Well, the movie’s score is memorable. And we have a macho Kurt Russell constantly sparking up fags and yuppie James Spader doing a bit of bumbling. And that androgynous person from The Crying Game (1992). And the sheer comedy that is Roger Ebert’s review. Oh, he hated this movie and I can understand why.
Stargate (1994) is certainly stupid, oh aye. Really, really stupid.
It’s so stupid I recommend it.
By its climax, it descends into the rather ludicrous in such a far-fetched way that even someone with no basic knowledge of warfare would be aghast at, though it never entertains the farcical.
But I forgive its transgressions as it’s so well put together, the action – no-holds-barred as one would expect from the trailers – is ferocious, and the characters all have their arcs. Most of them aren’t even likeable, which adds to the realism the movie achieves for much of its duration.
And stranger things have happened in war, so our five-member tank crew holding off what seems to be an entire SS division for half a day isn’t that outrageous and insane.
I think.
A pointless excursion that feels numbingly déjà vu, this was devoid of invention, bereft of purpose.
A universe now steeped in desperate irony and improbably self-aware characters, this is just another messy, insipid episode from a never-ending series of cape-infused guff. It’s a draining affair, hopeless writers attempting and failing (miserably) a high-wire juggling act that comprises appealing to Every. Single. Demographic. Possible.
And there is no solid whole, no soul. This isn’t even a film but merely a recognisable image, a go-to archetype to flog when the chips are down. How many iterations of this wank are needed? It needn’t matter. There will be another mortifying reboot by the end of this sorry decade.
Superman? Super … fuck off.
I lasted 40 minutes.
This is one of those gleefully macabre movies that upon reading the premise you know exactly who the director is. Yes, it’s David Cronenberg again proving that his oddball interests are not only weirder than yours, he’ll make a film about them.
Two Jeremy Irons for the price of one, and this is the only time he’s gone nuts in a movie. These days, he’s your token British supporting bore. He turns up and he’s the same in every film, phoning it in.
A shame.
How this lad is somehow an ‘actor’ will never cease to beguile me.
Bye for now.
This turn-of-the-century slice of hip hop-infused kung fu hokum is worth seeing as a curiosity piece, and Aaliyah is so naturally gifted as an actress you do wish this was a stepping stone to more hefty material. It wasn’t meant to be.
The Timbaland-produced ‘Try Again’ is a banger and a half; the music video is amusing, as even in 2000 the lad was incessantly mugging and rolling his eyeballs like Judge Doom in Who Framed Roger Rabbit (1988). The lack of self-awareness is nuts. Mate, you look like a plonker.
Speaking of which, the theatrically maladroit Anthony Anderson demonstrates that he was always an infuriating pudding to watch and hear and should not have ever been in front of a camera. He would for some oblique reason rock up in The Departed (2006), and I’d like to think his character’s grisly fate in that film has subtext.
Jet Li is fine but his martial artistry is ruined with cruddy CGI and I cannot fathom why it’s there. A desperation is in the works, like the commercial ramifications of The Matrix (1999) are still being felt and the filmmakers felt the need to ape the aesthetic.
But it’s entertaining enough.
Banger Alert:
Compelling situational horror that wisely draws back from the metaphysical just when you think it’s taking that route. How did this bloke graduate from Four Weddings and a Funeral (1994) to this? Well done, Hugh. Only took you 30 years.
He’s a superficially charming nutjob on a mission. He has a facade about him that is truly creepy, one of those folk who try and act more posh than they are as they feel it is disarming, and he nails the masquerade with the occasional flaws in his accent.
No spoilers here. Watch it just for him.
Lots of fun in this sequel, which ramps up the mayhem in a fairly inventive way.
In this tired, post-Taken (2008) period of the genre, you don’t really expect much beyond heads (among other body parts) being smashed, but it had some depth to it. I was reminded of A History of Violence (2005) in the lad’s inability to escape the ‘sins’ of the past, and that you can’t deny your true nature when confronted with the wrong ‘uns. And the redoubtable John Ortiz features – one of the best character actors out there.
Unfortunately, Sharon Stone was mostly annoying in a limp, unconvincing turn as a demented big momma crime lord, but I suppose that’s the point.
You’re rooting for Saul Goodman to tear her a new one.
This is what it’s all about.
A work of pure cinema with a mastery of style, I felt I was in the presence of Bernardo Bertolucci, Stanley Kubrick, and Martin Scorsese all at once.
Even the opening credits are some of the most enthralling I’ve seen; their arrival is unexpected, their form unorthodox in this monumental drama. It feels like a throwback to a time when a film was an event, but this marries the grandiose with the human element, searing, mind-blowing images sans any spaceships or capes.
The air of dread that simmers in this magnificent work is startling. You’re aware it’s all building to an unfathomable crescendo but can’t look away.
It’s always a privilege to watch a fucking amazing film.
This is one of them, privilege and film.
Wanderings and ... wonderings. 