15 Minutes

Herzfeld is apparently trying to say something about the nature of the media and fame in contemporary America, but his muddled efforts don’t really venture too far beyond the famous Andy Warhol quote alluded to by the film’s title. Moreover, Warhol had the good sense to limit himself to a mere 10 words.

The film also carries with it an aggressive anti-Slav message that fits right in with the new Bush administration’s neo-Cold War policies toward the irredeemable mud people of Eastern Europe. The Slavs are represented in all their varicolored glory by a pair of new immigrants to New York—an opportunistically sadistic Czech named Emil who goes on a midtown killing spree and a Russian Frank Capra wannabe named Oleg who obediently films all the bloodshed using a handicam he swipes from a Times Square outlet during his first hour in the country. That the Czech is calculatingly evil while the Russian is passively so would seem to imply something about the NATO enlargement process. What exactly that might be, I haven’t the slightest idea.

Ambiguity for ambiguity’s sake is always a good thing, so please note that the Czech’s psycho’s surname is Slovak, while the Edward Burns fire marshal character is called Jordy Warsaw. Also, the excellent Vladimir Mashkov is present in an easy-to-miss (he becomes Emil’s first victim less than a minute after first appearing onscreen) bit part as Milos, a Hungarian apparently. Mashkov isn’t Hungarian, and Hungarians aren’t actually Slavs, of course, but since most Americans aren’t aware of this distinction we’ll just have to let it slide.

Hannibal

Ridley Scott directs the long-awaited sequel to Silence of the Lambs, redeeming himself somewhat after Gladiator. This one took a pretty severe beating from many critics, but it’s actually pretty entertaining. If only for the scene where Anthony Hopkins feeds Ray Liotta his own sauteed brains (“Mm, are those shallots?”—an instant classic), this one is a strong contender for inclusion in the eXile canon. Additionally, the role of Mason Verger is perfectly suited to Gary Oldman’s unique talents. Utterly unrecognizable as a horribly disfigured eccentric billionaire (and the only one of Hannibal Lechter’s victims who lived to tell the tale), Oldman couldn’t possibly overact the part.

Nevertheless, the film does get into some trouble when it tries to be more than it actually is (that being a reasonably solid psychological thriller). Perhaps this is the fault of the highly respected (i.e., pretentious and overrated) folks who adapted the Thomas Harris novel (David Mamet and Steven Zaillian). The most important lesson they failed to learn from the original film is that the effectiveness of the Lechter character is directly related to his mystery. The more he opens his mouth (and by the end of this sequel, it seems as if he might never shut up), the less he seems like a genius criminal mastermind and the more he seems like your run-of-the-mill tediously over-confident serial killer. Oh well.

Also, that Clarice Starling southern accent fits Julianne Moore about as well as an unaltered off-the-rack suit. Still, these shortcomings we are willing to overlook thanks to the aforementioned Ray Liotta bit. Hint: the scene is even funnier is you watch it while eating Indian takeout food (note that Darbar has free home delivery!).

The Mummy Returns

Who gives a fuck? Well, somebody does apparently. This utterly pointless sequel has already raked in over $110 million in its first week and a half of release (the original eventually made it to $155 million in U.S. box office receipts)… and it’s not even Memorial Day yet! Writer-director Stephen Sommers is back, along with Brendan Fraser and the rest of the (surviving) original cast, for this CGI-infused cavalcade of slapstick set in the Sahara. Your kids will love it, especially if—like the young Holden Caulfield—they’re avid students of ancient Egyptian history.

102 Dalmatians

Yet another unnecessary sequel, bringing with it at least 102 new reasons to despise Disney and its worldwide cultural hegemony. Back in 1996, when word got out that Disney was producing a live-action remake of its popular 1961 cartoon just in time for the Christmas season, puppy farms all over the United States predictably started churning out Dalmatians like rabbits. Parents responded just as predictably by buying up the pups to place under the tree for their aspiring consumer offspring. Unlike their movie counterparts, however, real-life Dalmatian pups tend to be a high-strung, not-terribly-cute breed. The result: over the next year, humane shelters became swamped with hyperactive spotted critters that had failed to deliver the Disney-promised cuddliness. South Florida shelters experienced a 35-percent increase in the number of Dalmatians, with similar figures being reported across the country. The unwanted pups were targeted for termination, of course; the frivolous children were allowed to live on, meanwhile, turning their consumer attentions to Pokemon toys and other worthless crap. A similar turn of events is to be expected as a result of this pointless exercise in crass commercial exploitation of the young and domesticated wildlife.

Any parents who willingly take their children to see this movie should be forced to sign a waiver, relinquishing any right to vengeance-based prosecution in the event their beloved offspring should fall victim to a drunk driver or other media-genically tragic end.

Frankly, we’ve come to expect this sort of thing from foreigners Gerard Depardieu and Eric Idle, but shouldn’t Glenn Close have better things to do than reprise her role as a scaly-faced cartoon villainess? On second thought, perhaps not.

The original at least had a screenplay co-written by John Hughes. This one has nothing aside from a recognizable brand name. Not that it really needs anything more.

By the way, anyone seeking a first-hand account of just how destructive a young Dalmatian can be is encouraged to ask Taibbi about his living room furniture.

Autumn In New York

Joan Chen’s U.S. directing debut (her previous outing behind the camera was the 1998 Chinese film Tian Yu) has about as much to recommend it as Chen’s post-Twin Peaks acting filmography. If a predictable romantic melodrama about an aging playboy (Richard Gere) who falls for a sweet, but terminally ill, young woman (Winona Ryder) sounds like your cup of tea, then remind me never to have a cup of tea at your house.

Amusingly enough, MGM neglected to screen Autumn in New York in advance for film critics, against the wills of Richard Gere and Winona Ryder. Studio executives claimed that the decision was made not because the film’s quality, but rather out of fear that reviewers would spoil the surprise ending. The surprise ending to this tale is that the film has no surprise ending to speak of. Watch the first 25 minutes. Now guess how it’s going to end. Bingo, you’re exactly right!

By now, Winona Ryder must be wandering around Tribeca in a fog wondering where her mid-80s glory days have disappeared to, while a senility-enhanced Gere is probably starting to believe in those urban legends about his gerbil-related emergency room visit. Come to think of it, I guess they deserve each other.