Ever since Frankenstein first came alive in the early 20^th century, film has been frequently used to preach about the horrors of playing God in the laboratory. And just in case Flubber or The Nutty Professor 2 wasn’t incentive enough to put down those test tubes, here comes indie writer/director Vincenzo Natali — best known for his existential cult hit The Cube — with the provocative sci-fi horror Splice.

But viewer discretion is advised; Natali’s mostly solemn treatment of confronting moral themes makes Splice a film to be admired, not necessarily enjoyed.

Adrien Brody (Predators) and Sarah Polly (eXistenZ) star as Clive and Elsa, two brilliant genetic engineers working on a hybrid life form that has been spliced together using various samples of animal DNA. The two want to take their research to the next level by incorporating human DNA into the mix – the result of which could potentially cure numerous fatal diseases – but the company funding the research, N.E.R.D, intends to shut down the project once they’ve synthesised a marketable protein. Clive and Elsa, however, aren’t content with stopping just yet and continue their research in secret. Their ethical nightmare of an experiment is a remarkable success, resulting in the birth of a tailed, goat-legged human hybrid named Dren.

Due to her extremely short lifespan, Clive and Elsa recklessly decide to raise Dren in secret and learn from her behavioural traits before dissecting her for genetic research. Even on a tight independent production budget, baby Dren interacts seamlessly with the cast and environment by way of some tremendously good CG character animation. As an adult, she is played by French actress Delphine Chanéac in an intense and challenging role that requires her to undergo constant change without being able to verbalise.  She pulls it off wondrously; not only is Chanéac fascinating to watch, her character is also strangely attractive – similar, in a way, to the Na’vi species in Avatar. But unlike James Cameron’s big-budget crowd-pleaser, Splice is certainly not a film for everyone; Natali is not shy of taking his film down some dark and disturbing paths, and even if you’re not overly keen about the destination, you have to admire the nuance he displays in getting there.

Splice falls in the broad genre of horror, but does not resemble the brash, gory and histrionic slashers that have degraded the genre over the years. No, this is very much a throwback to the multilayered, slow-burning horrors of yesteryear – most prominently David Cronenberg’s The Fly — that frightens not because it jumps at you from the shadows, but because it reflects the deepest and darkest depths of the human experience. This is a film about science of people, not monsters; the characters here are smart yet fallible human beings, not botoxed pincushions waiting in line to be slaughtered.

Both Adrien Brody and Sarah Polly are well cast, successfully conveying their characters inner-conflict between morality and science while also dealing with a number of deeper issues that linger in the past. Their characters make plainly foolish decisions on numerous occasions, but it’s a testament to the genuineness of their performances and careful structuring of the drama that we aren’t lost to disbelief.

Regrettably, however, Splice does lose its way in the final act. The film basically ‘snaps’ with fifteen minutes to go, completely giving into all the generic and implausible horror conventions it cleverly managed to sidestep beforehand. It’s a disappointing end to an otherwise well-executed 21^st century take on Frankenstein that, if you’ve been keeping up with the news lately, is hardly the work of fiction it once was.

Ladies and gents, the first sure-fire awards contender of 2010 has landed! It’s called Killers and it’s going to take the Golden Raspberries by storm.

If you thought the similarly themed Knight and Day was bad, wait till you see this vacuous spy comedy from The Ugly Truth director Robert Luketic. Killers sees Luketic take a desperate swing at genre after genre in a hope he might eventually strike it lucky, but he does so with the dexterity of a blind swordsman suffering from an inner-ear infection.

The film begins in rom-com territory where the recently single Jen (Katherine Heigl) bumps boobs with the glistening pecks of hunky consultant Spencer (Ashton Kutcher) while holidaying in Nice, France. The two apparently hit it off, but what Jen doesn’t know is that Spencer is really a secret CIA agent finishing up an assignment. Lucky for Jen, it turns out he’s been on the hunt for someone as exceedingly tedious as she is to hang up his gun and bunker down with. Fast forward three years and Spencer and Jen are married, living deep in suburbia and leading a seemingly normal, unexciting life.

Finally, after an hour of painfully dull screenwriting that climaxes with a fart joke, the action plot decides to kick in when Spencer’s best friend unexpectedly tries to stab him (don’t you hate it when they do that?). Before long, most of their neighbours are revealed to be killer assassins, each competing against one another to terminate Spencer. So why does everyone want him dead all of a sudden? Who is the mastermind behind this dastardly assassination plot? And who in their right mind could honestly believe that Ashton Kutcher – the dude who could barely find his car ten years ago — is an elite spy?

One might compare this to the infinitely superior True Lies, but Killers feels more like it has been cobbled together using binned outtakes from the mediocre-but-tolerable Mr. and Mrs. Smith. At the very least, that film had its moments thanks to the strong chemistry – on screen and off — between Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie. Here, Heigl and Kutcher’s romance has about as much crackle as a bowl of soggy Rice Bubbles. It doesn’t help that Luketic is clearly inexperienced at directing action scenes, all of which fall victim to lazy staging and chaotic camerawork. I was more unsettled than entertained by the totally humourless ways Luketic violently slaughters off the assassins, perhaps because moments earlier these people were masquerading as Spencer and Jen’s closest friends. Maybe the film was initially vying for a darker, more solemn Truman Show vibe before it made a last minute jump on the action-comedy bandwagon?

