Spider-Man 2

Grade: A-

You’ve arrived late to an off-Broadway play. The usher adamantly refuses to seat you because the performance has already commenced, and there is a policy not to seat latecomers once the show has begun.

You have entered the world of comic book fantasy. And a wonderful world it is.

I didn’t particularly care for the first Spider-Man movie. At the time I said, “No matter how hard they try, the tone of most superhero movies is never quite right, and the screenplay never quite works.”

What a splendid surprise, this time around, to find a superhero movie with a first-rate screenplay, and a tone that creates a near perfect blend of genuine human emotion with comic book daring-do.

“Ordinary People” is my favorite film of all time. “Unfaithful” was oh so high on my top ten films of 2002. And you’re giving us this information for what reason exactly, you ask? Because it is so audaciously rare that a studio producing a summer action pic is smart enough to engage someone with the talent of Alvin Sargent (screenwriter of the aforementioned films) who here has crafted an exciting, thoughtful, funny and occasionally even moving story for actors and visual effects technicians to build upon.

Tobey Maguire leads a mostly terrific cast that give fully realized performances and create surprisingly textured characters. Maguire’s Peter Parker, aka Spider-Man, is filled with a tender ambivalence more commonly expected in a family drama than an action flick. Alfred Molina has been written a multi-dimensional villain to play as well, and Rosemary Harris lends her constant grace as a far-more-knowing Aunt than the standardly oblivious prototype. Only overwrought James Franco -- usually a personal favorite -- sticks out like a melodramatic thumb, simply too brooding, agonized, and intoxicated as Parker’s jet setting pal to be taken remotely seriously. (Note to whoever is writing the story for “Spider-Man 3:” Don’t do what you’ve hinted at doing. I’m telling you, you’ll be making a big mistake if you even consider doing it.)

While the first film was weighted down with some embarrassingly amateurish effects that looked like pure animation, the sequel perfectly combines computer generated with live action effects, seamlessly edited and surprisingly believable. The film also creates a wonderfully rich and detailed New York world, filled with bad (but funny) street performers, inconsiderate and pushy pedestrians (watch the pocket books), and resiliently supportive New Yorkers. There are thrills and highs aplenty and, although the film does drag occasionally and the resolution is mildly lackluster, there is finally a summer blockbuster worthy of the title and box office.

And it really is true. Right down to a Hal Sparks (“Queer As Folk”) cameo, these superhero movies are just so incredibly gay. So, to my brethren everywhere, take off your mask and be who you truly are. Trust me, your Aunt already knows.

More Movie Info: http://imdb.com/title/tt0316654/

Fahrenheit 9/11

Grade: A-

Michael Moore at his most unapologetically one-sided, tenacious, take-no-prisoners, go for the jugular best. Moore is always at his strongest when there is no pretense of unbiased or balanced reporting, and here he offers up a film with an unambiguous point-of-view and unabashed agenda to take down the administration of George W. Bush. It is manipulative to sure, it is also quite entertaining and undeniably convincing.

It is propaganda as propaganda is meant to be.

As presented by Moore, our President has protected and cultivated his familial relationships with the Saudis for personal power and increased wealth, while at the same time sent our children off to die in an unjust and immoral war. Mr. Bush is also a lazy, lackadaisical moron whose number of malapropisms during his first term in office is matched only by his number of golf swings. This may not change anyone’s mind about the President (although, while we’re being unapologetically opinionated, you’re an anti-woman, homophobic simpleton if you support the guy) but it is most certainly affirming, corroborating and energizing to the lefties among us as we enter the electoral season.

Moore is also stylistically at his best here, removing himself from much of the action and permitting the story, the voices, and the imagery to speak for itself. An Iraqi woman, tears streaming down her agonized face, begging, pleading to Allah to bring justice down upon our houses. An American mother, a devout patriot, tears streaming down her agonized face, standing in front of the White House mourning the loss of her son stationed in Iraq. “I didn’t think it would be this hard.” Moments will sear themselves into your mind. While there is an occasional misstep when Moore’s narration can’t help but take the low road – putting words and thoughts into people’s mouths and minds that may or may not have existed – Moore utilizes the facts at his disposal to build a vision of the truth that is profound, powerful and extraordinarily moving. Supported by a hauntingly taught score and superb editing, this is truly Moore’s finest hour.

