Movie Reviews
By Kam Williams

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When the Levees Broke: A Requiem in Four Parts
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Spike Lee Documentary Revisits New Orleans in the Wake of Katrina

Conspiracy theorists disappointed with formerly iconoclastic filmmaker Oliver Stone for failing to explore any of the controversies surrounding 9/11 in World Trade Center might have a new hero in director Spike Lee. For Spike, in his HBO documentary, When the Levees Broke, gives vent to a panoply of paranoid notions about who’s to blame for the flooding of New Orleans and the subsequent abandoning of its citizens for days on end.
Early on in part one of this incendiary, four-hour documentary, interviewees from the Lower Ninth Ward repeatedly refer to hearing a loud explosion during the storm, the implication being that a levee was deliberately detonated. Unfortunately, the film fails to supplement this anecdotal evidence with any tangible proof of tampering, leaving the discerning viewer believing that the breach was likely caused by the category-five hurricane after all.
Despite capturing many heartbreaking aspects of the disaster, When the Levees Broke is essentially an overambitious mess which ultimately fails to convey effectively the scale or scope of the ongoing tragedy. There’s a sense of déjà vu to the sad stories being recounted here, whether about wading through sewage-filled water to the Convention Center, being stranded on a rooftop, being left to die in the sweltering heat on an overpass or inside the Superdome, separated from family members and bussed out of town, or being denied insurance payments.
This feeling that we’ve seen all this before is compounded by the program’s oft-confusing chronology. During part four, for instance, we hear homeless folks still complaining about FEMA’s tardiness in providing trailers, although these remarks were ostensibly taped earlier than some contained in the third segment of the show. According to this production, all fault lies with the federal government, from the Army Corps of Engineers to FEMA director Mike Brown to President Bush to Homeland Security Secretary Michael Chertoff.   
Most disappointing, however, is how Spike decided to get in bed with Louisiana Governor Kathleen Blanco, New Orleans Mayor Ray Nagin and his ex-Police Chief Eddie Compass by giving these and several other pivotal political figures a platform to spew self-serving spin about their handling of Katrina, when their failures have been well documented. In my opinion, no honest investigation of this shameful chapter of American history could allow the uncritical participation of these partially-responsible culprits.
Furthermore, appearances by well-meaning celebs like Sean Penn, Harry Belafonte and Reverend Al Sharpton simply serve as a distraction from the fundamental story Spike’s trying to narrate here. In sum, When the Levees Broke only intermittently engages one emotionally, a no-no when the reason for even undertaking the endeavor in the first place was presumably to shed light on the ongoing plight of the voiceless Katrina victims whose displacement and continued suffering is no longer the concern of the greedy corporate interests entrusted with the rebuilding of the region.

Unrated
Running time: 240 minutes
Studio: HBO

Conversations with Other Women
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Wedding Reception Provides Setting for Ex-Lovers’ Illicit Liaison

When sparks fly at the New York City wedding reception between Susie’s (Brianna Brown) brother (Aaron Eckhart) and a bridesmaid (Helena Bonham Carter) who has just flown in from London, none of the guests has any idea that the two are ex-lovers who haven’t seen each other since they were college students a dozen years ago. Initially, they flirt coyly, despite her having a cardiologist husband back in England, and his currently being in a serious relationship.
But eventually passion gets the better of them and they shamelessly retire to the confines of her hotel room, where they devote hours to reminiscing about the past, while simultaneously contemplating whether or not to indulge their lust in a “what happens in New York, stays in New York” one-night stand. This duality is achieved visually via the employment of an intriguing cinematic device, namely a split screen which creates opportunities for flashbacks and observations from slightly different perspectives.
This is the unique approach to storytelling relied upon by Conversations with Other Women, a movie which marks the memorable directorial debut of Hans Canosa. The Harvard grad devotes virtually all the screen time to his two unnamed lead characters, as played ever so convincingly by Oscar-nominee Helena Bonham Carter (for The Wings of the Dove) and Aaron Eckhart. While such an intense, battle-of-the-sexes drama might represent a departure for Carter, Eckhart has always been associated with such fare, given that his breakout role came in 1997 in the similarly-themed In the Company of Men.
Because the bulk of this intimate flick is a conversation slowly unfolding inside an otherwise unremarkable bedroom, one’s appreciation of it turns on the chemistry of the protagonists and the extent to which you enjoy the aforementioned editing technique. Personally, I found their interactions unusually compelling, and the plot thoroughly absorbing, with Carter exhibiting an emotional depth she’s never evidenced before, while Eckhart, who usually plays a creepy womanizer, displaying a vulnerable side for the first time.
An intriguing examination of love, the second-time around.  