Pfft, who am I kidding. Bad movie just bad.

If you’re a teenage superstar attached to a mammoth Hollywood franchise, there comes a time in your career when you must prove your worth as an actor and star in a low-key adult drama. Harry Potter’s boy wizard Daniel Radcliffe did it with the Aussie drama December Boys, Twilight’s vampiric heartthrob Rob Pattinson did it with the urban slow-burner Remember Me and now High School Musical’s immaculately chiseled Zac Efron has given it a crack with the delightful period drama Me and Orson Welles. While Efron proves he’s a capable performer as the ‘Me’ part of the title, he is shoved well out of the limelight by Christian McKay, the British newcomer who portrays 20^th century screen and stage legend Orson Welles.

But McKay doesn’t just portray Welles, he becomes him.  His physical likeness to the great man is uncanny, but more importantly, he nails every single aspect of Welles’ notoriously eccentric personality. The booming spit-filled projections. The unreserved, self-declared genius. The rare moments of compassion and camaraderie. And, of course, his spellbinding presence on stage, screen and radio. It’s all there, all brilliantly depicted.

Events take place in 1937 New York where young acting hopeful Richard Samuels (Efron) chances upon a role in Welles’ modernised Broadway production of Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar. Filled with feisty optimism, Richard quickly learns that the production only has room for one ego; Orson’s. While vying to stay in the director’s good books, Richard and the rest of the cast begin to lose faith in the production after a string of setbacks leaves little time to prepare for opening night. In-between rehearsals, Richard spends his spare time backstage with the seductive Miss Jones (Claire Danes), a starry-eyed production assistant who embodies both the best and worst of showbiz.

Undercooked as their fling is, it’s an amiable aside to the main event – Danes has wonderfully matured as an actress since her own brush with contemporary Shakespeare in Romeo + Juliet – but the ample screen time spent with Richard tends to detract from our time with Orson, easily the film’s main draw. That being said, Robert Kaplow’s novel (to which the film is based) was never supposed to be a biopic; it is first and foremost a love letter to the creative industry, celebrating the people of art, power of art and precarious nature of making art.

In that case, director Richard Linklater  (School of Rock, A Scanner Darkly) comes up trumps. Under his playful direction, a disarmingly youthful sense of optimism and enthusiasm spills off the screen, scene by scene. A tight production budget has not crippled the film’s attention to period detail, while a strong supporting cast playing other prominent 20^th century performers  – notably Ben Chaplin as George Coulouris (Watch on the Rhine, Papillon) and James Tupper as Joseph Cotten (Shadow of A Doubt, The Third Man) – adds that extra touch of Hollywood nostalgia without going overboard.

But I cannot say it enough: McKay is magnificent. Not for a moment did I doubt that this was the man who went on to make Citizen Kane. In future roles, here’s hoping McKay can distance himself from Welles’ image, but not his talent.

To celebrate the release of the new political drama The Special Relationship starring Michael Sheen and Dennis Quaid, Roadshow Films and Cut Print Review are giving ten of our South Australian readers the chance to win exclusive Admit 2 preview tickets to see the film before it opens nationally on August 5th!

The tickets will only be valid at participating cinemas between July 30th – August 1st, so check local session times to make sure it’s playing in your area before entering. Then simply fill out the competition form below!

The Special Relationship follows Tony Blair’s journey from political understudy waiting in the wings of the world arena to accomplished prime minister standing confidently in the spotlight of centre stage. It is a story about relationships, between two powerful men (Tony Blair and Bill Clinton), two powerful couples, and husbands and wives. Starring Michael Sheen and Dennis Quaid. Directed by Richard Loncraine.

www.thespecialrelationshipmovie.com.au

ENTRY FORM
10 winners will be selected at random from the list of entrants. Only South Australian residents may enter.

Terms and Conditions:
1. The competition closes at 11.59pm on Monday July 26 2010.
2. After the closure of the competition, 10 entrants will be selected at random as the prize winners. The winners will be notified by email.
3. Only one entry can be made per-person.
4. Only South Australian residents are eligible to enter.
5. We take no responsibility for the non-delivery of prizes via Australia Post.
6. We take no responsibility for ticket prizes that cannot be claimed due to the film not playing in your area or going out of season. Be sure to check local session times first.
7. We value privacy; your contact information will not be shared.

To celebrate the release of the new Australian romantic drama South Solitary starring Miranda and Barry Otto, Icon Film Distribution and Cut Print Review are giving you the chance to win a Dendy ‘Heart’ DVD collection and tickets to see the new film, which lands in Australian cinemas on July 29th. To be in the draw to win, simply fill out the entry form below.

The Major Prize includes:

- Death Defying Acts DVD
– Piano DVD
– Ladies in Lavender DVD
– In season double pass to see South Solitary

Five runners up will receive a double pass to see South Solitary.

Directed by Shirley Barret (Walk the Talk), South Solitary follows Meredith (Miranda Otto), unmarried and 35, who arrives at a remote lighthouse island in 1927 to assist her uncle Wadsworth (Barry Otto), in his newly appointed position as head lighthouse keeper. Bad weather and misadventure leave Meredith marooned on the desolate island with only the sullen and withdrawn assistant keeper Fleet (Marton Csokas) for companionship.

ENTRY FORM:
Winners will be selected at random. Only one entry per person.

