"Romy and Michelle's High School Reunion" (15s) Nationwide
The Eighties revival gathers speed with this likeable but flawed farce, which brings together two of the most popular comic actresses of the moment. Lisa Kudrow, with her Phoebe character in Friends, and Mira Sorvino, with her Oscar-winning performance as the cheerfully dim hooker in Woody Allen's Mighty Aphrodite, must have seemed like dream casting for what is essentially a two-hander about two cheerful, if none too bright, friends who decide to go home for their 10-year high school reunion.
As they make their preparations for the trip it dawns on them (slowly - dumb blonde jokes are the foundation of this movie) that they haven't done much with their lives over the previous decade, and decide to invent successful careers for themselves. Like the current black comedy Grosse Pointe Blank, Romy And Michelle's High School Reunion has great fun with those old Eighties hits - Howard Jones, Tears for Fears and Cyndi Lauper all feature prominently on the soundtrack - but there's none of the other film's darker undertones. In fact there are no undertones at all, which is why the film runs into quicksand after a promising opening half-hour.
The problem is that screenwriter Robin Schiff's characters are so perfectly cartoonish that any attempt at real emotions just spoils the fun. Thus, we get an over-extended dream sequence, and some tedious sub-plots, before cutting back to the chase at the reunion itself. Director David Mirkin is best known for his excellent work on TV comedies like The Simpsons and The Larry Sanders Show, but neither he nor Schiff succeed in sustaining their narrative drive here - another couple of script drafts might perhaps have helped. A shame, really, because this enjoyably silly movie could have been a real treat with a little more work. As it is, it might be better to wait for the video release.
Hugh Linehan
"Albino Alligator", IFC, members and guests only.
If you find yourself thinking that you've seen this film before - a bungled robbery attempt which turns into a tense, prolonged siege - it's probably because you have, and it was called Dog Day Afternoon. Kevin Spacey's directorial debut takes few chances with the heist-and-hostage genre but adds post-Tarantino irony, a lot of violence and some creative camerawork.
When the three robbers - Dova (Matt Dillon), his brother Milo (Gary Sinise) and the edgy, volatile Law (William Fichtner) burst into a basement bar in New Orleans in a wild race from the police, this dark, enclosed space becomes the arena in which their confusion and enmities are played out. After the initial drama of the hold-up, the action is stilled and the focus turns to the nuances of the relationships between the three ill-matched robbers, the bar staff (Faye Dunaway and M. Emmet Walsh) and the customers. Surrounded by police and media, the characters inside the bar are forced into uneasy contact. Spacey has elicited strong performances here, from Gary Sinise, in particular, as the more intelligent, responsible older brother, who counsels caution and non-violent solutions to their predicament. Faye Dunaway, too, is convincing, although she has to contend with some very laboured camerawork, with long close-ups.
The script, with its dry one-liners and tough-guy cliches is too formulaic to stand up to the theatrical intensity of this treatment. We don't care enough about these characters; they don't have sufficient depth to sustain us through the longueurs. Matt Dillon is essentially an action man, who has little to bring to the issues of fraternal loyalty, guilt and social conscience that his character has to grapple with. It's a relief when he's allowed to jump about with a gun in his hand again, as the tension is released in an all-too predictable finale.
Helen Meany
"Event Horizon", Savoy, Virgin
The year is 2047. The mission: to rescue a spaceship called the Event Horizon . . . what promises to be a mildly diverting space-travel yarn, with earnest astronauts arguing about black holes, mutates into a slick blend of high technology and gore. With this $50 million blockbuster, the English director, Paul Anderson, was aiming, he says, to make "The Shining in space" and that just about sums it up. Horror and science fiction collide, as a salvage crew is sent to rescue any survivors from the Event Horizon, a spaceship which travels faster than light (it just does, OK?) and has been missing in space for seven years. When they manage to board it, the rescue crew - including Laurence Fishbourne as the captain, Sam Neill as Dr Weir - the creator of the Event Horizon, Joely Richardson, Kathleen Quinlan and Sean Pertwee - discover evidence of macabre events, which they rapidly become sucked into themselves. Climax after climax follows, with dizzying visual effects, from prosthetics to frozen corpses that shatter into particles, massive explosions in zero gravity, vats of blood engulfing the crew, and characters whose eyes have been scooped out. The sets are vast, combining sleek, futuristic capsules with devices that could be straight out of the Spanish Inquisition. This fusion of ancient and modern elements runs through all aspects of Joseph Bennett's highly coherent production design, from the flying buttresses on the side of the Event Horizon, to the "gravity drive" which causes all the trouble and resembles a huge, spiked medieval weapon.
Thankfully there are no aliens popping up, or any other kind of monster, since the ship itself has become the embodiment of evil, playing on the private nightmares of each crew member - and going completely over the top. While this dark psychological element is extremely contrived and schematic, with each crew member in turn having some kind of crisis relating to a buried secret from the past, it demands more acting skills than the usual sci-fi epic: hence the casting of such established character actors as Fishbourne, Neill and Richardson. They acquit themselves well, certainly, but that's really beside the point. The aim is to dazzle with technology and to terrify - and it succeeds.
Helen Meany
"Roseanna's Grave" (15s) Screen on D'Olier Street
A sort of ersatz romantic comedy based on a strangely morbid premise, Roseanna's Grave is one of those productions which provide ammunition for those who criticise the cultural imperialism of commercial cinema. In truth it's no more or less imperialistic than the commercials for pizzas and cars that it so closely resembles.
Written and performed in English by an international cast, the film starts promisingly with the Felliniesque depiction of the funeral of a circus performer, but from there on it's downhill all the way. Jean Reno is the proprietor of the village cafe, and his wife (Mercedes Ruehl) is dying. Her one wish is to be buried in the cemetery beside her beloved daughter, but there are only three empty plots left, and Reno fears they will all be filled before his wife's time comes. So he does his best to prevent any of the other villagers from passing away, while trying to persuade his mortal enemy to sell the land adjacent to the cemetery for an extension.
The peculiar plot is bad enough, but director Paul Weiland makes matters worse, unearthing every Italian cliche in the book. We guess that this is supposed to be the present day from a few half-hearted hints, but you'd hardly know it from the ancient cars, clothes and furniture strewn around the place by the over-enthusiastic production designer. Every scene is bathed in the syrupy golden light so beloved of television commercials (the medium in which Weiland usually works), while no opportunity for sentimentality is let pass. Reno overacts shamelessly, the usually excellent Ruehl looks embarrassed to be there, and the whole farrago is topped with the most ridiculous ending of any film so far this year.
Hugh Linehan
