nminmhnr Ti TfìTT J— l — 1 _| 1
<£%> <Xf- A u to F ocus
Video killed the TV star in this un
settling hiopic about Hogan’s Heroes actor
and homemade pom addict Boh Crane (Greg
Kinnear)—a sad, voyeuristic E! True Hollywood
Story dramatization. My major gripe is that the
ending—much like the unsolved murder that
ended Cranes life— is abrupt and unsatisfying.
with a trailer trash mama (Kim Basinger) who
enters talent shows in which contestants cut
down on their opponents’ masculinity to gain
audience approval. It’s unfortunate that there
isn’t much more to this Rocky/Purple Rain
clone than predictable posturing, sullen sulk
ing and misguided misogyny.
-J R
—Jim Radosta
< 0 > < & <%><£> B ow ling for
C olumbine
Rather than jumping on an anti-gun
soapbox, renegade filmmaker Michael
Moore instead delves deeply into the roots of
the problem: W hy the hell do so many
Americans shoot each other? His evaluation
reveals a country immersed in hateful
xenophobia, corporate domination
and paralyzing fear. O f course, one
can’t help hut wonder whether a great
deal of that paranoia stems from
watching documentaries like this.
F rida
A t least it looks good. Director Julie Tay-
mor’s take on the life of the famous painter and
her husband, Diego Rivera, has loads of visual
pizzazz, effortlessly evoking the feel, color and
sounds of Old Mexico. But the overwrought
acting and soap opera script are in constant
battle with the film’s more thoughtful impulses.
Frida (Salma Hayek) was indeed a hellcat in
real life, but here
she’s the dreaded
cliched Latin
spitfire brawling
in cantinas, noisily
swapping tongue with
the fetching Ashley Judd
and generally screaming and car
rying on. Edward Norton apparently rewrote
the script— more evidence that actors should he
barred from becoming screenwriters.
— Gary Morris
W hit's popped
and what's flopped,
In a theater near you.
<g> <£>
dud, bottom of the bag
only if you’re really hungry
good effort, pass the salt
J ackass the M ovie
Sure, 1 could go on and on about how this
big-screen version of M TV ’s “don’t try these
stunts at hom e” program hardly qualifies as a
movie. I could chastise these dudes for the utter
lack of respect they show their digestive
systems, their bodies, their fellow hum an
beings. But why bother? It’s strangely
entertaining, and the homophobic subtext
(can you say “anal fixation”?) makes it
worth the nausea.
mmmm, tasty!
< £ > < §> < £> get the big tub o’ com
loser in love (Emily W atson) while being
pursued by the M orm on Phone Sex Mafia.
-JR
R eal W omen
H ave C urves
-J R
- JR
<&> 8 M ile
P u n c h -D runk L ove
T h ere’s silly, and th en there’s stupid.
T h ere’s quirky, and then th ere’s absurd.
W riter/director Paul Thom as A nderson
(Boogie Nights) bravely walks this
tightrope hut ends up splattered all over
the concrete in his pointless exercise
about a loose cannon (an impressive
A dam Sandler) who falls for a fellow
It’s hard to keep track of the rapid
evolution of Eminem. W ithin two
years he’s gone from Vanilla Ice
wannabe to G LA A D pariah to critics
darling to Oscar candidate. His first
lead role is a kinder, gentler version of
himself—Jimmy Smith Jr., aka “Bunny
Rabbit,” an aspiring Detroit rapper
Alternatively bittersweet and hilarious is this
first feature from archaeologist-tumed-filmmaker
Patricia Cardoso about Mexican immigrants and
their first-generation daughters. America Ferrera
makes an unforgettable debut as Ana, an 18-year-
old who wants to go to college hut whose mother
(Lupe Ontiveros of Chuck & Buck) has serious
plans for her to work in her older sister’s
sweatshop. Cross-generational issues,
body image and culture clashes all col
lide in a refreshingly unforced way.
— Lisa Bradshaw
-
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c £ e ¿ ^ió tro V Ìlo n ta ffe
301 S S . W orrison
Open S$v»n S)ayi a l/Ùiel
aò in n sr: S u n - S lu tr. 6p.m .- 2 a m.
U ri. & S a t. 6p
4 a .m.
JL n c iv W o n .- U i.
11 : 30-2
5 0 3 .2 3 4 .1 3 2 4
m ontale. cityóearcL. com
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Keep Strollin’!
More wonderful
restaurants to discover
on page 42.