Terms and Conditions:
1. The competition closes at 11.59pm on Saturday July 31st 2010. The names of the winners will be printed on the following day.
2. After the closure of the competition, 1 entrant will be selected at random as the major prize winner and 5 entrants as the runners-up.
3. Only one entry can be made per-person.
4. Only Australian residents are eligible to enter.
5. We take no responsibility for the non-delivery of prizes via Australia Post.
6. We take no responsibility for ticket prizes that cannot be claimed due to the film not playing in your area or going out of season. Be sure to check local show-times first.
7. We value privacy; your contact information will not be shared.

If I were to personify originality’s place in Hollywood over the last decade, it would be that of a famished drifter crawling on all fours through the desert, holding onto life with the faintest grip. Originality’s canteen ran dry not long after the stellar year of 1999 – notable for The Matrix, Arlington Road, Fight Club and The Sixth Sense – when Hollywood vultures producers realised they could lazily repackage novels, comics and old films at a fraction of the cost. This continued into the New Year where the scunge lining the creativity-depleted wells of Robin Hood, Shrek and Sex and the City was scraped off and served up to audiences for what felt like the bajillionth time. Tragically, the search and rescue for Originality in Hollywood appeared to have been called off.

But then cameth British writer/director Christopher Nolan (The Dark Knight, Memento), who saweth that mainstream cinema was formless and empty. And he said, “let there be originality”, and there was originality. He called it Inception; a stunning sci-fi thriller that dares to challenge moviegoers like it was 1999. And audiences and critics alike saw that it was good.

Leonardo DiCaprio (Shutter Island, Revolutionary Road) stars as Cobb, a slick con-man who specialises in a revolutionary form of corporate espionage called Extraction: the process of stealing ideas from a person’s subconscious while they’re dreaming.  Apart from being illegal, Extraction is also very dangerous as the more often you enter into a dream, the more likely you are to confuse the dream world for reality. What’s far more dangerous, however, is the very opposite of Extraction; Inception. Instead of stealing ideas, Inception is the process of planting an idea in someone’s mind, a near impossible task given that the brain is likely to reject any idea that it believes is foreign. In order to pull off this risky job, Cobb assembles a team of trusted specialists: his lead researcher Arthur (Joseph Gordon Levitt; 500 Days of Summer), dream architect Ariadne (Ellen Page; Whip It), professional identity forger Eames (Tom Hardy; RocknRolla) and anesthetist Yusuf (Dileep Rao; Drag Me To Hell). Their reward is a hefty pay check, but for Cobb, his motivations are far more personal.

What transpires is a ferociously engaging heist film set within the dark depths of one’s subconscious; a cross, of sorts, between Ocean’s 11 and Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. After reinvigorating the Batman franchise with The Dark Knight, Inception marks a return of the Christopher Nolan who bought us the mind-bending Memento, the noir masterpiece about a man hell-bent on revenge while suffering from short term memory loss. In that film, Nolan threw linear storytelling out the window by ordering events in reverse chronology, an ingenious ploy that places the audience in the shoes of the forgetful protagonist as it forces us to reconstruct events via our own memory. With Inception, Nolan places us in the same position as the characters by making us question where the dream ends and reality begins.  As a result, this film is sure to spark more stimulating  discussions amongst your friends than any blockbuster has in years.

The best part?  You don’t need to be a braniac or film-nut to ‘get it’. Well, the basics of it, anyway.

Despite the rich complexity of the story, Inception isn’t frustratingly difficult to follow. Nolan is a remarkably gifted storyteller, going out of his way to formulate a story that is both intelligent, yet accessible to the masses. Indeed, for this to work the film relies heavily on exposition; most of the ideas explored are conveyed in big chunks of dialogue laid out in plain speak. This would be a major drawback if it wasn’t all so damn interesting and important. Despite the long 148 minute runtime, this is a dream you won’t want to end.

Even if you strip away all of the film’s intellect, you’re left with an action/thriller that trumps all of the other big budget blockbusters released this year. In a dream, anything is possible and Inception‘s gravity-defying action reflects this with dazzling results. Impressively, none of the action happens without due reason; it’s all integral to the plot, which makes the repeated use of stylistic techniques not just about showing off big-budget effects, but about crafting a story in the most exciting way possible. If any detractions must be made, it’s that during the climax, the film cuts between so many different car chases, gunfights and dreams within dreams, the build-up of tension gets lost in the mix. To have us truly on the edge of our seats, the action need time to breathe. Unfortunately, not all sequences in Inception are given this opportunity.

This goes to prove that Nolan does, at times, overextend his reach with Inception. Exploring such grand ideas does come at a compromise on an emotional level. While a intriguing love story is explored between Cobb and his wife Mal (an exemplary Marion Cotillard; Public Enemies), it’s not as fully formed as one would hope, hurriedly unfolding in what little down-time the characters have. Aside from DiCaprio’s commanding performance as Cobb, most of the supporting cast members go without a back-story, serving primarily as plot devices. Likable, well-performed plot devices, sure. But plot devices none the less.