The world changed for us all, both in 2000 when the Supreme Court became an undeniably politically biased entity, and in 2001 when the Towers fell. Moore doesn’t show us the planes slamming into the Trade Center – in fact, it is jarring to realize that the very sounds of planes crashing, glass breaking, and people screaming have become a part of our societal lexicon. We all know what it means. We all know what is happening. We all know the horror of people looking skyward.

What follows is a stunning tale of an immobile, conniving, vacationing President, color-coded terror warnings designed more to promote fear and allegiance than safety, a press willing to walk on eggshells and wave the American flag rather than do their jobs as reporters, and an agenda that has nothing to do with national security and all to do with personal profit. And a good yarn it is. Unfortunately, it is also a story of parents losing their children, a country despised by the world, and youthful minds whose innocence is lost far too early amidst blood, battle, testosterone and bravado.

The perspective Moore brings to his treatise is made all the more frightening set against the backdrop of a movie studio that forgot the meaning of free speech right around the same time our lawmakers forgot the meaning of the Bill of Rights. It gives one hope that there are Moores and Weinsteins courageous enough to take on the Bushes and Eisners of the world.

You will be haunted for days.

More Movie Info: http://imdb.com/title/tt0361596/

Broadway: The Golden Age, by the Legends Who Were There

Theater Lovers: Grade B+
Theater Goers: Grade B-
Theater Snoozers: Grade C

A long, long, way long list of Broadway veterans from the 40’s, 50’s, and 60’s remember Broadway via charming anecdotes and remembrances, rare footage, and still photographs. Ably assisted by documentarian Rick McKay, they also unnecessarily and often inaccurately trash the current state of Broadway Theater. The former is delightful, the latter one-sided and eminently irritating.

The film is at its best when the likes of Angela Lansbury, Jerry Orbach, Robert Goulet, Carol Channing and a cast of what feels like thousands talk about the good old days with love, humor, passion and great fondness. Stories about struggling together in tenements, watching people like Brando on stage (woof was he hot), going out of town before and after shows opened on the great white way, and being the understudy discovered when the lead actually does break her leg are all great fun indeed, as are clips of John Raitt singing from “Carousel” or Carol Lawrence and Larry Kert performing from “West Side Story” (although most of them are from Ed Sullivan or Tony Award compilations). It is frustrating and upsetting to realize how few great performances were captured from this generation, especially from stars of the day many of us have never before heard of, as we are often forced to make do with subsequent movie versions or black and white photographs. Still, there is much that is enchanting for theater aficionados, even if some of the people, places and performances McKay chooses to focus on seem fairly arbitrary.

Unfortunately, McKay’s “things ‘aint the way they use to be” agenda keeps getting in the way of some great storytelling and shining examples of the best the stage had to offer. We’ve heard the “I could see a Broadway show for fifty cents” anecdote about as often as we’ve heard the one about “walking to school ten miles in a blizzard,” and it all comes off more than a bit snotty, as do tales about hitting the last row of a balcony without a microphone. Greatness has always existed, and so too has the crap. Fortunately, one’s memory tends toward the former. In 1950, for example, a whopping 74 shows opened. “Guys and Dolls.” Wow. “Member of the Wedding.” Extraordinary. “The Country Girl.” Legendary. But has anyone ever heard of “The Gioconda Smile,” which ran for a record breaking 41 performances? How’s about “Mr. Barry’s Etchings,” which ran for 31? “Great to Be Alive” dropped dead after 52 performances, and “Dance Me a Song” stopped both singing and dancing after a mere 35. Broadway was glorious 50 years ago, but it is also glorious today – just watch the likes of Raul Esparza, Jefferson Mays, Brian Stokes Mitchell, Audra McDonald, Donna Murphy, Tonya Pinkins, Laura Linney, Nathan Lane, Liev Schreiber or Bernadette Peters on stage if you don’t believe me. True, there are mayhap too many revivals and undeserved standing ovations, producers willing to risk capital on unknown quantities are few and far between, and shows would benefit greatly from out-of-town tryouts, but nobody can convince me there is not a theater community every bit as thriving, generous, passionate and talented now as there was then. Thank god for the voice of Elaine Stritch -- lord love her -- who pegs the bullshit and aggrandizement of her fellow thespians and the filmmaker for what it is.

