By Greg Walton

Review Film Critic

There was a time in horror film history when a Bible quote was the ultimate

in street cred; a divine stamp of authenticity only cold-hearted atheists

and film critics could disregard.  Terrified pre-teens and naive adults

finally opened their musty copy of the good book just to make sure Satan

wasn't actually reborn as a snotty British kid with bad teeth ("The Omen")

or vomit spewing child star ("The Exorcist").  No matter how preposterous

the scenario, it was nothing a good proverb or two couldn't back up.

Fast forward to last year around this time with the millennium fad in full

swing and a slew of "end of the world" thrillers flooding theaters - "End

of Days," "Stigmata, "Lost Souls," etc.  What's that?  But "Lost Souls" is

a new release, you say, not another cookie-cutter Y2K clone.

Actually, the film has been drifting in Hollywood's version of limbo (most

likely, the craft services trailer) for the better part of a year after

missing its initial October '99 release date. And you don't have to be

Nostradamus to pick up some bad vibes about that one.

Starring the eternally lovely (but only intermittently talented) Winona

Ryder as a young woman determined to prevent the Devil from being reborn

into the body of a clueless crime novelist (Ben Chaplin of "The Truth About

Cats & Dogs"), "Lost Souls" borrows a lot of new age style from first-time

director Janusz Kaminski (the cinematographer who made "Saving Private

Ryan" such a brutal experience), but few old school chills from biblical

horrors past.

What develops (slowly) is an apocalyptic scenario in which Maya (Ryder),

who was once exorcised of some pesky demons herself, discovers the name of

Peter Kelson (Chaplin) and attempts to convince him of his unholy fate.

Needless to say, Pete finds the idea that he'll sprout horns and a tail on

his 33rd birthday a little hard to swallow, but a few botched special

effects and a conspiracy or two eventually does the trick.  His only hope

lies with Maya and her doomsday posse of priests, or else.  Or else, what?

The film isn't sure.  Everyone in "Lost Souls" seems very upset, very

scared, and very sweaty.  But what's at stake for Mankind other than Satan

possibly cracking the bestseller list is never made clear.  And even more

problematic, since ol' Scratch never makes an on-screen appearance, there's

no bad guy.  Peter might be fated to serve as Lord of the Underworld, but

for most of the movie he's a very unthreatening yuppie with bushy eyebrows

(ok, the eyebrows are scary, I'll admit).

Ryder puts in one heck of an effort, and is suitably convincing as a

borderline zealot on a mission from God, but it's hard to take her side

when the script never tells us what we're up against.

Make no mistake, "Lost Souls" is a visually arresting experience - one in

which light, shadow, and film grain are characters unto themselves.

Kaminski  drains every speck of color and replaces it with over saturated

whites and infinite shades of gray; his camera nearly sinks into the

actors' pores and cuts the narrative with a jagged, jittery verite' grit.

But the horrors are so few and plot points so pathetic, these individual

efforts are wasted on an unsatisfying whole.

Suspense doesn't require gore, sex, or projectile vomiting, but it does

help to have a story of substance up your sleeve.

GRADE:  C-

Satan does show his face, however,  in "Bedazzled."  Heck, he even shows

some cleavage.

In the new comedy from Harold Ramis ("Animal House, Groundhog Day"),

Lucifer is played by pouty-lipped, sultry-hipped super model Elizabeth

Hurley, who takes the temptress' shape to reel in Brendan Fraser's soul.

While not the most original of setups (Jeez, even Homer Simpson sold his soul

for a donut), no one said you had to reinvent the wheel to earn a couple of

laughs.  And "Bedazzled" gets its yucks the old fashioned way - with

slapstick and naughty innuendo.  The Marx Brothers would be proud, but

probably not very impressed.

Fraser's Elliot Richards is yet another in his endless lineup of innocent

romantics disguised as lovable losers.  The man does one thing, and he does

it well.  Here, he pines for the affections of one Alison Gardner (Frances

O'Connor, who looks like Mariah Carrey's taller twin), an untouchable exec

from the 4th floor, while Elliot's other coworkers mock and avoid him at

every opportunity.

A chance meeting with the Dark One leaves him with seven wishes (which

drops to six after a trick question involving a Big Mac and a Coke) and

seven shots at his dream life with Alison.

Each sequence is an opportunity for Fraser and the cast to take on totally

different personas, jumping from one wacky scenario to the next.  The

punchlines come in discovering each fantasy's flaw, snuck in devilishly by

Hurley as she parades around in skintight costumes.

There's Elliot's wish for power & wealth, which puts him in the shoes of a

Columbian drug lord.  Or his stint as a NBA superstar, with one

embarrassing shortcoming.  Or the world's most emotionally sensitive man,

who

can't make it through a sunset without squirting tears. Fraser makes the best

of some very predictable puns and gags, carrying the movie on his rubbery

limbs and well-timed double takes.  He's not afraid to sacrifice his

post-"Mummy" bo-hunk career for some ridiculous costumes and rubber noses.

Without him, "Bedazzled's" TV-quality script would be condemned to

Hollywood

purgatory (the trailer right next to craft services).

Ramis, whose smart-aleck shtick played so well in "Groundhog's Day,"

ironically becomes repetitively tiresome here.  When the laughs hit, they

come right out of left field.  It'd be a lot more fun with the bases loaded

- gaining some comedic momentum with each wish rather than suffering

through too many unsuccessful gags.  Hurley is (unsurprisingly) sexy as

evil incarnate, but even her cleavage can't perform miracles.    Instead,

it falls on the supporting cast - and an inspired opening sequence -  to

kick "Bedazzled" into gear from time to time.

It's hit or miss laughter from the depths of hell.  I mean Hollywood, of

course.

GRADE:  B-