Ultimately though, to get caught up in what Inception gets wrong is really an insult to the sheer amount it gets right. Intellectual and original storytelling of this scale and accessibility is so incredibly hard to come by nowadays, it must be celebrated when it does. While I cannot deny that I miss the intimacy of Nolan’s early films such as us Following, Memento and The Prestige, his transition into the blockbuster has been a great success. He is the Radiohead of the commercial film industry; despite the wealth and fame, he has not compromised his ability to make richly fulfilling films that remain true to his art. And if Inception can inspire a new wave of big-budget films that tailor to people’s brains and not solely their pockets, then the Cineplex will be a much better place.

Oh Twitter. Thanks to you, now everyone can be a film critic. Yes, even @puppydog2222. She had no issues calling Twilight: Eclipse “the best movie ever!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”  Look out, Citizen Kane.

That’s the kind of hyperbolic praise few professional critics will ever bestow on a film, but it’s exactly what movie marketers want to hear, and more importantly, want YOU to hear. No one can deny that in the age of ’140 characters or less’ professional film criticism is losing ground to the bite-sized opinions of casual filmgoers. At this rate, it mightn’t be all that long until a quote by @puppydog2222 carries the same weight as, say, Roger Ebert. When that happens, movie posters might look something like this…

Click on an image to make it larger.

Note: The Twitter accounts and quotes pictured above are fictional (excluding I Am Legend… E! critic Ben Lyons actually said that). Otherwise, any likeness to actual persons is purely coincidental.

If history is anything to go by, the biopic story of seventies all-girl band The Runaways has more meat on it than any filmmaker could dream to mine. Spice it up with kid actress Dakota Fanning’s need to prove she’s a grown-up prime fillet – as the cherry bomb herself, Cherie Currie- and Kristen Stewart’s first real chance to break free from The Twilight Saga phenomenon, spectators will find themselves on a surprisingly wild ride of sex, drugs and rock’n’roll. Truthfully, what really sucks is that the actresses are on fire but the screenplay is not worthy of burning up, leaving out juicy tidbits of the true story and important characters altogether.  Adapted and Directed by Floria Sigismondi and based on lead singer Cherie Currie’s autobiography Neon Angels, comes a raw exhibition of the chronicles and consequences of rising fame, and the toll of the rock star lifestyle.  Following the band’s formation, first American tour, a trip to Japan and the demise of the original line-up resultant of Currie’s drug addled implosions, The Runaways does a surprisingly good job at portraying the boys club mentality and risqué temptations of seventies glam and punkish rock.

This film is worthy of viewing purely for Fanning and Stewart as Cherie Currie and Joan Jett. It is so easy to be gripped by Dakota Fanning’s natural ability to play an over-sexed blonde bombshell. The uneasiness you feel watching this is provoked by her prolific identity as a more commonly known child star, although this accentuates the story – the girls of the Runaways were fifteen upon formation and barely sixteen by the time their record sold. Essentially, Dakota Fanning’s own predicament as a young woman with such a sexually heightened role is a spot-on mirror for the way the girls of the band were sold to audiences, at the hands of screwball manager Kim Fowley. Fowley is a perfect mix of sass and the scary side of sexual liberation thanks to Revolutionary Road actor Michael Shannon. It is Kim Fowley’s gusto in refining their image as jailbait that moulds Currie on Bridgette Bardot and gives the band a pin-up girl to contrast the badass and black leather that is lead guitarist Joan Jett. Oh and there are also a few other chicks in this band but here, they unfortunately do not seem to matter…

In fact, the biggest downside to this film lies in that Arrested Development and Whip It star, Alia Shawkat was cast with less than a cardboard bass playing cut-out in mind; her character of Robin is entirely fictional, a mash up of all five of the girls who played bass for the band at some point or another. Shawkat is left with hardly a word to say, which is crap considering she has already proved she can hold her own acting alongside more accomplished actors. Scout Taylor-Compton does well as Lita Ford on guitar and Stella Maeve hits with sticks as one of the best female drummers ever, Sandy West.

That said, The Runaways truly is Kristen Stewart’s film – her proving ground for shedding her Bella coat and respawning as an actress with actual expression. Instantly it is her bad girl swagger, her slack guitar posture and her growly vocals that take this film to the next level. She portrays the movement, attitude and expression of Joan Jett perfectly as she flexes her character through the foundations of becoming the queen of rock and the inspiration for the Riot Girrrl movement of the 90s. Unlike the “sad face” and jittery nature of Bella Swan, Stewart as Jett appears so comfortable and in control, evoking the character of Shane from The L Word to such an extent that she is destined to break hearts – the hearts of other girls. Whilst the Runaways proved you can revolt with three chords and paved the way for such acts as Bikini Kill, Bratmobile and Peaches, Kristen Stewart shows that this is possibly her big F#@* You to the role as Bella that made her famous; In this one movie, she works with Fanning to display more emotion and true devotion to each other than anything within the awkward love-triangle between the sparkly vamp and what’s-his-name, and they have had three films to try and get it right.

Alright, so Floria Sigismondi has delivered a far from perfect movie here and should probably just stick to directing music videos for Muse and Marilyn Manson unless she learns that yes, complexity in narrative and character are beneficial. However, the harsh consequences of addiction and the sexploitation of young girls are thematically powerful enough to pull fantastic performances from the leading ladies, looking past the reality of leaving the Runaways other true stories AND their band mates behind.

Verdict:
This doesn’t compare to other music films like Crazy Heart or Ray, but if you think of it as the music equivalent of what Whip It was to sports films then you will have a good time.  Dakota and Kristen are almost flawless although twilight fans will be shocked to see them making out – with each other. Kudos for Joan Jett and her role as executive producer.

