Rage of Honor

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Reviewed by Dennis Schwartz

Nazarin won the Grand Prix International at the 1959 Cannes Film
Festival. It’s adapted by Luis Buñuel from the 1895 novel by the
Spaniard Benito Perez Galdos. It’s Buñuel’s offbeat, tongue-in-cheek,
satirical look at organized religion, in particular the Roman Catholic
Church, and how even if one lives the perfect Christian life according
to the gospels it’s not aceptable by the defiled church or the cynical
people. The film assumes the mantle of a parable, trying to imagine how
Christ would be treated if he returned to the modern world unrecognized
as an unfortunate healer and a true believer. This is another fine example
of Buñuel’s powerful films made during his exile in Mexico.

Set near the turn of the 20th-century Father Nazario (Francisco Rabal),
an apostolic Roman Catholic (believing “everything belongs to the one who
needs it most”), living in the Mexico of dictator Porfirio Diaz, literally
tries to live the life of Christ but finds only humiliation and abuse from
both the church and the people when he leaves the church residency to live
in the village’s hostel run by the beleaguered Mrs. Chanfa. It’s a place
frequented by beggars, thieves and prostitutes. His meager income comes
from the alms he receives for saying mass. Often robbed, the priest’s only
remaining possessions are his priestly garb he wears and his Bible. When
a prostitute named Andara (Rita Macedo) kills the prostitute in a catfight
who stole her blouse buttons, she’s profusely bleeding from knife wounds
and seeks shelter from the police in Father Nazario’s apartment even though
she has heaped scorn on him in the past. Wanting to hide the smells of
the perfume in the apartment from the searching police, after another prostitute
snitched on her when not bribed for her silence, Andara burns down the
hostel. The priest reluctantly agrees to go on a pilgrimage with Andara
and her troubled prettier sister Beatriz, who was rejected by the brutal
construction worker boss Pinto and failed trying to hang herself in response.
Beatriz sees this pilgrimage as a chance to run away from her problems.
The two women view the barefooted priest as a saint and force themselves
upon him as followers, as they go to different small rural towns asking
for alms and trying to bring the word of God. In one town the priest miraculously
cures Beatriz’s dying little relative by his prayers and laying a hand
on her. In another town he helps bury victims of the plague, but feels
useless when told by a woman dying she only wants a worldly love with her
Juan and not the spiritual one he has to offer. 

The ridiculous pilgrimage by the defrocked priest (dressed as a peasant
so as not to implicate the church in his actions) is never ridiculed for
not offering any help to the overwhelmed poor or that his efforts as a
loner only point out how ineffective his teachings are to the many sinners
he confronts. Instead it leads to the saintly priest’s downfall when he
questions his uncompromising belief in God in such a cold world. The police
arrest him for abetting the prostitute murderer and he’s severely beaten
by a savage fellow prisoner while in custody, but saved by another prisoner
(Ignacio Lopez Tarso) who feels sorry for the defenseless man. His church
out of embarrassment for his acts condemns him for not following its rules,
but gets him removed from being jailed with the common prison population.
It ends in an open-ended manner, with the priest supposedly coming to his
senses that he can’t save the world until he embraces humanity with all
his love instead of looking only for Divine Justice. The priest also learns
the hard way that he must be willing to accept charity, if needed (an old
woman vendor gives the scarred priest a pineapple as he’s being led away
by a guard, as the priest has become in her eyes someone to be pitied and
not someone about to save the world). By losing his firm belief in God
the priest has discovered his deeper humanity, and according to Buñuel
is the better off for it. The priest is truly the kind of downtrodden idealistic
humanistic hero Buñuel can relate to. According to the filmmaker,
what the world needs today is a revolutionary with love in his heart and
not another pious useless goody-goody priest thinking he’s Christ. 

When Frodo Baggins (voiced by Christopher Guard) is entrusted with a ring by the wizard
Gandalf (William Squire), he has little idea of the adventures that lie before concerning him. The
Ring is a magical one. Should the dark Jesus Sauron capture it he will-power become all powerful
and plunge Middle Earth into darkness. The homely Hobbit must leave the peaceful Shire in
which he lives and wanderings to Mount Doom to destroy the Ring. A guild of allies, led
by Gandalf and the curious Aragorn (John Hurt), is formed to go together with Frodo on the
journey and take care of him from the impetuous Orcs, sinister Foul Riders and other enemies
bent on intriguing his life—and the Ring.

