Reel To Reel:
Stealth

How It Rates: **1/2
Starring: Josh Lucas, Jessica Biel, Jamie Foxx
Rated: PG-13
Red Flags: Language, Lotsa Explosions

Preconceived Notions: Top Gun meets 2001 meets Dr. Strangelove.
The Bottom Line: Fun, if you like Jamie Foxx -- and explosions.

Stealth is a perfect example of a film that's more thrill ride than film. Maybe we should just boil off the subplots, half the dialogue, and just have 90 minutes of three flying aces chasing a haywire drone around the globe. Now you're on to something.

Here's the story: our three Navy pilots (Lucas, Biel, Foxx) are the best of the best in the world of the near future, fighting terrorism around the globe from the confines of souped-up fighters with razor-sharp precision. Luke Skywalker's proton torpedo down the exhaust port of the Death Star looks like kid stuff. Need an Al-Qaida hideout taken out? Call in the air support. They'll fix the problem before you can say "shock and awe."

Now add a fourth member of the team: EDI, but you can call him Eddy. Eddy's an experimental drone fighter. Eddy's got artifical intelligence. Eddy's got the moves and a taste for hard rock -- downloaded from the Internet which is sure to get Eddy in trouble with the RIAA. Eddy's got a voice like HAL 9000 crossed with I.N.T.E.L.L.E.G.E.N.C.E. from Team America: World Police. And Eddy needs targets.

Just like your computer, Eddy doesn't take lightning strikes too kindly. You would think somebody designing the most advanced electronic fighter ever would remember the surge protector. A blast of 1.21 gigawatts rewires Eddy's electronic brain and turns him into one mean machine, disobeying orders and shooting whatever the heck he wants. Somebody's gotta get Eddy back to the hanger before he blows up the planet.

All of this would be more fun if you left out some excess baggage, mainly Lucas and Biel's Mandatory Action Movie Needless Romance and Jamie Foxx's ladies-man pilot act -- although I liked it. But hey Jamie, Hitch is two screens down and Will Smith got there first.

With that stuff gone, we're left with just one problem. Eddy. He's a cool drone, but he's got a girly-man voice. How about something colder and detached like the computer voice you hear on National Weather Service radio? The one that sounds like he's from Norway, especially on the word "cloudy." Now that's scary.

Reel To Reel:
Charlie And The Chocolate Factory

How It Rates: ***1/2
Starring: Johnny Depp, Freddie Highmore
Rated: PG
Red Flags: Intense Thematic Material (i.e. kids getting all sorts of yucky come-uppances)

Preconceived Notions: Looks trippier than the Gene Wilder original -- and with Tim Burton to boot.
The Bottom Line: A sweet(er) treat.

Note from your blogmaster: The originial review published here accidentally got blown away. I couldn't recover it so I'm going to try to recreate it. Another reminder to me to watch the use of the "post" button!

Roald Dahl hated the original 1971 version of his classic children's novel -- mainly because Warner Bros. ripped up his screenplay and substituted a version by David Seltzer, who later went on to write The Omen and the TV series Revelations. I have also read he wasn't pleased about the choice of Gene Wilder for Willy Wonka. It's sad he's not around to see this version.

Tim Burton's remake is closer to Dahl's vision of a darkly comic parable about kids in the world's most incredible candy factory. It also has something to say about parenting, although not as forcefully as the Wilder version. And, most enjoyably, many of the musical numbers are gone, racheting up the pace of the film into more of a bedtime story than a children's novel.

Depp plays Wonka as an overgrown kid. He denies he's channeling Michael Jackson, but you do have to wonder with the light complexion, the long hair, the high voice, and the goofy suits. And his chocolate factory is Neverland, with all sorts of strange rooms designed with the playful air of a juvenile mind. If we think something's slightly sicko about him, it's only because of the comparisons to Jackson. The film offers a look into Wonka's depressing childhood, denied candy and forced to wear gargantuan headgear by an overzealous dentist dad.