Rated: R for sex, nudity and profanity.
Running time: 84 minutes
Studio: Fabrication Films

Half Nelson
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Inner-City Drama Chronicles Unlikely Bond between White Teacher and Black Student

Dan (Ryan Gosling) is a dedicated teacher and basketball coach at a dilapidated junior high located in a Brooklyn ghetto. One of his students, 13-year-old Drey (Shareeka Epps), is a latch-key kid who is at-risk because of the absence of parental supervision after school.
Normally, Dan and Drey would have nothing to do with each other outside of the classroom, not only because of the age difference, but because he’s white and lives in the suburbs, while she’s Black and stuck struggling with her single-mom in the ‘hood. However, Dan has a drug problem, being addicted to crack, and his student-teacher relationship with Drey is altered irreversibly the day she observes him getting high in the girls’ locker room.
She chooses to keep his secret, and in return he takes a personal interest in her well-being, crossing an ethical line by secretly involving himself in her personal life after 3 p.m. For instance, he drives her home one day and despite his own addiction, warns her to keep her distance from Frank (Anthony Mackie), a dealer on her block who’d like to get the young girl hooked on narcotics.
Thus unfolds Half Nelson, an unlikely buddy drama directed by Ryan Fleck. The infuriating flaw of this deliberately-paced slice-of-life drama is that it is a tad too understated for its own good. While based on a plausible plot and well-executed by a capable cast, nothing much exciting ever happens in this contemplative mood piece.
So, by the time the closing credits roll on this headscratcher, don’t be surprised to be asking yourself, “Is that it?” A teenager befriends her teacher without anything kinky occurring or any dire consequences. Perhaps I’ve simply seen so many ghetto fabulous adventures filled with all manner of over-the-top displays of nudity, bling, murder, gunplay, sadism, overdosing, rape, expletives, ethnic slurs and major mayhem, that a story this sedate just doesn’t satisfy what I’ve come to expect of the genre. You gotta gimme something to sink my teeth into. The picture’s most passionate exchange went like this:
Dan: I’m your teacher, not your friend.
Drey: Asshole!
Dan: Bitch.
Yawn. Half Nelson? A half-hearted study in black and white which never dares to take enough risks to make it worth the watch.

Rated: R for sex, expletives, and drug use.
Running time: 106 minutes
Studio: ThinkFilm
                         
Miami Vice
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Absence of Chemistry Dooms Screen Adaptation of Classic Cop Series  

If nothing else, Miami Vice (1984-1989) was the ultimate triumph of style over substance. For the success of that popular cop TV series probably derived as much from its ambiance as from its high-octane action. Memorable more for its dizzying opening sequence, pulse-pounding theme song, and an unabashed promotion of pastel colors than for any of its plebian plotlines, this was a show which wowed its audience with oodles of attitude and cutting-edge chic.
And that attitude and chic mostly came courtesy of the animal magnetism of co-stars Don Johnson and Philip Michael Thomas in their capacity as Dade County Detectives Sonny Crockett and Ricardo Tubbs, respectively. Each week, these larger-than-life heartthrobs didn’t so much solve crimes as define cool, generating a palpable buddy chemistry while making cutting-edge fashion statements which would help shape the tastes of a generation.
The executive producer of the program was Michael Mann, director of such critically-acclaimed feature films as Collateral (2004), Ali (2001), The Insider (1999) and Heat (1995). The challenge the four-time Oscar-nominee faced in adapting Miami Vice to the big screen was whether to appeal to a sense of nostalgia via a faithful recreation of the original series or to take the risks associated with overhauling a proven commodity.
Well, Mann opted for the latter, meeting with mediocre results. Besides the lead characters’ names, not much is recognizable about this edition of Miami Vice. The picture pairs Jamie Foxx and Colin Farrell as Tubbs and Crockett, though the partners fail to exhibit any of the camaraderie a fan of the franchise might expect. The primary problem is that Farrell is exposed, here, as not quite ready for prime time, as he simply lacks the charisma called for to star in a summer blockbuster. Foxx, by comparison, turns in one of his typically engaging performances, even if his animated exchanges are with a wooden Indian.
Why Mann bothered to call this flick Miami Vice is beyond me, because it could just as plausibly have been named “Murder She Wrote,” “Matlock ,”or “The Rockford Files.” Gone are the citrus-colored clothing, the Jan Hammer soundtrack, and the local flavor featuring that trademark Art Deco architecture. In fact, most of the movie was shot outside of Florida, in Los Angeles and around exotic locations in Cuba, Colombia, Paraguay, Haiti, Brazil, Uruguay, and the Dominican Republic. 
But the convoluted, unnecessarily complicated story does at least start in Miami where we find Crockett and Tubbs assigned to go undercover as drug dealers in order to crack an international cartel. A most improbable plot twist has Crockett falling in love with Isabella (Gong Li), an Amer-Asian gangster’s moll with a mean streak. Tubbs’ love interest, on the other hand, is fellow officer Trudy Joplin (Naomie Harris) who ends up in the clutches of some sadistic white supremacists about to incur her boyfriend’s wrath.
Moviegoers familiar with Michael Mann’s work in Heat and Collateral are already aware that he’s given to the graphic depiction of senseless slaughter. The trouble is that, here, he makes us wait and wait and wait for those savage sequences as the film lumbers along, getting bogged down by about 45 minutes of dead dialogue that should have been left on the editing room floor.
No chemistry, no cool, no compelling characters, no air of urgency. Just a very average crime caper which fails to entertain the viewer on a gut, cerebral or superficial level. Not exactly your father’s Miami Vice.

