Reel To Reel:
XXX: State Of The Union

How It Rates: ***
Starring: Ice Cube, Samuel L. Jackson, Willem Dafoe
Rated: PG-13
Red Flags: Violence, Language

Preconceived Notions: XXX without Vin Diesel?
The Bottom Line: Maybe Diesel's not around, but his attitude is.

One of KOLD-TV's "Reel Life" Reviewers described the original XXX (2002) as James Bond with a punk soundtrack. Director Rob Cohen revved up a familiar formular with Diesel's gravelly-voiced attitude... and it worked. Everyone was set for a sequel, but both Diesel and Cohen ditched the project. Enter director Lee Tamahori (Die Another Day) and Ice Cube. But keep the attitude.

It works again. XXX: State Of The Union does not demand or require deep thought. In fact, thinking too hard just ruins the experience. Strap yourself in and enjoy the ride, because Ice Cube cool gangsta persona is what saves the project.

The new XXX wastes no time, coming out with guns blazing as attackers infiltrate an super-secret NSA underground command center in Virginia. Agent Augustus Gibbons (Jackson) and his Q-derivative-gadget-guy slip out and decide it's time to go "off the grid," because it's likely an inside job. And they need a new XXX -- redefined in this film as a generic code name for an NSA agent under deep cover.

Gibbons springs an old Navy SEAL comrade, Darius Stone, who's doing 20 years in a military prison for an op gone bad. Stone makes it clear he's not out of the can to take orders from anybody but himself, but in reluctantly helping Gibbons he stumbles into a plot by a former commander, Gen. George Deckert (DaFoe), to overthrow the government and install himself as president.

Interestingly enough, the current fictional president James Sanford (Peter Strauss) bears a working resemblence to John Kerry. Not surprisingly, he is calling for less defense spending, more foreign aid, and more cooperation with other nations to turn our "enemies into allies." I wondered whether the producers were betting on a Kerry win just so they could market this film as red-state revenge. But wait a minute, we already have a bad guy. As I said, don't think too hard.

Tamahori keeps the film moving with lean scenes and sharply tuned dialogue -- most of it from Cube, who makes us forget about Vin Diesel. A lot of things are forgettable besides Diesel -- blowing things up, shooting things down, speeding things away. Even some of the CGI-rendered scenes are borderline cartoonish. But Cube, he's just cool.

Reel To Reel:
The Interpreter

How It Rates: ***
Starring: Nichole Kidman, Sean Penn
Rated: PG-13
Red Flags: Violence, Language, One Strip Bar Scene

Preconceived Notions: Sydney Pollack is back with a suspense thriller.
The Bottom Line: Suspense, surprises, even with a forced setup.

Alfred Hitchcock could have easily directed a film like The Interpreter and turned it into a masterpiece of suspense and international intrigue. What Sydney Pollack produces doesn't quite reach the bar, but it comes darn close -- especially since it's the first film shot extensively at the United Nations, further enhancing its realism.

Kidman plays Sylvia Broome, a UN interpreter who fled a war-torn African nation believing words worked better than bullets at bringing about peace. One night, while retrieving a bag from the audio engineering room -- a questionable plot device because we never really understand why it needed to be placed there to begin with -- she overhears somebody talking about a plot to assassinate her former country's embattled prime minister... who will be speaking before the General Assembly in just a few days. It's an amazing coincidence, made even more amazing when you realize that conversation was whispered and coming from a headphone, meaning Broome has Superman's hearing.

Get beyond those little head-scratchers, though. The rest of the film is tightly plotted and paced as the feds investigate the both the threat and Broome, who isn't quite the innocent diplomat she appears to be. Tobin Keller (Penn) is the Secret Service agent assigned to her, the kind of fed who believes none of what he hears and only half of what he sees. He thinks she's lying, and maybe she is. But he's drawn to this woman who's lost both her parents, having just lost a wife. Both are seeking their own forms of justice.

The chemistry between Penn and Kidman's characters seems a bit contrived for reasons I can't explain without giving away plot points. At times it's like the writers simply forgot the events of the previous scene because some edict came down that both leads were to be pushed closer together in the next scene. Thankfully, the romance between them isn't a major distraction as the plot to kill the prime minister unravels. On the other hand, both of these people have too much on their mind to have time for love, so maybe I'm reading it wrong.

