USA, 2002
Director: Tom Peosay
Score: ***

The opening 10-minute segment, with words like ‘they are killing our monks’ screamed over the footage of a fire-charred monk (a true incident involving monk Jampa Tenzin) entering a burning police station to free his fellow worshippers, sets the angry tone of Tom Peosay’s 2002 documentary on Tibet. The country known to many as the rooftop of the world is displayed again with all its splendor – wide grassy plains, ancient monasteries, icy peaks and crystal clear lakes, but it is the bitter suffering of its people under the Chinese neighbors that director and cinematographer Peosay wishes to highlight.  The growing of the brothels and slums in the holy Tibetan city of Lhasa are shown to the west for the first time.

Reportedly ten years in the making and narrated by Martin Sheen, TIBET: CRY OF THE SNOW LION was filmed during nine separate journeys thought the land.  But the filmmakers also took the cameras to Tibetan exiled communities in India and Nepal where teachings were conducted by the Dalai Lama.  Through interviews (heard mostly in English voice-over) conducted with the Dalai Lama, persecuted nuns and monks, Elders, Tibetan government officials and western experts in Chinese and Tibetan studies from Universities, the gruesome history of an unhappy people is portrayed.  China’s “peaceful liberation of Tibet” is vividly told in another light with Tibetans oppressed and religious leaders tortured for no apparent reason. Nuns would have cattle prods inserted up their vaginas and monks down their throats. If one recalls what the Chinese did to their own in Tiananmen Square, one can hardly conceive what they would do to their enemies. Though typically biased against the Chinese (and probably with good reason), Peosay does insert a token interview with a Chinese official who dismisses all failures with a shrug.

The film’s climax is the Tibet Freedom Concert in San Francisco.  Here, the Tibetans’ cause is
broadcast for the entire world to see. Their need for human rights and freedom can only be echoed by viewers who will definitely be moved in one way or another by Peosay’s eye-opening documentary. 

Review by Gilbert Seah

France, 2003
Director: Jean-Paul Rappaneau
Starring: Isabelle Adjani, Gerard Depardieu, Peter Coyote, Virginie Ledoyen
Score: *****

When director/writer Jean-Paul Rappaneau complained to fellow filmmaker Alain Cavalier that he was only coming up with funny stuff when working on his first film, A MATTER OF RESISTANCE, Cavalier retorted, “That is you and your sense of humor.  Go with it!” And so it is with this historical period piece set in the handsome city of Bordeaux at the beginning of World War II, the comic elements are so abundant that BON VOYAGE establishes itself more of a swashbuckling romp than a war suspense thriller.  Take the start where Gerard Depardieu trying to impress Isabelle Adjani, trips and literally falls at her feet in the sight of the entire theatre audience or the film’s best scene where hero Gregori Derangere fights his way out of a posh restaurant - ramming into tables, tumbling platters of carefully prepared meals before finally jumping through a huge smashed window.  Everyone is always excited or about to burst in emotions.

Rappaneau’s films (CYRANO DE BERGERAC and HORSEMAN ON THE ROOF) are always gorgeously lit, beautifully costumed, set designed and wonderfully scored with every last detail re-created to match the period it is set in.  (I can say this having seen 4 of his films, CYRANO, HORSEMAN, THE SAVAGE and this latest.) BON VOYAGE, written by Rappaneau himself with Patrick Modiano (LACOMBE LUCIEN) is a spirited story about heroes, romance, intrigue, murder and winning the war.  Who would expect to find the young dashing but unlikely hero, Frederic Auger, a writer no-less (Derangere of THE OFFICERS’ WARD) suddenly abandoning his long undying love for a famous actress, Viviane Denvert (Adjani) to risk his life to help France win the war? 

A bit of history is necessary to appreciate the nature of the period of confusion in which the story is set.  It is June 1940 and the Germans are about to occupy Paris.  The city is abandoned and all high society including cabinet ministers like Beaufort (Depardieu), spies like Alex (Peter Coyote), criminals like Raoul (Yvan Attal), writers, journalists, famous actresses, students like Camille (Virginie Ledoyen) and scientists like Professor Kopolski (Jean-Marc Stehle) head for Bordeaux, where chaos reigns.  The action takes place at the grand Hotel Splendide in Bordeaux.  The writer, wrongly imprisoned in Paris, has been let loose and lands here, where he meets up with Viviane, now flirting with Beaufort who is trying to be contacted by Prof. Kopolski and Camille to escape to England.

