Lord of the Rings + Harry Potter = The Chronicles of Narnia: Prince Caspian
By Steven D'Arcangelo

I've never read the Narnia books by C.S. Lewis and I'm not a fan of the first movie based on them - "The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe." There didn't seem to be much story or character development (in the film anyway). Plus, it never addressed some obvious questions such as where did the magic wardrobe come from, who's the professor who owned it and, most importantly, why was there a talking horse with a human name (Philip) but a talking beaver known simply as Mr. Beaver? Unfortunately, the new film - "Prince Caspian" - doesn't offer any answers either but it is at least more entertaining than its predecessor.

The new story picks up a year after the last one in regards to the real world setting. When we once again meet the Pevensie siblings - Peter, Susan, Edmund, Lucy - they're longing for the fantasy world of Narnia in their own war torn 1940s London. By earth standards, it's been a year since their last adventure but by Narnia standards, it's been over a thousand years. Upon traveling to Narnia again (this time via a horn rather than the wardrobe), the kids discover that the land they fought so hard to free from the White Witch has now been ravaged by a new threat. 

The Telmarines -- a devious lot sporting matching beards, swarthy skin, and Antonio Banderas accents - have rid the land of all Narnians. Their leader -- young Prince Caspian - is poised to take over the throne until his evil uncle tries to kill him for it. Caspian escapes into the woods and is stunned to discover that not all Narnians are extinct. He's also surprised to learn that the Narnian kings and queens of old - the Pevensie siblings - have returned to save the day. This motley crew (there's also a talking badger that looks like a skunk and a dwarf that looks like Peter Dinklage) forms an uneasy alliance to restore Caspian to power so that he can restore Narnia to its people. Interwoven with some decent subplots -- Caspian shares a chaste romance with Susan and a leadership rivalry with Peter - and the rest of the film chugs along at a good pace until the genuinely exciting climatic battle unfolds.        

There's nothing to fault about this film's production. Special effects, music, costumes, and cinematography are all universally strong. Sound design is diverse and detailed - at one point; you can actually hear an arrow's fletchings ripple through the wind as it soars past camera. In terms of acting, the kids take after the equally young Harry Potter castmates - initial stiff performances are beginning to feel more natural with each entry of this series, especially Peter. The newcomers are also great, particularly an Eddie Izzard-voiced warrior mouse responsible for the film's best sight gag (it involves a cat) and Dinklage who, up until now, has avoided stereotypical little person roles (North Pole elves, Ewoks, Munchkins). This part seems beneath the actor, yet his enjoyably surly performance gives no indication that he feels the same.

What there is to fault in this film is perhaps not the filmmakers' fault - it's the world of Narnia itself as created by C.S. Lewis decades ago. Unlike the carefully constructed Middle-earth of Tolkien's "Lord of the Rings" novels, Lewis' made-up world feels more like a smorgasbord of everything mythological just for the sake of them being mythological. Fauns, centaurs, minotaurs, walking trees, talking animals -- they're all here, including Santa Claus in the first movie! Lewis is the Thomas Kinkade of fantasy writers. Neither man can decide which elements to use (paint colors for Kinkade, fictional creatures for Lewis) so they use every last one of them. This all-or-nothing approach made both men incredibly successful but is it the best thing for their work? As someone who experiences sensory overload every time he walks past a Kinkade "art" gallery, this reviewer would have to say nay.
 
 
 
Reprise
By Ed Gonzalez
 
Sigh. Reprise is another casualty of AMPAS's preference for foreign-language films designed and produced for American consumption.

This groovy little film is spiked with an arresting, hyper-saturated mix of sadness and joy, always acknowledging the dangers and wonders of friendship and the strange ways in which our mind works to tease, elate and sometimes confound us.

Director Joachim Trier is always playing with the structure of film, not unlike his characters' attempts to play with words.

He first entertains an alternate reality in which friends Philip (Anders Danielsen Lie) and Erick (Espen Klouman-Høiner) write books that become cult masterpieces with people the world over, only to then rewind and see what really happens when the duo send off manuscripts of their first
novels.

Erick encounters humbling bumps on his road to accomplishment while Philip's instantaneous success, compounded with his ecstatic relationship to the lovely Kari (Viktoria Winge), leads him down a road toward psychosis.

An example of the film's wit and insight into how the mind grips us during moments of crisis is a scene when Erick's attempt to break up with his girlfriend but is distracted by a memory from his youth of his mother admonishing him for looking at porn on her computer.