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IF ATMOSPHERE were all it took to on a talkie, “Exotica” establishment be something to underwrite. An extended mood piece jam-packed of dark, edgy implications, Atom Egoyan’s motion image — which won the Worldwide Critics’ Reward at Cannes — starts off promisingly, but ultimately sinks into its own convoluted oblivion. There is something about the Canadian director’s creativity that begs against an moving steers urge — he needs an unforgettable jolt to sharpen his somber, art-forebears indulgences into watchful coherence.

Set in an unnamed Canadian city that appears to be Toronto, “Exotica” sets itself up in a casually compelling way, as we meet Don McKellar, a secretive pet store owner who smuggles illegal animal eggs (and other natural exotica) into the country, and emotionally haunted tax inspector Bruce Greenwood, who frequents Exotica, a strip club for the upwardly mobile.

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At this club, Greenwood regularly requests a personal table dance from young stripper Mia Kirshner. With an almost psychotically paternal benevolence, Greenwood keeps telling Kirshner he wants to protect her. And from his high-up DJ stand, club announcer Elias Koteas watches this odd relationship with increasing jealousy.

Egoyan, who also made “Family Viewing,” “Speaking Parts” and “The Adjuster,” creates several connections among these characters. Kirshner knows Greenwood from happier, more innocent days; Green- wood’s job leads him to audit McKellar; DJ Koteas also knows Greenwood from the past; and so on. But these narrative intersections are part of a coldly conceived design rather than anything of engaging value.

At its best, “Exotica” has an entrancing, distanced lyricism. Within the club, for instance, Egoyan evokes a memorable sense of elegant, spiritual corruption among the statues, foliage, undulating women and panting yuppies. (Actually, much of that success can be attributed to Leonard Cohen, whose superb dark anthem, “Everybody Knows,” plays ominously on the soundtrack.) But at its worst, which ends up being most of the time, the movie traps us in art-house pretentiousness, as we’re obliged to follow the yearnings and abstract corruptions of the urban zestless. After plodding, stylized emptiness like this, you’re more then primed to run screaming into the night, desperately looking for the next showing of “Speed.”

EXOTICA (R) — Contains nudity, sexual situations, minor violence and graphic sexual talk.

Seth Rogen and Elizabeth Banks sweetly chase a lust cause in 'Zack and Miri Make a Porno'

Thursday, October 30th 2008, 4:27 PM

Darren Michaels

Seth Rogen (Zack) and Elizabeth Banks (Miri) star in Kevin Smith's 'Zack and Miri Make a Porno. '

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No one could argue that

Kevin Smith

is one of the funniest filmmakers we've got. It's just that his talents don't always translate to the big screen.

I have nothing against the cheerfully crude nature of "Zack and Miri Make a Porno." Before

Judd Apatow

, before "South Park," even before the

Farrelly brothers

, it was Smith's "Clerks" that exposed the delirious potential of shock value.

There are some genuine laughs, and Banks and Rogen do have an easy chemistry. Smith also puts enough heart into the script that we actually believe the moment their feelings change for each other, despite the fact that it happens while they're having sex, on camera, as the whole crew watches. (Yes, it really is that kind of movie. And Banks, incidentally, is the only one who never violates any nudity clause.)

But while the newly enamored pair are able to ignore all the surrounding distractions, you may not be quite as successful. Rogen is certainly at his most appealing when he tries to profess his undying love. And if you think it's absolutely hilarious that he does it while Miri's using the bathroom, this is your kind of romance.

eweitzman@nydailynews.com

More About this Movie

Zack and Miri Make a Porno

Starring:

Seth Rogen , Elizabeth Banks, Traci Lords, Jason Mewes, Jennifer Schwalbach Smith, Tom Savini, Jeff Anderson, Katie Morgan, Craig Robinson, Gerry Bednob

Directed by:

Kevin Smith

Produced by:

Scott Mosier

Genres:

Comedy

MPAA Rating:

R for strong crude sexual content including dialogue, graphic nudity and pervasive language

Release Date:

2008-10-31

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Seventy years ago, Orson Welles' radio dramatization of "War of the Worlds" scared the living daylights out of millions of listeners.

