Susan Granger’s review of “ANGELA’S ASHES” (Paramount Pictures)

Whereas a novel is written to be appreciated for its language and literary integrity, a movie is a visual medium. Most often, the books that make the best films are those with clear narratives and focused stories. In Angela’s Ashes, author Frank McCourt put the entire story inside the mind of a character and focus solely on that character’s inner world – what he is thinking, feeling, remembering. While filmmaker Alan Parker has dealt with the Irish before in The Commitments, he now, working with writer Laura Jones, meticulously evokes McCourt’s saga of poverty, pain, ignorance, and the death of three children. But their anecdotal screenplay fails to capture the Irish-American writer’s lilting wit and emotional poetry. The story begins in 1935 in Brooklyn as the titular Angela (Emily Watson) falls apart when her baby daughter dies, and the family, consisting of her irresponsible, alcoholic wastrel of a husband (Robert Carlyle), Frank and his brothers, goes back to Limerick, Ireland. As McCourt noted in his opening paragraph, that was a big mistake. Life in the miserable, wet, filthy Roden Lane slum – painstakingly recreated by production designer Geoffrey Kirkland and captured by cinematographer Michael Seresin – is awful, and, at school, Frank’s teachers are either religious or nationalistic fanatics. It isn’t until he’s a teenager, working as a mailman, that life begins to hold possibilities, particularly the promise of returning, alone, to America. Three actors – Joe Breen, Ciaran Owens, and Michael Legge – play Frank as the resilient boy-to-man who bravely copes with his dysfunctional family and rises above his terrifying travails. On the Granger Movie Gauge of 1 to 10, Angela’s Ashes is a respectful but depressing, grim 7, giving one a greater appreciation of America as the land of hope and promise.



Susan Granger’s review of “MANSFIELD PARK” (Miramax Films)

In this provocative, revisionist adaptation of Jane Austen’s third novel, Canadian writer-director Patricia Rozema gives her 19th century heroine, Fanny Price, much of Austen’s own confidant, creative personality. Incorporating material from Austen’s early journals and letters, Rozema recreates Fanny (Frances O’Connor) as a poor relation who is sent from Portsmouth to the magnificent mansion called Mansfield Park to live in emotional exile with her pompous uncle, starchy aunts, and privileged cousins. Her favorite cousin is the brooding Edmund (Jonny Lee Miller) who is destined to be a humble clergyman, much to the chagrin of the outspoken, ambitious young woman (Embeth Davidtz) who wants to marry him. Always made to feel inferior within the genteel, rigidly conventional British class system, she is considered more than a servant but less than an equal companion. Nevertheless, meek Fanny becomes an adept and witty writer who is courted by a charming, handsome rake (Allesandro Nivola) whom she does not trust. Australian actress Frances O’Connor does a splendid job as the plucky heroine and her complex performance is matched by playwright Harold Pinter, as her autocratic uncle, and Lindsay Duncan in dual roles – as both Fanny’s desperate, impoverished mother and wealthy, opium-addicted aunt. Admittedly, Patricia Rozema’s script tackles too many social issues, including the dark brutality of slavery on the Caribbean island of Antigua, an exploitive endeavor which supports this segment of England’s landed gentry. And Rozema’s willfully manipulative, pro-feminist characters seem far ahead of their time. On the Granger Movie Gauge of 1 to 10, Mansfield Park is a sensual, cinematic 7. It’s a period drama that should appeal, primarily, to the art-house crowd.



Susan Granger’s review of “NEXT FRIDAY” (New Line Cinema)