The story, for those who don't know: Wonka's factory has been running in secrecy for years, although nobody has been seen coming or going. The old workers were let go years earlier, when Wonka shuttered the factory due to employees spreading his chocolate secrets to the competition. But then, it started up mysteriously again -- and nobody knows why, until Wonka offers the chance of a lifetime. Five golden tickets are hidden in Wonka chocolate bars around the world. The five children who find them get to tour the factory, accompanied by a parent, and one of them will win a prize beyond their wildest imagination.

As the title implies, Charlie Bucket (Highmore), is one of the winners. He is also the most unlikely person to win anything, it seems, as his family could easily earn the title of poorest in England. He and his parents live with four bedridden relatives in a house that gives new meaning to the word ramshackle -- with boards leaning every which way and a hole in the roof. His father toils for little money in a toothpaste factory. Grampa Joe was once an employee of Wonka's, and he relates to Charlie the mysteries and magic of what used to go on behind the closed gates.

The other four winners: Agustus Gluck, an obese German eating machine; Veruca Salt, an unabridged spoiled brat; Violet Beauregarde, a compulsive overachiever with a Barbie-doll mom; and Mike Teavee, a video game addict. Those who know the story know these rotten kids get dispatched in various ways while touring the factory.

That's when we hear a song by the Oompa Loompas -- the mysterious factory workers -- all of them played by diminuative actor Deep Roy through the wizardry of CGI which is so seemless I had to keep reminding myself all those little people came from just one man. They act as sort of a tripped-out Greek chorus pointing out each child's tragic flaws. But instead of that repetitive "Ooompa, Loompa, doopity-doo" diddy, composer Danny Elfman whips up tunes evoking hip-hop, glam metal, 60's flower power, and MTV. Unfortunately, I had a hard time hearing the lyrics in the theater -- possibly because of a bad sound mix.

The new Willy Wonka movie is the latest in a string of Hollywood do-overs. We've already seen Batman Begins. The Bad News Bears is coming, and King Kong is on the trailer reel. Many of these films didn't need to be remade, but as long as they are, I'm all for getting them right. Roald Dahl would be too, I imagine. He wrote a sequel to Charlie, but banned Warner Bros. from filming it. Maybe now his estate will reconsider.

Reel To Reel:
Bad News Bears

How It Rates: **1/2
Starring: Billy Bob Thornton, Greg Kinnear
Rated: PG-13
Red Flags: Copious Cussing Kids, Some Sexual References

Preconceived Notions: Hollywood dusts off another one for the remake machine.
The Bottom Line: Badder and bolder doesn't equal better.

I remember the original The Bad News Bears from 1976 as a raucous sports movie blended from elements of Our Gang and Slap Shot. What I don't remember -- and it's probably because I saw the film on TV rather than in a theater -- was the pervasive foul language from the mouths of the youngsters and their coach. The original rated a PG. This one nets a PG-13, and the only thing holding it back from R is the absence of an F-bomb.

Richard Linklatter directs this remake of the film written by Bill Lancaster, who remains in the writing credits. As you probably know, it's the story of a beleagured little league team in Southern California. The Bears exist only because a lawsuit forced the league to take a group of misfits. We have the usual suspect stereotypes: fat kid, black kid, Spanish-only Hispanic kids, immigrant kid, nerd kid, loner kid, a kid confined to a wheelchair -- and yes, the poster-child for Ritalin, combative Tanner Boyle (Timmy Deters).

Helming this bunch is shiftless, beer-swilling Morris Buttermaker (Thornton), a washed-up ex-major leaguer who works as an exterminator. Thornton turns the former Walter Mattheau role from a grumpy old man into a dirty old man. "Baseball's hard," he says. "You can love it but, believe me, it don't always love you back. It's kinda like dating a German chick." He gets the team a sponsorship from a strip bar. Coach would rather sip Budweiser than show the kids the proper catch-and-pivot for a double play. So the Bears are toast in their first game against the league champion Yankees, coached by hard-driving Roy Bullock (Kinnear). Buttermaker eventually decides to get in the game. He brings in pitcher Amanda Whurlitzer (Sammi Kraft), a girl with a wicked curveball, and Kelly Leak (Jeff Davies), a motorcycle punk with hitting power.