In another scene, when Erick is giving his first television interview about his book, whose cover is inspired by a photograph he and Philip took (with the lens cap still on the camera) of an elusive writer named Sten Egil Dahl (Sigmund Sæverud), he uses his fingers to make virtual quotation marks in the same obnoxious fashion as one of his friends.

More haunting is Philip's desperate attempt to rebuild his past by attempting to relive a trip to Paris with Karim, or that quick but bolting moment of shock that washes over Erick's face when he takes in his publisher's observation that Philip's mental sickness may be connected to the way their friends interact with each other.

The film is loaded with one moment of bliss, shock and awe after another as lives cross and crash into each other in the same spirited way the celluloid slows down, pauses and rewinds the hopes and memories of these characters, embracing digression and subverting norms of storytelling in ways that would probably please fans of Thomas Pynchon.
 
 
Speed Racer
By Scott Mendelson
 
I have never cared for Japanese anime.  I have never read Manga.  I have never seen more than a glimpse of the original 1960s Speed Racer cartoon.  I don't have a jones for cars.  But, surprise of surprises, I do love Speed Racer, the liveaction adaptation of said cartoon.   Directed by the Wach-owski brothers (Bound, the Matrix trilogy), this is one of the best family adventures made in years.  It's a ripping action picture, a surprisingly potent family drama, and a visual wonderland that is literally unlike any other movie ever made.

A little plot:  Speed Racer (Emile Hirsch) is the oldest surviving son in a family of race car enthusiasts.  Pop Racer (John Good-man, giving his best performance in years) builds his own race cars in the family garage.  Mom (Susan Sarandon, also bringing her 'A' game) is the supportive matriarch. Spritle (Paulie Litt) is the hero-worshipping youngest sibling.  Although Speed is quickly become a top-notch racer in the professional circuits, the entire family is still haunted by the death of the eldest son, Rex Racer,  in a shady underground race several years prior.  After an impressive performance, Speed and the entire family are propositioned by the evil tycoon Royalton (Roger Allam), who wants Speed for his races and Pop's technology for his own industrial use.  Disaster strikes when Speed turns down Royalton's offer and the entire family must mobilize to restore their honor, bring down Royalton, and mend their own lingering scars.

As the previews promise, the entire world of Speed Racer is a candy-colored blast of visual nirvana (see it in IMAX if you can).  The screen is filled with bold, bright colors, and the races unfurl at a breakneck speed that defies reality but always respects the rules of this particular universe.  Jokes have been made about this movie resembling the video game series Mario Kart, and they aren't completely off-base.  Aside from the colors and the physics of the racing, the entire film has a swift swirly look to it, using montage in completely unique ways to quickly dispense exposition or flash back to pivotal moments without really leaving the present action.  It's hard to describe, but it works seamlessly.  And no, this film will not cause motion sickness.  Despite the lightning-fast races and the sheer physical momentum of the action, it is all blocked and staged in a way to maximize geographical clarity.  We are not always supposed to know exactly what's going on in every moment of the race (the opening race is more of a backdrop for character introduction than a relevant action scene), but when we need to know, it's always crystal clear.

That the film would be visually spectacular is a given considering the pedigree behind the camera.  Less expected is the top-notch action, clever dialogue, and complicated storyline that never panders or talks down to kids.  The film is intended as a family film, but it never sacrifices action, story and drama for that PG rating (it's full of action, but with only enough violence and profanity to make kids think they're getting away with something).  Yes, the film is fast when it needs to be, but it is unafraid to slow down for quiet introspection or character development. 

Story-wise, it's a smart thing they do here.  Knowing that the plot involving fixed races and white collar corruption is far too complicated for young kids to follow, the script has characters occasionally express their own confusion and then state in more relatable terms just what's at stake for them ("I don't know anything about corporate crime.  I just know they hurt my family, and I want to hurt them back."). 

All of the actors are in peak form and it helps sell the drama immensely.  Susan Sarandon, John Goodman, and Matthew Fox (as the mysterious Racer X) all have scenes that belong on a career highlight reel.  Roger Allam has a long villainous monologue that is a joy to listen to.  By never winking at the audience, the film becomes a surprisingly moving family drama that makes the action count for more than just visceral movement.  Especially when the main conflicts kick into gear, the non-racing scenes are every bit as watchable and satisfying as the main event.