Writer/rapper/actor Ice Cube’s Friday was a surprise hit back in 1995, so it should not come as a shock that there’s a sequel, aimed directly at the same young, hip, urban audience. Along with serving as producer, Ice Cube reprises his role as Craig, a young man who was trying to survive on the mean streets of South Central Los Angeles. Now, he’s moved from the city to the suburbs only to discover that his troubles came right along with him. They’re personified by Debo, played by Tommy “Tiny” Lister Jr., a massive bully who wound up in prison in the original story. Debo’s escaped from the Los Angeles County Men’s Central Jail and wants payback – which is why Craig’s father (John Witherspoon) suggests that he hang out in Rancho Cucamonga with his Lotto-winning uncle (Don “DC” Curry) and trophy-wife aunt (Kym E. Whitley), much to the consternation of other friends, relatives, and Hispanic gangster neighbors. Chris Tucker’s manic character of Craig’s pal Smokey has supposedly “gone into rehab” but, obviously, Tucker’s gone on to bigger and better things. Most of the vulgar dialogue is unprintable and the crude, chaotic humor centers on bathroom functions. What could have been an amusing Beverly Hillbillies riff is ineptly directed by first-timer Steve Carr, whose background is in disjointed music videos – and it shows. On the Granger Movie Gauge of 1 to 10, Next Friday is a coarse, cheesy, repetitive 3. It’s loud, lame slapstick silliness.



Susan Granger’s review of “SUPERNOVA” (M.G.M release)

The behind-the-scenes story is far more interesting than this mundane sci-fi thriller which should disappear as quickly as it popped into our local theaters without previous critics’ screenings. It seems Walter Hill (48 Hours, Aliens) abandoned the project more than a year ago, using a pseudonym, Thomas Lee, as titular director. And rumor has it that Francis Ford Coppola did the final assemblage but he is not officially mentioned anywhere in the film credits either. The story, written without a cohesive structure by David Campbell Wilson, revolves around the search and rescue patrol of a medical ship and its six-member crew in the 22nd century. When their vessel, the Nightingale 229, answers an emergency distress signal from an abandoned mining colony on a rogue moon in a distant galaxy, the crew soon finds itself in danger from the mysteriously charismatic young man, Peter Facinelli, whom they rescue, the alien artifact he smuggled aboard, and the gravitational pull of a giant, imploding star about to go supernova, creating the most massive explosion in the universe. Robert Forster is the Captain of the deep-space ambulance but he’s killed off quickly, allowing James Spader, his First Officer, to take the helm, along with Angela Bassett, as Chief Medical Officer. Robin Tunney, Lou Diamond Phillips, and Wilson Cruz complete the crew – along with their trusty computer named Sweetie. On the Granger Movie Gauge of 1 to 10, Supernova is a sputtering, pointless 3. Something went terribly wrong – and not in outer space.



Susan Granger’s review of “TITUS” (Fox Searchlight Pictures)

Julie Taymor, who received both critical and popular acclaim for her Broadway version of Disney’s The Lion King, makes her film debut with a curious adaptation of Shakespeare’s Titus Andronicus, one of the Bard’s least successful plays. It’s a graphic, grisly, gruesome orgy of vengeance, revolving around Titus, a proud but aging Roman general, played by Anthony Hopkins, who returns home in triumph circa. 400 A.D. after conquering the Goths to crown the new Emperor Saturninus (Alan Cumming). His prized gift to the new ruler is Tamora (Jessica Lange), Queen of the Goths, whom the depraved Saturninus impetuously marries – after being scorned by Titus’s only daughter (Laura Fraser). Along with her secret lover, a villainous Moor (Harry Lennix), and her two punkster sons (Jonathan Rhys Meyers, Matthew Rhys), the furious Tamara then schemes to wreak a crafty revenge on Titus and his family for the ritual death of her oldest son at Titus’ hands. Cinematically, Taymor idiosyncratically links this historical epic of political intrigue with the 20th century by incorporating a contemporary lad (Osheen Jones) playing with toy soldiers. Working with production designer Dante Ferretti, costumer Milena Canonero and cinematographer Luciano Tovoli, the inventive Taymor sets out a defiant, dizzying visual feast, crowned by a repulsive, cannibalistic banquet that could have been created by Hannibal Lechter – and it’s impressively scored by Elliot Goldenthal. On the Granger Movie Gauge of 1 to 10, Titus is a perversely stylistic, surreal 6. It’s a bold, bizarre bloodbath, giving us only fleeting glimpses of the tragic characters who – in later Shakespearean plays – evolve into King Lear, Lady Macbeth, and Iago.