Pollack, as he's done before, inserts himself in a bit part -- by no means as memorable as his George Fields character from Tootsie -- something, ironically, Hitchcock might have done on a one-scene scale. But Hitchcock would have also have found a way to make the romantic angle work better. It's fun to think about this film being rewritten for Cary Grant and Doris Day. Yes, we dream about peace between nations just like dreaming about the perfect film.

I'm A Celebrity -- I Don't Have To Pay!

The New York Post reveals swag -- an acronym for Stuff We All Get -- may need redefinition as Stars Want it All Gratis.

Calling The Webmaster... Are You There?

Yes, we're still here. But the reason the number of posts has been slowing down is (drum roll) real life. I simply refuse to let blogging take over most of my free time -- especially this past week when I've been on "spring break" (L.A., San Diego, Las Vegas, Grand Canyon... whew, try that in a week).

I remember the old Drudge Report tagline -- updated as needed, or something like that. Folks, I know we've been through an unforgettable three weeks, with Teri Schiavo and the Pope rolling into one huge period of perpetual mourning. But I really don't need to add to it any more than what other blogs have been saying -- or quoting from other blogs.

So stick with us and be patient. We won't waste your time with idle byte chatter.

Reel To Reel:
Sahara

How It Rates: ***
Starring: Matthew McConaughey, Penelope Cruz, Steve Zahn
Rated: PG-13
Red Flags: Violence, Mild Language

Preconceived Notions: Flight Of The Phoenix and National Treasure rolled into one picture.
The Bottom Line: Entertaining action thriller, even if it pushes the limits of believability.

Watching Sahara is to buy a jigsaw puzzle, dump it out on the kitchen table, and start putting pieces together until everything finally fits. In the end, you're left with a satisfying experience and a pretty picture, but along the way, you make mistakes, you turn your attention in different directions and probably get lost a few times.

This adaptation of Clive Cussler's novel bills four screenwriters, which makes sense since the picture would have fallen into a complete mess if a fifth came along. The main plot involves treasure hunters Dirk Pitt and Al Giordino (McConaughey and Zahn) looking for a Civil War gunboat that somehow made it all the way to what's now a war-torn African nation. We're not supposed to worry about how the heck it could have possibly made it, or why rebels would run that way. Besides, we've got to occupy our attention with a doctor (Cruz) tracking a mysterious illness that's killing quick and spreading fast, a warlord wanting to knock off an enemy tribe, and an slimy industrialist who's giving aid and comfort to him.

Dirk and his crew have the brains of MacGuyver and the guts of Indiana Jones. They can bust heads in one scene and plot out an escape plan the next. They slip out of every noose tightened around them with nary a scratch and dodge bullets better than Dash in The Incredibles. Many times this invincibility of heroes gets old and stale, but McConaughey and Zahn play it off with such smart-alec zeal and energy, it's just plain fun watching them do it. Cruz' character is there for more than just window dressing, but thankfully, the movie avoids putting her and Dirk in the sack.

Sahara switches between plots like a remote control, but they all come together in a way that somehow makes sense, not entirely, but acceptably. It's certainly as enjoyable as National Treasure, which had its own stretch marks. Maybe one more rewrite... nah, here I am back with that fifth writer again.

Reel To Reel:
Sin City

How It Rates: ****
Starring: Bruce Willis, Jessica Alba, Rosario Dawson
Rated: R
Red Flags: Graphic Violence, Language, Some Nudity & Sex.

Preconceived Notions: Looks to be the most visually interesting movie since Sky Captain & The World Of Tomorrow.
The Bottom Line: A gritty, dark-humored comic book come to life. Now lets hope it gets the props it deserves.

When Dick Tracy hit the screen in 1990, it grasped the look and feel of the comic right down to the primary colors. Leech out most of the color, add a Pulp Fiction-style format and film noir and you have arrived in Sin City, the movie adaptation of Frank Miller's graphic novels. Notice I didn't say "comic books."

Maverick director Robert Rodriguez, who cuts what he shoots, put his Avids into overdrive to create this superb work of film art. Quentin Tarantino directed one portion. It is beautifully dark, and darkly witty. Spashes of color draw our attention every now and then, but most of the film is shaded and composed in black-and-white, like the frames of Miller's work... sometimes in simple silhouette. It submerges us in an urban wasteland where everybody is either smoking, hooking or killing. Mostly killing.