Speed Racer works splendidly on all levels.  It is a top-notch action picture with real emotional pathos and strongly developed characters.  It is a visual landmark that is a joy to watch, yet it remembers to contain dialogue that is a joy to listen to.  It is easily the best film of 2008 thus far (yes, it's better than the under nourishing and overrated Iron Man), and it's a surprising treat for the whole family.
   

Red Belt:
The British Denzel & Mamet!?!
By Edwardo Jackson

MAJOR PLAYERS: Chiwetel Ejiofor (Talk to Me), Alice Braga (City of God), Tim Allen (Galaxy Quest), Emily Mortimer (Match Point), and writer/director David Mamet (Spartan)

You always know when you're in a David Mamet film. The dialogue gets choppier, the lines smarter, the timing crisper. Unlike some of his groundbreaking, classic plays ("Oleanna," "Glengarry Glenross"); Mamet's caustic ear for dialogue doesn't always translate to the movies. But like the early '90s New York Knicks' John Starks, when Mamet is on...he is ON. Welcome to "Redbelt," Mamet's "not a martial arts movie" set in the world of...martial arts - and movies. 

Mike Terry (Ejiofor) teaches at a modest Jiu-jitsu academy to cops and the interested under the watchful, money-minded eye of his Brazilian wife Sondra (Braga). An accident at the academy involving lawyer Laura (Mortimer) sets off a series of events that finds Mike saving the bacon of boozing, womanizing but aging action hero Chet Frank (Allen), who's shooting a hand-to-hand combat movie and would like Mike's assistance. As forces barely outside of his control continue to conflict with his stoic personal honor code, Mike is pushed continually in the direction of competing in a mixed martial arts (MMA) televised extravaganza that bastardizes the principles upon which he fights.

Maybe Mamet's right: this ISN'T a martial arts film. Or if it is, it has to be the brainiest, talkiest one ever made; "Never Back Down" should never be compared. Replete with signature Ginsu-quality, repetitive banter, "Redbelt" is classic Mamet: zigging when it should zag, sneaking up on you like the aftertaste in crème brulee. Of course the script is aces, genetically fused with the weighty issues of honor, pride, ethics, honesty, and purity, with a critique of the over-commercialization of MMA for good measure. The climax is anticlimactic at first, and then it builds to something a little more unexpected, but just as satisfying, if not more for its unconventionality. Diffuse with blood pressure-raising, drumbeat fight music, "Redbelt" proves to be a unique, thinking person's quasi-action movie.

Which suits this accomplished, international cast just fine. For the record, in case we Americans have forgotten since "City of God" or overlooked her small but pivotal role in "I Am Legend," Alice Braga is ridiculously, searingly, laser-beam-from-space red HOT. Like "distractingly, I better not bring my girlfriend (like she'd go with me anyway)," a-pack-a-day smokin' hot. Going from zero to full blown crush in the fastest time since Sanaa Lathan - a half hour of screen time - Braga shimmies and schemes her way through as Mike's practical wife Sondra. The rest of the cast may not be as nonsensically gorgeous but is just as talented, from Tim Allen's "at peace with his flawed self" Chet to Emily Mortimer's jittery, mentally unstable lawyer, who may just be the last honest woman in LA.

And then there's the main man Chiwetel. With the range of an intercontinental ballistic missile, Ejiofor is the most criminally underappreciated actor out there, just a few nominations away from Don Cheadle. While "Redbelt" may not net the brilliant Brit any awards, his almost monkish adherence to a code of honor makes his Mike almost "too pure" to a fault (Rodrigo Santoro's brother-in-law sneers that Mike is "addicted to poverty"). True, Mike is almost Jesus-like in his Kevlar code, but, it is a pretty attractive set of rules to live by. As most martial artists will say, his Jiu-jitsu isn't for offense but defense; he stresses using someone else's force against them; and there is but one rule: "Put the other guy down." Yes, Mike is all about the teaching - he doesn't train people to compete, "I train people to prevail." Flashing yet another durably Yankee accent, Ejiofor is Mr. Miyagi sans an ego.

Cannily shielded by the au courant glitz of MMA, "Redbelt" gravitates beyond spectator bloodsport and into something else entirely. Mamet's very intricate, brainy plot is almost a clarion call harkening us back to times when a man's word meant something, when he did what he said, and lived by a code of ethics that were more than words on a page or lofty ideals from one's mouth. People will come away from this film saying "I went to a martial arts movie and a sophisticated adult drama broke out." Nice bait and switch, Mr. Mamet. Game/Fight ON.