When Michael Winterbottom’s The Killer Inside Me premiered at the Sundance Film Festival in January, one of the film’s stars, Jessica Alba (Fantastic Four), reportedly walked out of the cinema half way through the screening. But who can blame her? This grim look into the psyche of a serial killer is so sadistically violent in parts, its borderline torture porn. As far as crime thrillers go, it’s also quite a bore.

The film marks the second failed attempt to adapt the controversial yet acclaimed 1952 novel by American crime author Jim Thompson, proof that some great pieces of literature just don’t belong on the big screen. The story follows Lou Ford (Casey Affleck; Gone Baby Gone), a well-mannered and respected Deputy Sheriff in a small Texas township.  Or so he appears. Lou’s deep-rooted psychopathic tendencies take over while cheating on his loving girlfriend Amy (Kate Hudson; Bride Wars) with a prostitute named Joyce (Jessica Alba, reminding us she can do dramatic acting). What begins as sado-sexual affair turns deadly when Lou ‘snaps’ and commits a twin murder, arranging the bodies so that it appears as though the victims killed each other. He initially has the town fooled, but a hotshot city attorney (Simon Baker; TV’s The Mentalist) holds Lou in suspicion and is determined to find evidence that will bring him to justice.

The setup certainly holds intrigue – I usually lap up dark and confronting crime stories like this — but Winterbottom’s detached direction and Jim Curran’s patchy screenplay leaves the audience out in the cold. First off, it’s imperative in a film about getting away with murder that you actually believe they get away with murder. Obviously, this isn’t easy. Many films fall apart at a narrative level due to glaring plot holes, farfetched conveniences and silly character judgments. The Killer Inside Me has all three. For instance, when someone is gruesomely bashed to death, the perpetrator is sure to have some visible bruising and cuts on his hands — if not broken fingers — that would be an obvious giveaway.  Not according to this film. This might seem like a petty critique, but when the source material takes itself this earnestly, it needs to be convincing if it wants to be compelling.

Casey Affleck’s understated performance attempts to unnerve with subtle intimations of the monster within, yet he doesn’t quite capture that burning inner anger, nor possess enough charisma an antagonist needs to win us over. John Curran’s screenplay is also at fault, revealing frustratingly little about Lou’s thoughts and motivations for murder. Never underestimate the power of the personal pronoun ‘I’; without being placed in the first person like the reader is in Thompson’s novel, we never truly get to know the killer within.

The Killer Inside Me shares the brutality of No Country For Old Men, but lacks the suspense. It depicts a similar decent into madness as American Psycho, but is without the compelling characterisation of its criminal lead. It’s clear Winterbottom (Genova, 9 Songs) set out to make an unnerving and provocative crime drama, one he hoped would linger in the back of the mind after leaving the cinema. It’s provocative all right, but purely because of the lurid depictions of violence. Emotionally, the film doesn’t register. We care little for those onscreen, causing the rather baffling conclusion to arrive as a moment of relief, rather than a moment of contemplation.

There’s a memorable scene in the 1999 sci-fi hit The Matrix where the protagonist Neo is plugged into a machine that “uploads” a combat training program directly into his brain. After briefly twitching and turning, his eyes dart open and in a self-assured whisper, he says “I know Kung-Fu.”

If only Jayden Smith’s character Dre in Harald Zwart’s remake of the 1984 classic The Karate Kid learnt Kung-Fu half as fast as Neo. Clocking in at a whopping 140 minutes, this supposed family film is almost an hour too long.  The numerous children in the audience – who, quite honestly, shouldn’t have been there given the film’s ‘M’ rating — were running amuck through the aisles long before Dre even pulled off his first high kick. Neo was dodging bullets and saving humanity by then.

Perhaps you’re wondering why I’m talking about Kung-Fu when this film is, obviously, called The Karate Kid. Well, that would be because there’s no actual karate depicted in The Karate Kid. That would have made too much sense.  Instead, it’s all Kung-Fu, and that’s not the first thing to have changed from the original film. The story now takes place in exotic Beijing rather than a sun-drenched Los Angeles, and the protagonist is now an actual 12 year-old kid rather than a teenager (so at least the title’s half right). While the new setting makes for an eye-catching backdrop, it does little to affect the way the core story unfolds.

Dre (Smith) and his overzealous mother (Taraji P. Henson) move from Detroit to Beijing in a hope of starting afresh, but within minutes of meeting the locals, Dre is brutally bullied by a local boy named Cheng (Zhenwei Wang and his sole angry-faced expression). When Dre discovers Cheng is a star student at a strict Kung-Fu school, he seeks out his own martial arts mentor in a mournful maintenance man named Mr. Han (Jackie Chan). The two establish an unlikely friendship while training for the Junior Kung-Fu Championships where Dre plans to face his fears and stand up to Cheng.

