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Francois Ozon’s haunting BELOW THE SAND stars the remarkable British actress Charlotte Rampling, who plays Marie Drillon: a redoubtable, pretty, professional, independent midst-venerable woman fatiguing to get her viability back on track after the sudden disappearance of her save. Composed for a superwoman like Marie, the petrify of the tragedy is psychologically traumatizing. Marie isn’t convinced what happened to her mute (Is he dead? Did he run remote with someone else?) and she’s in denial fro him being gone. At Parisian dinner parties with her reassuring, careful friends, Marie peaceful talks roughly her husband in the present worried. At home, she still imagines that he is with her; she pours two cups of tea in the morning and she reminds him to set the uneasiness clock preceding effective to sleep at night. At the university where she teaches English, she reads to her students from the melancholy book THE WAVES by Virginia Woolf. Through all of this, Ozon’s camera caresses Marie and encourages her, always casting her in hyperboreal, confident light. Using motion picture words such as the repeated double reflection of Marie’s disguise in the repeat, audiences come to understand Marie’s innermost thoughts and feelings. She is a woman confronting herself (her indistinguishability, her age, her society, her sexuality, her emotions, her intellect) with brutal justice. AT THE MERCY OF THE SAND is beautiful, glum, languorous film that includes some unforgettable images of the rolling ocean waves near Marie’s bank for nothing in Landes, France.

In 10 Words or Less
John Grisham tackles America’s other favorite recreation: cheating

The Movie
John Grisham made his name as the master of the legal thriller, with a run of bestselling novels including The Client, The Rainmaker and The Firm. As a lawyer, he knew exactly what he was talking about, and wrote some very good novels. But as with all people who achieve extreme success (see Madonna), he came to believe he could do anything. Thus, he wrote a Christmas comedy, a coming-of-age drama and a sports novel, and now, a sports movie he produced himself. Like Madonna’s acting efforts, these side jobs by Grisham don’t touch the quality of his day job.

In Mickey, Harry Connick, Jr. plays Tripp, a lawyer who runs into some trouble with the IRS over his taxes. Afraid he’ll end up in prison, and away from his motherless son, Derek, he changes their hair color, and goes on the run, moving to Las Vegas, where he hopes they can start a new life. For Derek, life centers around Little League baseball, which he had to give up when they went on the lam.

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So when the opportunity comes up for Derek, now known as Mickey, to repeat his last year of Little League, Tripp grabs for it, despite the fact that as a 13-year-old, he is too old to play in this league. Through some manipulation, he gets Mickey, who poses as a 12-year-old, onto the best team in the league, and starts him on a ride to success that gets out of his control. There’s a subplot involving a relationship between Tripp and the hot school principal, which makes no sense if Tripp is trying to hide, and a jingoistic government subplot about the Cuban baseball team, which ridiculously is used to excuse Tripp’s lies, but these are just diversions from a rather simple A-to-B storyline.

Once the plot is established, it’s all baseball, until the end, where Tripp’s machinations start crashing down around him. The baseball action, done with players, instead of actors, is very good, but without much drama or comedy between games, the pace gets oppressive. Director Hugh Wilson (Police Academy, The First Wives Club) has admitted that when dealing with Little League, there are simply too many games to deal with, and that makes the film longer than then it should have been.

First-time actor Shawn Salinas does well as the center of attention, balancing his baseball ability with the dramatic aspects of the story, without falling into Lifetime Channel territory. And of course, Connick is good in his role, as he always is. But the story, which seems to say if you break the rules, but do it for the right personal reasons, then it is OK, is troubling. This movie is packaged as a movie for families, but doesn’t have the kind of message a family film should espouse, and doesn’t have enough meat to keep non-baseball fan viewers interested.

Guy Maddin at his wicked best

Winnipeg's gift to cinema, Guy Maddin, is back in town this weekend to present a Northwest Film Forum festival of his shorts and features. He is scheduled to attend all screenings tonight and tomorrow.

The main attraction is Maddin's new 64-minute feature, "Cowards Bend the Knee"; he's filling out the program with several shorts from his collection. His 72-minute debut movie, "Tales From the Gimli Hospital" (1988), is the late show.

