"Microcosmos", (General) Screen
In a film industry dominated by Hollywood blockbusters, it may seem strange to see a 75 minute French documentary about insects getting a commercial release, but Microcosmos is one of the most spectacular films seen so far this year, and well worth the admission price.
Following the course of a summer's day in an unremarkable meadow, Microcosmos uses specially designed technology to explore the lives of the insects and other tiny creatures living there. But this is not another David Attenborough narrated documentary. The film's makers, Claude Nuridsany and Marie Perennou, eschew explanatory voiceover, with the exception of a brief introduction (provided by Kristin Scott Thomas in the English language version). Instead, they rely on the remarkable sounds of the insects themselves, and on Bruno Coulais's evocative score, to convey the beauty and strangeness of the world they are depicting. It's an approach which is fully justified - on the cinema screen, the last thing these gorgeously composed images need is an intrusive explanation.
The "stars" of Microcosm as they're credited as such at the end of the film in an unfortunate attack of anthropomorphic cutesiness - perform wonders in front of the cameras, lit as if far the most spectacular sci fi epic. A battle between stag beetles puts Jurassic Park to shame, while the mating of two Burgundy snails is improbably erotic. There are many such moments of pure wander raindrops falling like huge water bombs, the metamorphosis of a mosquito - rendered in exquisite detail and enhanced a hundredfold by being projected on a cinema screen. Don't wait far Microcosm as to go to video or broadcast - see it as it was made to be seen, in all its remarkable glory.
"Scream", (185) Savoy, Virgin, Omniplex, UCIs
Of all movie genres, horror is the one most ghettoised and denigrated, rarely receiving much critical acclaim or huge commercial success. Only when one of the periodic moral panics about film takes place does horror take centre stage for a while, before disappearing again far a few years. Yet horror is one of the most enduring, patent forms of cinema, which at its best can bath explore and entertain. Wes Craven's hugely commercial and highly enjoyable Scream does both with wit and verve, propelled by Kevin Williamson's smart, knowing screenplay, which owes as much to Quentin Tarantino as to John Carpenter.
Like Tarantino, Williamson draws extensively on the iconography of American trash cinema, in this case the vast trove of movies made as sequels to or ripaffs of the Halloween, Friday The 13th and Nightmare On Elm Street cycles, to deliver a highly movie literate, self referential exploration of the implications and absurdities of the suburban slasher movie.
Williamson is clearly no fool, but this kind of thing could easily be just a pain in the neck in lesser directorial hands. Under the guidance of Wes Craven, though, it's a well crafted, highly entertaining roller coaster ride. The veteran director of such genre classics as Nightmare On Elm Street ( the original was OK, but the sequels sucked," observes one character in Scream) and The People Under The Stairs, Craven has attempted his own deconstruction of the horror movie before, with Wes Craven's New Nightmare, but this is a much mare satisfying and coherent film. Here, he manages the difficult feat of combining humour and terror with ease within a single scene, and often within a single frame.
The opening sequence sets the tone far what's to come. A bravura set piece With Drew Barrymore receiving threatening phone calls while stranded in a remote house, it has you on the edge of your seat from the very start. By the time the movie proper begins, the audience is prepared for giggles and screams in equal measure (the film's original title was Scary Movie, which seems a little too obvious).
In a small town in northern California, a masked killer prowls the streets at night, in search of victims to eviscerate with his hunting knife. Among his potential victims is teenager Neve Campbell, whose own mother was murdered the previous year, and who at one point suspects her own boyfriend (Skeet Ulrich). Meanwhile, most of Campbell's high school classmates, obsessed with slasher films, treat the whole thing as a movie inspired joke, and tabloid TV reporter Courtney Cox harrasses Camp bell in her search for the killer.
Craven obviously has a real affection for his young, attractive cast of bright young things (Campbell has a regular role in the TV series Party Of Five, and starred in last year's fine supernatural teen movie The Craft, while Cox is better known as Monica in Friends). In fact, Scream, although it provides the requisite gallons of gore along the way, is an extremely amiable movie which never takes itself too seriously. Good, clean fun, in fact.
"The Relic", (12s), Savoy, Virgin, UCI Tallaght, Coolock.
It's another excursion into the natural world, less tasteful than Microcosmos, certainly, and not quite as inane as Anacorida. Set in the gloomy corridors of Chicago's Natural History Museum and shot almost entirely in darkness by the director and cinematographer, Peter Hyafhs, this close encounter with a genetic freak half reptile, half mammal - has to shed some semi serious skins before mutating into an unabashed monster on the rampage extravaganza.
Not any old monster either; this gruesome biological hybrid, called Kothaga, is the creation of Stan Winston, who has had plenty of practice with Jurassic Park, Alien and Terminator 2.
Far complicated reasons involving anthropological theories, Kothoga needs a constant supply of hormones from the human hypothalmus. Yes, this means biting people's heads off, which he does with relish, over and over again.
To end this trail of decapitation, the earnest evolutionary biologist (Penelope Ann Miller) and the police lieutenant (Tom Sizemore) join farces, arguing all the while over the value of science versus superstition. There's no need to concern yourself with any of this; the script is complete trash. Just screech "he's behind you" at regular intervals and dive for cover under the seats. It will end, eventually.
"High School High", (12s) Savoy, Virgin, Omniplex, UCI Coolock, Tallaght.
Clearly the timeless elements of the high school movie genre have a seductive power, even over producer David Zucher and director Hart Bochner, a team that prides itself on what passes far satirical edge on the strange planet of Hollywood.
The originators of the Naked Gun series and Airplane! have set out to make a spoof on the theme of the idealistic new teacher (Jon Lavitz) who tries to instil hope and confidence into his class of disaffected, innercity teenagers.
All they have managed to do is echo many of the pieties of such recent examples of this genres as Mr Holland's Opus and Dangerous Minds, while adding the broad, crudely conceived comedy - complete with corny gags and general excess which is their stock in trade. It's hard to know which is worse, their puerile, self congratulatory parody, or the soft target of the original films. In this case, the result is a limp, uneven mess.
"Tokyo Fist", IFC, members and guests only.
Let's concentrate on the soundtrack first: first the grunts (huawhh, huh) then the blows (thumph) followed by the crunch of broken teeth (krraac) and the sickening plash of blood spilling from noses and mouths. Even with eyes closed, this sequence became easily discernible, through farce of repetition over an hour and a half.
Billed as a "psycho kinetic love triangle", Tsukamota Shinya's frenetic, brittle blend of sadomasochistic fantasy and comic strip grotesque has the same visceral sheen as the two Tetsuo films that have made him a cult - but it's definitely an acquired taste.
Plot, please? Respectable, conforming Tsuda and his petulant girlfriend, Hizuru, share a tiny Tokyo apartment. When Takuji, Tsuda's old schoolfriend, a professional boxer, breaks into their lives, Hizuro pierces her ears, nose and nipples and moves into Takuji's apartment for some rough sex, while Tsuda takes up boxing in order to beat Takuji to a pulp. For good measure, Hizuru beats Tsuda senseless also, while Takjui has nightmares about his forthcoming fight with him.
Giddily oppressive images of Tokyo skyscrapers, shot from below with a swinging, lurching camera; staccato crosscutting, accompanied by a pulsating soundtrack, striking compositions and moody, blue filtered lighting capture the frustration and pent up aggression of these characters - directed inward as well as outward. But stylish images of urban dystopia and technical flair don't dilute the repellent effect of so much physical, sexual and psychological violence.