The 1976 version was crude and unsportsmanlike, but the remake is even cruder. Tanner's racist cracks are gone, but all the kids' mouths are a lot filthier. I get the point -- these are a rotten bunch. But it seems the film is trying to be crude simply because it can't get laughs any other way. Yes, I laughed when a toddler said the A-word in Meet The Fockers, but that bit of lewdness was at least inspired and believable. With Bears, it's tacked on.

That being said, I must inject something I cannot ignore. No specific location is mentioned for the Bears, but I'm guessing the fictional team is playing somewhere in the Inland Empire of SoCal. One kid references Claremont, where super-slugger Mark Magwire grew up. In fact, he attended Damien High School, where my mom now teaches. After hearing several horror stories from Mom about problem students -- and the lack of their parents to do anything about it -- maybe I'm wrong about how crude kids in this area can be. Still, it's not something I grew up with when I was playing YMCA T-ball. But that was when I lived in Kansas City.

I guess the problem is, as much as I want to like this picture, and as much as I respect films that break the rules and give the finger to political correctness, this film seems to lack a motive for its juvenile delinquency. I liked Team America: World Police in spite of its vulgarity because it turned the language of the war on terror upside down and mocked all sides with equal venom. Bad News Bears does make a point, I think, but it's something buried in an adult film masquerading as a family flick.

Reel To Reel:
War Of The Worlds

How It Rates: ***
Starring: Tom Cruise, Dakota Fanning
Rated: PG-13
Red Flags: Intense Alien Ransacking

Preconceived Notions: Hope this has some brains to go with the effects. With Spielberg, there's hope.
The Bottom Line: Who's Tom Cruise?

DreamWorks worried Tom Cruise's fix with Katie Holmes could doom this picture. He might as well have been hooking up with Katie Couric. Dakota Fanning steals this picture, not in a cute way but in a vulnerable way. And if a multimillion dollar actor is upstaged by a kid, you wonder if the bloated budget could have been trimmed with somebody from the B-list. After all, Steven Spielberg has done wonders with no-names just as long as the story's good.

War Of The Worlds rips from one of the best in film that stews Independence Day, Alien, and The Day After Tomorrow. But give Spielberg credit for breaking the cardinal rule of disaster flicks: Cruise's character, Ray Ferrier, a working-class divorced father of two, isn't the only one in the world who knows why aliens are ripping up New York City and how to fight back. He's got other concerns: two estranged kids, Rachel (Fanning) and Robbie (Justin Chatwin), pushed into mandatory visitation.

The invasion starts with the weather. Lightning strikes the ground and giant tripods start rising from the boroughs of New York City, vaporizing anybody who gets in their way. Running is about the only thing you can do, since -- true to the H.G. Wells novel and previous film -- magnetism has disabled car ignitions. But Ray manages to jack a working car and drive off towards Boston, trying to get the kids back to Mom.

Fanning is totally into her role as the confused, frightened child. Chatwin is, well, there, but seems to be there simply because the script needed more tension. Robbie tries more than once to run off with the soldiers fighting against the invaders, which left me scratching my head because in other scenes he's more devoted to his kid sister than Dad. And Cruise's role? We see so many shots of him looking dazed, confused or bewildered I wondered if his contract paid him by the look. At times he seems lost in his own movie. At least we know why Fanning's mugging for the camera.

The special effects, powered by Industrial Light & Magic, are phenomenal. Dennis Muren, longtime ILM guru, pulls out all the CGI stops. But Spielberg remains the master. He chooses to focus the story on Ray and the kids' perspectives. One particular scene -- involving Cruise and company hiding from an alien probe in a basement -- is pulled off with razor-sharp tension. Unlike the first film, we do get a look at the aliens outside their ship. Even E.T. would run from these guys.

Spielberg's focus on fear, doubt, and dread make this picture highly watchable in spite of Cruise's excessive face time. This elevates this story to a suspense-thriller from a shallow, effects-heavy disaster film anybody else would have made.

