed to be funny, but the urge to laugh isn't there. Getting the joke before it has been told is not a good recipe for boundless mirth.

Those with a nostalgic yearning for The Pink Panther may find it hard to stay away, even if the cartoon character isn't around for much longer than in a fiberglass commercial. The solution is to buy a ticket to The Pink Panther 2 then, when the opening credits are done, slip into the next-door theater to see something else. It doesn't much matter what that movie is - it's not likely to be worse than what was left behind.

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Friday the 13th

Sometimes I wonder if there's a point to reviewing something like this. Then again, if I shared my thoughts about Sex and the City, why not Friday the 13th? Let's get this out of the way at the start: If all you're looking for is breasts, blood, and gore, this film hits pay dirt. None of the killings are terribly inventive, but they are plentiful, and why bother being devious when axes, machetes, knives, and pointed sticks will do the job just as well?

Call me a rebel, but I ask a little more from my horror movies. Much as I enjoy the crimson tide of copious bloodlettings, I like the film to work on another, slightly higher level. The best horror films generate a level of almost unbearable tension. There's none of that here. Tension requires, at a minimum, a degree of character identification, and it's laughable to argue that anyone in this production could be considered a "character." They're sheep lined up for the slaughter. The story doesn't make a whole lot of sense, but that goes with the territory. Gone are the days when filmmakers actually spent time and effort on a horror movie screenplay. Gone are the days when anyone cared.

Considering Friday the 13th to be a remake is erroneous, although that's how it's being marketed. It's more of an alternate timeline exploration. The movie informs us at the beginning that it accepts the events of the 1980 original as its backstory. From there, it embarks upon a new course, essentially having the events of this movie replace those of Parts II and III. There are echoes of those movies here, but we're not in strict remake territory. This Friday the 13th is to the series as H20 is to the Michael Myers saga. The older events and characters remain but the later, sillier ones are swept away so things can start anew. Not that they're being replaced by anything appreciably better. Friday the 13th opens with a bang - a high-energy prologue that sets up the pieces and knocks them down before announcing the film's title. Had the rest of the movie followed suit, I'd be recommending it to more than tits-and-gore lovers. Alas, the main story is a mess, with all the clichés firmly in place, the characters doing the dumb things one expects from them in horror movies, and no suspense whatsoever about who's got a chance to make it to the last reel. The narrative flow is inordinately choppy, but that's probably not the sort of thing most Friday the 13th viewers will notice (or care about). This time around, our victims-in-waiting are a group of post-college men and women who have driven up to a summer home situated on the shores of Crystal Lake, not that far from the infamous "Camp Blood." (In a nod to the original, the location is still in Sussex County, New Jersey. However, unlike the original, it wasn't actually filmed there.) The seven vacationers are Trent (Travis Van Winkle), a stuck-up prick who screams like a girl; his girlfriend, Jenna (Danielle Panabaker); Bree (Julianna Guill) and Chelsea (Willa Ford), the hot girls who are guaranteed to get naked; Lawrence (Arlen Escarpeta), the token black; Chewie (Aaron Yoo), the token Asian; and the utterly forgettable Nolan (Ryan Hansen). Also in the mix are Whitney (Amanda Righetti), who is being held captive by mass killer Jason Voorhees (Derek Mears), and her brother, Clay (Jared Padalecki), who is searching the woods for her. There's no need to go into further details about the plot since it replicates that of 80% of the slasher films out there. The blood, sex, profanity, and nudity are more extreme here than in the 1980 movie, but I suppose that's progress. The thing that's the most frustrating about this new Friday the 13th is how little creativity went into this re-imagination. The original may be a landmark on the cinematic landscape in terms of its importance to the genre, but it was not a great motion picture. There was an opportunity here to take the basic idea and do something special with it. For about 15 minutes, it appeared that was happening. After that… we get something that's more soulless, more pointless, and less enjoyable than anything in the original. Remake, reboot, re-envisioning - whatever you call it, it amounts to the same thing: a cynical money grab. This movie exists for the same reason that Rob Zombie's Halloween travesty was made - because the studios behind the projects won't give up until every last cent is bled out of the titles and they survive only as punch lines to bad jokes. This is the twelfth movie featuring Jason Voorhees, Camp Crystal Lake, and/or some combination of the two. Do we really want a thirteenth? If you can answer "yes" to that question, especially with this one unseen, then you deserve what director Marcus Nispel and co-producers Sean S. Cunningham and Michael Bay have provided.

