This is the first Woody Allen film that was not shot in New York. Filmed with a mostly Irish/British Cast (Scarlett Johansson being the exception) it takes place in and around London, a location Allen liked so well, he is planning to shoot another film there. In the beginning of the film, its main character (a former professional tennis player) states that succeeding in life and/or sports is about luck, as much as it is about skill. Sometimes the ball hits the net, bounces over and wins you the game, sometimes it bounces back at you and you lose. Unfortunately this metaphor applies to the movie as well. For all its strong points and for all the quality and skill of its maker(s) it falls short of being satisfactory. It feels like neither fish, flesh nor good red herring. Not funny and sharp enough to make the comedy work, not substantial enough to give the drama enough weight.
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When the book is closed of the films of 2005, many will say , based on box office, was a lousy year for films. I’m not entirely convinced; yes, there were lots of mediocre stuff out there, but the bright side is you can tell the good from the bad. Sadly, there were at least four wonderful films in 2005 that the masses (at least in the US) avoided. I also think where the majors failed, the indies flourished.
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The host of a prominent TV book review show receives a package containing a video tape of the outside of his front door. There’s nothing aggressive about it other than it was shot secretly and is simply a form of an invasion of privacy. Why? What does it mean? Is it a threat? What does this secret Filmer want? Slowly the tapes become more personal and accompanied with drawings that feed the growing sense of impending doom. Yet director Michael Haneke’s latest film is not a straight forward suspense mystery as all that is hidden slowly becomes revealed.
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This latest offering from director, Neil Jordan, transports us back to the 70′s in Ireland and London. We are introduced to one of the most memorable characters of this year’s film offerings, who has, perhaps, one of the best lines as well. Patrick “Kitten” Braden asks the question: “If I wasn’t a transvestite terrorist, would you marry me?” After seeing Breakfast on Pluto (2005) many people might say yes.
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After the rave success of Snatch and Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels, one would expect that the latest instalment of Guy Ritchie would be announced with much more hype than this movie did; this of course if we forget his in-between lemon, Swept Away. His craftily coalescing storylines, cool dialogue and hip editing had people compare him to the likes of Soderbergh and Tarantino. So you would say that the low-fi publicity of this movie should spell bad news. Not only that, this time Ritchie would also have to make due without his producer Matthew Vaughn. And it really shows.

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This gut wrenchingly sad story written by E. Annie Proulx simply could not have been brought to film by anyone more qualified for the job than Ang Lee. I had been told to bring tissues, but I had no idea I would still find myself crying days later over such a simple tale of two closeted cowboys desperately in love.
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I didn’t hear anything about this movie on the life of the late great Jimi Hendrix when it came out some five years ago. And in my case, that is not a good sign. Nevertheless, everything that has to do with Jimi’s music is enough to have me salivating in anticipation. To me, he is simply the greatest guitar player and musician ever. I remember all the initial frustration and subsequent exhilaration when I used to attack yet another Hendrix song on my guitar. His sound is unique and his legacy makes you wonder where his music could’ve gone had he lived longer – or better yet – still be among us. Although I would welcome any attempt to pay tribute to this giant, I am also a keen critic to see if the filmmakers would have done him justice.

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It almost sounds like the script for Victor/Victoria (1982): a woman, playing a man who wants to become a woman; yet Transamerica (2005) addresses the issue of transgenderism like no other main stream Hollywood film before. Felicity Huffman, from the hit TV show, Desperate Housewives, plays Stanley ‘Bree’ Osbourne, a pre-operative transsexual who discovers just a week before her scheduled surgery, that she has a son from when she was a he.
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As 2005 draws to a close, to Hollywood it will be a year most remembered for the box office slump. It isn’t really there, since the year before there were quite a number of box office surprises. But when I look carefully at this past year’s slate, what I have seen hasn’t gotten me depressed, it has me doing cartwheels. Yes, there is a reason to celebrate, sort of. Moviegoers are staying away from cineplexes because not only Hollywood has finally been caught second guessing the audience, but in deciding the worst films, I shall pinpoint the major culprit…
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There was a bit of internet talk about a certain actress named Anne Hathaway and her jump from Disney fare into edgier roles. I think the idea of Anne losing some clothes, her character singing along to hard core gangsta rap and doing crack with her best friend. It sounds exploitive, and I’m sure many mistook this for something it isn’t. I’m one of those who didn’t.
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