Rated: R for sex, expletives and graphic violence.
Running time: 132 minutes
Studio: Universal Pictures

My First Wedding
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Bride-to-Be Confuses Carpenter with Priest in Mistaken Identity Comedy

Although Vanessa Sinclair (Rachel Leigh Cook) is about to walk down the aisle with Andre (Paul Hopkins), she can’t stop having sexual fantasies about almost every attractive guy she encounters. At the end of her rope, like a good Catholic girl, she decides to confide in a cleric about her impure thoughts.
But what Vanessa doesn’t know when she enters the confessional, is that the man about to hear her lurid tales of lust is not a priest at all, but Nick (Kenny Doughty), a macho, motorcycle-riding carpenter who just happens to be inside the vestibule repairing the booth. Aroused by the blushing bride’s steamy narrative, the horny handyman not only allows her to finish, but even agrees to counsel her daily till her upcoming wedding.
Spending so much time alone together, it’s only a matter of time, of course, before loose, clueless Vanessa and conniving, hot-to-trot “Father Nick” end-up in each other’s arms. Love begins to blossom between the two, and their unlikely relationship jumpstarts My First Wedding, an outrageous, mistaken identity sitcom which marks the English language debut by French director Laurent Firode.
The question quickly becomes how long will naughty Nick continue the impersonation before owning up to his blasphemous behavior? While this movie has it moments, it relies very heavily on your buying the notion that Vanessa fails to figure out her secret suitor’s charade.
And though almost no one is as gullible as this girl, the devilish premise is just intriguing enough to induce you to suspend your disbelief. Thus, despite a patently preposterous script, My First Wedding somehow seduces you into taking it at face value, a silly storyline notwithstanding. 

Rated PG-13 for sex and expletives.
Running time: 94 minutes
Studio: Cinema Libre
               
Snakes on a Plane
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Campy Fright Flick Loads of Fun in Spite of Cheesy F/X and Cliché-Ridden Script