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Various Artists

Aaah, the 80’s – what a time in musical history. With a sound that still defines some of today’s acts – Killers, MGMT, Interpol, etc, this is a fantastic reference point. With CDs defining 3 separate facets of the 80’s, all seamlessly edited it is the perfect set.

CD 1 is primarily the pop of the era, with the likes of Queen, ABC, Yazoo and Bowie, nestling with 80’s forgotten artists – Belouis Some, the wonderful Hipsway, Blancmange, level 42 and King.

CD 2 is slightly edgier with pet Shops Boys wonderful Shep Pettibone mix of West End Girls kicking off before moving into the likes of Kraftwerk, New Order, Tin Tin, Visage and the seminal Tainted Love / Where Did Our Love Go monster from Soft Cell – oh what school disco memories from this one!! Indie acts like Orange Juice, lloytd Cole and Echo and the Bunnymen are all present, along with US 1 hit wonders Animotion.

CD3 is the club CD – Nu Shooz, In Deep, Shannon, Shalamar, Grandmaster Flash, Lipps Inc and Paul Hardcastle all feature here, recounting days at Ritzy discos up and down the country!!

Whilst perhaps not as daring as some recent 80’s compilations, especially Edge of the Eighties, it is still a fine collection of 50 odd tracks that define a decade very well.

Out now

Disc: 1
1. Another One Bites The Dust - Queen
2. Relax - Frankie Goes To Hollywood
3. Let's Dance - David Bowie
4. Can You Feel It - The Jacksons
5. Ghostbusters - Ray Parker Jr.
6. Young Guns (Go For It) - Wham!
7. Rapture - Blondie
8. Situation - Yazoo
9. Promised You A Miracle - Simple Minds
10. Poison Arrow - ABC
11. Living On The Ceiling - Blancmange
12. Love And Pride (USA Summer Mix) - King
13. The Honeythief - Hipsway
14. Imagination - Belouis Some
15. Temptation - Heaven 17
16. Something About You - Level 42
17. Shout To The Top - The Style Council
18. Nelson Mandela - The Specials

Disc: 2

1. West End Girls - Pet Shop Boys
2. Blue Monday - New Order
3. The Model - Kraftwerk
4. Love Action - Human League
5. Planet Earth - Duran Duran
6. Tainted Love - Soft Cell
7. The Walk - The Cure
8. Mad World - Tears For Fears
9. Fade To Grey - Visage
10. Kiss Me - Tin Tin
11. The Cutter - Echo & The Bunnymen
12. It's My Life - Talk Talk
13. Obsession - Animotion
14. Club Country - The Associates
15. Perfect Skin - Lloyd Cole And The Commotions
16. Rip It Up - Orange Juice
17. Reward - The Teardrop Explodes
18. Rock Lobster - The B-52's

Disc: 3

1. Last Night A DJ Saved My Life – In Deep
2. 19 - Paul Hardcastle
3. I Feel For You - Chaka Khan
4. White Lines (Don't Do It) - Grandmaster Flash & Melle Mel
5. Lost In Music - Sister Sledge
6. I Can't Wait - Nu Shooz
7. Dr. Beat - Miami Sound Machine
8. Let The Music Play - Shannon
9. Funkytown - Lipps Inc.
10. There It Is - Shalamar
11. Wordy Rappinghood - Tom Tom Club
12. Stool Pigeon - Kid Creole And The Coconuts
13. All Night Long - Lionel Richie
14. Somebody's Watching Me - Rockwell
15. Just An Illusion - Imagination
16. Rhythm Of The Night - DeBarge
17. Mama Used To Say - Junior
18. Oops Upside Your Head - The Gap Band

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Jennifer Lopez walks off with $50,000 worth of diamonds

The singer-and-actress wore the Robert Mouawad jewellery to the launch of Andrea Lieberman's fashion line ALC, in Beverly Hills, and while other guests have given back the precious jewels, Jennifer has kept hers.

