The Lost World - Jurassic Park (1997)

There is a scene in The Lost World - Jurassic Park, where Vince Vaughn faces a mural of the Jurassic Park in the decrepit command center. His face is that of a man longing, not for survival, but for a different setting. He wishes he was in the previous film and not this mess. I actually had to read the "directed by" credit at the end twice, because I couldn't believe my eyes that this was a film made by the most prominent of all modern Hollywood storytellers: Mr. Steven Spielberg.

Whatever your opinion is of Spielberg's films, there is no denying that he is the master of popcorn storytelling. Paternal issues aside, his films always deliver the "fun" factor - almost without exception. The first Jurassic Park is a great example of his work - a hell of a ride. His films exude with memorable set-pieces and characters. Yet, The Lost World has a couple of the former, but none of the latter.

Despite the fact that Jeff Goldblum is back, his character is criminally downplayed. Julianne Moore has a couple of goofy lines in the beginning, but she fades away too. Vince Vaughn is given some meaty action scenes and he saves the day a couple of times, but he is mysteriously absent in the climax. Velociraptors are talked up, but are disposed of by a twelve-year-old girl trying out her gym moves.

It is really a hard job to mock up this premise - it's dinosaurs, for Pete's sake! But, Spielberg - neither McG, nor Brett Rattner, nor Stephen Sommers - manage to create a huge mess. It is really, very excruciatingly bad.

The Mummy Returns (2001)

There is no place to start with this review. On one hand you have a sequel that ticks all the boxes: bigger, louder, more. You also have a perfect example of mindless entertainment that has become a regular fixture for our Friday nights at the theater. On the other hand, you have a film that is so hopelessly convoluted and stupid that it leaves you speechless as to what to make of it.

Brendan Fraser and Rachel Weisz are back to re-enact their roles - verbatim. It turns out having a kid doesn't really change anything in you. In the first film, The Mummy (1999), how these two characters develop into a couple made it worthwhile. Here, that is completely thrown out the window.

Having Egyptian artifacts at every turn doesn't, unfortunately, hide the lack of a discernible plot. Halfway through the film you face the daunting question: what the hell is going on here? This question is not directed towards a rather intellectual enigma put forward by the director/writer Stephen Sommers, but the lack thereof. What the hell is everybody trying to do? Impothep (Arnold Vosloo - Hollywood's go-to bad Middle Eastern dude) wants to revive the Scorpion King (CG-infused Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson) and lead his army against...well...somebody. Meanwhile, Rachel Weisz's character turns out to be an Egyptian princess in her previous life. Oh, and Brendan Fraser is supposed to be the chosen one to kill the Scorpion King. And why does he care? Because his son is kidnapped.

There it is. That is the movie. Part video-game - a bad one at that - part excuse for a film, it is neither entertaining nor memorable. One of the worst filmic experiences of my life.

V for Vendetta (2005)

I don't know where to start - Natalie Portman's awful bird-like accent; John Hurt's decaying teeth; Hugo Weaving's middle-school political monologues; lack of action or anything exciting in the story; or just the story itself...or lack thereof.

V for Vendetta is a bad amalgamation of 1984 (sans heart); Brave New World (sans the Savage); and the Third Reich (in English). With a convoluted plotline that is never sure where to concentrate, it is as bad as it gets.

The Britons, as it turns out, are only limited to a few people in the local pub and two nuclear families. That should, apparently, be enough to represent a society.

Quite why Evey (geddit? it's all v's) is involved in this story is something the Scotland Yard should investigate. Surely, Stephen Rea's chief inspector could have been sufficient enoughy. But, then again, it would be too similar to George Orwell's dystopia. I belive risking plagiarism might have saved this excuse for a film.

Oh, and did I say Natalie Portman's accent was horrible?

Bring Me the Head of Alfredo Garcia (1974)

This is the only film Sam Peckinpah had the final cut, but it is perhaps obvious that he was consumed by his own addictions. Hence the film is as confusing and genius as its maker. Just like Bob Fosse's semi-autobiographical All That Jazz (1978), it is very difficult to dissect this film and make a sense out of it.

Warren Oates is Benny, who is after a gigolo who impregnated a Mexican Jefe's daughter. He is to take the head to other head-hunters, unaware of the true value of the head.

It is very surrealistic, to the point of black comedy. Yet, the nihilism seen in many Peckinpah films, is all the more evident here. It is also one of the few films where women are to be adored, rather than objectified.

The poetic violence is still present, but it lacks the punch of The Wild Bunch (1969) and Straw Dogs (1971). One of the reasons for this is that the latter two films had so much built up for the finale that anything less than a bloodbath would have been unsatisfactory. Nothing is built up in this film - the ending is the most awkward and unsatisfactory of all Peckinpah films. The story seems to be going nowhere and the improvisational nature of Peckinpah's film-making is scarily evident here.

It is something to be savored, but also something only for the purists. As for me, I thought it was decent, but part of me wonders what it could have been had it been more carefully handled.

Hard Candy (2005)

Music video director David Slade's debut feature came amid the frenzy of horror porn that 'graced' our screens a few years back, starting with Saw (2004). Less gory it may be than some of the straight-to-video fare that is filling up the shelves in your local video store, the film is more disturbing - ina good way - than the blood-and-guts-all-over-the-place Eli Roth shenanigans.

Fourteen-year-old Haley meets a thirty-something profeesional photographer, Jeff (a great performance by Patrick Wilson), she has been chatting with on the internet in a coffee house. Before long, she ends up in his house, posing for his camera. However, Haley has some tricks under her sleeve.

The problem with Hard Candy isn't its fetishistic use of gore to attract and repel its audience, but rather the style with which it is handled. It has a naturalistic, European feel to it with the stark colours and the extreme close-up shots. However, once the 'action' kicks in, Slade conforms to the trends and starts using his hand-held camera with low-contrast lenses. This oscillation between two varying forms of cinematography is very jarring.

The film then takes a left-turn for the good as it introduces the biggest male fear, yet (spoiler here) it changes its mind. Some plot-lines don't make any sense and the ending is very trite.

All in all a poor film that thinks of itself intelligent - and we all know it ain't. It doesn't have anything interesting or constructive to say about the issue of paedophilia. Instead, it portrays a rather fascistic approach to the subject.