Sin City is composed of three different stories of murder and revenge over the course of two hours. Describing their plots would rob you of this film's most rewarding experience, which is meeting a series of decadent characters whose lives unfold before you. I'll just say a lot of people end up dead, some in ways more creative and disgusting than others. This film is a hair shy of NC-17, and the only reason it dodged that rating is the artful dodging of the most graphic scenes.

The principal players narrate their stories as if they're writing thought balloons above their heads, the words crackling with black wit. Killing people is second nature to them, no more antagonizing than swatting a few flies. A good day in Sin City is when 50 people are murdered instead of 100. Most interestingly, for all the bodies that ought to be piling up around town you see no hint of a cemetery.

Sin City is just as visually striking and innovative, if not more, than last year's Sky Captain And The World Of Tomorrow. However, the latter film got nary or no awards nods. A similar fate for this film would be a travesty, although I fear it's likely given the awards' shows propensity for ignoring the first six months of the year.

Teri, Meet Elian

CNN ran a story yesterday about the similarities between the Terri Schiavo and Elian Gonzales cases. I should've sued them for unauthorized reading of my mind. Heck, I might even get the president to kick it up to federal court for me.

Just when I thought the Michael Jackson case was the Ringling Bros. of media circii (and the reason why it doesn't appear in my 10pm newscast as long as I can help it, God save me) along comes this unqualified sob-and-shout fest that does everything to stroke conservative power trips and darn little to respect individual rights. Teri Schiavo has become the new Elian Gonzales -- an innocent pawn being pulled between two very loud, very powerful, very annoying forces like those old tug-of-war games between me and my aunt's dog. At least Elian knew somebody loved him. With Terri, I'm not so sure where the love is.

The histrionics in the Schiavo case are off the charts. People have gotten arrested outside the hospice for trying to deliver water to her. It reminds me of a similar case I saw on TV back in Missouri in the 1980's, where a group protesting outside a hospital threatened to force-feed a right-to-die patient. With what? Twinkies?

Only in America can you get a lawsuit kicked out of three courts and still stay in the game. Granted, Terri's parents got help from President Bush and Congress when they crashed a bill over the weekend to let the folks move into the federal system. As The Daily Show acutely observed, the Prez acted faster to aid Schiavo's folks than the Southeast Asia tsunami victims. Morality talks, bullshit floats.

The polls on this aren't even close. More than two-thirds of Americans think Congress meddled in a private matter. But polls, schmolls. This is all about sucking up to right-wingers, who you would think don't need any futher sacrifices at the altar. Some Republican lawmakers like Christopher Shays can see the legislative logic doesn't square with conservative principles of limited government intervention. If only these people had spoken up before the House passed an awful TV indecency bill that threatens to criminalize a news live shot gone bad.

Doctors claim Terri has been misdiagnosed, that she really isn't in a persistant vegetative state. Watching that video of her that's gotten more play than Michael Jackson and his umbrella-handler walking into court, it's almost like she's shaking her head in disbelief wondering why nobody can figure out what's wrong with her.

Ultimately, sadly, Terri Schiavo will die, just like the collective dignity of those people who should know better. And if anything, this whole ugly experience will have people running to their lawyers to ask for living wills before they find themselves incoherent, clinging to life and slapped back and forth as a political ping-pong ball. As for me, I have yet to draw up the paperwork, but I'm putting my parents on notice right now if I get caught in the Twilight Zone between life and death: no drips, no tubes, no lawsuits, no Twinkies.

Go Save Yourself

The Terri Schiavo case has one major lesson: Get yourself a living will -- especially if you have a spouse and kids. I don't have one. I don't have a regular one. Do some deduction and you'll figure out why.

I only hope that half the energy spent agonizing and praying for Terri Schiavo goes into getting some more living wills drafted. Maybe her fate is sealed, but the rest of us still have a chance.

Here's some advice on living wills from a Tucson attorney. I'm not a lawyer, and I don't play one on TV, so you'll need to consult somebody where you live for definitive advice.

Reel To Reel:
Robots

How It Rates: **1/2
Starring: Voices Of Ewan McGregor, Robin Williams, Halle Berry, Mel Brooks
Rated: PG
Red Flags: Comic Book Violence, Some Bathroom Humor

Preconceived Notions: Some generous star power for an animated flick.
The Bottom Line: It runs, but it's no well-oiled machine.