A source told the New York Post newspaper: "We received a call from her manager informing us that Jennifer was going to keep the jewellery. As far as Mr. Mouawad is concerned, Jennifer can have whatever she wants, but a premature demand seemed presumptuous. He will lose no sleep over $50,000, and frankly, Jennifer's endorsement is priceless."

Jennifer's manager Benny Medina insists the 39-year-old star was given the jewellery along with clothes from the ALC fashion line in return for hosting the event.

Medina said: "There was no demand whatsoever. There was an offer. It was very clear. It was agreed she would be given the entire collection of jewellery and clothes.

"She was the only celebrity whose name was on the invite. She would have done it for nothing. But this was how it was presented. It was quite a generous offer."

Jennifer is not the only star to have encountered problems while wearing expensive borrowed jewels.

In 1993, Sharon Stone was sued by Harry Winston Inc. after she failed to return a $400,000 necklace. The 'Basic Instinct' actress claimed she thought the jewellery was a gift.

Paris Hilton had to pay out $100,000 after losing the lavish Kwiat bracelet she wore to the Oscars in 2003. The blonde socialite said the trinket was stolen from a friend's car.

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Fatboy Slim in rehab

The superstar DJ – real name Norman Cook - voluntarily entered a specialist clinic to be treated for alcohol addiction on Monday (02.03.09).

It has been claimed Cook - who is married to radio DJ Zoe Ball - has had a problem with drink 'for some time'.

The musician’s manager Garry Blackburn said: 'It’s all pretty straight forward. He has gone in voluntarily to sort out his drinking problem.

'He chose the centre in the South of England because it gets good results and is a quiet location.'

Cook, 45 - who has a nine-year-old son, Woody, with Zoe - has previously admitted he relies on alcohol before he performs live.

He said: 'Fatboy Slim is my alter ego – he’s confident, a bit of a show off. It takes me until midnight to psyche myself into him. Externally, the difference between me and him is a bad Hawaiian shirt and half a bottle of vodka.

'Sometimes it feels a little undignified, but I never seem to get tired of getting dunk. I’ve tried going on stage sober and it wasn’t much fun.'

Cook is rumoured to have entered rehab in 2002, around the same time he and Zoe, 38, were having marital problems.

Zoe later admitted she cheated on her husband with DJ Dan Peppe.

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Everlasting Moments

A moment frozen in time through the lens of a camera - that's one of many images director Jan Troell uses to cement the foundation of his new period piece, Everlasting Moments. The chronicle of a woman who lived and died in the early part of the 20th century, this film covers the period between 1907 and 1921. Troell asks hard questions about love, fidelity, and responsibility and, perhaps most intriguingly, paints the portrait of a woman whose life could be considered a success or a tragedy, depending on the shading of the lens through which it is observed.

When we first encounter Maria Larsson (Maria Heiskanen), she is a mother and the wife of Sigfrid (Mikael Persbrant), a hard-working, hard-drinking manual laborer. Although generally a good fellow, Sigfrid can become a tyrant when he has imbibed too much - something that happens with increasing regularity. Maria thinks about leaving him but words from her dying father about the sanctity of marriage ("what God has put together let not man put asunder") keep her at home. The film then follows her through good times and bad (more of the latter than the former), through war and peace (although Sweden stayed neutral during World War I), and through the births of many children. Maria's constant companion during these years is her camera, which she nearly sells at one point to put food on the table and which later becomes the means by which she earns money while her husband is in prison. Although she never fully grasps the artistic implications of her photography, she grows into her talent and, without realizing it, leaves behind images of simple beauty that will never fade. In the end, Maria does not become a famous photographer but her story is no less touching because of it.

