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Starring: Jodie Foster, Forest Whitaker,
Dwight Yoakam, Jared Leto, Kristen Stewart 
Directed by: David Fincher 
Produced by: Gavin Polone, Judy Hofflund,
David Koepp, Ceán Chaffin 
Written by: David Koepp, Andrew Kevin
Walker, Gavin Polone 
Distributor: Columbia Pictures

     Leave your doors shut in
this take in of pandemonium! Jodie Support stars in
the spell-binding thriller

Fright Area

.
Although

Panic Room

wasn't the consummate
best indecision movie I've seen in recent years, it
was a tickety-boo freedom to devote my afternoon. The ending
adds a erratic twist that only a great
writer/director/actor team can capture together.

     Jodie Foster stars as Meg Altman, a recently
divorced woman. She and her lass, Sarah, move
into a
Manhattan
family which mysteriously encases a "Frightened Room." On
their first night staying in this new apartment,
everything seemed to be going normally; until it
happened. Meg woke up single to conceive of that there were
men in the living space! She was studied to quickly
grab Sarah and vamoose to the "Unnerve Elbow-room." As the
night grows on, they find that the "Panic Room"
encases a prodigious sum of bills, left by the late
one-time holder. The cash is what the burglars
want! While tons of desperate attempts are made by
the burglars to get into the greatest-proof room,
Sarah's blood sugar is violently dropping as a
development of diabetes. In the extinguish, Meg essential rely on
the charity of strangers. If they escape this
deadly incident is for you to chance not allowed.

     It was surprising to me that the
cinematography in the motion picture was so well-done. I
especially enjoyed a scene where the camera panned
down the stairs, and entirely the scullery of Meg
and Sarah's nursing home. It was extremely intricate work.
In some parts of the flicks, the camera's take in
played a major part in the film. It was ask preference it
was doing the acting and the people were just
"there."

     In conclusion,

Frightened Room

is a
wonderfully made flick that is definitely worth
viewing. If its 108 minutes of action crammed,
pleasant film-making that you're looking as a remedy for
then this film is an first-rate rare!
-Danny, Bucket Reviews

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The Silver screen

It’s an inexplicable phenomenon, not at all unlike the ‘which came first, the chicken or the egg?’ brain-twister: Why do movies as bad as Big Momma’s House 2 get made? Well, because moviegoers will pay to see it, that’s why. But why do the moviegoers pay to see it? Simply because it exists, that’s why.

I hate to get overly philosophical in my reviews, especially when we’re dealing with a witless, worthless, mirthless piece of crap that stars not only the stunningly unfunny Martin Lawrence, but the stunningly unfunny Martin Lawrence in drag and a fat-suit … but I simply have nowhere to go with my analysis of Big Momma’s House 2. To these eyes, a movie like this represents the very lowest form of filmmaking imaginable. Guys who direct snuff flicks in the slums of Khazakstan probably look at Big Momma’s House 2 and think “Hey, I’m not such a terrible filmmaker after all!”

Sequel that no one asked for to an original that no one likes, Big Momma’s House 2 is, quite simply, so atrocious that it depresses me. The movie’s “about” a moronic FBI agent who goes undercover as a fat nanny in an effort to uncover something or spy on someone else. The plot matters not one fermented whit — not to you, not to the filmmakers, and especially not to shameless camera hog Martin Lawrence, who (after a string of flops like Rebound, National Security, and Black Knight) decided the only way to keep the mortgage paid was to leech on to former successes. Bad Boys 2 and Big Momma’s House 2 made solid money, but those series won’t last forever … thank god.

The plot is casually forgotten about whenever Martin waddles his way into another “uproarious” adventure. Oh, look! Fat Suit on the beach! I’m actively chuckling! Whoa, Fat Suit dances silly! Giggle! Oh, oh, now it’s Fat Suit in a spa! OMG, he jumps in the mud, lol! Aw look, Fat Suit is being sweet to the kids. Snif. Oh wait, it’s over? Good.

So in Part 2, Fat Suit Cross Dresser moves in with a tighty-whitey family in an effort to thwart some bad guys, which results in 90-some minutes of fat jokes, toddler slapstick, and Martin Lawrence at his most overwhelmingly obnoxious. He’s the guy at the office party who makes all the beat box noises and dances around the room while everyone chuckles politely and rolls their eyes when he’s not looking. Truly, the only living person who could look Lawrence in the eye and say “yes, Big Momma’s House 2 is a very funny film,” is a guy who’s hoping to brown-nose his way into a co-producer credit on Big Momma’s House 3.

