29 July 2003
by Jasmine Park
With a few exceptions, Julie Taymor's sophomore film venture, Frida (2002), is surprisingly tame in the "art concept" category, given her Broadway background and over-the-top first feature take on Shakespeare's Titus (1999), in which the dueling dramas of costumes, sets, and cinematography often hogged the spotlight. Instead, Frida's most notable feature is the central performance by Salma Hayek, who strains with such determination to be good in every scene that she quite nearly pulls it off - and she at least has substance and can act in English, unlike other foreign actresses who shrivel up and die in English-speaking roles (see Penélope Cruz and Emmanuelle Béart). Hayek has the added attribute of being spectacularly pleasing to look at, and the film's rich palette plays to her advantage, particularly in several ravishing sequences in which several of Kahlo's most famous tableaux morph into live action. The trusty Alfred Molina, whose roles now rival Benetton ads in racial diversity, adds surprising depth to the shallowly scripted role of Diego Rivera, and in spite of a horrendous Mexican accent. Other notable actors such as Edward Norton, Antonio Banderas, and bafflingly, Ashley Judd, make cameo appearances.
A documentary about Terry Gilliam's failed attempt to film Don Quixote, Lost in La Mancha (2002) depicts the enormous pitfalls and hazards of making a big-budget flick; by the end, one is amazed that movies get made at all. Using surprisingly not-ugly digital camerawork, the documentary's directors Keith Fulton and Louis Pepe follow Gilliam and his producers as they undergo the increasingly agonizing bouts with uncooperative budgeting, schedules, inclement weather, and cast issues, including a Don Quixote, played by Jean Rochefort, who eventually begs off with medical ailments for an indefinite period of rest and recovery, which effectively shuts down the whole production. Given the chain of events, Fulton and Pepe are fortunate to have recorded a story of such consistent, dazzlingly bad luck; in the end, Gilliam seems a modern-day Job, although the credits inform us ominously that he still hopes to buy back the rights to the film and eventually make it, perhaps setting up a nice Lost in La Mancha II.
Truly dreadful stuff. Jonathan Demme's take on the vaguely amusing Audrey Hepburn-Cary Grant Charade (1963) is equally unnecessary as its predecessor, but lacking any hint of the original's charm or cheekiness. The meager plotline may have served the 1960s well enough, but wartime looting and precious stamps just don't hold up for modern-day audiences. Thandie Newton (looking uncharacteristically unattractive) and Mark Wahlberg (looking characteristically bulldog-faced and clueless) lead the film's painstakingly international cast that includes Tim Robbins, Lisa Gay Hamilton (the black chick from The Practice), and Joong-Hoon Park, who can't speak a lick of decipherable English. Charles Aznavour, Anna Karina, and Agnès Varda make unfortunate cameos, and Paris has never looked duller.
A product of mass infatuation and hysterical hype, I suppose it's no wonder that The Matrix Reloaded (2003) is an exceptional disappointment, although something in me had vaguely hoped the Wachowski brothers might hold out and do something splendid. Instead, they have sold out and produced a sequel that falls far short of the original, playing up the film's philosophical and religious undertones to a level that only reveals the shallowness of their pseudo-intellectual roots, and hardly ever achieving the pop-grandeur and originality of the first Matrix (1999). From the first action scene, in which Trinity kills some cops and flees from several agents, one can't help but experience a certain inertial "been there, done that" feeling that pervades the rest of the film. The much-hyped "Burly Brawl" scene in which Neo fights off hundreds of Agent Smiths is a CGI embarrassment, coming off like a boss stage from a mediocre PS2 game. And the horrendously literal imagining of Zion is a pure Star-Wars knockoff, particularly the solemn Senate meetings, in which preachy septuagenarians in Chico's costumes bring the whole production to a screeching halt. Keanu Reeves and Carrie-Anne Moss are delicious to look at as ever, but even their sex scene is embarrassing, spliced with the now-infamous, totally inexplicable rave in which the nubile Zion residents celebrate the apparent end to their blissful existence. Reloaded plays like the eleventh sequel to some long-ago classic; God knows what's in store for us all with Revolutions.
Salma Hayek as Frida Kahlo in Frida
Terry Gilliam and Johnny Depp
in Lost in La Mancha
Thandie Newton as Regina Lambert
in The Truth about Charlie
Carrie-Anne Moss and Keanu Reeves
as Trinity and Neo in The Matrix Reloaded
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