As told through the eyes of her daughter, Maja (Callin Öhrvall), Maria's story is a slightly fictionalized account of a real woman. Had this tale not been related to Troell and had he not elected to commit it to film, Maria Larsson would have vanished into history the way nearly everyone not conventionally famous does. It's easy to understand what fascinated the director about this project, because Maria's story is not fundamentally unique. This is a representation of how millions lived 100 years ago. Their names have vanished into the mists of anonymity, but many of their faces - preserved through photographs - have not. To tell the story right, Troell does what all directors of period pieces do: effectively re-creates the era. And, as one would expect from a production that's about pictures and images, the director carefully establishes and frames every shot. He is, in fact, creating his own everlasting images.

As is often the case with foreign productions, the actors are largely unknown in the United States. Maria Heiskanen is memorable as the long-suffering, courageous Maria. The actress brings humanity and strength to her character without transforming Maria into a martyr. Explicitly left open is the question of whether Maria loves Sigfrid to the end, and Heiskanen's performance allows it to be read either way. Meanwhile, for his part, Mikael Persbrant finds some dignity and kindness in Sigfrid. He is not a monster (at least when he's sober) and he is not portrayed as such. Jesper Christensen has a supporting role as the kindly owner of a photography studio who falls in love with Maria.

Troell has been making films for more than 40 years and takes his time in between projects. Internationally, he is perhaps best known for 1971's The Emigrants, for which he received both Best Director and Best Screenplay Oscar nominations. His 1996 feature Hamsun was also well received around the globe. He has a keen visual sense, often serving as director, writer, cinematographer, and editor on his movies. Despite emerging from the country of Ingmar Bergman during the era of Bergman, he is not often compared to the master filmmaker, but there are elements of Everlasting Moments that echo aspects of Bergman's The Best Intentions (which Bergman wrote for director Bille August). Perhaps this is unsurprising since Bergman's parents (the subject of The Best Intentions) married in the Sweden depicted in this movie.

There's something old-fashioned about Everlasting Moments. Although the shots are beautifully composed, they are classically represented. Both the filmmaking methods and the storytelling are uncomplicated. There's nothing flashy about either one of them. Troell's goal is to tell Maria's tale and he succeeds. To the extent that he conveys information about the time, place, and politics of the era, these are all necessary to flesh out Maria's three-dimensionality and make her world seem real. Period pieces like this were once more popular than they are today. It is refreshing to see a solid one like this from time-to-time.

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Milk

A movie review by James Berardinelli

30 years have passed since the assassination of San Francisco Supervisor Harvey Milk and, the ballot passage of California's recent Proposition 8 notwithstanding, advances have been made in the area of gay rights, although there are still many hurdles left to be cleared. Gus Van Sant points his camera back to the 1970s to capture a small series of similarities to today's climate as filtered through huge refracted differences. By imbuing the characters with humanity and personality, Van Sant avoids the obvious traps of making Milk a sycophantic tribute or a slickly made piece of propaganda. The story sticks as close to the facts as any bio-pic I can think of and Van Sant uses plenty of genuine '70s stock footage to amplify the period verisimilitude. As important as is Milk's contribution to understanding the turbulent world of three decades past, the film is equally notable for its ability to reflect how the fight for which Milk died still rages.

Milk represents a "hybrid" film for Van Sant - a fusion of two phases of his career. In the late 1990s, Van Sant had an extended flirtation with mainstream movie making (most notably Good Will Hunting), a period that had many wondering aloud whether he had "sold out" or "cashed in." In response to this, he began a series of non-commercial, deeply personal motion pictures, culminating in last year's Paranoid Park. With Milk, Van Sant weds a straightforward linear narrative and high-profile cast with a subject matter that has genuine resonance for him. This is his most accessible film since 2000's Finding Forrester, but it remains to be seen whether the viewing public is ready to accept a non-campy, openly gay protagonist like Harvey Milk.