Reel To Reel:
Mr. & Mrs. Smith

How It Rates: ***
Starring: Brad Pitt, Angelina Jolie
Rated: PG-13
Red Flags: Violence, Language, Some Sex

Preconceived Notions: Ballistic: Ecks vs. Sever meets War Of The Roses
The Bottom Line: Darkly funny and just sexy enough.

Mr. & Mrs. Smith shares only a title with one of Alfred Hitchcock's film -- and a concept: a phony marriage. John Smith (Pitt) and Jane Smith (Jolie) are a lifeless couple leading extremely secret double lives as killers for hire. But domestically, they're more desperate than any TV housewife. They can't even drive off to work without airs of awkwardness. Therapy is clearly not the answer, as the opening scenes show, with both of them trying to protect their covers and John getting hung up on sex questions.

One wonders how Jane keeps a stash of weapons hidden under the oven and John keeps a cache under the garage without the other spouse finding out. But hey, these folks are good or they wouldn't be employed -- or even alive. However, when both of them are assigned the same hit, they almost kill each other and everything starts to unravel.

This leads to some real gems of scenes, including an edgy dinner and an all-out war in the living room. Eventually, though, the Smiths discover that through all the lies and subtrafuge they do, in fact, have feelings for each other, and an all-out brawl turns into a horny roll.

Mr. And Mrs. Smith is black comedy with an action edge, but mainly it's just fun.

Reel To Reel:
Batman Begins

How It Rates: ****
Starring: Christian Bale, Michael Caine, Morgan Freeman
Rated: PG-13
Red Flags: Violence

Preconceived Notions: Batman Remixed
The Bottom Line: Batman Reborn

Warner Bros. abandoned its previous Batman franchise after complaints about it devolving into a kids' franchise (read: bad bytes on aintitcoolnews.com). Film geeks demanded something darker, mature and campless. Now that any classic adventure movie worth making is worth making again (e.g. Godzilla and King Kong and the forthcoming Superman remake), Hollywood happily granted a do-over.

Batman Begins is what 1989's Batman should have been, and wasn't: the chronicle of a man's quest to fight crime while haunted by the murder of his wealthy parents, dogged by others' expectations, wrestling with moral contradictions, and scared of bats. Talk about issues. Batman oughta be popping Bat-Prozac.

As the film opens, billionaire heir Bruce Wayne (Bale) is wallowing in the criminal filth of some remote Asian prison (possibly China). We don't know why, but all will be answered quite nicely in the following reels as Wayne seeks training from a Ninja master. Wayne sharpens his body and mind for the larger than life persona we're all itching to see. As a symbol, Wayne is told, he is more than just a man -- something that adds more weight to the idea of jumping around in body armor and a mask with giant ears.

The Gotham Wayne returns to isn't the place his philanthropic parents helped build. It reeks of corruption and misery. Wayne Industries is going public and losing its way. Even the futuristic monorail the Waynes created has sprouted graffiti and grime. Still, like a candle in the darkness stands Wayne's childhood girlfriend Rachel (Katie Holmes, before she turned Tom Cruise into an OCD patient), now an assistant prosecutor fighting the good fight against some very long odds. She's up against Carmine Falcone (Tom Wilkinson) an underworld mega-boss who has paid off half the town. But Falcone's got problems of his own: some competition from a rival, Dr. Jonathan Crane (Tom Wilkinson) who's got a sinister plot and a hallucinogenic drug.

Wayne builds the Batcave and his outfit with help from a buried division of his father's company, led by gadget-man Lucius Fox (Freeman). Loyal butler Alfred (Caine) is there for support and the occasional reality check. And with these two for backup, Wayne is off to fight crime. But it's character more than cool gadgets and an urban-assault Batmobile which power the movie.

The 1989 Batman scratched at depth but didn't get very deep. The re-do is not just a better movie, it's a better sell. It flips models of heroes and villians, mucking up concepts of justice and revenge and forcing us to think about them. As we have observed here before, action movies are not supposed to make us think. When they do, they transcend the genre.