Honored with a Seattle Art Museum tribute a few years ago, the Canadian filmmaker is at his best when he's making five-minute shorts (such as the hilarious, demented "Sissy-Boy Slap Party") and feature-length films that just barely qualify as features. The shorter the movie, the more brilliantly concentrated Maddin's visuals are likely to be.

If you've never seen Maddin's work, "Cowards Bend the Knee" is a good place to start. It may be his most deliberate attempt to create a narrative, blending elements of Greek tragedy with hints of such amputation-obsessed horror movies as "The Unknown" and "The Beast With Five Fingers." One femme-fatale character is so attached to the amputated hands of her dead father ("Hands are memories") that she attempts to have them transplanted onto the hands of her lover.

The lover, a Winnipeg Maroons hockey player played by Darcy Fehr, is called Take off Maddin, and Maddin concedes that there's an autobiographical unit to the main settings: a beauty salon and a hockey arena. Although he claims to shrink the talk-show butt syndrome, Maddin told one interviewer that he was "seized with a sense of mischief, a sense of tattling on my own family."

Whatever the origins of this tale of murder and betrayal, it's Maddin's delirious style that makes his movies so watchable. A dreamy mixture of slow motion, fast cutting, sardonic subtitles and cheeky chapter headings, Maddin's movies reinvent silent-film techniques in a way that can't be mistaken for the work of anyone else. They're also packed with unexpectedly appropriate music. Beethoven's Seventh Symphony seems especially comfortable here.

"Cowards Bend the Knee" was shot on black-and-white Super 8 film. The same process will be used for "The Brand Upon the Brain!," the new movie he'll be shooting in Seattle over the next 11 days. It features a local cast and crew.

— John Hartl,
Special to The Seattle Times

Movie review

"Guerrilla: The Taking of Patty Hearst,"

a documentary by Robert Stone. 89 minutes. Not rated; for mature audiences. Varsity, through Thursday.

The film is punctuated by Hearst's collected, flat voice, on the increasingly martial audiotapes sent to the media during her captivity. "I participate in chosen to dwell and fight," says the young woman, completing her (temporary) alteration into an armed warrior renamed Tania. Stone did not talk to Hearst on the side of this overlay (or perhaps was unfit to do so), and the absence of any contemporary exposition from her feels cognate with a fix in the fable. The "guerrilla" of the title dies as quickly as she was born, and we're left wondering what happened; after so many years, the mystery remains.

— Moira Macdonald, Seattle Times movie critic

Portraits of loneliness

NEW YORKER FILMS Muzaffer Özdemir in the Turkish film "Distant," about chronic isolation.

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The acclaimed Turkish film "Distant" earns its title through missed or neglected connections, emotional vacuums and vacant lives. It's also deeply compassionate and frequently amusing, qualifying as a minor miracle of humanely observant filmmaking.

Enjoying the film is purely a matter of individual receptiveness to writer-director Nuri Bilge Ceylan's contemplative take on solitary lives. His camera is frequently as fixed as his characters; watch closely and you'll recognize someone you know, or even yourself. The quietest moments are the most revealing.

Movie review

"Distant,"

with Muzaffer Özdemir, Mehmet Emin Toprak. Written and directed by Nuri Bilge Ceylan. 105 minutes. Not rated; for mature audiences (contains profanity). In Turkish with English subtitles. Northwest Film Forum, through Thursday.

Muzaffer Özdemir and Mehmet Emin Toprak shared best-actor honors at the 2003 Cannes Film Festival for their impeccably nuanced performances as (respectively) divorced, fortysomething photographer Mahmut and his detached relative Yusef. (Toprak was killed in an auto chance, at age 28, six months before his honors at Cannes.)

Yusef arrives in Istanbul looking for work and wears out his welcome in Mahmut's apartment. Tensions mount, and we realize that solitude is the natural (if not preferred) state of these lonely, melancholy men.

Humor arises from simple sequences that convey, but never judge, Mahmut and Yusef's chronic isolation. Long takes dwell on utter inactivity and emotions accumulate with subtle, universal effect. "Distant" could've been made anywhere and it would yield the same visually seductive study of detachment. Tune into its wavelength, and it'll stay with you forever.