Those who have grown up within the gay subculture or who have spent any significant time in San Francisco probably know who Harvey Milk is. For almost everyone else, however, he is at best an historical footnote and more likely an unknown. As depicted in the movie, Milk (Sean Penn) and his lover, Scott Smith (James Franco), depart New York for Frisco in 1972. They move to Castro Street and spend their pooled savings to open a camera store. Although the neighborhood is fast becoming a gay hangout, many of the "holdover" businesses are hostile as are the police. The flamboyant Milk soon becomes an activist and attracts a small group of devoted followers, including Cleve Jones (Emile Hirsch), who would become one of Milk's closest confidants. In 1977, following several unsuccessful runs for office, Milk wins an election for Supervisor, becoming the first openly gay man on an already liberal board. Milk soon becomes embroiled in a struggle against the so-called Proposition 6 - a referendum designed to allow school boards to fire gay teachers - and shows Americans there is nothing pernicious about being a homosexual. He wins the battle but is gunned down shortly thereafter at the age of 48. (Lest some consider this a spoiler even though it is a matter of the historical record, Van Sant shows a newsclip of Diane Feinstein announcing the assassination early in the film.)

While Milk's fight was specifically for gay rights, it's easy to see him as a civil rights champion in a broader sense, and this is the light in which Van Sant illuminates him. Even homophobes should be able to appreciate the importance of equal rights for any group, regardless of race, religion, or sexual orientation. It is not unreasonable to surmise that, at some point in the future, current majorities could become minorities and, at that point, they will be grateful for the protections that Milk and others like him fought so long and hard for. As a result, the struggle depicted in this movie takes on the more universal aspect of one man warring against a better funded, intractable system.

According to Van Sant, the California vote with respect to Proposition 6 represented a cultural fork in the road for this country, and Milk places its audience at ground zero. Milk is struggling against a tide of evangelical homophobia whipped up by pop-star-turned-activist Anita Bryant. The template of where such intolerance can lead - 1930s Germany - gives too few people pause. Milk's tactic is simple: humanize those the evangelicals would demonize. He asserts that two out of three who know a homosexual will not vote to have his/her rights stripped away.

Sean Penn is a chameleon of an actor who shows uncommon discipline when it comes to choosing his roles, although one would have to be naïve to assume that the potential of an Oscar nomination didn't enter his thinking when it came to accepting the part. Despite its low budget, Milk is clearly being positioned as an Oscar contender - if not for Best Picture then at least for Best Actor. Sometimes, so much prestige surrounding a performance can make it seem artificial or overhyped but, to his credit, Penn shrinks his ego and allows us to see only Harvey Milk. A more remarkable transformation, however, belongs to Josh Brolin, who portrays Milk's political opponent and fellow Supervisor, Dan White. Brolin is getting a lot of kudos for his caricatured portrayal of George W. Bush in W. , but his work here is more complete. White is a divided, tortured individual and Brolin shows us this more through expressions and mannerisms than by reciting Milk's dialogue. Emile Hirsch, who starred for Penn in Into the Wild, co-stars with him here, perhaps reflecting an off-screen mentor/protégé relationship.

Milk feels like an important picture, but not in a way that makes it tedious to watch. There's no pretentious sheen to the proceedings. In fact, the essential story is comprised of basic elements: the triumph of the underdog, David vs. Goliath, and the American tragedy of a strong voice silenced too soon. Knowing how the story ends merely emphasizes the importance of the steps taken to get to that point. Van Sant is cognizant of the film's political applicability to current events, but chose to release the film after Election Day rather than have it pigeonholed as propaganda whose entire purpose was to sway voters. For those who are not dissuaded by the homosexual subject matter (and it would be unrealistic to pretend that the film's potential box office will not be depressed as a result of this), Milk represents a thought provoking, cathartic, and mostly true tale of politics and courage.

http://www.reelviews.net/

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The Oscars 2009 : Winners

Here is the full list of winners at the 81st Academy Awards, which have been held in Los Angeles.