One critic called the '89 Batman the movie of the decade. Maybe in hype. Compared to this, Michael Keaton's blockbuster might as well have starred Adam West and Burt Ward.

Reel To Reel:
The Longest Yard

How It Rates: ***
Starring: Adam Sandler, Chris Rock, Burt Reynolds
Rated: R
Red Flags: Football Violence, Sexual Humor, Some Language

Preconceived Notions: Adam Sandler updates a football classic.
The Bottom Line: It's fast, it's funny, it's worth your while. Touchdown!

The original Longest Yard was played for drama. Adam Sandlers re-make is played for laughs, but this is no stupid Dumb And Dumber arrangement.

Sandler is Paul "Wrecking" Crewe, a pro banished from the NFL after a conviction for point shaving. A drunken spin in a Bentley violates his probation, and he ends up in a good-ol'-boy Texas lockup with a football-crazy warden (James Cromwell) and a set of torture-loving guards which could draw comparisons to Abu Gharib.

Warden Hazen wants some advice on getting his team of guards ready for the season. Crewe says you need a throwaway game, something the guards would win in a blowout to boost their morale. Hazen says fine, why not have the guards play a team of cons? It becomes Crewe's job to build that team.

He immediately befriends Caretaker (Rock), the prison procurement expert who can get anything from anywhere. It's not long before ex-footballer Nate Scarborough (Reynolds, who was in the original) signs on as coach. About half the film is devoted to Crewe putting his crew together, recruiting from the misfits who want to take a poke at the guards as well as the mean suckas who could do some serious bone breaking. Crewe figures his team needs some speed, too, leading to a brutal basketball challenge with Cheeseburger Eddy. The guards are getting wind of what Crewe's up to and want to stop him. The game is getting bigger. This throwaway game is suddenly an ESPN2 game of the week.

Yard is tightly paced and funny without being silly, which is saying something for director Peter Segal, who did the final Naked Gun picture along with other Sandler pictures like Anger Management and 50 First Dates. And for all its comedy, an edge of drama seems to help. But not too much drama. Football action? You've got it -- smash-mouth brutal stuff. It helps that former pros Michael Irvin and Bill Goldberg give the film some extra football chops. What? Goldberg's a wrestler? Oh yeah, we got those too: Steve Austin and Kevin Nash both play guards.

Having not seen the original, I can't make an honest comparison. But comparison is pointless seeing how many films get remade. The new Longest Yard is a good sports film, and if people think it's blasphemy what Segal has done to it, don't see it. Rent Friday Night Lights instead.

Reel To Reel:
Star Wars Episode III: Revenge Of The Sith

How It Rates: ***1/2
Starring: Hayden Christensen, Ewan McGregor, Natalie Portman
Rated: PG-13
Red Flags: Sci-Fi Violence and Light Saberplay

Preconceived Notions: Ep. I was imaginitive, Ep. 2 dragging, hopefully we can build up steam. And at last we get reacquainted with Darth Vader.
The Bottom Line: Why couldn't the first two have been this good?

Complete, this saga is. A bridge to the past, we have crossed. Enough Yodaspeak. A lot of people dumped on Episode I because they didn't find it emotionally satisfying or witty enough. Patience, young Jedi. One must understand the full workings of The Force. It took three episodes to get there, but at last, we're there.

Episode III is more of what every Star Wars film has excelled at and less of everything it has sucked at. It is a tragedy fueled by love and lust for power. At times it is profoundly sad and sadly profound. Many have already written about parallels to the War On Terror and the U.S.-Iraq conflict, even though Lucas denies it as an influence. He was more influenced by Vietnam. But then again, our angst over Iraq parallels Vietnam, so everything's connected.