— Jeff Shannon,
Special to The Seattle Times

Sick, twisted and boring

With a large variety of animated shorts available online and this latest edition being released on DVD Feb. 8, "Spike & Mike's Sick & Twisted Festival of Animation" has worn out its welcome. Spend an hour on the Internet and you'll find sicker, more twisted animations than you'll find in this 2004-05 collection, most of which caters to warped juvenile minds too young to gain admission.

Movie review

"Spike & Mike's Sick & Twisted Festival of Animation (2004-05 edition),"

a collection of animated shorts. 88 minutes. Not rated; no one under 18 admitted (contains adult material, cartoon violence, nudity and profanity). Varsity.

Craig "Spike" Decker and his (now deceased) partner Mike Gribble deserve credit for fostering animation with a showcase for new talent — sick, twisted or otherwise. Their compilations are great for film festivals, midnight screenings and specialized venues, but there's a distressing dearth of worthy material: Of the 25 shorts presented here, only four are truly sick and twisted, a scant few are funny and one is genuinely memorable. The rest are a complete waste of time.

"Sick & Twisted" honors go to the violent critters who get comically maimed in several episodes of "Happy Tree Friends," while "Here Comes Dr. Tran" recalls the notorious cartoon series "Mr. Wong" (available on DVD) in its blatant ethnic stereotypes and disregard for political correctness. The French "Crab Revolution" is amusingly odd (it's the clear standout here), while many disposable shorts are student trials in CGI (computer-generated imaging) and pencil-tests for incomplete projects.

Save your money and visit

www.spikeandmike.com

for an archive of freebies.

— Jeff Shannon,
Special to The Seattle Times

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Dogtown and Z-Boys

USA, 2001. Rated PG-13. 97 minutes.


Featuring:

Jay Adams, Tony Alva, Bob Biniak, Paul Constantineau, Shogo Kubo, Peggy
Oki, Stacy Peralta, Nathan Pratt, Wentzle Ruml, Allen Sarlo

Annalist:

Sean Penn

Writers:

Stacy Peralta, Craig Stecyk

Cinematographers:

Peter Pilafian, Pat Darrin

Maker:

Agi Orsi

Director:

Stacy Peralta

Review by
Claudia
Smurthwaite

 ike
the boys of Dogtown, I too spent my summer afternoons in the late 70's in a
pool, though mine was filled with water and countless laps. I was the budding
synchronized swimmer in spandex and sequins, the Z-Boys were commandos who raided
neighborhood pools, emptying them of water if necessary so they could spend
the day carving and grinding.

Narrated by Sean Penn,

Dogtown and Z-Boys

traces the evolution of modern
skateboarding from the beaches of Santa Monica to its streets, playgrounds,
and pools.

The
Z-Boys were a group of kids from the wrong side of the tracks who were taken
under the wing of local surfboard maker Jeff Ho and his partners in Zephyr Surfboards.
They surfed the local waves in the morning and, after the surf died down, spent
the afternoons skating in front of the Zephyr store. The invention of polyurethane
wheels gave skateboards stability and maneuverability clay wheels didn't and
allowed the boys to adapt the cuts and turns of surfing to skating. Immortalized
on film and in print by Craig Stecyk, the Z-Boy mystique and attitude became
a cultural phenomenon inspiring the likes of musician Henry Rollins and Pearl
Jam's Jeff Ament.

The Z-Boys skated together and as sponsorship opportunities grew, against each
other. Some found success; some struggled with success, and others determined
to define success on their own terms. They are the originators of Extreme Sports
and their influence can be seen from the X-Games to the Olympics.

To create his history of the Santa Monica surfers and skateboarders, director
Stacy Peralta, an original Z-Boy, has gathered the original team and interspersed
commentary and recollections with photos and film. These are the gods of skateboarding,
the guys that my younger brother, like thousands of GenXers, looked up to and
emulated as he skated the local streets, grinding the curbs, and publishing
his own skate 'zine. Though I was never a skater (the water made for a much
softer landing than the pavement), Peralta drew me into the skating subculture.
It doesn't take a hardcore sidewalk surfer to appreciate the enthusiasm and
spirit of

Dogtown and Z-Boys

.