Arriving at the point where Dre begins his training – you know, where the actual plot kicks in – takes the better of an hour. It’s quite an uncomfortable hour, too, considering how violently depicted the bullying scenes are. Perhaps if these kids were a few years older, I’d commend director Harald Zwart for truthfully depicting the horror of school yard bullying. But they’re not teenagers, they’re 11- 12 year olds. At that age, I recall the most heinous acts of bullying involved stealing trading cards and calling each other nasty names. Not breaking each other’s ribs…

Excessive pre-teen violence aside, The Karate Kid is your stock-standard underdog film, making no effort whatsoever to deviate from the same old zero-to-hero formula. If anything, it just indulges in it, prolonging the lead up to the big tournament with more mechanized plotting and syrupy character relations. I’m not talking about the bond between Dre and his mentor Mr. Miyagi Han; their friendship was central to the original’s success and is almost as strong here, aided considerably by Chan’s surprisingly understated performance. No, I’m talking about the cute but superfluous romantic sub-plot between Dre and schoolyard-crush Mei Ying (Han Wen We), which takes up far too much screen time given how little it contributes to the plot.

If you’re still awake by the time the big tournament arrives, you’ll be rewarded with some long overdue thrills. Kung-Fu tends be a more fluid martial art than Karate, making these duels more exciting than they were in the original. That being said, cinematographer Roger Pratt has chosen to use the ‘shaky camera’ style to capture the action, while editor Joel Negron cuts on nearly every impact. It’s not horrible, but it does detract from the natural grace of Kung-Fu, which is better suited to longer and smoother takes.

A production credit to both Will Smith and Jada Pinkett Smith suggests that The Karate Kid exists primarily to launch the career of their son, Jayden. In that case, the film can be seen as a minor success. Jayden, who was only 11 years old at the time of filming, commands the screen with the same effortless charm of his father and is just, just enough to hold this tediously overlong film together.

UPDATE: This competition has ended. Winners announced below!

Thanks to Madman Entertainment, Cut Print Review are giving you the chance to win a French inspired DVD prize pack and tickets to see the touching new French drama The Hedgehog [Le hérisson], which is in Australian cinemas now.

The major prize includes:

* Flight of the Red Balloon   
* My Favourite Season   
* Coeurs   
* The Grocer’s Son   
* Priceless   
* 2x In-season double passes to see The Hedgehog in cinemas.

Five runners-up will receive a double pass to The Hedgehog.

Here’s the official plot synopsis:

Renée is the concierge of a grand Parisian apartment building, who meets with society?s expectations of what a concierge should be; reliable though totally uncultured. But beneath this façade lies the real Renée: passionate about culture and the arts, and more knowledgeable in many ways than her employers, with their outwardly successful but emotionally void lives.

Meanwhile, several floors up, eleven-year-old Paloma Josse is determined to avoid the pampered and vacuous future laid out for her, and in an effort to show how absurd her life is decides to film the people around her. But unknown to them both, a sudden acquaintance with their elegant and enigmatic new neighbour, Mr Ozu, will change their lives forever.

The Hedgehog is a moving story about love, life and the beauty of unexpected friendships.

Winners

Major Prize:
Val Squire, SA

Runners up:
K. Green, VIC
V. Bacich, WA
K. James, WA
H. Lim, NSW
R. de Norville, VIC

Congratulations! Your prizes will be mailed to you shortly.

Terms and Conditions:
1. The competition closes at 11.59pm on Thursday July 15th 2010. The names of the winners will be printed here on the 16th of July.
2. After the closure of the competition, 1 entrant will be selected at random as the major prize winner and 5 entrants as the runners-up.
3. Only one entry can be made per-person.
4. Only Australian residents are eligible to enter.
5. We take no responsibility for the non-delivery of prizes via Australia Post.
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The Waiting City, the second feature from Australian writer/director Claire McCarthy (Cross Life), is really quite a beautiful and poignant cross-cultural drama. It’s just a shame that it takes a while for this to become apparent.

Set against the lively backdrop of Calcutta, the cultural capital of India, the film follows an Australian couple’s attempt to adopt a child in hope that it will mend their troubled marriage. Fiona (Radha Mitchell; Finding Neverland) is an anxious attorney who struggles to put down her work phone, while her husband Ben (Joel Edgerton; Animal Kingdom) is a carefree musician who struggles to put down his guitar.  Their patience is tested when the adoption agency repeatedly delays their appointments, forcing the two to spend more time than expected in the polarizing cultural and spiritual landscape of India.

The film begins on uneven footing, focusing too heavily on exotic culture shock without giving due attention to the heart of the story and its characters. When we first meet Fiona and Ben in the airport, it’s clear their marriage has been without love for a while. As such, the chemistry between Mitchell and Edgerton is deliberately cold, initially making it quite hard to warm up to their personalities. It would have been nice to have seen these two in love at some point during the first act – perhaps via a flashback, or even by beginning the film back in Melbourne. That way, the audience has a gauge of what the two are fighting for with their strained marriage.

If you allow The Waiting City an hour or so to establish itself, things do improve. McCarthy wisely looks beyond the striking veneer of Indian society and begins to connect with the characters on a deeper level. As the adoption date draws closer, we begin to learn more about Fiona and Ben’s turbulent past and their reasons for adopting a foreign child. This is easily the film’s most engaging subtext; McCarthy, having spent a number of years as a volunteer in an Indian Mission, depicts the adoption process with great authenticity. Her screenplay would have benefited from this parental journey being more predominant throughout, as the spiritual journey being concurrently explored loses some integrity to a few heavy-handed transformational scenes.