Rappaneau creates wonderful cinematic images; of romance – lovers kissing in the rain; of movies – a smoky cinema auditorium and of the war – the Germans in uniform riding their vintage cars on cobblestone lanes.  All his characters are likeable, except for the German spy, a reflection perhaps of his personal hatred for the Germans who took his father prisoner when he was a kid during the war.  Despite the war setting and the intrigue involved, Rappaneau’s film is a comedy at heart.  His comic timing is great.  At one point, Camille is explaining to Frederic the most important piece of news that would help the Germans lose or win the war, when he is suddenly distracted by the appearance of Viviane.  Camille quickly states: “Am I boring you?” Rappaneau knows how to interact with different emotions, settings, stories and characters, illustrating the point that there is humor in every situation, if one only knows where to look for it.  The film’s climax is also likewise set.  The poor driver with the bad car has to catch up with the expert driver with the better car in the dark of night in order to save the professor from being captured by the Germans.

BON VOYAGE is expertly paced, well-written and winningly performed by its notable cast from veterans like Depardieu to newcomers like Derangere.  Even Yvan Attal as the criminal is engaging!  Thierry Arbogast’s camera is fluid, sweeping with ebullience often to overhead shots to disclose perhaps a corpse, a bird’s eye view of convicts running down the prison’s spiral staircase or even the performers’ gestures.  Everything here appears perfectly choreographed.  A shiny polished button can be as clearly observed as a bridge full of refugees.  BON VOYAGE has to be seen for its grace, magic and entertainment!

Review by Gilbert Seah.

Israel, 2002
Director: Nir Bergman
Score: ***

After the loss of a much loved father, a family spins into turmoil.  It is 9 months after the event, and mother Dafna (Orli Zilverschatz-Banay) has still not got over the death.  She balances her mid-wife job at the hospital with the raising of her 4 children, each given equal screen time by first time feature director Nir Bergman.  How they cope and interact forms the basis of this new intriguing Israeli film, BROKEN WINGS that has gone to win 9 Israeli film awards and the Grand Prix at the Tokyo film festival.

Bergman treats each of the 4 children with equal respect and tenderness.  The scene in the counseling room where the elder son argues with the well-meaning social worker is skillfully portrayed, displaying both sides eager and well-intentioned for progress but hindered by different values each has not control over.  The confrontation scene between mother and daughter is also expertly handled, with both views given, so that the viewer does not take sides.  The tears that flow from the daughter, Maya’s (Maya Maron) face, shown from a distant with her back towards the camera are effective.  As events unfold, Bergman slowly lets out how the father has dies, as a result of a freak accident which Maya feels guilty for.

BROKEN WINGS is an intelligent, and compelling watchable film, brimming with emotions and color.  The family members undergo the same problems western families undergo.  It is a universal theme – the need for more money, the attraction of leaving a hometown for a bigger city (in this case Tel Aviv) and the coping of budding hormones.  Even mother meets a new man.  Berman (who also wrote the script) blends these elements subtly with human family drama.

Bergman never resolves to clichéd endings.  He leaves his conclusions open.  At the end of the film, the boy is still in the coma while Dafna has not got together with her new suitor.  The problems faced by the family are only solved partly, but Bergman shows it is a step towards the right direction in pretty much the same way that he shows promise as a future director to watch.

Review by Gilbert Seah

USA, 2004
Director: Quentin Tarantino
Cast: Uma Thurman, David Carradine, Michael Madsen

The second – longer – half of Quentin Tarantino’s epic grindhouse tribute is not as good as the first, but still a genre-hopping good time.

When we last left The Bride (Uma Thurman), she was in the middle of her post-coma revenge rampage, having successfully offed two of her former fellow assassins who betrayed her by attempting to kill her after leaving the business for wedded bliss. In Vol. 2, her to-kill list is down to three: Elle (Daryl Hannah), Budd (Michael Madsen) and, of course, old boss Bill (a lisping David
Carradine).