Right about here is where I’d probably mention one or two unexpectedly funny sequences or a handful of character actors who manage to bring some light to this brain-stabbingly inept piece of moviemaking … but I can’t think of one. There’s certainly no laughs in the movie that I can recall, and the background actors are presented as extra-banal — so as to give Lawrence the only possible spotlight. If you’ve ever been curious to see what Pure Misguided Ego, Captured on Celluloid looks like, look no further than Big Momma’s House 2.

Directed with all the style of a Christmas pageant at the “special” school, and written with all the creativity that can be mustered by someone hell-bent on simply plagiarizing Uncle Buck, Kindergarten Cop, and The Pacifier, Big Momma’s House 2 is a drop-dead awful piece of certifiable studio swill. The fact that it grossed nearly 70 million bucks simply boggles my mind. If you were among those who paid to see BM2 during its theatrical run, you officially lose the right to complain about “all these crappy Hollywood sequels.” Forever.

(Note: For years I was one of those guys who argued with people that Martin Lawrence IS funny. I thought his sitcom had some solid bits, and that his stand-up material was pretty darn funny. Those opinions dried up right around a movie called Blue Streak, and they’re never coming back.)

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Reviewed by Dennis Schwartz

This social comedy is slick and sick, told in short sketches where
absurdity and perversity go hand in hand with the subject matter of the
film — the dress, which is used as a mere prop. We see the dress from
its inception as its cotton material is picked in the fields of Spain to
its unlucky-in-love designer who created its pattern of imaginary red and
yellow leaves on a blue background, to its death by cremation as its last
owner, a homeless lady, is put to rest in it. To emphasize the bad karma
of the dress, it is shown how some troubled men created it and merchandised
it. The fashion designer of this plain summer dress is a pervert with a
pig fetish and to add insult to injury, the dress is worn mostly by losers
who are taken in by its optimistic design and colors.

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The film could have gone on ad infinitum, if the director wasn’t
kind enough to end the film with a good old mercy killing. The dress becomes
the object of the film and as the director and writer and actor, Alex van
Warmerdam, said: “We used a dress in the film because women wear dresses.”
But by making it just an object, giving it no other symbolic significance,
the film has to rely on its biting satiric humor to carry the story. And
since, I couldn’t find myself laughing at its Monthy Python-like skits,
I therefore found myself underwhelmed with this third film by the independent
cult film director.

This bawdy comedy should be more appealing to an audience in the
Netherlands, since they have an added plus going for them–they should
be more able to recognize the cameos that some of the notable Dutch film
stars make in it.

The first couple who buy the dress in a dress-shop get robbed and
the woman gets extremely sick as soon as they bring the dress home. When
the husband hangs it out to dry on the clothesline, it blows away and falls
eventually into the the hands of a pretty cleaning lady (Ariane) who feels
very sexy wearing it. The ticket-collector (Alex van Warmerdam) on the
train is so attracted by it that he follows her home where she lives with
an older artist (Eric ), a real cold fish. The dress only inspires him
to redraw the drab blue dress he was working on in his canvas, with this
brighter pattern. When the artist steps out with his artist friends, the
train conductor comes back to rape her. This was the most risque and politically
incorrect scene in the film, but it also turned out to be a rather tame
but funny scene. The humor came at the expense of the pathetic lady being
chased by the rapist, who kept shouting out “I’m normal.”

As the cleaning lady is now unhappy with the dress she gives it away
to some rip-off charity seekers, who sell it to a boutique. The dress is
then made to look more chic and youth orientated, so an attractive teen-ager
buys it. In a long litany of coincidences, the train conductor is there
to try and rape her. This rape scene was crasser than the other one, though
for a few moments it had the same hard-edge of violence to it that a film
like “Funny Games” had. But comedy is the vehicle here. When the teen escapes
from her sleeping would-be rapist, the dress is promptly stolen by a homeless
lady in the park.

The final act of indignity for the dress is when the gloomy artist’s
rendition of it, is hung in a gallery as a great art work; the train conductor
then appears to rip it apart, as a tour guide helplessly watches. This
violent act fits in with all the other themes the film superficially covers:
of sexual harassment, rape, dysfunctional relationships, insanity, homelessness,
fake charities, bogus art, and poor working relationships.

Since I did not find the film particularly perceptive or funny, it
is hard for me to recommend it.

