By Greg Walton

Review Film Critic

MATT DAMON AND THE SUNDANCE KID

    	It goes without saying that the only reason Matt Damon has the

starring role in The Legend of Bagger Vance is because director Robert

Redford is too damn old.  The film is just the kind of underdog-feel good

love story that the King of Sundance would love to play himself, if it

weren't for all those unmarketable wrinkles on his once million-dollar mug.

But it's a good decision, as Damon has developed into one of the more

subtly powerful actors of his upstart class.  Not that Bagger Vance makes

him sweat much.  It's old-fashioned at heart and purposefully pleasant, 

eschewing reality for a Field of Dreams spiritual buzz and good movie karma.

Damon is Rannulph Junuh, a favorite Southern son whose pro-golf career was

shattered after an emotionally devastating experience in WWI.  Abandoning

all shadows of his former self, even fiancé Adele (Charlize Theron), Junuh

lives as a recluse on the edge of town.  Then a major exhibition match,

sponsored by his ex, forces him back onto the links to defend the good name

of Savannah.  But with his famous swing missing in action since the war,

Junuh needs a miracle to even make par.

Enter Bagger Vance, a mystical caddy played with a perpetual smirk by Will

Smith.  Bagger seems to have all the answers and spouts sports philosophies

like,  "A man's grip on his club is like a man's grip on his world." Pretty

soon, he has Junuh putting like a pro again, neck and neck with two of the

greatest golfers in the country.  But more important than the game is

Junuh's triumph over the demon's that plague his soul.

No, really.  The movie even says so.  And if there's anything to complain

about in Bagger Vance,  a movie so non-threatening it should be

pre-screened at the next Mid-East peace summit, it's the obviousness with

which its magical mystery PGA tour plays out.

There are no surprises in store for anyone who's seen Rocky, The Natural or

any episode of Touched by an Angel. But that doesn't  make the outcome any

less satisfying or kitschly Inspirational.

Redford is so intent on idealizing this Southern showdown even the

competition is presented with gentlemanly good grace. And no one blinks an

eye at Bagger, a black caddy strutting his stuff in front of a sea of white

faces.  But Redford quite obviously isn't interested in the reality of it

all.  This is a fable...revolving around a sport...played within your head,

not on the course. As Bagger says, "It's only a game." But the film 

relishes those metaphysical implications, as all sports films do, that how 

you play the game extends into all aspects of life.  In essence: achieving 

peace of mind starts at the tee and ends with that pleasant plinking sound 

as the ball drop into the cup.

Everything in Bagger Vance comes together as only pre-ordained movie

scripts can.  But even Will Smith's quirky casting (all that wisdom doesn't

seem right coming from a 30 year-old ex-sitcom star) can't chip away at the

nostalgic portrait of undiluted Americana the film is determined to sell.

Grade: B

TITILLATED BY AN ANGEL

    	Imagine Mission Impossible 2 - with Tom Cruise in a thong bikini -

and you've got the sales pitch for Charlie's Angels, the updated cinematic

translation of the campy 70's TV show.  The action is the same, revved up

Matrix-ized kung-fu stuntwork, but with three gorgeous women (well, two

gorgeous women and Drew Barrymore) doing all the butt-kicking.  Never work?

Too sexist for today's liberated, but politically aware, audiences?

Man, are you way off!  Even if you overlook the copious amounts of jiggling

flesh, Charlie's Angels hits you so hard and so fast there's nothing you

can do but stare slack-jawed at the screen.  It's the ultimate in

short-attention-span theater.  If you don't like what's happening in a

particular scene, rest assured the entire cast of characters will return

(in new costumes, no less) within 30 or so seconds, probably wearing even

less.

There is some sort of plot buried within all the sexy shenanigans, but it's

the least interesting part of the movie.  Just pay attention to the stats:

Lucy Liu, Cameron Diaz, and Barrymore as the Angels, Bill Murray as Bosely,

and cameos from Tom Green, L.L. Cool J.  and Matt LeBlanc.  Charlie is

still Charlie (John Forsythe), the disembodied voice of a reclusive

millionaire who runs a super-detective agency in his spare time.