The opening sequence details – and I do mean details, as it is long and sluggishly paced – the church bloodbath that got The Bride so pissed off in the first place. Like an old Western, it’s shot in black and white. Subsequent chapters riff off other film styles; her cruel training with an Asian monk (Gordon Liu) is all on-the-cheap kung fu, a harrowing encounter with a coffin is psychological horror and the scenes involving Budd and Elle are all ‘70s drive-in exploitation. Even the opening and closing credits tip their hat to film noir.

So what to make of the film’s final chapter, in which The Bride finally comes face to face with Bill and finds the daughter she never knew? I suppose it’s Tarantino’s answer to Kramer vs. Kramer, with emphasis on the vs. Amidst all the soul searching and motherly love, the parents do find time to spar with razor-sharp swords. After all, Bill’s the kind of dad who believes Shogun Assassin is acceptable bedtime viewing for his little girl.

As adept as Thurman was at kicking ***censored*** in the first installment, I think she’s even better here. The girl gets a chance to actually act and pulls it off with an intense believability. Carradine doesn’t suck like I thought he would, but he’s no career-resurrecting find like Robert Forster was in Jackie Brown.

After an initial slow start, Vol. 2 kicks into high gear with punch and panache. Not only does it feel like a different movie than Vol. 1, it feels like five different movies. That’s because Tarantino adheres to the conventions of the various genres he loves within a chapter, and then runs with them.

Review by Rod Lott.

USA, 2004
Director: Jonathan Hensleigh
Cast: Tom Jane, John Travolta

To help introduce cinema audiences to its Punisher – a relatively obscure character not on the household-name level of Spider-Man – Marvel Comics is giving away copies of the 1974 Amazing Spider-Man in which he first appeared to ticketholders. Quaint though the four-color comic is, it was more entertaining than the movie.

Even worse, it’s not half the movie as the first Punisher movie, the much-maligned, straight-to-video 1990 effort starring Dolph Lundgren. Hated by many, I’ve always admired it on a purely B-movie level and felt it was unnecessarily shelved. It’s violent, it’s fun and Dolph is a badass.

And Thomas Jane is not. At least not here. The hero of Deep Blue Sea is the antihero of The Punisher as Frank Castle, a FBI agent who calls it quits after too many grueling undercover jobs, the most recent of which resulted in the accidental death of the son of über-rich businessman Howard Saint, played by John Travolta, here fully ensconced in his honey-baked ham mode of Swordfish, Basic and, well, any role he’s overacted in the past 10 years.

As payback, Saint – oh, the irony! – orders the assassination of Castle and his entire family, conveniently assembled in one place for a family reunion. The entire Castle clan eats it – wife and son included – but Castle himself somehow manages to survive. Donning the black, skull-emblazoned T-shirt his son opportunely gifted him before dying, he calls himself The Punisher, outfits his car and apartment with weapons galore and sets out to take down Saint and all his expensive-suited goons.

There are so many things that feel wrong about The Punisher, it’s hard to know where to start. Making his debut as director, Armageddon screenwriter Jonathan Hensleigh gives his revenge tale an ugly grit that’s supposed to remind audiences of the pistol-packin’ ‘70s, but unfortunately, his story and pacing are reminiscent of ‘70s episodic cop shows. The dialogue is melodramatic and goofy; the score is overwrought and inappropriate. And Jane doesn’t get to do
much punishing.

Aside from the final office-building siege in which Castle doles out some ***censored***-kicking (and neck-penetrating and chin-stabbing), the action is subdued rather than exciting. The film’s big fight scene is supposed to be a mano y mano match between Castle and a mute walking steroid known as “the Russian,” but it’s hard not to laugh since he’s dressed like Baby Huey.

The Punisher is one of the last movies that needs comic relief, but lo and behold, it throws in not one, but two wacky neighbors! It also doesn’t need romance, but Rebecca Romijn-Stamos is there anyway as a heartbroken, downtrodden waitress who takes a shine to Castle. It’s not that the film needs eye candy with Mulholland Drive hussy Laura Harring bouncing across the screen, but what was Hensleigh thinking when he cuts away from her undressing to lingerie?

I’ll assume punishment, just in keeping with the theme of this disappointing film. This character deserves better – and got it, back in 1990. It may not have had John Travolta getting dragged by a car and set on fire, but it had stylized action, down-and-dirty thrills and Dolph, kicking ***censored*** for a good portion of the running time.

Review by Rod Lott.