Comparing Robots, a product of Fox Animation Studios, with anything from Pixar is like comparing a Lincoln Towncar to a Rolls Royce. Both will get you there, but only one has the real style. Yes, Robots is entertaining. It's truly funny at times. It has a message for kids about following your dreams. But it lacks a level for adults which Pixar or even DreamWorks Animation weaved into films like The Incredibles or Shrek.

Enough comparing though. On its own merits, Robots is great for the kids, filling the screen with dozens of cute machines reminiscent of 40's and 50's wind-up toys and some inventive chase sequences. One scene involving countless dominoes will leave your mouth hanging open. But the movie as a whole suffers from sudden bursts of acceleration, with action inserted to hide a fragmented plot. It's as if somebody keeps winding it up and letting it run down.

In a world populated by cute machines, a young robot named Rodney Copperbottom (McGregor) hopes to become the next great inventor. He's just pieced together a worker-bee like home appliance which can help you with just about anything, provided you don't scare him. Rodney sets out for the big city in search of his idol Bigweld (voice of Mel Brooks), the robot world's version of Ron Popeil. But Bigweld's company has been taken over by Ratchet (voice of Greg Kinnear), and his evil mother. Ratchet's new Microsoftian corporate vision is upgrades, not spare parts. Under his plan, countless robots are headed for the scrap heap.

Not if Rodney can help it. He teams up with a motley crew of spare-part misfits including the manic Fender (Williams) and Cappy (Berry), one of Ratchet's corporate minions -- and a robot that will led to nerd arguments about whether Halle Berry or her on-screen persona has the sexier body. Together they head off to find Bigweld and get him back in command.

Williams' performance is by far the most enjoyable of the film (when has Williams not been enjoyable, except in maybe Death To Smoochy?). It throws in sly references to Britney Spears, 2001: A Space Odyssey, Star Wars, The Wizard Of Oz and even Kukla, Fran and Ollie. But everything else is knock-around action, like watching a pinball machine from under the glass. The film tries to freshen a plot we've seen countless times before -- the boy who saves the world -- but it's still there. "You can shine no matter what you're made of," Bigweld says to the world. True, but you're still going to need some polish now and then.

Courage

Dan Rather didn't go out with a bang or even a whimper. He went out just the way he should have, with class, grace, and words of thanks, much to the chagrin to right-wingers who still want him crucified and bleeding on national television. At the end, CBS News staffers surrounded the anchor desk, cheering him for a job well done -- a moment interrupted and soiled by a Wal-Mart commercial. That annoyance spoke just as much about CBS and its news philosophy as anything in the newscast itself. You would think the brass at Black Rock could dispense with the whoring of its newscast for this one night only and let Dan have a more dignified exit.

So Dan's off the desk, but not off the beat. He'll still report for 60 Minutes Wednesday, more than we can say for Uncle Walter, who nearly vaporized after leaving the Evening News. And now, here comes Walter, sticking the knife in Rather's back and twisting it, saying Bob Schieffer should have been the one to replace him. It's a shame. I expected better from an elder statesman of broadcast journalism.

I guess it's for the best. The epitath of the almighty network news achor has been written many times over, and with friends like these, who'd want the job? Dan's only sin -- as far as I'm concerned -- in the whole Memogate mess is that he tried to do too much and not enough. Too much anchoring. Not enough reporting. Too much trust. Not enough double-checking. Too much face time. Not enough grunt work.

A reporter who once worked at my station refused to voice a story we had gotten from a feed service because he hadn't reported it and had no way to verify the facts. He put his job on the line. What if Dan Rather said to Mary Mapes (producer of the Memogate story), "I'm not doing this. This is too sketchy. These documents haven't been verified." Dan would still be in that anchor chair tomorrow. He had the clout. He should've used it and refused to be somebody's mouthpiece on a story this explosive.

Call it... courage.

the photo diaries: Huzzah!

On the last weekend of February, I checked out the Arizona Renaissance Fair. Below are some sights...

Arizona? No, not now, not here. On a clear day, you can see the past...

Lunch is nearly ready!

Old World meets New Media. These guys were taping something for cable. What, I'm not exactly sure.

Mother Goose has quite a profile. Not bad for a honkey.

Greyhounds were treated like royalty in Renaissance time. Sure as heck beats the track.

The King, The Queen, His Court and Her Wonderbra (Tis Good To Be The King!)

Aye! When I'm finished with this wretched lot, ye won't be able to tell a knight from a day!

Hit a man when he's down? Sure!

Living to fight another day.