Episode III wastes no time pluging into action, including an over-the-top rescue mission involving Anakin Skywalker (Christensen), Obi-Wan Kenobe (McGregor) and R2-D2, that little droid who could. Saving kidnapped Chancellor Palpatine (Ian McDiarmid) begins to accelerate Anakin's decent to the dark side, as he is seduced by the promise of power greater than he has ever known -- and Palpatine can show it all to him. His motives, however, are not for himself but for the protection of Padme (Portman), the former queen who's now about to become a mother. Anakin senses she will not survive childbirth, and it haunts him constantly. At the same time, he is growing impatient and suspicious of the Jedi council, fueled by the plotting of Palpatine. Both sides want Anakin's help in thwarting disaster, and it is no wonder this young man is left confused and vulnerable. Unfortunately, the dark side proves too powerful, as we all know.

George Lucas wrote Episode I, without the dialogue spark of his first efforts. Episode II improved things somewhat, and III improved them much more. Much talk still has the nuance of an earth mover, but at least the corny, shallow romance and longwindedness is gone. And yes, people, Jar-Jar is still there, but he only appears in one scene -- with no dialogue. At least we get to see Chewbacca. (I really miss Han Solo.) This film actually says things in its sit-down scenes, and I liked it.

As for the effects, what can you say about a franchise that redefined the art? Lucas takes us to new places and re-mixes everything we've seen. Even the light saber battles have new jawdropping twists. And don't forget the showdown between Obi-Wan and Anakin on a burning planet. But frankly, I didn't watch this film for the effects. I wanted to understand how this Jedi Knight Anakin gets caught up in the Axis of Galactic Evil. Now I do.

If Episodes I and II made me hungry for sequels, it was because I knew something better was coming -- something had to be better than this. If Episode III leaves you hungry, it's because you've become involved in the storyline. You want to know what happens to these people, especially Anakin, now Darth Vader. Love him or hate him, you can't help but feel some sort of sympathy for him now.

Reel To Reel:
Unleashed

How It Rates: ***
Starring: Jet Li, Bob Hoskins, Morgan Freeman
Rated: R
Red Flags: Strong Graphic Martial-Arts Violence, Language, Brief (female) Nudity

Preconceived Notions: Jet Li gets to kick some butt as a killing machine.
The Bottom Line: Even the meanist dog has a heart.

Unleashed breaks a cardinal rule of action flicks. It has warmth and feelings. And that doesn't mean a horny throwaway sex scene, although that's nearly here. For this film, it's a man discovering a world outside his violent existence as somebody's bitch.

Yes, I used that word correctly. Okay, nearly correctly. The gender doesn't fit but everything else does. Li plays Danny, who's been turned into an attack dog -- right down to the collar he wears when he's not attacking somebody. He's fed like a dog, caged like a dog, and sicced on people like a dog. Bart is his master (Hoskins, in a deliciously evil role), a loan shark who bangs around Glasgow, Scotland, siccing Danny on anybody who hasn't paid up. When you don't pay up, the collar comes off, and Danny puts some serious hurt on you and whatever tough guys you throw at him.

For all Danny knows, he is a dog, with some fuzzy memories of the boy he once was. When the collar is on, he's not much different than a frightened puppy, laconic and shy of people. One day, Danny is standing around alone in an antique shop, surrounded by pianos, waiting for his gangster owners to sic him on somebody when he recconects with a memory from his past. In strides Sam, (Freeman) a blind piano tuner with a heart more golden than Fort Knox. He coaxes Johnny into helping him tune a piano, and soon, this dog will have his day as he's taken in to a new family.

The rest of the film is divided between fight scenes and warmth scenes. I'll not describe them for you only to say that the warmth scenes put the fight scenes in a different light. Usually in martial-arts films, you're rooting for the tough-guy hero to smash the bad guys to bits. That doesn't change, but with an ounce of humanity stirred into the mix, this film yields a pound of compassion, and the brutality emerges for what it is.

I'm reminded of what Rex Reed said about John Wayne in The Cowboys: "Old Dusty Britches can act." Well, Jet Li can act too. This may not be the role of his career, but it's certainly a notch above what I've seen from him so far. Somebody give him a shot at a film without the martial arts.