But when McKay gets off his soapbox and allows those of us who love the theater today to get off of ours, he helps to remind us how truly transcendent it will always be to watch the lights go down as the curtain comes up.

More Movie Info: http://imdb.com/title/tt0303797/

Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban

Grade: C

He is such a snob. No taste whatsoever. Pompous ass. When I go to the movies, I want to be entertained. What an elitist.

Blah, blah, blah…

Say what you will – and you will – this is one boring ass movie.

Before you say another word, you will please remember that I was a fanatic of J.K. Rowling’s long before most people had the vaguest notion of a lightning bolt on anyone’s forehead. I withstood the taunts and belittling of family, friends and colleagues alike for reading “children’s books” until, like the wave of a magic wand, the phenomenon began and I became merely one of the multitudes. Don’t accuse me of not having a whimsical heart.

If you feel the need to point a finger at anyone, the screenwriter might be a good place to start. For three straight movies in a row, Steven Kloves has been utterly unable to capture the essence of some very magical books and adapt them into worthy screenplays. Not unlike a Dementor hunting his prey, Kloves ably helps the films’ directors suck the very air out of Rowling’s characters and storylines.

To be fair, this one must be given credit for attempting to be more adult and multidimensional than its predecessors. There is a somber, overcast mood and grainier look that is initially quite promising, a darker aura foreshadowing a grave and uncertain future. Yet the film quickly becomes maudlin and plodding under so much weighty import. Kids will fidget from the tedious and dour pace, adults will yawn and check their watches (I wasn’t the only one) over the drawn out running length. The performances don’t help much, with three young adults who won’t be working much in years to come – I hope they’re getting paid well now – equally matched by a group of better known thespians who seem to be phoning in goofily, scene chewing, oddly bored work (Michael Gambon is a total dud of a Dumbledore, whereas Emma Thompson is “so funny I forgot to laugh” slapstick as the big toothed, coke bottle glasses divination professor). Special effects range from sweetly whimsical to a bad mix of claymation and animation, and never once do we feel transported off of a soundstage (replete with painted styrofoam forests and background lakes with nonmoving water) and into the magical land of Hogwarts.

I fear my life will be in danger for even saying this, but I can’t help but wonder if Rowling’s books musn’t share at least some of the blame here. I adore them and have happily stood in line at Barnes & Nobles at the chimes of midnight to be among the first to buy a copy, but even the most ardent fan must concede they are overly verbose, rambling and somewhat lacking in structure, generally leaving exposition and explanation to a Dumbledore lecture in the final chapter – the fact that she’s not a slave to receiving an A+ grade in a “Creative Writing” class are part of the book’s overall charm. For a film version to soar overhead like a Hippogriff, studio heads must first have the guts to risk the franchise and allow a screenwriter to actually write a screenplay – you know, one of those things people write to make material suitable for the medium of film? As it is, Potter fans will likely thank the gods and heartily applaud what paltry little they have been given, while non fans will merely scratch there heads in confusion, trying to figure out what the hell is going on and what all the fuss is about in the first place.

We went to an 11:30am Saturday showing. Two-thirds of the way through the movie, my partner turned to me and asked, “Is it Sunday, yet?” Enough said.

More Movie Info: http://imdb.com/title/tt0304141/