Reviewed by Dennis Schwartz

Tim Burton’s (”Edward Scissorhands”/”Big Fish”/”Sleepy Hollow”) lavish
looking Charlie and the Chocolate Factory is a sure-fire treat for the
eyes, and somewhat less so for the taste buds. This film version of Britain’s
Roald Dahl’s 1964 best-selling children’s book is mostly a faithful adaptation
(except for a loaded on psychological backstory about Wonka told through
flashback about his unhappy childhood). It’s in sync spiritually with the
author. What it doesn’t convey is the full impact of Dahl’s cruelly perverse
sense of humor and his movingly compassionate look at poverty’s ill-effects
on the children who grow up hungry–which he views in much the same way
as does Charles Dickens. Also, Burton’s version doesn’t melt in your mouth
that same delightful trippy way the 1971 Willy Wonka characterization by
Gene Wilder did (though overall Burton’s film is the better version), who
plays the eccentric owner of a chocolate factory taking some lucky children
on a psychedelic tour of his innovative mysterious plant. 

It’s a comedy of manners (albeit, children’s manners and those of
their indulgent parents), that takes its cue from the energetic madcap
performance of Johnny Depp’s parent-hating Willy Wonka, whose domineering
dentist father (Christopher Lee) refused him sweets and forced him to wear
an inhibiting orthodontic brace around his head. This drove Willy to leave
home at an early age, which left him stuck with lasting dysfunctional problems
over such bad childhood experiences and is the reason he’s still so obsessed
over sweets. Willy went on to become the successful owner of a chocolate
factory and in his heyday built the biggest chocolate factory in the world,
which looks eerie in its austere facade of greyness like something dehumanizing
William Blake would pen about the Industrial Revolution and its cold structures.
Willy’s irresistibly charming (suggesting a Michael Jackson intonation,
look and feel but without the little boy in the bed baggage), but he’s
also reclusive and has a cruelly twisted personality. As a lucrative business
promotion which allows his sales to enormously climb, he hides five Golden
Tickets inside his regular Wonka chocolate bars that are shipped all over
the world and the lucky children who find them are invited with one chaperone
to take a one-day guided tour by the owner of his mysterious factory. Besides
eating all the chocolate you can, there’s a special surprise awaiting the
winner at the end of the day. 

The film’s hero is Charlie Bucket (Freddie Highmore). He’s a well-behaved
school-aged lad who lives in poverty with his parents (Helena Bonham Carter
and Noah Taylor) and four grandparents (David Kelly, Eileen Essell, David
Morris, Liz Smith) in a ramshackle house just outside of the town where
Wonka’s factory is located. The family subsists on cabbage soup and good
cheer in their miserable surroundings, as the kid’s father works the assembly-line
in a toothpaste factory until layed off because of automation.

Charlie is enthused about the lottery but since he’s a “have-not”
his kindly grandfather Joe (David Kelly), who used to work in the Wonka
factory until everyone got layed off, cautions him not to be too optimistic
about finding the ticket. The nice kid rarely has the dough to buy a candy
bar, while the “haves” have the decided advantage that they can buy as
many chocolates as pleases them. The search for Wonka bars becomes an international
craze and as Charlie’s other grandfather says, the rich kids will get the
tickets and it seems he’s right. The gluttonous German kid Augustus Gloop,
the spoiled English girl Veruca Salt, the obsessively competitive gum-chewing
Atlanta girl Violet Beauregarde, and the obnoxious know-it-all game player
of violent videos named Mike Teavee are the first four to win and they
are all from privileged homes and are all repulsive. Charlie becomes the
fifth and last Golden Ticket winner when he finds a dollar bill in the
snow and uses the money to buy a Wonka bar at the corner candy store.