Benefiting from the best pre-release hype since The Blair Witch Project, the Internet has been abuzz about this picture practically since the day the project was green lighted by New Line. In fact, the blogisphere actually influenced its director, David Ellis, to do five days of reshoots to add R-rated scenes not in his original PG-13 script because his growing legion of fans had come to expect them due to the phenomenal popularity of a parody. 
This electronic word of mouth might have been unnecessary anyway, given that Snakes on a Plane represents a rare case of cinematic truth-in-advertising. For between the self-explanatory title and its high-octane trailers, one can readily discern exactly what this campy cross of the disaster and horror genres is all about.
The fun starts inside the already claustrophobic quarters of a cramped commercial airliner where the motley assortment of mostly annoying passengers filing in are about to get even more aggravated. Unabashedly politically-incorrect in terms of relying on simplistically-drawn stereotypes, every character here is easily recognizable.
There’s the self-important, trash-talking gangsta rapper (Flex Alexander) with a couple of bully, path-clearing bodyguards (Kenan Thompson and Keith Dallas), the spoiled-rotten debutante (Rachel Blanchard) sporting one of those lapdogs you could dust with, the effete coward (Gerard Plunkett), the doting mother (Elsa Pataky) with the whining baby, two young brothers (Daniel Hogarth and Casey Dubois) traveling alone, a couple (Emily Holmes and Tygh Runyan) in heat eager to join the mile-high club, etcetera. Even the crew members are all obvious archetypes, from the effeminate flight attendant (Bruce James) to the bimbo blonde stewardess (Sunny Mabrey) to the fanny-pinching pilot (David Koechner) to the selfless stewardess (Julianna Margulies) on her last flight before law school who somehow summons up courage she never knew she had.
The bad attitudes in the cabin start even before the jet leaves the ground, when everyone in first-class, just prior to takeoff, is informed that they’ve just been bumped back to coach to make way for FBI Agent Neville Flynn (Samuel L. Jackson ) and eyewitness Sean Jones (Nathan Phillips). Flynn’s been assigned to escort the flaky surfer dude from Hawaii to Los Angeles to ensure his safe arrival in court to testify in the murder trial of Eddie Kim (Byron Lawson), a vicious mob boss.
What nobody knows, of course, is that Kim has hatched a plan to crash the 747 by stowing a crate of venomous snakes aboard timed to be released while the jet is 30,000 feet in the air over the Pacific Ocean. Fortunately, as patently absurd as this premise sounds, Snakes on a Plane does not disappoint. Samuel L. Jackson enjoys his best outing in years as a boiling badass who loses his composure as soon as all hell breaks lose. His character is prone to blurting out urgent, anticipated non-sequiturs like "I’ve had it with these mother-[expletiving] snakes on this mother-[expletiving] plane!” which elicit big laughs from the Internet-prepped audience. 
As for the special effects, they were created via a convincing enough combination of computer-generated imagery and over 400 real snakes. Furthermore, inventive director Ellis comes up with an array of increasingly humorous and amusing if simultaneously shocking and disgusting ways to dispatch victims as the body-count rises.
Tautly edited, these grisly killings are well-concealed and arrive accompanied by a well-synchronized, thunderous burst from the score designed to elicit screams as you jump out of your skin. Thus, although the film is filled with humorous asides and targeted at teenagers, be forewarned that it easily earns its well-deserved R rating, due to all the gratuitous gore, nudity, sex and eroticized-violence.
Best horror flick since Dawn of the Dead.

Excellent (4 stars)
Rated PG-13 for sexual references
Running time: 105 minutes
Studio: New Line Cinema

Step Up
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Hood Hooks-Up with Dancing Debutante for Across the Tracks Romance
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Tyler Gage (Tatum Channing) is a degenerate in dire need of direction and a good role model. The at-risk teen lives in a rundown, Baltimore row house with a couple of other orphans left there by the state in the hands of alcoholic foster parents who are in it more for the money than out of a concern for the welfare of the kids.
As a result, unsupervised Tyler has taken to hanging out after school with Mac (Damaine Radcliff) and Skinny Carter (De’Shawn Washington), a couple of brothers who are also going nowhere fast. Together, these three ne’er-do-wells spend their time burglarizing buildings, stealing cars for chop shops, and hustling bucks on the basketball court in the park.
One day, after the felonious trio breaks into the Maryland School for the Arts with major mayhem in mind, Tyler ends up arrested and carted off to jail. Rather than give the juvenile delinquent jail time, the judge decides to sentence him to 200 hours of community service as a janitor at the very institution where he was apprehended.
This turns out to be a blessing in disguise for the rhythmically-blessed felon, for his only constructive talent happens to be freestyle street-dancing. And while mopping floors as assigned by the skeptical school principal (Rachel Griffiths), a series of fortuitous coincidences begin to unfold which will transform Tyler from loser to a star in the making.
First, he locks eyes with Nora (Jenna Dewan), the sexiest girl on the premises, as she prances about in stiletto heels while practicing in a dance studio for a critical, upcoming talent showcase. Then, her partner, Andrew (Tim Lacatena), conveniently sprains his ankle, leaving the poor thing in urgent need of a replacement with her audition just two weeks away.
Next, we see that her egotistical boyfriend, Brett (Josh Henderson), is a creep she’d be better off without. And to top it all off, her mother (Deidre Lovejoy) is pressuring her daughter to enroll at an Ivy League school when it’s obvious Nora would prefer to join a professional dance company than attend college.
All these developments dovetail perfectly with the arrival of Tyler, for this answer to all her prayers soon sweeps Nora off her feet, literally and figuratively. Step Up revolves around their rich girl-poor boy romance, one of the more enjoyable across-the-tracks love stories in a long time.
Sure the plot is fairly predictable as it winds it way to a syrupy sweet finale, but veteran choreographer-turned-director Anne Fletcher’s dazzling dance sequences and spectacular cinematography along the waterfront more than make-up for the absence of the element of surprise. Fletcher’s noteworthy debut also features a capable cast which includes rapper Heavy D (sans The Boyz), and Baltimore native son/R&B crooner Mario. The latter’s character, Miles, spends the bulk of the picture frustrated, flirting with Nora’s best friend, Lucy (Drew Sidora).
But not to worry, this is a flick designed to leave everybody satisfied as they dance up the aisles, wiping away a few tears. Mindless, formulaic fun; perfect escapist fare for the dog days of summer.  