Susan Granger’s review of “DOWN TO YOU” (Miramax Films)

More and more movies are being made for a target audience – and this bland romantic comedy is aimed at an under-20 demographic, particularly teenage girls. Rated PG-13, it’s about a young couple experiencing the thrill, along with the trials and tribulations, of their first love. Freddie Prinze Jr. (She’s All That) plays Al, a genial New York City college student aiming for a career as a world-class chef, like his celebrated father, while Julia Stiles (10 Things I Hate About You) is Imogen, a talented art student who steals his heart. Early in the plot, he brings her a cake. “This is sacred,” Al says about cooking. “Cake is my world,” Imogen purrs. But the path of true love never runs smooth, particularly in this clichŽ-ridden, one-dimensional soap-opera, written and directed by Kris Isacsson. A silly sub-plot revolves around Al’s kooky room-mate (Zak Orth), a cynical, aspiring film-maker, being pursued by a seductive porn starlet (Selma Blair) who used to study chemistry at M.I.T. Plus there’s a guy named Jim Morrison (Ashton Kutcher) who’s predictably obsessed with this rock-star namesake. But there’s no real dramatic thrust. Henry Winkler and Lucie Arnaz do their professional best as Al’s parents who dream of the day when their son can work with his dad, known as Chef Ray, on television; their high-concept show would have the pair storming, like cops, into unsuspecting people’s homes and making dinner for them. On the Granger Movie Gauge of 1 to 10, Down to You is a cutesy, shallow, formulaic 3. Maybe it will work better on video.



Susan Granger’s review of “THE TIGGER MOVIE” (Walt Disney Pictures)

Though it’s destined to have a much longer run on the video shelf than in theaters, this fun-filled, full-length animated feature follows in the wake of Winnie the Pooh and the Honey Tree (1966) and The Many Adventures of Winnie the Pooh (1977), adapted from the classic A.A. Milne books. Who doesn’t love Pooh, Piglet, Eeyore, Owl, Kanga, Roo and – in this case – the ever-exuberant Tigger? Written and directed by Jun Falkenstein, based on a story by Eddie Guzelian, it revolves around Tigger’s need to find his “gigantically, stripedy” family tree. Voiced by Jim Cummings, Tigger hunts boisterously throughout the Hundred Acre Wood, looking for other Tiggers. But, as he has so often said himself, “The very most wonderful thing about tiggers is that I’m the only one!” What Tigger concludes, of course, is that family isn’t just about sharing blood and similar physical features. It’s about giving and receiving love from those around you – providing a good lesson for eager, open young minds. The narration by John Hurt sounds wonderfully, authentically British and the animation is not only inventive but amusing. Art director Toby Bluth has chosen line drawings that hark back to the original E.H. Shepard artwork. The colors, the light, and the shading all reflect the Hundred Acre Wood – a real place that one can still visit outside of London. While nothing that will go down in the annals of musical history, the six new songs by Robert and Richard Sherman (Mary Poppins, Jungle Book) are pleasantly tuneful and one, at least, is a terrific tongue-twister. On the Granger Movie Gauge of 1 to 10, Tigger is a toddler’s 7 – it’s a cuddly cartoon.



Susan Granger’s review of “SNOW DAY” (Paramount Pictures/Nickelodeon)