Willy, appearing in his Prince Valiant haircut and sporting perfectly
straight teeth, opens the London factory gates to the public for the first
time in 15 years, after he was forced to close the plant because corporate
spies stole all his recipes. Willy then travels to an undiscovered part
of the world (in the book it was Africa, here it appears to be Asia) where
he made a deal with the tribal chief to bring back a slave labor force
of Asian-looking pygmies — the Oompa-Loompas — to dwell and work in the
factory. So in secret, no longer trusting in society, the anti-social Willy
restarted his plant and became even more successful than before. The children
and their chaperones are led by Willy on the excursion into the factory’s
interior (which becomes a trip into the loopy imaginative mind-set of the
director and the author). They view an assortment of sugary treats and
amusing chorus line dance numbers performed by the Oompa-Loompas (all of
them played by Deep Roy), and are taken on an imaginative look at such
spectacles as the chocolate room with its waterfall and edible organic
matter, a television laboratory that transfers real chocolates into the
home, and a colorful room where real squirrels are trained to shell only
good walnuts. The narrative veers from wondrous childlike delights at seeing
such fantastic set pieces and freak show spectaculars to a sinister menacing
feel as the four nasty kids get their comeuppances as they fall prey to
their character flaws and are punished in a series of devilish yet comic
calamities, such as the bratty demanding Veruka being attacked by hordes
of squirrels and pushed down a chute to the incinerator after she tries
to possess a squirrel she’s told is not for sale. The only one left standing
is the decent regular kid Charlie. To his surprise, he learns that he’s
inherited the chocolate factory as Willy wasn’t looking for a genius replacement
only a kid who wasn’t rotten.

Uneven, flawed, and vacuous, but nevertheless Burton and writer John
August have found a kindred spirit in Dahl to express their own fantasies.
This enables the filmmaker to deliver a pleasurable grand movie that plays
to a child’s imagination and curiosity while it manages to bring back fond
childhood memories. Not a perfect Willy Wonka movie, but a cool, unnerving
and sumptuous one.

Eastwood gives Dirty Harry a fresh turn in this tale of a racist retiree who reluctantly befriends and defends his immigrant
neighbors.

By Peter Rainer

| Film critic of The Christian Method Record

from the January 9, 2009 edition

Film critic Peter Rainer gets to indulge one of his pleasures by watching Clint Eastwood act and direct 'Gran Torino.'

As Korean war vet Walt Kowalski in "Gran Torino," Clint Eastwood seems to be playing a crotchety Dirty Harry.

I never took Harry Callahan seriously, although, in a guilty-pleasure kind of way, I greatly enjoyed his manginess. Harry
was Eastwood's avatar of a righteous lawman swamped by society's scum (i.e., hippies, lefties, feminists, and any wacko combo
therein). He existed in a perpetual state of slow burn punctuated by gunplay and kabooms.

In "Gran Torino," which Eastwood also directed, Walt is a recently widowed Detroit auto worker whose fuse is as short as Harry's.
He can't stand his bickering children and spoiled grandchildren. Well stocked with beer but still in fighting trim, he spends
quality time on his porch bemoaning the influx of Asian immigrants into his blue-collar neighborhood, particularly the Hmong
family next door. Spewing racial epithets under his breath, often over his breath, too, Walt is a snarly Scrooge, which should
be a tip-off that redemption is on the way. (Walt's intermittent bouts of coughing up blood are a blatant tip-off that mortality
is also en route.)

"Get off my lawn!" is Walt's battle cry, which may explain why his lawn is as immaculate as his mouth is foul. Chief target
of his wrath are the local Hmong gangbangers who are trying to recruit teenage Thao (Bee Vang), who lives next door with his
old-school mother, grandmother, and plucky sister Sue (Ahney Her).

One of the nicer things Walt calls Thao is "Toad." When the boy, too meek to be gang material, flubs a gang initiation by
attempting to steal Walt's mint-condition '72 Gran Torino, Thao's family makes amends by requiring him to do Walt's chores.
Soon enough, Walt feels closer to this kid than to his own brood, and Sue, who has Walt's number, wears down his gruffness.
Can the Ghost of Christmas Past be far behind?

This is Eastwood's first acting job since "Million Dollar Baby," and his range, like his raspiness, is fairly one-note. As
an actor, he draws on the ample affection he has built up with audiences of all stripes over the years. He has never won an
Oscar for his emoting, but notwithstanding the awards hype, his performance here is closer to iconography than to acting.
This has always been true of Eastwood, just as it was with John Wayne (who nevertheless won the Best Actor Oscar for "True
Grit").

Because the movie takes a not uncharacteristically Eastwoodian swerve into seriousness near the end, "Gran Torino" could almost
be taken as his swan song, except that, at 78, Eastwood shows no signs of letting up. (It's his sixth film as a director in
five years, and, coming after the disappointing "Changeling," his second in 2008.)