Rated: PG-13 for mature themes, brief violence, and sexual innuendo.
Running time: 98 minutes
Studio: Touchstone Pictures

The Descent
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Hair-Raising Horror Flick Pits Brit Females vs. Horde of Bloodthirsty Creepy Crawlers

A year ago, outdoor enthusiasts Sarah (Shauna Macdonald), Beth (Alex Reid), and Juno (Natalie Mendoza) joined each other for a camping trip which included shooting the rapids for a little white water rafting. However, the best friends’ fun was first spoiled when Juno allowed herself to end up in a compromising position with Sarah’s husband, Paul (Oliver Millburn). Worse, the weekend was totally marred by a car crash on the way home in which Sarah’s hubby, and daughter Jessica (Molly Kayll) perish.
Now, these intrepid British babes have reunited to take on an uncharted cave located off the beaten path somewhere in the Appalachian Mountains. This go-round, the trio is joined by Holly (Nora-Jane Noone), a punked-out adventurer always in search of the next challenge, and a pair of Scandinavian sisters, Rebecca (Saskia Mulder), and Sam (MyAnna Burning).
What the spunky spelunkers don’t know is that the subterranean environ they’ve chosen to rappel into happens to be hiding a horde of blind, bloodthirsty, cave-dwelling creatures. It doesn’t help any that Sarah is still suffering from residual anxiety connected to the loss of her family, or that she and Juno have unresolved issues.
Then, when a rockslide blocks the only entrance to the cave, the creepy crawlers start to attack. As their primal survival instincts kick in, the question becomes quickly whether these six squabbling females will be able to set aside their differences to take on this unanticipated army of cannibals.
This is the heart-pounding premise of The Descent, easily the best horror flick of 2006 thus far. Written and directed by Neil Marshall (Dog Soldiers), the film is a super-realistic, claustrophobic scream fest, featuring our barely-lit heroines relying on glow sticks, torches and flares for their slight sources of illumination. These two-fisted feminists certainly rise to the occasion, never giving a thought about waiting for a knight in shining armor to rescue them from their harrowing ordeal.
Besides benefiting from well-placed shocking developments, truly unnerving antagonists, and a taut editing accompanied by a hair-raising score, what really makes this movie is that each of the leads is a fully fleshed out character we come to know and thus care about. A never-ending nightmare guaranteed to keep you on the edge of your seat from start to finish.

Rated: R for profanity and gruesome violence.
Running time: 99 minutes
Studio: Lions Gate Films

Princesas
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It’s Hard out Here for a Ho

Zulema (Micaela Nevarez) is a striking streetwalker who cruises the low-rent district of Madrid, strutting her stuff in skimpy outfits. The attractive, illegal immigrant would really rather pursue a less dangerous line of work, given the physically-abusive johns she encounters and the recurring risk of sexually-transmitted diseases. But because she has a mother and five-year-old son back home in the Dominican Republic dependent on her for financial support, she perseveres in an omnivorous profession very likely to eat up her future before long.
Caye (Candela Pena), by contrast, is a relatively high-class hooker who operates out of a whorehouse which masquerades as a beauty salon. Because she comes from a middle-class background, Caye has to hide what she does from her family. This sometimes proves to be a challenge, especially since her mother is curious about why she refuses to answer her constantly ringing cell phone.
Cave and Zulema’s paths cross the day the latter is badly battered by a client and the former compassionately accompanies her to the hospital. Thus begins the forging of an intimate, if initially awkward, friendship borne as much out of desperation as out of a mutual need for an emotional shoulder to lean on.  
Directed by Fernando Leon de Aronoa (Familia), Princesas is a super-realistic character study which fully fleshes out (pardon the expression) these very engaging protagonists to reveal, ever so sympathetically, a couple of sensitive souls in simpatico with far more in common than either would like to admit. Without ever resorting to stereotypes, this unabashedly feminist flick paints an ultimately optimistic picture of the prospects of these would-be princesses, still little girls at heart, who have somehow landed in a seemingly hopeless predicament. 
For instead of waiting for proverbial knights in shining armor who will never come, Cave and Zulema feed each other’s dreams of a better day, as they gradually extract themselves from the enveloping quicksand of the suicidal sex trade. Packing body cavities with semen instead of cocaine, Princesas provides the most engaging presentation from the perspective of an exploited, female underclass since the equally-evocative Maria, Full of Grace.
Hail Mary, full of DNA.  
 
Unrated
In Spanish with subtitles
Running time: 105 minutes
Studio: IFC Films