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RETURN TO NEVERLAND By Rachel Deahl Review Film Critic As unnecessary as it is boring, Disney's second-go-round with the boy who never grows up is an underwhelming affair, even for the less discerning tots. So bereft of originality and magic is Return to Neverland that it might inspire the feeling that old Walt has finally lost his touch. Of course a more likely explanation for this unusually banal outing from the family values multinational is that it was something they found, left on some old shelf, that they decided to send to theaters instead of straight to video. Needless to say, Return to Neverland doesn't belong on a marquee. A sequel to Peter Pan for all intents and purposes, Return to Neverland focuses on the daughter of a grown-up Wendy whose name is Jane. Having been weaned on fanciful stories of Peter Pan and the lost boys all her life; Jane is clearly carrying on the spirited tradition of imagination and wonder left by her mother. That is until the onslaught of war. When World War II descends on London, Jane's father is sent off to battle and she's left to look after her mother and younger brother. With the hardships of war and the responsibilities of acting like an adult thrust upon her at once, Jane starts to lose her playful nature and along with it, her belief in Peter Pan. Enter Captain Hook. Falling asleep one evening in front of her window, Jane is kidnapped by Hook and his band of evil pirates and whisked off to Neverland. Once Peter Pan rescues her, Jane insists on leaving immediately to go back home. Of course there's only one way back home and that involves flying and, in order to fly, one has to have faith. Low on the faith department, Jane is stranded in Neverland where she must come to believe in Peter once again in order to save him and return home safely. For those who've seen the original, Return to Neverland inspires nothing but the desire to be watching Peter Pan instead. With thinly recycled characters and storylines, coupled with a pathetic song that constitutes the bulwark of the "new original music" the trailer boasts, Return to Neverland shouldn't have made it out of the Hollywood gates. ROLLERBALL Unquestionably the worst film of 2001/2002, and one of the worst film's I've ever seen, Rollerball stands as a testament to the depths of depravity that filmmaking can reach. A remake of the 1975 James Caan vehicle of the same name, Rollerball boasts two horrifyingly bad lead performances (with Chris Klein and Rebecca Romijn Stamos stealing the worst-actor-of-the-moment distinctions previously held by Keanu Reeves and Mariah Carey), a laughable script, awful special effects and no clear storyline. A meandering, miserable collection of celluloid, Rollerball isn't to be watched it's to be endured. Set sometime in the near future, the tenable basis of the film is the titular game, a kind of cross between roller derby and WWF Smack Down. The rules of the game are never explained but the general idea is that two teams (with players decked out like KISS on Halloween) go out on a rink, beat the crap out of each other, and attempt to throw a metal ball into a large gong-like structure in the process. Klein stars as a daredevil American athlete who's convinced by a former teammate, L.L. Cool J, to go abroad to play the dangerous sport in depressed Middle Eastern cities for lots of cash and fancy sports cars. Working for a corrupt French businessman, Luc Besson (The Professional), Klein is the best Rollerballer of all time, known to the fans simply as "Jon-a-ton." When the suits make the none-too-shocking realization that violence brings in higher ratings (I guess they never heard of Monday Night Football), they attempt to rig the matches to ensure injuries and death for the players. As such, Klein and Cool J decide that their hefty salaries and fast cars might not be worth playing the sport. Complicating matters is Klein's secret relationship with one of his teammates, Rebecca Romijn Stamos, who hales, perhaps, from some Balkan country. (Since her accent is unidentifiable and periodically non-existent, the only thing we can assume is that she's not supposed to be a Yankee.) Of course this is at least what Rollerball seems to be about. But, like the game itself, the details are so fractured and incongruous that it's often difficult to discern what's going on, much less why it's going on. A perfect example of the slipshod filmmaking can be found in a scene that involves Cool J and Klein's attempted escape from the clutches of Besson's scheming entrepreneur. Aside from the fact that the very notion of their needing to "escape" is ridiculous, the lengthy scene is shot in a grainy green film stock. The affectation, apart from being annoying, is bizarre since the director never bothers to align the audience's point of view with anyone watching the event through a night vision device. Did the director simply leave this scene out, or did he miss the first day of film school when they talked about establishing shots? But asking questions about the intentions behind Rollerball is almost as fruitless and unrewarding as watching Rollerball. In the end the only advice I can give is this: if you ever catch this turkey on late night cable, switch the channel. |
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