What kid hasn’t listened to the radio for that oft-anticipated but rarely realized announcement: “Schools are closed. It’s a snow day!”? After a groan from the grown-ups, the fun begins. But how to spend a lovely snow day? For the Brandstons of Syracuse, there are many possibilities. Dad (Chevy Chase) is a TV meteorologist, actually the wacky weatherman who predicted that an unexpected blizzard would hit the area. Mom (Jean Smart) is attached to her cellphone, working on a business deal in Beijing. So 15 year-old Hal (Mark Webber) is free to pursue the perfect girl of his dreams (Emmanuelle Chiqui), who has never acknowledged his existence, while taking for granted the genial companionship of his best friend (Schuyler Fisk, daughter of Sissy Spacek). Hal’s 10 year-old sister (Zena Grey) has a bigger ambition: she’s seriously determined to defeat the demonic Snowplowman (Chris Elliott), a suburban Darth Vader in a ten-ton truck who haunts the kids’ snow days. He has a pet crow, his rig’s called Clementine, and legend has it that he makes chains for his tires from the braces of kids he’s run over. And Hal’s brother (Connor Matheus), the terrible toddler, just wants to go outside and play. Writers Will McRobb & Chris Viscardi and director Chris Koch deliver slippery slapstick sketches with only a few slushy moments. Yeah, there are flatulence jokes but they get big laughs from the smallfry audience. And the adults snicker when they recognize punker Iggy Pop as the ice rink DJ, playing old Al Martino records. On the Granger Movie Gauge of 1 to 10, Snow Day is a flaky 5 – silly, wintry fun for the kids and not too bad for their parents either.



Susan Granger’s review of “PITCH BLACK” (USA Films):

A disabled spacecraft crash-lands on a harsh desert planet at the beginning of this tedious sci-fi disaster. Among the grungy survivors are the female pilot (Radha Mitchell), a Muslim priest (Keith David), a prissy antiquities dealer (Lewis Fitzgerald), a convicted killer with huge muscles and surgically-enhanced laser vision (Vin Diesel) and the bounty hunter (Cole Hauser) who is bringing him to justice. Squabbling, they’re all vying for leadership power – until they’re terrorized by armies of voracious, carnivorous, nocturnal creatures who are fiendishly determined to devour them. Australian writer/director David Twohy (The Arrival), working with writers Jim and Ken Wheat, lifts elements from the Alien films, among others, and treacherous, pterodactyl-like creatures from Godzilla. The formulaic dialogue is all their own and there’s little tension in the episodic plot which involves a solar eclipse. The only commendable originality is in the stylish lighting, utilizing various filters, and cinematography, drawing on several types of film stock which complement the strange, ominous planet with its intense heat from three different suns and bizarre desert landscape. However, on a parched, cloudless planet supposedly devoid of all water, a sudden downpour which drenches the hapless survivors is one of the most obvious discordant occurrences which is never explained. And if Vin Diesel’s voice sounds familiar, you might recall that he did the title character in The Iron Giant. On the Granger Movie Gauge of 1 to 10, Pitch Black is a dismal 1 – a noisy, nightmarish waste of time and money, the producers’ and yours.



Susan Granger’s review of “HANGING UP” (Columbia Pictures)

No doubt, Columbia Pictures and the producers wanted this to be a baby-boomers’ version of The First Wives Club; i.e.: a wise, witty chick’s flick about three blonde, beautiful sisters coping with their sibling rivalry while dealing with their philandering old father who’s suffered a minor stroke. But something went wrong from the script to the screen. What’s left is an overdose of cheery cute. Meg Ryan’s perky as ever as the sensible middle sister, a party planner whose motto is “No surprises.” Which puts her in direct conflict with Walter Matthau, her charming, curmudgeonly dad who not only drinks too much but loves to surprise women by pinching their posteriors. Diane Keaton’s the hip, super-successful, self-involved older sister, while Lisa Kudrow’s the youngest, a ditsy, semi-successful TV actress on one of those daytime hospital dramas. Adapted by Delia Ephron from her 1995 novel, co-scripted by sister Nora Ephron, and directed by Diane Keaton, its title comes from the family’s addiction to cell phones which are annoying enough in real life but become unbearable on the screen. Delia Ephron reveals, “I live half my life in the real world and half on the telephone” – and that clichŽ-filled, whiny jabbering is the premise of the story. There’s also some metaphysical connection between hanging up the phone and disconnecting yourself from your problems. But the movie is uneven in pace and tone. Sometimes it’s goofy, concentrating on quirky, if banal, verbal sibling encounters; at other times, it goes for pathos – what with dad’s dying. Predictably, ultimately, there’s reconciliation and redemption. On the Granger Movie Gauge of 1 to 10, Hanging Up is a flimsy, floundering 4. Be thankful you don’t share the phone gene in this family’s DNA – nor their frenzied phoniness.