But this time his Angels have skills.  They kick, they punch, and when all

else fails, they wiggle their boot-tays. The action scenes are surprisingly

well choreographed, and the actresses themselves look incredibly

comfortable with their high-wire Hong Kong stunts.  Diaz comes off best,

ultra sleek and effortlessly dorky at a moments notice, while Barrymore

crashes and burns in most of her spotlight scenes.  As an executive

producer, she uses the nerdy Never Been Kissed act as a crutch, and stuffs

retro-hip-references where they don't belong.  The scenes with her

fiance/stunt-husband Tom Green are painfully embarrassing to watch, as is

the dopily improvised performance of Bill Murray.

There's  a liberated joie de vivre to the whole affair.  Even when it's

bad, it's so bad it's good.  Even the actresses, who should be insulted by

their sex-object status, use it as a spring board to kick ass in a male

dominated genre.  Chrlie's Angels  the TV show, was a testament to the

power of hair flips, karate chops, and plenty of skin.  Charlie's Angels

the movie, operates on one guiding principle:  If it ain't broke, don't fix

it.

Grade: A-

SEQUEL FROM HELL

    	The original Blair Witch Project was a true phenomenon; a communal

illusion pulled off with three non-actors and a queasy cam. With whispered

rumors spread across the web and a catchy marketing machine in overdrive,

it's little wonder the film itself failed to live up to many audience

members expectations.  Like a romantic compatibility test, you love it or

hate it...anything in-between isn't marriage material.  Rest assured, you

won't hear a peep of controversy about the sequel Book of Shadows: Blair

Witch 2. By unanimous decision, it's crap.

On record, I was a Blair Witch supporter.  Although much of its

effectiveness was likely accidental, the docu-horror approach did more than

induce nausea - it resulted in a film in which what you didn't see

frightened you.  But what made the most cultural impact was Artisan

pictures marketing campaign, which fooled some internet obsessed dweebs

into believing the footage was real and lured them into theaters with snuff

film appeal.

BW2 is a sequel to Blair Witch: The Event, not the movie that came out two

years ago.  It begins with the scenario that Blair Witch was just a movie,

prompting the little town of Burkittsville, Maryland to be overrun by

goth-rockers and curious tourists.  Among them, Erica (Erica Leerhsen), a

practicing Wiccan out to clear her religion's name, Kim (Kim Director), a

doom and gloom thrill seeker, and a couple (Stephen Barker Turner & Tristen

Skyler) gathering research for their book.

They're all led into the woods by Jeff (Jeffrey Donovan), an opportunistic

tour guide whom hawks Blair Witch paraphernalia on the web.  While

attempting to relive the fictitious experience, the gang mysteriously loses

two hours of their lives and wake up to a trashed campsite.  Although they

were drunk, stoned, and sleeping at the time, they all insist something

spooky must have happened.

And so does director Joe Berlinger, an ex-documentarian who directs this

Blair Witch in typical horror movie fashion.  From here on out, the film

goes horribly wrong - shifting the action to Jeff's palatial estate rather

than the inherently scary wilderness, tossing together the most annoying

characters this side of the original's Heather Donahue, and (worst of all)

not delivering one good scare for 87 minutes.  Not even a heebie-jeebie.

BW2 wants to mess with your head.  It wants to be clever, creepy, and

smart.  But it's dumber than dirt and tastes twice as bad.  Once Berglinger

ditched the documentary approach he forced the film to become conventional,

to play by the horror film rules the first Witch was allowed to casually

ignore.  But the sequel clumsily wallows in monotonous scenes of co-eds in

non-peril, their puny brains trying to come to grips with unseen

supernatural forces by bitching at each other.

And the much-vaunted Blair Witchmythology, so well supported by Artisan's

marketing wizards, never even comes into play.  Apparently it's being saved

for Blair Witch 3: The Prequel which makes this second helping seem like

even more of a tossed-off insult than it really is.

Grade: F