Both Mitchell and Edgerton deliver carefully refined and convincing performances, drawing attention to their characters concerns of parenthood without calling for melodramatics. In support, notable British/Indian actor Samrat Chakrabarti (Kissing Cousins) skilfully takes on the role of cultural mediator as kind-hearted hotel clerk Krishna, while  Australian stunner Isabel Lucas (Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen) has a brief part as Ben’s alluring musical friend Scarlett. Arriving in unlikely circumstances, her nothing of a character exists only to highlight Ben and Fiona’s ruptured relationship and could have been done without.

Living up to its name, The Waiting City rewards patience. The film’s initial unevenness is remedied by a captivating second half full of heart. This is the first Australian film to be set entirely in India and it’s refreshing to see more and more local filmmakers like McCarthy set their stories offshore, other recent examples being Balibo, Disgrace and Beneath Hill 60. It’s a promising trend that will hopefully broaden our industry’s domestic and international appeal.

The Hedgehog, written and directed by Mona Achache and adapted from the novel by Muriel Barbary, begins with a stern and precocious 11 year old named Paloma (Garance Le Guillermic) explaining to her video camera that her sedate bourgeois life is roughly the equivalent of living inside a fishbowl. She declares that in order to escape such a horrible predicament, she will kill herself on her next birthday. A little grim perhaps, but somewhat typical for French quirkiness. Though a somewhat amusing hook, I was already dreading what this movie was going to become; a tired, contrived, all-too-pretentious, philosophical musing on the emptiness of upper class life. Luckily, to my great delight, I was very wrong.

The Hedgehog is instead a subdued and engaging character story that works its charm and drama with great subtlety and sophistication. Set almost entirely in the upper-class apartment building where Paloma lives, the film begins with the lurking Paloma trailing people about and filming them, commenting with biting insight on their flawed lives. We are also introduced to Renee Michel (Josiane Balasko), the building’s resident janitor who lives and works largely ignored by the apartment’s tenants. Renee, who is deeply private and surly, fits the “hedgehog” motif to a tee, though of course, we soon find there is more to her than her caustic exterior suggests. The film – and the characters of Paloma and Renee – really comes to life when an elderly Japanese man, Kakuro Ozu (Togo Igawa), moves into the apartment. Kakuro is such a breath of fresh air, at once both gentlemanly and boyish, whose warmth and genuine interest in those around him soon begin to profoundly affect both Renee and Paloma.

What follows is not so much a narrative as a touching and subtle exploration of character and companionship as Paloma, Renee and Kakuro find richness and value in one another. The acting is engaging and clever, preferring an understated realism that evokes a deep and more compelling connection with the audience. The film is never heavy handed or melodramatic, and wisely allows the humour and drama on display to flow naturally and steadily. The music by Gabriel Yared supports this restrained style, with simple piano motifs that don’t overpower what’s happening on the screen. The Hedgehog, like the animal theme its title represents, is a strange but ultimately beautiful creature that has great elegance and feeling once it reveals itself.

For the Adam Sandler we’ve come to know and love over the years, ‘are you ever going to grow up?’ is a question fans have watched him struggle to answer time and time again. And while Billy Madison, Happy Gilmore and even the Water Boy Himself, Bobby Boucher Jr., have found it tough to live up to society’s expectations of maturity and the appropriate expressions of Masculinity, Sandler proves once again with Grown Ups and his lead role as Lenny Feder, that he is ready to poke fun at his winning story formula once more.  Evidently, the idea of reaching a point where growing up becomes unavoidable seemed harder and harder to laugh off for Sandler & Co, instead choosing to exploit life as middle-aged citizens and their very real responsibilities as husbands, fathers and men for comedic effect. Director Dennis Dugan is back after You Don’t Mess With the Zohan, I Now Pronounce You Chuck and Larry and most notably, Benchwarmers. Once again the director is seemingly irrelevant though, employed to merely record the capers of the stars.

The story opens with a flashback to a fiercely competitive childhood basketball game – a buzzer beating play cements the friendship between teammates and their respect for an aging, clichéd Coach. Cutting to present day and thirty years later, the team reunite under emotional circumstances, the hometown funeral for their old Coach becomes the proving ground for the men each has grown into. Hilariously, the team are reconstructed in a reunion sequence; Sandler as Lenny, and über successful casting agent who pulls the strings of the likes of Angelina and Brad. Kevin James as Eric, who appears to be a successful business man with more to love, especially around his middle. Chris Rock as Kurt, a househusband tired of taking crap from his wife while she makes the babies and the money. Rob Schneider as a sensitive, new age hippy who is openly in love with his third wife, aged approximately seventy. And lastly David Spade, as Marcus the oversexed drunkard; the most unlikely love rat ever to grace a silver screen. As the old team come together again for the American Independence day long-weekend, the dynamics of their friendship group reveals itself in manifestations of playful ganging up on the weakest character at any one time, and a tendency to never let a good joke die.