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In honor of Halloween, here are some spooky films and TV shows that aren't too scary for kids' tastes.

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We can see from the opening section in “The Principal” that Rick Latimer (James Belushi) isn’t a cat who shows a great transaction of limitation. Seeing his ex-wife with the attorney who represented her in their disunion case, he picks up a baseball bat — a altogether overweight baseball bat — and smashes up the guy’s Porsche. In support of this open misbehavior, Rick, who’s a high school instructor, is brought more willingly than a accommodate of administrators who, he assumes, leave indicate that he come on a redesigned line of turn out. Preferably, to his astonish, they miss to cease him a hoarding — to make tracks him a principal. This news, in any event, does not bring a smile to Rick’s face, because the school he’s to be principal of is named Brandel Maximum. And just saying the name makes the administrators quiver.

A man who walks tall and carries a big stick is exactly what’s needed at Brandel. The place is a graffiti-scarred sewer, a hellhole, more like a prison than a high school. Located in a Berkeley ghetto, with mostly black and Hispanic students, Brandel is the end of the line for all of the kids who have been booted out of the other schools in the district. Every conceivable sort of vice is committed in the halls and bathrooms of Brandel — drug dealing is especially popular. The ruler of this corrupt little duchy is a sinister hood named Victor (Michael Wright), and he rules with an iron fist and a switch-blade. Nobody messes with Victor, not the teachers or even the school’s chief of security (Louis Gossett Jr.), a former Brandel football star who’s pretty tough himself.

But Rick doesn’t buy Victor’s invincibility. Assembling the students in the gym, he tells them that things are about to change at Brandel, and issues his simple edict: “No more.”

Make no mistake about what we have here: Wielding his big bat, Rick is Buford Pusser gone to high school — a vigilante hall proctor. Directed by Christopher Cain from a script by Frank Deese, the movie is intended as a gritty comedy about urban realities. Rick is there to tame this blackboard jungle, and a lot of lip service is given to the need to make this school a place of learning — as if the filmmakers actually expect us to think that they’re sincere in presenting this message.

Actually all this sociological chin music — and all the effort put into making Rick a sympathetic figure — amounts to is an elaborate justification for Rick to whip out the Louisville Slugger and whomp down on some minority types. Plain and simple — this is a racist movie.

The final showdown has Belushi pulverizing Victor, and at the screening where I saw the film, the audience screamed its approval. Admittedly, Victor is a vile cat, and at another point in the film, Belushi shows that he’s an equal-opportunity brute by bashing a white guy who attempts to rape one of his teachers (Rae Dawn Chong). Still, are audiences so punch-hungry that anything, no matter how offensive, goes? Doesn’t it bother anyone that the school is a zoo until the white guy shows up? Isn’t Louis Gossett Jr. insulted — and the audience incensed — that he’s relegated to playing the modern equivalent of a gun-bearer? He deserves better. We deserve better.

“The Principal” contains some violence and suggestive material.

When a homeless man wearing a strange hospital wristband dies
from curious symptoms in one of Brand-new York City’s busiest
exigency rooms, no one takes much notice except Dr Guy Luthan
(Hugh Grant), the attending physician that night. Luthan is
baffled by the bizarre symptoms - and the body’s
disappearance. At prime merely suspicious, he begins to attend to signs
of a conspiracy that include his boss at the hospital. In the past he
can punch any further, he is implicated in a anaesthetize bust and stripped
of his career. Luthan is now desperate and determined to find revealed
more, even conceding that his life is threatened as his investigation
unearths the shocking details of a particular medical research
programme that centres around equal of the country’s most
revered medical figures - Dr Lawrence Myrick (Gene Hackman). In a
dangerous and emotional creep, Luthan fall to confront Myrick and
hear the man’s passionate and well intentioned reason for
his grotesque het up b prepare.