Best picture: Slumdog Millionaire
Also nominated: The Curious Case of Benjamin Button; Frost/Nixon; Milk; The Reader

Best director: Danny Boyle - Slumdog Millionaire
Also nominated: Stephen Daldry - The Reader; David Fincher - The Curious Case of Benjamin Button; Ron Howard - Frost/Nixon; Gus Van Sant - Milk

Best actor: Sean Penn - Milk
Also nominated: Richard Jenkins - The Visitor; Frank Langella - Frost/Nixon; Brad Pitt - The Curious Case of Benjamin Button; Mickey Rourke - The Wrestler

Best actress: Kate Winslet - The Reader
Also nominated: Anne Hathaway - Rachel Getting Married; Angelina Jolie - Changeling; Melissa Leo - Frozen River; Meryl Streep - Doubt

Best supporting actor: Heath Ledger - The Dark Knight
Also nominated: Josh Brolin - Milk; Robert Downey Jr - Tropic Thunder; Philip Seymour Hoffman - Doubt; Michael Shannon - Revolutionary Road

Best supporting actress: Penelope Cruz - Vicky Cristina Barcelona
Also nominated: Amy Adams - Doubt; Viola Davis - Doubt; Taraji P Henson - The Curious Case of Benjamin Button; Marisa Tomei - The Wrestler

Best original screenplay: Milk
Also nominated: Happy-Go-Lucky; Wall-E; In Bruges; Frozen River

Best adapted screenplay: Slumdog Millionaire
Also nominated: The Curious Case of Benjamin Button; Doubt; Frost/Nixon; The Reader

Best animated feature film: Wall-E
Also nominated: Bolt; Kung Fu Panda

Best animated short film: La Maison en Petits Cubes
Also nominated: Lavatory - Lovestory; Oktapodi; Presto; This Way Up

Best foreign language film: Departures - Japan
Also nominated: Revanche - Austria; The Class - France; The Baader Meinhof Complex - Germany; Waltz With Bashir - Israel

Best documentary feature: Man on Wire
Also nominated: The Betrayal; Encounters at the End of the World; The Garden; Trouble The Water

Best documentary short subject: Smile Pinki
Also nominated: The Conscience of Nhem En; The Final Inch; The Witness - From the Balcony of Room 306

Art direction: The Curious Case of Benjamin Button
Also nominated: Changeling; The Dark Knight; The Duchess; Revolutionary Road

Costume design: The Duchess
Also nominated: The Curious Case of Benjamin Button; Australia; Milk; Revolutionary Road

Make-up: The Curious Case of Benjamin Button
Also nominated: The Dark Knight; Hellboy II: The Golden Army

Cinematography: Slumdog Millionaire
Also nominated: The Curious Case of Benjamin Button; Changeling; The Dark Knight; The Reader

Best live action short film: Spielzeugland (Toyland)
Also nominated: Auf der Strecke (On The Line); Manon on the Asphalt; New Boy; The Pig

Visual effects: The Curious Case of Benjamin Button
Also nominated: The Dark Knight; Iron Man

Sound editing: The Dark Knight
Also nominated: Iron Man; Wanted; Slumdog Millionaire; Wall-E

Sound mixing: Slumdog Millionaire
Also nominated: The Curious Case of Benjamin Button; The Dark Knight; Wanted; Wall-E

Film editing:Slumdog Millionaire
Also nominated: The Curious Case of Benjamin Button; The Dark Knight; Frost/Nixon; Milk

Best original score: Slumdog Millionaire
Also nominated: The Curious Case of Benjamin Button; Defiance; Milk; Slumdog Millionaire; Wall-E

Best original song: Jai Ho - Slumdog Millionaire
Also nominated: Down To Earth - Wall-E; O Saya - Slumdog Millionaire

Source: Press Release

http://cinema.com

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