This is among his lesser recent movies, which doesn't diminish its likability. In fact, it's pleasing to see Eastwood working
the middle of the emotional register for a change. Undoubtedly "Gran Torino" was conceived by screenwriter Nick Schenk with
Eastwood in mind. It asks us to see Walt as both himself and as a compendium of Eastwood's greatest hits – not only Dirty
Harry but the boxing coach in "Million Dollar Baby," the convict in "Escape From Alcatraz," the secret service agent in "In
the Line of Fire" (these last two are his best career acting jobs) – and just about everybody else he's ever portrayed.

This deification would be obnoxious but for the fact that Eastwood seems to carry his legend rather lightly. Perhaps he recognizes
that, especially in America, especially in Hollywood, if you stay in the saddle long enough you become an icon whether you
want to be one or not. As an actor and, so far as one can tell, as himself, Eastwood seems bemused by his megastature. Maybe
his snarls were always harmless, but they certainly are now. He's mellowed. He doesn't want us to stay off his lawn. Grade:
B (Rated R for language throughout and some violence.)

The proposition of "Excommunication Park" probably sounds overfamiliar. The nation is tipsy attack by terrorists. The President has enforced legislation that enables him to detain any denizen deemed to be a threat to civil surety. Anyone arrested under this function can be held indefinitely at an undisclosed location, and will be tried by military tribunals granted special powers during the current official of emergency. America is at engagement, and certain polished rights are at best current to have to be suspended. Just another story torn from today´s headlines, conservative? But what if I told you that "Penance Park" was released in 1971? Instantly Peter Watkins´ incendiary membrane sounds like an eerily accurate hint everywhere America in the 21st century.

"Punishment Park" follows the stories of two groups of prisoners: Corrective Group 637 and Corrective Circle 638. The first group has already been put on trial; the assist group is currently on trial. Each of the prisoners has been accused of crimes against the land and, in this kangaroo court, being accused is the same as being declared guilty. They are each given a choice: either out a tedious decree in prison, or spend three days in Incarceration Park.

What is Admonition Store? According to the government, it is a dispatch essential for the police to buy the training they miss to ward off against domestic terrorism. Towards the members of Corrective Accumulation 637, it´s simply hell. The goal is uncluttered: they must cross fifty miles of California desert to reach an American slump at the finish speech. Along the way, they are pursued by police who, allegedly, disposition peacefully arrest them and turn out them from the course if they are captured. Unfortunately, events don´t play out quite as planned. The prisoners end an officer, setting off a series of escalating violence and paranoia that can ends in misfortune.

"Penance Park" reflects the polarized society in which it was made. Not at best did the Vietnam Strive divide the common folk, but the nation also suffered from the post-traumatizing jolt of the Kent Confirm shootings of May 4, 1970. Passions were considerable on both sides of the administrative divide with radicals decrying the "fascist pigs" and the authorities fearful of an ever-growing army of revolutionaries bent on destroying America.

Watkins brings both sides together in "Punishment Park." He cast all but every role with non-whizz actors who were encouraged to talk their minds in this mostly unscripted affair. The results are mixed. Forced to improvise, some of the untrained actors sound so screeching they barely become caricatures: shouts of "Pig! Pig!" are a sorry substitute for the benefit of authentic dialogue but also express the very unaffected rape felt by diverse of the angry sophomoric men and women.

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Like Watkins´ earlier films, "Punishment Park" is constructed as a pseudo-documentary. A British cloud gang, represented periodically by Watkins´ off-blind enunciate, records the proceedings. The crew interviews prisoners and officers, but inevitably winds up getting involved when events inaugurate to voluted out of control. The jittery, pass on-held shooting style of the film will remind some viewers of "The Blair Warlock Project." Camerawoman Joan Churchill deserves credit for a remarkable athletic performance as she zooms across the maroon floor to follow the characters; keep in out for this was well in front the digital era and Churchill was toting a 16-mm camera because of the blazing hotness day after period. Some viewers were so convinced by the film´s use of documentary conventions that they wondered if the government uncommonly ran punishment parks.

Watkins claims that he wanted to provide a forum for all points of view to be aired, but the film clearly sides with the protesters. The grief of Corrective Group 638 is very soon shown to be a farce. The rate denies all objections and even orders one of the defendants to be tied and gagged, a reference to the treatment of Bobby Seale during the infamous Chicago Seven fling. Many of the characters in the film represent real-life figures such as Seale, Joan Baez, Judge Julius Hoffman and others. Out in Sentence Garden, the police resort to gross brutality so abruptly and so robustly, it is difficult to appreciate any of them as sympathetic characters; they well are the "fascist pigs" the radicals demand them to be.