Review
©

May 2002

by AboutFilm.Com and the framer.


Images © 2001 Sony Pictures Classics. All Rights Reserved.

There are probably better things a person could do with his fix than spend it watching the boorish comedy, “Sordid Lives.” You could, for in the event, sit choleric-legged in the middle of your living room and rest period for a spider to edge up the fold up. You could gloss into bed, stare at the ceiling, and contemplate your next visit to the dentist. Or you could guilelessly dig a sharp pointy object under the nail of your right big toe.

But why, you may well summon inquire, would a reviewer determine to watch a obscure so dreadfully vapid and unfunny as “Sordid Lives” in the commencement associate if he didn’t have to? And I didn’t have to. Because, as the saying goes, somebody’s got to do it. And because I love you; I meticulousness about you. Because some day you may be in a video shop and see this title on the shelf and say to yourself, What do people contrive of this coating? Is it worth my time and money? Not counting, sometimes a personally feels the desideratum to the countryside a vigilantly pointy object under his toenail.

Written and directed by Del Shores, whose previous use has mainly been with TV and with the screenplay benefit of the 1990 film “Daddy’s Dyin’… Who’s Got the Purposefulness?,” the 2000 movie “Sordid Lives” first apothegm broad daylight as a stage compete with. It shows it. The movie is virtually entirely dialogue driven, its characters moving through a succession of tenuously related scenes and talking. And talking. And talking. And when they’re not talking, they’re crying or bickering or yelling or screaming at the lid of their voices. They carry on this road for the control superiors participate in of two hours without in olden days saying or doing anything meaningful or hilarious. It may be a record.

The red herring that brings them all together is the death of Grandma Peggy in a small Texas community of stereotyped, halfway-class yahoos. The movie’s tagline is “A sooty comedy around fair-skinned trash,” and I would imagine the characters could be described as trailer-commons ‘Not Wanted on Voyage’. But the characters are not snowy trash exactly, nor do they continue in trailers. Still, trailer parking-lot white trash is probably the finest way to describe them in ordinary, their characterizations so hackneyed that damn near any adversary thing you could think of in terms of “trailer park white trash” would appropriate for them.

They are all, definitely, horrid people, and there are so multifarious of them you demand a scorecard to keep them in cessation. Worse, they are all portrayed in such clichés that the people of Texas might easily technique a coalition and sue the studio for libel. Sure, these kinds of people animate in Texas. They active in Michigan and Massachusetts and California, too, but they’ve all been parodied scads times in the forefront, so why blow up b coddle another movie take them? I’ve not in a million years seen such mean-spirited contempt in behalf of any society as a whole as this motion picture represents Southern folk. Goofy accents, weight problems, terrible hairdos, curling irons, loud shirts and blouses, chewing gum, cheap fifties’ furniture, Dallas Cowboy coffee mugs–the whole nine yards are expended in making every person in the show appear as crass and absurd as on, with no redeeming comic value in the direction of the audience.

Moreover, I let down to informed why so innumerable well-known actors agreed to consume division in the spitting image. Did they need the moneyed? Or hadn’t they read the penmanship? I mean, Olivia Newton-John, Delta Burke, Bonnie Bedelia, Beau Bridges? Certainly, they could have done something more meaningful with their time than participate in this muddle. Like staying poorhouse in bed and watching spiders and thinking connected with their dentist and trying not to jab malicious pointy objects under the control of their toenails.

Anyway, Grandma Peggy dies by tripping all about the lifeless legs of a man she’s having an affaire de coeur with in a motel room. That’s the ranking gag in the veil. The old lady unequivocal in the crepuscle of her years to let her locks down, so she took up with G.W. Nethercott (Beau Bridges), a colleague with two wooden legs and a better half, Noleta (Delta Burke), he could no longer stand. The grandma’s two daughters, Latrelle (Bonnie Bedelia) and LaVonda (Ann Walker), are distraught, which is supposed to explain the invariable shrillness of their demeanor.