The screenplay, while lacking in originality, is well structured enough to let many of the strongest jokes resurface, allowing their friendship to be believable. Of course this element could also come from the fact that the actors here go way back,  from stints together as freshmen on SNL through to nearly every movie ever produced by or affiliated with Sandler’s production company HappyMadison. While the previews do them no justice, the posse of wives provides an influential amount of the humour, with Salma Hayek, Maya Bello, Maya Rudolph and an elderly Joyce Van Pattern provoking the personalities of their husbands tirelessly. Family dilemmas are also central to the plot, with Lenny trying to raise men from sons addicted to money, computer games, fashion and texting their nanny for even the simplest of things. Eric’s predicament as a fat dad with a fat daughter is gold, although his four year old son’s obsession with breast-feeding is gross and not funny. As the men meet the state of their lives with anxiety, denial and a whole lot of veritable laughs, it is the generational differences between parents and kids that provides the necessary heartstring tugs essential to any Adam Sandler film. In teaching his kids about life, Lenny shows his little winners what it is like to lose in a sequence that reverses all of Sandler’s other third act outcomes. It is both refreshing and well acted to prove the climactic change in his kids and to preserve the intention of the story – being a “Grown Up” is a big deal, but there is always still room for the kid at heart.

Grown Ups is the cinematic embodiment of Adam Sandler’s filmmaking journey. From his beginnings as a comedian through to the household name he is today, Adam Sandler’s ability to act, write and produce some of the funniest moments in nineties cinema is given a respectful bookend by Grown Ups. Although not as classic as his roles as Billy, Happy or even Bobby, Lenny feels like a careful evolution of Sandler’s comedic style. Now Happy Madison fans will be asking what is next, and our faith in Adam Sandler’s proven work ethic is promise that there will be more films in store. However, getting back to the filmmaking golden roots of Big Daddy or Mr. Deeds may have to be put on hold until after the release of the upcoming Just Go With It, starring *gasp* Jennifer Aniston. This film may be overlooked by Toy Story 3 and Eclipse fans, but it is another satisfying Adam Sandler film that will surely have a big DVD following.

Verdict:

You won’t remember the characters’ names as it’s too easy to see only the actors portraying them, but their conflicts with family, friends and growing up will be easily recognised by anyone up for a good laugh.

For the two tortuous hours of “You love ME, Bella!” “No, you really love ME!”  that is The Twilight Saga: Eclipse, I had plenty of time to stare longingly at the luminous green exit sign, contemplating an answer to the almighty question that has baffled millions across the globe: What is so damn phantasmagorical about Twilight?

Well, the obvious answer is because it stars teenage heartthrobs Robert Pattinson and Taylor Lautner. But I think there’s more to it than that. I think it’s because of the character Bella.

Perhaps it’s a result of Kristen Stewart’s utterly listless performance, but it seems as though Bella has been deliberately written in such a way that she is without any semblance of a personality and/or likable qualities. She’s a blank canvas; a vacant pair of sparkly shoes that screams out to the ladies, “WEAR ME!” All they have to do is slip them on and…viola! They’re suddenly the centre of the universe, with a dreamy vampire suckling on one shoulder and a hunky werewolf gnawing at the other, both of whom are willing to sacrifice ANYTHING to protect and serve their preccciousssss (i.e. you).

I can obviously see the appeal in that, especially for young and impressionable girls. Unfortunately for me, though, I have a penis. And therein lies the problem.

You see, there isn’t a single male character in the film that I envy in the same way women envy Bella. Sure, I’d love to be able to grate bricks on my chest like Jacob could, or maintain blemish-free skin despite a severe vitamin-D deficiency like Edward. But I certainly don’t want to actually be them. That would mean falling head over heels for an irritable and soulless trouble-magnet like Bella.  No thanks; I prefer my women with personality.

So while teenage girls enter into a euphoric trance as their fantasies play out in front of them, pragmatic men and women are left to notice the film’s gaping flaws. Things like Kristen Stewart’s stilted, mumbled performance. The garish, flat dialogue. The mediocre special effects. The repetitive drone of the formless, unimaginative storyline that is essentially a repeat of the previous installment, New Moon.

In fact, the only real difference between the two films is that it is directed David Slade, a interesting choice  given his background in dark adult films such as 30 Days of Night (also about Vampires) and Hard Candy. He brings a grittier edge to Stephenie Meyer’s material than Catherine Hardwicke (Twilight) and Chris Weitz (New Moon) did before him and captures the action with much more dexterity and even some thrills, making him the lesser of the three evils. There are fewer cringe-worthy moments too, perhaps because the actors are maturing in their roles, but more likely because I’m now desensitised to the supreme cheesiness of the series. This is a shame, actually; I always found the best part of Twilight to be the unintentional laughs. Aside from one joke about Jacob’s aversion to shirts, Eclipse is mostly humourless.

Jacob…wearing a SHIRT?!?

The direction may have improved ever so slightly, but Eclipse is just as banal as its predecessors in terms of story, with the constant to-ing and fro-ing of Bella, Edward and Jacob’s love triangle taking up most of the film’s laborious runtime. Sure, there are a few amiable romance scenes and even some back stories for the supporting characters, but all of these are handled extremely superficially and have little magnitude. By the 90 minute mark, you’ll realise the film has largely gone nowhere. In fact, Eclipse ends exactly the same way it began. No new revelations, no great developments and still no SEX.

By the end of the film, I was left feeling as though I deserved a t-shirt that read ‘I survived the Eclipse’. Twilight devotees, however, were beaming from ear to ear as though they’ve just spent the last 124 minutes riding a Unicorn across a rainbow made of pure happiness. It’s “the best yet!” apparently. Perhaps it is. But that’s like saying ‘A’ is the best form of hepatitis.

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What’s Twilight Eclipse like from a  female fan’s perspective? Find out here.