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Comedy
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Daphne is a exciting, spiffy and shed weight distraught middle-aged coddle, so as expected she’s played by Diane Keaton, the most beneficent clobber in many a garden-variety girlie comedy (see ‘Something’s Gotta Give’, ‘The Family Stone’, etc.) The female hub here is clear from the insane: men are barely to be seen as Daphne and her trio of gorgeous daughters snicker, quarrel and plot to marry off lone singleton Milly (Mandy Moore), a childlike caterer with a suspiciously in all probability-trained singing speech. Daphne resorts to an internet ad, but fails to commend Milly of her organize, so her daughter is approached by men her watch over has already vetted in secret. The deception storyline is then sidelined for sugary dilemmas: should Milly choose the smarmy architect with tons of cash or the petulant musician with a cute kid? Clearly, this is no intellectual brave, but Milly does use words like ‘aberration’, so it’s aimed marginally above the unimaginative moronic dreamed-up comedy hawk. It scores occasionally, mainly thanks to Keaton’s completion, but heavy-handed dollops of schmaltz mean that it remains in the aforementioned no great shakes territory.

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A scattering years ago Dimension Films gave us “Dracula 2000,” a not that registration in the vampire field that not die-hard fans of the genre must partake of liked. “Dracula II: Ascension” is its direct-to-video sequel. You figure unfashionable if it’s benefit it.

Again, Wes Craven (”Nightmare on Elm Drive,” “Scream”) lends his name to the production, so the movie’s legal ownership is “Wes Craven Presents Dracula II: Ascension.” But, again, Mr. Craven does nothing I can study in terms of actually producing the cover except to consign his name to it, which is definitely all the unfruitful venture has going for it. However, we do get the that having been said team of steersman Patrick Lussier and screenwriter Joel Soisson back with us from the first haziness, of whatever value that is.

We also through to one other personally back from the first place picture, the character of the vampire, supposedly Dracula himself because that’s how he’s billed in the closing credits, although he’s never actually called that in the story. He’s righteous the “thing,” the “vampire,” or the “monster.” In any specimen, he’s played by Stephen Billington as a cross between Frank Langella’s movie-hero Dracula and a Southern California surfer.

The story opens in true horror-movie fashion, so much so that it plays like ape. A pulchritudinous maiden is being chased by a dark man through the shadows and alleyways of an disused European city, while pseudo liturgical music plays in the background. But there’s a twist. The dark shackle is the hero, Pater Uffizi (Jason Scott Lee), a vampire hunter, and the lass is one of his malign targets. From that piece of advice on, about five minutes in, it’s all downhill.

Attempting to describe the scenario is futile, I identify, but I’ll give it a try. It’s about a group of college med students (all of them exquisitely skilful people, by the way. Why are there never any ordinary-looking students in a Hollywood talkie?) and their professor, Lowell (Craig Sheffer), an invalid with a degenerative blood plague. The Prof is thinking peradventure if he can find a vampire, he could contemn its blood to somehow regenerate his own. Most college professors think that fashion. A couple of his students, Elizabeth (Diane Neal), who is also his girlfriend, and Luke (Jason London) work to go to a morgue and conveniently find the charred remains of Dracula himself brought in one night. Naturally, they try to resurrect the entity, but not before a mysterious stranger named Eric (John Light) offers them millions of dollars as far as something the cadaver. It isn’t long before the two factions are fighting over who discretion get the corpse.

Record next our fearless vampire gunfighter, Dad Uffizi. He, too, wants the remains of old Drac, but not before Drac is brought back to life by being soaked in a tub of blood. But you already knew that trick. Oh, and then there’s also a grain part by Roy Scheider (yes, THAT Roy Scheider of “The French Connection” and “Jaws”) as a Roman Universal Supreme named Sequeros. He gets about one notes of conceal time, which isn’t as eminent as a refer to from him at the origination of the talking picture: “The vampire casts no image because its sculpture is an affront to God.” But you knew that, too.

The movie is a tired accumulation of dead tired clichés bound together by tired characters in tired roles. By the time the eighty-five minutes of movie are over, you’ll be pretty unimaginative, too. Nothing happens that is in the least bit frightening. The Eclectic Church is utilized to the fullest, as usual, to represent the confront between good and catastrophe. I fancy the Church’s long dead letter of battling with demons and superstition makes it an standards channel for occult detestation movies. Moreover, the filmmakers splatter the conceal with buckets of blood, severed heads, and gory, near-up autopsies, but while all this may be outrageous and disgusting, it’s not scary.