Parts of Unleashed come together a little too perfectly. It's annoying at times to watch Freeman have all the answers like Obi-Wan Kenobi. The characters also sidestep logicial decisions, such as maybe realizing Danny needs professional help when he hides under the bed and slurps his soup like a cocker spaniel. However, as Sam himself points out, he doesn't ask many questions. I didn't either.

Reel To Reel:
Kingdom Of Heaven

How It Rates: **1/2
Starring: Orlando Bloom, Liam Neeson, Eva Green
Rated: R
Red Flags: Ye Olde Copious Violence

Preconceived Notions: Troy, Alexander, and now this Crusades epic.
The Bottom Line: Oh it's beautiful, but get me the scissors. It's time to start cutting.

Director Ridley Scott's latest is about passionate people with passionate beliefs fighting passionate battles filmed with passionate attention to detail. And yet this film lacks so much passion, except in spurts. Worship service at my parents' church has more heart and soul as this film plods along. At times I thought this film could have been called Kingdom of Heaven's Gate, with its sprawling length and mess of multiculturalism.

Bloom is Balian, a blacksmith who's just lost his wife and child. He's estranged from his father, Godfrey (Neeson), who's gone looking for his son after years fighting in one of the many battles of the Crusades. Reluctantly, Bailian follows his father back to Jerusalem, where he is knighted as his father's last act before dying.

Jerusalem's populations of Christians, Jews and Muslims are holding together under a leper King Baldwin IV (Edward Norton). He and the knight Tiberias (Jeremy Irons) defend a shaky truce between crusading knights and Muslims. However, one all-balls-and-no-brains boor of a knight Guy de Lusignan (Marton Csokas) is just itching for a fight to kick out anything without a cross. But attempts to raise hell are futile as long as the king is alive and willing to negotiate with the Muslims led by Saladin (Ghassan Massoud).

However, there's a woman conveniently involved. Sibylla (Green) is Baldwin's sister, heir to the throne with the power to make Guy king. So you can see what's coming just like the great armies in the distance. Yet she loves Bailian, and would marry him if given the chance, which Baldwin is eager to give to stave off Guy getting his seat on a throne.

Bailian, however, needs to be pounded out like the iron he once hammered. Here a man, still obviously in mourning, who doesn't seem to know where his center of gravity is until three-quarters of the way through the picture when he finally delievers his Great Heroic Speech. It's supposed to be a powerful moment, and it is, but more for what it isn't. Bailian doesn't give a sermon but a reality check: "We fight over an offense we did not give, against those who were not alive to be offended." This is where the film shines, when this unlikely knight rises above the radicalism to bring people together. Bloom's character, I should point out, doesn't owe his allegiance to God but rather to defending the helpless.

Much of the strife between Christians and Muslims can be traced back to the Crusades, but Kingdom Of Heaven misses a chance to probe the radicalism, merely saying, "It's God's will," when necessarily. God's Will is used more like an excuse than a bedrock belief. It's God's Will people live. It's God's Will people die. It's God's Will people fight. It's God's Will people surrender. But really, the trouble is that people are cloaking their own ambitions as God's Will.

Kingdom stages battles impossible to get on film without CGI. Gargantuan armies attack and throw firebombs. The attack scenes on Jerusalem are electrifying, along with one earlier scene where the Christian and Muslim armies meet and nearly come to attack.

The film runs a bloated 2 hours and 25 minutes. Twenty-five minutes less and you could've come away with a more dynamic film, still beautifully photographed, and heaven knows more passionate.

Idol Chatter

Media Professor and game-show guru Steve Beverly has a great analysis of ABC's Fallen Idol report. A colleague of mine asked "Who cares?" if Paula Abdul was doing Corey Clark. Beverly compares it to offering performance-enhancing drugs. What puzzles me is why Fox hasn't tried to get to the bottom of various problems with the telephone voting on this show, including one foul-up which required a sing-over earlier this season. To me, that's more scandalous than anything between Corey and Paula. Also note Beverly's insightful comparisons with the 50's quiz-show scandals -- and why this show isn't in the same league as Twenty-One.

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.